#i probably spent way too much time on this but you know what it was fun so definitely worth it
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EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? đ©) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry đ§đ»ââïžââĄïž) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work đ
I Aim To Please - S.R
a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting đđ
masterlist
pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader
warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease
wc: 1.5k
There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until heâs had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; sheâll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And thirdâperhaps the most crucialâdo everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.
That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasnât just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasnât even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.
Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasnât muchâjust a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.
The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didnât decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.
"Hey."
You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes youâd been carefully organizing.
Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, andâjust like thatâyour brain completely short-circuited.
"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"
"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."
"Oh,â you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."
You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.
"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."
Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiarâlike you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.
"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."
"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."
You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you werenât entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didnât enjoy his companyâthere was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.
But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.
"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."
"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know itâs not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."
"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."
"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."
Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You werenât used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.
"I'm just, um, organized I guess,â you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.
"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."
Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."
Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."
You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.
"I don't... I don't know about that."
He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"
"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.
He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.
"Well, uh, youâve only done it twice, so I donât think thatâs enough for you to judge."
His grin widened. "Oh? So youâre saying I should try again? For research purposes?"
Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "Iâuhâno, that's not what I meant.â
"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what youâre after, Iâve got plenty.â
"Please, no."
"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."
"Dr. Reidâ," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.
"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."
Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control youâd desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.
Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."
He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"
"Thank you."
He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"
Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."
"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."
You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."
"That's only because I didnât think it would work."
"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."
You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.
When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.
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#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x shy!reader
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ROOM FOR YOU
â· enhypen hyung line being clingy
day 20 of melodies to memories â p.sh x f!r fluff healing 1OO3
itâd been a whole 3 years since youâd last seen him after you graduated from high school, and only now had you received word from the man himself that he was moving back.
hoon: âiâm coming back to town soon for college, should we meet up?âÂ
you stared at his text wondering how you should feel. the boy was your first friend, first crush, first everything except for anything relating to âboyfriendâ. you wondered maybe if youâd said something before he left if heâd had stayed
little did you know, sunghoon harbored the same exact thoughts and feelings. you were his everything except for his girlfriend and how he wished he could call you his after all the time youâd spent together growing up
good thing sunghoon was thinking the same exact thing after heâd sent the text, wondering if it was the right call to text you back all this time.
the east coast just wasnât made for him and heâd been wanting to go back ever since he got there.
heâd been meeting to call, ask many times âhowâs it like back at home?â or even ask about the lake youâd spent many summers in, dunking each other in, then basking in the fleeting daylight as you dried off.Â
youâd meant to move on, appear strong and say that you were doing better now, and it was for the best, but seeing that textâŠyou werenât so sure.Â
you knew thereâd always be room for park sunghoon inside of your heart whether you liked it or not.Â
y/n: would you have time to call sometime as well?
your fingers hovered over your phone as you hit send, heart pounding like youâd just run a marathon. it wasnât like you to feel so nervous about a simple text, but with sunghoon, nothing was ever simple.
the three dots appeared almost immediately, and you couldnât decide whether that was a good or bad sign.
as if almost immediately, your message was read and he was calling. it was about time you suppose.
âhey,â
âitâs about time you rang,â you force out a small laugh. at least you wanted to think it was forced, that he didnât have you waiting endlessly on the call you asked him to give when he had landed at the other end of the country.
âyou mustâve gotten up early, here itâs almost 10:30,â he continues on after a moment of silence either of you arenât sure youâre comfortable with.
âyeah a bit, didnât mean to wake up, so iâll probably go back to sleep after this call,â you smile appreciating the concern.
âguess i got lucky then,â you hear him smile on the end. god, how you hated that you could predict his facial features just through his voice.
âso,â you started, breaking the silence that threatened to grow too heavy, âwhatâs bringing you back? homesick?â
âmissed the west coast, missed home too much here,â you hear him laugh on the other end. itâs a laugh of carefulness and uncertainty.
you hum, acknowledging his statement, somewhere deep down hoping heâd say he missed you too.
âmissed you,â you blurt out speaking your mind before he could start a new statement.
âi missed you too, not just as a friend, but as an everything,âÂ
his words hung in the air, thick with meaning. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you processed what heâd just said.
"an everything?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.
âyeah,â sunghoon admitted, his tone softer now. âi know itâs probably not fair to say this after all this time, but i couldnât leave it unsaid anymore. i thought maybe if I told you now, weâd have a chance to⊠i donât know, figure things out when i got back?â
âsunghoonâŠâ you started, your voice wavering. âyou canât just say things like that out of nowhere.â
âi know,â he sighed. âi know itâs a lot, but Iâve been holding it in for three years. i canât keep pretending i donât feel this way about you.â
âyouâre not special you know that right? youâre not the only one who hasnât moved on, so fuck you too park sunghoon,â you laughed in a lighter tone.Â
if sunghoon could explain that feeling, itâd felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders and he could never explain how the tightness in his chest dissipated by your words and tone alone.
âwould it be better to talk about this, like when i come back?â he asked unsure if this was the best resolution to a phonecall where he practically said everything heâd been wanting to say for the longest time ever.
âmaybe it would,â you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside you. âbut for the record, hoon, you donât get to come back into my life and drop a bomb like that without dealing with the fallout.â
hoon. heâd love to live everyday with you calling him that again, bad or good day.
âi deserve that,â he admitted with a soft chuckle. âi just couldnât wait any longer. i had to tell you.â
âthree years, though,â you said, your voice teasing yet soft. âwho moves to the other side of the country, never contacts their best friend, then decides to come back and let everything out after 3 years? are you crazy?â
âevery single day,â he confessed. âmoving away didnât change how I felt. If anything, it made it worse.â
for the first time in years, you felt the faintest glimmer of hope for what could be. âthen i guess iâll see you soon, park sunghoon.â
âsoon,â he echoed, and the word felt like a promise.
as the call ended, you sat there in the quiet of your room, your thoughts racing but your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. three years was a long time to hold onto feelings like these, but maybeâjust maybeâit was worth the wait.
