#he doesn’t see me often anyway (once a week)

[nothingweirdhere]

bro i’m 🥺😭💞💞💞

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

[tender-rosiey]

Hey you lovely human :) Just dropped in to say I bumped into blog like yesterday and since then I ATE (almost) everything Gojo related (still have a couple left), like I genuinely am in LOVE with everything. If you are ever willing to take upon this idea, I was curious about how you see Gojo meeting his significant other and falling in love ? Would love to see the beginning of their relationship and how they ended up together. Thank you and since is already weekend here for me almost - i hope you have a gorgeous weekend!! ^^

creepy eyes — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: AHHH THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY OMG TYYYYY and i am so sorry that i took so long </3 ANYWAY this is how I imagine gojo first meeting his wife cause i believe that it has to be before gojo closed off and that she became a trusted and close friend of his

it’s just another afternoon at jujutsu high, the sun bathing the grounds in a soft glow, casting long shadows as students hurry from class to class.

you’re deep in thought, focused on training, when you suddenly collide with something solid—or rather, someone.

you stumble back a step, blinking up at the towering figure now standing before you. you glance up, only to find yourself staring into a pair of eyes—bright, intense, and painfully blue.

the boy is about to say something, but you beat him.

“my god, your eyes are creepy,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

there’s a beat of stunned silence.

the giant’s mouth drops open slightly, his eyebrows raise in sheer disbelief as if you’ve just insulted the most precious thing in the world to him.

“my eyes?!” he gasps, hand flying dramatically to his chest. “you think my eyes are creepy?”

you nod, grimacing at the loud sound, “yeah, they're unnerving. kind of like staring into a bottomless pit.”

satoru is scandalized. “my eyes are beautiful!” his voice pitches higher, as if stating a fact that should be universally accepted.

he tilts his head closer to you and taking his glasses off, daring you to look again. “take another look! appreciate them!”

you squint, unimpressed, and simply shrug, brushing past him, “I’ll pass.”

that’s the beginning.

days turn into weeks, and the more you try to forget about that initial encounter, the more satoru won’t let you. every time you cross paths, it’s like he has a personal mission to make you take back that one insult.

whether it’s during training, at lunch, or in the hallway, satoru somehow finds a way to bring it up.

“you still don’t think my eyes are nice?” he asks, exaggeratedly crestfallen, peering at you with that playful gleam.

“yeah, still creepy.”

“but why?” he exclaims, leaning against the doorframe or sitting next to you with a theatrical sigh. “do you not see the sparkle? the beauty? the endless charm?”

it becomes such a regular thing that even suguru can’t help but get involved. he appears at satoru’s side, casually rolling his eyes at his friend’s dramatics, though a smirk plays on his lips.

“you’re still on about that?” geto quips. “maybe just accept that she has good taste, satoru.”

“oh, shut up, suguru! she’s just blind to my perfection!” satoru retorts, crossing his arms as he watches you chat away with shoko.

and so it goes. satoru’s relentless teasing—half playful, half desperate—starts weaving into the fabric of your days.

every time you think he’ll finally let it go, he’s right there, flashing that expectant grin as if waiting for you to finally give in.

months pass. the seasons start to shift, but satoru's persistence doesn’t.

he keeps bugging you about it—less often than before, but every once in a while, he'll find an opportunity.

whether it's during class or during a mission, he brings it up with that same confident, teasing smile.

it’s a lazy afternoon when it happens.

you’re outside, lounging against a tree in the sun with a book in hand, trying to relax after a mission when satoru flops down beside you, elbow nudging yours.

his sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he grins at you. “still think they’re creepy?”

you don’t even look up from your book. “yup.”

he leans in, resting his chin on his hand, giving you that pout again. “come on, you’re just being mean at this point.”

you stifle a laugh, flipping a page. “am I?”

satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, “you’re impossible, you know that? these eyes are a national treasure.”

you can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips this time. it makes satoru blink, clearly caught off guard by the sound.

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing in curiosity as he leans closer to your face. “wait… was that a real laugh? are you finally admitting I’m funny?”

you roll your eyes, looking away from him as you smile. “don’t push your luck.”

he grins widens at the sight of your smile, and he is about to boast of his achievement when you glance at him. with amusement still tugging at your lips, you reach out and push his sunglasses up with a playful tap.

“fine, fine,” you relent, voice teasing as you give him a small grin,“I think your eyes are very pretty.”

for once, satoru’s the one caught off guard.

he blinks rapidly, a flash of surprise flickering across his face as he pulls himself away and tries process your words.

your smile doesn’t falter, but satoru’s eyebrows furrow, before he chirps, standing up, “well—it’s about time you admitted that!”

your eyes widen, as he gets loud and starts ranting about his beauty, “it is only natural that you succumb to my charms! ahaha! my eyes are only one part of it!”

confused but having nothing to say, you lean back against the bark. you don’t mention out loud that his ears are tinted pink, not that satoru would give you the chance to call him out.

but you both know that something has changed.

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[awrkive]

[TEASER] THE LOVE PROGNOSIS (m) — JJK.

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. the kind of girl who thought her high school jock boyfriend would make good on his promise of keeping contact until college. that girl who thought the guy she met at 19 at some sleazy frat party wanted more than just sex. the girl who thought that her boyfriend at 21 would finally be The One after he introduced her to his parents on New Year’s Eve. you’re the kind of girl who thought that it was smart to get a boyfriend in her first year of med school and get proposed to in fourth year.

but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 1.2k words for this teaser but the fic currently is at 22k words (heavily unedited). the final estimate is around 30-35k 🤓

WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, jk sluts it out quite often😞, hopeless romantic!oc, weddings and engagement themes, the angst is a bit extreme (medium level tbh) on this one, it’s the… yearning? one sided-love?, the surgeons gang: jk, oc, nayeon, doyeon, taehyung <3, multiple sex scenes (will specify once the fic comes out), i personally have only acquired a degree on Bingewatching Grey’s Anatomy so my medical knowledge is.. you see.. greys anatomy 💔 BUT! i did a lot of research for this pls dont crucify me. the full list of warnings will be indicated when the full fic comes out 🙏🏼 anyways warnings particularly for this teaser: drunk oc, implied alcohol consumption, germaphobe jk lol

NOTES hello awrkive nation!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wanted to do something for jk’s birthday this september and this is what i came up with 😭 i am so soooo so incredibly excited to announce this fic to you guys 😵‍💫 ive been working on this on and off since the last week of july and its currently at 20k words so its coming along really well 🫂 its gonna be a HUGEE HUGEEE fic since its estimated to be around 30k words which will be a first for me hehe <3 pls look forward to it and REPLY TO THE COMMENT SECTION IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST (pls do not send an ask for taglist request 🫶🏼) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK!!!!! I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS <33333

[ TLP MOODBOARD ]

READ FULL FIC HERE ❗

“Hey, swing me.”

You tell Jungkook, situating yourself more comfortably on the wooden platform attached to the chains.

“A dollar per minute.” He says, standing up from his own seat and placing himself behind you.

“I thought you hate capitalism? What is this?”

“This is forced labor.” Jungkook says with a groan that you think is a feigned exasperation, since you begin to feel movement right after it.

“You broke my hairdryer the other day. Consider this your compensation.” You look up at him to give him a smarmy smile.

Fom where you’re seated, you realize just how… big his presence is. It’s not the looming, ominous type, though – it’s quite the opposite. When Jungkook surrounds you, you find a bit of comfort in it. A huge one if you want to be honest to yourself.

“And I already bought you a new one. We’re even.” Jungkook squints his eyes at you.

You laugh.

“You’re gonna borrow and break it again.”

He visibly winces. “Touché.”

Jungkook swings you while you talk about your day, just like usual. He asks you about your laparoscopy that kept you from having lunch with the rest of your friends at the hospital earlier that day, about your new scrub cap, and you gossip a little about the new lab tech having a crush on the scrub nurse you both know.

For all his complaints earlier, Jungkook seemingly doesn’t seem to mind having swung you for the past ten minutes now. He’s relaxed and gentle with his movements, and his voice is quaint and soft as he talks to you.

But then you start to feel bad for him so you tell him to stop, standing up from the swing.

“Okay, your turn.”

Jungkook gives you a big grin.

“Nice.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm when he sits on the swing chair this time around. But when you attempt a push, he barely moves, prompting him to laugh.

“What weak ass push was that?” He says incredulously, looking at you.

You jut your bottom lip out. “You’re heavy and I’m drunk.”

The second time you push him is more forceful but then Jungkook voices out a complaint after the third, fourth, and every single time you do it. You roll your eyes at his tantrums, but then suddenly, you think of a much better idea.

You push him off the swing with all your remaining strength even though your body feels like jelly from all the alcohol you consumed an hour ago.

“What the fuck, __?”

You burst out in boisterous laughter at Jungkook’s state, his hands and knees planted on the ground. He then sits on it, clapping his palms together to get rid of some dust that gathered on his skin.

Without thinking too much about it, you make quick steps over to his direction and situate yourself beside him.

Jungkook looks at you, confused, but you only give him a grin.

“Let’s lie on the ground.”

“What? No!” Jungkook immediately opposes it. As you expected.

You scrunch your face. “Oh! Look at me! I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’m a germaphobe and I’m afraid of dirt!” You say, intentionally making your voice a pitch higher.

Jungkook deadpans. “Pathogens can kill your cells’ metabolic machinery, so, yeah? I’m afraid of dirt.”

You roll your eyes at him and while he goes off about how they can also cause a toxic massive immune reaction, you push his chest forcefully which catches him off guard, prompting him to lay on the ground. Before he can say anything, you take his arm out to spread beside you and you use it to rest your head on.

Jungkook stops his rambling after that.

“See, shut up.” You say, backhanding him slightly on the chest. You fix your gaze at the skies. “The sky is beautiful tonight. Worry about your pathogens next time.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you feel the vibration of his body as he does so, being so close to him. As you peer up to look at him, you see him folding his other arm to lie his head on it.

You smile, going back to looking at the sky.

“This is like in The Notebook.” Jungkook says after a beat of silence.

“Right?” You grin. “And with the pathogens, too.” You tease.

Jungkook laughs, pinching your arm in his reach. “God, shut up about your pathogens.”

You chuckle at the irony.

“That’s me,” you point upwards, referring to a big twinkling light in the sky. Then, you move your finger towards the star beside it. “And then that’s you, ‘cause I’m a bigger star than you.”

You feel Jungkook look at you from his position. “You are so drunk.”

That causes you to giggle, clutching your stomach because you can’t stop laughing at pretty much everything tonight.

“I feel like I'm not anymore. My head just feels like it’s floating but no, definitely not drunk.”

“Whatever you say.” Jungkook says, chest vibrating from laughing at you.

“Hm. Race you to sleep, Jungkook.” You snuggle on his armpit. As you do, you smell a waft of your water lily springs body wash from Bath and Body Works. “Can you stop using my body wash?”

“What?” You can hear Jungkook say, but as he calls your name and more, his voice starts fading. “__? Hey, don’t sleep on me.”

You hum, eyes still closed.

“__, hey!” Jungkook grazes your arms. You can feel your head moving as Jungkook starts to sit, guiding your back to sit upright. He calls you again, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up.

The truth is, you’re really sleepy, but not so much that you can’t hear him anymore or move on your own.

