#i can do another or feed you alternates if you need JUST ASK!

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

[fushisagi]

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[helenisaweirdo]

the aot men headcanons and ranking (+ the aot modern alternate universe headcanons and rankings)

———

how good of fathers would they be out of 10?

eren - 5/10. he’s not bad; just…he’s impulsive. he’s the dad who’s fun and all, playing with his kids and ruffling them on the head. but he’s probably going to teach his kids how to punch other people in the most painful way too. then when the kid’s mother scolds eren for it, he just shrugs.

armin - 8/10. literally the sweetest guy ever, but i have this feeling deep inside me knowing that he would have a hard time scolding his child. he’d see them tear up and then he’d start tearing up too and feel SO BAD while hugging them. he would be a girl dad though, with his gentle personality and all.

jean - 8.5/10. he’s a girl dad, no you can’t change my mind. he’d spoil his kids ROTTEN—and i’d bet all of my money that he would teach his son chivalrous values while treating his daughter like a little princess, just like how he was raised (ughhhh the jean and his mom OVA has my heart🥺💕)

conny - 4/10. he’s such a sweetie, but the biggest problem is his lack of experience since HE’S always the one getting taken care of, plus he’s not the brightest. i just KNOW that when he holds his baby, they start crying uncontrollably, and he freaks out because he doesn’t know what to do.

levi - 7/10. what? he’s literally already a dad to eren and mikasa and armin and conny and jean and sasha and…okay, i think you get it. but losing so many people in his life will definitely impact his parenting style. i guarantee that he will be overprotective of his kids due to being scared of losing them.

reiner (MY MAN🤤) - 9/10. JUST LOOK AT HIM WITH GABI AND FALCO AND ZOFIA AND UDO🥺. he CAN BE responsible and a good leader if he tries, which are natural qualities of a good father. but similar to levi, after losing so many people, he’d be pretty protective of his kids. especially growing up as an eldian in marley, he’d be so overly concerned for his kids.

———

are they good at cooking?

eren - no. do NOT let this man into the kitchen under any circumstances unless you want to look like armin during season 3.

armin - yes, definitely. armin deserves to have a professional chef license. the moment anyone is craving something, here he is.

jean - no. this guy had literally been spoiled ever since day one, since his mom literally always feeds him and pampers him.

conny - NO. please, NEVER let this man within 2 yards of the kitchen. he WILL burn down the kitchen. if he doesn’t, the food will be inedible.

levi - barely. he had to survive in the underground and all, so he can cook just a little bit. maybe a fried egg or heating some meat.

reiner - barely. similar to levi, having to survive warrior candidate training and being in a war for YEARS, he probably knows how to cook some sort of meat above a fire.

———

(modern AU) can they drive?

eren - he’s average at driving. he gets road rage and starts speeding like crazy before he finally gets a ticket.

armin - he’d be too nervous on the road. he’d be too scared of accidentally hitting another car or speeding.

jean - surprisingly good. probably one of the only one of the main cast who doesn’t ever get into a car crash or a ticket.

conny - NO. please don’t ever get into this man’s car. you WILL come out throwing up and hugging the ground.

levi - he’s not the best at driving, but he can get the job done. he has road rage, but he isn’t too obvious about it. but he WILL drum his fingers on the steering wheel.

reiner - definitely. he’s 100% that one person that everyone goes to whenever they need someone to drive them somewhere.

———

random hc about them in the modern AU

eren - goth mikasa once asked eren to cosplay as light and misa with her. eren didn’t even know who they were, so he then agreed. it didn’t end well for eren.

armin - whenever he has a crush, he never tells them out of fear because he’s a weirdo. because of that, he always slowly watches them fall in love with someone else😕

jean - every morning, he spends 2 hours on his hair. he does it not only to impress mikasa, but also because he loves looking at his entire face. eren called him a horse one day and jean stopped.

conny - the reason he has a bald head is because he found a razor in his house one day. he remembered seeing people on YouTube using it and he found it cool, trying to shave his chin. suddenly his arm went out of control and the razor went to his hair.

levi - he was once cleaning the bathrooms and heard a student crying in one of the stalls. he felt bad but just didn’t really say anything because he didn’t know what to say. when he found out who the student was, he always made sure to pay extra attention to them.

reiner (my man canonically follows historia all the time during this AU😔) - he works out all the time in the school gym instead of the public gym because he wants to impress historia.

[spideesenses]

Heat → Miguel O’Hara

pairing: miguel o’hara x afab!reader

warnings: smut! MDNI! there’s no piv, just dry (wet) hmping. dom!miguel. panty fcking. light degrading. mentions of menstrual cycle.

prompt: Miguel doesn’t take his rapture serum, letting his more animalistic tendencies surface.

note: this has been my brainrot for several days now bc my bf did it to me and i😵‍💫 please practice safe & clean sex! you can mess up your pH balance especially with something like this, so please make sure you know the proper aftercare. love u

He could smell you. The scent of your wet slick between your thighs sent him in a frenzy, not to mention that you were ovulating. So this intense wave of horniness would hit you randomly. You’d been trying so hard to concentrate on the mission report that Jess was delivering, squeezing your thighs to gain some friction.

As Jess wrapped up the mission report, Miguel dismissed everyone. Everyone except for you. A wave of panic shot through you. You knew there was better choices to be made during the mission, but was it worth getting reprimanded for?

“What is this about?” you spoke softly, stepping forward. The release of your tightened thighs only released the scent of your dripping pussy even more so. As you stepped closer, the scent filled his nostrils and he had to stop his eyes from rolling back.

“You were helping Lyla reproduce my rampage serum earlier this week.” Miguel finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity. He wasn’t asking, he was stating the fact. So you were unsure what he wanted from you.

“Yeah, you had me stay back from a mission because I was feeling unwell.” you period was so crippling that day. You still wanted to make an impact so you asked Miguel for an alternative project to work on. “Is there a problem?”

The question made him chuckle dryly. You felt her pulse at the sound. That, you couldn’t help. He turned giving you what seemed like a grin. A sadistic grin.

“When you updated the inventory,” he waved his hand and a computer monitor came up. Video footage of you storing 6 vials into his cabinet pulled up. You had turned in your rolling chair to lean over as you went to fill out the fields on the computer.

Your name

The date

The serums you were making updates to

The quantity

You squinted your eyes at the footage. Oh. Seemingly enough, you had fatfingered an extra number on the file and saved it carelessly before exiting the lab.

“I was under the impression that I had another 10 vials to last me before I had to make more. I actually would have asked you to assist me in that again, but because of your mistake,” he swiped his hand again, making the video feed disappear and taking a step closer to you, making you instinctively back up. “I am all out.” he wasted no time grabbing you by the neck, forcing you to look up at him. “Do you understand what that means cariño?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, wincing as his grip on your throat tightened. You reached up to grab his wrist, giving it a squeeze.

He ignored your apology. “And while Lyla is scrambling to make a new batch, I have sit here and smell you.” if his teeth wasn’t dripping with venom, his voice was. This didn’t help your problem. You could feel the wetness collecting at the crotch of your suit. The way he was manhandling you? Scolding you as a means to humiliate you? He took a whiff of the air once more, blinking a few times before narrowing his eyes at you. “Is this- Are you getting aroused by this?” you didn’t have to answer, he could smell it.

Due to his lack of rampage, his senses seemed to have heightened. He was more aware, he had to be. He was like an animal released in the wild with no limits to his terrain.

He needed you just as much as you needed him. He’d take you as quickly as he could, oh but he knew it would take patience. As mean and broody as he was, he was still a gentleman, when he wanted to be. Images of you being manhandled, moaning with him touching every inch of your body. He blinked a few times realizing you were using your powers on him. You could project thoughts into ones mind.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” he nuzzled his face into your neck, peppering kisses there. Miguel teasingly dragged his fangs against the soft skin at your neck, making you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you huffed out. Your sexual frustrations were agonizing, body heating up quickly as your dripping slick grew warmer. The sounds that were coming from you reminded Miguel of the sounds that a prey would make when it was caught. The primal instinct was to bite you, mark you as his territory.

A sweet little moan escaped passed your lips. Miguel looked down and seen your thumbs caressing your nipple through your suit. He could see the hardened mound, how painful it looked. The thought of you pleasuring yourself underneath him would have been more than okay… if he wasn’t feeling territorial.

Miguel flicked your hand away, grasping your breast in his free hand, his other still tightly around your throat. He palmed over your sensitive bud, the feeling of a more calloused hand over your boob feeling sensational. You didn’t care how needy your mewls had sounded, you were unbelievably turned on out of your mind. Whatever he was willing to give you, you would take. The moans falling passed your lips were caught with his.

You would occasionally buck your hips into his, emitting a growl as he lightly bit your bottom lip. You needed friction. Anything to relieve the growing pain. With control, you bucked your hips slowly, making sure to drag the pool of wetness onto his suit. You’d let out a breathless ‘heh’ as you felt him through his suit.

Oh and he could feel you alright. The one stroke alone had left a wet on his suit. He quickly commanded for his suit to disappear and he was suddenly bare in front of you.

He was mouthwateringly gorgeous. His chiseled chest through his suit was a masterpiece. And now that it was bare right in front of you? He looked too delicious to be consumed. His waist was slim in comparison to his chest, yet bulky and defined. His happy trail lead down to something that you would consider very happy to see you. It wasn’t just the girth that intimidated you, it was the length as well. How the hell was he going to fit that in you without breaking you or tearing you in half?

He wasted no time in tearing at the crotch of your suit.

“Hey!” you whined. You’d made your own suit. You were actually one of the only spider people without an upgraded suit. The first version of your suit was your now ruined suit.

“I’ll program you another suit princesa,” he panted, gasping as your silky red underwear came into view. Though the wet patch of your underwear presented a more maroon color. He lifted you up on his desk, pushing his keyboard and mouse off in the process. He bent down, taking a whiff of your clothed, soaked pussy.

His eyes glossed over crimson. Miguel wasn’t even sure if he had ever been this aroused before. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember a damn day where he was out of his serum. He pressed your lips together in a hard kiss, jerking his hips forward so the leaky tip of his cock would press against your puffy clit.

“M’gonna fuck you with your panties on,” he mumbled against your lips. He guided his cock underneath your panties, collecting the wetness from your crying pussy. The tightness of your underwear was enough to keep his cock firmly pressed against your slit.

You bucked your hips eagerly, whimpering as the feeling of his cock against your pussy stimulated the most sensitive part of you. He switched hands; one resumed its position at the base of your neck, pinning you down on his desk and the other held your thigh as it was hiked over his hip.

Miguel rutted his hips, letting out a sigh of relief. Although it wasn’t the inside of your plush, wet heat, this would do. The scent of you enveloped him and he could only imagine what your velvety walls would feel like fluttering around him.

“More, please.” you begged, tears brimming your eyes as you could feel yourself wanting more than just the slow rolling of the hips.

“Oh,” Miguel pursed his lips, looking down at you. “Look at you so desperate for my cock.” he was talking down on you again, making your jaw fall slack as he slowly picked up the pace, stimulating your clitoris a little more.

The sounds that were coming from the underside of his cock rubbing against your wet slit were pornographic almost. Slosh, slosh, slosh. If he could drown in your puddles of wetness, he’d be all in you every second of everyday.

“Cock hungry and I haven’t even been inside of you,” he coo’d. He drew his hips back, the tip of his cock slipping past your folds. Miguel’s eyes locked onto yours as he gently prodded past your pussy lips.

At this point, it was like you were the animal. Bucking your hips in desperation, tears spilling from your eyes as you pleaded - as you begged him to break you. He could take you however he wanted, he could make it hurt, you just needed him.

“You’re gonna shut up and take what I give you, like the slut you are. Do you understand me?” his voice was stern enough to pull you from your cock drunk state. You nodded your head. “Use your words, princesa.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you answered before he shoved his fingers into your mouth, to which you suckled on with joy.

“That’s my good girl,” he gave you positive reinforcement. Slowly begin to move his hips again, only this time he had his thumb placed on top of the fabric of your panties, so he could keep the placement of his cock over your clit.

His pace was unforgiving. The sound of you begging so desperately for his cock echoing. The image of you crying over not being fucked was glued to the back of his eyelids. You were so cock drunk already, it made him wonder how long you’d been thinking about him fucking you.

Images of you fucking yourself with your fingers, free hand pinching your nipple while moaning his name popped up in his head. Here you were, projecting images into his head once more. As he’s fucking you through your panties, he can feel the grip of your mouth releasing his fingers. Your mouth was ajar as he pistoned his hips against yours, your moans and his grunts filling the room.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned, your hand capturing your breast. “Please, can I come?”

How obedient. Still asking him permission after he told you to take whatever it was he was giving. How much were you wrapped around his finger?

“Yeah baby, you can come. Come for me,” he leaned over, mumbling into your ear, his teeth grazing over the shell of your ear. “Come on, be a good girl for me.” hearing that made you whimper in his ear as you released the knot that was forming in your stomach.

“Fuu-“ you whined, arching your back against him. Your walls clenched around nothing, wishing you could milk him for every drop. You felt your body convulse as euphoria took over you, your cheeks flushed red as your legs shook around Miguel. He could feel your hard nipples on his bare chest. In the frenzy you were in, he had no idea how you were even coherent enough to reach down between you two. Your hand kept his cock in place while your thumb circled around his sensitive tip.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He imagined the softness of your hands being as soft as you were on the inside as he pounded you. His hips began to stammer as he released his load into your panties, with a guttural moan. His hips slowed and he rested his forehead against yours.

You could feel how heavy your panties were. They were slicked down from the wetness of your pussy, and now they were filled with Miguel’s cum.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel muttered.

“Huh?” he heard Jess’ voice in confusion.

He blinked and suddenly Jess, Peter, and you surrounded him. Just as you did during the mission report. Jess and Peter were confused to say the least, but not you.

Your smug grin confirmed Miguel’s thoughts. You had been using your powers to project your sexual fantasies in his head.

“Ay coño,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m gonna fucking kill her.”

[xotaemintol]

MARKHYUCK X FEMBLACK READER //APT.// <PT.1>

♡ “All you gotta do is meet me at the…” ♡

[She/Her pronouns, plus size friendly. Warning, this fanfiction will contain; heavy drinking, cursing, drunk sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, kissing, unprotected sex, implications of cheating, and more. Part one contains; Heavy Drinking, stripping, and cursing. If any of these things are triggering for you, please look away, thank you.]