âââ âĄ
a/n: happy day 20 of melodies to memories! guess who forgot i have to MANUALLY upload this cause my blr is broken! day 21 will be out shortly as well so you lucky ducks get a DOUBLE upload, sighhh
melodies to memories tl (open!): @pshwrldd @hhmnya @wonsdoll @lovuegi @letmein2urheart @firstclassjaylee
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đđœđđŸđ đđ đđŸđđđđđŸđ 2 O 2 4#enhypen#enhypen fluff#enhypen drabbles#enhypen imagines#enhypen reactions#enhypen headcanons#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen x reader#enha imagines#enha reactions#enha headcanons#enha soft thoughts#enha x female reader#sunghoon enhypen#heeseung fluff#sunghoon drabbles#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon reactions#sunghoon scenarios#sunghoon headcanons#sunghoon soft hours#sunghoon soft thoughts#park sunghoon x reader
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paige bueckers x medic reader blurb
idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was
hereâs the thing about paige bueckers: sheâs annoying.
not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the sheâs-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, andâworst of allâshe knows it.
youâre certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. sheâd just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grinâthe one thatâs equal parts mischief and sunshine.
âthink iâm pushing it too hard, doc?â she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.
and now, itâs practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though sheâs otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one whoâs sweating under bright gym lights.
âyouâre not gonna leave me hanging, are you?â her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, sheâs watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it isâthat look.
âi donât even know what you mean by that,â you mutter, knowing full well sheâs waiting for you to take the bait.
she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. âiâm just saying, if you donât stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.â
you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. âpretty sure my job description is making sure you donât blow out your knee again, bueckers.â
âso you do care about me.â her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, youâre starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.
you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though itâs just a nervous scribble now. sheâs watching you like she knowsâbecause, of course, she does. she always knows. itâs like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, sheâs figured out exactly how to weaponize it.
âi care about all my patients,â you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. itâs meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like youâve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.
âbut do you care about me more?â she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.
you deadpan her. âpaige.â
âwhat?â she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. âiâm just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?â
âyouâre lucky you even have a ranking,â you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. youâre tryingâreally tryingânot to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.
and just like that, your resolve? gone.
âaww, come on,â she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. âyou can admit it. iâm your favorite.â
your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. âyouâre impossible.â
âyouâre adorable when youâre flustered,â she counters, and itâs so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.
you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but sheâs already watching you with this expression thatâs somehow both playful and too much. like sheâs trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. itâs unfair, really.
âis this what you spend your time thinking about?â you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. âways to embarrass me?â
ânot just ways to embarrass you,â she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. âalso ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.â
you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even thoughâdamn itâyouâre already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.
âyouâre insufferable,â you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.
âbut you like me anyway,â she calls after you, her voice sing-song.
you donât respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, sheâs already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like sheâs posing for a magazine spread.
âokay, letâs get serious,â you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. âhowâs the pain today? any stiffness?â
she shrugs, but thereâs a flicker of something more serious in her expression. âa little. nothing crazy.â
âyou need to let me know if it gets worse,â you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. âoverdoing it isnât going to help your recovery.â
âyes, maâam,â she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. itâs different from her usual teasingâquieter, more thoughtfulâand for a moment, youâre not sure what to do with it.
you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but itâs hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.
âyouâre good at this,â she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
you blink, looking up at her. âat what?â
âthis,â she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. âtaking care of people. making them feel like theyâre gonna be okay, even when theyâre not sure they will be.â
her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you donât know how to respond. itâs so⊠earnest. too earnest for someone whoâs usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.
âthatâs⊠my job,â you manage to say, your voice quieter now.
she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. ânah. itâs more than that. youâre more than that.â
and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you canât quite name. she doesnât say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like sheâs waiting for you to say something back.
but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.
it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of itâa sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshotâstill haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. youâd been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didnât get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.
paige bueckers wasnât the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasnât just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her sideâthis raw, unfiltered fear. like sheâd just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.
âis it bad?â sheâd asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you werenât used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadnât expected.
âweâre gonna take care of you,â youâd said, dodging the question because you couldnât bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.
sheâd nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where youâd helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what youâd already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.
the weeks that followed were some of the hardest youâd ever seen her endure. paige wasnât herselfânot the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when sheâd show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasnât sure sheâd ever be the same again.
but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time sheâd walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like sheâd just won a championship. âfigured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,â sheâd joked, and for the first time in weeks, youâd seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.
those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasnât invincible. but sheâd just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, âgotta keep you on your toes, doc.â
and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one youâd seen at her lowest. the injury hadnât just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didnât fully understand.
âwhat are you thinking about?â she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but thereâs a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.
you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. âjust thinking about how far youâve come.â
she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. âyeah? and whatâs the verdict?â
âthe verdict,â you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, âis that youâre still a pain in the ass.â
her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. âyou love it, though,â she says, grinning like she knows a secret.
and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you canât help but admire her resilienceâthe way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.
âł make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
âł thank you for reading all the way through, as always âĄ
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#paige buckets#ncaa wbb#wcbb#uconn huskies#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers smut#paige bueckers fic#paige bueckers uconn#uconn wbb x reader#uconn wbb#uconn womenâs basketball#uconn x reader#womens basketball#wbb x reader#wbb fanfiction#wbb smut#wbb imagine#wcbb smut#uconn wcbb#uconnwbb#wcbb x reader
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Take your Place â Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader
Summary: Your husband was away for months, leading the battle against the Triarchy and ultimately bringing victory. Now he is back and a ball is being held in celebration. Throughout the evening, you have spoken with many lords and ladies â but you have not seen the person you long for. So you go in search of him.
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader
Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)
Authorâs note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:
Word count: 1.8 k
Other stories of mine
12 Days of Smuffmas
12 Days of Smuff
The hall is filled with music and laughter. Lords and ladies are sitting at the various tables, engrossed in conversation. The wine tastes good and has already caused a few men to slip off their chairs tonight. And this exuberant mood is appropriate, because the Triarchy has finally been repelled in the Stepstones and your husband is being celebrated for it.
You walk through the rows of tables, looking for your husband. You know that he is most likely sitting somewhere with his men and has already had way too much to drink. But although you would normally be able to spot his silver hair anywhere, you can't see him.