Jungkook gives up trying to wake you up, though, convinced by your acting. Soon, he goes over in front of you, reaching for your arms and placing them around his neck.

“Just put your legs around me, yeah?” He whispers against your hair once you’re glued against his back.

You hum, intending it to sound like a mumble so Jungkook thinks you don’t actually understand.

Jungkook fixes your legs around him, standing up, bouncing a little to get you nice and snug in his back. You smile at the prospect of a piggyback ride.

“I know you’re awake, silly,” He says suddenly, his voice painted with amusement.

You stifle your laughter against his neck, breaking your supposed to be convincing act.

“Race you to the car, Kook.” you whisper into his ear.

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything more until you reach his car. He wears your seatbelt for you, though, and tells you to drink more water from his tumbler.

You fall asleep easily mid-drive.

In the morning, you wake up with a banging headache, your eyes catching the sight of a post-it note on your desk with one tab of Advil.

morning/afternoon stinky i made porridge before i left for my shift just heat it up again when you wake up

ps: your medical bill from my personal care will be discussed later when i get back home. no friends discount allowed

— your angelic friend, kookie

You chuckle at the (annoyingly elaborate) sketch of an angry bunny on the side.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2024. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works are not allowed.

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Idk if requests are open feel free to ignore if they are closed….

But I need Idia x fem! reader (relationship establish if possible) were Idia is just dominant, like I need this man to handle me roughly after teasing him for so long!!! And maybe he also records this with her consent and they just go at it?!

Warnings: 18+, AFAB! Reader who uses she/her pronouns, Reader ≠ Yuu, Horny Dom! Idia, OOC, Rough sex, Oral (both receiving), praise/degradation kink at the same time, orgasm denial (on Reader’s part), hand around Reader’s neck (but doesn’t constrict air), unprotected sex, aftercare

Idia Shroud

He was getting tired of your antics.

First, you show up to his room unannounced. Now, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You often did that, and you didn’t need to tell him when you were coming. You were his girlfriend for about a year at this point, and he was comfortable with your visits.

Second, you take off the hoodie he had let you borrow (we all know that it was now yours, but anyway…) and reveal a very small crop-top and some small shorts. From that alone, he was already pitching a tent. However, he managed to get himself under control as he finished up some of his reports for his research with the overblots.

It was only when you started arching your back on his bed when he finally had enough. You had been doing all of this for a while since you were horny and pent-up, and he was pent-up as well because he had been working for the entire week without stopping.

He nearly pounced on you, pressing his lips to yours as his hand went up to your neck, wrapping itself around your throat gently.

“Are you done being a brat, Y/N?” He asked teasingly.

When you shook your head, his smirk widened as he lowered himself on the bed. He was soon faced with your pelvis and what could hardly be considered shorts. He made quick work of them until he was looking at your panties.

“You’re soaking down here…”

All of a sudden, you feel his tongue up against the fabric that was serving as a divider between your pussy and your boyfriend, and his hands held your thighs apart so you couldn’t do anything.

“Y/N, I’m gonna record this… I want to be able to remind you of what happens when you continue acting like a brat.”

He pulled away and grabbed his phone, turning on the camera and switching it to video before propping it up on the shelf opposite his bed. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he looked over at you.

You looked absolutely radiant, and he couldn’t wait to see tears in your eyes. “Get up and kneel,” His words came out as a demand, and you were more than eager to listen. Right in front of him, you got on your knees, and he slid down his grey sweatpants and boxers, exposing his half-hard cock.

It was pale, matching his skin tone, with a light blue tip… and you felt your mouth water before taking it into your mouth. His smirk widened as one of his hands buried itself in your hair, before grabbing on tightly and forcing himself down your throat.

“You’re going to take my dick like the pretty slut you are…”

The sound of you choking made his dick throb in your mouth, making his sharp teeth show in his smirk as he fucked your windpipes. His cock was covered in your saliva, and right before he came, he pulled himself out of your throat and denied himself a release.

He helped you back up onto his bed, his head going back to your panties with a toothy grin before he hooked his fingers on them and pulled them off, tossing them somewhere in his room. Then he moves in, his tongue diving into your pussy with fervor.

Your moans were acting as fuel for him, and he once again held your thighs apart as he continued eating you out. His tongue flicked against your clit, making you writhe under his grip until you got right at the peak, only for him to pull away. “This is supposed to be a punishment, you brat,” He teased, pushing you further on the bed before climbing on top of you. His hand went around your neck, but he made sure that it was just to pin you down and that he wasn’t going to restrict your airflow.

He took his dick in his hand and rubbed the tip up and down your pussy, collecting your fluids before he entered inside you. “You’re such a fucking slut, Y/N… My pretty whore…” He whispered as he just focused on penetration. For a few seconds, he allowed you to adjust to his size, but when you whimpered, he started going at it. There was no break as he thrusted in, out… in, out… in quick succession. Your mind was practically melting away as his pace sped up even more. He was pulling all the way out before thrusting all the way back in, making sure you felt every inch of his cock. He eventually flipped you both over until you were on top of him, straddling him. He placed his hands on your hips and guided you up and down his member, your moans serving as his fuel.

“There we go, baby… Take that dick…”

You reached your peak once again, but this time, he let you cum all over him, smiling as he quickly pulled out before he sprayed all over your stomach. He set you to the side of him so you could rest and catch your breath.

“Next time you act like a brat, you won’t cum. Understand?”

A nod from you was all the confirmation he needed, and he got up and stopped recording before heading to the bathroom and returning with a warm cloth to clean you up. Gently washing off your stomach, he smiled as he saw the video uploaded onto his computer.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Thinking about baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara that starts to invite you over to do activities more often during his weeks with Gabriella, saying it would be good to show your daughter that you both still had a good relationship with each other. Which struck you as odd since you two genuinely have always gotten along anyways but you decided to ignore it and brush it off.

Baby Daddy!Miguel who invites you over to his place on a hot summer day, saying that he’s having a pool party with a bunch of your friends. Insisting you bring the guy you’ve been talking to so he can finally meet him and totally doesn’t want him there to prove to him that he’s not worth your time.

Baby Daddy!Miguel who can’t keep his eyes off you when you come out to the backyard after having changed into his favorite a bikini, asking Mj to help you apply sunscreen on your back. Wishing it was his hands rubbing it into your skin instead.

Baby Daddy!Miguel who rolled his eyes when your not-boyfriend-but-more-then-a-talking-stage guy finally arrived over three hours late with the wrong type of beer, seeing him come in with a pack of Bud Light when Miguel was strictly a Modelo man. “Accidentally” squeezing his hand a bit too tight when he shakes it.

Baby Daddy!Miguel who made sure to keep telling stories about you two from your time together, not sparing any details as he and all the guys/dads gathered around the grill while Miguel turned over the carne asada y Pollo asado he was grilling. Not even caring about the looks your new boy toy would throw at him. His best friend Peter and his brother Gabriel both shooting each other a knowing look.

Baby Daddy!Miguel who took the aux from Peter and switched the music over to his spanish playlist, totally not on purpose starting off with the song Que Malo from Bad Bunny, then immediately after the playlist start to play Eres Mía from Romeo Santos, you didn’t even have time to think about the song choices before Miguel dragged you over to dance per your daughter’s request.

—

“I’m sorry Peter, but if I have to hear you play it wasn’t me from shaggy again, I’ll lose it.” Miguel exasperated as he unplugged his friend's phone mid song, earning a protest from Peter, but Miguel just shook his head as he plugged his own phone. “You’ve placed that song at every function since we were 18.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small squeal of excitement as Bad Bunny took over the backyard. Singing along to the song as you pass around another round of drinks to the guys at the grill, completely oblivious to the subliminal message that Miguel was sending you as you recited Ñengo Flows part. A new modelo in each one of the guy’s hands (well except your talking stage, he had a Bud light), it seems that your new little friend didn’t seem to understand a lick of Spanish, the message of the song completely flying over his head as he nodded along to the beat mindlessly.

Once the song ended, the new one played, Eres Mía, your brows scrunched a bit at the sudden genre changing. You were in the middle of crossing the grass lawn to where Miguel’s phone was sitting next to the speaker to change it, when you suddenly felt the small fingers of your daughter’s hand dragging you back.

“Mami! Ma! Baile con Papi! I love it when you two dance to these songs.” She begged, you usually wouldn’t mind doing so when she asked you too, but since the guy you were talking to was here, it would feel awkward if he watched you dance something as intimate as bachata with your ex. (Mommy ! Mom! Dance with dad!)

“I-I don’t know Gabi-“ You started, once you finally stopped in front of Miguel, your face filled with a bit of confusion on what to do. Miguel noticed and waved his hand as if reassuring you it’s no big deal.

“He won’t care, right bud?” He said as he nodded towards your guest, but before he could say an answer Miguel’s hands were already wrapped around the small of your back, as he started to guide you through the dance.

You just decided to go along with it, it’s not a big deal right? It’s only one dance.

—

Part 2<

Part 4<

Not proofread.

Word count: 700

Taglist: @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanamee @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz @migueloharastruelove @dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi

(If you Would like to be added pls say so, I’m sorry if I missed anyone lmk if I did!)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Fiquei completamente apaixonada pelo imagine que você fez do Logan/Wade/Reader, queria muito outro assim, nada em especial, só mais sobre o relacionamento dos três (I'm really bad with requests, sorry)

(Rough translation by google: I was completely in love with the imagine you made of Logan/Wade/Reader, I really wanted another one like that, nothing in particular, just more about the relationship of the three) if it’s translated something within the request wrong, let me know.

Emotional support isn’t either Wade nor Logan’s strong suit. one made a massive joke out of everything, even his own feelings, while the other suppressed them unhealthily.

So needless to say if emotional comfort is what you were after, you were unfortunately out of luck but that didn’t mean that the pair were about to leave you to suffer alone during such a rough time in your life. Wade and Logan will find a way to help you anyway they could.

Wade would insist that you both have a spontaneous day where you’d do anything that came to your mind without judgment. You may or may not end up making dick cookies together in the kitchen whilst wearing your matching unicorn onesie pyjamas, covered in flour and other stuff.

Ass slaps -consensual of course- are a common occurrence between you, Wade and Logan…well mainly you and Wade…but Logan will gently tap your ass before kissing your forehead, meanwhile giving Wade the hardest slap that would leave a hand shape bruise that would last a week.

Cuddles are something that’s also frequent in your relationship with Wade and Logan but most -if not all- of the time you were in the middle of the both of them, leeching off of their warmth like the parasite you were but you were living the life.

Wade doesn’t care whether he’s the big or small spoon as either way he gets to be close to you in some capacity, where as Logan likes to be the big spoon so he could keep you safe and protected, always sleeping with his back to the door so that if anything were to happen they’d have to get through him.

Wade’s petnames for you are:

Cutie patootie with the booty

Peanut (something he also calls Logan)

Pookie/pookie bear

Sexiest person alive

Logan’s petnames for you are:

Darling

Sweetheart

That’s pretty much it as he’s not too overly worried about petnames, where as Wade has a thousand more up his sleeve that he pulls out of nowhere.