[What is APT? 아파트 (AH/PA/TU), is an Korean drinking game. Two players or more stack their hands and chant: “아파트, 파트, 아파트, 파트, 아파트.” as they wave their hands, alternating them between each other. One player picks a number and another counts, as this player counts everyone moves their hands to the top starting from the bottom. The player with their hand on the top takes a shot and the game continues.]

(Please ignore any mistakes 😭 this was deleted 2 times, and I’ve rewritten all of this from memory, so bear with me. I’m also debating on finishing this, but you let me know what I should do.)

Leave it to Jisung Park to cancel plans he made at the last minute. You should’ve known better than to listen to him when he said he wanted to join Mark and Haechan to throw you a small house warning party. Not even 30 minutes later and he had already backtracked.

“Sorry, I can’t make it tonight, another night okay?” He said. You could strangle him. You had ordered enough food to feed four grown men, and just as you expected, he canceled.

But, luckily for you Mark and Donghyuck were on there way. They sent a text to the groupchat reassuring you that they’d be coming tonight, unlike Jisung.

You sigh and grab three shot glasses to sat them on the coffee table. Placing them down you smile. At least you can count on the two of them, so you don’t feel too bad. It’s not even 15 minutes after their text that you hear your doorbell ring, excited, you squeal and rush over to the door as you call out in a singing tone; “Coming!”

You check the small monitor beside the door, just to be sure that it’s them before—just as you assumed, it is. With a large smile on your face you open the door and squeal happily.

“You came!” You hug them both as Mark laughs. “Duh, we told you we were.” Haechan says jokingly in a snarky tone.

You roll your eyes playfully and look down at the bags in his hands. “Whoa, is that just alcohol?” You ask. Mark nods, “I told him we don’t need that much, but he said-“ “What’s a house warming party without enough alcohol to kill a bear?” You laugh and nod your head in agreement as you step aside to let them in.

Mark shakes his head, they take off their shoes by the door and you lead them back inside.

“It’s just the three of us though, we can’t drink all of that.” Mark agrees with you, but Haechan only waves the two of you off. “It’ll be fine, you can keep whatever you don’t drink tonight—think of it as a gift from your favorite man.” You snicker and sit down on the floor in front of your couch.

They look around the apartment for a second before sitting down. “Damn, this might be nicer than my place.” Mark says. You scoff and look up at him with a smile, “You mean your hundred billion dollar apartment? Yeah, right.” Haechan grunts softly as he sits on the couch beside you.

He sits the bags down on the table and begins to empty the contents out. “Might be? Mark could spend ten billion dollars and his apartment would still suck compared to yours.” You watch as he empties the bottles out of the bags. “What? Why?” Mark asks. Haechan look at him with a smug expression and says; “Because, your apartment doesn’t have a pretty woman.” He says simply.

“Yours doesn’t have one either.” “Says who? Y/N comes over all the time.” “Sure she does. She basically lived with me before she moved.” The pair continue to bicker, but your attention shifts to the sheer amount of alcohol Donghyuck bought. Silently, you count the bottles.

‘1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11…’

Your eyes widen and you turn to Haechan saying; “How much do you expect us to drink tonight? Aren’t you both lightweights?!” Mark immediately disagrees, so does Donghyuck. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

_

After giving them a tour of your apartment, you decided that it would be nice to watch a movie while waiting for the food to come. None of the three of you had even acknowledged the bottles of soju sitting on the table. You were too busy trying to figure out what to do next to beat the settling boredom.

“Let’s watch another movie.” You suggest, “There’s nothing to watch.” Donghyuck states. You hum softly as you scroll through the endless movies on the screen. “Terrifier?” Mark immediately disagrees. “Absolutely not, it’s just gore and cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Ballerina?” “We watched that last month.” “A quiet place?” “No, we watched that too.”

You continue going back and forth with Mark until Haechan finally speaks up and says; “Let’s play 아파트!” You turn to look at Haechan and with a confused expression you ask; “What’s that?” He grins.

“A drinking game.” He slips off the couch and sits on the floor beside you. “So, we all put our hands on top of each others and go ‘아파트 파트, 아파트 파트,아파트 파트.’ And then we start move our hands up to the top of the stack and then who’s ever hand is on top has to drink.” You stare at Donghyuck slightly confused, slowly nodding your head with a puzzled expression.

He shakes his head and sucks his teeth. “Mark,” he says, “Come here.” Mark—seemingly already knowing what the game is, sits beside you on the floor and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’ll show you.” Mark puts his hand in the middle and Haechan places his hand on top, Mark puts his hand above Haechans and then Haechan puts his other above Marks.

“Okay, now—since I suggested the game, we say ‘Hyuck’s game, Donghyuck game, game start’ and then we wave are hands like this.”

To demonstrate, they begin waving their hands while alternating which one is on top and which one is on the bottom while chanting; “아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트.” When they stop Haechan’s hand is on the bottom, while one of Mark’s is on the top. “Okay, so since my hand is on the bottom, I pick a number and Mark counts.” You nod and watch. “9.” Mark rolls his eyes and sighs before counting to nine.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.” After counting Mark’s hand is on top again. “Since Mark’s hand is on top he has to take a shot, and then it’s his turn to choose and I count.” He says, “Sounds easy, right?” You nod, this time fully understanding.

“Yeah, easy when he isn’t cheating.” Mark mutters, “There is no cheating, you’re just bad at the game.”

_

After just 20 minutes Mark is 5 shots deep, you’re 4, and Haechan is only 1. You quickly realized after your third shot that Donghyuck is strangely good at this game, and Mark is strangely bad at it. Luckily, it was your turn and you were really starting to grasp how to win.

“아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!” The three of you chant, your hand ends on the bottom and you look over at Haechan with a grin. His poker face is killer. He’s been so calm this whole time, laughing as you and Mark—mostly Mark, filled your glasses to the brim and took shot after shot. But you can’t let him win, so before shouting out a number you think. You glance around you for a second before hesitantly shouting out; “7!”

Mark begins to count and you nervously move your hands upward. “5, 6, 7.” “YES!” You jump up as Donghyuck’s hand lands on top. You laugh as he presses his tongue against his cheek, chuckling as Mark pats his shoulder. “Bottoms up Hyuck!” You tease.

You quickly sit down and pour his shot, pouring until the alcohol is almost overflowing. “Drink! Drink! Drink!” He laughs in amusement at your cute reaction and takes the shot to his head. Just like the first one, he makes it look easy.

As he sits his glass down you gasp and lean onto Mark in a playful manner, you place on hand on his chest and the other on his thigh. "Watch out Mark," You say in a fake whisper; "I think he's planning something." But Mark doesn't respond. His foggy mind is distracted by the smell of your lotion.

Usually he's used to you being so close, but in his impaired state he feels a little shameless. His desire to get a better smell of your scent is a little stronger than his morality, so, he leans in close to smell you a little more. But, just as he does you turn around and look at him. He flinches back and quickly looks away from you, turning red from his neck up as he nervously laughs.

"Be careful, we can't let him win." You add. Haechan, who watched silently laughs and adds in a teasing tone. "Yeah Markie Pooh, don't let me win." You snap your head over to Haechan and jokingly poke his chest as you glare at him. "I'm watching you, don't get cocky Hyuck." He smirks and looks down at you with his eyebrows raised. "Watch all you want," He says. "I don't mind."

You laugh and roll your eyes as you sit up. "Alright. Let's keep going."

The game continues and once again the three of you begin the chant. This time, Mark's hand is at the bottom and Donghyuck counts. Just as expected your hand ends up on top. "Damn it!"

You grab your glass and Haechan fills it to the brim. You huff and quickly down the drink, "Alright! Let's go." Haechan laughs and nods.

"아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!" This time, his hand is at the bottom. "8." Haechan calls out. Mark inhales deeply and begins to count. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8." You silently prayed for Donghyuck's hand to end up on top—but, conveniently for him, this time it's Mark.

You grab another bottle of soju and fill Mark's shot glass. The game continues like this for another five minutes until it's finally Haechan's turn to drink again, but before taking his shot he looks at the two of you and says. "Let's make this more fun." "How?" You ask. His grin tells you that he has a mischievous idea in mind.

"Let's strip after every shot." He suggests. "What?! No!" "Okay." Your reaction is completely different from Mark's. In your mind, the added element of stripping would add a million times more thrill to the game. Currently, there isn't much at stake other than a hangover for everyone. But stripping, adds a certain type of excitement and risk that would make this game even more fun.

As you turn to Mark you ask; "Why not?" Donghyuck leans over your shoulder and repeats after you asking in a teasing tone; "Yeah Mark, why not?" Mark rolls his eyes but before he can respond you say; "C'mon Mark, it'll be fun!" Mark looks at the both of you for a second, the mischievous look on Haechan's face and the excited one on yours spell danger, but—he agrees either way.

"Okay, fine." "Yes!" Haechan takes his shot and this time, instead of continuing the game, he begins to peel his shirt off his body. As he does so you watch with wide and surprises eyes. As he does so you watch with wide and surprises eyes. You grin as he tosses his shirt aside and reach to touch his chest, but he covers his body with his arms and stops you.

"Uh, uh! This isn't free ma'am!" He says jokingly, "But for you..." He moves his arms and allows you to freely touch his chest. You laugh as your hands roam his chest saying; "I love this game." You look over at Mark and grin. "Sorry Mark," Your hand pauses for a moment and you give him a fake pout. "But I hope you lose."

"What?! Why?" Mark asks with a laugh, you grin and shrug your shoulders saying; "I gotta see how much you have in common with Spider-Man." He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but Haechan laughs at your joke.

"Whatever, let's keep playing."

Again the chanting starts. "아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!" Now that the stakes have been raised, every time the word leaves your mouth your hands feel sweater and your heart seems to beat a little faster. A mixture between excitement and anxiety fill your drunken body, and when your hands finally stop—with yours at the bottom, you almost jump up in excitement as you yell out; "YES!"

They laugh at your excitement, but as soon as you throw out a number, Mark's laughter stops. Donghyuck counts and your hands begin to move. "3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10." "DAMN IT!" Mark curses as his hand ends up on top, but you can't help but cheer. "Yeah baby! Strip! Strip! Strip!" Haechan laughs loudly at your reaction and at Mark's loss as he pours him a shot, only filling the glass half way this time.

Mark huffs loudly and takes it, he slowly drinks it down and then slams the glass on the table. "Take it off! Take it off! Take-" You stop and cover your mouth as he glares at you playfully. You retreat to Haechan and lean your back against him while chanting a bit quieter, "Take it off, take it off." Haechan now following along behind you to further antagonize Mark.

Reluctantly, Mark slowly strips himself of his shirt—only to reveal a white tank top underneath his T-shirt.

“Aw man! What the hell?” You roll your eyes in annoyance and sit up. Mark can’t help but laugh at your reaction. “What?” He teases, “Were you that excited to see me naked?” With zero hesitation you say yes. “Why are you wearing two shirts anyways?” “I always wear an under shirt.” You roll your eyes and look away from him.

“Yeah, alright.”

The game continues and this time Mark’s hand is at the bottom, the two of you stare at him—waiting for him to shout out a number. You can tell he’s nervous from the way his eyes dart around. His cute smile as he thinks gives you butterflies.

“Uhm, 12!” You laugh and shake your head as you begin to count. “1, 2, 3…” You slowly, the anticipation is killing Mark, but entertaining for you and Haechan. “7, 8, 9, 10, 11…” You laugh, knowing that it’ll be on Mark again and finally say 12. Mark groans loudly as Haechan bursts into laughter.

“Take it off! Take it off!” This time, you’re fully expecting him to take off his shirt. But of course not. “Socks count as clothing.” Mark says. You whine and roll your eyes. “What?! How! That’s not even fair!” Haechan stops you and says in a calm tone. “No no, let him take of his socks.” “After that, he’ll have to take his shirt off.”

You look at Donghyuck and softly gasp in excitement. “You’re right!” Mark laughs in disbelief at the both of you and takes both his socks off.

As the game starts again you feel even more determined. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the room suddenly feels a bit hotter. Tension rises with every second but it only makes the game even more entertaining.

Your hands stop again, but this time Haechan’s hand on the bottom.

In a relaxed manner Haechan calls out his number; “7.” Both you and Mark, are expecting him to have set up Mark to take his shirt off, it only makes sense. Nervously, Mark begins to count, but unexpectedly, your hand ends up on top. “NO!” Mark laughs as he claps his hands. “Ha!” Donghyuck joins him and pours your shot.

“Whatever, youll end up taking it off either way.” You take off your shirt and then drink the alcohol in your glass. When you sit it down the two of them are shamelessly, staring at your breast.

“If you’re gonna stare at least don’t make it so obvious.” You joke. “Hey, it’s not my fault your heart is behind your breasts.” Haechan says, you laugh and playfully shove him as Mark sits silently, turning red as he tries his hardest not to stare.

“Okay, let’s go.”

This time, the chanting is a lot slower. The game feels more fun, but you also feel a little anxious. Sitting between the two of them like this isn’t completely out of the ordinary, you’ve changed in front of them more times than you can count on your fingers and toes—but something about this, the energy and the heat radiating of their bodies makes it feel different.

“아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트…” repeating the process, only this time you’ve picked the number—Haechan counts and your hands move. Your breathing becomes deeper and slower. Finally, your hands stop and to your luck, Mark’s hand is on top .

You high five Donghyuck before pouring Mark’s shot, only filling it half way. “Drink up.” Mark shakes his head and picks up the glass. He takes a second before sipping it down, and when it’s all gone he sits it down then slowly slips his shirt off.

He tossing his shirt next to yours, before he can say anything your hands are already on his body as if they have a mind of their own. He doesn’t even stop you. Instead he watches with a smirk on his flushed face

“Are you happy now?” He asks, you nod and look at him. “Very.” You respond. He leans his head back and smiles with his tongue pressed against his cheek, “You act like you’ve never seen us without a shirt on before.” Haechan says. “Yeah, but usually y’all act like I’m a criminal for looking.” Mark grabs your hands and raises his eyebrow at you. “You’re acting like one.” He says playfully.

You laugh and put your hands up. “Can you blame me?” “Yes.” Again, the game starts. “아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!” The pace picks up again as excitement builds and your hand is on the bottom. “13!” Mark counts, his speed also picking up. “9, 10, 11, 12, 12!”

The two of them cheer loudly as you hand lands on top. “Let’s go!” Mark shouts, they high five and laugh—but after you’ve taken your shot they both realize what comes next and their excite smiles slowly fade.

“Oh, wait. You don’t have to-“ Before Mark can finish you stand up and begin unbuttoning your pants. “Rules are rules.” You shove your pants down, trying not to let your underwear get caught—when they’re down to your calf’s you place your hand on Haechan’s shoulder to keep your balance.

