#i just want to have this for the archives

[itsminjify]

꣑୧ BAD DECISIONS : LEE HEESEUNG ╰—where, heeseung is bad down for his spy partner

FEATURING. agent!heeseung x agent!reader ─── ARCHIVE : smut, agent au oneshot 1OOOwc. WARNINGS oral sex, lots of bickering, cursing, fingering ◞

MINJI SAYS : hello tumblr ! my first fic on this account, i promise i'll make a sfw fluff fic tomorrow (> <)

YOU WERE METICULOUSLY CHECKING YOUR WEAPONS. while, heeseung leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glued to you.

"you always get so serious before a mission, sweetheart," he drawled, pushing off the frame and sauntering towards you.

"someone has to be," you retorted, not bothering to look up. "unlike you, i don't rely on charm and dumb luck."

he chuckled, stopping behind you, his hands snaking around your waist. "ouch, darling. that hurts. but you know, my 'dumb luck' has gotten us out of some pretty sticky situations." his breath ghosted against your ear, "and it’s gotten me… closer to you."

you rolled your eyes, "get off me, we need to focus."

"or we could… refocus," he whispered.

you finally turned, meeting his gaze, "heeseung…"

"you know you want to," he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "you've been looking at me all day."

"that's because you've been messing everything up all day," you hissed.

he laughed, maybe i just wanted your attention." he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "and now i have it."

the kiss was slow but quick, heeseung pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "can i, baby?"

you knew what he was asking. the mission was tonight, a high-stakes at a lavish party. there was no time for… well this. but the pull of him was too strong to resist. "just… be quick," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

a grin spread across his face. "quick is not in my vocabulary, especially when it comes to you, you little brat."

he wasted no time, his hands moving to the zipper of your sleek black dress. it slid down smoothly, revealing the delicate lace of your black lacy bra. his eyes darkened as he took in the sight of the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your cleavage peeking out from the lace. your nipples pressed against the fabric. “fucking hell,” he breathed, “you’re driving me crazy.”

he unclipped your bra with a practiced flick of his wrist, letting it fall to the floor. his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples. you gasped, your head falling back, exposing the delicate curve of your neck. your breasts, full and round, spilled into his hands.

"you like that, don't you, you?" he whispered.

he pushed you back onto the plush hotel bed, following you down, his body hovering over yours. his fingers traced a path down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your matching lace panties. he slipped two fingers inside you, already slick and hot, his thumb circling your clit. you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"fucking hell," he muttered again, "you're so wet for me."

he pulled off your panties, tossing them carelessly to the side. his gaze swept over your naked body, his eyes lingering on the curve of your hips.

he positioned himself between your legs, and you finally got the full view of him. his cock was thick and heavy, a dark, veined column straining against his pants before he'd even touched you. now, freed from his trousers, it stood erected. the head was a dark, dusky rose, glistening with pre-cum, and a thick vein pulsed visibly along its length.

heeseung began to move, his thrusts deep. you wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his every move. the hotel room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, his low moans, and the soft slap of skin against skin.

"you’re such a fucking slut for me," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his breath hot against your skin. "i love it when you’re like this."

you bit your lip, your nails digging further into his back. heeseung followed soon after, his release a guttural groan.

"we should probably get ready for that party," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

you groaned, burying your face in his chest, the scent of his skin and his cologne filling your senses. "remind me to kill you later."

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

[st6rly]

❛ love me like how only you do. ❜

synopsis : 　 through every universe, every cycle of rebirth, he will always find you. in which kazuha loves all versions of you; in every timeline, every universe, every breath or non-breath he takes. 　 ╱ 　 word count : 　 1.7k

characters : 　 kazuha x gn!reader

categories : 　 fluff. mild angst. yearning. royalty au. country x city trope. hospital au. modern au. apocalypse & post-apocalypse aus. idol au. inanimate object / nature au?? lot's of aus. 8 + 1 fic.

warnings : 　rusty writing (it's been a hot minute my bad-). brief major character deaths. mention of blood / injury / violence / drowning. illness in characters + family members. fire. zombies. mentions / vague descriptions of death in general.

dedicated to : 　 @yuomizuu, from your stellaronhvnter secret santa :3c when i saw kazuha on your list, i jumped for joy; he’s one of my top genshin characters & im so happy to have an excuse to write for him! // playlist i was listening to while writing // art by @.mayu_mey on twt

In one universe, Kazuha bumps into you on the street. 

Bundles of scrolls and parchment spill from your arms, delicate writing muddied with dirt as the commotion on the street barely comes to a halt. Onlookers scowl and grumble, moving past without a second thought as you scramble to collect your things from the footpath, movements hastened by the spear-tips aiming your way. 

Cape a deep crimson with delicate fur trim, the Kaedehara family crest is embroidered on the back in gold thread. Kazuha always thought it was unnecessary to flaunt his status, preferring respect of the family name over awe of his wealth. But being a gift from a dear friend, he wears it more often than not. In cases like these, he wishes he hadn’t. Your eyes catch the glint of his garments, and you freeze, petrified.  

Lowering to a crouch, Kazuha waves away his guards with dimmissive hand, gloved hands working to collect fallen sheets. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice kind and with a smile. He holds out a scroll for you to take back. Your fingers brush his. 

“Yes…” you mutter back, somewhat sheepish. You quickly rise to your feet and offer him a bow. “My apologies, Your Highness.” 

“No need for it.” 

He offers to walk you to your destination. You decline. He insists. The two of you both make it to the library in quick succession, the others on the road making way the minute the red of his cape is seen. 

“This is quite unnecessary, Your Highness.” Kazuha looks over at you. You smile when he meets your eyes. “It was I who bumped into you. There was no need to escort me back.”

“Ah, but I wanted to.” 

It’s when you’re inside, the door closed behind you, that Kazuha stops to stare at where you’d once stood. His cheeks are rosy with warmth.  

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” one of the guards prods, hesitant. “You seem a bit… flushed.” 

“I’m more than alright.” 

The kingdom falls before he can see you again. 

Flames engulf houses and shops; fire starved and ravenous, it becomes a glutton as it licks up the side of the library. His horse whinnies and backs away when the heat gets to be too much, but Kazuha can’t seem to pull himself away from the sight. He needs to leave. He needs to leave. Run. Run. Run. Run—

Some part of him hopes you made it out unscathed, heart heavy as the shouts of enemy troops chase after him. You would’ve liked the palace archives, he thinks, salt trailing down ash-stained cheeks as the ruins disappear in the distance. 

—

In one universe, you’ve just moved from the city to the countryside. 

As your new neighbour, Kazuha took it upon himself to welcome you. The rest of the area had heard about your reasonings: a relative of yours who owned the house you’d be staying in has fallen ill. You’re here to keep things in order while they receive treatment. 

Basket full of fresh fruit from his own farm, he stands outside your door with a nervous frown. His heart beats erratically in his chest, pulse ricocheting off the bones of his ribs. It’s never like him to be so jittery when greeting others. Readjusting his grip, Kazuha sucks in a breath and knocks. 

You shout back, “Just a sec!” 

There’s a brief moment where Kazuha debates leaving, dropping the basket and running. He digs his heels into the ground. The door opens with a click. You smile and— 

Oh. 

He’s been here before, hasn't he? 

Cheeks turning a soft pink, he grins back, holding out the basket. 

“A little welcome gift,” he says, “from your new neighbour.” 

You take the basket from him; your fingers don’t touch his. Is it weird that he wishes they did? Kazuha comes back the next day, handing you a bunch of mail and a package. You invite him to stay this time. 

Kazuha swears he’s seen you before, that you moving wasn’t a coincidence judging by the butterflies that eat at his stomach lining. Whatever it is, you don’t remember him like how he thinks of you. 

You return to the city months later, leaving the confession on the tip of his tongue. 

—

In one universe, you are the wind that greets him every morning. 

The hospital room is stuffy, void of colour except for the stack of “Get well soon!” cards and deflating balloons shoved by his bedside. He misses the farm, he decides, the vast openness of the trees and fields. The smell of medicine had stung his nose at first; now it’s barely there. Kazuha stares out at the sunrise, smiling to himself when a familiar breeze slips through the crack of his window. Bathed in gold with the sun speckled in his hair, he strains an arm and grasps onto a well-loved notepad and pen. 

“One day,” he murmurs, voice airy as he jots down the date, “I’ll be out there too.” 

—

In one universe, you’re a birdhouse and he’s the bird. 

The seeds are kept well stocked; the shelter you provide is always dry. You both get swept away in a windstorm. 

—

In one universe, he is a star. 

Rubble and debris from what were once towering builds block any type of path you may have been able to venture. Despite the lack of them, the stench of walking death still permeates the air.  

“Shouldn’t have taken that shortcut,” you mumble, grunting when your foot catches on another root. 

The trees grow thicker and you swear you’ve passed this part of the woods already. You grumble a string of profanities, plopping down to the forest floor and leaning against the bark. You look up. 

“You’re here at least.” The words are soft, much too gentle for the atmosphere. Kazuha doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. “You’d scold me for scavenging this late. I know it.” 

The star grows brighter, as if laughing. 

— 

In one universe, Kazuha’s flesh can be tasted on your tongue. 

Tied up in the corner, your arms pinned behind your back, he sits about two metres away in front of you on a broken crate. The gun lays loaded in his lap. Eyes closed with his head down, fingers resting on the cool metal, Kazuha’s lips stretch into a thin line. 

“It’s not right,” he mutters, mainly to himself as you thrash in the corner, desperate to reach him. “It’s not my right to rob you of life.” 

You snarl in response. Eyes bloodshot and crazed, he wonders if you can still understand him. Would you plead for him to shoot you? Would you beg to be spared? Could he bear to do either? He’s going to be sick. 

“It’s not right,” he repeats, shaky hands curling in his lap. “It’s you and me. We haven’t come all this way just to end.” 

The world has taken enough from him. Kazuha refuses to let it take you too; not without him.  

He stands in front of you. The gun lays off to the side. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screams at him not to fold. They wouldn’t want this, it wails, clawing at the walls of his skull. Another tells him, Do it. And so Kazuha undoes your binds, kisses you, smiles tearfully when your nails claw into his skin. Blood runs down his back, stains his tattered clothing. He hugs you. Your jaws clamp down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. His nose brushes against your jaw. 

“It’s ok,” he whispers to ears that cannot hear reason, hold tightening, “we’ll be ok.” 

—

In one universe, you two never meet. Not face-to-face at least. 

Kazuha smiles at the camera, holding up a peace-sign, before the view switches to another member on stage. The clip goes viral very shortly after its creation. You come across it one day. 

“An idol, huh…” you mutter. 

 You scroll away. 

— 

In one universe, he’s stuck behind a screen, a watcher to your world as you go through the motions of life. 

Fate isn’t his, but he can’t seem to mind. When his splash art first coloured your screen, when he first witnessed that giddy look in your eyes, Kazuha knew he was smitten. 

Even if you ult at the wrong times, run out of stamina in the middle of climbing, skip dialogue, Kazuha is there beside you. For every beginning, end, every plotline in between, he’s a staple of your team. 