You and Wade would sometimes blatantly check out Logan whenever he’s shirtless and doing his one thing while you and Wade laid on the floor, feet kicking in the air as you both admired your hot partner. (Logan is very aware of what you two were doing but didn’t have it in him to say shit)

Dog pool is basically your, Logan and wades child and she is spoilt the fuck by the three of you for being the cutest dog you’ve ever seen. You dressed her up as Mary Poppins once for Halloween and now you have albums upon albums filled with pictures of dog pool in cute doggy costumes. This is her cannon event.

Logan has nightmares and would often act all cold and distant afterwards but you would gently grab his arm and pull him in for a comforting hug. ‘Don’t walk away,’ you said, ‘please we can figure this out together okay? You’ve been alone long enough, don’t for yourself to fall back into old habits when you’ve got two people who care deeply about you and want to see you okay.’ You add as you rub your hand up and down his back reassuringly until you manage to ease him back into bed and fall asleep on top of his chest so he doesn’t move.

You press kisses to Wade’s face and call him handsome, gorgeous, cutie, all sorts of names that have him feeling soft and fuzzy within his chest because he’s aware of how he looks, but you loved him unconditionally and would even help him with toupees and whatnot, though not before telling him that you find him attractive how he is and wouldn’t want him to change for anyone.

You got a lot of kisses and cuddles from him later because you had no right being that fucking cute!

[nicka-nell]

wow ok read the recent request and I gotta say that was pretty heavy. Can we have a similar request but with a light angst with the remaining characters ??? I like the previous request

Hi, of course! :)) I've had really little time lately but I hope you like it anyway. I would say that all three contain rather mild angst compared to the previous ones. So I hope you enjoy it more. 💚

Regretting their actions

Pairing: Kuroo x, Ushijima x, Sakusa x reader

Warning: angst to fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 (End)

Kuroo finally made it. He has a job he enjoys. A job that also pays well financially and provides stability.

However, this job also involves some overtime and company trips.

In the beginning, he tried to keep to the working hours as much as possible. After all, he didn’t want to neglect you. However, the overtime increased year by year.

You often tried to gently point out to him that he shouldn’t overwork himself, but most of the time, your remarks were met with anger and ended in an argument.

At some point, you stopped and tried to suppress his increasingly frequent absences. Even if it hurt you.

Sometimes you lie in bed, looking at the empty space next to you, before the screen of your phone lights up and the usual message from Kuroo appears. “Sorry, kitten, but I can’t make it home today. But I’ll be there tomorrow at the end of the day.”

A message that raises so many doubts in you. What if he’s not at work at all and is seeing another woman? You’ve hardly had any time together in the last few months. Just a good morning kiss before work... that was all.

Does he no longer loves you? Does he possibly have a girlfriend and is leading a double life? No, Kuroo wouldn’t do that.

You’ve already reminded Kuroo three times this week that it’s your niece’s birthday today and that she’s looking forward to finally seeing him again. Because your niece loves Kuroo. Your boyfriend kept telling you before work that he had the date in his calendar and that he would definitely be home in time for the two of you to go to your niece’s together. You believed him. After all, the date was important to you. But you soon realize that this was just another lie. An empty promise.

Because when you look at your watch, it’s ten minutes before departure... and Kuroo still hasn’t arrived. He didn’t even reply to your “I’m looking forward to this afternoon.” You wait another four minutes, but nothing happens. In the end, you take the train to your niece’s house. Alone, without Kuroo. Because he doesn’t answer your messages or your calls.

Your little niece is so sad when she opens the door and looks up at you, realizing that you have come alone. It’s not that she doesn’t like you, but her dear uncle Kuroo always does so much nonsense with her. What did she once said? The aunts and grannies are there to go shopping and with the uncles and grandpas you have fun. Not exactly nice, but whatever. 

She looks at you with sad eyes. “Isn’t uncle Kuroo coming? Doesn’t uncle Kuroo like me anymore?” she asks tearfully as you try to calm her down somehow. It takes a long time for her to stop crying, and that on her birthday. And as if that wasn’t enough, you also get asked by your brother and your parents if everything is all right with you and your boyfriend. Whether you are still together at all. Because even at the last events, you were always there alone. When they passed by your home, only you were ever present. 

“No, no, everything’s fine. Tetsu’s just really busy today,” you reply with a forced smile, even though you don’t know where you stand as a couple right now. Can you even call what the two of you have a relationship?

As you head home in the evening, the apartment is still empty, just as expected. You sigh as you put your bag down and go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. The apartment seems so bitter as you lie down under the cold sheets, but you don’t care. You don’t even look at your phone anymore, because you know that Kuroo hasn’t texted you anyway. Nor do you mind that the bed is empty. Because that has also become a habit by now. Just then, you realize that tears are suddenly running down your cheeks. Yet you don’t even bother to wipe them away because no one will see them anyway.

Kuroo curses as he looks at his watch. His day had been stressful. So stressful that he didn’t even have time to look at his phone or check the time. Only when it got darker outside did he realize that he had once again worked too long. 

“Shit,” he curses again as he stands in front of the entrance door. Should he go back to get flowers for you? After all, he promised you he wouldn’t work so late. No, never mind. Staying away any longer will only upset you more.

“Hey kitten, I’m sorry I was gone so long again. I know I said that-” but when Kuroo enters the living room, the light is off. You’re not in the kitchen either. Have you gone to bed already? He walks quietly towards the bedroom, but his hand stops on the door handle when he hears you sniffle.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, immediately moving past the bed to your side to kneel in front of it. Only now do you realize that Kuroo has returned home. You look at him almost empty-eyed. “Nothing...” you reply and want to turn away from him, but his hand holds onto your shoulder.

“Don’t say nothing when you’re obviously crying. Is it because I’m here so late again? I’m really sorry... I’ve completely lost track of time. I’m trying-”

“I suppose you’ve forgotten my niece’s birthday? She cried bitterly today... and not only that. I was asked today if we’re still together because you’ve never been to celebrations lately. And honestly? I don’t even know myself...” You say in frustration and watch Kuroo’s eyes suddenly widen.

Today was your niece’s birthday... You had told him several times during the week and yet he had forgotten. Kuroo doesn’t even know how to answer you. There is no answer that can please you. Because Kuroo has completely fucked up. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. 

“Maybe we should really break-”

“No, no don’t say that. I know I fucked up. I know I promised you I’d work less overtime and be there for you more often. I know I didn’t stick to any of that. But please. I can change.” His answer interrupts yours, his voice soft and yet so panicked as he looks at you pleadingly. But you can’t help but laugh in frustration. “I’ve already asked my brother... I can stay with him for a while.”

You see the fear in his face as he tries to struggle for words. His shoulders begin to shake before he opens his mouth. Kuroo has no arguments to defend himself. In the end, he just failed. Made you sad. Neglected you. It had to get that far before he finally understood that. But when he looks at your sad face, he knows that he has no right to stop you.

“Yeah... if that’s what you want... I don’t want to stop you... make you any more miserable.” He replies dejectedly before squeezing your shoulder a little tighter to stand up to leave you alone in the bedroom. To give you the tranquility that you would prefer over his presence. But his legs won’t let him go any further as he stops in front of the door, just a step away from the hallway. 

Instead of leaving the room, he turns in your direction, switches on the big light and goes back to your bedside. “No, I can’t do that. I know I don’t have the right, but I just can’t let you go. I have neglected you. I have neglected us. And although you reminded me several times, I forgot your niece’s birthday. I don’t even want to imagine how sad she was that I wasn’t there, or how sad you must have been that I couldn’t keep my promise again. I am sorry that I have once again failed as a boyfriend. I know I probably look like the biggest asshole and my words sound like lies to you. But please... I love you and I mean it when I say I’m sorry. I enjoy my job, even if it is stressful. But I’ve probably lost sight of the most important thing, and that’s you. Please... please, if there’s still a little bit of hope, tell me how to make it right.” Kuroo says, looking you in the eye with determination, even though he is struggling to keep his composure.

You sit up in bed and look down at him, still kneeling in front of you. You love him, but what’s the point if he can’t keep his promises anyway? Still, when he looks at you like that… with these sad eyes… as if he’s about to break apart… “I’m staying with my brother for a week from tomorrow... I need a clear head. So use this week to think about how you can set things right. And maybe... maybe there will still be a future for us.” You answer him more coldly than you actually wanted to and look over at the empty side of the bed. “And now go to bed... there’s no point sleeping on the sofa in the living room. It’ll only make your back ache.” you add, before crawling back under the covers and closing your eyes. Not waiting to see if Kuroo actually lies down next to you or not.

The week you spend with your brother is like a wake-up call for Kuroo. A reminder that he needs to change something.

He writes to you every day before he leaves for work. A simple “Good morning, I hope you have a good start to the day” and in the evening he always writes to you when he’s on his way home.

Nevertheless, overall he leaves you in peace. Just like you wanted.

After the week you spent with your brother, you now stand in front of the entrance to your own home and take a deep breath. Wondering if Kuroo is home yet.

He should actually be at home. After all, his working hours are over. Did he keep his promise? You open the door and step inside. The apartment looks exactly the same as it did when you left it a week ago. Tidy, clean. Almost as if no one lived here. And as you might expect, Kuroo’s shoes are also missing. So nothing has changed after all. Standing in the hallway, you laugh in frustration and shake your head as you suddenly hear a key in the door lock and Kuroo enters.

A little surprised to see you, his eyes widen. “H-Hey...” he says almost shyly as he stands in front of you. Kuroo has a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a bag of groceries in the other. “I thought... maybe we could cook together and then... talk afterwards. That’s why I went grocery shopping after work, but I guess most people do it after work. It was really crowded...” he clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side with a somewhat strained smile.

So he did finish work on time? “And the flowers? Are they there for cooking too?” you ask, unconsciously breaking the tense atmosphere between you. Kuroo just rolls his eyes and you see the tips of his ears turn red as he hands you the bouquet. “Of course not. They’re for you... for the best woman in the world.” His last words are quiet, but you hear them well.

Kuroo and you cook together, even if it’s a bit strange at first.

You both don’t quite know what to say or how to behave.

But while you wait for your food to be ready, Kuroo speaks up, pushes a chair back and asks you to take a seat at the dining table before sitting opposite you and taking your hands in his.

He tells you that he has only worked one hour of overtime this week. That he has applied for an assistant so that he can hand over some of his work and therefore work less overtime.

He tells you about all this in such an excited tone, as if you’ve just had your first date and he’s asking you out. Kuroo seems to be making a real effort...

“You know, there are even therapists who deal with people who work too much and-” says Kuroo, but you interrupt him directly. “Tetsurou... I’m not asking you to go to a therapist. If what you’ve said is true, then... that’s a good start.” His posture relaxes abruptly at your statement before he grips your hands tighter again and rests his head on them, sighing with relief. He had fully expected you to draw a line today after all the lonely nights he had given you. After all the empty promises. And here you both are, sitting together, and he can’t believe how good-natured you are. “That means... you’ll give me another chance?” he asks, but doesn’t lift his head from your hands.

“One last one... so don’t mess it up Tetsurou.” you reply much more gently this time.

You’ve been together with Ushijima for a long time. You know his personality, that he tends to be quiet, sometimes blunt, and doesn’t talk much. Nevertheless, his lack of words sometimes makes you uneasy. 

Something that Ushijima often can’t understand, because after all, that’s how you met. It usually ends with you just nodding off at some point and saying that you must have been imagining things and you just pretend that nothing happened.