You struggle to get them off your leg, it only hits you now just how drunk you are. Luckily, Mark notices and helps you. He looks up at you as he slowly slides the pant leg down your calf, the look in his hazy eyes is a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. Your own reflection almost the same thing.

You look down at him a little longer, staring into his eyes as the tension stirs—quickly becoming sexual. It’s only when Haechan clears his throat that you look away. You chuckle anxiously and stumble a little as you place your other hand on Marks shoulder so you can get the other leg down. But just as Mark did, Haechan helps you get it off.

Placing one hand on your foot and the other on your knee, just above your shin he looks up at you with a look similar to Marks. A confident one, one that’s equally as sexual. His hand slowly slides down your leg to push the fabric off your—now, warm skin. When it’s bunched up at the bottom he pulls it all the way down then tosses them to the side with his own shirt.

Slowly, you sit down with the help of Haechan and inhale deeply.

“Should we keep going?” He asks, you nod your head and then look to Mark who seemed to be waiting for your answer before giving his own. “You aren’t gonna quit now, right?” Mark shakes his head. “What about you?” Haechan shakes his head as well. “Okay, good!”

You clap your hands together and put them in the middle, they quickly follow suit—in your stomach the heat you felt becomes a scorching sensation. As you move your hands the tingling sensation in the depths of your body becomes stronger.

“9.” Mark says. As he slurs his words, Haechan counts to nine. Mark moves his hand, then you move yours, then Haechan, then Mark, then you, then Haechan, then Mark, then you again, and finally Haechan.

Standing up Haechan locks his lips and slowly pulls the strings to his feet sweats loose. As they come undone you feel a soft throb between your legs, you watch shamelessly. Too intoxicated to pretend that you hadn’t ever thought about a moment like this. He slowly shoves them down his thighs, his face turning red as the bulge in his underwear is put on full display.

The moment you notice it you feel a sensation similar to having to pee, that heat quickly turns into a wetness.

Neither you or Mark make a comment about the erection in his boxers. At this point, you’re sure Mark must be on the same page. It’d be pointless to point it out.

“Should we keep going?” Mark asks, before Haechan could answer you respond for him. “Why would we stop?” Both your words are slurred. “Exactly, I’ll be damned if I’m the only one exposed tonight.” Donghyuck sits down and you laugh a little. “See, this is why I’m glad I don’t have a penis.” You comment, “What does that mean?” Donghyuck asks.

“Exactly what I said.” You look at him, but his expression makes you look away immediately. His eyes are low and the grin on his face makes you feel unbelievably horny. “But anyways…” You clear your throat and sit up. ‘Relax.’ You think to yourself. But the feeling between your legs is so intense already.

“C’mon, you said we should keep going.” Everyone places their hands in the middle again, but now, there’s no chant. You move your hands and when your hand is on the bottom, you give a number and silently pray that it doesn’t end up in you being completely bare. “1…2…3…4…5…6..7…8…” To your luck, Mark’s hand is on the top. This time, he doesn’t reach to grab his glass; instead, he stands up and unbuckles his belt.

Again, you sit mesmerized. Admiring the way his hands look as he yanks his belt through the loops, even in your drunken state you can still recall all the times you’ve thought about being on your knees in front of him as he took his pants off.

His belt hits the floor with a loud clanking sound, but you don’t look away to see where it landed; you’re too busy watching him remove his pants in a rushed manner. You lick your lips as you see the band of his boxers. Just like Donghyuck, when he’s finally removed them you can see that you were right. He’s in the same boat. The erection in his boxers is as clear as day…..

[bunji-enthusiast]

well I was gonna ask for a second part to the catnap story where he takes in the child after the hour of joy who called him kitty, I was the suggestor lol, but it appears I was beat to it lol. I hope it's still okay if I request a second part now or just a separate part with one of theses ideas. One would come after catnap used the gas to help the child fall asleep, where after they now like the other childern in playcare become reliant on the gas because of the poppy opium used to make it. So now catnap every time they sleep has to be faced with what he did, and has to decide to put his dear little one out of their misery while they sleep or to be usual catnap and keep giving them the gas. The other idea I had was for the child to not like to go anywhere without catnap, and starts to become upset if they are left alone especially after the nightmare so catnap finds one of the small smiling critter toys like him from the playhouse, and fixes it up. to then give to the child to keep them company as they roam the factory, or when they are without their stretchy kittyy.

Better To Death

Note || aye, good to see you! Hope this was okay :)

WC || 1,018

Caretaking wasn’t certainly something CatNap had on his table, but he pulled through, innovating in ideas from Ms. Delight and find books around the ruined place on how to properly take care of you better. Safe to say, he would like to think he’s improved on doing so. Though as you were, you are a child and are quite clingy to the giant cat. He had to find numerous ways to keep you occupied and entertained, keeping you away from the mass destruction and bloody spats as much as possible.

Ever since he had remained with the tortuous knowledge of knowing that his gas causes you nightmares every time he puts you to sleep, CatNap was at a loss. 

Would he continue on doing it, or just find alternatives…Or put you out of your misery permanently?

Confusion was a brand new emotion to CatNap ever since he had felt himself faced with this dilemma, he had sat on his thoughts. Contemplating what to do, but the insomniac cat had come to enjoy your company in the pit of all his loneliness all just for following his god. It was in due time that he always followed the Prototype anyway, yet his god had no care for what he did. Just get rid of the ex-employee that may come through here. 

As of right now, there was nothing un-important that had gained his attention. CatNap had the fortune of only dealing with you at the moment, your joyful smile and laughter was something he had grown to see and hear. Truly you were one of the rare few that never was afraid of his appearance, instead just finding it humorous. The mind of a child is one that is interesting, sometimes he can still feel that another part of him resides deep in the pit of his chest. Pity, perhaps. 

Though nowadays, however long a time has passed, he had lost track – a fortnight maybe. You had grown extremely clingy to CatNap, he needed to find out what to do about that. He understood that children can be afraid of being alone, but in your case it was different. 

Finally, an idea had struck him. CatNap can use one of the miniature feral smiling critters, one that was an exact replica of him and ask for it to be attuned to your needs (surely now you don't mind being without him anywhere you go). 

So he paid a visit to the Playhouse, even though it was messy and destroyed. CatNap could tell that it was the work of all the miniature smiling critters, he dwarfed them in size yet they were capable of much destruction as he was. It was for a moment, amusing to think about. Tiny beings so feral to destroy or feast upon whatever he feeds them. 

He guessed they were quite useful, especially in the exact circumstance he was faced with. CatNap had huffed and roared, calling out to a specific tiny smiling critter, one who resembled himself greatly. The giant cat raised his paw and stepped around, trying to acclimate to his surroundings of the tiny spaces the CatNap was forced to go through. Only it had taken a minute, the smiling critter who was akin to his appearance finally appeared, crawling up to his giant paw. 

CatNap raised his paw, the miniature CatNap remained unwavering, waiting for whatever orders the bigger cat would give him. CatNap silently instructed him to crawl to his back, to which the smaller one had obliged. Bigger Body CatNap was tumultuous in size, having to carefully step around the rubbled and ruined padding in the Playhouse. He sighed in quiet grievance as small spaces weren’t entirely easy without using his gas to squeeze through, CatNap finally had turned back around, slithering back to where you had rested.

The smaller smiling critter cat was squiggling around in excitement, though staying still so as to not annoy the bigger cat. He was quite curious to see where CatNap would take him.

Soon enough, the questions of the smaller CatNap were answered. “Oh hi, hehe! Stretchy kitty!” The little kid sitting right before CatNap, the smaller cat had easily figured out what it was that CatNap had brought him here for. Sure, the smaller smiling critters seemed to be idiotic enough, but they were smarter than they would let on. The smaller cat had scrambled down the roughened arm of the larger CatNap, who had glared at him – to say the least, the miniature CatNap had gotten the message very quickly. 

“I’m really ah- happy!” You nod swiftly, having buzzed about with an energy he had not seen in a while. The smaller cat had scrambled up to you, curling up in your lap as he sat down, waiting for you to react to his presence. “OHHhhh– what are you?” You immediately had been overrun with curiosity, poking at the smaller cat. “You look so much like the big stretchy kitty.” You held out your arms, trying to enunciate the word. 

A small sound escaped the smaller cat's mouth, you almost had caught onto it.

“Whoa!” 

You giggle, holding up the miniature CatNap. “You are so adorable!” You seemed to be happy and content with the results, he was too. The bigger body CatNap was reassured in a sense you didn’t seem to be at all upset, more so eased and at peace. He sat down, watching you as you had gotten acquainted with your brand new companion. 

CatNap had the full intent for the smaller one to keep you company for when he is not present, or with you for that matter. You always liked to bring it around with you when you wandered the factory, regardless of the idea if CatNap was there with you or not.

He found it quite refreshing compared to the usual grotesque sights he had gotten numbed to, but in the name of the Prototype. CatNap was willing to take on anything and everything, even for you.

When you're with any kitty, big or small. If he was CatNap, you are one untouchable person.

[Taglist: @everythingnicen0nnie @prince0fpaints @alocaldemisexual02 ]

[tempural]

Hi!! I wanted to say that I loved reading about your journey of creating a personal website. I'm still unsure between Vercel and Netlify. I have a small question to ask. See, one of the reasons I want to make a website is to archive drawings and journal/sketchbook. Would you have any tips for creating an area on my website just for the diary/journal, which has tags, files for each entry, etc.?

Bello!

Really happy to hear about your interest in websites! I want everyone to make their own site so I don't have to log into social media and get instant tummyaches ♥

Vercel vs Netlify: I think I settled on Vercel for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I just made a site on Netlify, then tested on Vercel, and now I have like 5 websites on Vercel so I just kept using it LOL. I'm sure a more tech-savvy person would know the difference - I think they have certain integrations with specific programs.

Creating a diary or journal with tags:

There's a couple of different ways you can do that, with different levels of work needed.

you got me yapping again:

This sadgrl tutorial might be outdated and may or may not work, but explains the process better than I can.

Easiest: make a journal on Dreamwidth, or another blogging site (wordpress??) that allows easy tags and RSS feed, and embed that RSS feed onto your site.

This requires almost no HTML set-up, and the easiest to organize tags, but you don't truly have the data on your own site since it's just embedded.

When I snuck into a web design class at college, this was one of the methods that the professor used for a blog within a portfolio site LOL.

Shit like wordpress is what a LOT of ~professional~ sites do for their blog section. They code it separately from the main site haha. It's the most popular thing, but not necessarily the best. And wait til you read on what the CEO of wordpress has been having meltdowns about... he owns tumblr too!

It's made with a tutorial for Neocities if that's what you use.

Medium: Set up zonelets.

It will require some HTML and JS editing, but will help automate making headers/footers for each page of a blog.

I've never used it myself, but I see other people speak highly of it.

HARD FOR ME CUZ I'M A GORILLA: I believe a lot of professional web devs will slap your face with their coding cock until you use a static site generator (SSG) to make your site.

You will need some coding knowledge to set up the tagging system since it doesn't come with it enabled by default. But it's made explicitly to be an alternative to big Static Site Generators which are...

It requires some more intimidating knowledge, because it's a lot of scripts that turn files that are not HTML/CSS/JS into plain HTML.

Also you have to use the command line, and that doesn't come with buttons that tell you what you can do. You have to copy/paste all that shit or memorize the code to 'dev build astro' and it all looks silly.

I've used Eleventy, and now am using Astro. Other people use Hugo or Jekyll or some other stuff with crazy names like Glup Shitto. I hate all these sites cuz none of the words mean anything to me. This is a common theme for me and tech. I don't know what NODES or CONTENT or ISLANDS are!!!

I had the most success attempting to learn how to use a SSG by downloading a template and altering it with github + VScodium. Here's the template page for Astro. You click on a theme you like, and it takes you to its github page. (If you don't want to use evil Microsoft stuff sorry. Skip this entire section.) Follow the instructions on the page for "forking" the glup shitto. When it tells you to run commands, I run those commands through the terminal window in VScodium. These tutorials never tell you what these commands do cuz they assume you already know. Usually those commands automatically install the files you need onto your computer, and create the final files.

You can see my wip here for a "tag system" that SHOULD show members of a web listing haha but I don't know what I'm doing and I have a reading disorder AND don't know cumputer good.

THEORETICALLY this will be the simplest and easiest way to maintain tags and files, because after you set it up you just have to write the "content" of the blog page. And you don't have to set up the header/footer ever again. I see the vision, and potential, but I am not there yet when it takes me 5 hours a day to figure out what any of the words in the documentation mean and I don't want to ask an actual tech person cuz they will be like 'obviously just press the Blip on the Repository and then Suck My Ass in the command line".

(side note I haven't updated fujofans in like a year cuz I'm struggling with this part to make updating easier).

Con: the final HTML/CSS code is really ugly if it's "minified", and a lot of themes use """"""professional"""""" CSS libraries like Bootstrap and Tailwind that I honestly think are ugly cuz that's what every fuckin' tech website uses to style their pages and make them look Professional and Minimalist with stupid code like style="500-w dark-gray-balls D-cup-bra" on every single element. Even Toyhouse uses Bootstrap. Eugh!

But maybe you're smarter than me and can wrangle these things better!

That was really long. Woops. I hope you can slug through this wall of text and find something helpful. Feel free to email me if you have any more specific questions. I may or may not be helpful.

If someone else sees this and has better suggestions for making BLOGS, please chime in. I'm begging you.

[my-blooming-darling]

I felt like I could have added more to these so the readers could imagine it more, so here’s a revised version! I wonder if I should make another part?

Tw: slight sad in Rindou’s part…I had to do it to ya 😭

Categories: ☁️fluff; 🍡gn!reader; 💫old work; 🎐multi-character (of the same fandom)

💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟

💕 Ryusei is a big cuddler when he’s cold. You could be wearing your own jacket and he’ll still try to trap you in his with the excuse of “we can’t freeze if we’re in the same bubble”. He insists on staying home, but will go with you if you need to run errands. As soon as y’all are done though, he will be on you and squeezing you for warmth. Will reluctantly let go if you ask but he comes back with your favorite drink. He did go outside exactly once during a day in and that was because he was pelting Chifuyu and Baji with snowballs, but then he comes back acting like a wounded puppy after they tag team him. He likes to take pictures of you in the snow and he will gush about you to anybody that’ll listen to him. Chifuyu and Kazutora are tired of hearing it, but Baji will listen to him until he rambles for an hour, by which point he’ll send Ryusei back home to cuddle with you more.

