#done in such a beautiful way…it is kind of like you are sitting with the narrator at a bar late at night and he is morosely confiding in you

[jinxvex]

HIII!!! girl your sevika x reader bartender fic was so hot her talking them through it omg 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 if you take request could you do sevika x reader established relationship nsfw head canons or sfw head canons anything that make you comfy :333

♱ gf!sevika (established relationship) headcanons!! ♱

omg!! first request!! thank you anon, i'm so geeked rn omg 😆

i'll do both sfw & nsfw because i'm seated 4 both 🤭🤭...

cw: smutty shit, dirty talk, pet names, that shimmastrap, roughness, daddy kink (DON'T BE AFRAID IT'S NUN WEIRD), vulgar language, just plain smut OKAY?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚

SFW:

♱ she loves taking care of you! she loves when you can’t reach for something and you have to ask her to get it for you (it’s canon that she’s tall asf). she definitely has a smirk on her face when you’re struggling to open something for a while and she comes over and opens it in on the first try… + trust, you wouldn’t even have to ask her to carry your bags/things because she does it unprovoked (ahhh!! 🫠).

♱ to stem off of that, she loves buying you shit with her poker money + providing you with anything you need. 

♱ you always catch her staring at you! it makes you so flustered that you always look away + she turns your chin towards her so that you’re looking into her eyes and goes “don’t be shy baby, it’s just me.” and “what? i can’t look at you?” with a cocky smile on her face (cuz why u playinggg LMAO). 

♱ loves to train with you and humble you by pinning you on the floor after your attempt to take her down. 

♱ calls you all kinds of sweet nicknames (even early on in the relationship, she doesn’t gaf.) “baby,” “babe,” “princess,” “angel,” “sweetheart,” “mama,” “doll,” “love,” “darling,” “beautiful,” everything you could possibly think of! 

♱ oh she’s not even looking at other women and she gets hella possessive/jealous if anyone looks your way as well (literally just wrote about this lol). 

♱ sevika is very protective of you in public and always has an arm resting on your shoulder and waist! (also so people know you’re hers).

♱ when you both go out to eat this woman always has to sit by you and rest her hand on your thigh because she’s literally OBSESSED with you. she would rest her hand on your thigh in the car as well! (she’s driving WBK). 

♱ she’s hesitant at first! but she eventually lets you craft her a skin and body care routine. she’s very set in her old ways and has the whole “use what works” attitude when it comes to skincare/shower routines. BUT! she does love watching you get excited when you talk about what ingredients in skincare will help with what.

♱ like i mentioned above, she’s more of a listener and prefers to listen to you talk.

♱ sevika feels SO guilty when she makes you upset. she will literally get down on her knees and look up at you, eyes asking, NO, BEGGING for forgiveness. “i'm sorry princess. forgive me, please?” 

♱ she loves doing arts and crafts with you IDC!! she may try and act like she hates it but she loves it deep down! she’s the same way when you ask to do her makeup. the only way she’ll tolerate you doing it is if you sit on her lap while you do while her hands rest on your waist/ass. (what if i said she would be feeling herself in the mirror after you’re done) 

♱ as much as she loves solitude, she gets more clingy as the days go by! every single day she falls deeper and deeper in love with you and would do anything if it meant making you happy. don’t get it twisted though, she hates rollercoasters/amusement parks full of people so if you wanted to go, go with some friends girl…

now... *mariah carey voice* it's timmmmee 😫😫😜

NSFW:

♱ to start strong, DARE I SAY, sevika has a thing for titles during sex. *ahem* daddy kink (don’t kill me!!). i headcanon she didn’t bring it up first though! you may or may not have let it slip out while she was fucking you hard into the mattress. a single “f-fuck daddy! right there!” and she’s pressing you deeper into the mattress as she slowly (but ROUGHLY) strokes her cock inside you. be prepared to repeat yourself when she asks, “huh? what did you say baby?” + “what did you just call me?”. she calls you a “dirty fuckin’ slut” for wanting to call her daddy (she loves it).

♱ also, be prepared for the “who’s your daddy?” jokes because she thinks they’re HILARIOUS + refers to herself as “daddy” in the third person.

♱ eating you out is her favorite pastime! + loves the way you taste and cannot get enough. 

♱ SHE 👏🏽 IS 👏🏽 AN 👏🏽 ASS 👏🏽 WOMAN. not to say she doesn’t love the rest of you but you’re always catching her staring at your ass and she is not ashamed! she will have that same “can’t look at my woman?” attitude. she will also come up behind you when you’re doing the dishes or laundry and will grope your ass and bury her head into your shoulder to inhale your scent. 

♱ a giver!! she prefers to give instead of receive because she’s giving dom!top but… who said she would refuse you giving her pleasure? never that. sevika loves it when you ask to touch her! she pushes your head down when you’re eating her out like she’s throatfucking you. “fuck baby, this mouth feels so fuckin’ good.” + “love this slutty fuckin’ mouth” 

♱ makes you suck the strap before you take it… nothing further…

♱ she loves seeing you in lingerie and tells you to give her a “show” (stripping your clothes until you’re in your lingerie and giving her a lil dance 😵). she’s all like “this all for me?” + “bend over.” when you show her your little outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

♱ eye contact is important to her! she will force you to make eye contact with her as she’s fucking you and if you don’t…. “gonna stop if you don’t look at me dollface.” + “look at me when i fuck you.”

♱ the dirtiest dirty talker of all dirty talkers OMG. it’s insane how nasty she can get with you but it makes you so needy for her! ↓

♱ “fuuuck this pussy’s so good to me baby.”, “shits so fuckin’ wet, you’re dripping all over me.”, + “look how i’m stretching this fuckin’ pussy out”… and the list goes on.

♱ the dirty talk gets even more vulgar when you ask her to cum in you. breeding kink goes CRAY TO THE Z. ↓

♱ you’re all like, “yes! yes! c-cum in me, please daddy!” + she’s like, “gonna fill you up baby, gonna give you all this cum.” and “you gonna let me put a baby in you angel?”

♱ she LOVES it when you’re rough with her. scratch your nails down her back! pull her hair! mark up her neck!

♱ sevika does love soft sex as well. she is a softie at heart DO NOT FORGET! as much as she loves to degrade you and throw you around, she loves to worship your body and kiss you all over! she loves to praise and tell you how gorgeous you are. “you’re so beautiful baby, you know that?” + “you’re always so good for me, my good fuckin' girl."

hope you like anon!! thank you for the request! had fun writing this 😘

[cosmicalily]

'real love baby' with stray kids, ot8 headcanons by @cosmicalily

author's note: i absolutely adore this song by father john misty; i think it's the sweetest love song and just so prettily written. i wanted to do headcanons kind of similar to my 'everything is romantic' ones, where instead of just going off typical love languages and tropes (which are beautiful in their own way!), i kind of make up my own and unique scenarios for each! hope you enjoy!

warnings: angst in hyunjin's, jisung's, and seungmin's (reasonably mild)

Chris, who loves you adoringly.

It was quiet in your apartment when you got home, although you knew that Chris would most definitely not be asleep. However, you walked through slowly and silently, just in case he was doing something important. Suddenly, you walked into a firm, black tank-top clad chest and squealed. A bouquet of roses dropped to the floor, petals falling everywhere.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to be sneaky,” You sighed, shifting your sock across the petals. “Were these for me?”

“No, they were for Han Jisung,” Chris deadpanned, then burst out giggling. “Of course they were. Although they’re a bit fucked up now. Sorry, baby.”

You smiled at him. “That’s okay. What was the occasion, anyway? It’s not anywhere near our anniversary or my birthday or anything.”

“Nothing. Just wanted to remind you that you’re a cute girl who deserves cute stuff like this, and that I love you.”

Minho, who loves you quietly.

When you come home from a girls’ night out, Minho doesn’t like to immediately approach you at the door. Instead, he stays where he is, sitting upright in bed, phone on his bedside table. He watches you as you undo your hair, take off your dress and put on your pyjamas. He watches you in the bathroom mirror, wiping off your makeup and washing your face. When you’re done, you come to him in bed, and it’s then that he pulls you onto his lap, slipping his hands around your waist and kissing you softly. It’s the moments like this that the two of you crave, the little pockets of quiet amongst your chaotic lives. And that’s where you’ll stay, cosy against each other, minimal words exchanged. Because he can’t ever find any that fully expresses the warmth he feels for you, the love in his eyes as he observes you simply existing.

“Hold me,” is all he mumbles, and that’s exactly what you do.

Changbin, who loves you loudly.

“Doesn't my girlfriend look beautiful today?” Changbin asks, gesturing towards you. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this exact question seven times now, said to each of the boys, and you’re not even that dressed up. However, to Changbin, in a simple pink sweater and loose jeans, you’re the equivalent of a Victoria’s Secret Angel, wings, halo and all. 

“This feels like a trick question. If I say yes, you’re gonna punch me. If I say no, you’ll do the same,” Chris sighs, but offers you a smile. “I like the sweater.”

“Thanks,” you reply, lightly shoving your boyfriend. “Changbin, sweetheart, that’s enough. Talk to them about other things. It’s boring otherwise.”

“You’re not boring! You’re all I ever want to talk about,” he pouts, and you giggle.

Hyunjin, who loves you intensely.

Sometimes Hyunjin feels like he’s too much for you. At times, in between his dramatic statements, sweet pieces of poetry and watercolour paintings, he feels a tiny bit of fear. Fear that all his romantic gestures simply overwhelm you. When he gets himself into this fragile headspace, it’s you that returns his passionate love, reminding him that it’s the reason you fell for him in the first place. Carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, you confront your boyfriend, who is sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He’s been quiet today.

“Flowers for you, pretty boy,” you declare, thrusting the bouquet into his arms. “I also sent you the link to a playlist of songs I want to play at our wedding, and there’s wine in the kitchen.”

“Baby…when I do things like this for you, it’s not too much, is it? I’m not too much for you?” he asks, placing the flowers on the floor and reaching for your waist.

“Never. You could never be, Hyune.”

Jisung, who loves you softly. 

You’d been best friends with Jisung since the beginning of high school, and dating since the end. He was your other half, someone who’d been with you since the start and who you knew would stay until the end. You were both fragile at times; him with his anxiety and you with your melancholia. There were days that were tough, times where you both needed endless support and validation just to make it to the end. Today, you lay in the bath, your body numb, head hurting. You weren’t in a good headspace, and Jisung knew this when he approached you gently.

“Do you want me to rub your shoulders, baby?” he’d asked softly, running the pad of his thumb across your eyes where the tears brimmed.

“Yes please,” you’d mumbled in response, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

Felix, who loves you warmly.

Felix would see the two of you in everything, from an old couple drinking tea to a pair of marshmallow keychains. He loved you more than he thought was possible, in ways that made his heart feel fit to bursting. It brought him a rush of excitement and joy, something he carried with him throughout the day. His favourite time with you was the mornings; the sunlight from the open window pouring into the room, casting a yellow glow. You always woke up before him, leg thrust across his, forehead pressed against his neck, pressing soft kisses to the warm skin.

“Morning, sweet girl,” he’d murmur, voice groggy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Dreamt of you” you’d reply chirpily, and he’d giggle. He hoisted your body off his, laying you on your back. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, his hands travelled to your waist, before he tickled the soft skin.

Seungmin, who loves you unconditionally.

It had not been an easy day for you. On top of your hormones, a full day at work and having not seen your boyfriend for a week while he’d been filming overseas, you’d just remembered you had an assignment due that evening at midnight. When Seungmin came through the door, eyes bright and smile wide, excited to see you, you threw yourself at him, bursting into tears. He pulled you in close and tight, letting you cry into his shoulder. He didn’t know what had happened, whether you were upset or angry or stressed, but he held you, because he didn’t mind. Your body relaxed against his a little, and you pulled away, eyes puffy.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m such a mess.”

“Don’t be,” he replied honestly, and kissed your cheek softly. “You breathed today. That’s enough to be proud of.”

Jeongin, who loves you sweetly. 

You and Jeongin’s love for fashion was what had sparked your relationship in the first place; you’d met him on Depop of all places, purchasing a leather jacket he didn’t wear enough. He’d asked for your Instagram so he could see pictures of you in ‘his baby’, and as a result, your crush had blossomed. Now, he didn’t have to sell you his clothes; they were in his wardrobe, free for you to grab whenever he wanted. And he encouraged it, because he loved seeing you in them. He’d also often buy pieces for you that he thought you’d like.

“I found this skirt in the vintage shop down the road,” he’d said, pulling out a plaid miniskirt. “It’s like the one I saw saved on your Pinterest board.”

“Baby, that is the one saved on my Pinterest board,” you’d gasped, staring at the skirt in shock. “It’s also Vivienne Westwood. I don’t even want to know how much it cost you.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” he replied plainly, smiling. “Go try it on. You’ll look adorable.”

[quarterlifekitty]

reader who doesn’t mind when the tf141 boys don’t shower cause they like the stink.

I’m sorry I’ll shut up now

Please never shut up. Say whatever you want forever.

cw: scent kink. Unsanitary. So nasty

I think Gaz has the highest standard of personal hygiene on the team (his beautiful skin doesn’t come for free), and his usual instinct is to shower. He’s the kind of person who can’t relax feeling gross. So while he loves you, man is probably gonna keep showering all the time. He does think it’s really funny when you ask if he’s showered yet and whine when he says yes.