But lately he’s been so quiet again. Even more distant than before.

Whenever he comes home from training, he goes straight to the kitchen to make himself a protein shake. Then straight to the bathroom to put his sports clothes in the washing machine and then gets ready for bed. Somewhere in between, he greets you with an almost indifferent “hello”.

You know that Ushijima is a little different, that his communication sometimes falls short. But his current behavior is unsettling even for you.

Has he perhaps met someone new? Does he no longer love you?

No... you don’t want to have thoughts like that. And yet you have them, and yet they don’t stop you from asking Ushijima this one question when he’s about to go to bed. 

“Be honest Toshi... do you have another person you see next to me? Well... I don’t mean friends, but... a potential love interest?” The question slips out a little more reproachfully than you would have liked.

Ushijima looks at you with wide eyes as he puts on a T-shirt to go to bed. He can’t believe you actually asked him that. He has enough stress at the moment with the upcoming championship games. Now you’re just throwing in your insecurity. He doesn’t need that right now. “Do you really think I have the time or energy to deal with another relationship? This one is stressful enough at times,” he says almost coldly. 

Wow... you think. It feels like he’s hitting a volleyball right against your chest. It hurts. “So you see me as a burden?” you try to say in a calm voice, but it’s already shaking. Ushijima just shakes his head in annoyance before climbing into bed next to you. 

“When you ask questions like that, yes. Where do you come up with such nonsense? Do you have so little self-esteem?” says Ushijima before switching off the light on the bedside cabinet and turning towards you. “Let’s go to sleep now. I have to get up in the morning. And stop thinking such nonsense.” He says, as if he hadn’t hurt your feelings with his words earlier, before leaning in to kiss you goodnight, but you just turn around and avoid him. “Good night...” you mumble coolly, but Ushijima doesn’t think much of it.

Only after several days does he realize that something is different. You hardly talk to him, not at all, in fact. You no longer cook for him either. Maybe not in general? You’re often out until late in the evening and only come to bed when Ushijima is already asleep. But when he asks you what’s wrong, you just answer with a strange smile and say “nothing”. Ushijima doesn’t understand a thing.

It’s only when he’s on the phone with Tendou and the two of them are talking about all sorts of things, about how Ushijima is very stressed right now from training and the upcoming championships, that he mentions in passing that you’re behaving strangely. Tendou has known Ushijima for a long time. So he can guess that Ushijima has once again misunderstood something or said things that came across wrongly. When Ushijima tells him about the conversation with you a few days ago, Tendou sighs loudly into the phone. “Wakatoshi, that’s the stupidest thing you could have said to her. Does your better half know that you’re under a lot of stress at the moment?”

“Of course not. After all, it’s not something she can change. So she doesn’t have to worry about it.” As soon as Ushijima has spoken his sentence, he hears the sigh on the other side of the line again. “Wakatoshi, that’s not how a relationship works. How long have you been together now? Almost six years... She’s just worried about you. And if she then asks you whether there might be another woman in your life, ‘Don’t ask such stupid questions, why do you have so little self-esteem’ is not exactly the best answer.” Tendou imitates Ushijima.

He is surprised that he still has a girlfriend at all with this manner. Maybe he needs to fly to Japan more often after all… To give Ushijima a good slap on the back of the blunt man’s head.

“I just wanted to tell her that she’s a great woman and I can’t understand how she can have such thoughts when she’s perfect,” Ushijima replies as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet Tendou has to spend half an hour talking to Ushijima about how wrong his behavior was before he finally realizes it himself. So he decides to go home after training and wait for you, no matter how long it takes. 

Sighing, you stand in front of the front door. On the one hand, you hope that Ushijima is already asleep, but on the other, you don’t want to continue with the silent treatment. You shake your head and open the door, only to see Ushijima sitting in the living room, his hands clasped together as he rests his arms on his thighs.

“Wakatoshi?” You ask, a little irritated, as you notice him staring into space. You can’t interpret his gaze. “Can you please sit down? We need to talk.” He says in a firm voice that makes your heart beat uncomfortably faster. You know you haven’t done anything wrong, and yet it feels like you have. Nevertheless, you nod, sit down next to him and look in his direction. He mirrors your movement. Only he doesn’t look at you with concern, but neutrally as always.

“I...” he begins, but then his voice drops. He doesn’t quite know how to start. After all, that’s never been his strength. “What is it, Wakatoshi?” you ask almost impatiently. After all, if he wants to end the relationship, he should keep it short. That will hurt, but maybe it’s better that way.

“I have hurt you. Seemingly very deeply. I’m sorry about that. It’s not that I don’t love you. I do and I thought you knew that too. Maybe I didn’t express myself properly, no actually, I didn’t express myself properly. But I can’t understand why you think that I might have another woman for whom I have feelings. You are a wonderful woman. Strong, independent, intelligent and attractive. For me, you are just right the way you are. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side. I thought you would see yourself the way I see you.” Ushijima looks deep into your eyes with every word, his complete focus on you, before glancing briefly to the side. As if he’s thinking about what else he wants to say. Then he turns back to you and puts his hand on your thigh.

“We’re really under a lot of stress at the moment with our training. But that’s not something I want to burden you with in any way. After all, there’s nothing you can do to change the situation. And you shouldn’t have to worry about your husband. So… If I hurt you with my words, I’m sorry.” His words are sincere and the uneasy feeling you felt in your chest is suddenly gone. You should have known that Ushijima doesn’t love another woman. After all, it’s Ushijima. 

“Let’s go out for dinner together at the weekend. Just the two of us. Let’s talk, spend time together. There hasn’t been enough of that lately.” Ushijima says, turning you more towards him by your thigh before wrapping his hands around your waist and placing you on his lap with ease.

“Wakatoshi!” you shriek briefly. His head is on your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. “I’m really sorry that my words hurt you,” he whispers softly, starting to rub your back with his thumb as he holds you close to his chest. You are no longer angry with him. Has been no longer. Actually, you are glad that he told you how he felt.

“Going out for dinner sounds good,” you say softly and put your arms around him. As you answer, you feel him squeeze you a little tighter. As if he wants to tell you how grateful he is that you show understanding for him.

Actually, everything is going well between you and Sakusa. You both harmonize well, have similar interests and friends. The only thing that is a little difficult is the fact that you have to keep your relationship a secret.

At least Sakusa wants to keep the relationship private because he doesn’t want paparazzi following you around or some crazy fans sending you threatening letters or maybe even hurting you.

Sakusa is very cautious when it comes to you.

So apart from your closest friends, your family and his agency, nobody knows about your relationship.

However, it is becoming more difficult from year to year. Because there are already pictures that have been made public. Pictures in which you are seen with Sakusa. Sitting together in a coffee shop or going for a walk in the park. You’ve even been photographed while buying groceries.

There are also more and more rumors about you. “Who is the unknown woman who is always in the front row at every game?”, ”Is this young lady the girlfriend of athlete Kiyoomi Sakusa?”

Today Sakusa forgot his sports shoes. Since you work in the same building as the agency that has him under contract, you decide to simply take the shoes with you. After all, Sakusa told you today that he has an appointment at his agency before he goes to training.

With a slight nod, you greet the security people at the entrance to the third floor where the agency for athletes is located. You’ve already been here a few times, so it’s easy for you to find the right way. You stop in front of Sakusa’s manager’s office. In front of the office, you see that the door is slightly open and that people are talking. Sakusa was one of them. You briefly consider knocking and going in, but when you hear the next words, you stand still, petrified.

“Sakusa-san, are you sure you want to bring your relationship with Ms. Abe into the public eye? Ms. Abe is a popular tennis player. It would draw a lot of attention to both of you,” says Sakusa’s manager. Soon after, the sound of a woman giggling rings out, followed immediately by Sakusa’s voice.

“That’s fine... I think it’s for the best. But before we go through with this -” you don’t hear the last words, because you’ve already set the bag with the shoes down outside the office and rushed back to your own workplace. 

You can’t concentrate all day long. You keep thinking about that conversation you had heard earlier. About Sakusa... wanting to make a relationship public? Only now do you realize what that actually means. Does this mean that Sakusa has been cheating on you the whole time and you were nothing but a pleasant distraction for him?

Frustrated, you stomp home after work, thinking about all the things you want to say. Everything you want to throw at Sakusa. When you arrive home, the apartment is still empty. Nothing unusual, because Sakusa wanted to go to his training after the meeting. So he’ll probably be gone for several more hours. Or did he just use that as an excuse to meet up with his new girlfriend?

You laugh bitterly, rolling your eyes at the thought of Sakusa’s name appearing in the magazines next to the name of that tennis player .... “Ridiculous...” you snort, and walk into the living room, where, ironically, the picture of Sakusa and you immediately comes into view. A photo of the two of you on vacation. You were in Norway. A country where Sakusa isn’t really well known. That’s why you could enjoy your vacation without paparazzi. In the photo you are in a small restaurant, outside on the terrace, both smiling intimately into the camera. Was it all just an act?

Furious, you grab the photo and throw it on the floor. The glass breaks and all the shards lie on the ground. “Damn...” you curse, annoyed at yourself for your outburst as you kneel down to pick up the pieces. But a familiar voice makes you flinch. 

“My love, is everything all right?” you hear Sakusa, who must have come home a few seconds ago, dropping his bag in the hallway and looking in your direction with wide eyes. He left training on time today because he thought it was strange that his sports bag was in front of his manager’s door, but you weren’t there.

But now the time has come. The pain in your chest suddenly gets impossible to bear, your mouth quivers and your eyes are all warm as big tears run down your cheeks. A sight that really knocks Sakusa off his feet. Immediately he rushes in your direction, kneels down next to you and takes your hands in his to see if you have cut yourself. But your body seems to be unharmed.

“W-what’s wrong?” he asks again, concerned, before you pull your hands out of his grip and stare at him angrily. “When... when were you going to tell me you had another girl? And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at training or with your new lover?” you say angrily, but don’t raise your voice.

Sakusa tries to follow your words, even if he can’t understand them at first. But then he realizes… The bag in the hallway, your tears... you must have heard part of the conversation he had this afternoon. But you probably haven’t heard everything. The man with the raven-black curls closes his eyes before taking a deep breath and looking at you again, trying to reach for your hands.

“You’ve completely misunderstood something-” he is about to start, but you interrupt him directly. “Don’t say ‘it’s not what it looks like’. You can spare that phrase, Kiyoomi!” you say a little louder now, but Sakusa doesn’t back down and continues to try to talk to you calmly.

“Please Y/n... I want you to listen to me for a minute... just a minute... After that you can still be mad at me. Is that possible?” Sakusa grabs your hands this time, pulls you up with him and leads you to the sofa. “Sit down, please.” You’re actually reluctant, but you’ve been together for so long now... you can give him that one minute, can’t you? You grudgingly sit down, but don’t look at him.

“Lately, paparazzi are getting bolder and bolder... even the other day there were some in the supermarket who wanted to take pictures of us... I’m just worried that your face will eventually be in all the newspapers and platforms and you’ll no longer be able to live your life carefree, but will always have these people at your back, following you,” says Sakusa somewhat awkwardly. Almost as if he himself is unsure whether what he wants to tell you is plausible for you. But before he can continue, you interrupt him directly and give him an angry look.