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💕 Baji’s grumpy when he’s cold. He doesn’t like going anywhere and he’ll tell you as much if you wake up earlier than him because he knows what that means. Will squeeze you and grumble when you try leaving him. And by squeeze, I mean koala-type squeeze and you’re either stuck with him or you’ll do what you need to do while he buries himself in blankets like a hibernating gremlin. Sometimes he’ll occasionally wake up and y’all take turns making food or something, although he’s wrapped up in a blanket like he’s a house elf. Will curl up in front of the heater with whatever cat he has that day, and will probably complain if he can’t find his socks. He’s very cuddly when it’s cold too, and he’ll pepper you with kisses until you agree to snuggle with him. He won’t find out about the snowman competition between Chifuyu and Mikey until a full hour later.

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💕 Yuzuha buys you matching socks and takes pictures of y’all’s feet for her scrapbook. She likes having good memories of your time together, so she tries to take as many pictures as she can. She also likes to play in the snow with you if there’s any or enough to do something with, but she’ll also get embarrassed if you take pictures of her in the snow. If not, then she’ll have no problem staying in and cuddling with you while watching your favorite shows. If you’d like to go somewhere, she’ll go with you but only after making sure you’re properly warm, something she’s had to do for Hakkai throughout their lives, so it’s basically second nature to her. Hakkai does sometimes come over and he tries to feed you both because he’s a sweetie. Her favorite thing to make in winter is warm milk tea, but she would make sure to use a milk alternative just in case. Cooking with Yuzuha during winter is always an adventure because you’re always trying different recipes.

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💕 God forbid it snows because Chifuyu will go outside and build snowmen. His cutest one is a snowman of Peke J. If you won’t come out with him, he’s fine with that, but do expect him to come poke his head in the door (he won’t go inside with snow covered feet) and tell you about the snow person he built of you. He will take so many pictures of that snow person of you and send all of them to you. He sends you a picture of them in the group chat and Mikey’s hilariously offended by the fact that Chifuyu made him smaller than Peke, which was absolutely done intentionally because Fuyu’s a joker like that. He’ll take a picture of the snowman he made of Peke J and show it to him like “Look, it’s you!” while Peke meows and tilts his little head. He comes back to cuddle with you though after picking up warm drinks, cuddling with Peke J, and snacks…until he catches wind of Mikey’s snowmen, then it’s war. He also makes a snow person of you and Peke J cuddling after he finds you asleep with Peke curled up on your chest and snoring like a cute little void.

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💕 Mikey, although he’d rather be sleeping and cuddling with you, tries to go outside out of spite to build a snowman of Chifuyu after he catches wind of his hilariously tiny snow version of himself. Yes, that’s probably one of the only times he’ll willingly wake up for anything in this weather. You wake up to hear him grumbling away as he puts his boots on. You quickly figure out why he’s displeased when you see the snowmen that Chifuyu built of everyone in the group chat. Mikey hears you laughing at his expense and proceeds to tackle you and squeeze you. He’ll cuddle with you for awhile and complain until you give him kisses and snacks. Don’t mistake him though, he did go outside and show you his poorly made snowmen of Chifuyu, and wondered why you laughed harder at that one than the one Chifuyu made of him. “You’re supposed to be on my side, don’t laugh at me!” If you have to ask if he’s pouting while he says it, then there’s a 99% chance that he is absolutely pouting, and will continue until you hug or kiss him.

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💕 Emma, much like Mikey, will find you when you least expect her to and wrap you up in a giant blanket. You’ll essentially be a burrito while she makes your favorite soup. You’re not sure how she does it, but she’s able to squirm into the burrito with your bowls of soup without spilling a single drop. She’s just graceful like that, just saying. Y’all both bear witness to the snowmen war between Chifuyu and Mikey voting on whose are more absurd. It’s essentially the same as watching a game show on television but with bragging rights for the prize instead of anything else. Emma intentionally votes against Mikey solely to spite him because his grumpy anger is funny to her, which causes them to bicker, and Draken is subsequently left in charge of diffusing the situation, albeit with lots of grumbling in between sentences. She sneaks pictures of you when you’re not looking if y’all do go somewhere and keeps them in a photo album on her phone, very likely to have them printed so she can make a scrapbook or have them framed to put on her wall.

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💕 Sanzu is displeased when you and Senju declare snow war on him. Firstly, he can’t believe you’d team up with his sister instead of him. The idea mildly offends him, and he makes sure that you know it with petty complaints like “this would be more fun if my beloved didn’t pick my sister over me!”. Secondly, he wants to sleep. He’d much rather be in bed hugging you and having you all to himself with about three blankets and all the pillows you have in your home. Unfortunately , there is no such thing as sleep for him when you two have basically dragged him outside to have a snowball fight, so he gets stuck calling in reinforcements…which is an equally displeased Takeomi. Takeomi, of course, grumbles with Sanzu while you and Senju yell at them to stop complaining and bring it on. He only laughs when Takeomi gets a huge snowball thrown at his face, only to shriek when he gets hit by one himself. He takes a video of it but decides not to post it because although he’d rather have been cuddling with you, this was a fun memory of his. He likes to watch it when you’re not there.

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💕 Hakkai likes to lay on you when he’s cold. He may seem like a shy violet, but he loves his cuddles. He’s another person who thinks it’s cute to match with his partner, so y’all have matching sweaters. You took notes from Yuzuha and got him a pair of matching socks too, and he loves that y’all are on the same page. You don’t let him or Yuzuha go home when Taiju’s there. Y’all three are bound for life, they’re stuck with you for all of time. It’s a slumber party for the night. You two sometimes visit Yuzuha and her lover with food that you both cooked and you try to feed them while you’re there (mostly because Hakkai wants to make sure they’re still alive if there’s a power outage). In the event of an outage, all of you pile together in one room and try to make the most of it while you wait for the power to come back on. You and Yuzuha’s partner are good friends so this makes an already bad situation into a better one where everyone gets along.

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💕 Taiju, the roided out not-so-jolly green giant himself is surprisingly a good cuddler. Probably because, well, he’s huge and has a high body heat. Does not care about how tall or short you are, he will find a way to engulf you while he holds you. Refuses to go anywhere if he thinks it’s too cold, will hug you so you don’t escape. This is the same man who dips a toe in the ocean during the summer and refuses to go in because he thinks it’s too cold, but tells his siblings they can go in if they wish and will stay on a beach towel under an umbrella. You have to find him sweaters and shirts that are larger than life because he has a nasty unintentional habit of ripping them with his tiddies alone. It embarrasses him and he makes you swear that you never witnessed it the first time (but you totally told Inui and Kokonoi about it in the group chat). Taiju grumbles at you to never speak of that incident again when he finds out that you already spilled the tea to his dog and cat.

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💕 You and Kisaki watch Hanma (from a very safe distance) try to build the tallest snowman that he can muster. Not wanting to be caught in the carnage that would be the string bean himself falling, you two are behind a sturdy tree while he’s putting snowballs together. Hanma fully believes that he can do it, and he surprisingly pulls it off after about three hours. Yes, y’all really stayed out there for three hours, watching him put together a snowman as tall as possible. If you’re somebody that likes the cold, then you’re not really that bothered, but you and Kisaki agree to huddle for warmth because he, admittedly, is shaking like a leaf. But if you don’t like the cold, you two agree to go inside and watch from the window. Y’all don’t want him to die, and him somehow dying by his own actions seems a very on-par thing for him. Hanma manages to build it to about 7’9 feet tall with no injuries, thankfully. Kisaki thinks its eyes are beady and shudders. Hanma thinks it’s the greatest thing ever and proceeds to try and make a taller snowman. You and Kisaki have emergency services on speed dial…

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💕 Rindou is outside jogging. He keeps his body in top shape, and he does not care about the weather. He actually doesn’t seem to fear the weather much, truth be told. You’ve seen him in the beating sun working out one summer (but that was also the same summer he got that sunburn and refused to exercise outside in the summer ever again). He’s probably the type of guy to go to Tornado Alley in the States and be like “a tornado? Headed here? Lemme go see this” while standing outside. If you join him, great. If not, you don’t cuddle with him until he’s no longer covered in snow and sweat, and you playfully call him stinky until he showers. Yes, he complains about the lack of cuddles but comes back out tired. This is optimal cuddle time, for he won’t be trying to wake you up for any errands if your social battery is deader than your former friendships. Will bury his head in your neck and hold you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. At one point, when Takemichi was doing his time travel business, that was always a possibility. He doesn’t like to think of those timelines where he had to live without you. He also will give you lazy kisses as he falls asleep, telling you how much he loves you. He doesn’t know when it’ll be the last time he does.

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💕 Now why would anybody think Ran would wake up for anything when winter makes him more tired? That man will sleep and will barely wake up even if you told him the house was on fire. Could sleep through an entire apocalypse, even, but he’ll immediately wake up if he feels you getting up. If you do wake him up, he will pretend he’s still asleep so you’d give him more kisses. You almost miss him giggling to himself as he rolls over, conveniently turning on his side so you’ll kiss his other cheek. He’s a cheeky, sneaky little bastard sometimes. Will pounce on you when you’re not looking and pull you back into bed with him. He’s dramatic, so he’ll whine if you escape and act like you’re leaving him to be alone forever, but he won’t make you come back if you really don’t want to. He’ll just miss you a lot until you come back. Will wholeheartedly act like he’s dying and sigh very loudly. He will also come into the room you’re in and flop onto the nearest bit of furniture that’s around and fake cry like he’s a Disney princess (and you have caught him petting an actual raccoon before and not get attacked, so that might not be very far off). If you do want to, prepare to be pelted with kisses.

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💕 You can sense the displeasure in Sanzu’s eyes when you team up with Senju over him. He looks hilariously offended that you would choose her to be your teammate. If the phrase“how could you?!” was a person, it would be Sanzu. Senju, however, is motivated by pure menacery and declares snowball warfare on her brother. Sanzu’s not safe from Senju and she swears she’ll win this war. Once a reluctant Takeomi arrives, it’s game on. Everybody in the vicinity better clear out or else they’ll get caught in the crossfire. You guys spend the day pelting each other with snowballs of various sizes and shapes (yes, Senju had kunai shaped snowballs at one point, you have no idea how she was able to mold them in such a short amount of time). Alas, Sanzu gets revenge on you for throwing a snowball at him after hitting Takeomi, lands a snowball directly on your face, and you “die”. Don’t worry, Senju avenged you by burying him and Takeomi in a pile of snow. She fake gags when Sanzu kisses your cheek in apology.

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💕 Izana hates winter. Absolutely cannot stand it, he immediately starts hunting for his socks and a humidifier as soon as there’s a mild chill in the air. He probably has some sinus issues that could get worse in colder months, which is another reason why he doesn’t like winter. Hilariously, he complains about how he took breathing for granted when one of his nostrils is stuffed while the other one works. You have found him under about 5 different blankets, all of them fleece and weighted with different patterns on them. He’s grumpy, worse than Baji, and can only be bribed into leaving his nest with kisses. Yes, he has actually made a nest with those blankets. He still won’t go anywhere if you have errands to run. Instead, he’ll clean up the place, cook, and then return to his nest where he waits for your return. If you stay with him, he’ll help out around the house but he’ll still go back to his pile after he’s made sure that you’ve been fed. Yes, he will pull you in like the gremlin he is and cuddle you. Does not speak once, only hiss.

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💕 Shinichiro, bless him, tries to get his sleepier siblings to exist in society. Emma’s no trouble, she wakes up pretty easily and is usually in a good mood until Baji comes over, then she’s yelling at him to tell her his hair secrets. Even still, the commotion doesn’t wake up the other gremlins. Izana and Mikey are lazy potatoes that are one fry short of a happy meal, so you end up having to help him. Once they’re done being McMad, you and Shin have some alone time. Y’all spend part of the day putting together a blanket fort and staying there until he has to leave for work. You wait for him to come back at the end of his shift. He temporarily forgot where you were when he left so he goes around the place looking for you until he sees you sticking your head out of the fort, which jump scares him enough to fall onto a napping Mikey, who screams bloody murder and clings to you while dramatically claiming that he’s a victim of attempted fratricide. He kisses your forehead and runs off to shower so he can come back and cuddle. Y’all don’t see Emma tying Baji to a chair Liam Neeson-style and interrogating him for what he does to make his hair perfect.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

💕 Kazutora, the sleepy tiger, reluctantly wakes up and goes to work. He doesn’t leave without cuddling with you for a few minutes. He’ll leave a few kisses on your head before dragging himself out of bed. Yes, he steals your sweaters because they smell like you and it makes him feel closer to you. If they don’t fit, he wears a scarf you wore. He doesn’t care if it’s black or if it’s pink with giant red strawberries on it, it’s yours and he wants to feel like you’re with him. If neither of y’all have work or anything to do, you two either stay in or go outside for a bit. Even sitting on the porch or balcony with a warm drink is enough for you two. He’s so pretty in his landscape with snow or rain falling all around, cheeks and nose bitten pink from the chill and his lips slightly reddened by whatever warm drink you two made. He doesn’t understand why you suddenly kissed him, but he’ll never complain and he’ll always kiss you back. He’s your lock screen, but he doesn’t know yet. He’ll probably find out later on, and he’ll blush so much while you laugh and hug him. You make his heart warm up just a little bit more in the winter air.

[samwisethewitch]

How I Get the Most Out of Meat When Cooking

As someone who 1.) was 100% vegetarian for ethical/religious reasons until very recently, and 2.) recently had to reintroduce meat for vitamin deficiency reasons, limiting waste as much as possible when I cook with meat is really important to me. For one thing, I feel like I owe it to the animal that died to get as much use as possible out of its body as a way of honoring its death. For another, meat is expensive (ethically raised meat even more so) and I want to get my money's worth.

I recently bought a bunch of lamb for my family's holiday dinner, so I wanted to share my attempt to practice the Honorable Harvest in my meat consumption. This is new to me, but I wanted to document the attempt because it's been a fun learning process for me! If you want to actually learn about honorable consumption I encourage you to read the works of Robin Wall Kimmerer and other indigenous ecologists, since the Honorable Harvest is based on indigenous North American practices. (Though there are other cultural practices all over the world.)

Step One: Sourcing the Meat

I am very fortunate to have enough disposable income to buy ethically raised meat, which tends to be more expensive. This is a privilege. Other people are not able to spend this extra money on their meat, and that doesn't make me better than them. Feeding yourself is morally neutral, and a tight budget is not a moral failing. Most meat alternative products (Beyond Beef, Impossible, etc.) are also pretty expensive. If the factory-farmed meat at the supermarket is the only thing in your budget, use that.