But then something grabs your hand and pulls you down roughly. You cry out a little and are about to answer this impertinence with a slap in the face. But you look up as you land on a lap, fingers on your face, caressing you, while a drunken smile reflects back at you.
âDaemon!â you say, but you can't stop the smile that is already spreading across your face. You slowly try to get up again, but Daemon has other plans. His arms wrap around you and he presses his face into the crook of your neck while pressing your back against his chest.
âStay.â is the only thing he slurs, and you notice the wine on his breath, which he has been consuming all evening.
You just smile slightly, but nod barely noticeable, as you stay on his lap. Your eyes wander around and you were right, his men have spent the evening with him. Some are already hanging drunk in the chairs and a few others are still trying to talk, but you only perceive a kind of grunt.
Daemon kisses your neck, his fingers press lightly into your thighs as he whispers in a low voice, âWhat are we going to do after this ball?â
You glance slightly over your shoulder and your eyes meet. His gaze is almost soft and you have to smile, âwell... I'm going to go to sleep after this ball... you'll probably throw up...â you say to him, trying to suppress a smile.
Daemon chuckles and then laughs a little â he can't deny how many times he's thrown up in a bowl while you've been in bed.
âYou know damn well that's not what I meant,â he mutters into your neck as his laughter subsides.
Now you have to giggle a little, âNo?â you ask playfully, âI don't know what you mean...â
Daemon leans in and kisses your neck again, breathing into your ear, âI mean that I'd like to spend some time alone with you, love.â
Your eyes are locked on him and you see the determination in his gaze.
âAre you sure you're capable of having a night of pleasure... you're very drunk ...â you say softly.
Daemon grins drunkenly and caresses your cheek. He leans forward and whispers seductively in your ear.
âI'm not too drunk to make you moan, love.â
Your cheeks flush and your eyes widen.
âDaemon!â you say, and even some of his men grin at you, seeming to know what he's saying to make you blush.
Daemon grins at you and his fingers press into your thighs again as he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.
âI'm not too drunk to make you scream for me, love.â
The blush is now creeping down your cleavage. You bite your lip lightly.
âStop it, Daemon...â you whisper, but you try to squeeze your thighs together a little as you notice the pulsing between your thighs.
Daemon chuckles at your reaction and squeezes your thighs even tighter. He continues to whisper seductively in your ear, âThen stop me, love. Come on.â
You can't stop yourself and you move your hips slightly to create some friction. But then Daemon grabs you and lifts you slightly to turn you on his lap. Confusion graces your features until you straddle him. âWe're not supposed to be doing this here,â you say quietly, but he just grins.
âWhat? You're my wife and you're happy that I'm back... and you show me that by sitting on my lap,â he says, his words slightly slurred. You just shake your head slightly, but before you can say anything, Daemon presses his lips against yours. You gasp slightly, but you respond to his kiss. He grins when he feels your hips moving again, grinding against him slightly. He caresses your cheek and pulls you closer to him, his tongue meeting yours and your kiss intensifying. You feel him getting hard and you let out a small moan, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Daemon smiles a little as he feels that you cannot stop moving, that you keep grinding against him. He pulls your hips closer to him as he speaks, letting his fingers glide along your thighs. His lips gently slide down your neck and whispers seductively, âI'd like to see your dress on the floor.â Your eyes flutter closed and his words elicit a slight moan from your lips. But you bite your lip to make no further sound.
âThe skirt of my dress is very wide...â you finally whisper softly, breathing heavily. âMaybe you could unbutton your trousers and... I mean, I could sit on you and no one would notice...â you say quietly.
âBut you're already sitting on me...â he mumbles teasingly and gets an annoyed look from you. Daemon glances over at his men and tries not to grin. None of them are looking in your direction, they seem to be engaged in conversation or have their heads on the table, snoring.
âBut maybe.. it could work,â he mutters finally. Daemon slides his hand under your skirt, begins to unbutton his trousers, and glances at you from time to time. You look at him, everything except for your upper bodies is hidden under the skirt of your dress. Daemon lets his hands move back to your hips and you move slightly again. Then you have to suppress a moan as you feel his hard cock, how its length presses against your folds. His hands slide to your hips, gripping you, as he presses his the tip of your cock against your entrance.
You look at him, gasp slightly and then lean forward to kiss him as you feel your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of getting to sheath him. Slowly you lift up and then slowly lower yourself onto his hard cock.
You let yourself sink all the way down, your breath catching. You don't move so that no one can see what you are doing, but you're breathing out heavily.
Daemon suppresses a groan as he feels you move. He leans back further in his chair, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly. His smile widens a little, you feel his cock twitch slightly inside you. âYou're so filthy, love,â he murmurs. You bite your lip, moving your hips slightly. âGods... Daemon...,â you whisper. You close your eyes as he fills you completely. Daemon's moans are becoming harder and harder to suppress. He looks around to make sure his men are not watching. He leans forward to speak seductively in your ear, âGood girl. You feel so good,â and makes you whimper. âI've missed your big cock...â you suddenly let slip, making Daemon chuckle briefly, but it ends in a groan as he feels you moving up and down slowly.
âGods... You feel so good, my love.â He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth as he leans back in his chair and his hands return to your thighs. His hand finds its way under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a fiery trail on your skin.
His thumb glides through your folds until he finds your clit and begins to rub it, making you whimper again âDaemon... I... I...â you stutter as your hips move a little faster. You slide up and down along his length, breathing heavily, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, gripping him, and he growls. Daemon leans forward again, biting your earlobe, âGood girl. That's a good girl.â He leans his head back again, trying to suppress a groan. His gaze returns to you, and he feels your cunt flutter around his cock as you slam your hips down on him. His thumb rubs faster as he kisses you again.