Soap is one of those people who’s like “fuck the shower” every time he’s not in the shower but once he gets into the shower he’s like “fuck being out of the shower”. Anyways I personally believe he also has a major scent kink and he’s almost too comfortable being unwashed and sweaty, and he totally embraces you liking it. Always asking you if you wanna get a good whiff in before he showers after a workout. As long as you return the offer…

Ghost is one of those people who doesn’t shower sometimes just due to apathy, sometimes self-loathing, so he has a complicated relationship with your love of his stink. Honestly, you leaning into his side and just burying your nose in his skin like an addict is like his alarm of “I’ve taken this too far, I should probably shower”. World’s weirdest grounding technique.

Price is using that against you. You’ve given him a bargaining chip. So yeah, he’ll hold off on a shower, but you have to do something he likes in exchange…. Maybe you’ve gotta let him eat your ass (which you’re not usually a fan of) or let him have you collared in public (embarrassing).

König thinks it’s cute that you like his man smell. Honestly, any kind of fetish you have for something of his is cute to him. He just loves that there are things about him that you’re obsessed with, no matter how weird they are. God knows he’s obsessed with so many parts of you in a fetishistic way. Man is totally excited to come home unshowered, because he likes you clingy.

Nikolai views it as another avenue of devotion, of dependency. And like everything, he uses it to dominate you. It’s something that can be given in reward or withheld in punishment. He’ll call for you after he’s done a lot of work in the hanger or garage, anywhere that he’s currently practicing mechanics, and have you sit on his lap on the couch, face buried in his neck or his armpit while you give him a pussyjob. Lets you lick the sweat from his balls before he puts his cock down your throat. Who said that.

[ellieslittleslutt]

Brewed ❀

MEN AND MINORS DNI!!

pairings: barista!ellie x journalist!reader

the barista you visit every morning finally makes her move.

cw: none really reader is called pretty girl once and smoking? also swearing

a/n: AHHH I LOVE THIS. definitely writing a part two

wc- 1k

not proof read

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“have a nice day” she smiled at you. the kind of smile that just makes you melt. you smile back at her trying to ignore how your cheeks heat up “you too” you said turning around each step you melt further into the floor.

it was always her. that one independent cafe that charges $8 for a coffee, you thought it was worth it just to see her smile and say that line she was scripted into saying. every morning on your way to work you would stop by to order the same thing each morning, a hot latte to go with a small sandwich. on your days off you’d take the time to sit down and get some work done with your order.

this morning was no different. while you walked to work sipping on your coffee and taking a bite of your sandwich you noticed the cup had a message on it ‘you’re beautiful enjoy your coffee!!’. you couldn’t help but take a photo of it sending it to your friend lidia.

lils- get her number!

you- idek know her name how tf am i supposed to do that?

lils- she wears a name tag no? just go off that

you- pretty sure it’s fake

lils- how do you know?

you- just doesn’t fit her… whatever i’ll talk more when i get to work

when you got to work you sat down at your desk looking at the stories you have to research made but your boss. “seriously?” you mumbled to yourself as you looked at the long list when suddenly lidia pokes her head in “so cute barista?” she teased sitting next to you.

you sigh “yeah anyway think her name tag is fake it just doesn’t match her” you tell her sipping your coffee while starting your typing “well what does she look like?” she asks leaning against your desk. you think back to each time you saw her and every little detail of her “shoulder length auburn hair, always has it in a half up bun but sometimes a low bun which makes her look so pretty, pale green eyes and freckles”. lidia just chuckles “jesus you’re down bad huh?”

“shut up” you mumble your cheeks red as you hit the side of her arm and she laughs putting her hands up “what stating the facts we get paid for it” she smiles at you and back at the note on you’re cup “so think she likes you?”

“i don’t know maybe she just said that for tips? i used to do that” you shrug and you continue working on your computer “well you could just ask for her numberrr” she says again raising an eyebrow at you, rolling your eyes you go back to typing “like i said im not doing that… ill get her name first or whatever”

⋆｡˚𖦹

thay weekend you went on with your routine, heading to the cafe with your laptop and note pad to try and get some articles done so your boss gets off your ass. you sat down with your usual smiling at the barista when she walked by you.

you smile back at her then look at your coffee seeing another message written in it ‘you look like and angel’. your heart almost explode and you swear you almost passed out. you look back at her and she was leaning against the counter watching you with that smirk. god she was so hot. she gave you a wink before standing up going back to work.

⋆｡˚𖦹

over the course of the next two weeks ellie would leave little messages on your coffee cup or the paper bag of your sandwich. each time you took a picture getting all giggly and happy. you found yourself looking forward to it each morning.

one weekend you got up getting ready in your go to cold weather outfit. you had gotten your bag and keys going to the cafe with a smile. when you got there you saw ellie taking an order from some guy. you sat down opening your laptop and hopped to get a few articles written. with all the holidays this time around your boss had you working harder with more stories to write.

you stayed a few hours the barista serving you and you got your little message. this time while she was taking all the dishes she left a napkin with a proud smile. ‘my shift ends in a few minutes meet me outside ;)’ classic.

you quickly got all your things putting the napkin in your bag. you went outside to the front to see her sitting at a table on her phone smoking a cigarette. she looked up at you and smiled sitting up “hey” she said with a smile. her voice oh my lord you were dying.

“hi” you said nervously and sat down. you honestly had no clue what to do. your flirting game was abysmal. she offered you a cigarette and you took it taking a puff off it.

you both got to talking for a bit. she told you her name was ellie. it suit her really well. with her style and her eyes everything suit her. she told you that the cafe was only a small part time kid she took every morning and she really worked at the clinic in the afternoons. that explained why she was never there for lunch.

you told her you were a journalist and she tilted her head “no way who’s your boss?” she asked with a chuckle “maria miller you know her?” “yeah she’s my aunt” you chuckled looking at her “small world huh?” “more like town everyone knows each other here” she shrugged.”

when it got to around 1 pm ellie looked back at you “ah shit gotta head to the clinic.” she mumbled grabbing her bag “yeah it’s getting cold staying out here” you replied standing up too.

“i’ll give you my number pretty girl?” she asked with a smirk holding her phone. pretty girl? it niagara falls down there. you flushed bright red and smiled handing her your phone and she put in her number “well i would love to do this again? how about i take you out on a proper date? dinner maybe? can you do tomorrow 7pm?” all you could do was giggle and nod “yeah yeah i can make that” you reply still nervous.

“i’ll see you around” ellie says putting a hand on your arm before walking away.

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taglist: @autisticintr0vert @eveshyper @soodle-noup @puppywilliams

[chlerc]

nonchalant-chalant ; charles leclerc

— summary; everybody in high school always saw him as a cold, detached and nonchalant student. but they never knew he could be so ‘chalant’ to a specific person.

pairing — charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 5390.

content — 5 occasions the nonchalant guy of the whole high school turns out to be a very ‘chalant’ guy, you even left him in tears. he’s in soooo deeeepppp, like reallyyyy deep for you.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: we got artistic painter charles leclerc before gta VI oh my days??? all these are sitting in drafts rotting.

— I.

Charles had always been the quiet type. The kind of person who blended into the background without much effort, his presence in the room more like a shadow than a force. His cold, nonchalant demeanour kept most people at arm's length. He never spoke more than necessary, never engaged in the idle chatter that seemed to dominate the classroom before the teacher arrived. He was distant, detached, and entirely unreadable — yet there was something beneath that frosty exterior, a subtle warmth, like a fire hidden beneath a layer of ice.

No one really paid much attention to him, except for the girls who admired him from afar. He had a sort of natural appeal, with his sharp features and air of disinterest. But he never seemed to care, shrugging off the attention as easily as he shrugged off everything else. She thought he was just another aloof, handsome boy with nothing more to offer than a pretty face.

But what no one else knew — what she herself wouldn’t have suspected — was that Charles cared more than he let on. It was in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures he made. The way he would glance her way when he thought no one was looking. The way his cold eyes would soften, just a fraction, when she passed by. He had grown used to her presence, though they were in different classes, separated by the walls of the school, by desks and timetables. Yet, every day, his gaze would unconsciously drift towards the window, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of her in the classroom opposite his.

That was why he had changed seats. It wasn’t an easy task, especially since the seat he wanted was by the window, highly coveted by the students who enjoyed daydreaming during lessons. His classmate who currently occupied it had refused at first, until Charles, with his usual indifferent expression, pulled out a notebook and mentioned, almost too casually, that he could get him Kimi Raikkonen’s autograph.

“You can get me Kimi Raikkonen’s signature?” his classmate had asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Charles had merely nodded. He didn’t brag about his connections; it was beneath him. But for this, he was willing to play the card.

The deal was struck. Charles traded his own seat for the one by the window, a fact that quickly spread through the school. The rumour mill worked fast, and soon enough, people speculated that he’d done it to sit closer to Léa, the gorgeous girl who always seemed to be surrounded by admirers. She sat just two rows away, close enough that Charles could, in theory, exchange casual glances or whispered conversations with her during class.

That was, at least, what she thought when she heard about the seat change. She hadn’t paid much attention to Charles before — he was too quiet, too removed from the kind of people she usually spent time with. But when her friend mentioned his sudden change of seats, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rumours were true. It seemed so typical of boys like him, drawn to the prettiest girl in the class. Not that she blamed him — Léa was undeniably beautiful.

She didn’t expect to be dragged into the mystery herself. Not until the day he stopped her in the corridor, his expression as neutral as ever, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. “You’re coming with me,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “What?” She frowned, confused by his sudden approach. “Where?”

“Just follow me.” He didn’t wait for her to argue, already walking ahead, his long strides forcing her to catch up. She followed, her curiosity piqued despite herself. Charles led her through the school, down the hallways she knew so well, until they reached his classroom. The lesson had ended just moments before, and most of his classmates were still lingering, gathering their things. “Here,” he said, stopping in front of his desk — the one by the window. He motioned for her to sit down. She glanced at him suspiciously, then at the desk. “Why am I sitting here?”

“Just sit.” Reluctantly, she lowered herself into the chair, still unsure of his intentions. The classroom buzzed softly with the sounds of students talking, but Charles remained focused on her, his gaze unwavering. 

He gestured towards the window, and she followed his gaze, looking outside. It took a moment, but then she saw it — her own seat in her classroom, visible directly through the window. Her eyes widened as realisation dawned. “You... you can see my desk from here.” He nodded, his expression still unreadable. “That’s the point.”

“You changed seats... just so you could... look out the window and see my desk?” She felt a strange mix of confusion and something else, something warmer, though she couldn’t quite name it. He shrugged, his lips quirking up ever so slightly at the corners. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s a good seat.”

She scoffed, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Right. And I suppose the view of Léa is just an added bonus?” Charles gave her a look, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to say she was being ridiculous. “I couldn’t care less about Léa.”

“Really?” she teased, leaning back in the chair, folding her arms. “Because that’s what everyone thinks. I mean, why else would you bargain for this seat?” He didn’t answer at first, instead, he looked out the window, his gaze distant. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s not for her.”

There was a long pause as his words sank in. She glanced out the window again, her mind racing, trying to piece together the meaning behind his actions. Charles wasn’t one to express his feelings, that much was clear. But the fact that he’d gone out of his way — made a deal with someone, even used Kimi Raikkonen’s name — just to sit here, just to be able to see her... it said more than words ever could.

She turned back to him, her teasing smile replaced by something softer. “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be, are you?” His gaze flicked back to hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of vulnerability in those dark eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask of indifference. He smirked, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Don’t get used to it.” She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, Charles.”

“And yet, here we are.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly against the edge of the desk. Her smile grew, and she found herself looking at him in a new light. There was more to him than she’d ever realised — more than anyone realised. He might have been cold and distant to the world, but in small, unexpected ways, he showed that he cared.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “are you going to let me keep this seat, or do you want it back?” He looked at her for a moment, then out the window again. “You can have it. I’ve already seen what I needed to. So, will you stop ignoring me now?” She laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to catch him off guard. He watched her, his usual cool façade cracking just slightly, revealing something warmer beneath.

— II.

The moment Charles had heard that she was unwell, something in him shifted, though outwardly, his expression remained as neutral as ever. He had always prided himself on his self-control, on not being ruled by impulses or emotions. But this — this was different. There was an unspoken urgency in the way he grabbed his coat, barely remembering to lock his door before he left the house. In the quiet hum of the late afternoon, he made his way over to hers, his steps quick and purposeful.

He arrived at her front door, a bag of medicine in hand, and his usual calm, collected self barely masked the concern that churned underneath. When she opened the door, her face pale and her eyes heavy with the weight of sickness, he felt something tighten in his chest. Her usual spark was dimmed, and he hated seeing her like that — vulnerable and weary. But instead of showing any of this, Charles slipped into his familiar aloof demeanour, the one that gave away nothing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse but laced with curiosity. “I was passing by and remembered I had some extra medicine,” he replied, shrugging nonchalantly, holding up the bag. “Thought you might need it.” She raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe for support. “Right, you just happened to have extra medicine on you?” He gave a slight smirk, his lips barely curving upward. “What can I say? I’m a man of preparedness.”

“Sure, Charles Leclerc, always so practical. You’re telling me you carry around medicine for no reason?” she said, a teasing glint in her tired eyes, though her tone was soft. “I do,” he replied smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He made his way to the kitchen as though he’d done it a hundred times before, placing the bag on the counter. “The last time I was at the pharmacy, I bought extra. You know, just in case.”

As he busied himself unpacking the medicine, she leaned against the doorway, watching him with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. It was strange seeing him like this — so at ease in her space, acting as if taking care of her was second nature. “Charles, you’re a terrible liar,” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re telling me you just happened to have exactly what I need?” He glanced at her briefly, eyes cool and unreadable, before pulling out a bottle of cough syrup and setting it down. “Coincidence.”

