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seumyo · 4 months ago

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pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

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pretty-little-mind33 · 2 months ago

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James Potter x Slytherin!fem!reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with James Potter isn't all you want, it just takes you a while to come to terms with that reality.

Genre: a mix of everything

Warnings: reader and James are 18, suggestive, sex, friends with benefits, misunderstanding trope, reader and James are both delusional lol, reader is stubborn and headstrong, James x Lily, hint of enemies to lovers

ask: [...] like give me the angst of wanting to be detached but feeling insecure when you see him with someone else (or vice versa) or the hurt comfort where you both start to fall for each other but don’t know how to deal with it!

~ thank you for requesting my dear 🫀anon. Sorry this took forever ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When the four infamous Gryffindors saunter into the Common Room to attend one of the Slytherin parties, no one is surprised, at least not since Sirius and Regulus Black reconciled their differences.

Tonight is Regulus's 17th birthday, which meant Sirius had made James promise he would be on his best behavior.

However, the latter doesn't seem to be doing a good job as his eyes are trained on Severus Snape and Lily Evans, who are standing much too close for his liking. James downs his fourth fire-whiskey and turns to Remus, shaking his head drunkenly.

"What a pompous prick," he slurs, his cheeks turning pinker. The collar of his chemise is overturned and Remus sighs, fixes it for his best friend.

"He isn't hurting anyone," Remus mutters.

James rolls his sharp hazel eyes, glaring at the couple in the corner. He hates how Lily laughs at whatever stupid joke he's telling her. He hates how happy she looks with someone who isn't him. Ever since their break up a few months ago, James's patience with Severus has been almost non-existent.

He walks forward, his shoulders squared, and walks right into you.

His drink spills all over your blouse, causing you to gasp.

"Sorry," James grumbles but he doesn't even glance your way as his gaze remains fixated on Lily.

You snap your head up, glaring at him. You feel embarrassed as James's drink is sticky. He doesn't seem to care as struts over, successfully breaking up Lily and Severus' conversation, and leaving you alone. Your gaze narrows.

"You good?" Daniel, the guy you've liked for a while, asks, coming up behind you as he returns from the loo. You don't answer him, simply watching as James embarrasses himself and shoves Severus away. "He's a twat, even outside the pitch," Daniel grunts, crossing his arms and sending James a dark look.

You knew of his rivalry with James Potter but honestly, you couldn't care less at that moment. All that matters is that Daniel's attention is on you as he inspects your blouse. You shrug. "He's a dick. C'mon,"

You lead Daniel up the stairs, to a secluded corner near the dormitories. Daniel leans against the wall, frowning a little as he senses your hand slide up his chest and your lips hover close to his neck. He catches your wrist and laughs, his gaze sharp on yours.

"You're joking, right? 'M not gonna sleep with you, Y/l/n. You're not that kind of girl."

You snatch your hand away from him, an expression of hurt spreading across your features. "I'm not what kind of girl?" you ask, narrowing your gaze at him. Daniel's eyes watery from his laughter and you feel even more stupid.

"The kind you sleep with," Daniel shrugs, "It's not a bad thing, let's go back to the party,"

"Do you not think I'm pretty?" you interrupt, the drinks you'd had rushing to your head as your eyes narrow. When David looks like he could burst into laughter again, you don't give him much time to explain himself as you run up the stairs to your dorm.

You've never felt as stupid as you do now. You slam your door shut, collapsing onto your bed as you hug your pillow. Tears threaten to spill but you don't let them. Daniel McLaggen can fuck himself.

You're the kind of girl someone fucks.

You are.

Wiping your tears, you stand and rush down to the Common Room again. This time, you simply walk by Daniel and you don't even bother turning to see his expression when you brush him off as you make a beeline towards someone who you wouldn't have even considered otherwise.

You only think of him because of Daniel's previous words.

James Potter stands to the side now, having been pulled away by Remus, still fuming. Without thinking you walk up to him. He turns his gaze, his eyebrows creasing.

"Can I help–"

"Can I kiss you?" you blurt out, cheeks burning. You needed to ask. You couldn't just ambush him without consent. Still, James looks just as shocked as he would have if you'd simply kissed him. His jaw falls open and he clears his throat.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asks, uncharacteristically nervous.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to make sure Daniel is watching. You keep your eyes on James. "It might make Lily Evans jealous," you try and convince him, although you aren't even sure if she'd care.

James thinks abut it for a moment.

"Oh, well, okay, sure," James says with a small nod and you move closer, wrapping your hand around his tie. Without wasting time, you pull him into you and crash your lips onto his. He tastes like fire-whiskey and raspberry pastries but you don't care. You move your hand to his hair, tighten your fingers in his curls, lips moving in sync with his. Once James kisses you back, his hands find your hips and he holds you steady.

He's a pretty damn good kisser.

Soon, one thing leads to another and you wake up in his dorm room. Your clothes are scattered around the floor. Thank Merlin he's Head Boy or you'd have his roommates to worry about. James is still sleeping, his arm tucked under his pillow as he snores lightly.

Sitting up, you hold the sheets over your naked body as the events of last night play in your mind. You look at James, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have taken things this far. All to prove yourself to some arsehole? No, this shouldn't have happened.

Your gaze softens. James looks so peaceful in his lip. You resist the urge to touch his hair.

Cursing, you promise yourself it will never happen again as you sneak out of his room.

And still, week after week you find yourself twisted in his sheets again and again.

Turns out, fucking around with James Potter is addictive.

* * * Four Months Later * * *

"Hiya, love," James announces happily, plopping himself onto the chair in front of yours in the library. He's loud so you shush him, your finger pressed to his lips as he leans forward over the small desk. You don't look up from your book. You need to pass Potions and you don't have time for distractions.

James smirks against your finger. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"An essay, now be quiet, you're annoying me."

James laughs and lays his head on his arm, his dark curls falling over his features as he draws small little hearts near your hand as you write. He's teasing you on purpose. Looking up, you narrow your gaze. "What's your problem, James?"

"Are you coming over tonight?"

The question causes you to flush and you look away, focusing on your essay again. You think for a moment, letting his words wash over you. It is Thursday, meaning you usually meet him in his dorm. Your cheeks burn.

"Hmm," you nod and then push his hand away, "now bugger off, you're being such a knob." You keep your voice calm and steady, knowing James has too much power over you.

In all honesty, you're still not used to this; being friends with benefits with James Fucking Potter. You're barely friends, it's mostly all benefits, or at least that is what you like to think. It makes the situation so much easier when you're riding him in his room and he's muttering praises in your ear.

It helps keep the lines clear.

Lines that James loves to blur.

That evening as he snaps your bra open and presses kisses on your chest and stomach, he makes conversation; "Will you come to my game tomorrow?" he asks hopefully, still kissing you.

You gasp, arching and running your hand in his hair as you lean into his mouth. "U-um, yeah–sure."

He pulls away and sends you an adorably stern look. "I'm being serious. Please come. I want you there."

Your chest rises and falls as you gently rock your hips against him. "I said I would," you whisper, annoyance lacing your tone. James senses your frustration and smirks. He leans forward and wraps his strong arms around your back, attaching his lips to your nipples.

"Good," he says with a devilish smirk.

You moan in response.

You didn't think you would actually go. Going to support James, the Captain of the Gryffindor team as a Slytherin, was too close to girlfriend activities for your liking. Plus, you'd stopped trying to make Daniel jealous months ago so there was no reason to be there.

Only, James asked you and in the moment, that seems reason enough.

The game is loud and you feel a little awkward sitting in the Gryffindor section instead of the Slytherin one. James's friends are rambunctious and one practically bumps into you as he cheers loudly. You move closer to the balcony edge, leaning against it as you focus on the game.

Your eyes drift to a familiar figure in the distance. He's holding the quaffle under his arm, his dark hair is even messier than it usually is and he's clearly an experienced flyer. He throws the quaffle into the hoop and scores. Cheers erupt around you and you straighten up, a small smile forming on your lip. James does some, obnoxious, victory flips and your smile can't help but grow.

Instantly, you feel embarrassed and you control your smile. You shouldn't be smiling so hard at James Potter. Your heart is pounding and unwanted thoughts swirl into your mind. You spend the rest of the game pretending you're not looking at James.

Once the game ends, you wander around the Gryffindor Common Room at the after party. You'd promised yourself you would congratulate James and then leave immediately. Only you've been in aimlessly wandering around for thirty minutes and you still haven't found him. You're beginning to become annoyed.

Where the fuck is he?

Finally, you turn a corner and see him. Well, you see his back, but that's unmistakably his jersey. You open your mouth to call his name as you walk forward but your voice dies in your throat. Someone's hands are in his hair. Your heart sinks and you suddenly feel like throwing up.

James twists his body as the girl comes into view. Your nose scrunches in disgust. Lily Evans? Why is Lily Evans kissing your James? Just as the thought pops into your mind, another wave of nausea washes over you. James isn't yours. If anything, he'd only been passing time with you when he wanted Lily back all along.

Your breathing is labored as you watch Lily kiss him.

No. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be crying over him.

You back up, turn around and rush out the door before James or Lily could see you. You wipe at your tears, focusing on anger instead of sadness.

Fuck this.

* * *

James hasn't seen you in three days and he's becoming worried. You haven't answered any of his Owls, you crumple up any note he writes to you in class, and you avoid him outside of classes.

He doesn't understand what he did wrong.

He'd waited up for you after his game. He'd had this entire speech planned, some stupid, love-sick confession of his feelings, and yet, you never even showed up. He wants to be angry with you but he can't bring himself to be. He can never stay angry with you even when he tries.

However, it seems like you're angry with him because when he coincidentally sees you on your way to Honeydukes and he calls your name, you spin around and glare at him. "Leave me alone, Potter," you spit and that wild look he usually loves so much, now scares him a little. Still, he runs up and his hand brushes your arm.

You turn around again and shove him. With a thud, James falls to the ground. He hadn't expected you to push him and he lost his balance on the mud from the morning rain. "Oi, bloody hell, woman! What is your problem?"

You're standing over him now and you look furious.

"You're my problem!"

"Me?" James scrambles up, dusting the dirt from his jeans. He looks at his Converse and they're covered in mud. Great. He looks back up, an expression of hurt obvious on his face. He doesn't have time to worry about his shoes when you're this upset. "I don't understand! What did I do?"

You're breathing heavily, your gaze locked onto his. The truth is too hard to admit.

"Just, leave me alone," you snarl again, turning back around. James catches your wrist and turns you towards him once more. You're a little surprised but you don't push him or pull away. Instead, the air around you both feels thicker.

"I like you," James blurts out.

Your chest tightens so much it hurts.

"Don't lie to me," you say, your voice hoarse.

James looks flabbergasted and he moves forward, taking your other hand in his. "What? I'm not lying. I wanted to tell you after my game but you never came—"

"I did come, you tosser!" you snap and James's brown eyes widen. You've never looked more beautiful, even if you do look like you want to kill him. You push your index into his chest. "I came to the game and I saw you play and I even stayed afterward like an idiot because I wanted to see you. And you know what I saw?"

James shakes his head. He's a little petrified.

"I saw you kissing Lily Evans. Lily Evans of all people! And what's worse is that I shouldn't have been surprised because it was always her. I should have known—"

James blinks and out of all the things he could have said, the only thing that slips from his mouth is, "Y/n. Did you listen to anything I just said?"

That only angers you more because you look like a vein on your forehead could pop at any moment. "What?! James, did you just listen to what I just said?!"

"I never kissed Lily. She kissed me," James says matter-of-factly and then leans in so his face is close to yours. "Now what did I say?"

"That isn't how that works! You both kissed!"

"Nope. I did not. Now, what did I say?!"

"Don't patronize me," you hiss.

"Y/n."

"You said you like me but—"

James places his index on your lips, cracking a small smile. "Exactly. I like you, not Lily. I told her as much after she kissed me. She means nothing to me anymore. My heart belongs to you and only you."