One day, you stop logging in. It was gradual at first; daily tasks, some resin here and there, you’d skip a day then come back the next. A day turned into two. Then three. A week. A month. Kazuha still waits. It’s funny how his world comes to a standstill when you do. He hopes you’re doing well. 

—

In one universe, he is a leaf and you are a river cutting through the forest. 

He drowns in your embrace, waterlogged and swept away as you carry him down stream. If he had a conscience, Kazuha would do it again. 

—

In this universe, it’s finally Kazuha and you. (There is no need to say he loves you when his name is already beside yours.)

Kazuha watches as you pack up your things. He stands from his spot next to you, bag slung over his shoulder as he waits. Other students are already leaving the lecture hall, milling about as he admires you from this short distance. 

In this universe, it’s been Kazuha and you since birth. Friends since forever, it surprised no one when both of you confessed. It would be nice if every universe were like this. 

“You’re staring.” 

He blinks, hand finding yours automatically. You squeeze back. 

“It’s hard not to when you look like that,” he teases back. 

“C’mon, the winter festival is starting soon.” You roll your eyes. 

Foot catching on the chair, Kazuha steadies you before your books can fall out of your hands, giggling when you’re quick to apologize. 

“I had a weird dream last night,” he blurts out once you’re back to standing. 

“About me falling?” 

“More than that.” He traces your skin with his thumb, lost in thought before speaking again. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm. Drop off your stuff and all.” 

“Nah, I can just meet up with you.” 

Would it be nice if every universe were like this? That’s silly, he thinks with a smile. No world could make me love you less. 

“I insist.” 

notes : 　inspired by multiverse concepts, including “everything, everywhere, all at once,” arcane, the "do you think we're together in every universe?" trend, and this one poem i read that i can’t remember. this ended up being shorter than i thought it would be, but there are a lot of parallels between scenes and such so i hope those were caught! apologies if the prose doesn't flow too well TwT

[paceprompting]

cinnamon buns

written for ‘christmas’ | wc: 736 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: post season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, and vice versa, christmas together

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Wayne always managed to get Christmas off. Every year.

Eddie didn’t know what exactly he promised in return to manage it, but ever since little eight-year-old Eddie Munson shuffled into the trailer to live with his uncle, every Christmas had been theirs.

Wayne always woke up first, setting out the presents collected throughout the year and hidden under his bed—and Eddie hadn’t peeked since that first year—nursing his first cup of coffee while in his pajamas until Eddie emerged.

When he was still little, he’d bum-rush the tree and tear open the presents, but soon the little traditions emerged.

Playing Rudolph and Year Without a Santa Claus on VCR tapes that survived years of rewatches, but no interdimensional portals.

Cinnamon buns from tins for breakfast, always burnt around the edges and covered in icing—but they split the best one from the middle.

And the last present was always, always Wayne’s. It took several years for Eddie’s wrapping skills to actually look like the box he was wrapping, but Wayne never said a word.

It was one of those Christmases that Eddie got his first set of dice.

Government hush money bought a decent house for them, with real insulation and top-of-the-line boiler. Just in time for Christmas. Wayne actually had a real hiding place for the presents this time, and no matter how hard Eddie had looked, he’d have to wait until next year to find it.

They could get real lights, too. Not just the couple of strings that wouldn’t overload the trailer’s generator.

They also had to, since those lights were carted off to some Area 51 with the rest of the things the government wanted to pretend had never happened until maybe they could use it to their own benefit.

One other thing had changed this Christmas, too.

There were three of them this year.

Eddie heard the crunch of tires on asphalt from the kitchen. He was supposed to be setting up the ham to go in the oven—which he’d never done in his life, yet he’d volunteered—and he’d only gotten as far as preheating the oven.

So, he headed straight for the front door, sans any sort of jacket or shoes.

Eddie had hated the cold most of his life.

When you lived in a metal box with shitty heating on a good day, the cold months meant shivering through showers, mainlining coffee just to be warm for a couple minutes and layering blankets because sweating was better than losing a toe.

But there was something about Steve Harrington in the cold.

Or, more specifically, in the snow.

He eased out of the driver’s side of the Beemer, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders filled out the blue denim of his jacket, which matched his jeans—which stretched over his pert butt.

Not that Eddie was looking. For too long.

Maybe Eddie liked the cold a little bit more now.

But the whole reason Steve had bent over in the first place was to bring out a few things from his backseat. He held them behind his back as he straightened, and Eddie pouted as he trudged through the snow onto the porch.

His cheeks were pink when joined Eddie by the front door, ducking his head as he offered a hello.

“Hey, Eds,” he said.

Eddie leaned over to try and peer at what Steve had behind his back, eyes widening when Steve brought out a Tupperware that looked like it had several stacks of cookies, warm enough to steam up the inside.

“For me?” he asked, raising his brows.

Steve let him take the cookies with no comment.

“No, I thought it’d be rude not to bring something.” He shrugged, and it took Eddie a moment to realize that his other arm was still bent behind him. Eddie stared pointedly, and Steve smiled before revealing a more Christmas-y gift—in red and green plaid wrapping paper and white ribbon. “This is, though.”

Eddie immediately swapped cookies for the present, holding it close with a wide grin.

Steve cocked his head, sliding his hands (probably cold) into his pockets. “You’re not going to open it?”

He propped his present on his hip and reached forward to grab onto Steve’s wrist. With probably wild eyes, Eddie met Steve’s gaze, waited until Steve leaned forward just a bit and said, with every bit of seriousness, “We haven’t had the cinnamon buns, yet.”

[agirlandherquill]

a letter for writemas

alrighty, as promised, a little last writemas surprise for you all! - a little letter that i hope you'll read <3

~ ~ ~

dear writers,

when i first started this game, i had a dream, a dream of helping to inspire someone, i didn't know who, nor did i know just how many people would be impacted by this game - and 24 days on, the sheer amount of engagement has blown me away!

it has been a pleasure to witness your stories and your characters grow, to read the longest of adventures to the little glimpses into the wonderful worlds that reside in your heads - writing, for me at least, has always been a pleasure and a joy, and it's gotten me through some pretty difficult times, it's also made me appreciate more things too - and i cannot put into words how much it has meant for so many of you to have played along with a few little prompts i put together at the end of a day, and to share my holiday season with you all (even in such a small way!), and of course, help people writing - a feat i hold very dear to my heart (even if i've been unexpectedly busier this holiday season and not done as much writing as i would have liked - but hey, creating prompts counts, right?)

now, to end this letter, i would like to say a great and eternal thank you to every writer out there, from the bottom of my heart, whether you've participated this season or not, whether you've written tons or a few pages over this holiday, i want you all to know that you're doing amazing work, and i've enjoyed writemas far more than i ever thought i would!

for the final time this writemas, this is me signing off - as always, wishing you all a happy holiday, thank you so much for participating, and keep writing!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

(if anyone looks this far - p.s, read a little further for a final, parting message :)) this may be the final post for writemas, but it's not the end of the prompts i can assure you - something's cooking in the depths of my blog and i cannot wait to share it - so keep your eyes out dear writers, but for now, merry christmas eve to all, and to all a good night! <3 for the final time, the tag list! the invitations have been received so here you all are, i bestow upon you the gift of writemas! p.s if you want to be added to the tag list, interact with this post <3

@365runesofthesystem @glasshouses-and-stones @tildeathiwillwrite @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings

@willtheweaver @theverumproject @phoenixradiant @thatuselesshuman @melpomenelamusa

@loverboyxbutch @i-hate-happy-endings @corinneglass @whatwewrotepodcast @aalinaaaaaa

@aseriesofsmallthings @kelseyjade @lauravanarendonkbaugh @i-do-anything-but-write @nuclearr-wessels

@95angeltears @sunflowerrosy @thebadphilosopher @ellowynthenotking @xarrixii

@the-ellia-west @myniceisniceblogbloglog @kitty-is-writing @girl-with-bones @crimsonlyinglilly

@fantasy-things-and-such @shiningstars-world @purplehandshumanfeelings @mxxnlightwriting @aquadestinyswriting

@17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @seastarblue @sacratos @afyerarchive

@sabba-tumbling @aurumni-writes @burntblanc @angelfevr @lead-to-code

@inkoherentbabeler @selfemployedmess @theeccentricraven @sarandipitywrites

@kaylinalexanderbooks @rickie-the-storyteller @grace-thomas @wonda-ch @nyoxy-ghostie

@calliecwrites @happypup-kitcat24 @woodnymphdancinginmoonshine @storycraftcafe

@rhikasa @buffythevampirelover @moltenwrites @vesanal @foyle-writes-things

@thesorcerersapprentice @diabolical-blue @elsie-writes @pepsiwriteswords @sharkblizzardblogs

@zmwrites @satohqbanana @avian-king @wordwizards @theimperiumchronicles

@ryns-ramblings @thewritingcoroner @the960writers @m-r-levine @writingsfromspace

@detective-bird @k--havok @saharasunset @the-letterbox-archives @katwritesshit

@thebookishkiwi @that-expat-girl @lyssthewriter @elligatorrex @fablesandfragments

[twopoppies]

To your anon talking about that Krupa video being one of the definitive proofs of the past years- totally agreed and I want to add something that is very often forgotten, which is the two videos of drunk Louis after his AFHF in Spain (I think the day after?), when he can be clearly heard saying “Harry’s touring or he’d be here” and then in a second video “Harry just won a VMA”or something like that. To me these were huge but are very hard to find and not very discussed. If anyone has them saved and wants to share the links I think it’d be important to archive them properly.

Hi sugar. Yeah. I remember that video. I can’t find it on my blog, which makes me wonder if I never bothered to reblog it. I remember not feeling as sure as you did about what he was saying. But I’d love to listen again to double check.

Does anyone have this video? @daisiesonafield-blog @awesomefringey @gettingdizzy-oh Anyone?

[true-lavender]

Hi guys

I'm bringing you my personal bookmarks now

Shen Jiu centric fics reccomendations

No joke first svsss fic I've read. One of the rare Bingjiu fics I enjoyed. I am not fond of the ship but this fic gets it.

BingJiu

Summary:

Luo Binghe has been having trouble truly breaking in that dreadful Shizun of his. A wife's suggestion to use pleasure seems intriguing, but the dreams waiting for him when he's done are not what he expects to find...

I think this is one of my favourites, if not THE favourite SVSSS fic. It's so intriguing as a concept and it has great potential to get Shen Jiu some help and gift him a happy ending. It's also really intriguing because reverse transmigration always is.

ScumCum

Summary:

PIDW reader Shen Yuan is transported to the world of the novel he loves to hate in order to meet his favorite protagonist. Rescuing the scum villain was definitely not on the agenda.

This one is soooo... I never thought the author would update it again but here we are. It's angst heavy with great potential because Shen Jiu is forced in a situation where his issues have to be resolved.

No pairing

Summary:

All he had in the nothingness was his memories, and his regret. And it seems nothing can absolve him of these regrets, not even Meng Po's soup. So instead he gets a chance. A chance to absolve them himself. Only when he becomes whole will he be ready to move on. Rated M just to be safe in case it gets darker later. Work's title changed cause I thought it was more apt. But then I kept the first title anyway.

Great concept, unfortunately it hasn't beem updated since i bookmarked it which is a real shame, I like the way the fic was developing towards.