“Mmm-hmm, and what about the receipt?” She stepped closer, her tiredness not dulling her wit. “Receipt?” His brows furrowed ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. She picked up the crumpled piece of paper that had fallen out of the bag, her eyes scanning it quickly. “It says here you bought all this... today.”

Charles froze for a brief moment, his eyes flicking to the receipt in her hand. He mentally cursed himself for being so careless, but instead of admitting to his obvious concern, he rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation. “Fine, you caught me,” he said, his tone dry. “I’m guilty of being considerate. Sue me.”

A small smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He shrugged, leaning against the counter, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Because then you’d make a big deal out of it, and we both know you’d never let me hear the end of it.” Her smile grew, though it was tempered by the weariness in her body. “You really think I’d make a big deal out of you caring?”

“You? Absolutely.” His voice was teasing, though there was a softness behind his words. She laughed lightly, though it quickly dissolved into a cough, and Charles’s expression tightened with concern, though he masked it quickly. He pushed himself off the counter, crossing the space between them in a few long strides. Gently, he took her arm and guided her towards the living room.

“Come on, you should be resting, not standing here making fun of me.” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Someone has to keep you humble,” she muttered, letting him lead her to the sofa, where she sank into the cushions with a sigh. He handed her a glass of water, watching her drink with a careful eye.

“And you do a terrible job at it,” he quipped, settling himself in the armchair across from her. “I’m as arrogant as ever.” She smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before reopening. “You’re not as cold as you think you are, Charles.” He looked at her for a long moment, his face unreadable, as if weighing her words. “I’m not cold. I just don’t waste time pretending to care about things that don’t matter.”

“But I matter, don’t I?” she asked, her voice soft but playful, pushing him just enough to see if he’d bite. Charles exhaled through his nose, glancing away for a brief second before meeting her gaze again. “You already know the answer to that.” Her smile widened just a little, and she leaned back into the cushions, her body relaxing as she finally allowed herself to rest. “You’re terrible at hiding it, you know.”

“Hiding what?” he asked, though there was no real challenge in his voice. “Caring. You act all cool and detached, but when it comes to the people you actually care about, you’re different.” Her eyes flickered to the medicine on the counter. “Like rushing over here with medicine the second you hear I’m sick.”

“Like I said, coincidence,” he deadpanned, though there was a faint warmth in his eyes. She rolled her eyes, a tired but amused look crossing her face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Charles.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill every space with words. Charles watched her as her breathing steadied, as the weariness in her frame seemed to ease slightly. He didn’t move from his spot, didn’t leave her side, though he could have easily brushed this whole thing off and gone home.

Instead, he stayed. Because despite his insistence that he didn’t care, that he was merely being practical, there was something deeper there — something that he could never quite admit, not even to himself. He might have been cold and nonchalant to the rest of the world, but with her, he was different. Even if he would never say it out loud.

“You’re staying, right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes already half-closed. Charles looked at her, his gaze softening just slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.” And with that, she smiled once more, a small, contented smile that lingered on her lips as she drifted off to sleep, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and the quiet realisation that he cared far more than he ever let on.

— III.

It was one of those sunny days where the excitement in the air was almost palpable, with an entire inter-class group from their highschool planning an outing to the amusement park. It was a mix of mutual friends between the two of them, some from her class, others from his, all eager to make the most of the day. The park was alive with the sound of laughter and the constant hum of rides whirring into motion. The scent of freshly spun candy floss and buttery popcorn drifted through the air as they wandered around, hopping from ride to ride.

Everything had been going smoothly until they reached the infamous roller coaster, a towering structure of sharp loops and steep drops that sent a shiver down her spine just by looking at it. The group gathered at the base, all eyes drawn upward to the intimidating metal tracks twisting in the sky above them. “Right, who’s in for this one?” someone from the group called out, already bouncing on their feet with anticipation.

Her stomach lurched at the sight, and she immediately stepped back, her hand gripping the strap of her bag. There was no way she was getting on that thing. Heights, sudden drops, and twists? Not her idea of fun. “I think I’ll, um… sit this one out,” she said, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the group.

Her declaration caused a ripple through the crowd. With her out, they now had an odd number of people. Several heads turned towards Charles, who had been standing a few steps behind her, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I’m not going either,” Charles suddenly spoke up, his voice steady but nonchalant.  The group turned to look at him in surprise. Charles, the guy who rarely backed down from anything, refusing a ride?

“Wait, what? You’re skipping the roller coaster too?” one of their mutual friends asked, confusion clear on his face. “You love this adrenaline stuff!” Charles gave a half-hearted shrug, his expression as indifferent as ever. “Yeah, well, doctor’s orders,” he replied lazily, eyes glancing upward toward the coaster as if it held no real interest for him. “Doctor’s orders?” She shot him a sceptical glance, folding her arms over her chest. “What are you on about?”

He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his gaze on the roller coaster in the distance. “Yeah, something about my equilibrium. Can’t do steep drops. Inner ear issue,” he said, the lie slipping off his tongue with the smoothness of a well-rehearsed excuse.

Their mutual friends exchanged incredulous looks, some rolling their eyes, already seeing through his flimsy excuse. “Really? Inner ear? Since when?” Charles didn’t flinch, only smirking slightly. “I don’t make the rules.” Her eyes narrowed, scrutinising him. She knew Charles well enough to know when he was bluffing. “So… you’re scared of the roller coaster?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

He turned his gaze to her then, his smirk widening slightly. “What do you think?” His tone was laced with sarcasm, the challenge clear in his eyes. “I think you’re only saying that because I’m not going,” she shot back, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re trying to make me feel better, aren’t you?”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I just didn’t want you sitting out here alone,” he said, his tone light but carrying a weight she wasn’t expecting. She raised an eyebrow, though amusement danced in her eyes. “How noble of you.”

The group began to filter into the roller coaster queue, their friends throwing playful jabs at Charles for his sudden ‘inner ear problem’ before disappearing into the line. Now, with just the two of them left standing by the entrance, she turned fully to face him, still smirking. “Seriously though,” she said after a pause, “you didn’t have to stay behind. You could’ve gone on with them.”

“I know,” he replied easily, not bothering to elaborate further. He kept his gaze ahead, seemingly indifferent to the ride and the group that was now filing away. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “When I’m not scared anymore, you’ll go on the roller coaster with me, right?”

Charles looked down at her then, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll ride it with you,” he said, his voice steady but genuine. “And what if I never get over it?” she asked with a playful challenge in her voice, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

Without hesitation, Charles replied, “Then I’ll never ride it either.” She blinked, taken aback by how easily he said it. For a moment, the usual banter between them faded, replaced by something quieter, something heavier. His words, though casual, held an unspoken promise. She felt a warmth spread through her chest but shook her head, smiling as she broke the tension.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, though the affection in her voice was hard to miss. He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “I’ve been called worse.” They stood there together, watching the roller coaster cars rattle along the tracks, the distant screams of their friends echoing in the background. She glanced up at him again, her earlier scepticism replaced by something softer, though she tried to mask it.

“Next time, maybe I'll surprise you and actually get on,” she mused, giving him a playful nudge. Charles looked down at her, a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” They spent the rest of the day together, watching from the sidelines as their friends braved the rides. And while she didn’t muster the courage for the roller coaster that day, the fact that Charles stayed behind with her — even with the worst excuse ever — was enough.

— IV.

The rain had started without warning, a sudden cascade from the grey sky that sent students scattering beneath doorways and trees, scrambling for cover. She, of course, hadn’t thought to bring her umbrella — she never did. With a resigned sigh, she tugged her school bag from her shoulder and lifted it over her head, preparing to dash through the downpour towards the bus stop. The idea of arriving home soaked wasn’t ideal, but at this point, it seemed inevitable.

Just as she took her first step into the rain, a voice called out behind her. “Hey! Are you seriously going to run through that?” She turned, her eyes narrowing against the droplets as Charles approached, completely at ease beneath the wide black umbrella in his hand. He didn’t seem in any particular hurry, strolling towards her with his usual composed stride. His face was impassive, as always, though there was the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What choice do I have?” she replied, her tone slightly defensive as she gestured to the pouring rain. “I don’t have an umbrella.” He raised an eyebrow, as if her lack of preparation was no surprise to him. “Clearly.” She rolled her eyes, about to turn away and continue her ill-fated sprint when he spoke again.

“Here,” he said, extending his free hand. She blinked, her gaze dropping to the transparent umbrella he held out to her. “You can use this one.” Her first instinct was to sigh with relief at the prospect of staying dry, but as she took the umbrella, something about it caught her eye. The familiar outline of a car, sleek and red, was painted onto the plastic surface, a near-perfect rendition of her favourite Ferrari. She frowned, her fingers brushing the artwork. “Where did you get this?”

“Found it,” he replied smoothly, his face a mask of indifference. “Someone must’ve left it behind.” She glanced up at him, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “Found it?” Charles nodded, his expression as calm and collected as ever. “Yeah, just lying around. Lucky, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching upward in disbelief. “It just so happens that someone left an umbrella with this exact painting on it? You expect me to believe that?”

His gaze didn’t waver, though she noticed the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Why not? Stranger things have happened.” She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her mouth. “Right, and it also just so happens that this is my favourite car, perfectly painted on this umbrella?”

“Coincidence,” he replied, deadpan. “Maybe the owner had good taste.” She laughed then, shaking her head at his stubborn insistence. “You painted this, didn’t you?” His expression didn’t change, though there was a slight twitch of his lips as he shrugged. “Like I said, I found it.”

She looked down at the umbrella again, running her fingers over the brushstrokes. Despite the rain pelting down around them, a warmth bloomed in her chest at the realisation of what he had done. He had painted this — for her — yet he wouldn’t admit it, wouldn’t take the credit.

She shook her head again, her smile widening as she glanced back up at him. “You know, you’re really bad at lying.” Charles raised an eyebrow, his tone still cool and even. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” she teased, stepping closer to him so she could peer into his eyes more closely. “You think I don’t know your handwriting by now? That’s your signature brushstroke on the headlights.” He remained resolute, though she noticed the faintest flush of pink creeping up his neck. “You’re imagining things.”

“Mmm, sure,” she hummed, spinning the umbrella around in her hands. “And I suppose if I were to ask Arthur about this later, he wouldn’t mention anything about you spending all afternoon painting it?” Charles finally cracked a grin, though he quickly masked it by looking away. “You really think Arthur pays attention to anything I do?”

She laughed again, her heart swelling with affection at his poorly hidden care. The rain continued to fall around them, but with the umbrella in her hand, she felt completely shielded, not just from the weather but from any of life’s unpredictable moments. That’s what Charles was like — stoic and nonchalant on the outside, but always ready to protect her in subtle ways.

“Well, thank you for finding this,” she said, her voice softening as she twirled the umbrella overhead. The painting glistened under the rain, every detail visible, every stroke done with a care that only someone who truly paid attention to her would know. “Like I said,” Charles replied, his tone still casual but his eyes warmer than before, “it’s just a coincidence.”

She chuckled again, shaking her head as they began walking towards the bus stop, her newly acquired umbrella held proudly above her head. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of rain tapping gently against the plastic surface. “So,” she said after a beat, casting him a sideways glance. “Are you going to paint all my future umbrellas too?” He shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “Depends. Are you going to keep forgetting to bring one?”

“Probably,” she admitted with a grin. “Then I guess I’ll have to,” he murmured, and though his voice was quiet, she could hear the smile in it. They continued walking, the rain falling steadily around them, but beneath her umbrella, the world felt warm, safe.

Charles’ quiet acts of care always managed to wrap around her in unexpected ways, and though he’d never admit to it, she knew the truth behind his gestures. And as they neared the bus stop, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, knowing that he’d always be there to offer her an umbrella — whether he ‘found’ it or not.

— V.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and quiet worry. Charles hadn’t even taken a moment to catch his breath as he sprinted through the long corridors, his trainers squeaking on the polished linoleum floor. The message from his parents had been cryptic at best, void of any real details — just that she had been rushed to hospital after an injury. His heart had been hammering in his chest since he’d received the news, and as he approached her room, his panic only grew. His cheeks were flushed, the cold sweat from his rushed journey still clinging to his skin, and his hair stuck messily to his forehead. 

He burst into the room, chest heaving, eyes wide and already glossy with unshed tears. His gaze immediately fell on her, propped up in bed with a slight smile tugging at her lips as she watched him stumble in, looking every bit as though the world had just collapsed on him. “Charles, what—” she began, but he cut her off, his voice choking with emotion as he stood at the foot of her bed.

“Don’t mind it, just a little cry...” His words came out in a strangled breath, a pitiful sound as his eyes darted across her body, searching for any sign of trauma. “They didn’t tell me what happened... I thought— I thought you—”

“Woah, woah,” she interrupted, raising an eyebrow at his distraught state. “Why are you acting like I died?” She looked at him in amusement, sitting comfortably under the pristine white hospital sheets, clearly not in as dire a state as he had imagined. But he couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that poured out of him, his words tripping over each other as he tried to explain. 

“The hospital— they didn’t clarify,” he stammered, his breath catching as he wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand. “They just said you were here, and I— I ran—” His words dissolved into hiccups, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to calm down. He sank heavily into the chair beside her bed, his shoulders slumping in relief now that he could see she was, at the very least, alive and not in any critical danger. His hand reached up to wipe his cheeks again, trying to steady himself, but the tears kept slipping through his fingers.