Your lips part under James's finger, your eyes still wide and a little glossy. His words swirl in your chest, warm and so so dangerous. "You're such an idiot," you whisper against him, his confession finally sinking in. You push him away. "I don't believe you. Why should I believe you!?"

"Because it's the truth. You drive me crazy." James moves his hand and cups your cheek. He's staring at you now like you're the only person in the world who matters. You feel like he's stared at you like this before, you just never knew what it meant.

James moves a little closer, his large hands framing your face. "I have felt like this for months. Months. And I've been meaning to tell you. I like you. I want you. Not just in my bed as a passing fancy, not to make anyone jealous, but just because I want you."

Your heart catches in your throat, and you know you should say something—anything—but instead, all your defenses come crumbling down as you crash your lips into his and kiss him.

James responds instantly, hands curling around your waist as he lifts you slightly off the ground and hugs you, his lips still on yours.

Once you finally break apart, his forehead finds yours, and he mutters, "So, does this mean we can finally be done pretending we're just casual now?"

You scoff. "Is that what we were doing?"

James smiles, his dimples appearing as he nuzzles his nose into yours. "Mm, it was," he whispers.

You smile gently. "It suppose was, wasn't it?"

He leans in and kisses you again, smiling against your mouth. "I'm yours. If you'll have me. I am completely and wholeheartedly yours."

"Does that mean you promise to stop being such a knob sometimes," you say and shoot him a pretend annoyed look, keeping him close.

James grins. He raises an eyebrow and wiggles it playfully. "No promises," he teases but he leans in and kisses you again, a silent promise. A promise that he loves you, he loves you more than anything.

#🫀 anon #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fanfic #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #james potter hurt/comfort #marauder james potter #the marauders james potter #the marauders era #aaron taylor johnson #james potter imagines #james potter smut-ish

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sweetcalebb · 1 month ago

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AI Zayne: Feelings?

Even though you're an adult, your dad insists you need an AI "bodyguard." You don't want one though, especially not one that feels so real. But you don't have a say in the matter so now you're stuck with one.

cw: controlling dad, attachment issues, slow-burn (?)

INSPIRED BY: @syluses and their yummy fic!

thank u sm! <3

₊˚ ✧

"I'm not a kid! I don't need a—" Your eyes flick to the thing in the corner. Zayne. Or whatever its name is. He's standing in his charging station, head bowed, eyes shut, looking way too... human. "A creepy babysitter!" you snap.

You pace around the room, your eyes drifting back to him every few seconds like he might activate on his own at any minute. "I'm an adult for God's sake!" you hiss into the phone, knuckles turning white with effort.

"This isn't up for debate," your dad snaps back, his patience wearing thin. You'd had this argument about 5 times already, and you were both getting sick of it.

You sigh, running a tired hand through your hair. You glance at Zayne for the twentieth time. He's still motionless. You're not sure what you expected, but something about him—or it—is unnerving.

You want to argue back. Want to tell your dad you won't put up with some operating system disguised as a human following you around, but the argument dies in your throat.

Because you know your dad.

And you know there's no winning.

"It says he's off," he finally says, his words calm, but laced with an undeniable edge of frustration. "Turn him back on."

You bite your lip, heat rushing to your cheeks. Who the hell did he think he was? Telling you what to do? Assigning someone—something—to dote on you? To strip you of your privacy under the guise of safety? It was bullshit.

But you don't say that.

You simply scoff into the phone. "Fine."

You hang up and immediately toss your phone on the couch harder than you mean to. It bounces off the cushions and lands on the floor with a loud thud, but you don't even bother to pick it up.

You pace the room instead, muttering silent curses and tugging at your hair.

Your dad was unbelievable!

He just—

He was always—

You pause, taking a stuttering breath. You need to stop thinking about him. Just.. do literally anything else.

You pad over to Zayne, your arms crossed, your brows knit together, and your breath uneven. You reach toward him, pressing the button behind his ear, and step back when his eyes blink open.

He takes a moment. Blinks again, then focuses on you.

He's silent for a second before saying, "Good evening."

You don't say anything, just stare.

For a moment, you almost feel bad. Zayne just looks so human, and you're here, ignoring his attempt at polite conversation. Then you remember he's only an operating system. Then you don't feel bad. Just mad all over again.

Zayne blinks again. "Your heart rate is elevated."

Your brows pinch closer.

What the fuck? Was he doing bio scans on you now?

"Are you experiencing stress?

"Don't do that," you huff.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't.." You pause, taking a small step back. "Don't scan me."

"My job is to protect you. I have to sc—"

"Stop it," you snap, your voice rising with frustration. You're not mad at him. Not entirely. But he's the only one you can take your anger out on right now. "Just don't."

There's a beat of silence before Zayne nods. "Okay. I won't scan you anymore."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Thanks, Dad.

—

The next weeks blur past. You can't tell where one day ends and the next one starts. All you know is Zayne won't leave you alone. It doesn't matter where you go, he's always a few steps behind. Quiet, yet always right there.

It makes you want to scream. At nothing, at him, at your father for giving you this thing that can't seem to give you a second of peace.

You did once.

You just got sick of hearing his heavy footsteps behind you every second of the day, so you snapped back around and began yelling at him to stop following you like you were some glass doll.

He didn't even flinch. Just stared at you, then nodded and said, "I'll keep my distance from now on."

He didn't stop following you completely. He always lingered nearby—at a safe distance.

Still, you hadn't yelled at him since. You thought it would've made you feel better, but it only made you feel worse. Like you were screaming at a pet that didn't understand what they did wrong.

Instead, you were nicer.

Just a little nicer.

…Then a lot nicer.

Suddenly, his presence didn't bother you as much. No, you'd sit near him instead of across the room like you did the first few weeks with him.

Suddenly, you were making offhand comments about whatever you were reading for the pure sake of starting conversations.

And Zayne seemed to follow the same sentiment. You weren't sure you could call it that, but it felt like it. He started bringing you tea without asking. Started noticing things you weren't sure he was programmed to notice, like your haircut or your new clothes.

It was unsettling and comforting all at once.

And now you're in your room, screeching into the phone. "Maintenance?! Doesn't he have like—I don't know—auto updates? Or.. something?"

"I thought you'd be relieved. You've been stuck with him for a month," your dad says.

You stay silent.

You should be relieved. You were against Zayne from the very start.. but now? Do you really want him gone?

"He's supposed to have maintenance every month. He'll only be gone for a day or two."

Still, you say nothing.

Because who the hell does he think he is?

First, he forces this robotic bodyguard, or babysitter, or—whatever it's supposed to be—on you, then he thinks he can just take it back? What a fucking—

You shut your eyes, bringing your hand up to your face to rub your temple. You're overreacting. You know that. It's not like your dad's taking Zayne away forever.

It's just a day or two.

It's the principle that upsets you. That's what you tell yourself, anyway.

"He's doing just fine," you finally mutter. "He doesn't need maintenance."

Your dad sighs, and you can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't get to decide that." His voice is smooth, but it's tinged with that controlled edge you know too well. "It's already scheduled."

"Then cancel it."

Your dad scoffs. "Why do you insist on being such a stubborn..—" He doesn't finish his sentence. Just lets out a low rumble. "I'm not canceling it. Why are you fighting me on this, of all things?"

He waits, then slowly adds, "Are you attached to it?"

Your breath hitches at his question.

"No," you mutter. "I'm not attached."

"Then what's the issue?"

"There's no issue."

"Then stop fighting this."

You groan. It was always the same thing with your dad. You were sick of him making choices for you.

"No. You can't just take him."

"Are you just arguing for the sake of arguing? When will you learn to—"

"He's mine."

It slips out before you can stop it.

And the world stills for just a second when the words finally register.

He’s mine.

It's childish. So embarrassingly childish, and you know your dad is on the other line with his brows furrowed and his mouth open.

"He's yours?" He echoes. It's silent for a second, then he laughs. The mocking sound grates on your nerves. "If you're this upset over it, then maybe the AI's gotten too close. Should I report it?"

You have to stop yourself from blurting out 'no' too quickly. You remind yourself to rein it in before speaking.

"It's not like that," you huff. "I just don't like you deciding things and then telling me at the last minute."

Your dad sighs. "Because if I asked, you'd argue. Like you're doing right now."

"But you can't just—"

"It's getting maintenance tomorrow. That's final."

"You don't get to just—to just decide that! He’s with me all the time—I should be the one to say when he gets maintenance!"

Your chest heaves with your angry breaths as you wait for your dad to argue back—because he always does—but it's silent.

Too silent.

"Hello?"

You pull your phone away from your ear to look at the screen, and you scoff. He hung up. That bastard hung up.

"Fuck you!" you yell into the speaker (even though he can't hear it) before slamming your phone down onto the bed with a quiet thud. The sound isn't nearly loud enough, though. So, impulsively, you turn to your nightstand and shove your humidifier off.

Your dad had no right.

No right whatsoever.

You're not attached.

Zayne is just a robot trained to keep you safe. Nothing less, nothing more. And yet you find yourself storming into the living room just to look at him.

You stop in front of him, the tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. He's charging, head bent and eyes closed—the way he always looks when he's plugged in.

He's so peaceful like this. So blissfully unaware. It makes you want to slap him because it just isn't fair.

It isn't fair that he doesn't have to feel these feelings. It isn't fair that he doesn't have so much frustration that he thinks he can punch a hole into the wall.

Slowly, you reach out, touching your fingertips to his lashes. The designers made them so long and pretty. Almost like he was made for you to like him. To lure you in. That wasn't fair either.

You stare for a moment longer before your fingers gently slip behind his ear. You want to make yourself believe this is a grudging decision, but you know it's not.

You press the power button, your stomach twisting as you wait for him to blink his eyes open. When he does, you don't even have the chance to say anything before he eyes you—once—then says, "You're upset."

You let out a soft breath through your nose. "I'm fine."

"You always say that when you're not."

You remind yourself he's programmed to be perceptive, but it doesn't stop the little squeeze your heart does.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug. "Nothing."

Zayne looks at you, searching for any shift or twitch that might tell him what happened. You don't give him the chance, though. You're already shuffling over to the couch and sink down.

Zayne follows, still trying to figure out what's bothering you.

"Do you know what maintenance you need?"

Zayne's eyes flicker to the floor. They flash a mechanical blue for a few seconds before they return to their normal hazel-green.

He glances back up.

"Diagnostics say all systems are operating within normal parameters."

Your chest tightens. If Zayne can do a little check-up on himself, why the hell did he need to get sent somewhere else?

Almost like he can read your mind, Zayne adds, "But all AIs under contract are required to report for monthly maintenance unless otherwise overridden.”

You take a small breath.

"Oh."

"You sound worried." His eyes run over your face, filing each expression into a personal folder in the corner of his mind. "Is that what you're upset about? My maintenance?"

You bite your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. It's silly, letting yourself get so vulnerable with a damn robot, but you can't help it.

"What happens if something goes wrong during maintenance? Do you even know?" you blurt out.

The minute you say it, Zayne's expression softens like he's finally put it together. "..You're worried about.. me."

You tear your eyes away.

It's not like he can judge you, but you still feel the need to avoid his gaze. "Just tell me what can go wrong."

He waits a beat, then softly— "No."

You snap your head back up, your brows furrowed. "What—? Zayne. Tell me."

"I think it's best I don't."

"Zayne—"

"It's highly unlikely anything will go wrong."

You huff, your lips curling with a frown. "What if you come back differently? Like.." You know you should shut up, but you don't. "Like, what if you start talking differently? Or don't remember who I am?"

"I'll remember you," he says, his voice lowering just a fraction. "I promise."

Your heart stutters.

"You're not just saying that?"

"No." Zayne takes a step closer, his gaze darting down to your hand like he's thinking about comforting you. Of holding it with his own.

Or maybe you’re imagining it.

Because he doesn't.

"I'll recite everything I know about you when I get back." His words are confident. Final.