LiuJiu

Summary:

Shen Jiu opens his eyes marking the beginning of his third life. He didn't want to live a third time. After both his first and second lives gave him no hint of comfort, he just wanted to rest in death. But now he's back again in a child's body, curled up in a narrow alleyway of a bustling city, clothed in rags and full of bruises. Shen Jiu didn't want a third life but he'd be damned if he lets this chance go to waste. So he grits his teeth and gets up.

Short but it hits the spot well. Truth pollen is ALWAYS fun with Shen Jiu.

LiuJiu

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu (unwillingly) goes on a mission with Liu Qingge. Of course, this results in disaster, and now they're trapped in a cave with a bunch floating particles that may or may not kill them. Or, Liu Qingge messes things up, Shen Qingqiu pays the price, and they both deal with the consequences.

In case you hate happiness, this one might be for you. I think I cried to it actually. It is NOT a cozy read. It hurts like a bitch. He0s haunted by ghosts of people he had killed.

LiuJiu

Summary:

"You should have let Haitang die with me."   Shen Jiu is haunted by the ones who hurt him.

I honest to god don't remeber much about this fic but hey, it is a fix it and both Shen Jiu and Shang Qinghua get to be happy... After a load of angst of course.

Soulmate AU btw, it is a pretty interesting read.

ScumPlane

Summary:

Shang Qinghua knew all that. He knew about Xiao Jiu and Qi-ge, knew about the slavers, about the Qiu family and the abuse. And of course, the other thing. That Shen Qingqiu had no soulmate.

Can't believe I'm reccomending this but the fic really positively surprised me. Usually with a premise like this I avoid it like the plague because I am not fond of these type of AUs (or omegaverse AUs) and they're not usually written in a way i can stomach. But this fic is really good. Shen Jiu turned feral and they have to find a way to get him back to normal. Along the way they discovered some things he desperatelly wishes they hadn't but hey, all's well that ends well.

Bless Liu Qingge he's really great in this fic.

LiuJiu

Summary:

Liu Qingge is suspicious of Shen Qingqiu. Packs are created through ties of trust and respect, yet Shen Qingqiu is a liar, treacherous, and disloyal. He is a threat, an anomaly that one day will destroy the sect. If Yue Qingyuan, their leader, does nothing, Liu Qingge will be the one to defend his packmates from Shen Qingqiu. (or Kitty Qingge distrusts Catjiu until one day he loses control and they fight.)

One of my favourite fics. It's so good for it's purpose and I love how Shen Jiu is literally just trying to live his life yet Liu QIngge insists to get in the way of his plans (unknowingly and knowingly). And it inevitably loops back to Shen Jiu being at fault. As always.

It ends pretty sweet btw.

LiuJiu

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu's reputation preceded him... and he gets quite exceeded about it. The women of the brothel offer him a way to fulfil his need for anonymity that he takes in stride, even when his lies get entangled with the monkey-brained Liu Qingge. Until his heart yearns for which it cannot have.

It's been a while since I read this one but basically, he wakes up in his third life, chooses a diffrent route and cultivates on his own until he eventually gets back into contact with the Caing Qiong mountain sect. He kicks some ass and actually gets friends.

Multiple pairings

Summary:

The age-old question debated in movies and novels throughout humanity is of whether or not someone can change. Shen Jiu hates that question, because of course people can change- that's what growing up is and no one questions it when children's interests differ the older they get. The real question is this: What happened to make that person's subconscious think the change was necessary?

WILL UPDATE THIS LATER

Hey.... I've MANUALY sorted like 3k of fics for original shen jiu (yes I'm desperate okay) on ao3 and read through the ones I liked the premise of so... I'd like to ask any people active on tumblr if they'd drop their own favourites where shen jiu's past is in one way or another exposed to others (preferably to his martial brothers/sisters but other people can be exposed to it too). I just love reading reactions of people who thought the way they treated shen jiu is completely fair and just, people who even dared to paint themselves as some kind of heroes for 'keeping him in line' or 'putting a stop to his shameful behaviors' to see that the world isn't black and white and that shen jiu isn't either, taht he is, in the end, only human, someone who had made mistakes, who had suffered, who had tried his best so many times but it was for naught, a person who is capable of smiling it just seems the world doesn't want him to.

I'm just loosing my marbles slowly, this obsession of mine with this man is making me insane. I wanna reread best fics I've read without having to go look through 3k of fanfics again on the off chance my filtering had failed me and excluded some fics.

[eggfriedricedwasian]

I just finished reading

and Im just imagining that in the time between Tim and Damian being closer and Bruce coming back, the public has just started calling Damian the "Drake's boy". As in he's Damian Drake rather than Damian Wayne.

Dick's too busy with cases and what not to even look at the media, Alfred is much the same, and Bruce comes back too focused on catching up on case work to even bother with media.

So when Bruce makes a public appearance after being pronounced dead for a year, the media still continues to call Damian Tim's kid. Because Tim still picks Damian up from school, he still goes to Tim's apartment or office after school, or Tim picks him up early. Tim is also still registered as Damian's first contact.

At a gala, the Waynes are shocked, well, minus Damian and Tim. Damian's gotten his last name switched to Drake at school to further his protection in it.

Random Socialite: Mr. Wayne, it's good to see you back.

Bruce: It's good to be back, yes.

Same socialite: Do you plan to take back custody of Damian soon?

Bruce: What? I already have custody.

Socialite: No, everyone knows he's a Drake. He's Tim Drake's kid.

Bruce is too shocked to speak further, so he goes and asks Dick about it, to which he gets an equally as shocked reaction at the news.

They go ask Tim and Damian, they don't get the response they wanted. Then again, what response did they want?

Bruce: Tim, did you adopt Damian?

Tim: What? No?

Dick: Then why are people calling him your kid? Damian Drake?

Damian: Something happened at school that threatened the family name, mostly me physically, so to protect myself I changed my last name to Drake. Everyone there seems to fear Timothy and his surname so I have changed mine to that that way no one will mess with me or talk bad about us.

Tim: Damian, why didn't you talk to me first? We could've worked this out before you changed your name.

Damian: It doesn't quite matter if I changed it or not, the media already seems to think I am your kid.

At that, they check online and do find that, yes, headlines of Tim potentially adopting Damian and Damian Drake being spotted entering Wayne Enterprises during school hours is shown.

Bruce and Dick don't know how to feel about this, Tim doesn't know whether to laugh at their expressions or gain permanent custody of Damian just because.

[mr2swap]

Late Christmas gift

I looked at the kitchen clock again, “6:36PM” It had only been 2 minutes since I last looked, after that I looked at the phone just to confirm that the time was correct, Maybe Grandpa Greg's flight had missed. Delayed? We hadn't seen each other, I placed my grandfather's glasses over my eyes, which I had easily gotten used to always having at my side.

I hated these stupid glasses, Grandpa's eyes work as much as his tiny, wrinkled cock, it's been over a year since me and Grandpa swapped bodies, I'd forgotten to buy a damn gift for Grandpa Greg, I didn't even know he liked me. To old people before I became one... I should have given him a foot massager. This huge belly makes my feet so tired that I prefer not to move from the couch for hours.

Anyway, I didn't have a gift, so I just wrote on a piece of paper “Valid for any gift.” How the hell was I supposed to know that what I wanted for Christmas was to be young again?”

The day after Christmas we simply woke up in each other's bodies and the worst thing of all is that we can't say anything about this ridiculous body swapping! Every time I try to tell my parents or one of my friends that I'm trapped in my grandfather Greg's obese, disgusting decrepit body, those thoughts just disappear from my mind and I start talking like I'm a 60-year-old old man. The last time I tried to tell my ex-girlfriend Stephanie, I “woke up” at the racetrack showing off my enormous stomach with a pipe in my lips and several empty beer cans around me.

But all this would end soon... or at least it was supposed to. We had tried everything to swap again, we even watched a long marathon of body swap movies to try various methods, but nothing worked... the only solution was to try to recreate what caused this problem in the first place, I just had to give him the same gift, and he would write “my body back” or something like that.

My family was preparing for dinner when suddenly a sound that came from my cell phone made me put the beer I was drinking on my huge belly.

“I'm sorry kid, but I didn't know how to tell you in person, I decided to leave things as they are for a while, I still have things to do with your body, but don't worry I'll be back for the new year... maybe, I just met a guy incredible on the beach and I wouldn't want to ruin it”

Hey guys! happy holidays!

This is a little story I wrote last year for my Ko-Fi page, thank you all so much for another wonderful year, if you like bodyswap and stories you can support me on my Ko-fi page to access my archive of over 250 bodyswap stories, from my old patreon and discord…

oh! And join my discord server, if you like RP or if you have any ideas that you would like me to write in a future story, I'm taking suggestions for ideas and images.

[virgoilluminati]

Mistletoe

A christmas spinoff of world class

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone :) apologies i have been extremely busy with Uni, Work and life in general. I'm not sure whether I'll be back anytime soon but i found this christmas fic in the archive. Lots of love, V.

The gentle snowfall paints a serene backdrop as you and Jude, arms laden with bags from the car, approach Eden's door. The world around you seems to hush in anticipation of Christmas Eve.

Before setting the bags down on the doorstep, Jude's eyes gleam with a mischievous twinkle. "Look up," he softly suggests to you.

Your eyes follow his gaze, and there, just above the door, hangs a sprig of mistletoe. A playful smile tugs at Jude's lips as he subtly nods toward the festive decoration. You can't help but chuckle at the delightful surprise.

Without a word, Jude leans down, capturing your lips in a sweet, impromptu kiss beneath the mistletoe. The soft glow from the porch light seems to intensify for that fleeting moment, creating a picturesque scene of a winter's embrace.

As you pull back, the magic of the kiss lingers in the air. Jude's eyes search yours, a silent question of, "Everything okay?"

Your eyes sparkle with gratitude. "More than okay," you reply, your gaze lingering on Jude's. You plant a light kiss on his cheek, savoring the warmth of the moment. "I'm just glad to be here with everyone."

Jude, ever considerate, brings up the events of the past year, "We don't have to go in if it's too much, especially with what happened to Noah."

You shake your head, determination in your eyes. "No, I really want to be with them, especially on Christmas Eve. It's been too long, and I miss them. My time with Arsenal and the England national team keeps me busy, and these moments are precious. Let's make the most of it."

Jude smiles, understanding the significance of this gathering for you. Hand in hand, you approach the door, the soft glow of lights framing your silhouette against the winter night. The festive decorations and the promise of family embrace you as you step inside, ready to immerse yourselves in the warmth of the season and the magic of Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve unfolds with its customary enchantment, cocooning your heart in a warm embrace. The festive air, once a pure source of joy, now bears the weight of change after Noah’s car accident. The absence of his laughter hangs in the air, casting a somber hue over the annual celebration. Nevertheless, you, the youngest sibling, alongside your brothers Rowan and Marley, and your sister Eden, persist in navigating the delicate balance between celebration and remembrance.

Entering your childhood home with your boyfriend Jude, arms laden with Christmas presents, Eden greets you warmly. Nostalgia clings to the air, accentuating the significance of this Christmas—the first without Noah. The silent echoes of his presence linger, a testament to the changes the year has brought.