She giggled softly, watching him with a mixture of fondness and amusement. Leaning forward, she wiped a stray tear from his cheek with the pad of her thumb, her touch gentle and warm. “Stop laughing, you bully,” he muttered, his voice thick with embarrassment as he avoided her gaze. His eyes were still red-rimmed, his breathing uneven from the emotional onslaught. 

“I’m not,” she insisted, though the giggles continued to bubble up in her throat. She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re just really cute when you’re worried.” He shot her a half-hearted glare, still wiping away the evidence of his tears. “It’s not funny.” She chuckled again before settling back against the pillows, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the injury she was about to explain. “It’s just a ligament rupture, Charles. Nothing life-threatening. I was on a run, twisted my ankle the wrong way. That’s all.”

He blinked at her, trying to process the words, nodding absently as his hiccups continued to break up his breathing. “Ligament rupture?” She nodded, lifting her leg slightly to show him the bulky brace that now encased her knee. “Yeah, I’ll be fine in a few weeks. They’ve just got me in here for observation.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he took a long, shuddering breath, though his chest still hitched with residual hiccups. He turned his gaze to her leg, his expression softening now that he knew the injury wasn’t nearly as severe as his mind had conjured. “I thought it was something worse,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers fidgeted in his lap, twisting together as he continued to avoid her gaze. “I didn’t know what to think. I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t know what to do if it was—”

His voice trailed off, and for a moment, the weight of his fear hung between them, unspoken but palpable. She reached out and took his hand in hers, her fingers curling around his in a comforting gesture. “I’m fine, Charles. You don’t have to worry about me like that.” He swallowed, his gaze finally meeting hers. “I can’t help it.” She smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Well, now you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a small, shaky breath, his hiccups finally subsiding as he allowed himself to relax. She was right here, and she was okay. That was all that mattered. But as he sat there, still processing the flood of emotions that had overwhelmed him, he realised just how much she meant to him — how the mere thought of losing her had unravelled him so completely.

“Still,” she teased, her voice lightening the mood once more. “I can’t believe you ran all the way here crying like that.” He huffed, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. “I wasn’t crying that much.”

“Oh, you were, your hair’s all stuck to your head, and your face is as red as a tomato.” She said with a mischievous grin. “Stop it,” he groaned, covering his face with his hand in embarrassment. “You’re making it worse.” She giggled again, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. “I’m just saying, it’s kinda sweet. You care that much.” He peeked at her from between his fingers, his voice soft as he admitted, “Of course I do.”

There was a moment of quiet, a gentle understanding that passed between them. His hand still rested in hers, their fingers intertwined in a way that felt natural, like it had always been that way. “Thanks for coming,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now, a note of sincerity threading through her usual teasing tone.

“Always,” he replied, his eyes finally softening, though his cheeks still held a faint blush. He gave her hand a squeeze, feeling the weight of his worry lift now that she was here, with him, safe.

[lvnleah]

Infertility.

this is a heavy one so please be aware when reading!

find the series masterlist here!

March 2031 | 7 & 3 years old

You sat in the car, watching Finley race toward the school doors, his backpack bouncing with each step. He waved over his shoulder, a wide grin on his face, and your heart ached with love and the smallest hint of envy. Children were so blissfully unaware of the heaviness life could bring.

Ellie sat in the backseat, humming softly to herself, her small hands playing with the straps of her car seat. You looked at her and managed a smile, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

The last year had felt like a blur. You’d been trying for baby three for over a year now. Three rounds of IVF, each one chipping away at the optimism you’d once held so tightly. 

The first had been the hardest, ending in a miscarriage that shattered you and Leah. Watching her go through it had torn you apart. Leah, who had always been so strong, so calm, had crumbled under the weight of that loss. She was fragile now in ways you hadn’t seen before. You’d tried to be the strong one, the one who held everything together, but even you had your breaking points.

You remembered that first ultrasound, the moment the doctor had shown you the tiny flicker of a heartbeat on the screen. The sound of it brought tears to your eyes. It felt like the beginning of something beautiful—a new chapter in your lives, the expansion of your family. 

But then, things started to change.

You could still recall the exact moment it all fell apart. Leah had been about six weeks along when she started spotting. At first, the doctor had reassured you that it could be normal, but deep down, you both knew. Leah had felt it before the words were spoken, and so had you.

That night was etched into your memory in painful detail. You were sitting on the couch, trying to distract yourselves with some mindless show, pretending everything was fine. But Leah had suddenly gone quiet, her hand pressing to her stomach, her face pale. You had looked at her, your heart dropping into your stomach as she quietly said, "I think something’s wrong."

The panic that gripped you at that moment was something you would never forget. You’d driven to the hospital in silence, the tension in the air suffocating. Leah had clutched your hand the entire time, her grip so tight it hurt, but you hadn’t said a word. There was nothing you could say. Nothing that would make any of it better.

The hospital room had been cold, and sterile. The ultrasound machine had beeped softly, and the nurse had been kind, but her face had given it away before she even spoke. There was no heartbeat. The little flicker that had once brought you so much joy was gone. The silence of that room had been deafening.

You could still hear Leah’s sobs echoing in your mind. She had broken down in your arms, her body trembling with the weight of the loss. You had held her as tightly as you could, your own heart breaking as you whispered that it wasn’t her fault, that she hadn’t done anything wrong. But deep down, you knew the words wouldn’t help. Nothing could help.

The days that followed had been a blur of pain and numbness. Leah had retreated into herself, her usual joy replaced with a sadness you couldn’t reach. She’d spent hours in bed, barely speaking, barely eating. You’d tried to stay strong for her, to hold everything together for Finley and Ellie, but there had been moments where you’d had to hide in the bathroom just to let yourself cry.

Watching her go through it had torn you apart. Leah, who had always been so strong, so hopeful, had crumbled under the weight of that loss. And you? You had tried to be the strong one, but even you had your breaking points. There had been nights when you lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’d ever feel whole again. 

The miscarriage had changed everything. It had shifted something fundamental between you and Leah. Where there had once been easy affection and laughter, there was now an undercurrent of grief and fear. Every conversation felt heavy, every glance filled with unspoken sadness. You both wanted so desperately to move forward, but it was like the loss had created an invisible wall between you, a barrier neither of you knew how to break through.

A few months later, you had IVF again but that was an unsuccessful transfer. That had broken Leah too, she was convinced it worked. You had another break before trying again only for it to turn out the same way as before. 

Sometimes you wondered if you were supposed to have another baby.

Sometimes you wondered if your family was supposed to be just you, Leah, Finley and Dllie. 

The sound of Ellie’s laughter snapped you back to the present. You turned to look at her, her little face lit up as she watched her show. She was so full of life, so unaware of the weight you carried. You wished, just for a moment, that you could be as carefree as she was. That you could let go of the grief and fear that clung to you like a shadow.

But as much as you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of that night in the hospital. You couldn’t forget the way Leah had looked at you, her eyes filled with such raw pain, asking you for something you couldn’t give—a reason, an explanation for why this had happened to you.

And now, as you sat in the car, on the cusp of finding out whether this latest round of IVF had worked, you couldn’t help but feel that same fear creeping in again. What if it didn’t work? What if you lost this baby too? Could you and Leah survive it?

This was your last chance. The final transfer. The thought had been on repeat in your mind ever since the embryo was placed inside Leah two weeks ago. You’d told yourselves that this would be it—one way or another, this was your last try. If it didn’t work, you’d be done. No more treatments. No more tests. No more hopes shattered by stark white lines on a pregnancy test. 

But could you really be done? Could you live with that? You weren’t sure. 

The two-week wait had been torture. Every passing day felt like an eternity, every symptom or lack of symptom throwing you into a pit of overanalysis. Was Leah tired because she was pregnant? Was she nauseous, or was it just nerves? You tried not to let it consume you, but it was impossible. The weight of not knowing was crushing. Leah had refused to take a test early, terrified of another disappointment, and though you understood, it only made the waiting worse.

You pulled into the driveway, unbuckling Ellie from her seat. She scrambled out, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest, and you followed her inside, your mind still preoccupied. Leah hadn’t come downstairs for breakfast, and that gnawing feeling in your gut told you something was wrong.

"Mummy’s going to check on Mumma quickly," you told Ellie softly, setting her up on the couch with a show. She didn’t question it, used to the unspoken tension that had become part of your household over the past year. 

You climbed the stairs slowly, your heart pounding as you neared the bedroom. When you reached the door, you paused, hearing a faint noise from the bathroom. A knot of dread tightened in your stomach as you opened the door just a crack.

There was Leah, hunched over the toilet, her face pale, her body trembling.

"Le?" Your voice was barely a whisper as you knelt beside her, rubbing a gentle hand on her back. She didn’t respond right away, just leaned back against the wall, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she murmured, her voice small and fragile. "I feel awful, but I’m scared. I can’t take the test yet. What if it’s negative again?"

"I know you’re scared, I’m scared too, Le," you said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "It wouldn’t harm though would it?”

Leah’s eyes, wide with anxiety, searched yours. You could see the war going on inside her—the part of her that desperately wanted to believe it was possible, and the part of her that was too terrified to hope. 

“I can’t… I don’t know if I can handle another disappointment,” she whispered, her voice shaking. "If it’s negative, I don’t know what I’ll do. I want this baby so badly, pretty girl.”

Your heart clenched. You hated that this process had broken her down like this, turning her into someone so fearful, so full of doubt. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the trembling out of your voice. "Le, we need to know. No matter what, we’ll get through it together, but we can’t keep waiting like this. Let’s just… let’s just do it. Get it out of the way.”

Leah hesitated, biting her lip as tears welled up in her eyes. You held her gaze, willing her to see that you were right here with her, that you’d be there no matter what the outcome was.

Finally, she nodded, her body shaking as she stood up. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it almost broke your heart.

The pregnancy tests were still on the bathroom counter, untouched from the previous round of IVF. Leah reached for one, her hands trembling, and disappeared into the bathroom. You stood there, your stomach a mess of nerves, your thoughts racing. What if it was negative? What if this was the end? You tried to prepare yourself for it, tried to shield your heart, but it was impossible.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the door, counting the minutes. Each second felt like a lifetime. You heard Leah moving behind the door but couldn’t bring yourself to ask if it was done yet. Fear had settled in your chest.

Finally, the door creaked open. Leah stepped out, her eyes wide, the test clutched tightly in her hand. 

You stood, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it. "Well?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

Leah looked down at the test, her hand shaking. For a moment, you thought she might not say anything at all. Then, finally, she met your eyes. 

"It’s positive," she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. 

You blinked, unable to process the words. Positive. Positive? You stared at her, at the test in her hand, as if you needed to see it for yourself to believe it. 

"It’s positive," Leah repeated, this time her voice breaking, and you saw the tears spill over, cascading down her cheeks.

For a moment, you were both frozen, the reality of it not quite sinking in. After everything—after all the heartbreak, the pain, the fear—this was happening. 

You ran over to her side, wrapping your arms around Leah, holding her tightly, feeling her shake in your arms as both of you broke down in tears. "Oh my God," you whispered into her hair, your voice breaking. "It’s happening. Baby number three… it’s really happening."

Leah sobbed into your shoulder, her body trembling as relief, joy, and fear all collided at once. "I didn’t think it would work," she whispered. "I didn’t think we’d ever get here."

"I know," you said, pulling back to look into her tear-filled eyes. "But we did. We’re here. You did it."

There was still fear lingering in both of you—fear that something could go wrong, fear that this might not last. But for now, just for this moment, you let yourselves feel the joy, the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time was different. 

Baby number three was on the way.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered, placing a long kiss on her lips, “Baby number three is on the way…”

Leah leaned into the kiss, her breath still shaky but full of relief. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. "After everything... I didn’t think it was possible."

You brushed away her tears, feeling your own welling up again. “I know. But it is. We’re really going to have another bubba.”

For a long moment, you stood there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past year beginning to lift ever so slightly. There was still so much ahead of you, so many unknowns, but in that moment, you let yourself believe that this time, things might be okay.

A soft knock on the door interrupted the moment, and you heard Ellie’s voice from the other side. “Mummy? Mumma? I come in?”

Leah wiped her eyes quickly, sharing a knowing look with you. “Yeah, bubba, come in.”

Ellie pushed open the door, her stuffed bunny in tow, looking up at you both with wide, curious eyes. “Why are ‘ou crying?”

Leah crouched down, smiling through her tears as she opened her arms to your daughter. “They’re happy tears, baby girl. Mumma’s just really, really happy right now.”

Ellie scrunched her nose, clearly not understanding but accepting it anyway as she wrapped her little arms around Leah’s neck. “Okay, Mumma.”

Leah held her close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of the old Leah—the one who smiled easily, who loved with all her heart. The joy in her eyes, however fragile, was a sight you had missed more than you could put into words.

You weren’t naive; you knew there were still hurdles to overcome, and the journey was far from over. But for now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to fall into place.