You let out a soft breath. "Okay then." You stand back up, walking him back to his charging station. He hesitates for a second, something like sympathy passing through his eyes before he finally steps in.

"You'll recite everything when you're back?" you ask, standing in front of him, your fingers hovering over the button behind his ear.

He nods. "I'll recite everything."

Your chest feels tight. You want to believe him, but there's a part of you that's still doubting. It's why you don't press the button. Why you just let your fingers linger there, palm pressed against his jaw.

When you still don't say anything, Zayne reaches up and gently wraps his hand around your wrist. It almost feels like he's going to lean into your touch, but instead he just gives your wrist a light squeeze.

"You don't have anything to worry about."

"Okay."

You scan his face, like you're trying to memorize it in case they make any changes to his face. Maybe you are. Then, against your better judgment, you lean in and press your lips to his cheek.

It's warm. Soft. Like yours. It feels real enough to let your lips linger a second longer than you mean to before pulling back.

Zayne's forehead creases—something you didn't even know he could do—as he watches you lean back. His gaze darts down to your lips, up to your eyes, then back down again.

"Goodnight, Zayne," you murmur.

He hesitates. "..Goodnight."

And then you're powering him down.

—

Your dad said it would only take one to two days to do maintenance, but it actually took three.

Three whole days.

The minute his men bring Zayne back, you shoo them away to inspect him yourself.

You stand in front of Zayne, raking your eyes over every feature until you're certain they're the same. But you feel like something else is wrong.

Like they messed up. Fucked up his coding or whatever the hell is that makes Zayne Zayne.

That makes him.. yours.

You fumble with his power button and bite your nails as you wait for him to power on. You think it takes him a second longer to turn on, and it makes your stomach churn.

Even when he blinks his eyes open, you feel something isn't right still.

You can't help it. Quickly, you blurt out, "What's my favorite color?"

Zayne looks at you, but he doesn't answer. Just roves his eyes over your face like he's discovering it for the first time, and then you feel it.

Panic.

They fucked up.

For a moment you're quiet. Then it hits you. Dread, anger, and hurt all at once.

You groan as you spin around; you can't bear to look at Zayne like this.

"I told him to cancel it. But he didn't listen! No, he wanted to fucking—" You breathe in sharply. "He wanted to be an asshole!"

Your voice rises and falls with every syllable, chest heaving with angry breaths. You're so frantic, you don't even realize Zayne has stepped out of his charging station.

"I'm going to—to—"

Realistically, what would you do? What could you possibly do? It's a ridiculous notion because really, you can't do anything. Your dad is untouchable.

Because of course he is. Stupid, fucking—

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It's comforting. Heavy. You slowly turn around, your frustration melting away the minute you look at Zayne again. He looks so calm. So… Zayne.

He slowly drops his hand to his side.

"Zayne?" you murmur softly.

There's a small silence before he speaks.

"You kissed me."

Your eyes go wide, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"I wasn't programmed to respond to affection… But… I.." His eyes drift down to your lips. "I liked it. And I wasn't supposed to."

#zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space zayne #lads x reader #ai zayne #android x reader #robot emotions?#slow burn ish #AI zayne x reader #android zayne #sci fi #fluff #i have a crush on zayne guys #a bit of angst #daddy issues

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stevebabey · 7 months ago

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you're the only one for me, baby

1.7k, steddie, one of them getting so drunk that they don't recognise the other and telling them back off i've already got a boyfriend, it's all sweetness <3 likely a modern!au and actually just goobers in love

Eddie doesn't really drink. He's not against partying but he's much more attuned to smoking a little weed to take the edge off, sometimes a spliff if he wants to mix a little business and pleasure.

Eddie doesn't really drink—so when he does, it goes about as well as expected.

From zero to a hundred.

Steve had lost track of him after directing his stumbling feet towards the bathroom to take a leak. But apparently, as he's now found out, this bathroom has two doors.

What the fuck kind of bathroom has two doors, like some weird thoroughfare?

Regardless, it took all of five minutes with no noises coming from the inside before Steve had loudly announced he was coming in, no matter what, getting quite worried for his boyfriend.

He trusted Eddie to not be too sloshed to handle a piss, even if he was on the wilder side tonight, but still leaned up against the door to chase off anyone else looking to knock—because Eddie hilariously gets pee-shy.

The door had opened easily, apparently unlocked, and Steve had stepped into the empty bathroom. The other door across the room, the one he hadn't noticed until now, was wide open to the party.

So, now he's on the hunt for Eddie.

Which is a task that feels a little bit like herding cats because drunk Eddie isn't something Steve has a lot of experience with. But what he does know, is this: it's the opposite of high Eddie.

Stoned, Eddie likes to find the comfiest place he can (usually Steve's lap, or so he proclaims) and sink into it, like melting wax. Then, given he has access to adequate snacks, he doesn't move for quite some time.

Drunken Eddie cannot even fathom the concept of sitting still.

Either way, looking where there's food is a good as a place to start as any.

Steve ambles out the strange two-doored bathroom and flips his head back and forth, trying to remember the direction of the kitchen. He hasn't been here before—one of Eddie's band connections—and Steve's still had a couple beers himself.

He shakes his head and takes a left, relieved when it leads to the stairs. Okay, he sort of knows where he's going now. They had only come upstairs to find the quieter bathroom for Eddie.

As Steve reaches the bottom of the stairs, a faint stir of irritation flashes through him. Eddie just left him behind? That wasn't that nice, even if he was incredibly drunk.

He can hear the din of people chattering just above the music and he follows it, leading him into the half-full kitchen, people dotted around. There's a few pizza boxes scattered around and Steve eyes each of them specifically, looking for the tell-tale wipe of Eddie's greasy fingers. No dice.

Steve wrinkles his nose, spinning around and double checking before he moves on.

If not by the food, then... where?

Steve takes a few steps forward into the living room, his heart beginning to sink and shrivel all at once. There was a miserable feeling attached to looking for his partners at a party, a wallowing and awful memory tied to the feeling.

Steve pushes a hand across his chest roughly, as if trying to shove the feeling away.

Eddie wasn't... her. Eddie wouldn't do that.

But the moment he's thought it, it's stuck in his head. Steve's feet begin to speed up, checking a little more carelessly as he starts to stick his head in different rooms, his hazel eyes jumping around. Not Eddie, not Eddie, not Eddie—so many people and none of them are Eddie.

Until—there. Steve spots a very familiar looking behind as it leans over the back of the couch, the owner of said-behind talking to someone sitting on the couch.

He blinks, just to be sure, but the details come into better focus. There's chains on his belt loops and when he shakes his head, Steve can see the curls he loves to bury his hands into.

Eddie.

Steve's relief pulls him forward, his feet almost stumbling, his mouth pulling into a relieved smile. He puts a hand out, fingers spread, across the leather-clad back.

"Eds," Steve says, relief colouring his voice.

Eddie swings up abruptly, pushing himself off the couch. When he turns, a bit of liquid sloshes out of the beer bottle he's holding.

"Heyyy," The words come out a bit slurred and when he finally stands straight, he doesn't look right at Steve. "Handsssss off the merchandise, buddy."

Steve chuckles, reaching out and plucking the bottle from his boyfriend's grasp. Eddie gawps, an adorable little hiccup interrupting his shocked expression.

"Hey," He says loudly, reaching forward for it fruitlessly as Steve pulls it out reach. "That's mine." Eddie whines.

"You've had more than enough, I think." Steve says. He steals just one gulp of it before he turns at puts it on a nearby table. When he turns back, Eddie is frowning at him, brows pulled together tightly and bottom lip jutting out.

"Listen—" Eddie leans forward, jabbing a finger into Steve's chest. "I dunnowhoyouthinkyouare," The words come out in a one big jumble and Steve frowns.

What? Something sour claws into Steve's chest at the frosty greeting.

"Eddie," Steve says, his hazel eyes wide and worried as his gaze darts between Eddie's squinted face and swaying form.

Steve reaches out to put a hand on his waist, aiming to steady him, but Eddie sees it coming and widens his eyes comically. He swerves back to avoid it, his boots tilting dangerously on the wooden floors. If he was still holding his beer, Steve bets half of it would be on the floor by now.

"Wo-oah," Eddie exaggerates, waving a hand out and batting Steve's outstretched arm away. The rottenness in Steve's chest blooms, rancid and freezing. He sucks in a sharp breath.

"Ed—"

"I—" Eddie says, holding up his hand and waggling one finger at Steve, like he's a naughty schoolboy. His words still have that drunken slur to them.

"—already have a boyfriend, thank you very much. He's much too pretty to be throwing it away for the likes of you, you weasel of a man..." His ludicrous and nonsensical insult trails off under his breath as Eddie's attention is drawn away by a shout across the room.

As he watches Eddie drape himself back over the couch, the sourness between Steve's ribs shifts, transforming into something infinitely sweeter. He lets out a dazed laugh, a wild smile spreading on his face before he can smother it beneath his hand.

I'm dating a lunatic, Steve thinks happily.

He reaches out and steals Eddie's beer once more, taking another large swig before giving it another go.

This time, he sidles up beside Eddie who's engaged back in conversation with one of the guys on the couch, and just waits. It only takes a minute before the dude on the couch seems to realise who Steve's waiting for and he nudges Eddie, gesturing behind him.

Eddie, still bent over the back of the couch, twists only his head to look. This time, the recognition is immediate.

He springs up, pushing the couch forward an inch in his excitement and leaps forward, his hands clawing into Steve's shoulder with a fierce delight.

"Steeeeve," Eddie croons, crowding in close. His hands start moving, fingers searching like curious spiders, fingertips dancing along the sensitive skin of Steve's neck til he's squirming back, laughter betraying him.

"Stop it." He laughs. Steve arrests Eddie's wrists in his hand and Eddie cackles, using the pause to surge forward, kissing him square on the mouth.

Eddie tastes like the beer he's been drinking and Steve barely gets a moment to enjoy it before Eddie's pulling back, leaning forward so they're forehead to forehead.

"I was looking for you." Eddie says, his doe eyes wide. His pupils grow larger the longer he stares at Steve.

Steve grins. "Uh huh. Looking for me between the couch cushions, were you?"

Eddie rears back, his head flipping as he stares back at the couch and then back at Steve. "Nuh uh. I came out the bathroom and you were goooone."

That explains it. Eddie must have left out the other door — and then thought Steve had left him behind and gone hunting for him. Something else settles in Steve's chest, relieved.

"And—" Eddie hiccups. "—and some guy tried to- to freakin' flirt with me. Can you believeee?"

Steve's grin widens by a mile. "Is that so? What you'd tell him?"

"No, of course!" Eddie says, head pulled back as if he's appalled Steve would think otherwise. He shakes his hands out of Steve's grip and drops them, fumbling for a moment to get his fingers into Steve's belt loops.

When he does, he yanks Steve forward a tad too forcefully, their bodies colliding in a way that's more sore than sexy. Eddie continues on as if he doesn't notice. "Even if he was particularly tasty," He murmurs, his lips tracing the column of Steve's throat.

"I let him know, baby." Eddie all but purrs.

And perhaps if the competition Eddie was beating off was literally anyone other than himself, Steve would be right there with him.

Instead, he can't contain his snort of laughter. Eddie was perfect; he was a possessive and drunken dog, barking up the wrong damn tree. Steve loves him.

"You're laughing," Eddie states plainly, even as his doe eyes manage to grow even more round. Steve can't help it, it just makes him laugh more.

"Treason." Eddie declares. Then using the belt loops to keep Steve captive, he leans in and blows a raspberry on his neck.

Steve lets out an unattractive squawk, his laughter melting into Eddie's as he pushes his boyfriend's face away — to which Eddie simply lets himself go limp, his face cradled and held up solely by Steve's hands.

"Christ," Steve says between his laughs, shifting his hand to hold him more tenderly. Eddie smiles dopely, then puckers his lips and closes his eyes.