Yet, the family, determined to infuse the day with warmth and joy, rallies together. Isabella’s playful voice cuts through the melancholy, her innocent excitement breaking the somber tones. “Uncle Jude, did you get me a present?” she asks, her playful mispronunciation of Jude’s name eliciting smiles from everyone.

“Of course, I did, Bella. Want to know what it is?” Jude teases, reaching for the gift, only to be halted by your amused shake of the head. “It’s not Christmas day yet,” you remind him.

The family’s interactions unfold—a delicate dance between past and present. In the kitchen, you find Rowan and Marley engaged in an arm wrestle, prompting you to playfully scold them for their antics. “You’re both grown adults, with careers and real lives,” you quip.

“Nice to see you too, lil sis,” Marley responds, pulling you into a massive hug, soon followed by Rowan.

“You brought red wine! Ugh, you’re a lifesaver,” you exclaim, hearing your mother’s voice in the background. A sarcastic greeting follows, and soon you find yourself in your mother’s embrace, the matriarch overseeing the kitchen chaos.

“Where’s that hot boyfriend of yours?” Rowan asks, turning to spot a disgruntled Jude, already entangled in a hug with both brothers.

The family has known Jude since he was 10, his little crush on you not escaping the watchful eyes of your brothers. Yet, they embrace him as part of the family, the love evident in every interaction.

As the evening progresses, you delve into conversations about everyone’s lives—Rowan’s photography gig, Marley’s eco-friendly designs, your mother’s tales of baby Casper, and even your father's witty remarks that echo in your memory.

Amidst the banter, someone playfully calls out, “Oy, Grandma—what about you? Just got back from England camp—the stories you must have.”

You laugh, realizing you had neglected to share your own adventures. “England camp was a whirlwind. Met incredible people, learned a few tricks, and survived the English weather. But that’s a story for another time,” you tease, the room erupting in laughter.

Amidst the festivities, Eden offers you a drink of mulled wine. Together, you observe Jude harmoniously playing with Isabella. A sense of warmth and family unity fills the room.

As you watch, Eden turns to you with a twinkle in her eye. “He’s a natural, isn’t he? Do you ever think about having kids?”

The question catches you off guard, making you choke on your sip. You hadn’t expected to contemplate such matters for another good decade. The unexpected inquiry hangs in the air, leaving you momentarily lost in thoughts of a future you hadn’t actively considered.

As the question lingers in the air, you clear your throat, trying to compose yourself. Glancing at Jude, who is engrossed in playful banter with Isabella, blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place.

Eden, sensing your surprise, offers a comforting smile. "Sorry if that caught you off guard. You know, you'll have to have them at some point."

You nod, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. "Yeah, I know. But with my job right now... it's a bit complicated."

Esme, the elder sister, chimes in with a subtle dig, "Well, you might have to drop that job eventually if you want to start a family."

The remark hangs in the air, and the atmosphere grows slightly uncomfortable. You feel a pang in your chest; your career as a footballer, which you love deeply, reminds them all of Noah's absence.

Trying to diffuse the tension, you manage a faint smile. "Let's not delve into that right now. We're here to celebrate Christmas, right?"

The conversation shifts, and you find yourself engrossed in discussions about holiday plans, memories, and the delightful chaos of family dynamics. As the evening progresses, the initial discomfort gradually fades, replaced by the warmth of shared laughter and the comfort of familial bonds.

Jude, sensing a shift in the conversation, joins you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "What's going on over here?" he teases.

Eden grins, casting a mischievous glance at you. "Just pondering the mysteries of the future. You and Isabella seem to have a natural connection."

Jude looks down at Isabella, who is now showing him a drawing she made. "Well, she's an amazing artist, and I'm just an appreciative audience."

Laughter echoes through the room as the family continues to celebrate Christmas Eve. The subtle undercurrent of the unexpected question about the future lingers, but in the embrace of the present moment, surrounded by loved ones, you feel a sense of gratitude and warmth that transcends any uncertainties about what lay ahead.

Later, as Jude notices your thoughtful expression, he comes over and asks, "Is everything okay?"

You smile, appreciating his concern, and kiss him gently. The warmth of the kiss drowns out the lingering discomfort from the conversation, and you choose to focus on the joyous moments of togetherness, leaving your elder sister's criticisms behind. "Everything is perfect."

As the warmth of the Christmas dinner lingers in the air, you decide it's time to unveil the carefully chosen presents. Casper coos with delight as he gazes at the adorable baby books, a perfect addition to his growing collection. Your family shares a collective "aww" as they admire the tiny football strip in the new set of baby clothes.

Finally, the anticipation builds as Jude hands you a small, beautifully wrapped box. Isabella watches with wide-eyed curiosity. With a smile, you unwrap it to reveal a stunning red dress.

"Oh, Isabella, look at this beautiful dress! You're going to shine in this," you say, holding it up for her to see. Isabella's face lights up with joy, and she claps her hands in excitement. Jude smiles, appreciating the infectious happiness radiating from Isabella.

Amidst the festive spirit, you bring out the last present—a meticulously crafted photo book. As you flip through the pages together, memories come to life. Laughter echoes as you recall shared adventures.

Isabella points to an old photo of a baby version of you, around 7 or 8 years old, wearing a massive Brighton jersey, standing proudly next to your brothers, Noah and Rowan, and your sister Eden. "Who's that?" she asks with curiosity.

Eden, your sister, smiles warmly. "That, little lady, is your uncle Noah." The room falls into a brief, reflective silence, a shared moment of remembrance.

Jude, who has met Noah, nods in understanding. "Ah, I remember that day. Noah was quite the character, always finding ways to make us laugh."

Rowan, your brother, chuckles, "Remember when he convinced us he could talk to squirrels? Had us all searching for a squirrel translator app."

Your dad joins in, "And the time he tried to teach Casper here how to make funny faces. Casper, show them the 'Noah face'!"

Casper, oblivious to the conversation, simply continues to coo and gurgle, bringing additional joy to the family gathering.

Amidst the stories and laughter, your mom adds, "Noah had a way of turning ordinary moments into extraordinary memories. We miss him dearly."

As the night unfolds, you find yourself reminiscing about more Noah stories. "Oh, and who could forget the time he challenged Dad to a pancake-flipping contest?" you share, prompting chuckles from the family. "Noah's pancakes ended up on the ceiling!"

Your dad laughs, "That was a sticky situation, but we had a good laugh about it. Noah always knew how to keep things entertaining."

The room fills with more laughter as each family member contributes to the tapestry of stories, creating a holiday celebration filled not only with the spirit of the season but also with the enduring joy that Noah's antics brought to your lives.

As the festivities wind down, and the house grows quiet, you and Jude find yourselves getting ready for bed. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow on the room.

Jude looks at you with a sincere expression, "You looked absolutely beautiful tonight."

You raise an eyebrow playfully, "What's the catch? Are you after the last piece of dessert?"

He chuckles, "No catch, just wanted to remind you how stunning you are."

You smile, "Well, thank you. It was a wonderful day."

Jude takes your hands gently, "You know, I was thinking about our family today."

You glance at him curiously, "Our family?"

"Yeah," he replies with a warmth in his eyes. "I couldn't help but imagine our own little ones running around, making memories like we did today."

You blink in surprise, "Little ones? Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

He grins, "Maybe. I just can't wait for the day when our home is filled with the laughter of our own children during the holidays."

You laugh, "Jude, are you proposing a Christmas baby plan?"

He nods, "Well, not necessarily tonight, but you know... in the future."

You playfully narrow your eyes, "Are you sure you're not just trying to sweet-talk me into doing the dishes?"

Jude laughs, "No, I promise. Just sharing some dreams for our future."

You pause, a tender smile forming, "That sounds wonderful, Jude. Our own little family someday."

As you both continue getting ready for bed, the conversation lingers in the air, filled with the warmth of shared dreams and the promise of a future together.

Wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the bedroom, you and Jude exchange affectionate glances. As you settle into bed, he pulls you closer, his arm draped over your shoulder.

Jude's voice is soft as he continues, "You know, seeing you with Isabella and the rest of your family today made me realize how much love and joy we can bring into our own family one day."

You nestle into his embrace, "It does sound incredible. I can imagine our kids playing in the snow, decorating the tree, and getting excited about Santa's visit."

He smiles, "Exactly. I can't wait to share those moments with you, creating our own traditions and memories."

The room is bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, and you find solace in the dreams you're sharing with Jude. "I never thought about it much before, but imagining a future like that with you feels right," you admit.

Jude leans in, placing a tender kiss on your forehead, "You make everything feel right, Y/N. I'm grateful for the life we're building together."

As you both drift into the warmth of sleep, visions of a future filled with love, laughter, and a family of your own linger in the air, making this Christmas night even more special.

As the morning sunlight gently kissed the snow-covered landscape, Isabella’s excitement for another day of winter adventures was palpable. She tugged at your sleeve, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, “Can we go sledding, Aunt Y/N?”

You couldn’t resist her infectious enthusiasm, and soon the three of you were bundled up, sleds in hand, ready for a day of snowy escapades.

The nearby hill transformed into a playground of laughter and joy as you took turns racing down, leaving trails of excitement in the snow. Isabella’s giggles echoed through the frosty air, creating a soundtrack for the winter day.

After the exhilarating sledding session, Isabella’s attention turned to building a snow fort. With her imagination in full swing, the three of you crafted a winter fortress adorned with snowball ammunition. The snowball fights that ensued became legendary in Isabella’s book of cherished memories.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over the snowy landscape, you suggested making snow angels. Isabella enthusiastically joined in, her tiny figure leaving a trail of celestial imprints in the fresh snow.

Back indoors, the aroma of hot cocoa filled the air as you prepared a cozy treat for Isabella. The living room transformed into a winter haven, adorned with twinkling lights and the glow of the fireplace.

Isabella, wrapped in a blanket, sipped her cocoa with a satisfied smile. “This is the best winter day ever, Aunt Y/N!”

Jude chimed in, “Couldn’t agree more. We’ve made some unforgettable memories.”

As night fell, Isabella’s energy waned, and you gathered around to read a winter-themed bedtime story. Tucked in with dreams of snowflakes and adventures, Isabella drifted into a peaceful sleep.

With Isabella settled for the night, you and Jude found a quiet moment to reflect on the day’s escapades. Jude smiled, “She really had a blast today.”

You nodded, “It was heartwarming to see the joy in her eyes. These are the moments that make holidays truly special.”

As the night embraced your home with a tranquil hush, you and Jude took a moment to savor the warmth of shared love and the magic created by a day of winter wonder with Isabella. The promise of more adventures together lingered in the air, turning this snowy weekend into a chapter of joy etched in your hearts.

Jude and Y/N stepped through the threshold into the warm embrace of Jude's childhood home, a symphony of festive scents greeting them as they shed the winter chill. The living room emanated a comforting glow, adorned with the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, where Jobe's infectious laughter signaled the heartwarming chaos within.

"Hey, you made it! Ready for a Christmas to remember?" Jobe exclaimed, enveloping them in a bear hug.

After warm embraces and festive stockings were distributed, the family settled into the living room. The sound of crinkling wrapping paper mixed with shared stories, creating a symphony of joy.