“Oh, and that’s why you thought you’d find a new girlfriend who’s already a celebrity and just date her? Then you can go out without hiding? Is that it?” you’re struggling to keep your voice under control. Sakusa’s eyes widen and he shrinks back for a moment, his hands almost in a protective position in front of his chest as he shakes his head.

“Wait, no, it’s not like that. I don’t have another relationship. Well, okay wait. I thought it might be good if I publicly revealed a fake relationship with another celebrity. Of course, it’s not real and we’re not really a couple. But I thought it would take the pressure off you and you could-”

You can’t believe what Sakusa is saying right now. Is he really serious? If it’s true, why is he talking to his manager first and not to you? Doesn’t he care about your feelings? “Do you actually... don’t think at all? How do you think I would feel when I read the messages and your name is everywhere with the name of your fake girlfriend? Have you ever thought about the fact that this is extremely hurtful to me? I would rather be seen in public with you than see you with someone else ‘for my supposed freedom and privacy’. How would you feel if I introduced another man to the whole world as my boyfriend just to ‘protect’ you?” The words you say so loudly hit Sakusa, and he gets quiet. He doesn’t even know what to say anymore. Your question slaps him hard. How would he feel… The thought of seeing you with another man makes him angry, sad... and somehow helpless?

“I...” Sakusa begins, but immediately doesn’t know how to continue. “I’m sorry, that was probably stupid of me.” He then says, tilting his head downwards. Sighing, you stand up and shake your head once more before walking past Sakusa. 

“You know, you never asked me, but I wouldn’t mind if people knew my face. It’s more important to me to do things with you without having to hide. You’re always the one who overdramatizes and worries unnecessarily... Whatever… I’m going to bed now. Good night.” You no longer wait for his answer. Instead, you go straight to the bathroom and get ready for bed.

Sakusa remains seated in the living room. He knows exactly that it wouldn’t be right to talk to you now, that you want to be left alone. Especially since he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell you. He just knows that his action was really stupid.

Sakusa hadn’t signed a contract with the tennis player and the two agencies yet, because he wanted to talk to you about it first, but at the moment his own idea to protect your privacy disgusts him. He really should have talked to you first about how you feel, whether you want to be in the public eye, instead of drawing any conclusions. Sakusa sighs, leans back against the sofa and closes her eyes. “Idiot...” he whispers quietly.

Two days pass and you are still disappointed by Sakusa’s behavior. Even though he probably only meant well. You haven’t really spoken much either. Just the usual “Good morning, have a nice day at work...”, “How was your day?” and all that sort of things.

Still at work, you just can’t concentrate and start massaging your temples when suddenly one of your colleagues shrieks and starts giggling. “Hey, isn’t that Sakusa Kiyoomi? What’s he doing here? His agency is upstairs, isn’t it?” she asks one of her colleagues, who quickly reaches for her make-up mirror and fixes her hair. 

Now you too turn your head forward and see Sakusa walking in your direction with a bunch of white lilies. Everyone looks after him, puzzled, and you also stare at him with irritation as he stops in front of you. “Uhm... I wanted to bring these over to you because I have to go upstairs to talk to my manager about a photo shoot.”

The whispering of your colleagues gets louder and louder and you still look a little confused, but you take the bouquet and stand up. “Kiyoomi, what is this about?” you whisper to him, not quite knowing how to react. Sakusa grazes your arm, wanders up to your cheek and looks deep into your eyes. “You were right. I should never have had this stupid idea. I should have asked you. And even if I’m worried about you, I only want to see you by my side in any pictures on the internet. After all, you are the woman I love. I’m really sorry. Will you... accept my clumsy apology?” Sakusa gazes at you with such a puppy-dog look that you can’t help but put the bouquet on your table and jump into his arms.

Of course, Sakusa did not sign the contract with the tennis player.

At his next match, you’re in the front row as usual, and when Sakusa scores the final point to victory and his team cheers along with him, he immediately runs to you, pulling you over the barrier to hold you in his arms before setting you down and cupping your cheeks with his hands. Just a few seconds later, you feel his lips on yours, cameras pointing at you and taking photos. But you couldn’t care less. “You know, I’ve wanted to do this so many times before,” he says calmly, leaning his forehead against your own.

Although everyone knows your face now, Sakusa is always reserved in interviews when it comes to private questions.

He will not answer questions about you if they become too personal.

In the beginning, the paparazzi and reporters were really a nuisance, but everything calmed down over time and the two of you can go out and enjoy dates together without being followed, just like back then, before his career.

[readsaboutreid]

Permanent Solution | S.R.

cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesn’t get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise

no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all

"None of us like you."

The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.

First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.

Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.

"—none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.

"You—," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.

"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.

Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.

I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "I— th-this—," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.

"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Why— wh-what— I don't— where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.

I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.

"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.

"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.

As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.

5 minutes and 29 seconds.

That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.

Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like th—"

"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.

"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears. 

“Reid, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. “I should have stopped him,” she continued, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk to her like that.” 

“What did he tell her?” Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject. 

“I told her the truth,” Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia. 

“Garcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?” Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread. 

“He— he told her nobody wanted her around,” she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, “which of course that’s not the case! I love (Y/N) like she’s my own sister...” Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed.  

“But?” Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued. 

“...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,” JJ finally spoke up. “We haven’t seen you in ages outside of work! If she’s keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?” She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him.  

He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. “She hasn’t kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone.  

“Spence, I just meant that—” JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling. 

“In fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I don’t drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didn’t realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,” he bit back before turning to leave. 

“Where are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!” Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something he’d regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—he figured they’d find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.

When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia. 

“What do you want, Garcia?” He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression. 

“I— I’m sorry, Spencer,” she whispered. “I should have told Derek to shut up, I’m so sorry! I just— I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down and— and I know I should have stood up for her but I just— I just froze like a coward and—” her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off. 

“Garcia, it’s not your fault,” Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. “Derek was drunk and belligerent. You’re not responsible for his actions.” He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. She’s so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldn’t have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks. 

“Spencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,” Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.” Garcia’s own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms.  

“Wh— what do I do, Penelope?” He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. “I just want to help her feel better.” That’s all he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them.  

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt she’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one) who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasn’t feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if she’d want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.

He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. She’d slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.

Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.

It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (‘a left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!’), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.

Or at least he had thought so, until tonight.  

“Give her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,” the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “She loves you more than anything, and we both know that.” She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks.  

“You’re right,” he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. “Plus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know she’s a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!” He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob.  

“If I were you, I’d just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.”  

“Right. Yes, you’re right,” he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Penelope.” 

“I’m always here for you, Spencer,” she smiled at him before adding, “both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.” She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. “Call me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?” He nodded quietly. “Uh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? ‘A promise doesn’t count unless you say it out loud,’ right?” 

“I promise,” Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N).  

When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail.  

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep. 

“Hi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,” he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that I’d call her once you made it home safely.” He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, “I love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.” And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears.  

He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off. 

I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldn’t give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times I’d made this trip.  

I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, he’d take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadn’t even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black... 

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k! The villain(ess) saga is my bread and butter hehe.

Anyways Id like to request borderline desperate Jamil trying to figure out Readers fav food as they can and will literally eat anything without complaint(even Lilia's cooking lol). Thank you 💖

‧₊˚✧A Dash of Sweetness ‧₊˚✧

↳ Reader S/O who eats anything

feat: Jamil  genre: fluff (like shojou manga level sweetness) note: no pronouns used with the reader, idiots in love, kinda oblivious!reader, roughly 1k words,

Random storytime, my big bro once got hungry and cooked himself eggs while the rest of us were out, and no one told him the eggs went bad. He was absolutely fine the entire day and none of us would have known if not for my bro saying it’s weird that the egg he ate was green. Yet, he said the french toasts I made once were bland T_T

Anyway, this took a while because I honestly didn't know how this story will end up, hopefully you enjoy it ^_^

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Jamil can deny all day and night, but he really likes to see you enjoy his cooking. For all the times he told you that he already has his hands full with Kalim, there was suspiciously always a warm lunchbox filled with aromatic meals made by yours truly. All for that bright smile of yours whenever you would finish off the “leftover” meal that Jamil would generously share with you. 

When Jamil realized that others have fed you, his hidden competitive nature rose. While there were many competent students with skills in the kitchen, within Jamil was a desire to see a special shine in your eyes when he cooks your favorite dish, a visual only for him.

But be it due to pride or embarrassment, Jamil doesn’t seem to be the type to be upfront with his intentions, nor does he take the straightforward tactic. Instead of asking you directly, he would ease his way through conversations with your friends just to find out your most favored dish per chance. But that turned out that that was harder than he expected. 

Day after day, Jamil would hand you a new type of dish and watch your reaction for the slightest hint of preference. Perhaps a raise of your eyebrows, a slower time to take in the taste, anything. He's racking his brain and looked for every sort of dish and recipes from all parts of Twisted Wonderland for the slight chance he comes across a dish to your absolute liking. But each time, you simply smiled graciously and thanked him for sharing with you, not that he disliked it since he did get to spend more time with you through all of this. 

But each attempt makes him all the more impatient, and curious. If you looked this beautiful just eating something good, Jamil wondered how you’d look if he served you your most favored dish? Would he see your eyes light up with joy, your body shaking with excitement, your cheeks so cutely puffy and full with every bite, maybe even bring him into a spontaneous embrace filled with so much gratitude, perhaps even a kiss…  

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Jamil hid his face in embarrassment, but the burning ears and racing heart revealed how much he wanted to see that side of you.

You found it odd how often it’s been that Jamil was offering you leftover food this past week. You’re certainly not complaining but it’s always something new everyday. Sometimes Jamil would hand you a meal mixed with aromatic spices, other times an array of sugary sweet treats and pastries. It could be a simple stew that warms your soul one day, or it could be a unique cuisine with a variety of paired side dishes. 

But every day, you would notice that he would glance your way occasionally as you partake in this gracious meal, and it’s making you a bit antsy. 

“You’ve been watching me for a while.” Your voice seemed to break whatever concentration the Scarabia student had. “Is there something you’re expecting me to say?” 

Like a deer in headlights, Jamil flinched and felt a small wave of embarrassment when he realized he was caught watching you. He was sure that he was being discrete, but he supposed that as days went on he had gotten a tad bit restless and hasty. He got sloppy, he cursed to himself.

Quickly shaking his nerves away, he replied with a smile to ease you. “I’m simply glad the food is to your taste.” 

You were hardly convinced by that. Was he experimenting with dishes, you wondered. You tried to offer some insights and compliments which seemed to satisfy the long-haired upperclassman, but you felt a sneaky suspicion that he was hoping for something else. 

“Jamil, I’m really happy that you’ve been sharing all this food with me.” You said as you settled the lunchbox to your side. “But I don’t think I’m the best person if you're looking for a detailed review on food.”

Ah yes, Jamil was aware of your generous palate. While trying to discreetly find your preferences, Jamil first assumed you had a sweet tooth when you praised the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden for his sweets. But then, Jamil overheard you enjoying your visits to Mostro Lounge so perhaps you had a pension for seafood…Then, he was thrown for a loop when he heard from a giddy Lilia that he was delighted to see you have such a rigorous appetite, having tried and finished the beef-seafood-fruit stew he made for his dormmates. 

You...were not picky, to say the least.