Steve rolls his eyes, entirely too endeared. "Alright, c'mere," He gives in, leaning and kissing Eddie, short and sweet. When he pulls back, Eddie's eyes are open, starry and gazing up at him. He gives a dreamy sounding sigh. Steve's heart fizzles, like it's full of pop-rocks.

"Ready to go?"

"As long as it's with you, baby." Eddie says, sounding every bit like he means it.

#steve asks him if he can remember the other dude in the morning #eddie: i do recall him being distinctly super hot..... [his ass still has no clue]#steve never tells him for the fact that eddie is so chuffed to 1) get hit on and 2) get to defend his relationship #its steve lil secret :-) he does tell robin tho and she laughs so hard soda comes out her nose #i love this silly trope !#even better if they’ve only been together a short -ish time #does eddie ever find out you may ask? why yes he does. at their wedding 😇#if you take anything from this its my headcanon that eddie is pee-shy #it's gooberish but after months and months of 'you're not from around here' i'm okayyyy with that #its nice to have simply written and finished something sillay #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #established relationship #steve harrington #eddie munson #if u have more of this trope SENDDDD PLEEEK #eddie rlly is the most in love in this

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sshiostwordblog · 3 months ago

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Posting this silly little drawing I did for @lizard-needs-friends out of boredom, THE SILLYYYY (listen, it deserved lots of tickles)

#I tried not to do my usual anime-ish style #so silly #might be drawing this silly guy again #its so cute #tickle art #tickle fluff #sfw tickling #sfw tickle community #sfw tickling community #sfw interaction only

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gothamite-rambler · 5 months ago

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Damian: Here you go grandfather. Happy birthday.

Damian handed Ra's Al Ghul a snow globe that had a small forest design in it with glitter that sunk and floated when shaken. Ra's looked at the snow globe with no reaction at first then turned to his grandson.

Damian smiled sweetly.

Damian: It's a goofy gift, but sometimes simple gifts are nice to have. I... Hope you're not going to be mad or yell at me. If you hate it, that's fine, but I have a headache already.

Ra's (deadpan at first then a kind tone): This... This is the dumbest, cheapest looking, chachki crap I've seen sold in gift shops. And I love it! I'm not the easiest man to give gifts too, but you actually accomplished this... Thank you, grandson. I will cherish this dearly.

Ra's patted his grandson on the head then walked off to put the snow globe in his office.

Bruce: Did that... Did he actually like the snow globe?!

Dick: Did he say he'll cherish it dearly?!

Damian: I... Made grandfather happy? Father, my wish has been granted! Drake, give me my fifty dollars.

Tim (groaning): Dang it, Ra's had to be a decent person with a snowglobe gift?

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rinnstars · 9 months ago

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(cherish) my love!

treasuring how youre always there for him

itoshi rin x reader: sugary-sweet fluff, slight insecurity on his part, rins pov, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated! <3

maybe, he’s getting to used to this - your hands brushing through his hair as he lies on your chest humming to the rhythm of your heartbeat that syncs with him, his bed that no longer fits just him with a dent reminding him of your constant presence in his life as you constantly orbit around his world, his bag that changed from a plain black bag to one that featured silly keychains that hung your favourite character’s plushie and whatnot that matched perfectly with yours.

sure, he can barely remember the days you weren’t here, having being friends with him since you two were kids with you having been assigned as the so-called “good kid” to deal with him who was deemed the “troublemaker”. sitting with you during playtime felt natural, chatting about strange topics as you smile and laughed at his weird phrasings that soon transitioned to sitting right beside him again for years straight in school, and now right beside him on his bed - it must be fate he thinks. the world has dictated you to be with him for the rest of yours and his life, he thinks, the one good thing that has came out of this life. you were here when those kids at the playground shunned him and outcasted him for being a little (very) destructive to their toys choosing to sit down and chat with him at the swings, you were there in his room during that winter where he could barely look at you through his swollen and red eyes as you visit him everyday without fail despite the heavy snow that flooded his windows, you were there when he lost to isagi in that match as tears streamed down that shined underneath the moonlight into the milk tea you bought him as you two walked back home slowly with yours and his playlist in the background that strangely calmed him. youre the only constant in his life, even more than his brother that he swore would be a permanent in his life with a naive pinkie promise, even more than his parents that seem to come home less and less as each competition passes by, even more than his teammates that whispers about him behind his back that he pretends to ignore as he leaves to meet you at the bus stop.

he doesn’t know what he would do if you one day leave - whether that is leaving japan to go overseas to study that he knows logically would be beneficial to you, whether that is by time and distance that people say is inevitable and unpreventable, or worst simply because you fell out of love with him. hes selfish, but not stupid - he knows hes not exactly the best boyfriend, sometimes he gets too engrossed in his passion and loses touch with reality and neglect you even with your head on his shoulder, he knows hes not exactly the best at expressing himself even despite you being here since the very beginning, and he knows you can do better than him.

but for now, he thinks he’ll treasure every sign of presence of you. he’ll keep those silly trinkets you pass to him, each a sign of love that he cherishes no matter how small - paper hearts and rings you fold right next to him during class whenever you get bored of listening as he sits beside you playing another game underneath his desk, keychains you and him get from claw machines or as rewards from the arcade that he puts in a special little box placed right on his table that is his real treasure, sweets that you introduced to him that got him addicted to the flavourful and sugary-sweet burst as he can’t help but bite into it every time that resemble the burst of butterflies in his stomach and burst in his heart whenever he sees you at the bus stop every morning. he’ll treasure every single non-physical sign of love too - playlist on spotify that he downloaded and play every day in his ear piece that he is practically addicted to, kisses that he can still feel the touch of your lips on his every morning that leaves a invisible mark on his lips and his heart, time you take out of your life to be with him, lunch with him in class rather than with your other friends, waiting for him to finish football practice that could have been used to sleep soundly in your room rather than the old seats in the school that leaves your back sore. he’ll memorise every single moment with you - your first kiss right at the bus stop you still meet at every morning at the place he religiously stands at as he waits for you to reach running as you “woke up late again”, every lunch break with you right beside him eating food you and him respectively brought from home from biscuits to packed bento boxes or just a sweet treat of sugary buttery bread respectively talking about everything and anything that he feels like his true self, every date no matter where: arcade as you two play game whilst he tries his best to impress, in his or your room just basking in your presence, at the playground with convenience store food, cafes that you somehow know, library as he stare at your focused face whilst studying as he resist the urge to kiss you again. and he’ll keep you in his heart for the rest of eternity - each bite and kiss on his neck and lips transfer right onto his secretly glass-like heart that yearns for a little more, each merging of hands that gets his heart pumping at how your hands fit perfectly with his like two puzzle piece matching, and each time your heart syncs with him as he listens to your heart whether in class or right in his room where no one else is here but you and him.

the future is uncertain - glancing at the suitcase that is still messy and open from his recent visit back home from blue lock with his pxg jersey right on you that fits you strangely well he thinks with bright red ears and cheeks, glancing at your changing self with different hair and glasses than the last time he saw you that he wished to experience with you, but he hopes no matter what, that necklace you share with him with a heart, no, his very own heart hanging right onto your neck will stay there forever.

and now, all he can do is to show you back the same dedication, to stay right beside you, to be yours until the end of time as you had always been. he’ll be your supporting figure in your life - staying right beside you until late in the library and walk you right back home, helping you carry groceries and your school bag as you go wherever, walk with you until the end of the earth if you simply asked him to without asking why. he’ll show it to the best he can - wearing and hanging every single gift you give him: keychains, silly bracelets, and every kiss that litters on him that leaves a purple blue mark. and he’ll tell it to you - through love letters in sticky notes or right on the school foolscap paper that reads the words hes too shy and afraid to say that translates his deep unspoken devotion and love to you, through compliments and i love yous that he promises doesn’t reveal the true extent of his feelings for you either seeming too shallow and superficial to underscore the grip you have on his heart and lungs, with his actions: dropping to his knees to tie your shoe lace, letting you do whatever to him from hair clips in his hair to painting his nails to piggy back rides he doesn’t want to admit sends him practically into cardiac arrest. he might not be perfect, far from it in his insecurity mind that creeps and bites away at every sweet moment, criticising his every move - but for you, he’ll keep trying as much as he does for football to be the only one for you. he’ll memorise every bit of you - your favourite food and orders at shops you frequent with him kept in the notes app in his phone that is underneath a layer of password, the exact shape and mould of your body that he melts his hand right into on afternoons like this where you’re within arms range as he embraces you, each and every of your small quirk - from the way your voice leaves your mouth so sweetly and perfectly as though youre carved and made y god himself, from the way you move that has him hypnotised, from the way you look at him that dries his mouth and practically sends him right into heaven. he’ll serve you as a knight would - carry all your things without hesitation as you two walk out of class on top of the strangely heavy school bag on his shoulder, shield you with an umbrella from the cold and harsh rain that leaves the other him completely drenched as you reach completely dry, hell, he’ll ride his bicycle. with you right beside him hugging him that practically could leave his nose bleeding.

he may not be the best boyfriend, but he’ll do whatever it takes to be the only one you’ll ever have - your name practically tattooed right inside his heart and brain with not a single spot for anyone else in his life that he built a wall sky high to protect his heart, the key to his world given right to you and several others just in case you lose it, and your face in his mind every single second on the field with only a wish to do it for you with every step and every kick that lands right into the goalpost. now that he knows what loneliness is like, the days in blue lock where he can only see you through photos you so kindly send him, he doesn’t ever want this to change no matter how selfish it is - he thinks he might simply die from heartbreak alone with you being his real heart compared to his biological one, he thinks he’ll practically be left a shell of his previous ambitious self practically wasting his life away in his room listening to that playlist as he lies right with his own blood pooling around him with his guts and organs strewn a haphazardly around him as though hes back on that field that winter, he’ll no longer be itoshi rin, anyone but his true self that he can be only with you.

but for now, he’ll bury his head right into your chest, your hands still ruffling with his hair, ignoring the thoughts in his mind in favour of your heartbeat that still syncs up with his, melting right into this moment.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #rin.<3 #old work ish ? but lowk imso mentally exhausted from irl LOL #IFSOK THO i got 5 drafts that r like half done always 😝😝#trust in my lovefor itoshi rin <3

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months ago

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It was a bad idea from the start, really.

Will is very smug about it.

"I'm not," he insists, lying. He adjusts Nico's arm over his shoulder, breathing heavier with every step up the rocky hillside. "I'm just pointing out that it's very lucky you love someone who is right so often. Else you'd be dead."

His barely hidden smirk makes it a whole lot easier for Nico to be guilt-free about his current incapacitation. In fact, he cuts any effort at all, going completely limp. Will stumbles, damn near dropping him and sending them both tumbling back down into the sea, but manages, at the last second, to find his balance.

He's smug about that, too.

"You have the kind of arrogance they talk about in the Bible," Nico points out, as Will slides his arm under his legs and lifts. "Just saying."

"Do I."

"Mhm. Unchecked. Your father's son, truly."

"Oh, get fucked."

He's laughing as he says it, and Nico smiles, victorious. He swings his legs idly as Will labors, enjoying the sweat beading on his top lip and the shift of his muscles under his wandering hands.

"You know, I landed us pretty good for being near-death."

"You landed us in an underwater cave eight feet from the surface," Will says drily. He pauses, flash of warmth blooming under his palms, then shakes his head in exasperation and keeps hiking. "And you're nowhere near death, you man-baby."

"I'm dying."

"You have a couple scrapes and hay fever."

"I can see the light!"

"Bold of you to assume you're making it to the pearly gates."

Nico pauses. "Okay, point to Will." Will grins. Nico pinches him to teach him humility. "Onwards, servant. And in silence as your panting and human distress bothers me."

Will rolls his eyes again, but he suffers from Finding Nico Funny Disorder and also kind of Enjoying Being Ordered Around Not That He'll Admit It Syndrome, so Nico suffers no consequences. Instead, he inspects the countryside, humming along to the beat of Will's elevated heart.