If you DO have some extra funds, local farms are a great place to source meat. The reason we had lamb for the holidays is because a local farm recently culled their herd and had lamb on sale. In the past we've gotten beef from a relative who raises cattle. I encourage you to learn about farms in your area and what they have to offer. CSAs and farmers' markets are great places to start. You can also ask around at local restaurants about where they source their ingredients.

When I say "ethically raised meat," what I'm really talking about is pasture-raised animals. Cage-free animals may not live in cages, but they can still be kept in cramped, dirty, inhumane conditions and be sold as "cage free." Pasture-raised animals are able to graze and forage and generally wander around within a paddock. For some animals like chickens you can also look for "free range," which means the animals are unfenced and are able to wander freely. Since I don't cook meat often, I try to get free range or pasture-raised meat when I do buy it.

In some areas, you may also be able to find certified ethically slaughtered meat, which means the slaughtering process has been designed to cause as little suffering to the animal as possible. That kind of certification isn't really available where I live, but it might be for you!

And of course, hunting or fishing yourself is also an option. If you kill the animal yourself, you know exactly how it died and can take steps to limit suffering as much as possible. Hunting isn't a skillset I have, but if you do more power to you!

Step Two: Cooking the Meat

This is the easy part. Depending on the cut of meat you got and the dish you are cooking, you may need to remove bones or trim fat, but aside from that it's just following a recipe.

For our holiday lamb stew, I used this recipe. I have Celiac disease, so I subbed gluten-free flour and replaced the beer with red wine. I also added rosemary and garlic for a more Mediterranean flavor to compliment the wine.

Step Three: Organs and Bones

This is where the breakdown is for a lot of Americans. We don't cook with bones or organs very often, and we tend to throw away whatever parts of the animal we don't want. That is not honorable consumption. Part of the Honorable Harvest is using every part of the being that died to feed you.

Most organs make great stew meat. My favorite Nicaraguan beef stew is made with tongue, and my indigenous Hawaiian relatives make stew with pig feet. And while I don't like them, lots of my Southern family members love chitlins (pickled pig intestines). Lots of cultures eat organs, and you'll find plenty of delicious recipes if you look!

Bones are typically used to make stock, which can be used as a base for future soups and stews. There are lots of recipes for DIY stocks and broths, but I usually fry some onions and/or garlic, deglaze with wine, and then add the meat/bones and the water, plus salt, pepper, and herbs for flavor. Most animal bones can produce two batches of stock before they lose flavor. (For really flavorful stock, leave some meat on the bones.)

Once the stock is done, you'll still have bones to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, cooked bones are not safe for dogs to chew on. (But raw bones usually are!) Instead, I strip any remaining meat and gristle from the stock bones, give those scraps to my pups as a treat, and then use the stripped bones for something else. With a little extra processing, the bones can be used as a fertilizer in a garden, a calcium supplement for chickens, or a safe treat for dogs and/or cats.

This was my first time processing bones, but after boiling them for, like, 12 hours in water with salt and vinegar, they were soft enough to break apart with my hands. I'm going to grind them to make bone meal.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Admiring zhao yuanzhou long hair fic

A/N: I just finished episode 17 ;A;

--

The weather had been good enough today that Xiao Zhuo draws a bath for Zhao Yuanzhou before the hour he is expected home from the Wilderness. Easy enough to get the water to his favourite temperature, easier still to mix up the bath salts and perfumes to make that unique mix his demon loves but will never truly admit to. For all the great demon likes to make light of how much he adores the softer things in life, Xiao Zhuo can see how he lingers on the prettiest jade in the market or even the juiciest peach when he brings him some.

And each and every single time he does, it makes Xiao Zhuo ache to fill their quarters with everything Zhao Yuanzhou every would want or need.

Burns for it, even, to give his demon a soft life. A gentle one, free of any pain, any trouble.

"All this for me?"

Xiao Zhuo turns, running his hand through the water one last time before going to Zhao Yuanzhou at the doorway. Reaching out with his dry hand, he tugs him in for a greeting press of their bodies, cheek to cheek, chest to chest, basking in the warmth of each other.

"Come. Let me wash your hair."

Surprise colours the twinkling darkness of Zhao Yuanzhou's eyes before it bleeds into sweet fondness. "Would you like me to do the same for you?"

Shaking his head, Xiao Zhuo moves to help him disrobe, mindful of the layers he takes off and the hair ornaments he releases from their locks and places on the tray by the door. "What's brought this on, then?" He asks when he's down to his inner layers.

"The weather is good."

Zhao Yuanzhou laughs, nodding along when Xiao Zhuo takes him by the hands and leads him to the bathing pool. The demon sinks into the water with a sigh and Xiao Zhuo sheds his shoes, rolling up his trousers to his thighs and sits down on the edge of the pool, parking Zhao Yuanzhou between his legs.

With a languid stretch, he lets himself be positioned by Xiao Zhuo. "How much does my Xiao Zhuo-daren seek to pamper me today?"

"How much can you tolerate?"

"Oh?" Zhao Yuanzhou hums, tilting his head back for Xiao Zhuo to run a ladleful of water down his scalp. "Does my Xiao Zhuo-daren seek me to love me to death?"

"To death. To the River of Oblivion. Until we both drink the Meng Po soup and we see another life together because even then, I will find you and love you."

Stroking his fingers through Zhao Yuanzhou's long and beautiful hair, Xiao Zhuo takes his time to untangle the knots that have formed throughout the day. With more care and tenderness, he smooths camellia oil through every strand, taking care to massage it thoroughly. Deft fingers work out the aches of his nape, the pressure points of his temples, and Xiao Zhou knows it works because the demon physically goes boneless against him, breathing slowly.

Zhao Yuanzhou smiles, blinking up at Xiao Zhuo. A relaxed expression that he relishes. Reaching for the ladle again, he begins rinsing out the oil.

"Will you really find me? In every lifetime, I mean?"

Xiao Zhuo picks out the few strands of hair that catches over his demon's brow. Smoothing it back lovingly, he hums. "Mn. Every lifetime, no matter what shape you take, my soul will know you and I will find you."

"You sound so sure of it."

"Because I am." Xiao Zhuo says, leaning back to reach for a towel. "Because there's no alternative. I will love you in every lifetime."

Zhao Yuanzhou chuckles at that, but says nothing in response. Xiao Zhuo doesn't need one. Not when he already knows what he wants to say but is refraining from.

Leaning in to kiss his cheek, he nudges him forward so that he can gather the demon's long hair to wring out and dry. After this, he will wipe down Zhao Yuanzhou's body. And when he's done pampering him, Xiao Zhuo will bundle him up in fresh robes, place him on their bed and feed him some soup.

When his hair is drier, Xiao Zhuo will move on to smoothing through the special hair oil he paid a king's ransom for to have it shipped all the way from the Western regions. Zhao Yuanzhou will absolutely melt under his touch by then, but that will be a story for later.

For the here and now, Xiao Zhuo is content to bask in the pleasure of supporting his beloved's weight against his own body, carefully washing his hair out for him.

🎀 currently still accepting fic requests 🎀

[4st4rion]

we could grow

ao3 link

i was having a Time and just needed to write about astarion not feeling pressured into sex so. you can see this as an alternate take on his first scene or a 'deleted' scene before that one

1.4k, fully gender neutral tav. rated mature+. has him feeding from you then lots of kissing and mild spiciness. second person pov and no spoilers

His teeth hurt so badly you want to scream as they pierce your flesh, scraping nerve endings and puncturing just right to open your veins to him.

First, it hurts, it hurts, but then there's... Something else. A gentle numbing that spreads from your neck across your chest and into your belly, slowly becoming something else as it takes effect.

His moan is muffled into your skin when he sucks another mouthful of blood from you.

You gather the strength to reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, but instead of yanking him off of you like you should, you hold him close.

He adjusts on his knees — he knelt beside you when you 'got comfortable' for him to feed, but now, he straddles you slowly. You could stop him, but you don't, and he buries his face harder into your neck like a nuzzling.

His tongue laps over the bite wounds in your skin and your breath catches; you almost make a noise, but you're too aware of him on top of you to relax and let it out. You can't stop shaking, either, although you can hardly be blamed for that when you're having the blood stolen from your body.

The hand that isn't in Astarion's hair reaches up to pet down his side, settling eventually on his hip, and you hold him there, too, bringing him as close as you can.

He's hard.

You feel it through your shirt, bulge pressing against your belly where he lays over you like a lazy creature, relaxing all his weight onto you as he drinks. You're distantly aware of him removing his fangs and licking, kissing, mouthing over the bite to help stop the bleeding and help it heal, and once he's satisfied, he lays over you completely.

He feels denser than he did, and you suppose that's you, reinvigorating him from the inside out.

He breathes a shaky sigh with his head resting over your shoulder, his thirst sated.

There's a moment of hesitation before his mouth returns — this time, he peppers sweet kisses over your throat and up toward your ear like a lover.

"Do you want me?" he asks against your jaw.

Gods, yes, of course you do, but is this really a good idea? Whatever he has in mind involves putting his horny against yours, and you're already not thinking straight from the blood loss.

"Tell me," he breathes against your ear, and you shudder under him.

"Yes," you admit.

He grinds his hips slow and deliberate into you.

"How badly do you want me?" he whispers, absolutely devilish, and you can hear the smug smirk in his voice.

"Bad enough to tolerate your smart ass," you whisper back, trying to be witty, but his hands have started roaming down your sides. Despite that, he laughs, and nips at your cheek in lieu of a kiss.

You can't do this here. You're barely feet away from the rest of your companions.

"Get off of me," you say, pushing at his hip and pulling at his hair.

He tenses over you like he thinks you're rejecting him, but you squeeze his hip under your hand.

"Let's go somewhere more private."

The two of you stumble like drunks up the river until you find a suitable clearing, collapsing into the dirt together.

"May I —?"

"Kiss me, yeah," you groan, as he puts you on your back and tangles your legs together.

His mouth tastes like blood, but you can't bring yourself to care. He kisses you with desperation you've neither seen nor felt before, whimpering into every clash of your lips as though it could be the last. His hands wander under your clothes and squeeze at your chest and your waist and your hips, and you laugh against his mouth.

"Slow down," you breathe, even as you hungrily watch him pull his shirt off and place it beside you.

"Must I?" he asks, only half joking.

"I don't want to rush this," you admit.

"In no hurry to regret me in the morning?" he teases, and leans in for another kiss, but you stop him with a gentle hand against his cool chest.

"I won't regret this in the morning," you say cautiously. "Will you?"

He frowns, like he hadn't considered it.

You sit up a bit and he backs off, kneeling with one knee between yours and the other near your hip.

"You do know I like you, don't you?" you ask, head cocked. "I enjoy your company. I wouldn't... This wouldn't be happening if I didn't like you as a person."

His frown gets deeper, like you've said the wrong thing, and now you frown, too.

"Is that not okay?" you ask.

He seems to snap out of it.

"I was only joking," he backpedals. "I've been more than one person's regret in my time," he 'jokes' again, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

He tries to kiss you again, continue things, but you push at his chest and keep him back.

"Hey," you say, as gently as you can manage. "Maybe we shouldn't go any further if we're not on the same page," you suggest, as much as you hate the thought of stopping and as much as something twists in your chest at the idea that he's truly not into you.

"No," he says quickly, "I — I'm sorry," he sighs. "It's been a while since I did this for fun," he scoffs.

"What does that mean?" you ask before you can stop yourself, and it's like the entire forest goes silent around you.

"I already told you I was Cazador's slave for the last two hundred years," he frowns. "Can't we leave it at that?"

The implications there are... Disturbing. Does he mean Cazador did things to him? Or made him do things? Or both? Neither?

"Hey," you say again. "Seriously. If you're not comfortable, I don't want to do anything."

He swallows.

He sits back on his heels.

"Okay," he says, so quiet you have to read his lips. "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I'll go."

You frown again. Tonight has become a back-and-forth of frowning, and you wish it hadn't.

"Astarion," you say, and he looks you in the eye for the first time in minutes. "What do you want?"

He breaks eye contact again, glancing between the dirt and the trees and you, but not quite meeting your eyes again yet.

"I'd like to have a nice night with you," he slowly admits. He says it guiltily, like he expects to be in trouble for wanting to spend time together.

You nod.

"I want that, too," you assure him. "Do you want to do anything physical, or would you rather just... Relax, together?"

He thinks on it for a long moment.

"I'd like to kiss you again," he finally says. "I don't know if I'd... I'm not sure about going further," he says.

You smile at him.

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, slow and light enough he can move away or push you off if he needs to. He doesn't — he lets you guide his head up to look you in the eye again.

"Okay," you say back. "I'm good with that."

He carefully leans in again, and you don't stop him this time. He kisses you differently, like the two of you have never kissed before — it's slow, and shallow, and chaste, but it makes your heart race all the same.

His fingers twiddle with a twig on the ground as you both pull back long moments later.

"Would it be silly of me to put my shirt back on?" he asks, and you laugh.

"Not at all."

You spend the next hour lying there together, chatting intermittently about the bugs you hear and the days to come and bits and pieces of your pasts that you feel like sharing. Once in a while, he sits up, leans over, and kisses you, and the two of you get lost in that for a few minutes, and then you're back to relaxing together and looking at the stars peeking through the tree canopy.

Eventually, you're forced to call it a night. You both rise and stretch, and, to your pleasant surprise, his hand catches you by the hip as you turn back toward camp.

He kisses you one more time, slow and heated and full of undeniable intent. You're almost panting when he finally gives you space again, heat thoroughly stirred in you.

"I just wanted to give you something to think about the next time I leave you wanting," he purrs, still hovering close, and then passes you to return to camp.

He must be in a good mood again, the tease.

Damn him.

[singlesomethinginstyle]

It is festive season in South Asia, and women are some of the most overworked among all social groups.

Suddenly, it is not just you, your partner/parents/siblings anymore - it is the entire extended clan, khandaan, their nosy relatives even with several degrees of separation.

The bulk of festive burden falls on women. From the cooking, an extensive menu that comprises unhealthy food which will not be fully consumed because everyone is diabetic or dieting, and the heartbroken woman has to finish what she painstakingly prepared or watch it go to the trash, to endless decor needs, shopping and gifting the extended family (a fine art which, god forbid you gift one relative something and another differently, tempers erupt) not to mention your own professional deadlines because your boss wants everything early so he can justify the 3-4-5 fay holidays.

Then comes the dieting because you KNOW you will be judged for your appearance, the clothing choices, the exhaustion of dealing with nasty relatives and the politics.