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you being bullied in the past/highschool

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

tw: this one holds a lot of mentions of verbal bullying and cyberbullying - it's something very close to home for me and this fic will be for anyone who has experienced the same thing. remember that you are strong and the harsh words don't define you! i love you and stay safe <33

he can feel his blood boiling the moment you comment on your past experiences with bullies. seungcheol prides himself to be a level-headed type of guy, but the thought of you getting hurt - even in the past - strikes a chord deep inside of him. he's thinking about buying a plane ticket to your hometown just to find those fuckers and bury them six feet under. however, he's mature enough to know that violence never solves anything, opting to show you even more love than before (if that's even possible) to remind you that you are worth everything in the world.

jeonghan's mind is already whirring overtime the moment he finds out about your past. using his scary, evil, mastermind brain for good this time, he can't help but envision decking the people who've hurt you. doesn't mind listening to you as you rant, knowing that you need a silent supporter by your side. will never tell you about how he sees red just thinking about your so-called "friends" who made you feel so horrible about yourself.

joshua can feel his heart crack with each name you tell him you've been called. takes the time to reassure you that you are none of those horrible things, that you're kind and beautiful and so so so smart. traces his finger across every scar and imperfection you've been bullied over, whispering how much he loves you. doesn't mind giving your bullies the nastiest side-eye the next time he sees them.

although he's doing his best to be present as you tell him about your past, jun is internally screaming at himself because you. are. crying. it's like he malfunctions every time it happens, hating how sad and scared you look. despite his panic, he's awfully calm when he comforts you, explaining to you that no, you are not weak because of this. in fact, you're much much stronger.

soonyoung's somehow found himself perched on top of a chair, his body steaming with anger, holding too much rage to sit still. you can tell he's struggling to hold back the foulest curse words, knowing that he should at least let you finish your rant. the moment you're done however, he's cursing them, their mother, their partner, anyone he can get his metaphorical hands on. it's okay baby. he'd tell you once he's calmed down. they're probably failing in life. but look at you! you're successful and beautiful and you're dating me!

wonwoo's asking you questions in a way that makes you fear for what he's about to do. what's their address? social media? social security number? you have to physically sit him down and remind him that the bullying happened years ago in highschool and that there was no point in trying to get revenge now. he's visibly deflated by the news, but decides to just dote on you even more to prove to you that their awful words were wrong. i'm no good with words, but i'll show you how fucking stupid they were to hurt you.

jihoon doesn't really know what to say when you tell him. he only thanks you for feeling brave enough to share such a painful part of you with him, feeling happy you trust him enough to do so. neither one of you revisits the topic: until one day, you see a suspicious amount of rageful revenge lyrics and comfort lyrics in seventeen's new releases. i guess we can credit the making of Hug to that instance.

minghao's glad he meditated last night because what you just told him would have definitely set him off without it. he doesn't hesitate to hold you, asking you if you need anything from him. i'm so proud of you for surviving all that, my love. they were obviously blind and didn't see your worth. and i'm sorry you thought they were your friends. he makes it clear that he's here for you, whenever you need to talk about it again.

seokmin more than upset when you're finished telling him everything- he's confused. he doesn't understand why anyone would want to hurt you, let alone say all those nasty things and pretend to be your friend. he apologizes for crying, trying to laugh it off by saying idk why i'm crying so hard, it didn't even happen to me but i'm the one sobbing like a baby. promises you that he's never leaving your side and you don't have to ever worry about him turning on you like your friends did in highschool.

all mingyu can think about as he listens is that he could have made it all better if he had just been there. he tells you while gently wiping away your tears that he would've traded places with you in an instant. i wish we'd met when we were younger, love. i would have fought them all back. but most of all, he wishes he was there to protect the younger you, knowing a child didn't deserve all that.

although you're doing a great job already, seungkwan can't help but join in on dissing your bullies and so-called "friends." he nods along enthusiastically every time you throw an insult, preferring always to laugh about it instead of cry. he's hyping you up, agreeing with everything you say as you recount your highschool days. yeah, no she sounds like a bitch. i bet he couldn't even read a chapter book. bro probably stank, you were safer without him. she's sounding like one of those insane kdrama rich ladies - and not the hot ones.

vernon's quietly listening, storing away every single piece of information for the next time you guys return to your hometown. he's already preparing his plethora of insults and backhanded digs, ready to show them a taste of their own medicine. he quietly tells you that he can relate - school had never been kind to him either - and he somehow spins all your shared trauma into something beautiful. we were meant to be, he says, cause you healed me, and now i can heal you. his words make you smile through the tears - and you fucking love him for that.

chan's at a loss for words once you're finished telling him everything. he's overwhelmed by the sheer amount of harsh words and sickening moments, knowing that if he felt this bad just hearing about it, he couldn't imagine how you felt going through it all. you're much braver than i would have been, is all he says after a pause. i love you. chan might be a man of few words, but he knows just what to say.

[childrenofcain-if]

That scenario with D and MC having an argument while being long distance has me thinking how it'd go for them to spend time together at the farm? Especially for a spoiled MC who has never done any farm work 🤣

What would D's reaction be while they're complaining that there's dirt on their hands and their $1000 branded shoes, almost having a stroke when they step into fresh cow shit. I do think at the end my MC would try to adjust and even try to bond with the farm animals because they love D too much to do otherwise

the diaconu’s farmhouse looked like something out of a postcard, except for the way the air smelled—earthy and alive, undercut with the tang of manure.

it was sprawled out across rolling fields of tall grass, speckled with wildflowers, and the old oak trees loomed like sentinels guarding the quiet. the house itself had been scrubbed clean of its former dilapidation—new paint on the weathered boards, the wraparound porch gleaming like something out of a country living magazine. it was picturesque, serene, but utterly foreign to you.

and while it was all beautiful, sure, you couldn’t stop glaring at your brand new louboutins.

“oh my god, do you know how much these cost?” you said for what felt like the hundredth time, holding up one leg to inspect the damage. the soles were caked with mud, the once-pristine leather now streaked with grime. “this is disgusting. why would you bring me here? why did i let you bring me here?”

D laughed, the sound as bright as sunlight off metal. “you could’ve worn boots like i told you to.”

“boots wouldn’t have helped,” you muttered, pulling at a loose clump of dirt. “this whole place is a death trap for footwear.”

D, who was busy tying a tarp over a stack of hay bales, grinned at you over their shoulder. their gunmetal gray eyes twinkled and their brown hair caught the light just so. they looked unfairly gorgeous for someone who’d spent the last half-hour shoveling hay. “you’ll survive, city slicker.”

“i’m not a city slicker,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“oh yeah, sweet cheeks? when’s the last time you touched dirt on purpose?”

you opened your mouth to argue, but then there was a squelch.

D froze, looking down at their boot, which was firmly planted in a pile of fresh cow manure. you froze too, horrified on their behalf, until D burst into laughter.

“oh my god,” you said, positively freaking out. “oh my god. i think i’m going to die. get me out of here!”

“it’s just cow shit,” D said, still laughing as they scraped their boot against a patch of grass. “relax.”

“relax?” you said, incredulous. “that’s easy for you to say. you’re used to this. i’m an innocent witness. a victim.”

D shook their head, their smile as unbothered as the wind brushing through the fields. “you’ve never been funnier, you know that?”

“is that a real chicken?!”

***

the first few days were hard.

you complained constantly—about the bugs, the heat, the chores that D somehow convinced you to help with.

milking a cow turned out to be more terrifying than you’d anticipated, and the chickens seemed to have a personal vendetta against you.

you refused to wear anything other than your designer clothes, which only made everything worse, and every time you got dirt under your nails, you threatened to call an uber back to civilization.

D, for their part, took it all in stride. they teased you mercilessly but never in a way that felt mean.

when you were the one who accidentally stepped in cow shit the first time and started screaming loud enough for people to hear you in the nearby city, they laughed so hard they had to sit down, but later, they cleaned your shoes without you even asking.

“this place is cursed,” you said one evening, collapsing onto the porch swing after a particularly grueling day. your arms ached, your hair was a mess, and there was a smudge of grease on your jeans.

D sat down beside you, their face glowing with the kind of happiness that only came from being somewhere you truly belonged.

“it’s not cursed,” they said, leaning back and looking out at the horizon. “you’re just not used to it yet.”

“that’s an understatement, rook. i grew up in air-conditioned luxury. i’m not built for this life.”

they laughed again, soft and affectionate. “maybe not, but you’re doing better than i thought you would.”

you shot them a skeptical look. “that’s not exactly a compliment.”

“it is when you think about how pampered you are.”

“excuse me?”

“i mean it in the nicest way,” they said, holding up their hands in mock surrender. “you’re trying. that’s what matters.”

you wanted to argue, but the sincerity in their voice stopped you. instead, you muttered, “i’m only trying because i love you.”

D’s smile was so wide it felt like it could split the sky. “i love you too, my gorgeous city slicker.”

***

as the days went on, you found yourself adjusting in ways you hadn’t expected.

you stopped flinching at the sight of dirt, started remembering to wear the boots D bought for you instead of your ruined designer shoes. you even began to enjoy some of the chores—not because they were fun, but because they made D happy, and seeing D happy made everything else worth it.

you bonded with the animals, too, though it took time. the cows were less terrifying when you realized how gentle they could be, and the chickens stopped pecking at you quite so viciously.

one particularly stubborn goat, marcus, became your unlikely favorite, and D teased you endlessly about how you’d started sneaking it extra treats.

“see?” they said one afternoon, watching as you scratched the goat’s ears. “told you you’d come around.”

“don’t get cocky,” you replied, but there was no real bite to your words.

but as much as you still grumbled and complained, there was something magnetic about D’s ease. the way they moved through this place—like the land and the air knew them—made you feel like an outsider in the best way.

you followed them around reluctantly, watching as they worked with a kind of practiced motions, securing gates, checking on animals, tinkering with an old pickup truck parked under a tree.

it was easy to forget, sometimes, that they’d lived a whole life before you. that this farmhouse and these fields had been theirs long before san francisco, long before yale.

they’d told you about it before—about summers spent baling hay and feeding chickens, about the farmhands who taught them to swear in three different languages—but the reality of it hit different.

***

D watched you from a distance one day as you were petting one of the fluffy, brown highland cows, their hands busy under the hood of the pickup truck but their eyes constantly flickering to where you stood.

they weren’t sure what they’d expected when they brought you here for the summer—maybe for you to complain the whole time, maybe for you to hate it—but seeing you with the cows, with dirt on your hands and dirty boots, felt like something they hadn’t let themself hope for.

when they glanced at the flatbed of the truck, their gaze landed on the pair of gloves you’d both left there earlier. their gloves, worn and patched in places, were next to yours, which were new but now had slight smudges of mud. something about the sight made D pause.

this place had always been a piece of them, something they couldn’t forget no matter how far away they moved. but seeing you here, trying despite yourself, made it feel like something new. like it wasn’t just theirs anymore.

you glanced up, catching their eye. “what?” you asked, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

D shook their head, their smile softening. “nothing. this summer has just been full of surprises.”

you walked over, brushing a stray piece of hay off your sweater. “well, don’t get used to it. this is a one-time thing.”

“sure it is,” D said, their smile widening.

the sun was starting to set, casting the fields in gold and pink. you sat beside D on the edge of the flatbed, watching as the cows wandered back toward the barn.

“this place is beautiful,” you said finally, your voice softer than before.

D nodded, their gaze fixed on the horizon. “yeah. it really is.”

you hesitated, then reached out, your hand brushing against theirs. “i can see the appeal now. at least a little.”

D turned to look at you, their expression unreadable but warm. “thanks for being here with me.”

“thanks for not laughing at me when i screamed about the dirt during the first day here,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

“i mean, i definitely laughed,” D said, their grin breaking through. “but i’ll pretend i didn’t, for your sake.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that broke through your lips.

***

for D, this really was a dream.

they told you about it during your last night together at the farmhouse as you sat on the porch, watching the fireflies dance in the twilight. the air was warm and sweet, and for once, you weren’t thinking about the dirt under your nails or the soreness in your muscles.

“i used to think about this place all the time,” they said, their voice quiet. “when i was a kid, it was like... like magic. i loved it so much. i never wanted to leave.”

“and now?” you asked, leaning against their shoulder.

“now it’s even better,” they said, turning their gray gaze towards you. “because you’re here.”

you looked at them, startled by the honesty in their tone. “even though i’m a spoiled brat sometimes who whines about everything?”

D laughed, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “even then. especially then.”

[alexanderwales]

I love writing, but it's so difficult to talk about sometimes. All the joy that I feel at writing cannot be condensed down into a short summary, it takes knowledge of the piece of writing.

So I sit here like an idiot trying to express "I had a problem with the flow and transition between these two chapters, but I found a way to solve it that makes it seem like a natural connection, ends on one of those cliffhangers people inexplicably like, and that allows me some additional foreshadowing of things that won't happen for ten more chapters".

And yeah, that's understandable, but it's understandable at a remove, it doesn't capture the thing that I found fun or beautiful. It's like trying to describe a photograph you took to someone, obviously you want to just show the photograph.

I had this problem with programming too, all the neat and interesting things were utterly opaque and could not translate, and it felt impossible to share what was awesome about what I had done.

I think the one form that maybe allows some actual discussion is an annotated version of a book with all kinds of digressions and alternate samples, director's cut kinds of things, but those are ultra niche, stuff for the megafan, and I cannot imagine that it would ever be worthwhile to produce such a thing rather than moving on to the next project.

[hrrtshape]

⋆ ৎ AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER. // p. 2

(modern-ish) coriolanus snow x fem!reader

SUMMARY : what happens when just a measly encounter turns to you overthinking the future. part 1 . . . here!

He had never truly disliked her—not in the visceral way that made you want to slam someone’s lunch tray onto the floor or spread ridiculous rumours about them. No, his feelings were never quite that straightforward. It wasn’t that he wanted her to cry; he just liked the way her eyes flashed when he got under her skin, the way her attention—bright and crackling like a live wire—latched onto him.

Coriolanus Snow, sprawled like a prince in exile on his bed, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, stared at the ceiling as though it owed him answers. His phone lay neglected beside him, a dimly glowing reminder of the real world outside his spiralling thoughts. Things were getting…strange. That much was certain.