In terms of places Nico has been stranded, this place is pretty good.

It's warm, for starters. A balmy seventy-seven to eighty, if he had to hazard a guess. The sun is out but it's a little cloudy, so it's not too awful, and if Nico had to haul both another person and two backpacks worth of overpacking he's sure he would be much less pleased about the light humidity, but as it is he is not, and he doesn't mind. The wind from the ocean -- channel, rather -- undercuts it nicely, anyway, and it smells like saltwater and pine needles.

"Are we out west?" Will asks, puffing a little. Nico refrains from making a comment about keeping in shape but it is a close thing. "Don't see pines like these back home much."

Nico hums, looking up at the forest. It's true -- among the many indistinguishable conifers peppering the wet soil are strange, sparse pine trees with trunks that seem almost cartoonish, geometrical. Like an exaggerated idea of a pine tree rather than a real one.

"Hold on. Lemme down, I can check."

"Nah. Let's get somewhere level first, okay?" He squeezes, gently, pressing a kiss to Nico's temple. "You're still a little wheezy," he murmurs, which is rich coming from someone who has not caught his breath for the last twenty minutes at minimum. "You can frolic about like the little GPS you are when you've had a minute to get your bearings."

Nico scowls and refuses to acknowledge the care in the action. He is not a GPS and it is disrespectful to refer to him as such. It would be akin to him calling Will a glowstick.

"Which you do," drawls Will. "On the daily."

"Yeah, but you're cute when you're mad," Nico argues. The comment, predictably, has Will's freckles flashing, and Nico grins. "See?"

"You're intolerable."

"Hm. Four years and counting, though."

"Yeah, yeah."

The incline steepens and Will's breathing steepens with it. Nico can hear the extra effort in his chest, in his pounding heart, and squeezes his shoulders. He teases, but Will has hiked them both a mile at least -- on a steep incline, too, trying to navigate the shifting rock and soil. And he's tired, and he dragged them both up from the water, and there -- there's another couple hundred feet until the hill slopes off, at least. Will takes a moment to catch his breath and Nico brushes the hair off his sweaty forehead.

"Almost there," he says quietly. "Almost there, and we can rest for a bit."

Will nods, and pushes forward. There is that look in his eye, familiar; eyes clouded and distance and face wiped totally smooth. The same face he gets when the infirmary gets a touch too crowded and he reaches, on long-dead instinct, for the helping hand of a sibling that isn't there, and shuts down. The same face he gets when someone peels a boiled egg and the smell of sulfur drags him down, the same face he gets when he wakes himself up half past three in the morning and grits his teeth through the screaming so he doesn't wake anybody up. The same face he gets when he is hurting, when he is tired, but there are others hurting worse, and he forgets. And he forces it away.

Nico hates it. He always has.

But Will is his own person, and he is strong. And there are hardly fifty feet left until they can rest.

They crest the top of the hill -- cliffside, really -- and Will makes no grand heaving, does not drop him. He sets him, gently, on the yellowed grass, and sets his bags down next, arranging them carefully so they hold their own weight. He straightens slowly and holds himself stiffly.

"Will," Nico says softly. "Come sit."

Will works his jaw. "Gimme a minute."

Nico nods, and watches him. He can almost picture the chanting he is doing in his head, trying to release the tension manually, trying to coach himself through the haziness. Trying to bring himself back, like Mr. D. taught him. There is nothing Nico can do, to fish him out of his own head, to drag him out of the place he goes and sits when things are too hard. The place where he used to live, unbidden to everyone. Where he would lose time by the months and resurface with a plastic smile and a practiced laugh and hands clenched so tightly the tendons are worn like old guitar strings.

He sighs, and slumps forward. Nico watches him sway, carefully, hands poised to dart out. But he gathers himself, eyes gently shut, and makes his careful way to the ground next to Nico. Nico places a hand between his shoulder blades.

"You with me?"

He nods. "Yeah." He leans back into the cool relief of Nico's hand, knocking their knees together. "Yeah, I'm with you."

"Good."

It's beautiful, from this height.

However high up they are -- Nico doesn't bother estimating -- they can see out for miles, nothing but ocean and forest as far as the eye can glean. The water is peppered with dozens of other islands, some bigger than others, and the yellowed sun shines in gentle brushstrokes through the woolen clouds, tiny beams of light piercing their way through and onto spotted cliffsides. Chittering coastal birds chase crabs along the rocky beach, and farther in the waves, Nico can see the coasting fins of a group of orcas. He tilts his head, curious, and when he feels his lungs are full enough, and his eyesight is clear and steady, he exhales, long and slow, and rests his hands spread and flat on the soil, searching. He extends his feeling as far as it will go down and outward, feeling Will's life forcing flickering -- tired but strong -- to his right, and millions of other creatures in the ground beneath them. He lets their noise fade and swell and wash over him, like the blending conversations of a large crowd, and tries to follow the waves of seismic energy as they shift and ebb beneath him, rumbling a conversation with connected plates all throughout the Earth.

"BC," he murmurs, blinking his eyes open. Will watches him, head propped on his bent knee. "Canada. Uh, Haida Gwaii, I think."

Will blinks. "Really?"

Nico nods. "Pretty sure." He is not expecting the slow, teasing smile that spreads over Will's face, and he is suspicious of it. He narrows his eyes. "What."

"Oh, nothing."

"Do not lie to me, William Andrew."

"Nothing! I mean it." He pauses. "I was just wondering --"

"Oh, here we go."

"-- it must be the dyslexia, I guess --"

"-- do you ever stop talking --"

"I mean, BC, NY, practically the same thing --"

"I hope you get eaten by a bear. Genuinely."

"-- easy mistake." Will grins. Nico scowls. "Anyone would make it, I'm sure."

"I was drained, you irritating jackass."

"Of course, of course. That totally explains why you shadow travelled us four thousand miles in the wrong direction."

"It's not -- four thousand miles, you dickhead." Nico pauses. "Fuck, is it?"

Will shrugs. "More or less. We're on the literal opposite point of the continent."

"Well." Nico blinks, staring back out the coast. "Shit."

"S'okay." Will stands, brushing off his shorts. "Let's keep moving."

Nico bites his tongue-- Will knows himself. He pushes himself, too, but he's smarter than to leave them both incapacitated. He holds out a hand, and Nico takes it, pulling himself to his shaky feet. He holds up a hand when Will tries to lift him again, and Will sighs, but falls into step beside him, hovering.

The hike is a helluva lot easier when they are not travelling eighty degrees upright. Will leads them into the dense forest and Nico lets him, making a face at the mugginess and the mosquitoes he can already feel but trusting Will's judgement regardless. If he gets malaria, it will be Will's problem, anyway.

"You are such a goddamn drama queen."

"Your fault. I used to be cool and traumatized."

"It's really cute that you genuinely believe that."

"Shut the fuck up."

Will snickers, but does. Probably less because Nico told him to and more because his dumb ass was not looking where he was going and almost walked into a tree, but that's none of Nico's business. He'll just remember the moment for eternity and bring it up next time Will tells him he should spend more time calibrating himself with nature.

They walk for a long time. A couple hours, at least, but Will packed six different water bottles, something Nico did indeed mock him for when they left ("It's a two-day quest, Will, I promise there will be a fucking water bottle available for purchase in Delaware." "Sure, go ahead, trust Delaware and see where that gets you.") but now tastefully pretends is not the case. The granola bars he stuffed in there are the nutritionally bereft but delicious ones from Costco, and they are melted to shit and waterlogged, but they're good anyway. Will tries and fails to ration them. Nico is faster. Plus, they'll…hunt, or something. Probably.

"I have never hunted a single thing in my life and you haven't either, nature boy, but sure, whatever. Let's Bear Grylls this thing."

Nico primly ignores his gripes. Will gets grouchy when he gets anxious, it's fine. He also happens to be very attractive when he is grouchy and Nico happens to be very attracted to him, so these things have a way of working themselves out. Especially because Will has a very sensitive spot on the side of his neck that he isn't quite aware that he has, so as soon as Nico gets close enough to lovingly and perhaps a touch hungrily also bite him he will be fine. Well, he will be goo, but that works. Nico can handle him when he is goo.

"Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me. You know it freaks me out."

It doesn't freak him out. It makes his whole face very hot and his brain kind of non-functional. But Nico is loving and benevolent and refrains from pointing this out.

"We should stop and eat, then."

"You just had fourteen granola bars!"

"Yeah, like an hour ago."

Will reaches out and pretends to strangle him. Nico darts out and grabs one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Will melts at the speed of sound.

"What -- okay, whatever. What Ever, okay. Fine."

He tosses his backpacks -- actually tosses, Christ, someone get this boy a BFA -- and sits heavily on the forest floor, ears burning. Nico looks at the mud and pine needles, wrinkles his nose, and sits delicately on Will's lap. This does nothing for him in the embarrassment slash flusteredness slash superhots he has for Nico, but it does have the added benefit of immediate physical affection and a solid weight in his lap, so his breathing calms. He tilts his face forward until his head is tucked between the space of Nico's neck and his shoulder. Nico reaches up, sliding a hand through his damp curls.

"Check-in," he says quietly.

"Buzzy," Will admits. "Tired. But -- fine."

Nico nods. He cards his hand more regularly through his boyfriend's hair, shifting so Will is slumped against him, and both elbows rest on his broad shoulders; he spends extra time on all the knots, untangling them gently and flicking the shedding strands to the side. He pushes his fringe off his forehead and, when Will doesn't stop him, starts to weave the sections into braids, splitting his hair down the middle of his scalp. He ties both ends off with one of the several elastics on his wrist and grins at the dandelion-pouf of the short strands. He kisses the crown of his head.

"You're cute as hell, you know that?"

"Bleh."

"Don't bleh me. I am the Prince of Hell. I would know." "Whatever, nerd." Will straightens slightly, leaning back against a tree trunk and adjusting Nico's weight. "Your turn. You good?"

"A little wheezy," Nico tells him. "Not that you were right or anything but the quest could maybe have waited until I was not contagious."

"Yeah. Damn, I wish someone would have told you that."

"Oh, can it, Mr. I Can Still Run My Infirmary With A Broken Spine."

"I mean. I could. I did, actually, and it went pretty well."

"You literally almost permanently paralyzed yourself."

"But I didn't! So there." Nico kisses him quiet, because sometimes he actually wants to shake the hypocrisy out of him. The way Will grins, cheeky, into the kiss tells him that he is aware and this was the goal. Fucker.

"I think this is a good spot," Will murmurs, sighing into Nico's mouth. Nico occupies his lips for a little bit longer, kissing every time he opens them to speak -- there are many benefits to dating a virus-immune doctor -- but moves, eventually and mournfully, onto the corner of his mouth, his jaw. His neck. It is a little bit unfair in terms of letting him focus but Will smells like salt and lavender still, somehow, and he looks good surrounded in browns and greens. "For the night, I mean."

"It's maybe two in the afternoon, Solace."

"Well, you need a nap. And I don't want to set up camp twice."

Nico pulls off, shrugging. He has a feeling you need a nap is code for if I don't sleep in the next ten minutes I am going out pass out on the floor. It has been before.

"Works for me."

Together they unpack the entirety of Will's bags. There's a lot of shit in there -- more than Nico assumed could actually fit in any kind of logical space -- and chief among it two bedrolls, a couple blankets, a tarp, some rations (that are not candy-stick granola bars that Nico shoved in there last minute) and, even, some fishing hooks and line. And, of course, more medical supplies than what probably exists on the entire island.

"You can never be too prepared," Will says primly, when Nico bites the corner of his mouth.

"You have leukemia medication," Nico points out.

"Well. Who knows."

"…Right."