And if you're queer, in the closet or struggling or even simply wanting to be single or avoid marriage, suddenly your life is everyone's business, and this endless social nightmare, the bullying and the ostracism is the opposite of divine, it is debasing. God forbid if you are part of an inter-caste or inter-faith coupling, the negativity is worse.

Here are a few tips on how you can take care of yourself during this season.

You've gotta put yourself first. You cannot fight multiple battles on multiple fronts if you cannot take care of yourself first. FEED YOURSELF FIRST.

Look in the mirror ' and tell yourself - this festive season I am celebrating ME - I will feed myself first. You cannot fight big battles on an empty tank.

1. Food: eat before everyone else - get in the kitchen, make yourself something healthy in half an hour, cut a salad, a bunch of fruits and eat first. Cut up a few veggies at night, put it in a tiffin box and leave it in the fridge. When everyone is snoozing, have that. They will balance out all the junk that will go into your stomach. Don't start any ridiculous fast that will drain you. Get a doctor's note if you are being pressured and say - sorry maa ji. Health reasons I have to be careful.

2. Get a pre-festival health checkup. Go to the doctor and get your stats checked. Some labs offer full-body general health checkups at discounted rates. Grab a package and finish it. When you know where you are struggling, yiu can avoid making it worse.

3. Protect your money. Festive seasons have a pile of insidious stupid expenses that pile up and guess who pays ? The woman, the wife, the daughter in law. Do you think your Husband or inlaws will shell money out for that cute decor and diya set? No way. If you hold them accountable, they will probably give some money for all the gifts relatives give. Remove your credit cards and debit cards from online shopping sites. Pretend something is wrong with your card and it got blocked. Make your husband or In-laws pay instead.

So get realistic, set up a budget and empty your bank account into an FD. Congratulations, you only have a SMALL amount of money left for decorations - use that to get inventive and clever. Pull out old newspapers, and get into wealth-from-waste mode.

If you are even smarter, you will quietly set up an alternative savings account WITHOUT a debit card or credit card and squirrel away your Dussehra - Diwali bonus into it. If your husband asks, "Sorry yar, iss bar company mein bonus nahi de rahe hain, kaafi projects mein behind hue and they arent doing that well"

If you are still living with your parents make it a point to save every money gift you get. Take the cash, hide it safely and don't touch it. First opportunity - put it in the bank account (your own, not a shared one)

4. Secure your Jewelry. A pot of desi women are given gold and precipus jewelry during their marriage but this is often sneakily taken away by your mother in law in order to "safeguard it". It is usually in the bank or a locker you do not have access to.

So, this festive season, go FULL on TRADITIONAL. Wear that old saree, and ask mom in law for your jewelry because your extended family etc are mentioning seeing those pieces from your wedding, because they got sentimental. And then sneakily after the festivities, hide them in your own little locker (which you bought beforehand) and quietly head to the bank, and deposit it in a safe deposit box in YOUR name.

Remember, GOLD is one of the most secure available financial assets for a desi woman. But the gold you have is often controlled by your in-laws once you marry over. So make sure you take iy back bit by bit. And when they ask - make excuses like - the clasp is broken, need repairs, mom wants to upgrade it a little etc. And never give it back to your inlaws. Your gold is YOUR legal property. It should not go to your inlaws.

5. Mentally prepare for tough conversations.

Festive seasons are hard on women and they socially slaughter your dignity. Prepare snarky, sarcastic answers or don't hesitate to shut down what comes your way. But since many of you are raised to be docile, remember to anticipate all the tough topics someone will raise to criticize you, think of their personaliry and prepare some snarky answers beforehand. If a relative is asking abiut your marriage, ask them when their son is going to move out or if they're still a financial burden. Ask if their husbands have stopped ogling the maid. Don't be scared of going offensive. These guys are not your friends and won't hesitate to pull you down.

6. Prepare Me time. Make a set of activities, like groceries etc, that that can leave you alone and give you breathing space from the khandaan. Take longer to shop alone and take a break in the neighbourhood park. Use this time to meditate, check in with yourself and your goals and give youraelf a spiritual pat kn the back.

7. Prep an easy menu and donate the remaining. Plan a food menu that is not extensive. Order delicacies if possible, instead of Doing it Yourself. There is no BEST BAHU and BEST WIFE contest to win. Get the load of cooking off your back. If there is food leftover, call an orphanage and send it to them. Do not eat excessively out of guilt. Donate it to those who need it. When the burden of cooking is reduced the guilt of forced eating goes doen and you won't be putting junk in your body.

Remember - you are your own best friend. Festivals will take a lot out of you. They will cause families to get into unnecessary pissing contests and you have to bear the laborous brunt. So safeguard your time and energy.

[respectthepetty]

What should we call it now?

If were not enemies, do you think we can be friends?

Sailom started escorting in episode four of Dangerous Romance.

And it already caused some tension between the boys.

But just like his fellow Slut for Christ, Only Friends' Ray, Kanghan can and will throw money at any and all issues. Sailom won't directly accept money, so Kanghan arranges an alternative - hiring Sailom again AND forcing him to live with Kanghan.

And this IS an issue. (all I'm seeing is red & blue)

Kanghan doesn't like the idea of Sailom having to eat with rich clients for money.

Or talking with clients over the glow of candlelight.

Probably because it scares him to think that the client will ask for more from Sailom than just the job he was hired to do.

Because if this is about money, Kanghan has it.

Sailom escorting sooner in the show, makes me confident that Kanghan will be even more pissed when Sailom goes back to it.

And Sailom would go back to it if he doesn't have another client buying up his time.

Without tutoring, the boys did not talk to each other, and Kanghan was in his feelings about it.

Instead of sparking a friendship with Sailom after tutoring had ended, Kanghan made their relationship transactional once again, which would seem really nice sense he knows Sailom needs money, BUT . . .

Kanghan never attempted to be friends with Sailom. Kanghan, who plays soccer, signed up for logistics rather than sports, so he could possibly work with Sailom at school. Why the ritual when he could just be friends with Sailom? Because even if Kanghan wants to be friends with Sailom, he doesn't treat him like a friend.

I think Kanghan likes Pimfah, but this quick exchange is interesting when applied to their dynamic:

Kanghan was taken aback by Pimfah's statement (because he thought she was trying to define their relationship, possibly), but this question has come up before and was directly about Sailom and Kanghan. But in the style of Bad Buddy, what are Sailom and Kanghan?

They aren't enemies anymore, but they aren't friends. Kanghan wants to take care of Sailom, pay for fancy meals for him, spend time with him, eat snacks with him, and live with him, but they aren't boyfriends.

So what are they now?

Sailom called Kanghan his friend,

but for Kanghan?

Pimfah originally asked Sailom for tutoring, so he would have gotten money (if this were just about money), but Kanghan eliminated that funding source just like he did with Sailom's other tutoring clients in episode two.

Because Kanghan's isn't just buying a service from Sailom (tutoring); he is buying Sailom by forcing him to move in, and playfully asking him to feed him and massage his back. And both Name and Kanghan mention this type of job being "easy"

And Sailom is good company for a client.

Kanghan didn't give Sailom any other option but to keep him company.

Kanghan isn't Sailom's friend. He doesn't want to be Sailom's friend. He is a client, and until Kanghan changes his mentality, he is going to continue thinking that his money has power over Sailom. But without his money, what use does Sailom have with him?

None.

And that's what scares him.

[literary-motif]

Selfish

Dontis x Reader

Dontis succumbs to his anger.

Warnings: references to depression, reader shoots somebody

The day had gone well, contrary to your expectations. It had started dreary, the overwhelming feeling of being lost in the world pressing down on your chest particularly hard as soon as you got out of bed. You had wanted to fall back into it, bury yourself under the comforter to drown out the world. 

The walk had felt like a natural alternative — an uphill climb as you dressed, snatched your keys from the counter, and got out. You had thought about picking up something to drink and lounge on a park bench until the brightness of the morning light faded (and with it another aimless day in a life that was slowly passing you by) but as you walked past the coffee shop, a familiar face stared out of the window. 

Dontis’ eyes lit up when he saw you, a gentle smile on his face as he motioned for you to join him. Thus the day had continued, with you walking aimlessly around New Orleans with him, arms interlocked while conversations flew from niche facts about mythics you had been previously unaware of to the recipe for his homemade pumpkin bread. 

“Centuries,” he said, stabbing a finger in the air to corroborate his point. “I spent centuries perfecting it.”

“I never thought you were so passionate about bread,” you chuckled, raising your gaze to the red sky. Dusk had taken you by surprise. It seemed as if the day had skipped from dawn to dusk in a heartbeat. You supposed Dontis had a way about him that made time pass in the blink of an eye. 

“I am passionate about many things,” he replied, nudging your shoulder, “pumpkin bread happens to be one of them. I can make some for you one day, and I am sure you will agree that mine is the best.”

Dontis stopped suddenly, making you stumble from how abruptly he had frozen mid-step. His eyes were wide, searching the street for something you did not know. He looked concentrated, panicked.

“What?” you asked alarmed, slipping your arm out of his in case you needed to reach for your gun. 

Hunter, he called you occasionally. With the need to avenge your father gone, sometimes it was easy to forget you were — but instinct always kicked in. 

Dontis did not reply. He did not need to. Right at the edge of your perception, you heard a strangled cry for help and a choked-off scream of terror. You were moving before you were conscious of it, Dontis right beside you as you sprinted down the street, turning into a dim alleyway where two figures stood hidden. 

Your stomach twisted at the sight, a familiar feeling of rage and disgust churning in your chest. 

A vampire. She had a terrified man pinned against a wall, her teeth buried in his throat as she drank messily from him while he writhed in pain, trying to push her away with shaking hands. His eyes were wide with panic, darting around the alley in desperation for some sign of help, escape. 

They widened more when he saw you. His chest spasmed, but he did not have the air to scream — only his expression of fear and anguished begged you for help. 

The vampire spun around as she heard you, janking the poor man with her and tearing a large gash into his throat. He cried out, the tears gathering in his eyes finally escaping as he succumbed to a wave of horror and pain. 

Dontis approached them cautiously, hands raised placatingly. “Hey, it’s alright,” he began, his voice leveled and soothing. It was the same tone he had used with you in the beginning, lacking the quiet resentment for having outsmarted him. “You can feed without hurting him.”

She eyed Dontis wearily, not trusting his good intentions, but she made no indication to flinch back or attack as he drew closer. Her mouth was smeared with blood, her pupils dilated from the dinner she had just snatched.

“My name is Dontis,” he said, giving her his warm smile. “Let him go, come on. I can show you how to do it properly. I have had many vampire friends over the centuries. Believe me, I am well versed in every aspect of your nature.”

The man whimpered, shaking terribly in the vampire’s grasp. 

“I can help you,” he said, reaching out a hand — if to gently pry the man from her grasp or tug her away from him, you would never find out. 

A shot echoed through the alley. Dontis jumped. The man flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as if the reality of his situation would disappear in the darkness. 

The vampire’s gaze was wide. She slumped against the wall, releasing the man with a final grunt and a poisoned bullet. Your gaze was fixed on her, the gun clasped firmly in your hand. 

“No!” Dontis roared, sinking to his knees, hands hovering in front of the slumped figure, trying to think about the best course of action while shock kept him in place. The feeling was foreign. Having lived as long as he had, it was a rare occasion to catch him off guard. He had lived through unimaginable horror, had weathered betrayals, and lost people dear to his heart over and over and over again. 

He liked to think his heart had become acquainted with suffering, but seeing the twitching figure of the vampire before him — so clearly a fledgling, recently turned and overwhelmed with their new impulses, in need of guidance, in need of help, cut through the layers of numbness and brought him back to a time where he had seen dozens of mythics tortured and slaughtered because humans simply feared what they did not know.

Her terrified eyes met his, a strangled whimper escaping her as the poison of the bullet worked its way through her body, dragging her further down, and pulling her into the depths of an eternal sleep. 

Dontis reached out a hand, slowly moving it to her cheek to offer comfort as she slipped away. He pretended not to notice her flinching, he pretended not to notice his eyes watering as she leaned against his palm, her hand shooting up to grip him as if she could escape this sinking, drowning feeling by clinging to him. 

He pretended not to see her eyes fearfully glancing towards you, still standing immobile before them both. The man had bolted, running away as fast as his legs could carry as soon as you motioned for him to go. Muttering gasps of gratitude as his heart raced, gradually calming down from his panic while he ran away. 

A mythic killed because of human ignorance. A vampire killed because of human fear. A fledgling killed because of your selfishness.

She trembled under his palm, her grip involuntarily loosening as she succumbed to the poison. Dontis gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly until he stopped feeling her body shaking, until the heart pounding frantically in fear ceased to beat. He squeezed his eyes shut, lowering her back against the wall gently, knowing vampires took care of their own. 

There was blood on his hands, a prominent stain of her blood against his chest, but as he rose and turned to face you, for the first time he saw clearly how much deeper your hands were stained in red. 

“Why?” he asked, keeping his voice level despite the turmoil raging in his chest. 

You took a deep breath, looking him in the eye. There was not an ounce of regret in your gaze, not a breath of sorrow for the life lost — for the one you had taken. 

“Vampires are dangerous,” you said, your voice steely cold. Hunter, he called you. Sometimes he forgot you were. “This one could not control her impulses, and she was feeding off a human. I could not stand by and let her tear that man’s throat out.”

“I had it under control,” he said, clenching his fists. The injustice was making his blood boil. How dare you kill someone to protect your own? How dare you shoot before attempting talking, reasoning, discussing. This spilled blood could have been avoided. So many bloodied conflicts could have been avoided if people just took the time to listen before reaching for their weapons, letting their own fears guide them, that the other might strike first. 

“I could not take that chance.”

“You did not want to. You humans, you’re too convinced of your superiority, thinking a human life is worth more than that of a mythic,” he spat, the anger seeping into his tone catching you off guard. 

You blinked, staring at Dontis with wide eyes, searching his gaze as you tried to make sense of the darkness you found in his eyes. He looked angry. He sounded angry. But you had never thought he could be. 

He sounded less agitated after you tried to kill him. Even then, he had looked at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes, talking you through the misunderstanding, comforting you afterward with no resentment towards the harm you had meant inflicting on him. 

The fury burning in his eyes now felt so uncharacteristic, that you found yourself at a loss as to how to react. You felt like you did not know the person before you at all, and the thought that this Dontis was unpredictable — that there was a layer to him previously unknown to you — made your body tense. 

“She was a fledgling,” he said quietly, the anguish in his voice slowly chasing away the scorching rage for a moment. 

You narrowed your gaze. “She was dangerous.”