"Remember the time Jobe and I tried to build a snow fort in the backyard, but it ended up collapsing on us?" Jude whispered to Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Y/N chuckled, "Sounds like a hilarious memory. Your family is so close-knit."

"You have no idea," Jude replied, his smile reflecting the deep love he had for his family.

Amidst the revelry, Y/N found herself in the bustling kitchen, donning an apron alongside Jude's mom. Together, they exchanged family recipes and laughter, weaving a new bond.

"You never told me about the legendary gingerbread cookie recipe!" Y/N said with a playful grin.

Jude's mom laughed, "It's a family secret, but you're part of the family now. Let's make them unforgettable!"

The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of gingerbread cookies baking in the oven. Meanwhile, in the living room, Jude and Jobe continued their good-natured rivalry, setting up a Christmas-themed board game.

"You're going down, bro!" Jobe declared, playfully nudging Jude.

"Bring it on," Jude retorted, their competitive banter filling the room with laughter.

The evening deepened, and the family congregated around the piano, where Jude's mom skillfully played a melody of holiday classics.

"Dance with me?" Jude extended his hand to Y/N, a twinkle in his eyes.

With a smile, Y/N accepted, and they waltzed to the festive tunes. Whispers of childhood memories and shared dreams filled the air as Jude confessed, "I'm grateful for you, for this, for us."

Y/N smiled, "Me too. This is a Christmas I'll always remember."

The night unfolded with a Christmas movie marathon, the family cozily bundled together on the couch.

"This movie always makes me cry," Y/N admitted, wiping away a tear during a poignant scene.

Jude chuckled, "It's okay, it gets me every time too."

The porch beckoned with its snowy charm, and Jude and Y/N stole a quiet moment beneath the stars.

"The snow makes everything look magical," Y/N observed.

"Especially with you," Jude replied, pulling her closer.

Returning inside, Y/N noticed a beautifully wrapped gift under the tree with her name on it.

"For you," Jude said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

As she unwrapped it, she discovered a delicate necklace, a family heirloom. Jude, his eyes reflecting warmth, murmured, "I wanted you to have something special from us."

Touched by the gesture, Y/N thanked him with a lingering kiss. The night continued with spontaneous dance-offs initiated by Jobe, impromptu sing-alongs around the piano, and shared laughter that echoed through the halls.

As the clock neared midnight, the family gathered for heartfelt wishes for the coming year.

"Here's to many more holidays together," Jude whispered, his gaze locked with Y/N's.

The night concluded with a group photo, capturing the essence of the day.

Jude and Y/N left his parents' home hand in hand, hearts brimming with love, memories, and the promise of a shared future. The magical Christmas day spent with family and each other became a chapter in the story they were writing together, a tale of joy, connection, and the enduring magic of the holiday season.

The drive back to your place was filled with the quiet hum of the car engine and the warmth of shared glances. The gentle snowfall continued, a serene companion to the memories made during this extraordinary Christmas day.

As you entered your home, the enchantment of the day lingered. Jude turned to you with a soft smile, "Today was something special, wasn't it?"

You nodded, "Absolutely. I never expected to feel so connected, not just with your family, but with the idea of our own future."

Jude wrapped his arms around you, "I'm glad. It's moments like these that make everything worthwhile."

The twinkling lights of your own Christmas tree welcomed you, casting a cozy glow in the living room. As you settled in, thoughts of the day's laughter, love, and shared dreams filled your mind.

With a content sigh, you turned to Jude, "You know, I can't wait for the day when our own home is filled with the magic of Christmas, just like today."

Jude's eyes sparkled with anticipation, "Me neither. Our own traditions, our own memories—it's going to be amazing."

As the two of you curled up on the couch, wrapped in the warmth of the season and each other, the quiet magic of Christmas night continued to weave its spell, promising a future filled with love, joy, and countless more cherished moments.

[brambletakato]

Originally nobody was talking about it, but Rucy posted a detailed list regarding the guidelines themselves. If you want full detail as to what exactly they want, you can go here.

LEVEL 5 has posted guidelines regarding how the content of the Professor Layton games should be shared. Although in Japanese, here is a link to their official Twitter post from their Layton branch. (Here is a link to the post itself in case the twitter one is taken down.)

What does this mean?

It means that everything Level 5 related is at risk of being purged. This includes (but is not limited to) cutscenes and (some) gameplay. Yes, although it is only for the Layton series right now, they could push this for other IPs as well.

Originally, I thought to not worry as the guidelines were written in Japanese, therefore via common sense it'd be stupid if they went after English speaking content.

However, things can always change in the future, and after seeing Level 5 taking down an English speaking video featuring Level 5 gameplay just recently, it's enough to raise an eyebrow.

Okay, what can I do with this?

Preferably, archive whatever you feel needs archiving. We don't know a lot of details nor can foretell what the company may do, especially with media in other languages / outside of Japan, but it's best to be safe rather than sorry.

And when making content related to Level 5 on platforms such as YouTube, Tiktok, Instagram, etc, be wary and always have a backup. It's hard to say to also adhere to the guidelines as it's not officially translated, but if that were to happen, you should do that as well.

[itsminjify]

(🪽)⋆ ࣪ 午 : RICH BOY ENHYPEN CHASING YOU ────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝑖𝐒 ✶ rich boy!enhypen x fem!readerㅤ｡｡ fluff suggestive. & 14OOwc. : kissing, skinship, petnames ── ARCHiVE

( minji says ) : my first sfw fic ㅠㅠ, some of these are based on real-life scenarios !! i had a rich boy pinning after me before back in my 1st year at uni... it was not as cute as this though

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

he leans against his car, arms crossed, that stupid smirk playing on his lips. the soft glow of the streetlights dances across his face, making him look unfairly good. rich boy charm and all, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

"you’re late," you say, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice wavers.

heeseung chuckles, low and smooth. "relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?"

"don’t call me that," you snap, but the way his eyes flicker down to your lips tells you he won’t stop.

he pushes off the car, closing the distance between you. his cologne wraps around you, far too familiar. "why not? you like it," he murmurs, voice dipping lower.

you glare up at him, though it’s weak at best. "you’re insufferable."

he grins, "and you’re beautiful when you’re mad. what a pair we make."

before you can respond, his fingers brush against your wrist, tugging you closer. "admit it," he whispers, his voice soft but daring. "you missed me."

"heeseung, i swear—"

"swear all you want, baby," he cuts you off, his lips hovering near your ear now. "but you’re here. and you look way too good to be mad at me for long."

damn him. and damn the butterflies in your stomach.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

“you’re hiding from me again.” jay’s voice cut through the noise as he found you tucked into a quiet corner of his sprawling house. the party was in full swing, the bass rattling the walls, red cups littering every surface like decorations.

“i’m not hiding,” you muttered, taking a slow sip from your drink.

he raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, a red cup dangling lazily from his fingers. his tie was long gone, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. goddamn why was he so attractive?

“baby, you disappear every time my parties get a little wild.” he smirked, stepping closer, the faint smell of cologne and alcohol trailing him. “what, too many people for you?”

“too many people for you,” you shot back, glaring at him over the rim of your cup. “you’ve been all over the place.”

he laughed, tipping his head back slightly, his golden hair catching the light. “jealous, sweetheart?”

“hardly.”

but he didn’t buy it. he crouched down to your level, his free hand finding your knee. “you know, it’s hard to have fun when the only person i want to drink with keeps running off.”

you rolled your eyes, trying not to shiver at his touch. “then maybe you should stop throwing these ridiculous parties.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he grinned, pulling you to your feet with a firm but playful tug. “come on. let me make it up to you. we’ll drink together—just us. deal?”

and somehow, with him looking at you like that, you couldn’t say no.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

"you’re such a pain, jake," you groaned, standing on the curb while he leaned against his stupidly shiny aston martin like he owned the world. which, to be fair, he kind of did.

"but i’m your pain," he shot back, twirling the keys around his finger like some kind of movie villain. “now, get in. i’m bored.”

"it’s midnight," you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “normal people are asleep.”

he grinned, full of trouble. "good thing neither of us is normal. come on, sweetheart. just one ride. you, me, and 600 horsepower."

you raised an eyebrow. "and what happens when we crash because you’re too busy flirting to look at the road?"

"oh, you wound me." he pressed a hand to his chest like you’d insulted his honor. “i’m an excellent driver. but if you’re scared, i could always hold your hand.”

"you’re so annoying," you muttered, but your feet were already moving.

"that’s my girl," he said, throwing open the passenger door with a flourish.

"i’m not your girl," you shot back, sliding into the seat anyway. the leather was ridiculously soft—of course it was.

he climbed in, tossing you a wink as he revved the engine, the car practically purring. “keep telling yourself that, doll.”

and then he took off, speeding through empty streets like he was allergic to rules, laughing every time you yelled at him to slow down. but when he reached over, casually lacing his fingers with yours on the console, you didn’t pull away.

"admit it," he said, grinning like the devil. "you’re having fun."

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. "shut up and drive, jake."

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

you shouldn’t even be here. sunghoon texted you two hours ago: “you free?” and now you’re in a chanel store watching him do what he does best—flaunt his ridiculous wealth.

“these?” he holds up a pair of earrings you barely glanced at five minutes ago.

“yeah, they’re pretty,” you reply, trying to stay unbothered.

fifteen minutes later, he’s signing off on half the store. you cross your arms, glaring as he grins, a devilish glint in his eye.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss. “i didn’t ask for all this!”

“you didn’t have to, sweetheart.” he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm like it’s casual, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“sunghoon,” you warn, but your voice falters when he tilts his head, studying you like he’s amused by your attempt at resistance.

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing. “one little compliment and i’m ready to buy out the whole store. what does that say about me, huh?”

“that you’re an idiot,” you quip, even though your cheeks are warming under his gaze.

he chuckles, stepping into your space. “an idiot who knows exactly how to make you melt.”

his fingers trail down your arm, his smirk deepening when you don’t pull away. “relax, baby. it’s just a little fun.”

“you’re trouble,” you mutter.

“and yet,” he says, leaning in close, “you keep coming back.”

the worst part? he’s not wrong.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

you’re scrolling through your phone when it pings—a text from sunoo.

sunoo: speeding to your house rn. 30 seconds, pretty girl.

you blink at the screen, heart skipping a beat. you barely have time to process before the doorbell rings.

opening the door, you’re met with sunoo’s ridiculously perfect smirk. his car, some expensive foreign model, is parked crookedly in your driveway, headlights still on. he’s dressed in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, and jeans that fit too well.

“didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say, trying to sound unimpressed, but the way his eyes flicker over you, taking in your oversized hoodie and bare legs, makes your face heat up.

“what can i say? i missed you,” he drawls, leaning casually against the doorframe. “besides, you look way too cute to be sitting home alone. couldn’t let that happen, could i, pretty girl?”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach flips at the pet name. “you’re insane. what if i wasn’t home?”

he grins, stepping closer, his cologne clouding your senses. “then i’d wait. or maybe climb through your window. dramatic enough for you?”

“absolutely not.”

his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up. “oh, come on. you love it when i’m dramatic. admit it.”