Patting his neurotic boyfriend lovingly yet condescendingly on the forehead, which is somewhat of a challenge since he is distantly related to the Yeti or perhaps Godzilla, Nico grabs the tarp and some paracord string and leaves in search of some good branches. Will sings, high and clear, and Nico uses it as his version of Ariadne's string -- he never goes far enough that he can't hear the words, or the pout in his voice when he misses a note. He sings something ridiculous about a small-town judge and a murder plot, twangy and over-the-top and old, no doubt, and Nico smiles, piling the branches in his hands.

Will is convinced he can't sing -- and maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't see the world in quarter notes like his mother, or hear a jazz solo in a creaky door jamb like his prodigy brother. Maybe the birds don't stop when he hums and maybe his guitar is always a little flat. But his voice is rumbly, and curls in the air like camp smoke. And he knows more songs than any other soul living or dead, and when he hums something he made up about the sound of the wind against bending flower petals it warms you, from deep in your stomach. When he makes up a tune to put behind the most famous Italian sonnets or forgets the real tune of a rock song he heard in the back of a tour van ten years ago, Nico's breaths all taste a little sweeter. When his voice gets reedy and pleading and he pants next to Nico's ear, in warm, early mornings, he feels like he's drunk off sound alone.

He likes Will's voice.

He comes back with enough sturdy branches for a lean-to the Hunters would be jealous of, and Will smiles when he sees him. He doesn't stop singing, maybe because he's trying to keep himself awake, maybe because he knows Nico likes it, even though it turns up his vowels in a shy kind of way. Maybe both, or neither. Either way Nico joins him, humming a halfway decent harmony, and hands him the branches one by one, lingering whenever he can at the brush of their equally roughened fingers.

"'Kay," Will says, or sighs. "'S good as it's gonna get, I think."

It's a cute little tent, honestly. There's not a lot of space and once upon a time Nico would have chafed at the thought of it, whether he liked Will or not. A person needs their distance.

But he doesn't, really. Need distance from Will. Maybe he did, before they learned each other. Before they fell into depths unseen and struggled their way back up, before Will helped him angry and hurting, before Nico helped him quiet and blank. Before they learned each other's silences and sacrifices, before Nico knew what it meant to sit next to someone and exist on the same wavelength, in different spaces. Before he knew what it meant to share the same air.

They're codependant, a little.

Nico likes depending on him.

Will squeezes his hand. Nico squeezes back, and together they spread out their bedrolls, pushing them next to each other, and configure themselves around the balance of sticks and corded twine, of tired knees and aching backs. Nico fits his arms around Will's waist and his leg between his thighs, his forehead to the dip in his back and his breathing matching every inhale, every exhale. Will rests a too-warm palm on his wrist and sags into him, exhausted, and together they lay, still and sticky and warm, and it's a little uncomfortable. But it's good, too.

"It'll take you a couple days to get your strength back," Will says softly. "There are a lot of bears in BC."

"I have a sword," Nico points out.

"They're endangered."

"Hm."

"We have one drachma."

"Just the one?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

Nico curls tighter into him. He can tell, without looking, that he has his eyes squeezed shut -- guilty. As if Nico remembered to pack any emergency drachmas or medical supplies or anything outside of granola bars that are 92% chocolate.

"You're not worried about bears."

"No."

"I don't think the eidola followed us from Delaware, sweetheart."

"…Me either." He swallows. "Lotta weird shit in a lotta weird places, though."

Nico hums. He's right. Of all their quests and visits to Will's mother and errands and dates, they've been left unbothered maybe seven total times. Nico doesn't have great luck, and Will is some kind of homing beacon. They never go long without some motherfucker ruining things.

…Nico has a feeling, though.

A good one. For the first time in a while.

"I think we'll be okay," he says, carefully. "I can't promise and I don't know for sure. But I'm not -- I'm a little weak, Will, but I'm not that sick. And you're tired, but you're capable." He punctuates the statement with a firm kiss on the back of Will's neck, anticipating his shaking head. "I think you're right to save it. But you can sleep, and we'll be fine."

There is a lot of shit coiled up in Will's head. Years worth of baggage Nico will never untangle in a day, in a month, in four years. It will take him a lifetime.

But he's gotten pretty good at helping Will wade through it, he thinks.

"Yeah," Will sighs, loosening. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He brings Nico's hand up to his mouth, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his wrist. "We'll stay here for a bit. Three days, at least, it'll take you that long to come back to normal strength."

Protest stirs its way up Nico's chest, but he swallows it back. It won't kill him to wait it out. They have supplies. It will be nice, not to get back to camp exhausted.

Plus, he and Will…

Well, they could maybe use a break, in the wilderness, where no one can bother them.

"We'll IM if we get desperate. We're not too far from New Rome, anyway." Will yawns. Nico squeezes around his waist, and he leans back fondly. "Don't let me sleep longer than an hour, okay? I wanna scope out the place a little more before sundown."

Nico nods, and Will exhales, and in minutes he's out. Nico has always been jealous of his ability to just drop anywhere, in minutes; he could sleep standing up on one foot on the peak of Mount Everest. But now it only makes him smile, and he presses the curl of his lips to Will's warm skin, breathing in the smell of him. It's indistinguishable, almost, from the general outdoorsyness around them, and Nico takes the careful time to memorize it. To memorize it, and them, and the shape of Will in his arms.

He looks out over Will's shoulder and carefully counts the minutes.

-- -- --

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juniper-clan · 1 year ago

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Moon 14: Birth of Venus

(AKA the twins!)

PREVIOUS l NEXT

#I’d like to thank albe for the idea of them coming from sea foam #there’s prolly something bittersweet to heron rescuing two little kits from the sea #if you want more lore that I didn’t cram in here because it would be fluff and useless to the plot #but it was raining intensely and the safe ish tide pool this queen was in got flooded and she had to navigate that in labor #btw her name in the game is Joy #Joys spirit wanders…#warrior cats #clangen #clangen warrior cats #warriors oc #wc #wc oc #jcmoons

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hanafubukki · 1 year ago

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Summary: You never expected your cute bunny costume to elicit this type of reaction from Lilia Vanrouge.

After returning from Deuce’s hometown, you and Silver decided to show off your costumes to Lilia and the others.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Lilia commented how cute the outfits were while taking a bunch of pictures.

But you knew something was off as you spoke to Malleus, seeing those magenta eyes watching your every move.

A shiver went up your spine.

You swore you saw a fanged smirk from the corner of your eye.

Breath in.

Breathe out.

Melodic laughter fill the air as you ran.

You remember how Lilia cornered you right before this game of his.

Hand cupping your face as he leaned into you, “Run, my cute rabbit, run as fast as you can.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You knew he was playing with you.

Could catch you any minute.

The light touch at your back or your ears teased how close he is to you this whole time.

How it was his choice to allow you to run.

But if you turned this corner…

A stream of water came to view.

“Oh?”

You flung yourself into the water as quick as you could.

The air stilled.

Before laughter broke out.

“Clever little prey. I went too easy on you.”

“I caught you~”

Fuck.

You were so close.

Gasps filled the air.

Clawed fingers wipes the tears clinging to your lashes.

Your outfit in tatters around you.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle escape him.

You were such a cunning prey.

And now? Such a delicious one.

He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

You had his blood pumping during the hunt and he planned on using this extra energy on you.

“Lilia…”

“Hm?”

“Plea- Ah!”

“Not yet Beloved, I’m far from done.”

His hunger was far from satisfied.

Oh Bunny event, how you entice me so with bunnies💞💞💚💚

#queuing this so I don’t keep editing and second guessing myself #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #lilia vanrouge x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland headcanon #Lilia Vanrouge x mc #twst lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge headcanons #twst headcannons #twst scenarios #twst drabbles #twst imagines #twst fluff #twst smut ish at the end

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m4iya · 5 months ago

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⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Brown sugar milk tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls for @moochiwoochi!

Morning Coffee Sakusa Kiyoomi (fluff, crack, mutual pining, post high school)

Every morning for the past few weeks, at nearly the exact same time, the entry bell to the cafe you worked at would ding. In would walk a tall curly headed man, ordering the same thing each time. Once in a while, you'd offer him a baked treat, and he'd accept. Not many words would be exchanged between the two of you, but as time went on, you couldn't shake the curiosity that began to bubble up inside you.

As time passed, you'd begin to anticipate his arrival as one of the first people entering the store at the beginning of your shift. You'd began to apply just a little more lipgloss before leaving the house, touching up your makeup here and there even though you'd never paid it much mind before.

You'd never seen his entire face due to the covering he seemed to always be wearing. Though, as he left the store, drink in hand, you sometimes saw him pull it down a little to take a sip as he pushed the door open with his foot.

Tying your apron in the backroom of the kitchen, you decided that today would be the day that you finally speak to him. But how? And what would you say to someone you'd never had a conversation with before? A couple thoughts rushed through your head as you took one last glance in the mirror, the sound of the entry bell ringing in the background. You hurriedly rushed back to the front of the cafe, standing at the register where you saw him glancing over at the pastries in the display case.

You decided to start with a simple greeting - maybe something funny too?

"Going for something else today?" You smiled.

Surprise momentarily engulfed you as he shot you an unamused side-eye before turning his attention back to the case of sweets.

'So this is how it's going to be.' You thought to yourself before revising your expression, plastering another smile onto your face.

After he was done with his intense inspection of the pastries, he placed his order which was unusually large this time, consisting of a few drinks and sweets. Who on earth would be drinking 3 coffees and an iced chocolate this early? You didn't think he would eat 2 chocolate croissants and 3 strawberry danishes on his own either. As he swiped his card across the machine to pay, you took this as another opportunity to at least try to strike up a conversation.

"Meeting up with someone?" You asked, bagging his items.

"Kind of." He replied, slotting his card into his wallet and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Holding the bag out to him, he grabbed it from the bottom, holding the handles once you let go. The bell rang once more as he left, and you resumed your work. You shifted around the store, cleaning up coffee cups and wiping down tables when you noticed something laying atop the counter in front of the register. Someone had left their phone there - though it didn't look like it belonged to any of the older ladies who were enjoying a breakfast at the front of the cafe. You still asked just in case, and they confirmed your thoughts.

Setting the phone aside, you wondered if it might be for the man who was at the counter not too long ago. Either way, you'll probably see him again tomorrow if he forgets to retrieve it today - there was plenty of time.

During your break, you took the phone to the 'lost items' box in the back room, sliding onto one of the chairs and enjoying your lunch. After only a few bites into your sandwich, a faint vibrating sound could be heard from the direction of the box you had placed the phone in. Following the noise, you discovered the screen of the phone was lit up; somebody was ringing.

Deciding to click the answer button, you placed the phone on speaker. Maybe you could tell whoever was it was that the owner had lost his phone.

"Didn't I tell you to change my contact name?"

"How come? Whats wrong with Oomi? See, I even put a mask emoji as well..”

You heard bursts of laughter in the background as whoever was on the other side sounded like they were fighting - albeit pretty calmly. Though it didn't seem to be a very long lasting squabble, as it was soon noticed that you’d answered.

"Hello?" You spoke up first. The line fell silent, save for a few subtle voices.

"Giving girls your phone, omi-omi?" Someone sneered in the background.

"Give me that."

"Hey!"

It seemed that he took the phone from the callers hand, opting to speak directly into it instead.

"You have my phone." He bluntly spoke.

"Yeah, you left it at the cafe earlier today."

A pang of silence ran through the speaker as he seemed to have realised who you were.

"Right.." His voice trailed off, softening ever so slightly. “What time does your shift end?"

"5’ o clock." You replied.

"I'll be there before then. Just keep it on the side if you can." His voice was somewhat hushed - maybe he didn’t want the others to hear? Even though he'd only said a few words to you, he seemed somewhat easier to talk to than he had this morning.

Throughout the rest of the day, you wondered if the boys in the background of the call were the ones he had bought the sweets and drinks for. A study session? Maybe they were hanging out together. You began to realise how little you knew about him considering you'd never shared a full conversation before. Thoughts swept your mind as you began to wonder how old he was, if he was in college and what he’d be studying - heck, you didn’t even know his name. And calling him what those guys had said on the other side of the phone didn’t exactly sound like something he’d be too happy about.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes, wondering how long until another 10 minutes would pass. You’ve never worked so fast before - nor had you been so eager to clock off. You had so many questions to ask him, wondering if he’d even answer any; you let them accumulate inside your already crowded headspace.