The fury returned in full force. His face darkened like the sky before a storm, and Dontis took a step forward as he screamed at you, trying to make you understand, trying to mend the divide between humans and mythics in your mind and cut through your years of training to shut your heart off and block out the suffering and death you caused. “She was a child!”

You flinched, taking a step back from him on instinct as your hand flew to your belt, resting on your gun. 

His eyes followed your movement. You saw the flash of betrayal glinting in them. 

“Do you want to shoot me too?” he asked tonelessly, the bleak monotone a striking contrast to the voice you had heard moments ago, so full of pain and anger and emotion. “Go ahead. You’re selfish enough to shoot everything that scares you without thought. Go on if you’re afraid of me. You mindless, heartless murderer. Shoot me then, like you did her!”

You stepped back further, fighting the instinct to do just that. You knew Dontis. He would never hurt anyone. Would he? He looked angry enough to tear your heart out or entice you with whatever powers he had. You were sure he could hear your heart trying to carve its way out of your chest. 

“Stop it,” you whispered, your hand on the gun twitching. No, he would not hurt you. You were sure of that. You let go of the gun, raising your open hands to show him you were not going to shoot him. 

Dontis looked at you for a long moment. “I never want to see you again,” he said, the anger slipping, replaced with hurt and utter disappointment. “Leave. Return to your purposeless life and do what you must. Even your father came to tears when I called him a murderer, but you—”

“Dontis—”

“No,” he said, holding up a hand. “We are through. You are perhaps the only person on this earth I never want to cast eyes on again.”

His words sliced through you like a knife, leaving you breathless as you stood frozen, trying to think of a retort, trying to figure out if he was serious. Before you could mutter a word, Dontis gave you a last dark, bitterly disappointed look — as if you had shot him, buried a knife in his back, and torn out his horns in a heart-wrenching act of betrayal — and turned his back to you. 

Dontis’ anger was rare, but it consumed him whole, turning his usually understanding and comforting character into one so ruthlessly cold that you felt all your strings being snapped at once, the life you were painstakingly beginning to build up crushed in an instant by an echo of your past, an unforgivable mistake — to Dontis’ eyes, and the longer you thought about it, replaying the scene of the fledgling vampire, her terrified eyes, her bruising grip as she desperately clung to life, to your eyes as well. 

Perhaps you were beginning to understand. Dontis was not around to take note of it, true to his word that he never wanted to see you again. 

Honoring his wish was the only thing you could do, leaving your family’s emblem on his doorstep before leaving New Orleans, a silent plea if not for forgiveness, at least as a token to appease the anger you knew still boiled in him when he thought of the vampire you had killed. 

Not forgiveness for the blood on your hands. Never that.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic finder

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1. I'm looking for a fic that's during the Cloud Recesses study arc where, WWX I think, found out Wen Chao couldn't read and started teaching him. I think a couple of the other kids started helping him, MianMian maybe? I can't remember much but they definitely helped him learn how to read and became friends. TIA

FOUND? Wei Wuxian’s Super Special Super Secret Book Club by Anonyma (T, 31k, WWX & WC & LQY, WangXian, Canon Divergence)

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2. hello!! All good? I'm looking for a collection of one shots, and I can't find it, I read it a little while ago but I remember a one shot, where Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying were discussing the fact that Wei Ying had saved the heirs of the sects in cave and Jin Ling was listening and Wei Ying was saying that if he hadn't saved the heirs Jin Ling wouldn't exist and Jiang Cheng said something like, Whatever.... Honestly, I don't even remember the tags, but Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying realizing that Jin Ling had heard, Wei Ying asks what Jin Ling wants. @sweettiebah

FOUND! 🔒 Chapter 11: Careless Words of Short Prompts by Vrishchika (JL POV - Not JC Friendly - WWX loses his patience)

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3. Hello !! Ive read this fanfic a while ago and I have multiple ss of it since i like to save memorable parts of the fic but now i cant remember it anymore </3 i dont remember the synopsis but there was a scene where Lwj and Wwx were in an inn while out night hunting, and wwx suspected the person serving them to have poisoned lwj, wwx got really angry and threatened the guy to the max

quote:

Wei Wuxian slammed him against the wall again, cutting off his rapid ramblings and jostling his fractured arm. "Your stories bore me," he spoke lowly, peering his head around slightly so as to almost look into Heng She's face. He still had yet to acknowledge Lan Wangji's presence. "Tell me why you poisoned the tea, or I will hang you in the street by your intestines, ripped open to let the crows feed on your liver." @jingyisbff

FOUND! let me sing to you by greybird_crookedbranch (T, 61k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, adorable Juniors, Minor Original Character(s)for plot purposes, Minor Violence, Demonic Cultivation, resentful energy, Trauma, Guilt, Protectiveness, BAMF WWX, Hurt wwx, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Baby Lans, Mental Instability, Possession, it's a case fic but the case is for the hurts, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, a tasteful seasoning of Yunmeng Bros Reconcilliation, CQL canon except LWJ is not chief cultivator, Nightmares)

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4. Hello! T__T I have my focus mode on so my distracting apps like twitter (x) are paused. I took a 5 minutes break and opened it. I saw a threadfic of Bottomji/Topxian (Omegaverse) They already have 3 kids (Yuan, Twins) but they are all alphas. lwj wants a daughter (or an omega son). He rode wwx that night then let him knot him for 3x. They were on a date and lwj bought some robes for a girl the confronts wwx that he wants a daughter.... Thats all Ive read. I want to read the whole thread but my app closed. 💔 Can you guys help me with it? I cant find it anymore.

FOUND! sounds like this twt threadfic by @/omegawangji

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5. Hi, I need help finding a fic I’m pretty sure I’ve seen recommended on here a couple years ago.

I don’t remember the title or the author. It was on AO3. It was an Alternative Universe fic where WWX is an art student (and lived in a dorm with the Wen siblings) and LWJ has a very active but discreet sex life. WangXian know each other but they’re not together. Eventually they start sleeping with each other (WWX doesn’t realize LWJ actually likes him and he’s not just another hookup). There is also a secondary plot about one of LWJ’s past hookups stalking and tormenting them at a club or party at some point? T

his is all I can remember, unfortunately. I hope to reach someone who knows which fic this is by asking on here. WangXian nation, do your thing! 🙏

FOUND? show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, lwj/others, communication failure, mutual pining, artists, demisexual wwx, angst w/ happy ending) It doesn't match exactly but some details do

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6. For fic finder, a fic I read a good while back.

It was one of those “jgs magically spies on the burial mounds to get people to hate wwx and the remnants” but in this one wwx and lwj did the “a-yuan is birthed from wwx” thing and the people spying believe it. Lqr passes out for a bit and lxc and jc start planning a wedding since lwj apparently deflowered wwx. I think it was completed

FOUND! Assumptions by draechaeli (T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, not mpreg, Not Established Relationship, Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, gender non-conforming titles)

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7. Hello! Here's one I've read a dozen times and would swear I have bookmarked, but now I can't find it. Basically, LZ is a courtesan/assassin who's sent by JGS to seduce and kill the powerful Yiling Patriarch. Meng Yao is working with LZ, although he has his own plans against JGS, of course. WWX later realizes LZ's brother is alive and looking for him, so he brings them together. (By the way, are you thinking of adding a Courtesan compilation? There are plenty of good ones to rec!) Thank you! @ladysalieri (we don't have a courtesan au specific comp but we do have a royalty one that includes a few! ^^ - Mod C)

FOUND! out to get you (to get you) by iliacquer (E, 41k, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, switching, top/bottom LWJ, top/bottom WWX, power play, courtesan LWJ, assassin LWJ, dark lord WWX, bondage, happy ending, past slavery)

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8. Hello i am looking for a fic where modern lwj time travels to the canon era and becomes original lwj, in the fic he is betrothed to yilling patriarch wy who sends him letters, and wy becomes more desperate and insane because lwj doesn't answers his letters. @ahiku-chan

FOUND? if this is a dream, i pray to never wake up by dangodangomilk (M, 27k, WangXian, Marriage, Weddings, Engagement, Canon Divergence, Parallel Universes, YLLZ WWX, false amnesia, Implied/Referenced Sex, Fluff and Angst, Sexual Content)

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9. hello! i'm looking for a fic from lwj's pov. he runs into wwx (dark) in yiling i think, after burial mounds but before his new body. lwj is horrified by how bad he looks and convinces him to go to an inn (wwx mean), they have sex. during this lwj realizes that wwx's bones are all broken from his fall in the burial mounds and he is holding them stable with resentful energy. he can't heal them, but the resentful energy is working as a stopgap. possibly of it's own volition? bittersweet? thx! @saydams

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10. Hello!! I love this blog, where I find fics to read!! A few days ago, I asked someone to find me a fic, but I'm here again because I remembered med and another fic that I loved reading, but currently can't find.

The things I remember: Wangxian has an spiritual connection, which is why the golden core transfer does not occur (and it is qing who informs Wei Ying of the connection, as Madam Yu knew and gave tea to undo the connection but it did not work ) and if I'm not mistaken Yanli is the one who told Wei Ying that the spiritual connection no longer exists (which is obviously wrong)

If you can't find it, I ask you to recommend something similar.

Thank you ❤💛🖤 @sweettiebah

FOUND! Half of my soul by Asphodel_Meadow (T, 8k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, 5+1 Things, kinda soul bond but with their golden cores, POV Outsider, POV Alternating)

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11. Hi, im looking for a fic where when Wei Wuxian was dead others tried to flirt with Lan Wangji. I remember one of the scenes where Shizui was walking to the jingshi and overherd someone (a cousin of Lan Jingyi?) trying to flirt with Lan Wangji. I think it was a 5+1 type of deal. No matter the way i word it, i cant find it. I`ve been looking on and off for months. @herebedragons02

FOUND? Criteria by incendir (T, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian) Criteria from the Resolutions series! I've reread ot enough to know that description on site

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12. I hope you don't mind me asking, i'm looking for a wangxian fic where there is a scene that takes place in the cloud recesses where jiang cheng injures nie huaisang and nie mingjue almost declares war on the jiang sect. Thats as much as i remember I hope it's enough to go on. If it helps any it was either a Jiang Cheng bashing fic or a Jiang Family bashing. / Hi i'm looking for a Jiang Cheng or Jiang Family Bashing fic (can't remember which it was) where Nie Huaisang gets severely injured by Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue almost declares war on the Jiang Sect. Thank you. @hanabichan2018

FOUND? Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

FOUND? A Future Family In A Broken Past by Hauntcats (T, 121k, wangxian, Not JIang Family Friendly, Not Cultivation World Friendly, WWX Needs a Hug, Family Dynamics, What is a good family?, Fear of emotions does not excuse abuse, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, LXC needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Not YZY Friendly)

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13. Hello I’ve been looking for this fic but I cannot find it I remember seeing it before it’s where in order to survive the burial mounds WY exchanges his heart which changes how he acts and then at the end JC, JYL, LWJ and NH decide to go to the burial mounds to see what happened to WY

FOUND?🔒 between the shadow and the soul by Reverie (cl410) (M, 22k, wangxian, JYL/WQ, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Dark WWX, Feral WWX, Memory Loss, Magic, Magical Realism, Protective LWJ, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Grief, BAMF WWX, POV Alternating)

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14. Hi! For next fic finder, could you help me find a modern wangxian au with combination of arranged marriage, marriage of convenient (i think it is), and contract marriage. YZY arranged a marriage between WWX and LWJ for a bussiness cooperation. WWX agreed to that so he can get away from the Jiang (especially YZY) and to make his own carrier. Then LWJ and WWX make a contract to make the marriage last until 2 years and decided if they want to keep the marriage or not. I think LWJ playing his guqin and WWX is used to that and when 2 years almost up, WWX didnt want to get divorce. The fic is focused about them getting to know each other. I think thats all i can remember. I read that in 2021 so the detail is kinda patchy. If you dont know the fic at least a confirmation that im not the only one that ever read this. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

Hi, im #14. Unfortunately its not the fic that iam searching for. The one that iam serching for focused on wangxian, other characters barely appears. Even the jiangs only gets mentioned. Wwx didnt work for Jiang, i think he is graphic design freelancer? The agrement for divorce is between the two of them, their family didnt know about their agreement. They choose how long they stay together before divorce after they think that the project between their family is finished so their divorce wont effect the project. WWX even has a plan after their divorce to open his own office. If i remember corectly, WWX realize he didnt want to get divorced is a few days before the day of their divorce. Like he is in his room and thinking that after their divorce, he cant listening to LWJ playing his guqin and spend their days together and he didnt want that.

I really hope i didnt mix several fic together. Thank you!

NOT FOUND! you're the only thing i think i got right by sandustorms (lucianclouds) (M, 48k, wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Falling In Love, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic, Married Life, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, do you remember that fake reddit post abt the guy that fell for his husband, that he was arranged to be married to, that was kind of what inspired this, Happy Ending, Modern, Strangers to Lovers, Romance)

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15. Hello Mods, hope you are having a good day (^ ω ^)

This is for the fic finder and I'm not quite sure about this so just to be safe I don't want to upset anyone so

Trigger Warning! Trigger Warning! Trigger Warning!

This is what I remember: WWX is roofied or SA'ed in the Cloud Recesses ( I don't remember if that is shown) and there's a lot about how he handle it (denial? minimizing? disassociation?), and LWJ is there, he didn't do it, he is good, and anti-victim-blaming? if that makes sense?

FOUND? obscura: ink stain by AvoOwO (M, 20k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, Emotions, Heavy Angst, Painting, Temporary Amnesia, Drugs, Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drink Spiking, Victim Blaming, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Has a Crush, Soft wangxian, Holding Hands, Blood and Violence, Good Sibling JC, Protective JC, WWX is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Protective LXC, Good Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LQR, LQR Tries, OCs, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, WWX Needs a Hug, someone gets punched a lot, LWJ contemplates murder for a moment, JC almost gets it done, not quite about romance, as much as romance elements there, more so about the small things, LWJ loves how WWX smells, some nasty things are said, WWX def needs a nap, he gets one dw, LQR Gets Shit Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Scheming NHS)

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16. Hi! For fic finder, I am looking for a short-ish fic where Jin Ling learns that Wei Wuxian is the one who named him “Rulan.” Jin Ling then realizes he is named after the Lans, and he has a teenage meltdown about how he is named after his uncle’s crush. Does this sound familiar? Thank you, everyone, for all your help! @gloriousclotpole

FOUND! three days gone by occultings (microcomets) (G, 4k, JL & WWX, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Bonding, Homophobic Language, Fluff) there may be a few fics that fit, is it maybe the one where jin ling and jiang cheng are reading sect letters together, and jin ling got mad about being called "rulan"? so far i found another fic, ig it's "similar" since jin ling's only mad for one sentence, but i thought to link it anyway

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17. Hi! I'm looking for a fic, but i only remember a specific scene from it: wwx and the wens on the horses and it's raining and lan zhan lets them go, but then i guess granny wen says go back and get him, and when they return, lan zhan is soaking wet and she says something along the lines of 'dramatic young people'. Thank you so much!