âCome on... Show me how much you've missed this... Riding me... My cock deep inside your tight cunt,â he growls against your lips. And then you moan into his mouth. Your pussy clutches his thick cock. âGods...â you whimper as your orgasm floods your body. Your cunt milks his cock as you slide up and down. He grunts as he feels his balls tighten. âDaemon...â you whimper, your hand on his neck slides into his hair, grabs lightly while you cum all over his cock. Daemon bites the inside of his lip to suppress a groan. His eyes are closed and his expression is full of lust; he is visibly enjoying it. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm subsides. You are breathing heavily, your eyes are closed. Slowly you open them again, you feel his hips moving slightly again. âDid you come?â you ask in a whisper. Daemon sighs contentedly and looks down at you. He glances around to make sure that no one is around. âNot yet, my love,â he speaks softly and caresses your face. âAnd you will help me finish it,â he grunts. You nod and lean forward again to kiss him. Your hips move slightly faster. âCome for me, my dragon,â you whisper against his lips. Daemon is breathing heavily and his eyes are closed. He moans softly, your words making his cock twitch. He grabs your waist. "I'm close, love. I'm close.â âFill me, my dragon...â you whisper against his lips. While you press your hips firmly against him. His cock is deep inside your tight heat as you gyrate your hips. Your hips move faster as you gently bite his lip.
And then he moans, his hips thrusting up and making you squeak slightly. He growls as he pumps his cum into you. You kiss him again and let your hips slow down. You slide up and down more slowly, milking the last drop out of him, to ride out his orgasm. His eyes are closed as he breathes heavily, clenching his teeth. âLove,â he growls.
Daemon leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. He tries to speak but nothing but breathless groans come out, although he tries to hide it. His breathing is slow and shallow as he holds you. âGods, Love, gods.â he gasps quietly. You giggle slightly and gently kiss his cheek.
âShall we retire to our chambers?â you whisper, and he just nods. His hands slide back under your skirt, fully covering himself again, and then he helps you up from his lap.
#12daysofsmuff#12 days of smuff#house of the dragon#hotd#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon smut#daemon fic#hotd daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon x y/n#daemon x you#hotd smut#house of the dragon daemon#prince daemon targaryen#the rogue prince#prince daemon#daemon targaryen x you#matt smith#12 days of smuffmas
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This. This is also why (in combination with the whole 12 years in Azkaban thing) I think the characterization of him as âoh, pureblood character who actually knows muggle culture as opposed to Arthur âwhat is the function of a rubber duckâ âhow does the money work at the tube stationâ Weasley who thinks itâs neat but doesnât fully get itâ is also inaccurate.
Sirius didnât have a chance of much if any exposure until he was at Hogwarts. Then he spent his entire 20âs in prison where he absolutely wouldnât have time to keep up to date on the latest muggle music/fashion/etc even if he wanted to. Sure, maybe he took to it like a fish in water when he had it, but thatâs still 10 years max of exposure, mostly from other 11-17 year olds, many of whom if they knew any muggle music probably did like the poppier end of things at least in part because thatâs how the stats on it work.
Not to mention, he didnât not have cultural exposure before then. Wizarding music seems to reflect muggle music a bit, but something tells me that even if there was a Weird Sisterâs equivalent for the 60âs/70âs, it probably wasnât something getting much play time at Grimmauld, at least not with parental approval. This is a kid who turned up at 11 probably most accustomed to listening to things on the classical/jazz/easy listening end of the spectrum. You donât immediately go from concertos and Sinatra to hardcore, not without a bridge between them.
That of course doesnât somehow make him less punk. Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day has a musical theater/jazz background and that doesnât mean it wasnât punk as fuck that at early shows the band made a point of booking queer opening acts and then getting in the pit themselves to beat up the bigots turning up to give them shit. Iâm not saying I donât think he could have gotten into harder genres once he was exposed because I also had a classical background and have played in punk/goth bands. I just think odds are if he did it took a lot of habit breaking, and maybe, just maybe, he never quite took to the full heavy stuff as much as a lot of fandom likes to immediately assume because at the end of the day, while Judas Priest and X-Ray Spex and the like might piss off his parents the most, itâs an easier transition from listening to Celestina Warbeck at the most pop adjacent to liking ABBA/Cher/etc.
Actually, because of this, I think he probably took to goth/new wave/more art rockexperimental stuff better than punk. Itâs a much easier adjustment going from Sinatra to Cher to Lene Lovich/Kate Bush/Yazoo, etc. Itâs more melodic in a lot of ways as a general rule, thereâs more obvious overlap. There was also a pretty solid British Blues scene (I.e. Dr Feelgood) that I feel like would be a logical transition point as well, not to mention I feel like Remus perpetually exists in the Mod side of things where heâd have at least some of it sitting around for it. Of the major British punk bands of his era, I feel like The Clash would be the easiest to adjust to, because again, they lean in on more melodic sounds, less intentional dissonance etc., particularly from London Calling on.
Then he goes to prison, hears nothing, experiences nothing, and gets out in the early to mid 90âs right in time for BritPop, for Pulp and Blur and Oasis and Black Grape, and I think that too would be an easy transition for him, though heâd still not have as much exposure because heâs in hiding and under what amounts to house arrest until he dies. So maybe Tonks brings him records here and there, maybe he steals an issue of NME off a newsstand here and there, but I donât think heâs going to necessarily be more properly informed than someone like Arthur who actively has to work around muggle things, or for that matter someone like Kingsley who is actively working for the PM undercover at that time and almost certainly does have to be able to at least fake it convincingly enough to keep that up.
one thing that i haven't ever totally agreed with is how some part of the fandom portrays sirius as this character that was born good and who has been against his family from the second he learned how to talk.
the tragedy behind the black brothers is that one of them had a support system who helped him see how his family's beliefs were not the correct way to go and offered him a safe space to run to when it all came crashing down. while the other was stuck not only by his family's duty but everywhere he turned was also filled with the same beliefs.
i don't think sirius was fighting with his parents about muggles and blood purity until maybe a year after coming back from hogwarts. i think he had the same beliefs, actually, because that's all he knew. he might have doubted them a time or two after spending time with andromeda or alphard, but at the end of the day he was a child, and children do follow whatever their parents tell them to, especially when there's not a proper and constant role model teaching them there is another way.
sirius was the proper black heir until getting to hogwarts, but deconstructing himself didn't take a day. i've read how he feels free the second he gets into gryffindor, and how with a single chat with james, he's ready to forget about everything his parents have spent years telling him.
sirius was probably spewing the same pureblood things his parents taught him, he was probably not happy about getting into gryffindor in the first place, it's against everything he had been told his entire life.