At exactly 5:00, you rushed into the employee room to freshen up a little, washing your face and applying some perfume. You made sure not to forget the reason why he was meeting you in the first place, sliding his phone into your pocket. Taking one last glance in the mirror before hoisting your handbag over your shoulder, you left the store, standing at the front where he mentioned he’d be waiting.

Stepping outside the store, you noticed a car stopped on the side of the road, its headlights still gleaming. The drivers seat window began to lower, a familiar pair of eyes meeting yours.

“Hey!” You waved walking towards the car. He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Here’s your phone.” He slipped it back into his pocket, thanking you.

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it playing out. The plethora of questions you’d accumulated over time suddenly disappeared with him standing right in front of you.

Without a counter separating the two of you, things felt different. For one, you didn’t realise how tall he was, nor did you notice the slight frizz in his curls that seemed somewhat styled earlier in the day. The way the light of the afternoon sun lightly glossed over his skin - you simply couldn’t look away.

He cleared his throat. “Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” You replied, adjusting the strap of your handbag. “I just need to wait for the bus.”

He turned towards the door of his car, opening it. “Won’t it be late by the time you get home?”

“Kind of, but I’m used to it by now.” You shrugged.

“That doesn’t sound very safe if you ask me,” He said, slipping into the drivers seat and closing the door. “I’ll take you home.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll be safe!” Embarrassed, you waved your hands in front of you in an attempt to clear the air.

Though he didn’t exactly look like the negotiable type, as he simply stared back at you with an expression that read ‘Just get in.’

Hesitantly, you walked to the other side of the car and stepped inside, placing your handbag on your lap and pulling the seatbelt over yourself. His car seemed like it had just been driven out of a dealership - it looked completely brand new. There was also a faint smell of sandalwood and vanilla - a very pleasant smell, and it was well ventiated. Below your feet was a duffel bag which was pushed as far into the leg space as it could go - as if he was expecting someone to sit in the passenger seat.

“Well? Are you going to tell me where to drop you off?”

“Oh, right! Let me just pull it up on the maps..” Embarrassed, you dipped your head to search on your phone, almost sure you heard a small laugh from the drivers seat.

As you directed him through the streets, you shared a simple conversation, finding out that he wasn’t currently a college student, but instead a professional volleyball player; and the people on the phone from earlier? Those happened to be some of his team-mates.

“I had no idea,” You chuckled. “I don’t really watch any sports. But I’d watch you play!”

“That’d be nice.” He replied, turning the wheel into the street before yours. “Oh, i’m just down there to the right,” You pointed out. “You can just drop me off here if you like.” He turned on the indicator to take the next street. “I’m already here, might as well get you home.”

Pulling into the street, he stopped in front of the apartment complex you signalled was yours.

"You really didn't have to do all this.." One hand held a grip on your bag, the other on the passenger door. You wondered if you'd ever get the opportunity to speak to him other than just a greeting in the mornings - more than the conversation the two of you shared on this short trip to your home.

"Didn’t you find my phone?" He replied, shifting the car into 'park' and turning to face you. "Someone could've stolen it."

"You'd be able to easily afford another one though."

"Yeah - well, thats," He sighed, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "Thats not the point,"

"Does your shift end at the same time everyday?"

You nodded. "Yeah, why?"

He held his phone, tapping a few things before handing it to you. "I can take you home in that case. But I'd need to let you know when I'd be waiting outside, no?"

You paused, looking at the empty contact screen he handed you; was he expecting you to fill it in?

Taking the phone from his hand, you saved your name and typed in your number, handing it back to him.

"You've never called me by my name, you know?"

"I don't usually need to call a cafe worker by their name."

"Is that an excuse?" You teased. "Because from when I stepped foot into your car, you've never called my name - not even once."

"Um, not necessarily..?" His voice trailed off.

"It's on my name-tag. You know, the one thing hanging off my apron at work."

"I didn't see it, alright?" He sighed, exasperated. "But you don't seem to know mine either." He shot back.

"Come to think of it, I may have already known it from before." Your thoughts trailed back to the phone call from earlier.

"Really? What is it then?"

You had to control yourself from bursting out into laughter as a chuckle escaped you alongisde your words. "Is it.. Omi? Omi-omi?"

"He’s so going to regret that."

from my 100 followers event ✩ other works

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wikiangela · 7 months ago

Text

I'll be spending all Christmases with you

written for @bucktommywinterfest

prompt: first [insert winter holiday/tradition] together

rated: G

word count: 3.1k

[also on Ao3]

Buck shows up at Tommy’s house right after his shift ends, comes in without knocking – Tommy doesn’t seem to mind, always just smiling fondly in response – kicks off his shoes and drops his duffel bag next to them, and goes straight to the kitchen, two full grocery bags in hands. “You’re off on Christmas, right?” Buck asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks into the kitchen, where he knows Tommy is, based on the amazing smells and the sounds of cooking and music playing quietly. “Hey, honey, how was your day?” Tommy answers, amused, from where he’s stirring in a pot on the stove. He eyes the bags Buck brought and put on the counter, but doesn’t say anything yet. “Mine was fine, a little boring, I missed you.” “Yeah, yeah, okay, hi, I missed you, too.” Buck rolls his eyes as he walks over to Tommy to kiss him sweetly. “So, you’re not working on Christmas?” “No, for once I’m not.” Tommy turns towards Buck, holding up a spoon with sauce on it to his lips. “Try it?” “Mmmm.” Buck exclaims when he takes the spoon into his lips. “So good.” Tommy smiles in response, turns to put the spoon away and lower the heat. “I was thinking of taking overtime, though.” “What? When?” “On Christmas.” Tommy shrugs, but he’s not looking at Buck, apparently deciding it’s time to start cleaning the mess he made while cooking. “Why?” Buck frowns. “Well, I don’t have plans. When I’m off on Christmas, I usually take overtime so someone who actually has a family can take a day off.” His tone is carefully neutral, and if Buck didn’t know him any better, he might've missed the note of sadness. He tries to turn away to the sink, which is full of dishes he’s used. But before he can fully turn, Buck grabs his waist and brings him closer to himself, Tommy’s back against Buck’s chest. “Baby, you do have plans.” Buck whispers in his ear, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It breaks his heart to think that this amazing man has been spending all his holidays working, because he didn’t have someone to spend it with. That’s about to change. If Buck has it his way, Tommy will always have a family to celebrate any and all holidays with. Buck is his family now, and he needs Tommy to finally believe that. “We’re spending our first Christmas together, I thought that was obvious.” “Oh. I thought- I know I got an invite for Christmas Eve dinner at your firehouse, but I thought the actual holiday-” “You thought wrong.” Buck interrupts, easily turning Tommy to face him. “Maddie invited us for dinner at their place on Christmas.”

“As in, us both?” Tommy asks, skeptical. Whoever hurt him in his life to make him think he’s so undeserving of love and affection and people actually wanting him around and to spend time with him – Buck wants to kick their asses.

“Yes, us both,” he rolls his eyes. “What, you think I’m gonna drag you along uninvited?”

“And you- you want me to go?” Tommy asks, frowning, as if confused. Buck really is about to ask for a list of everyone who ever wronged him. He’s never seen his boyfriend this doubtful and insecure, not this outwardly before.

“Tommy. Why on earth wouldn’t I want you to go?” He asks incredulously.

“I don’t know. It’s a family thing, right?” Tommy looks down, cheeks pink.

“Yeah. And you’re a part of this family now. You know that, right?” Buck asks, reaches out to grab Tommy’s chin and make him look him in the eyes. There’s a panicked look in his eyes when he does. “It’s important to me that you know that. The 118, Maddie and Chim and Jee, me. I’m your family, if you let me. And you’re gonna let me, too late to back out now,” he adds teasingly, mostly a joke, and it does get Tommy to chuckle. But he’s more serious than he’s letting on. Tommy has his whole heart by now. Buck wants him forever, wants everything with him, wants to move in together, wants to get married, have kids, get a dog – just everything. He wants to grow old together, wants to- he wants to share Christmas traditions and start new ones, just theirs, and continue them for years and years and years. He thinks it’s too much to say just yet, too scary even for him sometimes, the intensity and enormousness of those feelings almost overwhelming at times.

“Oh.” Tommy blinks. “I- Okay. I mean, if they won’t mind me joining-”

“Again,” Buck interrupts, “we all want you there. So, are you coming with me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He breathes out, as if he still has trouble believing he’s being included. “God, sorry.” Tommy groans, buries his face in Buck’s neck. “I just- I’ve never spent Christmas with a partner before. It feels- big. And I guess I’m panicking a little bit.” His voice is muffled by Buck’s skin, his arms clinging to Buck’s back.

“That’s okay. I get it, it does feel big. We can panic together,” he runs a soothing hand down Tommy’s back, and feels him chuckle, and then press a soft kiss to the side of Buck’s neck. He’s just glad Tommy’s not running away, that Buck didn’t scare him off with all the family talk. He tends to go all in too soon, and sometimes, usually, it doesn’t work out well. But Tommy’s still here, telling him he’s panicking, communicating, so they can get through any freak outs together. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Tommy pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Just took me off guard. I’d love to spend Christmas with you and the Hans.”

“Great.” Buck grins.

“So, what’s that?” Tommy nods his head in the direction of the grocery bags.

“Oh!” Buck lets Tommy go and goes to start unpacking the bags, pulling out all the ingredients he bought. There are too many kinds of flour, a lot of chocolate chips, sprinkles, sugar – to name a few. “We’re gonna make Christmas cookies.”

“It’s a month until Christmas, sweetheart.” Tommy chuckles.

“I know that. We need to try out different recipes, though. I found a few and I’m not sure which one we’ll like best.” He says, feeling Tommy’s gaze on him as he pulls out everything out of the bag. “I used to always bake cookies with Maddie on Christmas Eve. My parents weren’t really in the holiday spirit, like, ever, and it makes sense now, but, you know.” He shrugs. He told Tommy his family history, his family secret, they shared bits and pieces about their lives by now. Tommy gets it. “Anyway, I figured, since it’s our first Christmas, of many,” he adds, looking back at Tommy expecting panic in his face, and there are traces of it still, but mostly he looks fond, hopeful, “we could share some traditions, and maybe do something new. I wanted a new recipe, though, something that we choose together.”

“Really? We’re gonna bake a crazy amount of cookies just so we can decide on a recipe together?” Tommy asks, and when Buck turns towards him, he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“I know it’s silly, okay?” Buck rolls his eyes. “But I want it to be perfect, and I want it to be our thing.”

“Okay.” Tommy smiles, that fond smile of his on his face. “You’re adorable.” He adds, and Buck grins, feeling heat in his cheeks. He’ll never get used to compliments from Tommy, they always make him feel so giddy inside. Tommy makes him feel that way. Like he’s floating in the clouds. And at the same time, like he’s the most grounded he’s ever been, like he can finally put down his roots somewhere. He can really finally see himself doing that. He sees forever in Tommy’s eyes, in his crinkling smile. “When do you wanna start?”

“We can make the first batch after dinner.” Buck shrugs. “If you’re not tired."

“I’m not the one who just finished a shift an hour ago.” Tommy chuckles. “If you’re not tired, sure, let’s do it.” Tommy says, then turns to check on dinner, while Buck starts putting all the groceries away exactly in places they should be – well, he’s rearranged some things since they started dating, but Tommy says he got used to it and likes it better this way. One time he said he likes his space being so full of Buck. It was so sweet Buck kissed him about it, and then had to suck him off about it right there in the kitchen.