Really, if he thought about it (and, unfortunately, he was thinking about it), this was her fault. She had started it, way back in fourth grade when life was simpler, messier, and measured in playground insults. She’d call him a dummy; he’d retaliate with “prissy.” She’d snatch his glasses right off his face, and he’d retaliate by whispering to their teacher that she needed calculators because, apparently, her brain wasn’t fit for basic sums. Fourth grade nonsense. Childish warfare.

But even then, she’d always been…impossible to ignore.

And now? Well, now she wasn’t just the loud, bossy girl from fourth grade. She was—God, this was so annoying—beautiful. And not just the kind of beautiful that boys write on their desks about, though she had that too. No, she was the kind of beautiful that made you want to punch something, or maybe plant flowers in her name. She walked through the world like the universe had trimmed itself around her edges, leaving only the best sunlight and soft breezes in her wake.

Hot. Yes, that was easier to think about. She was hot. Not some poetic muse nonsense. Just hot.

And smart. Too smart for her own good, honestly.

Coriolanus caught himself scowling, remembering her Paris obsession. Pinterest boards of cobblestone streets and croissant-toting girls in berets. She didn’t even like biology, but she’d sit there, sighing over café photos like the heroine of some tragic indie film. It used to make him roll his eyes. Now? Now it made him wonder.

Would she go there? Paris? She seemed the type. He could picture it—her sitting at some café table, looking ridiculously out of place and perfectly at home all at once. Would she even think of him then?

Probably not.

And what about after school? Boston was out—Harvard was too far. Yale? Maybe. Still too far. And yet, Paris wasn’t? He frowned harder at the thought. Why the hell am I thinking about this? he scolded himself, shaking his head as though it might rattle loose the ridiculous notions.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t him.

Their relationship had always been this peculiar, ever-shifting mess of insults and glances and—lately—accidental touches. She wasn’t naïve, but she was so hopelessly romantic it made his jaw clench. And her laugh—God help him—it was like she knew when he was trying to ignore her and turned the volume up on purpose.

“She's so stupid,” he used to say to his friends, as if repeating it might make it true. And yet, lately, it had morphed into something else entirely. “Okay. But, only I get to insult her,” he’d say in that aloof tone of his when anyone else dared.

And then there was that—the library incident. The moment that had upended the delicate balance of their dynamic. It was burned into his memory with all the subtlety of a brand.

He should’ve walked away. That’s what any sensible version of himself would’ve done. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his strong suit. And why should it be? He barely cared about most people.

But it was her.

And somehow, her had become an entirely different problem.

Coriolanus pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as though he could scrub her out of his brain, but it was no use. She was everywhere. In the cracks of his thoughts, slipping through the spaces like light through a poorly drawn curtain.

The library.

The library incident. God, what a disaster. It had lodged itself in his memory like a shard of glass he couldn’t pull out, catching the light at the worst times.

It had started innocuously enough—quiet footsteps echoing between the bookshelves, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. He hadn’t even planned to be there that day, let alone stumble across her. She’d been sitting against the bookshelf in one of the narrow aisles, head bowed over her arms, looking so unlike herself it had stopped him cold.

For a moment, he’d just stood there, the usual sharp quips at the ready, tongue poised to deliver some sardonic jab. But then she’d moved—just slightly—and he’d caught the tremor in her shoulders.

She was crying.

He could have turned around. Should have. Walked out the way he came, pretended he hadn’t seen anything. That would’ve been the smart move, the Coriolanus Snow move. Instead, he found himself stepping closer, his heart doing this odd, stumbling thing he didn’t quite recognise. Instead he got her a whoopie pie from the vending machine and came back to her. Why did he always come back to her?

“What’s wrong?” The words left his mouth before he could think better of them, softer than he’d intended, tinged with something dangerously close to concern.

She hadn’t answered at first, just buried her face deeper into her arms. It made something in his chest ache—not like sympathy, no, but something sharper. A frustration he couldn’t name.

“Sweet girl,” he said next, and the words felt foreign on his tongue, too intimate, too exposed. But they spilled out anyway, unbidden. “What’s wrong? What can I do to make it better?”

Sweet girl. He’d never called her that before, not even in the privacy of his own mind. And yet, in that moment, it felt natural, like it had been waiting for the right crack in his armour to slip through.

She looked up then, her eyes glassy and wide, her lips trembling like she was on the verge of saying something and didn’t know how. For once, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He reached out, hesitated, sat down, and then let his palm rest gently on her back—awkward, unsure, but steady.

He remembered thinking how small she felt under his touch, how fragile. It was infuriating. She wasn’t supposed to be fragile. She was supposed to be the girl who rolled her eyes at him, who called him a know-it-all, who made him feel like the ground wasn’t quite as solid beneath his feet.

The memory haunted him later, alone in his room, the dark pressing in like a physical weight. He replayed it over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every awkward movement of his hand. Why had he stayed? Why had he called her sweet girl? Why had he cared so much that she was crying?

He didn’t want to care. Caring was messy, and it led to places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

And yet, he found himself wondering what the future would look like. Would she remember that moment in the library, years from now? Would it mean anything to her, or would it fade into the background noise of her life?

He hated the thought of being background noise.

What would happen when they graduated? When they were no longer shoved into the same rooms by circumstance and geography? Would they drift apart, like so many people did, their sharp words and lingering touches fading into memory?

The idea made his chest tighten.

And what if—God, he hated himself for even thinking it—what if she met someone else? Someone who didn’t tease her the way he did, who didn’t know how she scrunched her nose when she was concentrating or how she chewed on her pen when she was lost in thought? Someone who didn’t call her sweet girl.

He clenched his jaw at the thought, a sharp, bitter ache twisting in his gut.

It was stupid. All of it. She was stupid. And yet, in the quiet of his room, with no one to see, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her hair caught the light. The sound of her laugh. The weight of her eyes on him, even when they were glaring.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it. But he knew one thing for certain: whatever this was, it wasn’t going away.

And sure, Snow always landed on top—that was the unspoken rule, wasn’t it? A promise carved into the marrow of his bones, whispered into the cradle of his childhood. But even as he sat there, staring at the ceiling like it might yield some answer, an unwelcome thought burrowed its way into his mind.

Would she be there to see it?

It was ridiculous, of course. Self-indulgent and sentimental and everything he hated about people who didn’t think five steps ahead. But still, the idea stuck. What was the point of rising, of clawing his way to the apex of everything, if she wasn’t there to witness it?

He wanted her to see him—not in the way everyone else would. Not as Coriolanus Snow, the golden boy, the untouchable genius, the inevitable victor. He wanted her to see him. The cracks in the armour, the spaces where ambition bled into longing.

He wanted her to see him win.

Because greatness wasn’t a question for him—it was a given. It would come naturally, because he was a Snow, and Snows always found a way. They didn’t flinch, they didn’t falter, and they never, ever settled for second place.

But weirdly, inexplicably, he wanted her there for the climb. To see every step of it, to feel it in the same way he did—the hunger, the drive, the relentless pull toward the top. He wanted her to watch him conquer the world and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it had all been inevitable.

Except, the more he thought about it, the more he realised it wasn’t just about her watching.

He wanted her there.

Not as an audience, not as some distant admirer clapping politely from the sidelines. He wanted her beside him, her sharp tongue and her soft laugh, her maddening contradictions. He wanted her to be part of the story, woven into the rise.

Because what was the point of being on top, if she wasn’t there to share the view?

[emchante]

you asked for content to wake up to (which i am more than happy to oblige to bc insomnia is going hard today) so here’s the first of my few thoughts!!

i’m literally picturing reader and divorced dad! daniel when they first got together, kind of on a similar wavelength of the first lil drabble with you two on the couch, but this time it’s daniel who wants to take care of you! so he’s all gentle caresses and touches and whispering to you while he takes his time familiarizing himself with you and the places that you love the most 🫠

(definitely like soft words/whispers as he does, “show me how you like it, love” and “you’re doing so good, you look so pretty for me”)

-🧡

HI HELLO 🧡 NONNIE!! i’ve been waiting til i was feeling better to have a look into my inbox, and i absolutely adore this!! would love for you to give me ur thoughts forever because<3 they’re always so good<3

18+ content, praise kink, light body worship, soft dom! daniel, breast play, thigh play(?)/worship, divorced dad! daniel

when you and daniel start to have more meaningful sex, daniel makes sure he gets to know you as well as he can. he wants to know what you like and what makes you feel good, so he can oblige and send you to cloud nine.

he has you under him on his bed, his legs at either side of you as he kisses your neck slowly, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin. the feel of him, along with his grown-out facial hair is delightful against you.

he takes it as a good sign when your hand comes up to his messy curls, threading your fingers through them as you push him further into your neck, guiding him to your sweet spots. he happily gives them attention, nipping against them to leave a mark, as if to leave a trace of where he’s been.

he pulls back after a little while though, licking his soft lips as he stares down at you. you look beautiful, flushed cheeks with a slightly dazed expression, only from kisses to your neck.

“tell me, sweetheart,” he starts quietly, moving his large hand up to your face. he smiles when your face moves into his hand, nuzzling into his palm. “tell me what you like, or even better— show me.”

you flush darker at his words, a little embarrassed. not of daniel or what he asked, but.. it just felt new. no guy you had been with before had asked anything like this, only went straight into what they assumed you liked. that’s the thing with daniel, though. he doesn’t assume.

so, you do as daniel asks. you show him what you like.

you guide his large hands to your chest, moving his thumb to rub across your hardened nipples. you make him squeeze his hands, loving the way it feels when his rough palms and finger-pads wrap around you.

daniel takes it upon himself to lean down, kissing your chest softly. he takes your nipple into his mouth, slowly running his tongue along it before slowly pulling back, stretching the skin slightly before it’s out of his mouth.

the moans that escape you are heavenly to daniel. “so good, sweetheart, doing amazing f’me. where to next? let me make you feel good,” he whispers, moving to place a soft kiss on your lips before he sits back, obediently waiting on your directions.

next, you guide him down to your thighs. you push his head into the inside of them, giving him the hint. and then daniel works his magic.

he’s kissing the soft skin of your thighs over and over, moving to cover all surface area of the thigh. he even rubs his beard against it, testing the waters. he revels in the moan you let out at the feeling of it, and continues on his merry way. he makes sure your thigh is covered with kisses before he moves onto the other, giving it the same treatment.

when he’s done so, he moves his large hands onto either one of your thighs, pushing them together around his head. you sharply gasp at his movements, but the feeling of him between them, the warmth it gives you, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs around him— and that’s exactly what daniel wanted.

he holds them against his face for a few moments, nose bumping against your clothed pussy which sends shocks throughout your body. when he lets your thighs go and pulls out to see you, your cheeks go warm at the sight of him.

now daniel is the one with flushed cheeks, his curls are even messier and he has a massive grin on his face. “good girl. i’m glad you’re being honest and showing me,” he praises softly, leaning in for another kiss on the lips. his hands trail up your body as he does so, lingering on your hips to give them a soft squeeze, before they continue to move up. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart. your body is perfect, i can’t keep myself away.”

you try to hide your face as he speaks, the praise continuing to fluster you. but daniel doesn’t let you, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, making you look at him.

“don’t you hide that pretty face from me,” he mumbles lowly, licking his lips as his eyes scan your face, trailing down and taking in your whole body. “i’m serious. i’d stay here and worship you all night if i could,” he tells you, and you know it’s the truth. daniel isn’t a liar, and the sincere look in his eyes speak volumes.

“now come on, sweetheart. show me how you want your cunt taken. do you want my lips, or my cock? you know i’d give you both.”

[babyflorencee]

Stockholm Syndrome

Part two: The room

Links: Part three | MASTERLIST

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

I woke up with a sharp gasp, the kind that shatters the quiet stillness of sleep and drags you back to reality with a violent force. My body jolted, in a cold sweat as I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat. My body trembling as though I'd just been pulled from the deepest part of some waking nightmare. For a split second, I thought I was still dreaming—still trapped in the suffocating fog of that nightmare that I really didn't want to remember. My eyes shot open, and everything felt wrong—too dark, too quiet, too still.

But the air didn't feel like the dream. It was thick, like something heavy had settled in the room and refused to leave. I could taste it—a strange mix of mildew and damp earth. The stench of decay, not fresh, but old. Old things, abandoned things. I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind, but nothing felt right. My hands were cold. Too cold.

I tried to move, but my wrists were caught. I was chained—strapped to the bed frame by heavy, rusted links of metal.

The realization hit like a freight train, slamming into my chest, pushing the air from my lungs in one sickening rush. I gasped again, this time not in fear, but in that awful, hollow ache that comes from the knowledge of being utterly defensless, powerless. The chains clinked when I yanked at them, the sound sharp and grating against the silence of the room. The room.

The room.

But it didn't feel like a room. Not really. It felt more like a cage. Like I was a prisoner.

I forced my eyes to open, and what I saw made my skin crawl. It wasn't just the chains—though they were the most immediate, glaring reminder of my new reality—but it was everything around me. The walls were cracked and uneven, like they'd been forgotten by time, layered with peeling, dark blue paint that clung to the surfaces in ragged strips. There were no windows, not a single crack or sliver of light from the outside world. Just darkness, wrapped tightly around me like a shroud.

A weak, flickering light bulb hung from the ceiling by a frayed wire, casting shadows that seemed to move, bending and stretching unnaturally in the corners. The air was stale, like it hadn't been disturbed in years, and I could feel the dust coating my skin, sticking to the sweat that had gathered there in the panic of my awakening. The mattress beneath me was thin, worn, and sagging in places where it had been used one too many times, a pale beige color stained dark at the edges, like something had soaked into it. The sheets were nothing more than ragged, faded strips of blue and white fabric, tattered at the edges like they'd been torn off something once beautiful and now broken.