“sunoo—”

“shut up and say you love me,” he interrupts.

you hate how he leaves you breathless every time.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

jungwon leans against the sleek black car parked outside your favorite boutique, arms crossed, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. the sunlight hits his tailored shirt just right, giving him that effortless rich boy glow. you hate how good he looks.

“this one?” you hold up a dress, simple but elegant, and he tilts his head like he’s considering it.

“try it on,” he says, voice low, but there’s a glint in his eyes that screams he’s already imagining you in it. “actually, try all of them on. i’ll decide which one i like best.”

“jungwon,” you sigh, giving him a pointed look. “i don’t need you to buy me anything.”

he steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his cologne wraps around you like a second skin. “but i want to,” he murmurs, his lips quirking up. “you’re not gonna deprive me of seeing you look drop-dead gorgeous, are you, baby?”

your cheeks heat at the pet name, and you swat his chest lightly. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you love it,” he quips, grabbing your wrist gently before you can pull away. his fingers brush against yours, lingering just enough to send a shiver up your spine. “besides, you deserve nice things. let me spoil you.”

he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper near your ear. “just admit you like having me wrapped around your finger.”

“who said that?” you shoot back, but your smile betrays you.

“me,” he replies smoothly, grinning as he takes the dress from your hand. “now go try this on, sweetheart. i want to see my girl look perfect.”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

your birthday party is too crowded, the kind of rich-kid chaos you can’t fully escape. you’re by the dessert table when you feel him before you see him—riki’s cologne, his stupidly expensive leather jacket brushing your arm.

“happy birthday, sunshine.” his voice is all smooth confidence, and when you glance over, he’s already smirking at you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, pretending not to notice the way his hair looks unfairly good, messy like he rolled out of bed but somehow perfect.

“celebrating, obviously.” he pops a chocolate into his mouth like he owns the place. “where’s my birthday kiss?”

you scoff. “it’s my birthday.”

“exactly.” he steps closer, his voice dropping. “so i’m giving you one.”

“absolutely not.” you narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way his hand casually settles on your hip, thumb brushing circles over the fabric of your dress. “who even invited you?”

“your mom loves me, didn’t you know?” he grins, all teeth and trouble. “she said, ‘riki, please crash her party and make her blush.’ her exact words, promise.”

“you’re so full of it.” you shake your head, but your pulse quickens when he leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“admit it,” he murmurs, “you’d miss me if i wasn’t here.”

you hate that he’s right. but before you can retort, he tilts your chin up, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “happy birthday, sunshine,” he whispers, and just like that, he’s walking away, leaving you standing there, flustered and furious.

[vorgoths]

happy holidays, everyone! it's that time of the year again when i express my love and appreciation for my mutuals. all of you are truly the best part of being on tumblr every time i log on. to say that i have mutuals to begin with still amazes me even after being on this site for 14 years. i'm very thankful for the new mutuals that i met this year as well as everyone tagging me in their wonderful gifset posts and tagging game posts. even if we haven't talked to each other yet, please know i enjoy seeing you on my dash!

if there's anything i can do for you or if you just want to chat, feel free to message me anytime. i'll also be tagging my wonderful mutuals down below, so please consider following them since they're absolutely the best. i apologize if i miss any of my mutuals in the tagging list. i'm wishing all the best for my mutuals in the new year 🖤✨

( click here for the full mutuals tagged post )

part 1

@a-deep-ocean-of-secrets, @ace-astarion, @ad-astrah, @aemondtragaryen, @alistairstheirins, @andyridgeley, @annacoleman, @belgianfry, @benoitblanc, @bladesrunner, @bo-kryzze, @bohemian-rhapsodys, @brooksdavis, @bruceewayne, @buckleys-diaz, @calkestis, @camila-morrones, @canhauntyou, @cheddarholt, @chris-chambers, @clairabow, @commanderdameron, @crudupb, @cruelcomfort-archive, @cuteskywalker, @daenerys-targaryen, @dearemma, @deepshadows, @dindjarism, @djo, @dramatical, @dreamersmagician, @esterexpositio, @eva-greens, @evanzbuck, @finnickodaiir, @ginasporter, @girldadbuckley, @gr-ogu, @guinevereslancelot, @gwenpooll, @harwin-breakbones-strong, @henley-reeves, @huntbastian, @ianmckellen, @iantcjcnes

part 2

jesicajones, jinxviolets, jmchastains, jojen, jynerso, kalemakar, katseyes, kazsbrekker, keyfili, krystalgoderitch, ladykatesharma, ladyverdance, laylaeelfaouly, linusbenjamin, lizzy-bennet, lucaanis, lucybaird, marcuspierce, masiepeters, mcgregor, meganqwynn, milfmas, miwtual, mssmartbarbie, nowadayz, nurcechapel, olyphant-tim, opposite-temp, oswinian, padme-amidala, perryabbott, peytons-sawyer, quinnigallagherjones, robinniko, rhaenyra-the-gracious, rhaeneryas, rhaenyratargayen, romangodfreys, seethegreatescape, severidekelly, sci-fi, scifimo, sleeptokens, spacenerdevans, spdermen, strwrs, stybello

part 3

talesofesther, teamred, tedllasso, the-yennefer, tomcriuse, toxicroak, userdruig, useremo, userhalsey, userloki, visenyatargaryen, waddinghamhannah, waxladrian, wolvesnwerewolves, viggo-mortensen, volkarine, y-ennefers

[cupidtragedy]

⋆⑅‧⋆ sour switchblade

warnings: dead dove do not eat! mean!rafe, face slapping, pussy slapping, knife / blood kink, refers to ur kitty as his

archived from @flwttr 💗

“the front door of your shared home with rafe slammed shut so hard it shook the front room. rafe was shaking with anger. his ears were red, his lips curved into a snarl, and his teeth ground together. you twirled your hair anxiously, praying that soon he would break the painful silence between the two of you..”

you knew you fucked up big time. if only you weren't so naïve. and if only you hadn't worn that sultry pink dress. you thought it was cute, you had bought it just for him. but rafe hated it. it's not because of the colour or the length, it was a beautiful dress, but it drew so much attention to you. even topper couldn't help but eye you down in the kitchen before his girlfriend slapped his shoulder.

rafe knew what that man wanted from you the second he started the conversation. he lurked and watched, thinking you would get the hint of what he wanted. but you didn't. you sat on the barstool at the homemade mojito bar, giggling at what he was saying. that was what set him off. the mans eyes were on your chest almost the entire conversation, making him inch closer to you. rafes hands balled into fists until his knuckles were white.

he stormed over to you, grabbed your wrist and pulled you away. "uh-babe? what are you doing let go !" you squealed while squirming around, trying to escape his tight grasp. "let's go. now." he said through gritted teeth, his grip around your wrist tightening. "but i was just talki-" he yanked you through barry’s front door.

"thanks for having us barry, sorry we gotta leave early. i'll see you monday." rafe called out before slamming the door behind him, not bothering to wait for a response from him. his grip on your wrist stayed tight as ever, his hand seemingly never going limp or getting tired.

the car ride home was nauseatingly quiet. the unnatural silence made it seem like a four hour drive when in reality it was less than 15 minutes. his large and veiny hands gripped the steering wheel so hard there was a imprint of where they once were. you threw him little glances every couple minutes, desperately trying to get his attention.

the car eventually made a sharp left turn and came to an abrupt stop. he swiftly unbuckled his seatbelt and slammed his car door shut, walking over to open yours. though rage was mad at you, downright ballistic, he was still a gentleman.

he threw his coat on the bench and untied his shoes. "bedroom. no clothes, edge of bed. you have five minutes." he said in a cold monotone voice, facing towards the mirror on the wall as he ran a hand through his hair. "if you even think of pulling some shit you’ll fuckin’ regret it." he added.

you scrambled upstairs, stripping your clothes off as you ran through the hallway and into the bedroom. while waiting you applied your cherry flavored lipgloss, his favorite, and braided your hair into his favorite style, praying that it would take points off your punishment.

after what felt like an eternity, rafe finally walked in, shutting the door behind him and locking it. he scoffed when he saw your appearance. any other time he would've praised you and told you how sweet you were for getting all dolled up for him. but not this time.

"you've been a bad girl tonight." rafe murmured as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"i know sir,, but m' really sorry!! i wasn't tryi-" your whining was cut off by a harsh slap across your left cheek.

"did i say you could talk, pet?" he spat. his cerulean eyes were darker than ever before, his pupils dilated in a sense of sexual hunger. you shook your head, looking down at your bare thighs. he harshly grabbed your jaw to make you look at him.

"lay down on the bed on your back. i'll be back in a minute." he said with a dark tone. you were scared. but you knew if you resisted it would just make it worse.

"yes sir.." you said in a soft, shaky voice. rafe walked unlocked the door and walked out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. did i go to far? you thought to yourself. is he gonna hurt me? what if he goes too far? you laid down on the bed, propping yourself up with your shoulders to see what's going on.

rafe came back with something black and shiny that you could quite make out. once he got closer you saw what it was; a switchblade. you whimpered and squirmed. a mix of fear and arousal boiled inside of you, terrified of what he could do to you, but eager for it to happen.

he pulled you by your legs to the edge of the bed, forcing them open to reveal your soaked cunt. he chuckled and ran his long middle finger down your slit before slapping your dripping pussy. you squealed and closed your legs. you had been waiting for this all night, but would it be too much?

he forced your legs back opened and slapped your thigh harshly. "keep them open." he growled. you nodded quickly. "..yes sir" you whimpered. he opened the blade and caressed your inner thigh with the sharp tip. "what's your safe word, angel?" he asked softly. you melted, submitting completely. it was like he had a magic spell on you. he was such a sweetheart, even when he was angry with you. "yellow.." you mumbled while biting your fingernails anxiously.

he hummed in satisfaction. he opened your legs wider so he could press the blade up against your inner thigh, making you whimper in fear. "m' gonna mark you as mine, ‘kay? so if any other guy tries to play with my pussy they’ll see my name” he said with a condescending smirk on his face. you nodded slowly.

he pressed the sharp blade against your delicate skin, a small stream of blood gushing down your thigh. you whined again and squirmed, it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would but you were still scared. "stay still, don't want you losing too much blood." you tried your hardest to not squirm or flinch, but it was kind of hard not to when your boyfriends cutting his name into you.

when he was finally pleased with his handiwork, rafe licked every last drop of blood off of his blade and stuck it back into his pocket. as you began to scoot back, rafe grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“you didn’t think we were finished yet, did you doll?”

[chrisisvbun]

little intern. matt murdock x ftm!reader.

synopsis: you, a lawyer intern, found matt, your boss, in his office at night.

cw: boss/intern dynamic, dom!matt, sub!reader, piv, possessive matt, innocent reader, age gap (matt is 30, reader is nineteen), slight fingering, riding.

words: 1.3k

a ten nsfw chapter series masterlist.

You were about to open your mouth but Matt spoke first.

"I know it's you, handsome." He smiled, taking off his glasses on the chair of his office.

The warm light of the desk lamp allowed you to see his loose tie, his wrinkled shirt, and some scratches on his eyebrow and cheekbone. He sighed, evidently tired.

"You know you don't have to stay this late, sweet, you still have classes in the morning." He rubbed his temple.