“So,” Buck starts after a moment of silence, only quiet music playing, “you got any traditions you wanna do?” He asks, not wanting to do just his own traditions. It’s supposed to be their first holiday together, he wants to incorporate both of their traditions, and merge them, and maybe one day they’ll transform into something else or get replaced by things they come up with together. But that’s years down the line, and they gotta start somewhere.

“Uh, we didn’t actually do much for Christmas.” Tommy says, and when Buck looks at him, he sees a sad smile on his face, as he starts to plate their food. “When I was little, maybe. I remember having a tree, but not much more.” He pauses, thinking. “I mean, one thing I do remember, pretty vividly, is this thing I used to do with my mom, before she died,” he sighs, turns to Buck, but doesn’t look him in the eye, gaze somewhere on the floor. “We used to take those walks around the neighborhood and watch how people decorated their houses. We used to compare and judge them like it’s some kind of competition.” He laughs, a faraway look on his face, like he’s back in time, with his mom, in those happy memories. “It was so much fun, those are some of my favorite Christmas memories,” he admits.

“That sounds nice.” Buck says quietly, abandoning the groceries to walk closer to Tommy, leans against the counter next to him.

“It really was. But then after she died-” his face drops, he swallows hard and audibly, “we stopped doing Christmas at all. My dad- he was never the same without her. He was never particularly great, but after she was gone, it all became worse.” He shakes his head. Buck’s heard some stories already, he has a pretty good idea of what Tommy means. “One year I got some old Christmas lights from the attic and put them in my room. I just wanted some Christmas spirit, you know? Feel closer to my mom again, in a way, she loved Christmas. But I got chewed out for that. So I just- I stopped celebrating as well.” He shrugs, looks up at Buck. “Anyway, sorry, my point is, watching people’s decorations was one of my favorite things to do during the holidays,” he cracks a smile, trying to shrug off all the sadness in his face, not show how it’s still affecting him. Buck can’t help himself, he wraps his arms around Tommy and just holds him. Tommy sighs, slumps against him.

“Okay,” Buck whispers, “so we’ll do that this year, if you want to. We’ll go for a walk and judge people’s houses after dinner,” he says and hears Tommy laugh.

“Sounds good,” Tommy pulls away, a grateful smile on his face.

“And we need to decorate the house, too. And we need a tree!” Buck exclaims, already doing mental inventory of every piece of decorations he has, and everything they need to buy. “We can put it in the corner next to the TV. Or move the armchair and-” He tries to move away to walk to the living room and start planning, but Tommy grabs his hand and stops him. He vaguely registers that he’s talking about Tommy’s house like it’s theirs, but when he looks at Tommy, he doesn’t see the panic anymore. There’s a fond smile on his face.

“Let’s eat dinner first, okay? And then we can start planning.”

“Okay.” Buck smiles sheepishly. They each grab a plate and go to sit down at the small table by the wall.

They get to eating, talking about their days, their ankles intertwined under the table. It’s always so easy with Tommy, getting lost in conversation, topics never ending. Tommy always gives him his undivided attention, listening intently with the fondest smile, even when Buck goes on a tangent about something totally silly and unrelated. Also, Buck just loves this part of the day, he doesn’t think he’s had that in a while. This – coming home to a person he loves, talking about their day, having them genuinely interested and truly get it – and hear about their day, their job, everything they’ve done on their day off. Just having someone to come home to. He loves this part.

“So, here’s the plan,” Buck starts about halfway through dinner, getting back on topic, “we’re gonna make cookies a few days before, and then on Christmas we’re gonna have dinner at Maddie’s, watch Jee open presents. We’re gonna be the coolest uncles and spoil her by getting her every single thing she asked for, by the way.” He adds casually, noting Tommy’s eyes widen at the mention of ‘uncles’ plural. One day Buck will make him believe he’s a part of this family now. He’s an uncle now, whether he likes it or not. It’s not even because of Buck – last time he was at Maddie’s, Jee asked him, verbatim, where uncle Tommy is. “I have a list, and I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay.” Tommy whispers, an awed expression on his face. Like he still can’t quite believe Buck means it.

“We’re also gonna kiss under every mistletoe branch in Maddie and Chim’s house,” Buck continues, “and trust me, there’s gonna be a lot.” He grins. He always finds it ridiculous and kind of sweet how Chim goes overboard on mistletoe just to have a cute excuse to kiss his wife at any opportunity, as if he couldn’t do that anyway. “And then we’ll go for a walk together and judge people’s houses. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.” Tommy says, that fond smile back on his face. “I can’t wait.”

“And-” Buck hesitates, but then decides to just go for it, hoping he won’t scare Tommy away. “Maybe next year, or whenever we move in together, we can host.”

“Next year?” Tommy raises his eyebrows, his voice shaking slightly. God, maybe that was too much, Buck just freaked him out. “Move in?”

“Sorry.” Buck shakes his head. “I know this is a lot and too fast, but- but I’m sure of this, of us, of my feelings for you. And I know I want us to spend the next Christmas together. And the next, and the next, and all the holidays after that.” He says, confident and sure, watching Tommy’s face shift between panic and affection. “But we can talk about it when time comes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“No, no, I’m not- okay, maybe I am a little bit.” Tommy chuckles, raises his arm to scratch at the nape of his neck, like he does when he’s nervous. “I’m just surprised. And I- I want that so bad, Evan, I’ve never wanted anything more. It’s just- let’s take it one day at a time for now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck smiles. “Whatever you want.” He swallows the three little words that have been threatening to spill for weeks now. He’ll say it soon. It’s not time yet, he’s already scaring Tommy enough with his plans for the future. They have time. Buck’s not going anywhere, he’ll be here and he’ll make it work. Maybe he needs to slow down a little, match Tommy’s pace better, he can do that. But there’s no doubt in his mind that Tommy is his forever.

It’s a few days before Christmas that they make cookies in Tommy’s kitchen, having settled on a recipe after a few tries. Tommy puts on some Christmas music and sings off-key and sways a little as he kneads the dough. Buck stands beside him, watches him with a soft smile, as he’s cutting out cookies from the first portion of dough. Tommy has flour on his nose and cheek, a happy smile on his face, and that sparkle in his eye that Buck’s not sure he’s seen before. He thinks Tommy’s getting his love for Christmas back. There’s a huge tree in the living room, dressed up in so many decorations and lights, a mountain of presents already under it, most for his niece. The entire front yard is brightly lit by lights around the trees, along the fence, a big, lit up Santa, and some other knicknacks they accumulated in the past few weeks. There’s hot cocoa in mugs on the counter, a Christmas movie waiting for them to finish the cookies, and cosy blankets spread out on the couch. It feels festive and warm, and like home and family. Buck’s never been happier, and he’s never seen Tommy happier, either.

In a few days they’ll go spend Christmas with Buck’s sister and brother-in-law and niece, and a few days after that he’ll welcome the new year by kissing Tommy, ensuring that he’ll spend the next year kissing him, too – if someone believes in superstitions and sometimes Buck really does. He thinks the holidays this year are the best in his life. And he can’t wait to see how much better it’s gonna get each year he gets to do this with Tommy.

But for now, they bake cookies, and once they’re in the oven, Buck grabs Tommy's hand and turns up the music, and they dance in the kitchen, among the mess, covered in flour and dough, badly singing along to Christmas music and stepping on each other’s toes, and laughing, and it’s absolutely perfect.

They dance to Christmas songs and make a mess while baking cookies, followed by a Christmas movie marathon with hot cocoa for years to come – when they move in together, when two matching rings show up on their fingers, when a set of tiny footsteps and helper hands joins them a few years later, and then another one. It becomes Buck’s favorite thing about the holidays – his family, warmth, laughter, love. His heart is so full. It can’t get better than this.

[also on Ao3]

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pipwritesoccasionally · 11 months ago

Text

midnight emotions (two little lines pt. 2)

in which your stepson has a bad dream and you feel guilty.

this one has less to do with your pregnancy but it is still relevant!

toji x reader (same stuff from last time applies, technically AFAB because of pregnancy but it's also a world with sorcery so I am not here to stop AMAB people. kept it pretty gender neutral, but let me know if it doesn't seem like it.)

wc: 850

parts: 1 3 4 5

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the darkness floods your eyes as you blink awake for the second time that night. body aching, you roll over, feet fluffing the carpet of you and toji’s bedroom. your arms reach up, exposing your growing stomach to the cold air.

as you stand, the bed creaks, and you hear your husband groan.

“doll?” his voice is low from sleep, and you place your hand on his arm.

“i’m good. i just have to pee.”

“again? you went two hours ago,” you’d never think that toji could be so whiny, but it sure was a very cute surprise.

“babe, a whole human is growing next to my bladder. i’m going to be peeing all the time for the next few months,” you chuckle, and you hear him roll over on the bed.

“fine. see you soon.”

with that, you begin your walk to the bathroom, able to navigate the dark hallways perfectly after following this routine for weeks. after doing your business, you walk back down the hall, but this time you find that it’s much easier.

in fact, there’s a light on in one of the bedrooms, which you quickly discern to be megumi’s. you knock, hearing a little “come in” on the other side.

“megumi? what are you doing up?” you whisper, seeing him sitting up in bed. he furiously rubs his hands with his face, and the sight brings tears to your eyes.

“i…had a bad dream.” he says, his little voice full of sadness. you move to kneel next to his bed, hoping to reassure him.

“what happened? you can talk to me about it, if you want. or i can get your dad if you’d prefer.” he shakes his head, but still seems to hesitate.

“dad’s not going to…leave us, will he?” worry strikes through you.

“never. what would make you think that?”

“i don’t know, i guess i just wish we could see him more. he’s always pretty busy and only comes home for dinner.” another tear falls down his little face, and you can feel one mirror on your own. curse your hormones.

“he’s busy, yes, but it’s because he’s trying to provide for you as best as he can. he just wants you to be happy,” megumi nods, but you can see that there’s still something on his mind.

“it’s just that…when the baby comes, will he still have time for us?” your heart brakes at his statement, guilt shattering you.

“of course he will. i promise you that he will always have time for you. he can be gruff, but he loves you.”

“pinky promise?” he holds his little pinky out, and you immediately hook your much larger one around it.

“pinky promise. now go back to bed. if you’re tired in the morning, let me know and i’ll call you out of school.” he nods, and you walk to the door, turning his light off.

“sleep tight kiddo.” the door closes with a soft click!, and you immediately head back to your shared bedroom. your face feels wet, and you realize belatedly that you’d been crying.

the bed is comforting, but you feel your breaths come out shakily.

“doll? what’s wrong?” you jump, not realizing your husband’s still awake, and scoot in closer.

“megumi’s worried that you won’t have time for him once the baby comes, and i feel so guilty. i didn’t even think about how this would affect them.” you’re hiccuping now, and his large hand comes to rest on your back.

“you didn’t do anything wrong, i should be here more for them.” he whispers, and you shake your head.

“no, you’re just doing what you can to help us.” he sighs, and you place your head on his chest.

“yeah, but maybe it’s not enough. i’ll try to cut back on how many jobs i take weekly so i can be here more. we make more than enough money between the two of us anyways.”

you hum, remembering exactly why you fell in love with him all those years ago. he isn’t exactly the most open person, but he does love his kids in his own way.

“you need to stop being so cute. this isn’t good for my blood pressure,” he snorts, squeezing you lightly.

“cute, huh? never thought someone would call me cute,” you laugh at him, wrapping your arms around his body.

“why wouldn’t they? you just ooze cuteness, from your thick biceps and rippling abs-”

“i’m starting to think you might be in love with me.” you can just hear the grin in his voice, and you move to roll away before one of his strong arms stops you.

“ah-ah,” he tuts, “need my doll next to me so i can protect her.”

“you sure you’re not the one in love with me?” his chest is firm as you run your fingers across it.

“you wish,” he presses a kiss against your temple, and your body heats up. you huff, feigning annoyance, and his hand comes to cup your face.

“fine. i might be in love with you. just a little bit."

#anime #jjk x reader #manga #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji angst ish #toji fushiguro #pipwritesoccasionally

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