You felt a pang of shame for your lack of refined judgment in cuisine. “Your food is really good. Sorry, I don't know what else I can say about it that is helpful to you.”

That’s it. Jamil saw an opening. “Perhaps, I could make your favorite food,” his voice sounded as though it was a spontaneous thought. “Then it would be something you can speak more on a personal level.” 

All other attempts to learn your food preferences failed in the past, but now there was an opportunity to learn firsthand from the source. It wasn’t strange, was it? It was simply the flow of the conversation, and all the long-haired upperclassman did was offer an option. What an auspicious break for Jamil.

But when Jamil looked to you to gauge your reaction, you surprised him. 

You stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Your lips quivered and shook, as though your body was nervously processing his words, which deeply worried Jamil. Has he somehow offended you? How?! 

Finally, you spoke. “You would make something…just for me?” 

“Yes, if that’s something alright with you?”

All this time, you were under the impression that Jamil was offering you food that couldn’t be finished, and you were content with taking whatever was offered, happy that the vice-housewarden thought of you in some way. But having Jamil make something homemade purposely with you in mind… to think of you as he makes the effort to do something, hoping you will enjoy it. A sweet gesture made for you, and you alone.

Feelings of butterflies filled you as your cheeks felt hot at such thoughts. You felt your lips quiver as a goofy smile crept its way onto your face, but you tried to hide your giddiness behind your fingers.

You thought for a bit, then softly you replied. “Curry would be nice.” 

Hmm? Jamil was surprised. That’s his favorite…  

“Then, we can eat together.” You smiled nervously. “I think sharing with someone you like makes food taste better.” 

Such a lovely sight of two shy fools. One was grinning oddly while the other was hiding his shamefully burning face behind his hood.

[demonsslayersstuff]

Hair Washing (Levi Ackerman x Gender Neutral Reader)

Description: Just a little slice of life story about helping Levi wash his hair post war.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, nudity, suggestive content (nothing too graphic), and comfort.

A/N: Here’s the first of my end of the year fics that I am writing. I’ve always liked the idea of a soft Levi so I decided to go with that in this fic. Anyway Enjoy!

P.S: Working on chapter 7 of my Gojo fic so keep your eyes open for that!

You hear the all too familiar clatter of what you assume is the shampoo bottle followed by the not so quiet, “Fuck”, that spills out of Levi’s mouth. It had been a never ending battle for Levi in these past few weeks, trying and often failing to shower properly on his own. His injured leg made it near impossible to stand anymore and his lack of fingers on his one hand made gripping soapy slick things extremely difficult.

You sigh, before going to stand awkwardly at the door too afraid to knock. Levi and you had argued bitterly about this predicament, while he was grateful for your offer of help, he didn’t want to feel like an invalid. You respected his feelings and were supportive of him doing things on his own. In fact, you’d always let Levi do things on his own, only helping when he begrudgingly asked you for assistance (after failing to complete the task multiple times on his own).

But today you as you stand near the door you feel a difference in the air, hear a quiet cry of pain and you decide then and there you were done with this situation the two of you were in. You fling the bathroom open and catch the grimace of pain on Levi’s face that he was trying to mask. “I thought I told you that I can do it-”, Levi starts, anger clear in his tone, but for once you don’t care and soon two words that you never thought you’d say to your partner roll off your tongue. “Shut up”, you tell him before you lean down to grab the shampoo bottle you knew he had desperately been trying to pick up, before placing carefully back in its usual place as you flick the shower off for a moment.

Levi stares at you with a shocked expression, eyes blown wide open. In all the years of being in the Scout Regiment together he knew you to be a bit temperamental at times, but never once had you ever spoken back towards a higher ranking official. He watches as you run your palm over your face, fingers rubbing the sides of your temple and sigh, a clear indication of your frustration. “Levi, I know you can do it on your own, I do”, you begin after you remove your fingers from your head, your eyes locking with his.

“You are and will always be one of the strongest people I know. But remember sometimes even the strongest need help and there’s no shame in that”, you finish, tone a bit softer. You watch as Levi huffs before closing his eyes for a long time as he was trying to think of a counter argument. You use the opportunity to squat down near the stool he was sitting on before reaching out to gently cup his cheek, your movements forcing him to open his eyes. “I have an idea in mind, a sort of compromise if you’re willing to hear it?”, you ask him, your voice gone of any previous anger. You so desperately wanted to help him and fighting wasn’t going to solve this.

“Well seeing as you told me to shut up, I don’t really have a choice”, Levi gruffly responds. Your cheeks go red with embarrassment, guilty that you’d let your anger get the best of you. However you hear the lingering trace of cheekiness in his words and know that he’d forgiven you. “Listen, how about for the next few weeks I help you shower”, you start, but Levi doesn’t look too happy with your words. “Let me finish”, you tell him with steely eyes and watch as Levi swallows whatever words were in his mouth. You grab his hand and give it a gentle squeeze before continuing. “As I was saying, I’ll help you shower the next few weeks. But during that time we’ll see what we need to change about the bathroom in order to make showering alone easier for you to do”, you finish with a small smile on your face.

You watch has Levi ponders your suggestion. It was a fair idea, he had to admit and if the two of you managed to change up the bathroom to be more accessible, then he’d be able to gain a sense of independence he’d been trying retain. “Ok, let’s do it”, Levi finally says and you jump up with an excited squeal as Levi sighs quietly, though there was a barely there smile that graced his features. “Now, may help you?”, you ask Levi sweetly. He nods his head in ascent and you get straight to work…by taking off your own clothes.

“What are you doing?”, Levi questions, the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. “Oh please, it’s not like you haven’t seen it before, if I remember correctly last night you were the one practically begging me to lose my clothes”, you quip back, making his ears turn a darker shade of pink. “Besides I don’t want my clothes getting wet”, you continue before turning on the warm water. “You could have just started with that”, Levi mutters though his good eye clung to the curvature of your body, a sight that would never bore him. You were the most beautiful thing on the planet and as you lean down to kiss his forehead, Levi begins to question why the two of you have never showered together in the first place. My stubborn pride, he muses internally.

“Ok, what’s the most difficult thing for you?”, you question as you move to turn the water warmer, the temperate spray falling on both of your bodies. “Reaching for things”, Levi admits honestly, though his tone was thick with embarrassment, which you politely ignored. “Could you please reach for the shampoo so I can make a note of where we need to move the shelf?”, you ask him softly as the water continues trickle down your bodies, its heat creating a steam that swirled around the room. You watch carefully as Levi moves his arm and you make a mental note of where it hovers in the air. “Thanks, I’m gonna start washing your hair”, you murmur as you grab the shampoo, slathering the soap in your hands.

Once they are covered in suds you place your hands onto Levi’s head, fingers working with a meticulous pace as you work the soap into his dark locks and onto his scalp. Levi leans his head back slightly, lost in the touch of your fingers on his head, he moans quietly as your fingers scratch around his ears in a delicate manner. Levi cracks an eye open, to look up at you, your head blocking the water that falls from the shower head. His good eye focuses on your face, capturing the determined yet, soft expression of your face as you continue to wash his hair. Levi can only guess the look on your eyes was the overwhelming love you had for him, something that makes his heart beat a little faster.

You catch his eye watching you, causing you to give him light smile before you lean down and capture his lips with a soft chaste kiss. “Let’s rinse your hair now”, you tell him as you move your head out of the way, letting the water fall across Levi’s face and hair. Your fingers work quickly to rinse out the soap as they thread through his hair, though you are mindful of the potential knots your fingers catch from the earlier scrubbing. You move to stand in front of Levi, hands moving to cup his neck gingerly as you straighten his posture. “Ok, body washing time”, you begin, but Levi cuts you off. “Wait”, he mumbles quietly, voice nearly catching in his throat. You look at him, eyebrows raised, your question spoken through your eyes. “I want to wash your hair”, Levi tells you, voice firm, though his face holds a different emotion.

“Ok”, you murmur as Levi hands come to grip your waist, pulling you onto to his lap. Your thighs come to rest against his hips as your feet rest on the tile floor, brushing up against the stool’s legs. Your hands are splayed on Levi’s shoulders as you straddle his waist, your ass firmly planted on his strong thighs. The two of you get lost in the intimate embrace for a moment, his stormy blue eye holding your own eyes at attention. Levi uses this opportunity to then softly brush his lips against your own, a small gesture riddled with so many unspoken words. Soft Levi was his way of expressing his love without him having to explicitly state it. Your hands release their hold on his shoulders as they creep up back into his wet locks, your arms moving his neck forward gently forcing his face closer. You part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, moaning faintly as his tongue swipes against your own. Levi’s grip on your waist tightens, his internal battle of desire brooding on the surface. As much as he’d love to take you here and now, Levi knew that intimacy wasn’t just sex, it was other things, so he resolved to complete his stated task.

With a hushed sigh, Levi begrudgingly pulls away from your heady lips. “Let me wash your hair”, Levi reminds you as he pecks your nose for a brief second, letting you catch your breath. You let out a muffled “Mhmm”, as you grab the shampoo bottle, pouring out more soap, this time into Levi’s palm. You duck your head down as Levi’s fingers work the soap into your hair. You close your eyes as his fingers massage your temple silently, the only sound that could be heard was the water steadily rolling down into the drain. When he was finished, Levi��s fingers moved to help rise the suds from your hair as the still warm water continued to flow across your bodies, almost as if the two of you had been caught in a warm summer rain shower.

Once Levi had completed his task, you reach to grab the body soap, lathering your hands as you rubbed the bar between your fingers. You stand, sad as you removed yourself from your comfortable position on Levi’s lap, but as much as you wanted to remain there and kiss him senseless, the two had now been in the shower for quite some time, your pruned fingers a clear indication of just how long you’d be in the water. “Ready?”, you ask him as you lean down, hands freely roaming his body, layering his skin with a delicate line of soap. Levi wraps his arms on your shoulder as you carefully hoist him up for a moment, allowing himself to clean the parts of him that he couldn’t whilst he was sitting down.

As Levi rinses his body you work quickly to wash your own body before rinsing off yourself, letting the last of the warmth wrap you into a gentle embrace before you finally turned off the water. You step out of the shower to grab two towels from the cabinet across from the sink, handing Levi one before wrapping the fluffy fabric around your body. You watch Levi dry himself of, eyes continuously trained on his sculpted body. “What?”, he asks, bringing you back to attention. “Nothing…I just…you’re, striking”, you mumble, before turning away to dry your hair. Your words cling to Levi, he enjoyed making you flustered, but this time he felt something deeper within your words.

“Thank you”, Levi murmurs as the two of you finish getting dressed, you helping him sit down in his wheelchair. “You don’t need to thank me”, you tell him, picking up the dirty clothes and towels before placing them in the hamper. “No, I do, I’ve been stubborn about this for a while, but today was nice”, Levi continues, sincerity laced in his words. “You’re welcome”, you answer back. “Now, what do you want for dinner?”, you ask him, stepping out of the bathroom. You hear Levi sigh, “No way in hell am I letting you cook again”, he calls after you. You laughter rings through your home and as Levi follows you into the kitchen he can’t help be feel a sense of gratefulness that this is the life he gets to lead now.