"I-I don't mind staying, Mr. Murdock, and classes start pretty late for me." You said, squeezing your forms on your chest. "A-a friend of mine found some archives that might be useful for your case, I just finished checking them." You spoke as you put down the archives.

He smiled almost proudly, his eyes never really finding yours. Beautiful, dead eyes that shined from that innocent nature they kept due to the fact they never got to see how hurt their world was.

"Workin' so good for us. I like that." You noticed how that 'us' was a 'me' that he swallowed. "Come closer to me, sugar." He made a little sign that made you get closer like he was magnetic.

You stood in front of his chest, your hands fidgeting behind your back, swallowing nervously.

"How are your studies going?" He got rid of his tie, folding it on his desk.

"G-good..." You blushed.

Matt was your boss, someone older than you, almost —that almost is important— double your age, a good lawyer, someone smart, kind, strong and very, very hot.

You couldn't help it, you couldn't help but to stare at his body, a part of you taking advantage of his blindness to roam your eyes over his body again and again and again.

You shook your head when you noticed that your answer was to vague. "I've been studying a lot, my grades keep getting better, t-thanks to everything I've learnt with you... a-and Mr. Nelson."

He chuckled softly. "I'm glad about it, sweetheart." He smiled up to you —to where he could partially tell your face was—. "Come closer, I won't bite." He sat straighter in his chair.

You swallowed, nervously stepping closer to him, standing next to him as he turned his chair to you.

"L-like this?" You said blushed.

He shook his head and patted his thigh. The mother fucker patted his thigh.

"C'mon, don't keep your boss waiting." He smirked.

You shivered at his words, shyly sitting on his knees. His hands ran through his thighs, trying to fins your waist. Once he found it, he pulled you closer, you gasped at the sudden feeling of the hardness on his jeans.

"Mr. Murdock..." You shivered.

"Yes, handsome?" He ran his hands through your back.

"I-I'm not sure how okay this is." You said shyly, he chuckled.

His hands moved back to your hips, one of them moving under your shirt and caressing your tummy, making you squirm.

"Shh, don't worry about a thing. I want that pretty mind of yours to focus on studying and me." I have pressed a gentle kiss on your collarbone, making you bite the inside part of your cheek, whimpering. "Is this okay, love?"

You nodded quickly. "Yeah..." You pronounced as you swallowed hard.

Matt knew that wasn't a good thing to do, he was your boss and you were only nineteen, a shy little boy who found his boss very hot, and he was taking advantage of that, he knew it. But even being catholic, he never considered himself a good man.

His hands moved to your back, running them up and down over your skin beneath your shirt until the hem of your binder.

"Are you gonna let me feel that pretty body of yours?" He purred as he peppered kisses over your collarbone and throat.

"Y-yes. Yes, Mr. Murdock." You whined quietly.

Matt pulled away. "C'mon, take it off." He ordered.

You couldn't not obey, he was your boss.

You unbuttoned your white shirt, throwing it on the office floor.

He noticed when you stopped moving. "Everything."

He wasn't even thinking of your comfort, of how that would make you feel, and God, that turned you on even more.

You unzipped your binder, sighing when breasts stretched free.

Matt's mouth instantly went to your chest, his hands roamed your stomach and the small of your back while his mouth worshipped your breasts, taking your nipples into his mouth and sucking from them.

"You feel so good..." Matt almost moaned against your tits, rubbing his face against them.

You were a whining, red mess, your face was burning hot while your lips were parted with whiny sounds that came out of it, and all of that while your brain tried to process the fact that you had your hot boss sucking your tits in his office.

With one swift move, he sat you on the edge of his desk, kissing your knees and thighs while his hands worked on taking off his belt and pants. You did the same with yours, pulling down your pants and Matt quickly moved a broad hand to the pit of your boxers, one rough pad rubbing your already wet clit. You sank your nails on his shoulders, not expecting that sudden touch, moaning out loud.

"So wet, handsome, is this all for me?" He smiled, rubbing harder. You couldn't answer, you were a mess, unable to pronounce anything other than whiny sounds with 'Mr. Murdock' in between of them. "C'mon, don't lie to me, is this cunt all mine, pretty boy?"

"Y-yes! Yes, M-mr. Murdock!" You moaned when he pressed your sweet button.

"That's a good boy." He groaned, biting the inside part of your thigh. "Take them off and come back here." He bossed.

Of course, you obeyed. Shyly but quickly, you removed your boxers, getting completely naked for him.

"Very good." He smiled again. You wouldn't lie, his praises were making you shiver, you thought you would come if you heard even one more little praise.

He moved you again to his bare lap, his pants all pressed on his ankles, his shirt open, and his cross necklace hanging from his neck. Your hands held his shoulders, squeezing them when you felt his cock hard between your bodies.

"Feeling how you got me? Huh?" He moved your hips, making you grind against his hardness. "This is every fucking day. How am I supposed to focus on work and on teaching you when you get me so freaking hard?"

You whined, desperately. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock."

He shook his head, one hand moving to cup your cheek. "No, handsome, sorry isn't enough." He lifted your hips, making your slowly sink on his hard cock, your wetness making that smoother. Your eyes opened wide, you could feel his broad, fat cock spreading you open, warm and deliciously.

"You are gonna be mine, you got that? That pussy belongs to me, for me to use when I want." He moved his hips in circles, his veiny dick rubbing against your velvety walls. "Understood?"

"Uh-hum..." You whined out, hugging his neck.

He smiled when he heard your little whine, his hips slowly rocking upwards against your little wet cunt, you let out little cries as you felt him all over your tight walls that clenched around him, sucking him in.

"I almost can't move here, handsome, so freaking small and tight." He almost mocked you, kissing your chest softly. "You can't ride, can you? You can't even move."

He smiled, you were squeezing his shoulders as you tried your best to accommodate his length, but it was almost impossible.

"Just for tonight, I'll be doing the work, but we are gonna need some practice here, alright? I want you to ride me everytime, pretty boy, and I'll teach you all about it, my good little intern."

[shhtickerbook]

Baby Feathers

Merry Christmas!

(Helluva Age regression ficlet that takes place post sinsmas)

I don’t see enough fics that have caregivers who want to try regressing!!! So I decided to fill that void and the soul destroying events of sinsmas gave me lots of agere fodder. have a lovely holiday everybody!!! Fic below!

Stolas had everything planned. It was new years Eve and both Stolas and Blitzø had the holiday just to themselves. Millie and Moxxie were spending the holiday with Millie’s family in Wrath, whilst Loona was going to another party at Beelzebub’s. Stolas had spent many a New Year’s Eve at insufferable galas, but there had always been one silver lining. Both himself and Via would slip away from the ball, where the two would sit on the roof of their mansion and watch the first new year’s moon come to rise. He still hadn’t realised that this would be the first year where they wouldn’t be able to share their tradition. He couldn’t stop thinking of Octavia, their last interaction cruelly playing on loop in his mind. His heart was breaking with every second, but at least he had Blitzø. If he hadn’t been grieving so painfully, maybe he’d be able to enjoy himself.

There was one aspect he found great comfort in though, and that was being able to take care of Blitzø. Over the past few months he’d been introduced to the Imp’s smaller side, which had taken a while for Blitzø to open up about it properly. He was a pretty headstrong character, and struggled s lot when it came to expressing any kind of vulnerability.

Stolas had actually found out by accident, with Blitzø regressing involuntarily after a bad night terror. Stolas’s heart had broke when he found his partner looking so afraid and vulnerable. Blitzø wasn’t able to really explain what was happening, but Stolas was already a parent, it was second nature to know how to comfort little ones after a bad dream. The next morning Blitzø had explained what happened, sometimes he found himself slipping younger in age, usually when he was stressed or was reminded of bad things. Especially since he lost his mother, she was the only person who treat him with gentle nurturing care. When he lost her, he never got to feel that again. So when he began to have these episodes, it became a part of himself he had to hide out of shame.

For a long time he continued to suppress this side of himself, pushing away all these childish longings. But he could only hold it back for so long until his body decided for him. When he did find out, Stolas was almost too supportive of it, finding this side of Blitzø absolutely darling. Lavishing him with toys, clothes and all kinds of things he never even considered trying. Stolas even found himself getting a lot out of caring for him too, it made him feel needed.

-

Blitzø had to admit that it felt great to not hide this side of him anymore. Stolas had officially seen every episode of that pony show, and helped Blitzø brush the manes of every single horse figurine he owned. But ever since the trial, neither Blitzø or Stolas had the time or the mental energy to take come time to relax.

Stolas had felt so guilty that in his current state he hadn’t been able to care for Blitzø, and had even collected a set of gifts for him to open from Sinsmas. On the day itself he’d set aside his little gifts so that he wouldn’t have to open them in front of the others. So he’d made the decision to surprise him with a “little sinsmas” on new years, when they knew they’d have the house all to themselves.

Stolas woke up early to get out the gifts he had stored away. Thankfully he had purchased these before he’d lost all of his money and possessions. But when he did get up, he felt awful. The former prince had slept terribly, tossing and turning as he once again replayed what had happened with Via. He was then cursed with unpleasant dreams that only tortured him further. All he wanted was his daughter, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

Regardless of how he felt, he pushed himself through it, today was for Blitzø. The imp had done so much for him recently, he had to pay it back somehow. He quietly looked through Blitzø’s wardrobe in search of some of his little clothes, choosing an oversized hoodie with some colourful horse motifs. It even had an adorable woollen mane that went down the hood. Last of all he collected a plastic box at the bottom of the wardrobe, stolas recognising it. Inside Blitzø kept all of his baby things, pacifiers, some teethers and other equally adorable equipment. It was adorned with multiple stickers, all in the horse variety.

As he entered back into the main room, stolas began to gather some ingredients for breakfast. The plan was to make Blitzø some oatmeal for breakfast, which was simple enough. Blitzø always liked it drizzled with cherry syrup, and if he was feeling little enough he’d even let Stolas feed him.

Stolas carefully arranged the gifts wrapped in coloured paper by the tree, flicking on the fairy lights for added effect. He loved the small touches of sinsmas, indulging in the little details that made it feel magic. Blitzø had mentioned how sinsmas wasn’t really a special thing when he was a kid, the circus would perform through the whole holiday. Which included an extra special sinsmas day show which was very popular, but it meant he never got to really enjoy the holiday.

He thought of a little blitz crouched by the tree, tearing open coloured parcels in glee. You couldn’t help but smile. As a final touch, he pulled the blinds open to let the light in. Such a simple action turned into a huge mistake. As Stolas glanced outside, his gaze was caught to the horizon. Peeking just through the clouds was the new moon, only barely visible. By tonight it would be hanging at the peak of the sky, even in daylight it was beautiful.

How could something so beautiful destroy him so painfully? Stolas remembered everything, his special tradition with his daughter. He thought of Octavia, sitting alone and watching the moon rise. The way she spat her words towards her father, looking like she genuinely despised him. Who was he kidding? It didn’t look like he hated him, she did hate him. Stolas just sank to the floor, his beak quivering as he felt tears building in his eyes. It was all too much. All he wanted was to hold his daughter in his arms again, but would that ever happen again?

she hated him.

she HATED him.