This wasn't a dream. This was real. This was my reality now.

For a moment, my mind wandered, trying to piece things together, trying to find a logical reason, some explanation for why I was here—some way to undo what had already been done. But the harder I thought, the more everything seemed to blur. I could barely remember the last few hours, let alone how I got here. Or why I was there.

I had been walking, right? No, I had been running. Running from something, No... from someone. Him. The alleyway. His voice. The rag. My vision began to spin, and my head throbbed, an awful reminder that I was still dizzy from whatever had been used to knock me unconscious.

The bedframe creaked beneath me as I struggled to sit up, the chains pulling taut, scraping against the rusty metal with a sickening screech. My body was shaking—an involuntary response to fear, to the overwhelming weight of what I now understood. I had been taken. No. I had been claimed.

I tugged at the chains again, my heart pounding, my skin slick with sweat, but the rusted metal didn't give.

I was trapped.

I screamed. The sound echoed, but it felt wrong. The walls seemed to swallow it, to pull the words from my mouth and twist them until they were almost unrecognizable. I screamed again, louder this time, the sound desperate, but it felt... empty. Almost hollow.

No one was going to come to my rescue.

I knew that now. I just knew it.

The darkness pressed in tighter, suffocating me, and I tried to breathe, but the air felt thicker now. Why had I done this to myself? Why had I taken that shortcut? Why did this have to happen to me?

"Help me!" I screamed. A high, desperate sound that felt wrong in my throat. It bounced off the walls and echoed back at me, almost...taunting me. But no one answered. No one came.

"Help," I gasped, but this time the word scraped across my throat like broken glass. "Please. Somebody... help me. Please." I didn't know who I was screaming for. But I didn't care. I just needed someone. Anyone.

But the silence that followed was worse than the darkness itself. The longer I sat there, chained to this filthy bed, the more the weight of everything crushed me. The more my mind twisted, and I began to doubt my own reality. Was I even real? Was this even real? Or was I still in the alley? Was I still in my apartment gasping, desperately for air, still losing myself to whatever it was that had taken me? 

I closed my eyes, my thoughts racing, my pulse screaming in my ears.

And then I heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from somewhere upstairs. They didn't sound like someone in a hurry. They sounded like someone who had all the time in the world. Someone who didn't care about the screams of a girl chained to a bed in a forgotten room.

I froze, and my heartbeat became louder, as the footsteps grew quicker. Louder. He was coming.

I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to face him again. I wasn't ready to see him.

But I didn't have a choice.

The door creaked open, and my stomach dropped. I didn't need to be able to see to know it was him. I could feel it—his presence. A cold, suffocating presence that filled the space like smoke.

"Stop," he said, his voice low, muffled by the thick air between us. He stood in the doorway, barely more than a silhouette at first, but as he walked closer to me, I could make out the shape of him—tall, broad-shouldered, the outline of his face hard and unreadable. His green eyes, though, they were the worst part. Dark. Cold. Watchful. Like he was studying me, examining me, as if I were nothing more but a game to him. A sick, twisted game.

I froze, my chest tight, my mouth dry.

"Stop making noise," he added, his tone almost casual, as though he were speaking to someone who should know better.

I had never wanted to scream louder in my life.

I jerked against the chains again, this time pulling at them with an anger I hadn't known I was even capable of. "Let me out of here! Let me go!"

"You're making noise." His voice had that edge to it, as though my panic was an inconvenience. "I thought I told you to stop making noise. To be silent."

He didn't move. He just watched me, the look in his eyes unreadable, like a puzzle I couldn't quite figure out. And maybe I didn't want to. No. I know I didn't want to.

I choked back a sob, as tears streamed down my face. 

"You're really making this harder than it needs to be," he said with a sigh, almost as though he were disappointed in me. He kept walking towards me until he reached the foot of the bed, the sound of his boots dragging on the floor like a slow death march made my heart beat quicker, louder. His face came into full view—rough, handsome in a way that made my skin crawl. His lips twitched, as though he were considering something.

He took a few steps closer, and for the briefest moment, I thought he might reach out, touch me, maybe even comfort me in some sick, twisted way. But I could see it in his eyes before he even moved—he didn't want to comfort me. He wanted to control me. To break me down, piece by piece until there was nothing left.

"Please, just let me go," I begged, my voice breaking under the weight of my words. "Please... I'll do anything. I won't tell anyone, I swear to god. Just let me go."

He crouched down beside the bed, his gaze never leaving mine. "You don't understand, do you?" His voice was calm now, too calm, like he was speaking to a child who couldn't grasp the simple truths. "You're here because you belong here. This is where you're supposed to be. This is where I want you to be."

I recoiled at the words, the coldness in his voice seeping into my bones like poison. The room—the cage—was closing in around me.

"No. Please. I'm not supposed to be here. I don't belong here. Please..."

He walked to the side of the bed, hovering over me, before his hand shot out with shocking speed, gripping my chin, forcing my head to tilt up. To look in his eyes. I could smell him now—sharp, clean, like he was wearing an expensive cologne. He was too close, too real, and I wanted to scream again, but my throat was too tight.

His grip tightened, not enough to leave a mark, just enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who was in control. 

"You'll understand," he said, voice low and cold, "soon enough."

But I didn't want to understand. I didn't want to learn.

But deep down, I knew that I had to. 

And that scared me more than anything.

I thrashed against the chains again, the metal scraping against the bed frame, desperately. "Let me go!" I cried, my voice broken with fear. "Please... please, just let me go!"

I tried to pull my legs beneath me, to push myself up, but the chains were too strong, too tight. I could barely move. I was trapped.

He didn't move at first. His gaze softened, but it was the kind of softness that made me want to scream even louder, because I knew it wasn't because he cared. It was just the way he liked to pretend. As if he could make it look like he was trying to comfort me, when he in reality he was just savoring the fear in my eyes.

His eyes moved over me with an almost clinical detachment, as though I was something he was observing.

"Shh," he said, loosening his grip on my chin as he stood up. His boots dragging along the floor, the sound loud in the heavy silence. "Please, don't make this worse than it has to be." 

"Worse?" I could barely get the words out through my sobs. "Worse? What the hell are you going to do me? What do you want from me?"

His lips twisted into something almost like a smile. But it wasn't warm. It wasn't comforting. It wasn't friendly. It was almost as if my suffering amused him. And it probably—definitely— did.

"You're still upset, I see," he said, sitting down beside me. I could smell the metallic tang of sweat on him. 

"No..." I whispered through a trembling breath. "Please just get away from me." My voice cracked, and the sound of my own desperation only made the tears fall harder. 

 He leaned down closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm doing this for you, sweetheart. You're here because I need you here. You're not gonna understand it right now, but you will. You will, soon enough. I promise. You're mine now, whether you like It or not... it's true. I won't let anyone take you away from me. You belong to me now."

The way he said it made my skin crawl. There was no care in his voice—only something cold and insistent, like a force of nature that couldn't be stopped.

I pulled against the chains, my body trembling. "No, no, please. I'm not—"

"Don't make me tell you again," he said, his voice low, the anger now barely controlled. His hand shot out, gripping my chin with a force that made me flinch. He tilted my head to the side, his eyes piercing into mine, his breath hot against my skin.

"Don't make me hurt you, y/n," he said, my name falling from his lips like a curse. "Please. I don't want to hurt you. Don't make me hurt you," He cooed.

His tone terrified me more than anything else. He was pretending. Pretending to care when he was the one who'd put me here. He didn't care about me. He couldn't.

"Please," I whispered, my body shaking, my heart hammering in my chest. "Please... I don't want to be here. I just want to go home. I just want to be free."

But he didn't listen. Not that I really expected him to anyway.

"Home?" His lips curled into a tight smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "This is home now, sweetheart. This is where you'll be. With me."

I recoiled at the word, like it was a knife scraping against my soul. His grip on my chin tightened slightly, just enough to hurt, just enough to remind me that he was in charge. That I was his.

One of his hands reached up to my cheek, gently caressing it before brushing my hair away from my face, his breath hot against my ear. "You're not going anywhere. Not without me at least." He leaned in, pressing a small, possessive kiss to my cheek. Causing disgust to take over.

I turned my head away from him, wishing that my hands were free so I could shove him as far away from me as possible. And then—without warning—his face darkened, the mask slipping, and all at once, his anger snapped. All of a sudden I felt a sharp pain hit my cheek as I looked up, realizing that he had hit me.

"Goddamn it! I didn't want to hurt you but you left me no choice. You need to learn to stop fighting me!"

He stood up quickly, grabbing my arms, pinning me against the bed with a violence that stole my breath away. The chains rattled violently, and I gasped for air, my body shaking, my heart slamming against my ribs.

"I told you, don't make this worse. You'll learn to stop fighting me. You'll learn your place." His voice was like thunder now, loud and heavy.

I tried to fight him, to move but his grip on me was unrelenting. He shoved me harder against the bed frame, causing me to wince in pain.

The coldness in his eyes—the disinterest, the calculation—was the final thing that broke me. The quiet rage in him was worse than anything I could've imagined. It wasn't anger—it was possession.

And then, in that moment, I understood. He was right. I didn't get it. But I would.

I would learn. I would learn what he wanted from me. What he needed. And somehow, I feared that I would learn to need him too. To want him in ways I that I shouldn't.

And that thought, more than anything, terrified me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears falling faster now, each one heavier than the last. What had I done?

What had I become?

[actuallysaiyan]

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day(Tomura Shigaraki/Tenko Shimura Christmas Fic)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, angst, fluff, Christmas imagery, mentions of passed trauma, love word count: 3.3k a/n: for @jellyfishsart!! Merry Christmas! Here is my gift to you for the @pixelcafe-network 's Secret Santa exchange! Hope you enjoy!! All pictures in the moodboard(except for smiling Tenko) are from Pinterest, I do not own any of these photos. dividers by @adornedwithlight

Tomura hadn’t really had what someone would call a traditional Christmas since he was a kid. Remembering the holidays he spent with his family hurt too much to think about. And while Kurogiri had done a decent job at giving him something to look forward to when he began to take care of Shigaraki. But nothing was really the same.

Not until he met you. You were this beautiful angel who came into his life. After the final battle, he never thought he’d get another chance at life. With All For One gone and the rest of the League disbanded, Tomura was beginning to feel at ease. Even though there was some lingering pain that would probably last for some time, he found his solace in you.

When he said he hadn’t really experienced a Christmas since he was child, this is when you began to plan. You told him that he could come with you to your parents house. He felt a little nervous about meeting your parents. Especially since he felt like he would be intruding on such a tradition.

“It’s okay, my love. I want you to be with me...”

Your words reassured him, of course, but it was still frightening in a way. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he finally met your family. He was so worried that they’d shun him and hate him for all the atrocities he committed not so long ago.

But with gentle coaxing from you, he packs his bags and pledges to spend time with you and yours during the festive season. Tomura is very nervous, but when you kiss his cheek and hold his hand, he knows he’s able to do so much more than he previously thought.

You two take the train to your hometown. The view is beautiful with the softest amount of snow falling. Tomura feels like he’s living his life anew. It’s like he’s getting this second chance to view everything through a new lens. And he knows that he will make the very best of it.

When you arrive in your hometown, you two make your way to your childhood home. He knows your parents are aware of who he is and what he is, and this makes him even more nervous. Parts of him wished they didn’t know anything about him, but you reassured him multiple times that everything would be okay.

Your mother is sweet and your father is supportive and kind. Both of them are very willing to welcome him into the family. It’s all so much for him, but Tomura does his best to put on a happy face and go along with it. Your father offers to bring your bags up to your childhood room while you two go mingle with your mother.

She has a lot of questions for the both of you. Something about her demeanor and her looks remind Tomura of his own mother. He’s trying not to cry, and you’re so quick to catch on with what’s going on. When your mother offers to prepare a snack, you tell her that you want to show Tomura around the home you grew up in.

You two climb the stairs to the second floor. As your father passes you, he gives you both a warm smile. It’s unlike how it felt to be around All For One or even his own father who was scolding him often. Tomura likens it to the warmth that Kurogiri used to show him. While that should comfort him, it only makes him feel like he’s spiraling even more.

So you guide him into your childhood bedroom. He looks around in awe. Finally, he gets a glimpse at your room. There’s a soft laugh that comes from him when he sees the All Might posters on your walls.

“You’re not the only one who was a fan,” you explain.

Finally, you help him sit on the bed. He looks exhausted. You give him a little kiss on the cheek, running your fingers through his hair. Tears cascade down his cheeks as he tries to calm himself, but it’s all so much to take in.

“Take it easy, my love. Don’t worry about not feeling yourself. It’s a lot to take in and I am forever grateful you agreed to this. But you are allowed to feel your emotions.”

Tomura lets your words sink in. It was true, he was allowed to feel his feelings. You were so good at helping him with these types of issues. He’s gone to many therapists and is taking so many medications to finally be able to have this relationship with you. You, the one person who finally gave him the attention and love he needed and he was fucking it all up.

When you kiss his cheek again, he finally remembers to breathe. He looks around your room once more, smiling to himself at the cute posters of pop idols amongst the All Might ones. The blankets on your bed are so soft and warm. You help tuck him in.

“Sleep now, my love. You’ve had a long day.”

And with that, Tomura falls asleep. He’s tucked safely in your comfortable blankets. He’s surrounded by soft fairy lights. Everything about this feels so magical. It’s helping him calm down.