that's where the marauders intervene, he is able to have his own beliefs and realize that his family was wrong because he had a whole group of people teaching him and allowing him to make mistakes along the way without fear.
while regulus has been stuck forever, first in his own house, then in slytherin, and then with the death eaters. he also learnt about loyalty and friendship and what was wrong or right, yes. but he didn't have the freedom to even talk out loud about it given the place he was in.
their own personalities doom both of them. when sirius learns that his family is wrong, he turns defiant and outspoken, that's how he is and even if he's aware of it or not, he has the liberty of having a place to go to when things go wrong. regulus is cunning and thinks everything through first, so even if he learns his family is wrong, he knows he can't say anything, his friends are tied in the same world, and his only "protector" is gone.
that's the tragedy between them.
they are both the same, no one wasn't born being "good", one just got lucky enough to be placed with the correct people
#RaganaThinksThings#hp marauders#the marauders era#the marauders#sirius black#sirius orion black#hp headcanon#harry potter headcanon#headcanon
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thinking about how eddie munson probably has a ridiculous collection of guitar picks. little jars of them. some collected at shows, some he picked up for a nickel at the only local music shop he's ever trusted to do work on his Sweetheart, some he was gifted for free at his local record shop that he's been frequenting for years now. the little old man running the record shop even gets excited when new vinyls are sent out with promotional merch, and he knows it's a band or musician eddie is into. probably even called eddie in at times and handed him a handful of metallica themed pics, hardly worth much, but solely because "i knew you like them and will find a good use for these, son".
my point is, he's got a pick for every occasion. shitty plastic thin ones for just fucking around with. thicker, nicer ones that might have been proper holiday gifts to him. the kind that are meant to hook on his fingers like rings (he tried using them a few times, especially for rifts, but ended up saying he played better when he felt the strings against his skin instead while picking away). novelty ones, ones that just looked plain cool. so on and so forth.
and he's got his collection just sitting in little jars across his room. he used to keep them in other things, like old ash trays or tin cans he'd cut and mold to be good containers. but then he started dating you, and you insisted on lending him any empty jars you weren't using. you had your own collections in yours: pretty stones found down by the creek, bottle caps of the sodas you and eddie get every time you stop at the gas station right on the edge of town by lover's lake - you even had one of every single crumpled up note eddie had ever given you over your time of dating. a few jars of those, actually. so what was lending him a few spares? at this point, the jars were a collection in themselves, and... well... it was prettier to see his vast collection in those glass jars anyways. being able to pick out the vibrant tones of the guitar pick you'd been with him as he'd purchased two weeks prior, or the pick from the show you'd gotten him tickets to last christmas. it was nice. a cute reminder of time spent, of what made eddie munson tick.
the important thing is, eddie munson isn't blind. he sees the way you look at that collection, especially after he fills the jars with it.
how some days, he'll be strumming away on his guitar, softly humming, and you'll just grab a jar to pick through. interrupting his nonsensical playing to ask him where he got one you didn't recognize, sometimes asking for the stories behind ones he knew you already knew. he'd caught on to the way you just liked hearing him talk, especially about the things he cared most about.
you also really, really liked the pick he wore as a necklace. it was probably your favorite in his collection, and you knew it was his favorite too. giving it as a gift to you was never an option, because it had been given as a gift to him originally by his mom.
so he does the next best thing.
he figures out your favorite pick in his collection. the one you always go back to, the one you ask for the story behind on a nearly weekly basis. one similar to the one always resting against his collarbones. pearly sheen, marbled tones, a slow indent the shape of his thumb being worn into the old tortoiseshell. it's a little less red, a little bit brighter, and he can't even strum it against his strings anymore without thinking of you. it's somehow become his lucky pick - the pick he cherishes most aside the one from his mom.
and the one he chooses to turn into a necklace, for you.
does it all himself. carefully piercing a hole through the top just like his own, picks out a nice chain that costs two paychecks of his, takes an old pocket knife to it and spends weeks carving your initials into the shiny material. he's gentle as hell with it, finishing it off with some gold paint to fill in the carving that matches the chain and swirling tones of the picks.
a week before christmas he nearly backs out of the gift idea, and almost begs wayne to help him go to the mall and pick out some other basic but safe gift for you. a perfume/cologne, a nice sweater, anything. wayne refuses to let him, and the only thing the gentle old man will offer is a nice box for eddie to place that necklace born of love into.
the look on your face on christmas morning, sitting in the center of the munson's living room, on the verge of happy tears as you lift the homemade necklace so gently, soothes away every single doubt ever had about it all.
and the look on wayne's face is a simple, caring, stern vision of i told you so.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson blurb#im just thinking about him#stranger things#he'd be so proud of it#his cheeks would start to hurt from how infectious your grin was#you'd be so excited like 'fuck yes we MATCH'#wayne probably makes eddie cry later that night#in the kitchen as they finish making the dinner for the three of you#bringing up his mom#saying how she'd be proud of how good you are for eddie and how good he is to you#how she'd probably be obsessed with the fact you two are matching#maybe even comment on how nice it is that you keep eddie in check with having a little variety in his music taste as he gets older#i can also picture the fact that maybe some of your favorite artists were also hers#how sometimes eddie sort of feels like she sent you to him#anyways#YEAH#this is messy and a long continuous boring thought#do with it what you will since i haven't had time to write my holiday stories yet <3
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(secret) santa, baby - part 8 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic
Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds
part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix
part viii (gift-wrapping)
You donât know what the last-minute staff meeting is for, but the email looked important, so you show up outside the buildingâs biggest conference room on the hour, as ordered. As soon as you set foot inside, though, you know this was one you could have skipped. There are piles of gift bags and rolls of wrapping paper on every table, as well as packets of tissue paper and spools of ribbon and actual jars of confetti with scoops in them. On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someoneâs written REMEDIAL GIFT-WRAPPING.
You didnât think your gifts were wrapped that badly. Tomura hasnât complained. Then again, Tomura doesnât know youâre the one leaving his gifts, so he wouldnât know who to complain to if he had a problem. In spite of showing up on time, everybody else somehow got here before you, so you hesitate just inside the doorway, looking for an empty seat. Before you can find one, something moves in your peripheral vision, and you glance over to find Twice beckoning to you. Heâs sitting with Spinner, Dabi, and Tomura, and theyâve got an empty seat nearby.