-

Blitzø turned over in bed, dozily reaching over into the empty space of his bed. He’d gotten so used to sleeping next to somebody again, so when he didn’t feel any feathers in his grasp, it pulled him out from his snoozing.

“Mmme- Stolas?”

He mumbled, eyes fluttering open. As suspected, Stolas wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Pushing himself up onto his elbow before rubbing his eyes, recently Stolas had been the one who stayed in bed. Blitzø would usually let him sleep in for as long as he needed, sometimes leaving a note if he had to leave for work.

With a yawn Blitzø pulled himself up, before hearing something from outside the room. It took him a second to realise in his sleep addled state, but he could clearly hear a sadly familiar sound of crying. Within a second he’d jumped from the bed and thrown open the door.

“Stolas? are you okay?”

In hindsight it was a pretty stupid question, especially when he found said bird on the floor of his sitting room. He was curled in on himself, sobbing bitterly. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of what he’d been like when Octavia had rejected him.

“Hey hey- what’s going on?”

Blitzø joined him on the floor, resting a hand over Stolas’s shaking back. Stolas flinched at the touch at first, but couldn’t help but fall into Blitzø’s hold. Blitzø could feel Stolas’s feathers quivering as he tried to control his sobbing. The Imp couldn’t help but notice that a lot of his little stuff was scattered across the room.

His box of pacifiers and that one hoodie he liked to wear, there were also some new gifts under the tree.

“I had planned to- I’m sorry, i just wanted to make today special for you.”

Stolas whimpered, feeling like he’d ruined everything. He thought he would feel better today, if he got to care for Blitzø. But right now owl felt as fragile as glass, but Blitzø held onto him tight and securely. It clicked as he realised what Stolas had been trying to do, his expression softening.

“Oh stolas, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! All I’ve done is mope around and you’ve had to do everything for me. Not to mention the money you’ve spent and the time I’ve taken up. I had it all planned, you deserved a break-“

It took him a little time to string together his response, tears continuing to dribble down his feathers. He felt pathetic, how was he going to care for a regressed Blitzø when he was this much of a mess? It furthered his suspicion that was just a complete failure when it came to any kind of caregiving.

“Stolas listen to me, it’s okay. It’s.. really sweet you thought of this.”

Blitzø gently tilted his beak to meet his face, the tearstained bird’s expression tugging something on his heartstrings. He looked around, spotting the half made breakfast and carefully arranged presents. All the effort he’d made, for him no less.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled, managing to pull the lanky heap of owl closer into his lap the best he could. His statement seemed to reactivate Stolas tears though, who cried intelligibly into his chest. It was the other way around, it was Stolas that didn’t deserve him.

Whilst Blitzø still wasn’t entirely sure on what had triggered this, it didn’t take an idiot to know it was related to Octavia. In the time Blitzø had known Stolas, he’d never seen him like this. The Goetian Prince was so broken, fragile. But thankfully Blitzø had some experience in that feeling already.

He let him cry it out for a few minutes, with the shoulder of his shirt becoming very wet. He ran his fingers up and down Stolas’s feathers, gently preening him as he murmured comfort. The sobs eventually died down into sad sniffling, but the grip around him still hadn’t broken. Although Stolas’s heart was breaking, Blitzø’s grip around him was at least keeping said shards in place.

As Blitzø rubbed his back, he was hit with a sudden idea. He felt a little guilty that Stolas had gone through all this trouble for him, especially as he wasn’t feeling anywhere near small. And as much as he cared for Stolas, he couldn’t fake his regression either. Anyways, he didn’t feel like he was the one need in comfort right now.

“Hey, here’s an idea. I know we’ve never talked about this before, but what if you let me take care of you today?”

Stolas stirred a little with a frown, peeling his crispy feathered face away from Blitzø’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

“You take care of me when I’m feeling low, why not let me baby you for once? You’re lookin’ like you need it.”

The more Blitzø thought about it, the more he wanted to give it a try. There was something about the forlorn bird in his arms that melted his heart a little. Was this how Stolas felt with him? Nah, he couldn’t he this cute.

“No, you’re my baby. I care for you, I care for people- it’s what I like to do.”

Stolas suddenly felt flustered, face lighting up bright red. He’d never even considered the idea of swapping roles before. Blitzø was his baby, never the other way around. He wasn’t sure if it felt right to him, he wanted to be the one caring for Blitzø.

“Yeah, and you do a great fuckin job at it. So why not let me return the favour, you might even like it?”

Blitzø teased as he gently pinched the owls red cheeks, already delighting in the idea. Stolas found himself wavering a little, especially with how shivery and weak he was. He looked over at the gifts guiltily, but Blitzø already had it covered.

“Look we could try it today, if you don’t like it, we’ll stop. We can save the gifts for tomorrow, and then you can have your turn babying me, sound okay?”

Blitzø sounded so sure that Stolas found it hard to disagree. Although it still felt very alien, he definitely appreciated this cuddling part right now. So in the end gave a defeated shrug, Blitzø’s face lighting up.

“You just relax and let me take care of everything, feathers.”

Stolas shook for a second, before burying his beak into Blitzø’s shoulder again. Fresh tears erupted seemingly for no specific reason. But this time there was a sense of catharsis that came with it, to be able to cry in safety. Was this how Blitzø felt when Stolas would comfort him whilst small? He hoped so, as it felt pretty damn good.

Blitzø began to rock him back and forth, kissing the crown of his feathers. He gave him a few more minutes to cry, Stolas had been forcing himself into long periods of numbness recently and clearly needed it. Eventually Blitzø shifted Stolas to the side a little, who whined at the movement.

“Lemme just move ya onto the couch, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs anymore.”

With quite a bit of effort, Blitzø managed to lift the bird onto the couch. Unfolding the blanket over the armrest and tucking it around his skinny frame. Whilst no longer sobbing, Stolas had been reduced to the awkward hiccupy stage. Blitzø told ahold of his hand, squeezing softly to get his attention.

“Hey try and breathe a little, in and out.”

The imp demonstrated, and Stolas tried his hardest to follow. But he found himself falling back into the unhelpful gulping, even with Blitzø’s help.

“Here’s an idea.”

Blitzø turned and rifled through his little box, finding an unopened package. Blitzø himself still hadn’t used these ones as he didn’t like the colours. Stolas turned to see what Blitzø was doing, with his pupils pin-pricking when he spotted it. In his hands was a package of pacifiers, a pack of three different shades of lilac to dark blue.

“You’re doing a shitty job at breathing right now, try one of these. You’ll have no choice but to breathe a little slower.”

He spoke so casually, holding out a dark blue pacifier. Stolas had seen this kind of item many, many times now. But now when it was being presented to him, rather from him? It felt a little scary. Blitzø watched as stolas internally fought with himself, rolling his eyes.

“Cmon, open that beak for me, feathers.”

He used the pet name for the second time, which made Stolas melt a little. As if beyond his control he held his beak open, Blitzø placing the pacifier there before he could change his mind.

The sensation was certainly strange at first, the bird wasn’t really sure what to do with it. But his body was still hellbent on breathing hard, so he focused on trying to breathe nasally instead. Without realising he began to suck on the bulb, and breathed in and out. If it hadn’t been such sad circumstances, Blitzø would’ve definitely taken a photo. It was just too fucking cute. Instead he joined Stolas on the couch, still demonstrating his breathing in time to Stolas’s.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

Stolas looked up at him lazily, his was face a little red self consciously. But he couldn’t lie, the rhythmic sensation of the pacifier was incredibly soothing. With each minute he understood just why Blitzø liked them so much. There was a cloudy fuzzy sensation in his head, one that forced him away from all the sad and scary feelings. It was a blissful escape, but it wasn’t numbing him the way his pills used to.

So he nodded at his partner, squeezing his hand back tight. They spent the next twenty minutes just cuddling, and Stolas honestly felt the calmest he had in months. Blitzø eventually had to pry the owl off of him to sort out breakfast, turned on the TV for Stolas. He considered what to put on, before setting on an incredibly corny fairytale movie about a princess. But it was worth it to see the way Stolas’s eyes lit up when it came on.

Blitzø made himself a cup of coffee, and poured one of Stolas’s weird fancy teas into one of his own sippy cups. Choosing the moonlight unicorn design, after forcing stolas to watch every episode of his horse show, Stolas had eventually chosen his favourite character. When he returned to the couch, Stolas shuffled over to curl into his chest again. The pacifier still hasn’t left his beak since placing it there, he looked undeniably adorable. Blitzø was just so happy to see him looking content for the first time in days. The two could just spend their day with each-other’s company, enjoying every moment.

-

Neither demon even made it to the end of the movie, the two of them passed out in a tangle of limbs. The bird with his head curled underneath Blitzø’s chin, the imp’s hand subconsciously still stroking his feathers. Blitzø had gotten so used to himself being the baby in their relationship, that he’d never considered how much he’d enjoy swapping places. The remainder of their day continued in a similar fashion, Blitzø leading Stolas along in hand. And to his surprise Stolas was a very quiet little, who didn’t speak much for the rest of the day.

It was different than when he was quiet when he was sad though, Stolas would still giggle if Blitzø said something funny and was clearly enjoying himself. Stolas just felt happy that he didn’t have to try and think of words right now, he could just be. He allowed Blitzø to dress him in some loose cuddly clothes, and even hand feed him little squares of pancake when he felt up to eating.

Blitzø loved learning more about this little side of him. And Stolas found himself embracing a part of himself he’d never even uncovered. They spent the day indoors, playing games and watching movies. In the evening when Blitzø was busy running a bath for him, Stolas couldn’t help but glance outside. The moon was beginning to rise in the early evening, himself and Blitzø agreed to head to bed before midnight. The whole new year’s celebration never interested him too much, he really only ever used it as an excuse to get wasted.

Stolas pulled the pacifier from his beak and dropped it to the floor. Feeling the fog of his small space drift away, he took in a deep breath. Slipping outside onto the balcony, he dared himself to look up at the moon. Giving anything just for one more moment with Octavia, wondering what she was doing right now.

“I know you hate me, and that you can’t even hear me- But I love you so very much.”

He spoke to himself quietly, not breaking eye contact with the rising moon. Hoping that just maybe Octavia could somehow get the message. He stayed there for a little while, not even realising the slow tears dripping down his face until he felt a hand on his. Blitzø didn’t say anything, he stood aside the Owl for a while until he stirred from his trance.

“I got your bath ready, even added a bunch of those bath nukes you like.”

“Bath bombs- you mean.”

Stolas couldn’t help but correct, although he still sounded sad. Blitzø held onto his hand and lead him back inside, finding the pacifier abandoned on the floor.

“Hey you still want this buddy?”

He held it up, unsure if Stolas was feeling completely big again. The owl looked at the object, clearly considering it. He watched the Imp as he stared up at him with genuine adoration. Instead of a verbal response, he just took the pacifier back and allowed himself to sink back into that comforting headspace. The Goetian prince stood tall above Blitzø, and to any old person they must’ve looked ridiculous. But Blitzø looked up at the tall owl and only saw a little baby bird, one that was in desperate need of some love and care.

“Cmon then baby feathers, I have a whole collection of rubber duck horses just waiting to play with ya-“

Merry Christmas y’all ❤️❤️❤️