[prentissluvr]

campus library, 7:00 a.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, stanford!era, unedited, 658 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ closed ] .

summary : a nervous first year (sam) asks the cute libary worker (you) for help printing and accidentally develops a crush on the first day of classes.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

it’s a good thing for the library patrons that you’re in a particularly pleasant mood, which is a rare occurrence at seven a.m., especially on the first day of a new semester. the poor first years are stressed. you’re leisurely as you walk behind the circulation desk, setting your bag down by the chair and settling there with your laptop. it only takes about a second for someone to approach, holding his own laptop in nervous hands.

he does a pretty good jop of hiding that he’s nervous, but it’s clear to you that he feels out of place and maybe even a little lost.

“hi,” you greet him with a smile, inviting him closer and encouraging him to ask for whatever help he needs when he hesitates.

“hi.” he gives a tight lipped smile back, relaxing just a touch. “could you maybe help me with printing something, or…?” he’s clearly unsure if you’re the right person to ask. that’s a classic question, and one that further confirms your suspicions that he’s a first year. (though once you helped a junior print for the first time as a first year yourself last spring semester).

“absolutely!” you confirm, keeping the friendly smile on your face to hopefully put him at ease. “have you been able to connect your computer to the printers at all yet?” you’re pretty sure you know the answer, but ask anyway.

the student, who’s taller than he looks, all folded in on himself, shakes his head sheepishly. “i’m stuck there,” he explains.

“that’s alright. here,” you nod your head towards the nearest printer, standing up and leading him over. he follows, laptop cradled in his big hands. “do you mind?” you ask, hands hovering over the touchpad when he sets it down on the table.

“no, no, of course not. go ahead.” he gives you quick permission to touch his computer, and you spend the next minute explaining and showing him how to connect to the printer. in the system settings, you catch his name. maybe you’re a little curious about him. sam winchester.

he makes the attempt to print out the syllabus for a political science class. and, as often happens, it doesn’t work.

“the printers here sort of suck,” you explain quickly, so that he doesn’t feel bad or more nervous. “sometimes it’s because you’re using a personal computer. unfortunately, i don’t know how to fix that issue, but the tech services desk opens at eight and should be able to help you! if you need to print now, you can head to the computer lab, sign in with your stanford email and password, then select the same printer that i showed you.”

“okay,” he sighs out. “thank you so much,” he says sincerely, looking relieved that there’s a second solution. 

“of course,” you smile, then walk off back to your seat as he heads for the computer lab. about a minute later, he returns, looking slightly embarrassed. it turns out that he still can’t quite get it to work. he’s very apologetic for bothering you, but you assure him quickly and easily that it’s no problem at all. he’s so kind and frankly, cute, so you have no qualms with helping him.

the syllabus prints, and he thanks you several times. each time, you assure him that it’s no problem, that you’re happy to help. something about him makes you want to ease his nerves. you hope that your adamant kindness makes a good impression for his first day.

it must have at least a little, because you see him in the library often. then, you see his name in the list of new hires for the library this semester. the next time you meet him is the day that your boss asks you to show him how to shelve books and take inventory. you work together once a week. he’s easily your favorite coworker, and you’re pretty sure that you’re his.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Nonna Rosa fixes it

[Now on AO3!] Okayyy, it's officially not the weekend anymore, but only for like five minutes, so technically I'm on time! This got totally away from me, and I had to actually force myself to end it where I did. Nonna Rosa took the narrative from my hands and said 'I'll take it from here', and good for her. Not to be dramatic but I love her. Anyway, if any Italian-speaking people read this: I AM SO SORRY. This is all Collins dictionary or Google Translate, I don't speak a word of Italian and I'll be very glad to correct any mistakes you might notice ♥ I hope you guys enjoy it! if you want to know more about Nonna Rosa, send me an ask, I have looots of headcanons for her (and Tommy's childhood). Here you go:

A week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is still feeling like shit. He can barely sleep, anything he tries to eat tastes like sawdust, and he feels like he’s living on autopilot. He goes to work, he comes back home, he tries to eat, he tries to sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing else matters, there’s nothing else he feels like doing. He doesn’t answer Howie’s texts asking how he’s doing (he answered the first one, telling Howie not to worry about him, but can’t do more than that); he completely ignores Eddie’s invitation for Muay Thai and basketball, and he comes up with an excuse as to why he can’t make karaoke bar that Thursday. And yet, there’s one thing he can’t put off, as much as he wishes to: talking to his Nonna. 

Tommy calls his grandmother at least once a week; she still lives in Indiana, in the same house he spent most of his childhood in, and he knows his uncle Bart visits often. But he likes to hear from her himself. Visiting her was a rare occasion, and the last time he was able to was about four months ago. The minute he had stepped in, Nonna had asked him if he was ‘innamorato’, because he was looking so much happier than usual.

And he knows she’ll perceive his sadness just as quick, if not quicker. The woman has always been able to read him like an open book. She’s probably the only person alive who can; he’s always made sure to keep his layers hidden from everyone else, even from… 

Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? 

Fact is, that if he misses his call with Nonna, it’ll be even worse. She’ll know something’s up, and he doesn’t put past her to fly across the country to check on him (he’s always been the favorite grandson and everyone knows it). So it’s best to get it over with. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on his couch (and tries not to think about how empty it feels when it’s just him in there) and rings her up, bracing himself.

“Pronto? Tommasino?” She answers the call, as always with the camera too close to her face, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

“Nonna, you need to stretch your arm a little. Remember, like Charlie showed you?” He asks with a chuckle; Charlie being his cousin’s daughter, Charlotte, who taught Nonna how to FaceTime so she could ‘see Tommasino’s pretty face more often’, in her own words. 

She stretches her arm and Tommy gets a good look at her. Nonna looks the same as always, sharp blue eyes in a soft face that’s wrinkled both from age and from a lifetime of smiles. Her hair is wrapped in hair rollers and tucked safely behind a red bandana. Tommy misses her fiercely, and wishes more than ever that he could get wrapped in one of her hugs. 

They always did wonders for him when he was a little boy who used to climb trees and get scrapes and bruises; when he was a scared eleven-year-old missing his mother (and as a grown-up he can appreciate Nonna was hurting at least as much as him, having lost her daughter, but still never let it show) and dealing with an angry abusive father; when he was a scared eighteen-year-old, before leaving the only home he’d ever known to join the Army. And when he was a scared 33-year-old man, coming out as gay to his 75 year-old-grandmother, afraid of being rejected by the one person alive who truly loved him, and Nonna had stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into one of those hugs, and told him all she ever wanted for Tommy was to see him happy, and that she would always love him. 

A hug from his grandmother had always made Tommy feel like the world was an easier place to be faced, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs. And his longing must show in his face, because she’s frowning at him, her eyes full of concern. 

“Oh, Tommasino” She says softly. “What’s wrong, bambino mio? You look so sad” She asks, and to Tommy’s horror, he finds his eyes filling up. Nonna has that way of bringing out every emotion he tries to repress.

“Everything’s wrong, Nonna, and it’s all my fault” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and the look on his grandmother’s face tells Tommy she’d be placing a sizable plate of cake and a cup of strong coffee in front of him if she could.

“You have a habit of saying things are your fault even when they aren't, so I'm afraid I'll need the entire story, my boy” She says gently, and Tommy watches as she sits down by her kitchen table (the same kitchen table where he did most of his school homework, the same kitchen table from where he always used to steal a biscotti while they were still warm), supporting her face in her hand and turning those sharp blue eyes at the phone screen. Tommy swears he can feel them pierce through his very soul. “What happened? Is it your Evanino?”

The question sends a knife right through Tommy's chest as he imagines what could have been. Gosh, Nonna would have loved Evan (who doesn't love Evan, you idiot?, he tells himself), and he knows deep in his heart Evan would have loved her as well. Every time Tommy would talk about her (which he did fairly often; he was a grandma's boy and had no shame about it), Evan would get a wistful expression on his face and tell Tommy that she sounded awesome.

He had been planning on taking Evan with him next time he managed to visit her, not wanting to introduce them through the phone. Now it's for the best he didn't; at least Nonna won't have to miss him like Tommy does.

“He… he's not mine anymore, Nonna,” He admits, his voice thick with emotion. “We broke up”

“What?! Ma comme?! You were so happy last time we talked!” She asked, and of course Tommy was happy; it was the day before their six month anniversary, and he had been so full of excitement. “Was he not happy? Is that why you're blaming yourself, Tomasino?”

A smile as bright as sunshine crosses Tommy's mind. A smile that only started to fade once Tommy told him he knew how it ended. A smile that had become his personal beacon of light in the past six months. A smile he misses like a lost limb.

“He… he was happy” He says, because that much he knows to be true; Evan was happy with him, Tommy made sure of that. His grandmother frowns at that, and Tommy doesn't blame her; the story seems convoluted, feels convoluted, even to himself, and he lived it.

“Thomas, you have to help your old grandmother, because I cannot understand what is the problem. If you were happy and he was happy, then why are you not together anymore?”

“Because he asked me to move in with him” Tommy says, and that doesn't seem to clear the situation for her. If anything, her frown deepens, and she reaches for a piece of bread, fiddling with it; Nonna could never keep her hands still, especially when she was nervous, and Tommy had inherited that from her. 

“Does that mean something different when it’s two men?” She asks, completely genuine, and that earns a surprised chuckle from Tommy. 

“No, Nonna” Tommy says, and all of a sudden the urge to laugh is gone again; it never lasts long, not after Evan. “It… It means the same”

“Very well, and you said no? That’s why he ended things?” She asks, and Tommy sighs brokenly, the memories of the night no less painful than when it happened.

“No. I… I broke up with him, Nonna. He asked me to move in with him, and I didn’t just say no. I… I broke up with him," Tommy admits with a heavy heart. 

“Tesoro, you do realize you are not making any sense? You and your boy were happy; he asked you to move in with him, and instead you broke up with him. Then you show up looking like your heart was broken and tell me it is your fault. What am I missing, bambino?”

“I have a house, Nonna!” He snaps, finally being able to voice the things that have been stewing in his heart and mind since that night. “I have a house, and he lives in a rented loft, and it makes no sense for me to move in with him!”

Nonna doesn’t answer right away. She chews thoughtfully on her bread, letting a small silence fall between the pair of them before she eventually sighs and answers him.

“Benne, you have a point, it wouldn’t make sense. But that isn’t the whole problem, is it, Tommasino?” Nonna adds shrewdly. “You could have talked it out, explained that to him. So what made you walk out of the best thing that happened to you in years?”

Tommy can always trust Nonna to lay things down exactly as they are, no matter how painful it sounds. She’s right, he did walk out of the best thing that happened to him in years, maybe ever, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify that decision to himself. 

“N-Nonna, I was… I was falling so in love with him” He tells her, and feels tears starting to prickle the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve known that since last time you were here” Nonna says impatiently. “That’s not a reason to leave, Thomas; that’s a reason to stay”

“Only if he loved me back” He says automatically, and Nonna crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

“And who says he doesn’t? Did you ask him?” She asks sharply, and Tommy sighs. This conversation is taking a completely different route than what he expected. 

“I didn’t have to, Nonna. I… I just know it, okay? I was his first relationship with a man. I cannot be the last, that’s not how it works. And I… I thought I was okay with it, that I could enjoy it while it lasted, but… But I didn’t expect to love him this much” He admits, as much to himself as to her. It’s all his fault, really, for falling so deeply, flying too close to the Sun. “I-it’s safer to break my own heart now than to let him do it when I’m way too deep to recover. N-not that I’m recovering all too well, but… could be worse” He finishes, already wiping the few tears that inconveniently decided to rush down his cheeks. 