A few weeks ago, youâd have found somewhere else, but youâre much more comfortable with Tomura and his friends than you were before. Seeing them outside of work at Togaâs party probably helped. Seeing them the next morning, waking up with bedhead and low-grade hangovers that could only be cured with diner food, moved them firmly from the category of scary coworkers to people you could call friends. And waking up at one end of Togaâs couch to realize that youâd spent the entire night sharing it and a blanket with Tomura moved him from Secret Santa recipient to something else.
Youâre not sure what else, exactly. Youâve been keeping a close eye on him since the Secret Santa thing started, just so you could figure out good times to sneak down to the basement and leave things on his desk, but for the past few days youâve felt different about seeing him out and about. Instead of being relieved, and using your next free second to race downstairs and plant a gift, youâve gone to talk to him. Or youâve stayed put wherever you were and hoped heâd come talk to you. Heâs different at work than he is out of it, but now that youâve seen him the other way, you canât fail to see that the person who slept on the couch with you is there when heâs here, too.
Work doesnât bring out the best in him, and work-related holiday festivities are even worse. You can hear him complaining as you make your way over. âI donât need to learn gift-wrapping. The stuff I leave is fine.â
âNo. Spinnerâs gifts are fine. Yours look like youâre dropping off a sperm sample,â Dabi says. Heâs organizing the pile of gift-wrapping supplies and ignoring the way Tomura swears at him. âItâs not going to kill you.â
âWith everybody else here, Togaâs probably not just picking on us,â Spinner says. He spots you coming over and waves. âHey. You got an invite, too?â
âMy gift-wrapping must be worse than I thought,â you say. You drop down into the chair between Twice and Tomura. âHi.â
âHey.â Tomura glances quickly at you, then goes back to screwing around with a mostly-empty roll of ribbon. âYou have a gift in your mailbox. I saw it when I checked mine.â
You didnât put a gift in his mailbox today â itâs on his desk again, waiting for him whenever he gets back. You dropped it off after you saw him walk back on the way to the conference room. âIâll look after weâre done with this. Does this happen every year?â
âNo. Itâs new.â Tomura scowls. âIt sucks.â
âHi everybody!â Togaâs standing on a chair at the front of the room, waving to catch the roomâs attention. âThanks for stopping by. Itâs come to my attention that some of you guys donât know how to wrap a gift to save your lives, and even though itâs the gift that counts, the way itâs presented matters, too! So for the sake of your Secret Santa recipients, weâre going to go over the basics of gift-wrapping ââ
âAnd weâre going to practice on these,â Midoriya announces, holding up a clear plastic bin thatâs full to the brim. âThe gifts from the toy drive. Which we need to wrap anyway.â
âI told you we werenât in trouble,â Spinner says to the group at large.
âNo, weâre just free labor.â Tomuraâs scowling worse than before. âI canât wait to count my papercuts afterwards.â
âTo help with this,â Toga continues loudly, âevery table has at least one person who knows what theyâre doing. Compress and Yaoyorozu will go over the basics, and then your groupâs expert will help you get going.â
Whereâs your tableâs expert? You glance around, only to find everyone else looking at you. âWe need to work quickly,â Iida announces, even louder than Toga. âItâs imperative that we get these gifts mailed this afternoon. If theyâre delayed by the storm, they wonât reach their recipients in time. Do you want to be the reason why needy children go without presents this year?â
âHey! Iida! Thatâs kind of harsh,â Midoriya says hastily. Dabi is snickering. âJust do your best, everybody!â
Thereâs a bin of toys under the table. Compress and Yaoyorozu order everybody to start with something in a box, since theyâre easier to work with, but you have a bad feeling youâre the expert, and the things that are weirdly shaped are going to take longer. You take out a plastic dinosaur toy and get to work, listening with half an ear to the instructions. You donât want to contradict anything theyâre saying. Itâll slow things down, and based on the size of the toy bin, you canât afford that.
You overhear the other supposed experts at the other table, and they seem pretty comfortable giving instructions, but you decide to keep quiet unless somebody asks you something. And somebody does. âAre girls born knowing how to gift-wrap or something?â Spinner asks, staring at the dinosaur toy youâve successfully mummified in candy-cane wrapping paper. âHow did you do that?â
âPractice, I guess?â You donât really remember somebody teaching you. âIt was probably just watching my mom.â
âMaybe you should handle all the weird-shaped shit,â Dabi says. He abandons the box heâs wrapping and starts sorting the toys in the bin. âI want to get out of here sometime this year and thatâs not going to happen if you put me in charge of that.â
You nod and pick up the grotesque-looking nutcracker at the top of the pile. To your surprise, everybody else settles down to work quickly â even Tomura, whoâs still scowling, and handling the wrapping paper like it might take a bite out of him. The other tables are chattering, but everybody at yours is quiet. Focused. When Midoriya swings by to pick up any wrapped gifts, he has to make two trips to collect all of them from you.
Itâs not until youâre starting on the second round of presents that Tomura speaks up. âThis isnât so bad,â he says, and you almost amputate your finger in shock. âI thought it was going to be like that movie.â
âWhich ââ Dabi interrupts himself, then makes a weird noise. âThe one where the guyâs cheating on his wife?â
âAnd heâs trying to get the clerk to gift-wrap that ugly necklace he bought for his mistress before his wife gets back?â That scene made you cringe. There are lots of scenes in Love Actually that make you cringe, but that one stands out. âDid he actually cheat on his wife or was he just trying to cheat?â
âHeâs cheating.â Dabi measures out a huge scoop of glitter and drops it on top of the present heâs wrapping before he tapes the wrapping paper down. âMy dad pulls shit exactly like that. Except he was fucking my boyfriend, not his secretary.â
You almost choke on thin air. âHe â what?â
âThat was ages ago,â Twice says. âThey didnât talk for like â five years. Then Dabiâs sister made them go to family therapy and now Enji makes up for it by giving Dabi money whenever he asks.â
âAnd when he doesnât,â Spinner says. Dabi is making a face. âYouâre better off, dude.â
âYou know how Shigaraki hates Christmas? Thatâs how Dabi feels about Valentineâs Day,â Twice says. You probably would, too, if your dad had hooked up with your boyfriend. âIf youâre still around by then, you can hang out with us. We always celebrate by maxing Enjiâs credit card.â
If youâre still around by then. What does that mean? âSounds fun,â you say, watching as Dabi adds two scoops of glitter to his next present. âUh, what are you doing?â
âItâs there. Weâre supposed to use it,â Dabi says. âThe kids will get a kick out of this shit.â
âYeah, but their parents will hate it.â
Tomura takes a scoop of glitter and pours it in the gift bag heâs been screwing around with. âItâs not about them.â
You remember who the gifts are for all at once. Kids in foster care, whose parents probably suck as a rule. They deserve to have some fun, and youâve never met a kid who wouldnât go crazy over a glitter bomb. When you start wrapping your next present, you add some glitter to it, too.