You stay with him for a little while, making sure he’s feeling okay. And when he begins to doze off, this is when you decide to head back downstairs to talk to your parents. You know that Tomura needs a little time to adjust. You don’t mind, not one bit.

When he wakes up, he’s alone in your room. He groggily gets up, rubbing his eyes. Then he slips on the slippers that were left for him and he goes downstairs. He finds you with your mother at the dining table, organizing Christmas cards that need to be sent out. Your father is watching some old sappy movie on the couch. Tomura smiles shyly and he approaches you. Your mother smiles up at him,

“Tenko dear, are you hungry?” She asks, getting up.

“Oh uhm…yeah I could eat.”

She’s gentle with him, guiding him to sit next to you. Then she’s rustling up something in the kitchen. You reach over and give his hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that it’s okay. It’s not long before a steaming bowl of soup is placed in front of him. 

“Dig in, dear.”

Tomura feels like he’s in heaven. He begins to eat the soup and he listens to you and your mother chat about the people who still live in the neighbourhood. He’s not sure about these people but he’s happy to listen in anyway. You often take a second to explain to him who the people are in relation to your family.

For the first time, Tomura actually feels like he’s a part of this family. This feeling sticks with him even after he finishes the soup. He helps your mom with the dishes and he’s happy to spend time on the couch with all of you as you watch the rest of the sappy movie.

Once snuggled up in bed with you again, Tomura vows to make sure that this Christmas will be one to remember forever.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day is filled with a bit of hustle and bustle as he follows you into the town you grew up in for some last minute Christmas shopping. The two of you feel like little kids as you look at all the toys and new things that have come out just for this season.

There’s a bit of snow falling all around you. He loves the way you keep leaning against him for warmth when you go from store to store. It makes him feel so lucky to have such a wonderful lover who wants to be near him.

If this experience has shown him anything, it’s that he feels so loved when he’s with you. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world and he’s going to cherish this feeling forever.

Despite all the hardships and the atrocities he’s committed, Tomura realizes that he really has been given another chance at becoming a person. There is no more All For One. No more League of Villains(though he will admit that he misses his friends). There’s just you and him and your family and this Christmas right now.

“Come see!” You tug on his hand, pulling him towards a very decorated kiosk.

In the center of it is a bearded man. He dons a red suit and there’s a sack full of candy canes on the ground next to him. His laugh is very jolly. In a way, it almost reminds Tomura of All Might’s laugh. This warms his heart as you two approach.

“Have you ever taken a picture with Santa?” You ask him.

He shakes his head. “Nah. not that I can recall.”

You walk up to the kiosk and you ask to have your pictures taken. Tomura is laughing a little. How could you possibly want to do this right now? But it is part of the traditional Christmas events.

So you two get on Santa’s lap, making silly faces and doing poses. The man playing Santa is a good sport about everything. He asks you both what you want for Christmas, and Tomura says he wants to be happy. This stuns Santa, but he’s quick to recover and tells Tomura to be a good boy. Tomura smirks and then he lets out a laugh.

This is the photo you two select. The candid one with a smile on Tomura’s face. It’s the perfect picture to encapsulate just how beautiful he can be. 

You two rush home with your bags in hand. Tomura feels lighter as he looks up at all the beautiful decorations. There’s loads of decorations decorating the surrounding areas. The lights are so gorgeous as they catch your eye. You look so breathtaking like this. Your cheeks are flushed from the cold weather and running back to your home with all the bags in your hands.

Once back inside the comfort of your parents’ home, Tomura helps you bring the packages inside. You two make yourselves comfortable on the living room floor as you wrap gifts and listen to comfortable and quiet christmas music. It’s one of the most magical moments in his life.

The way you look when you’re wrapping gifts and fighting with the tape or trying to find the scissors. It makes Tomura laugh so much. You love seeing him so happy and opening up. It’s so adorable to see him in this way. He’s so beautiful, but to see his smile and hear his laughter just seems to boost his beauty even more.

When your parents get home from their own shopping, Tomura shows your mother the picture you two took with the Santa at the kiosk. She’s overjoyed at the sight.

“How adorable! Oh I need to frame this!” She coos, taking the picture in her hands.

It’s not long before the photo is in a frame and it’s on the wall next to childhood photos of you and your graduation photo. Tomura looks at it, noticing the way his whole body feels warm. He realizes that maybe this is what it means to be a part of a family. A real family.

That night, he snuggles up close to you. He begins to think about how much this trip has meant to him. The hiccups at the start were just what he needed to kickstart him into relaxing and accepting that he can be happy with you. He holds you close, pressing his face into your hair and taking deep inhales of your scent to comfort him even more.

He vows to himself to make sure the rest of the holiday is the best you could ever ask for. Though he may be nervous to meet more of your family and he may feel sad or upset, he knows he’s going to make sure you’re feeling very special.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The twenty-fourth comes by quickly. You and Tomura are feeling very excited about everything. He feels a bit more childlike than he anticipated. And he spends the day with you, meeting some of your aunts and uncles and cousins.

Your younger cousins really like Tomura. They think he’s really cool. He’s not afraid to pull out his handheld gaming console and play games with them. Your aunts and uncles have a lot of questions about him. His cheeks burn when they ask if you two have any plans to get married and have kids.

“Not yet, but I don’t think it’s out of the question.” You answer with a wink towards your lover.

Though the questions are harmless, they really embarrass him. He hopes that they won’t pry too much. He spends a lot of his time trying to entertain the kids. Then it’s time for the feast.

On the table are a few buckets of fried chicken, along with some American sides from the fried chicken place. Your mom talks about how she spent a lot of time on the phone with the place earlier in the year just to get this reservation. 

With everyone at the table eating and chatting, Tomura takes the chance to reach under the table and give your hand a squeeze. You smile at him, your heart filling with so much love for the man next to you.

After dessert, everyone begins to open gifts. Tomura realizes just how happy everyone is to receive anything. They all feel loved and appreciated, which really makes him realize how little people need to make them feel happy. When your mom gives him a gift and he opens it to find a very warm pair of gloves, he begins to tear up.

He knows that you’ve told your parents almost everything about him. They accepted him no matter what. But for her to give him such a sweet gift. His hands…oh how they’ve been such a source of heartache and sorrow for him. She saw right passed that and noticed that he just needed them to be warm during winter.

“T-thank you so much,” he says, sniffling softly.

You pull him in for a hug, and your mom gives him a kiss on the cheek. The rest of the gift giving goes well. Your younger cousins have so much fun with their toys. You enjoy your gifts, playing on a similar system as Tomura’s.

It’s not long before everyone is going to bed and you eagerly lead him up to your bedroom.

You turn on the TV, letting something play in the background before you finally push him onto the bed. He laughs softly when you get on his lap, wrapping his arms around you. It’s been a while since the two of you were really intimate and he’s feeling the neediness.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear before kissing you. “Thank you for showing me such a magical time.”

You smile sweetly and cup his cheeks, “I’d do anything for you, Tenko.”

He leans closer, rubbing your back softly. It’s a very tender moment right now. You can feel his warm breath on your lips before he kisses you eagerly. With his hands on your body, you feel warm and safe.

His tongue slowly pushes between your lips, meeting yours in a sensual touch. You can’t help the moan that escapes you when you two begin to make out. Tomura grunts as he feels his cock beginning to harden in his pants.

His hands are so soft and warm on your body as he slides his hand up your oversized sweatshirt. He chuckles against your lips when he finds your nipples already pebbled. Gently, he begins to tug on them. This makes you buck your hips involuntarily.

“That eager for me, huh?” He asks, his voice a little raspy.

You nod, “Been too long, Tenko. Need you.”

He helps you out of your shirt, throwing it on the ground. His mouth is on your neck as he guides you to begin rubbing against his thigh. Though he may not have the same muscle mass as he used to, he knows you can still get off by riding his thigh.

You let out the cutest little mewls of pleasure as he sucks on your nipples. You keep grinding your clit against his leg, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter. It just feels so damn good like this. It’s only you and him and the magic of the season.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against your chest. 

“Love you too.”

He helps you onto the bed, laying you down on your back. This is when you look up at him and he knows you are the one for him. You’re his angel, his everything. You are the one who knows him the best, the one who truly has never given up on him.

Within a split second, the two of you begin to undress each other with haste. He feels so needy for you now. His cock slips between your folds, and he’s so eager to tease you. It makes you let out the cutest noises, which only makes him throb against you.

“Tell me you want me,” he says in a desperate tone.

“I need you…”

That’s all Tenko needs to hear to finally push into you. You let out a gasp, and he quiets you with a passionate kiss. The minute he bottoms out, he takes a second to give you time to adjust. You two share sweet little kisses and he gives you words of praise.

“You take me so good, sweetheart. I’ll never get tired of the way you make me feel,” he confesses.

“You make me feel so good too, Tenko.”

With gentleness and tenderness, Tenko begins to thrust his hips. He feels like he’s falling in love with you all over again. You cling to him like he’s your lifeline. It’s such a good feeling to be wanted like this. You make him feel like he’s worth so much.

Soft pants of pleasure and moans of desire fall from your lips as Tenko keeps hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to pump into you a little faster and deeper. He’s struggling to hold on, but he wants to see you come undone so badly.

Slowly his hand goes down your body, caressing your side before he begins to rub your clit. He watches your face contort in pleasure, and he begins to slam into you faster and deeper and harder.

“Cum for me,” he grunts. “Please, I want you to cum for me.”

You arch your back as the pleasure hits you hard. You hardly realize you’re making a big mess on the bed. All you can think about is how good this feels and how connected you feel to him right now. Tenko moans your name as he falls off the edge, painting your insides white.

Bit by bit, you two come down from your high. Tenko leans his forehead against yours, smiling like an idiot in love. He kisses you deeply, brushing some hair out of your face.

“I love you so much…merry christmas, baby.”

You smile, “Merry christmas, Tenko. I love you too.”

He helps you get off the bed and the two of you clean up. Then you’re changing the sheets, getting ready to snuggle back into the warmth of the covers. He holds you against his chest, skin to skin. Tenko presses little kisses to the top of your head.

“Did you have a good holiday?” He asks.

You smile and nod. “The best. I can’t wait for next year, so we can make it even more special.”

With those magical thoughts in mind, the two of you fall asleep together…

[liesinmyeyes]

hey, so I'm a new pagan witch and one who has barely practiced anything yet/ has only like 10 pages filled in their book of shadows

i am seeking advice on what to do with myself and my craft and practices, or just hoping someone has felt/currently feels the same way I do because I'm the only pagan witch I know irl and have no one to tell this to.

practicing witchcraft makes me anxious? I haven't really done anything aside from wearing crystal necklaces and sleeping with an amethyst below my pillow, but i'm lowkey afraid to do much more than that because whenever I do research across the internet (don't worry, I don't only take one pinterest source at face value, I make sure to look at other sources on the internet and always check with multiple witchy forums/threads or just simply history sources if the practice is closed/appropriated or should be done as a beginner) - but here is my issue. There's soooo many sources on the internet that tell you so many differing opinions. Some sources will say "NO WAY DON'T EVER DO THAT" while others will go "it's okay and totally safe". I haven't ever read a book abt witchcraft because I know how much TERF-y and culturally appropriate-y agendas they have and the amount of misinformation in a lot of them. I almost got radicalized once before and I told myself "never again", so i'm too afraid to pick up a book half the witches praise for being so good and accurate and half condemn for including TERF bs. I know I should form my own opinions on magic(k) and how I percieve witchcraft but i just get this BOUT of anxiety whenever I see a post anywhere on the internet saying "DONT EVER DO THAT AS A WITCH" or something along those lines... i can never tell what's just gatekeepy fear-mongering and what's an actual closed/dangerous practice anymore and it makes me too afraid to pursue anything because I fear bad things happening to me more than anything. I think it's a side effect of my neurodivergent self wanting to be told exactly what I can and can't do (considering my ethnic identity) and how and when to do it, what moral code to abide by, which is a tough ask in something like witchcraft.

i often feel swayed and get these bouts of guilt for NOT being christian. I grew up areligious in a very christian country with an added sprinkle of shaming people for being religious (which i dont agree with obvs). When I was agnostic and not giving any thought to religion at all, it was fine and dandy. But now that I identify myself as a pagan who worships the greek gods, I often feel, idk, ashamed of it? I'm friends with some very devout christian gals and whenever they talk about going to church or getting their sins forgiven I just feel so guilty and kind of like I'm sinning myself. I feel like I shouldn't be believing in the Gods and should be christian instead, even though SO many of my world views don't align with christianity's teachings and frankly, I don't want to be christian? I want the Gods to be real and I want to worship them. But I often doubt my faith in them and feel the guilt of not being christian like everyone else in my country. Is this a faith issue? On some days I won't doubt the Gods existing at all and feel all happy and uplifted and sure in my faith and on other days I'll be sitting around all day, questioning all my morals and beliefs and questioning whether I'm going to hell for praying to the greek gods. Maybe it's because of all my sorroundings (multiple churches in my town, Jesus statues everywhere, very christian friends) that I feel that way, but if anyone could tell me how to stop these thoughts I'd give ANYTHING to do that. (Not that there's anything wrong with christianity or finding comfort in it, its just that whenever I think about it I get anxious because the concept of eternal torture just for enjoying life on earth scares me. On the other hand, I DO find comfort in worshiping the greek gods. I feel more beautiful, inspired to write, so on and so forth...)

[marnz]

started reading Giovanni’s Room and I am honestly bereft, even though I haven’t even finished the first chapter. It’s so beautiful and so honest and insightful and so devastating 😭 Baldwin is such a beautiful writer!!!!!

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.