FOUND? Turn Around by mondengel (Not rated, <1k, wangxian, humor)

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18. Hi, I'm looking for an AU WIP fic where WWX has to wear a mask; nobody but family is allowed to see his face. He and LWJ have an arranged marriage, but LWJ still refuses to let him take his mask off, and doesn't make any effort in the marriage. Very soon after they are married, he takes Wen Qing as a concubine, without explaining anything to WWX. WWX moves to a house near Lotus Pier, and there is a bit about him adopting children, but I can't remember how that came about... Thank you! @godiva696

FOUND! Sounds like the deleted "A price to pay" by wangxianist.

Not FOUND! sounds sorta like shana's identity porn fic here on tumblr

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19. Hello! 😃 I hope you can help me find this fic that I have been looking for!

I only remember that Wei Wuxian gets reunited with the sect leader of the Yu sect,(she is basically his grandma I think) and he get very emotional, it is also at a discussion conference or something like that, it is a very sweet/happy scene.

thank you 😊

NOT FOUND!🔒补救; to remedy, to do something to correct or improve something that is wrong by ravenditefairylights (G, 21k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Healing, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Getting Together, Everybody Gets Their Shit Together, Family Feels, Teacher WWX, Soft WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Marriage Proposal, Assassination Attempt(s), Family Bonding, soup as a metaphor, Meishan as a metaphor, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Forgiveness, BAMF WWX, Assassin WWX) i'm not positive this is it, but has a scene like that

Not FOUND And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) has a wwx-Sect Leader Yu relationship a bit like that? They meet up in Meishan, though, it's not a conference

Not FOUND The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos by dvasva (M, 127k, WIP, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Functionally Trans Character, Mild Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, Transphobia, Good Parents LWJ and WWX, Pining, WWX is a Tease, Grief/Mourning, Body Dysphoria, Fake Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Misunderstandings, Doting LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is not in MXY's body, Misgendering, Mild Angst, Assumptions, Comedic Elements, non-sexual nudity, Blood, Discussion of Various Bodily Functions, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, 4 years of mourning instead of 13, Méishān Yú Sect, POV Multiple, Corporal Punishment, Trans WWX, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, pregnancy mention, Timeline What Timeline, Sexual Harassment Threats) has wwx summoned by an OC Yu cousin instead of mxy, so there is some wwx-Yu sect interactions in the story. I don't remember it being particularly sweet or happy, but the setting is a conference

Not FOUND Moments of Revelation by meyari (T, 133k, ChengSang, WangXian, XiYao, POV JC, Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, Character Death, not anyone we care about, Time Travel Fix-It, Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Chronic Pain, Chronic anxiety, magical healing and how it fails, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Chronic Mental Health Issues, Assassination, renamed my, Families of Choice, Original Supporting characters, Unreliable Narrator(s), Demonic Possession) last suggestion, and this probably isn't it, but it has a lot of Yunmeng Trio & Yu sect interactions (mostly Jiang Cheng centric, but wwx is there too lol)

FOUND! Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) the reunion scene is on ch31

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20. Hello! I’m looking for a fic where during the Sunshot Campaign, Wei Wuxian was able to tame the Xuanwu, resulting in victory. However, he wasn’t fully able to control its bloodlust so it was sequestered onto an island in Lotus Pier.

However, he leaves one day for a brief visit to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, JGS paid a child to visit the island and the child is killed. This causes WWX to go with the Xuanwu into the water surrounding the island and he disappears for many years.

Later on, Jin Ling ends up trying to prove himself by going into the forest surrounding this island (which has since filled with resentful energy). And finds that WWX has come back and the Xuanwu has been purified.

I’m not sure if it’s been deleted??

FOUND? The Turtle Master by Gotcocomilk (M, 40k, wangxian, JC & WWX, JL & WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Character Death Fix, shijie lives, Hurt/Comfort, OC Child death, zombie turtle!!, BAMF WWX, isnt he always, Fluff and Angst, first half is pain second half is soft)

~*~

[tricoufamily]

🔪rogues gallery legacy challenge 🔪

i'm misleading you most of them aren't even criminals

ok!!! so i made this challenge for myself because i can't commit to any save, but i'll definitely want to play with these sims it's got autism sprinkled all over it. some of you might also like it as well so i'll share it!

this is a ten generation legacy challenge, with every generation loosely based on a different batman villain, but you don't have to be a batman fan to do it.

general rules

start with the default amount of money you get straight out of cas. no money cheats!

heirs can be any gender with any appearance. i think it'd be fun to dress them inspired by the character, but you don't have to. you probably don't want to make the actual character, honestly (what, ivy marries harley, then a few generations later there's just another harley? no)

choose your own succession laws

if you don’t have the pack for the requirement, replace it with whatever is a logical replacement. or just do something else instead, i’m not gonna come through your computer

i have provided alternate requirements when necessary for people who don’t want to play with occult sims

when stated that the sim goes to university, i recommend turning off aging until they graduate. sims without a university requirement can still attend!

if you end up doing this, please tag me in your posts 💜 or at least tell me how it's going in an ask lol

1: poison ivy 🌱

people say you’re a bit intense about the environment, but you say people are too stupid to see what’s right in front of them. the world clearly needs your help, but no one understands you. people quickly disappoint you when you get close to them. they voted against the clean energy production n.a.p.—why shouldn’t their spouse find out about that secret date you had?

stats:

traits: green fiend, hot-headed, loves outdoors aspiration: villainous valentine career: gardener (botanist branch) max skills: gardening, herbalism, flower arranging

requirements:

live in any world but strangerville (it doesn’t have an eco footprint!). make every neighborhood in the world have a green eco footprint—this means you’ll have to live in all of them at some point. big worlds recommended.

get the super green thumb bonus trait from the aspiration rewards store.

leave someone at the altar.

eventually end up with your best friend who’s already in a relationship.

have 3 cowplants. if one of them dies, remove 1000 simoleons as punishment and replace it. what you do with them is your business.

2: scarecrow 👻

between moving constantly, being terrified of the man-eating plants outside your window, and your parent's reputation preceding them, you fantasize about the control you’ve lacked your whole life. you loved creating monstrosities with your chemistry set as a child, and when you finally escape your town for college, your mind leads you to dark places. you evade consequences until your scheming backfires, and you’re haunted for the rest of your life by a terrifying specter your family can’t see.

stats:

traits: paranoid, genius, ambitious aspiration: purveyor of potions (non-occult alternative: academic) career: education (professor branch)/scientist (for non-occult route) max skills: mental skill, mixology skill, cooking skill

requirements:

gain and conquer every adult fear.

go to the university of britechester and major in psychology. join a secret society.

become a spellcaster. feed hexed potions to 5 sims and use negative spells on 10 sims. non-occult alternative: instead of becoming a professor, join the scientist career, and with the sim ray, use the mind control: panic upgrade on all coworkers.

after college, move to another world than where your parent lives.

become cursed with the curse of the night wraith (you may cheat for it if you can’t get it). live 3 days with it then you can de-curse yourself, but not before adding the night wraith to your household (requires cheats). obviously you can’t stop your family from interacting with it autonomously, but never initiate an interaction yourself while playing as another family member. non-occult alternative: use a ghost instead and you can pretend it’s just a figment of your sim’s imagination.

3: riddler 🧩

with your parent who hasn’t slept in days claiming your house is cursed, you drown it out with the internet and video games. your social skills might not be up to par because of it, but you’re a genius the likes of which has never been seen before. according to you, at least. you aren’t easy to get along with, but neither is one of your exes, whose path you just can’t stop crossing. try as you might, you can’t stay away from each other for very long.

stats:

traits: geek, socially awkward, self-absorbed aspiration: chief of mischief career: tech guru (start-up entrepreneur branch) max skills: mischief, robotics, logic

requirements:

as a teen, be in the streamer part-time career. have at least 500 followers on social media.

have a sim you’re dating die.

your “forever partner” has the hot-headed and mean trait. break up and get back together with them 4 times.

successfully hack supercomputer 3 times.

woohoo a servo. at least once

4: harley quinn ♦

you might never be a fully mature person, but that’s okay! you’re a free spirit—a bit unpredictable and fickle, but you’re fun! your parent’s dream is for you to go to foxbury, but one night out drinking with your roommates, you fall head over heels for a mysterious, charismatic stranger at the bar. you very quickly decide to follow them to the city, only to realize that they aren’t who you thought they were, and maybe you’re not who you thought you were, either. you end the relationship and truly find yourself.

stats:

traits: goofball, childish, romantic aspiration: leader of the pack career: doctor max skills: mischief, comedy

requirements:

start a club with your two best friends.

have an equal number of friends and enemies

briefly live on the foxbury campus, majoring in biology. fall in love with a criminal sim with all negative traits, drop out of college, and move in with them in a needs tlc apartment.

work a number of odd jobs and part-time careers while your relationship deteriorates.

break up with your partner, move out on your own, and go back to college. do not live on campus this time—continue working a part-time job while living at home. become a doctor.

5: clayface 🎭

your parent never took life very seriously, but you couldn’t be more different. not only are you fiercely competitive, you have to be liked by everyone. you’re a social chameleon who dreams of the stage. you’re only a high-maintenance, jealous, hothead—fame certainly won’t go to your head…

stats:

traits: high-maintenance, hot-headed, jealous aspiration: master actor career: actor max skills: acting, charisma

requirements:

live in del sol valley.

have a good reputation until becoming a proper celebrity, then earn a bad reputation.

marry and divorce (at least) 2 actors.

fist-fight 5 costars.

after completing the master actor aspiration, gradually lose all fame.

6: penguin ☂

there’s a lot you can say about your childhood, but you can’t say it wasn’t comfortable. with all the trust fund and nepotism you could ask for, what’s there to lose? oh. oh, wait, this trust fund isn’t bottomless, actually. uh oh. better pick up a couple side hustles to keep the lights on.

stats:

traits: snob, mean, materialistic aspiration: mansion baron career: business career (investor branch) max skills: nectar making, fishing

requirements:

never work a job until young adulthood.

spend all or almost all of your inheritance immediately after moving out (have <1500 simoleons).

start selling nectar and fish on the side.

adopt or have 1 solo science baby. be enemies with all of your neighbors but have a max relationship with your child.

have 5 on-and-off woohoo partners but never a real relationship. once you reach mid-adulthood (not young adulthood), you may marry one of your woohoo partners who’s always secretly been in love with you.

7: mr. freeze 🧊

your eccentric parent doted on you, but school was miserable. at least you had one friend, your best friend. as you got older, you got shy about your developing feelings for them—little did you know, they were in love with you too. you got married and everything was perfect. and then they died. you’ll dedicate your entire life to bringing them back, no matter the cost.

stats:

traits: gloomy, perfectionist, family-oriented aspiration: soulmate career: scientist max skills: all skills associated with making ambrosia

requirements:

be disliked by at least 3 classmates as a child/teen and have only 1 friend.

become soulmates with the friend, get married, and move to mt. komorebi. when at least 1 of your children ages up into a child, your spouse dies.

you quit your job to focus solely on making ambrosia to bring your spouse back. you can rejoin the scientist career when this is complete. if you need money, start selling household items.

you become increasingly distant with your child(ren), too focused on your goal. your relationship with them suffers greatly.

you cannot have any romantic relationship with another sim ever. even if your revived spouse can’t forgive you…

8: joker 🤡

when you watch your parent sob while baking ten cakes in a row, saying it’ll bring your other parent back from the dead, the best way to cope is turning it into a stand-up routine, right? you’ve used comedy to mask the darkness in you your whole life. might as well try to profit off it. also, your vampire obsession is kind of off-putting.

stats:

traits: goofball, evil, hates children aspiration: joke star career: entertainer (comedian branch) max skills: comedy, mischief, vampire lore

requirements:

as a child, get a’s in school and be in the drama club. have a forgotten birthday when becoming a teen, the final straw. quit the drama club, become disliked/enemies with all of your friends, and become a d student.

move to san myshuno.

reach a two-star celebrity level from comedy.

never marry and have an accidental child with a fan. all children you have must be accidental. like your parent before you, you cannot connect with your children and have a difficult dynamic with all of them.

have a -100 relationship with a vampire. have a negative interaction at least once a week. non-occult alternative: make it a human goth sim. lmao.

9: two-face 🌗

despite absent parenting, you were voted most likely to succeed in high school and graduated at the top of your class. your goals are simple and attainable: become leader of the free world. but your promising political career is nipped in the bud when your entire life is ruined. disgraced, secluded, and battling two sides of yourself, you turn to other career options.

stats:

traits: self-assured, erratic, overachiever aspiration: goal oriented, public enemy career: politics (politician branch), criminal career (boss branch) max skills: charisma, research & debate

requirements:

as a child, receive a future cube as a gift from a parent. every major decision you make besides the requirements have to be made with the future cube. no takesies backsies.

make all a’s in elementary and high school and win prom royalty.

marry your teenage sweetheart straight out of high school. have only 1 child.

reach level 5 of the politics career, then your sim is turned into either a werewolf or vampire (player’s choice—or flip a coin!) against their will (you’ll have to pretend). non-occult alternative: you’re caught in a cheating scandal that ruins your career.

you’re forced to quit your job, get divorced, move to a non-city world with your child, and join the criminal career.

10: catwoman 🐈

your parent was not an easy person to live with. they may have not minded your habit of stealing from school, but you couldn’t take it anymore. you return to the city with a plan to get rich quick, but you’re no crime boss. you’re doing this on your own terms, playing for nobody’s team but your own. even if someone keeps trying to poke their nose in your family’s business.

stats:

traits: kleptomaniac, cat lover, adventurous aspiration: fabulously wealthy career: retail employee, thief max skills: rock climbing, knitting

requirements:

your non-criminal parent dies before you reach teenhood.

have a gloomy childhood friend you lose touch with in your teen years. as young adults, the friend has become a secret agent investigating your family. they are enemies with your criminal parent. you and the friend also become enemies.

you’re working as a retail employee, but where you’re really getting your money is robbery. initiate 2 romantic relationships with rich sims to rob their house.

eventually become lovers with your friend-turned-enemy.

adopt 3 stray cats.