At some point the department heads come looking for all their employees, which is how you find out that Toga didnât clear the meeting with anybody before she called it. Most of your table takes the opportunity to flee â Dabi first, then Twice, and Spinner after a secondâs hesitation. Tomura stops halfway out of his chair when he realizes youâre not getting up. âArenât you leaving?â
âMy supervisor hasnât come looking for me yet,â you say. âAnd thereâs still a lot to do.â
You know thereâs work waiting for you back at your desk, but it shouldnât take too long, and Iidaâs guilt-trip about the presents definitely got to you. You empty the rest of the toy bin onto the table and grab a box with a model train printed on the front. A chair scrapes next to you as Tomura sits back down, and he lifts the train box out of your hands. âGive me that. I canât wrap the weird ones.â
You stare at him. You canât help it. âWhat are you doing?â
âMy supervisor hasnât come looking for me, either.â Tomura shrugs. âItâll be faster if I help.â
âYou hate this stuff,â you say.
âIâm not going to be the reason needy kids donât get presents this year.â Tomuraâs Iida impersonation is pretty on point, especially when he adds in Iidaâs trademark hand gestures. You laugh. âAnd I havenât gotten a paper cut yet. Nobody will put up with my bitching next year if I donât get at least one.â
He says that, and it sounds like him â but somehow you donât buy it. Heâs not making eye contact, and his ears are turning sort of red, and your heart kicks up a weird, fluttery jolt. âIf you want to hang out, you can just say that,â you say. âYou donât have to do â I know you hate doing this.â
âThis is what youâre doing,â Tomura interrupts you. âThatâs the important part.â
That oneâs hard for you to parse, so hard that Tomura manages to wrap the train and start on the next gift before you can get even sort of a handle on it. And once you do, youâre not sure you want one. Tomura hates Christmas. Every Christmas thing youâve seen him do has been done under pressure or threat, and he just got a golden opportunity to escape. Why would he give it up to hang out with you?
Thereâs one answer. An obvious answer. One youâd believe if it was coming from anybody but him. âI can use the help,â you admit. âThanks for keeping me company.â
âYeah.â Tomura reaches for the wrapping paper at the same time as you do, and your hands collide. You thought heâd flinch. You thought youâd flinch. But your hands stay still, poised against one another, for a long moment before Tomura draws away, his fingertips skimming the back of your hand as he goes. âAny time.â
<- part vii part ix ->
#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x you#tomura shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x you#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#x reader#reader insert#man door hand hook car door#secret santa au
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đ©đđ«đđźđŠđ (đđđđ§ đ°đąđ§đđĄđđŹđđđ« đ± đ«đđđđđ«)
A small session of Dean spoiling you like a princess (and evolving a little scent kink)
tags: fluff, scent kink, f!reader, est. relationship, tickles bc he's a tease, praises. word count: 744.
The door creaks open with the turn of the key, letting you into the familiar comfort of home. The couch, a bit saggy from so many nights spent lounging there, welcomes you. The smell of sweat from a long day sticks around, and the scratchy fabric of your work uniform feels like itâs suffocating you. But youâre so drained, you figure youâll just stay put for now. Until you remember.
Dean was gonna meet you here right after work. That gives you exactly 10 minutes to get ready, and you know how he isâalways on time when it comes to you.
You rush to the bathroom, jumping into a quick shower. Deodorant, a basic T-shirt, and some comfy pajama shorts. The bare minimum to open the door and see your hot boyfriend standing there with that smile that could make anything seem perfect.
"Italian.â he grins, stepping inside and holding up a bag that smells amazing.
Then, you catch that woody, herbal scent of whateverâs in the bag mixed with the mouthwatering pasta. Oh no. You totally forgot to put on perfume.
"Oh, thanks, honey." You flash him a weak smile and kiss his cheek. "I havenât eaten in, like, six hours."
"I know you too well," he shakes his head, putting the bag on the table. "Knew you'd be so wrapped up in work youâd forget to eat." He adds, "So I brought you your favorite juice, and I even got you that cupcake from Heavenpiece for dessert."
"Oh, Dean. I donât deserve you." You pout, lazily wrapping your arms around his neck, getting lost in those green eyes that always do it for you.
"You deserve way more than this, doll." He smiles sweetly and pecks your lips.
"You spoil me so much... Iâm gonna get so used to this," you laugh, feeling a hundred little kisses rain down on your face until he rests his head on your neck.
"You can get spoiled all you want... Hold up, what is that smell?" He pulls back, his eyes wide as he sniffs the air like heâs just smelled something amazing. You freeze, feeling him sniffing your neck like a bloodhound.
"Sorry, I didnât put on perfume. I probably smell weird, Iâ"
"Weird?" He cuts you off, looking at you like you just said the dumbest thing. He buries his nose in your neck again, inhaling deeply. "Thatâs the best smell Iâve ever breathed in. Thatâs your smell."
"Oh, come on. Itâs probably just the new soap," you roll your eyes, trying to hide the flush on your cheeks from his compliments.
"Nope." He shakes his head, grinning as he takes another deep breath. "Thatâs the smell of a woman."
"God, youâre so weird," you chuckle, but then he starts sniffing short, fast breaths, making you squirm and giggle. "Dean, stop. Stop! Deaaann."