If Tommy expects his grandmother to nod sympathetically at that and coo at him (he kinda does; she has a habit of doing that when he cries), he has another thing coming. Nonna scoffs loudly, hitting the table with her hand, strong from decades of kneading bread. The noise is enough to startle Tommy out of tears.

“Thomas Domenico Kinard, I didn’t know me and your dear Mamma, may God have her soul, had raised an estupido vigliacco!” She exclaims, her hand flailing loudly to emphasize her words. 

Tommy will be the first to admit his Italian is rusty, but he’s pretty sure she just called him a stupid coward. And. Ouch.

“Nonna!” He exclaims back, but she isn’t dissuaded. She tuts him with a sharp ‘Silenzio!’ and a raised finger, and Tommy shuts up right away. He knows that when Nonna starts, the best he can do is take the scolding, so he leans back on his couch, trying his best not to look like a chided boy who got caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s orchard.

“You are my grandson, and I love you more than anything in this world. You are a good man with a wonderful heart, but you have one big problem, Tommaso. You always assume you know people’s feelings better than they do, and then you make your own decisions based on that without actually asking anyone. Remember when you decided I should move to California because you thought I was lonely here?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, and Tommy nods sheepishly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“That if and when you wanted to move to California, you would let me know, but you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions” He mumbles back, the epic scolding from five years ago still fresh on his mind. 

“Esattamente. Now, I think your Evanino deserves the same courtesy. He is not a silly child, Thomas. If he wants you to be his last, if he loves you, who do you think you are to decide that he doesn’t?”

“But he never said he did,” Tommy replies stubbornly. “He… He never even told me he loved me, he just asked me to move in with him. It’s like… It’s like he wanted to prove a point, Nonna. That he could be… committed, or queer, or whatever, I don’t know. But he never said he loved me”

“Did you say it to him?” Nonna asks, and Tommy stares at her with his mouth agape. Damn this woman and her ability to ask the most uncomfortable questions. 

“N-no” He admits. “I… I was too afraid of him not saying it back”

“Hmmm” Nonna hums thoughtfully. “That’s your other problem, bambino mio. You think you don’t deserve to be loved. I blame that man for that” Nonna says with a scoff, and they both know exactly who she’s talking about; there’s no lost love between Rosa Lucciola and her ex-son-in-law, Brian Kinard, and the way he treated Tommy and his mother before she passed is the sole reason for it. 

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Nonna” He says with a shrug, always uncomfortable when his father becomes even a small topic of conversation, but she tuts disapprovingly.

“Ah, isn’t it? Has it never occurred to you that maybe your Evanino could have the same problem? That he was as afraid as you to show his heart and have it broken?”

Tommy desperately wants to say that he thought about it, that it occurred to him; but it hasn’t. Evan is such a sunshine of a man, always so prone to smiles and loving gestures towards anyone he cares about, that Tommy never thought there could be insecurities there. Now it makes him feel selfish and stupid (or estupido as Nonna had so accurately called him). 

“Nonna…” Tommy says, his mind catching up to everything she said and a horrifying realization dawns on him. “What if he did love me back? Oh my God, did I fuck this up?!” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“Language! Do not take the Signore’s name and swear in the same sentence!” She chides him, and Tommy mutters ‘sorry’, but her look is impossibly fond. “But, well. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Are you going to sit around and mope or try to find out?” Nonna challenges him. 

“W-what if he never loved me, Nonna? Or what if he did, but me walking out made him stop?” Tommy asks, not knowing which possibility scares him the most.

“What if he still does, Thomas?” Nonna counteracts. “What if he loves you and is too afraid to reach out because you already rejected him once, hm? Someone has to be brave, and he already was when he asked you to move in, bambino. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but his heart was in the right place; it was in your future together”

Tommy realizes Nonna is right. He can’t expect Evan to reach out (he realizes he was at some level, and he would have rushed to it; one call from Evan and Tommy would be right back to his life, ready to reheal his own heart when things inevitably went wrong, just for another glimpse of Evan Buckley’s personal sunshine); it’s his turn to fight for them. It’s his turn to be brave. 

“Ah, you finally realized it, hm?” Nonna says; something must be showing on his face, because there’s a satisfied smile on her face. “Fight for that boy, Thomas. Fight for your happiness, tesoro. Prove to your Nonna you are not estupido”

“Nonna, you are most definitely the best person on the planet, and I promise you didn’t raise a estupido. I’ll do right by Evan. By… By me. By both of us” Tommy promises to her, promises to himself. He blows a kiss to the screen of his cellphone, desperately wishing he could kiss her cheek in person. “Ti amo, Nonnina” (I love you, granny) 

“Ti amo, nipotini del mio cuore” (I love you, grandson of my heart) She tells him back, and a mischievous smirk appears on her face. “You better bring that boy here to try my rondelli before the year is over, you hear?”

“Dio, I hope so, Nonna” He tells her, and they say their goodbyes before hanging up. Tommy already misses her.

He holds his cellphone close to his heart, wondering if he should text Evan, but decides against it. This is too big for a text, too big for a call. He’ll go over in the morning, probably with a bouquet of flowers or whatever other extravagant gift he can come up with, ready to grovel and explain himself and beg for a second chance, even if it’s only to hear a ‘no’. Even if it’s only to let Evan yell at him and get the closure he deserves. Even if it’s only to get his already shattered heart broken into even more pieces. Tommy has to be brave.

After all, nonna and mamma didn’t raise a coward. 

(Evan doesn’t say no. And when Tommy explains, after several rounds of make-up sex, what made him change his mind, he promises to send Nonna a present. The present ends up being him and Tommy, because they go to Indiana for Christmas, and Evan falls in love with Nonna and her rondelli. Just like Tommy knew he would)

--

Tag list (let me know if I missed anyone! also if you want to be removed or only tagged in Little Blobs' Verse):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie

(Although here's a lil spoiler - Nonna Rosa will probably show up in Little Blobs' verse cause I'm not ready to let go of her and she'd whack me in the head with a spoon if I didn't let her meet her great-grandchildren)

[babybatss-blog]

DOMESTICS

Sirius black x reader, 1100  words

summary: all you wanted to do was cook Sirius some chicken for dinner, but perhaps things don’t always go your way.

c/w: established relationship, alcohol consumption, swearing and crying, argument between Sirus and Reader. Practically just tame, basic relationship angst that turns into fluff :)

The classic casual Friday night is always a big step in any intimate relationship. Stepping out of uncomfortable outfits and delicate table foods into comfy hoodies and junky snacks creates a whole new level of intimacy with a partner, and can be quite nerve wracking for at least the first few instances. 

But you and Sirius are way past that.

On the first date, you stayed the night at his for two whole days. You met his best friends on that second day, and he met yours just four days later. James said you were funny, and Lily said Sirus was smitten. He admired your comfortableness with him while you appreciated his lack of care towards your groggy state every morning, and a week in you both shared your deepest traumas with each other. On some random Wednesday your parents turned up unannounced in your apartment, which is when he met them both shirtless and slightly hungover (though he concealed the latter expertly).

So, two months later it is entirely expected to have Sirius lounging on your couch, watching some Netflix overproduced action show and as you cook dinner. Usually he prefers taking control of the kitchen because he “likes to spoil his girls”, but he did not impose when you insisted it was your turn to give him some love. The kitchen smells like a variety of spices and mouth-watering flavours, and despite the simple dish you are preparing the kitchen looks like a professional chef is making a world-famous meal. Plates, pots and pans are spread around, ingredients spilled on any and all surfaces and your state decreased to completely dishevelled, huffing and puffing at every slight inconvenience to come your way. “This needs to be perfect for him.” You think, anxiously managing every element with not a moment to spare. Unbeknownst to you Sirus has now snuck over, and softly places his chiselled chin on your shoulder as you peer over the cooking meat.

“Looks raw.” He states nonchalantly, arms creeping around your waist. “I know. It’s not done yet.” You explain bluntly, words leaving your mouth slightly more harsh than you intended. But you don’t take them back, as your focus is entirely taken up by the meal in front of you.

Wait, I thought it was done? What’s it meant to look like if it is done? What does it taste like? What more does it need?

He soon releases you, walking away to the bathroom as he calls out. “Sorry for not wanting to be poisoned I guess!” You huff, opting to not fight back in fear of putting too much energy into something that doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. You and Sirius are both painfully stubborn when you want to be, and are often laughed at by your friends for getting in ridiculous arguments. Once, you needed to go on a walk and clear your head after the two of you debated which Barbie movie is the best.

As he returns from the bathroom he subtly side eyes the chicken, seeing you have now placed it on a plate ready for serving. Against his better judgment, he calls out, in a half cough half word amalgamation which complains “still raw”. Would it be smart for you to reply? No, of course not! But do you do it anyway? Obviously!

“WELL WHY DON’T YOU COOK THEN MR PERFECT?!” You snap, eyes erratic and wide as you face him. He scoffs, hands placed on the kitchen counter opposite you.

“I’d be happy to, but you didn’t fucking let me!”

”Didn’t let you? I’m not your mother, I’m sorry I wanted to do something nice for you!”

“Well it isn’t nice if I’m too sick to go to work tomorrow!”

“Relax hard ass, you start work at three!” The argument quickly escalates past the point of reasonable, as Sirius’ arms flail widely about and the vegetables are left to burn in the oven.

In a closing statement you call Sirius a “spoilt brat” and he storms off, slamming the bedroom door behind him so he can no longer hear you if you try to apologise. Tears well in your eyes as you look around, realising what just happened truly as your brain finally processes. How can your worst argument be about some stupid chicken? You rush to repair the damage of your distractions to the meal, pulling the vegetables out of the oven as your salty tears fall within. You can barely see through your exaggerated sobs, mad at yourself for all manner of things.

Why did you let his simple comments go to your head? What if he’s right, and the meals a disaster? Will he despise you now for going so off the handle? Is this the last night of your fleeting romance?

You quietly serve up the food as these thoughts run through your head, wiping away gushing tears and snot as you go. Once it’s done, you tentatively go over to the closed door of the bedroom and knock a few times. You hear some shuffles, and the door is opened to reveal an unimpressed Sirus. “Sorry…” You mumble, eyes glued to the wooden floor between you. He pushes past you in silence, grabbing his plate and sitting down on the plush couch. As much as you would like to beg for forgiveness and list all the reasons you should stay together, you don’t deem that important when he pats the space next to him to sit down, handing you a sympathetic yet weak smile. “I know you didn’t mean it.” He finally gets out, eyes drilling into your still shy figure. “I just was trying to help.” “I know. But I didn’t want you to have to worry. I wanted to spoil you; you know?” His hand falls onto your thigh, the other placing the chicken in his hungry mouth. You join him in eating the meal, and reluctantly admit what you wished wasn’t true.

“It’s not fully cooked.” You pout, tears still glossing your eyes. He chuckles, placing his plate down and enveloping you in a hug. “That’s fine gorgeous. UberEats it is.” You pull back and quickly peck his lips, a smile forming on both your faces as you respond.

“Only if it’s Mexican.”

“Deal.”