"Nope. Iâm memorizing this smell." He chuckled, his fingers skimming under your shirt to tickle you, making you laugh even harder. "Itâs so, so fucking good. You've been hiding it from me. You're a very bad girl, you hear me? Get your punishment, pretty baby."
"Deaaan, stop!" You laugh, grabbing his hands to pull them away and locking your fingers with his. âFinally!â
"Alright, alright. But only if you let me sniff you all night. Deal?" He grins, and how can you say no to that face?
"Deal. Just for the record, you smell pretty damn good. New perfume?" You ask, leaning in to sniff him, smiling when you feel him shiver.
"Itâs the one you gave me for Valentineâs Day," he says, wrapping his strong hand around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. "But you? You donât even need perfume. Youâre so perfect, princess."
"Maybe the hunting affected you waaaay too much." You laugh, letting yourself fall into the warmth of his touch.
"Okay, but before we start this âappreciation session,â youâre eating. No way Iâm letting my girl starve while Iâm having all the fun." He says, stepping back to unwrap the bags while you head to the kitchen to grab the plates.
He pulls out a chair for you, and you smile, sitting down to eat. He leans in one last time to sniff the back of your neck before sitting across from you, looking like heâs already counting down the minutes until he can taste you. The fastest dinner Dean Winchesterâs ever eatenâbecause heâs already totally lost in the idea of tasting you, completely.
#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester#x reader#reader insert#fanfic#imagine#jensen fanfic#jensen ackles fanfiction#jensen ackles fic#supernatural fanfiction
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oh well... I mean... how about oliver x snowed in? do we manage not to punch him in the face by the end of it?
over easy đ oliver aiku x f!reader
In which domesticity creeps into the all the cracks in you and Oliver's casual arrangement as you find yourself snowed in at his apartment.
1.4k â fluff, soft oliver, fwb, mentions of sex
Itâs no good for your stupid, reckless heartâthis predicament.
âOver easy? And two sugars in your coffee, right?â Oliverâs voice calls out from the kitchen.
Itâs so fucking domestic, the way he says it.Â
Like youâre not just some girl he fucks into his king size mattress in the middle of the night twice a week.
Like youâre not just going on your third morning of being stranded at his apartment because your carâs buried under several feet of snow that just keeps on coming down.
Like itâs okay that your heart fumbles meekly behind the confines of your ribcage whenever he tugs you back into his bed to stay the night.Â
(That beats so hard it aches when he spins you around to kiss you in the doorway on your way out.)
Youâre not dating.
You canât date him.
Oliver doesnât date.
But heâs handsome and charming and polite and funny and the sex is so good that youâve never come so hard in your life andâ
Thereâs no fucking Oliver out of your system unless itâs with Oliver himself.
And if you have some inconvenient feelings dangling on the sidelines, thatâs your cross to bear on your own time when heâs not fucking you stupid in the backseat of his car or eating you out on his kitchen counter.
You donât ask Oliver what he does on nights that heâs not with you. And you tell yourself itâs because itâs none of your goddamn business, not because you know his answer would probably hurt you too much to hear.
You assume, anyway.
But now itâs Christmas Eve, and youâve lost any and all hope of digging your car out by tomorrow for your family dinnerânot that you really wanted to go to that, anyway.Â
And Oliverâs humming a Christmas song under his breath while he makes you breakfast, while you stand in his living room wearing nothing but one of his practice jerseys while perusing his bookshelf.Â
It feels dangerously, terribly, awfully domestic.
And part of you thinks youâd be better off trudging across town home on foot than bearing the full weight of this walk of shame when the snow melts.
Youâve spent hours on his couch over the past few days, and he canât seem to stop touching you. He scoots closer if you sit down too far away, places a hand on your ankle if itâs in reach, tucks your feet under his thigh. He puts his head in your lap or tugs yours down into his when you start yawning. He plays with your hair and your fingersâ
And the two of you have been making your way through your favorite show, one that heâs never seen, one that you didnât even think he would like. But it was his idea.
You even went down to his apartment buildingâs gym last nightâsomething which didnât feel strange in and of itself until Oliver kept appearing out of nowhere any time a guy tried to strike up a conversation with you, going so far as outright making out with you while you were on one of the stationary bikes.Â
(The two of you barely made it through the door back up in his apartment before he was fucking you right there on the floor in the entryway.)
And youâve yet to examine the feeling that stirred in your gut when you found oat milk in his fridge, knowing full well he doesnât drink it.Â
âOh yeah, almost forgot to tell you. Thatâs for you, I picked it up the other day. I know you hate using regular milk in your coffee.â
âand the bag of mini dark chocolate bars you spotted in his cabinet last night.
âYeah, yeah, you were right. Dark chocolateâs better.â
âand the brand-new, full-size bottle of your body wash that was staring you in the face when the two of you climbed into his shower the first morning, a mirror to the tiny travel bottle that youâve taken to keeping in your purse for accidental sleepovers.
âIt doesnât make sense for you to have to carry soap around in your purseââ
You hadnât even realized he knew you did that.
And yet now, as your eyes stray to the Christmas tree that sits in the corner of his living room between two large windows that overlook the city below, itâs the sight beneath it that promises to be your undoing.
Nestled between several gifts addressed to his parents and sisters is a box wrapped in gold paper with a blue bow on it. Your name is written carefully in his handwriting on the white tag stuck to the top of it.Â
Your heart catches in your throat.
âand oh god youâre going to kick his ass if itâs some stupidly expensive piece of jewelry that he probably didnât even pick out himself in there, one thatâll make you feel like youâre his even if youâre really not.
And you didnât even get him anything because this is fucking casualâ
âWanna open it now?â You jump as Oliverâs voice comes up beside you, his chest against your back while he rests his chin on your shoulder.
âItâs not Christmas yet,â you stall, your noses brushing when you turn to look at him, but he spins you back toward the tree.Â
âYeah, Iâm too impatient though,â he sighs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he reaches past you, arms hugging your sides while he places the package in your hands.
Itâs oblong and light.
Youâre glad, if nothing else, that heâs not directly facing you to see your uneasy facial expression. Slowly, with the tip of your finger, you begin to peel back the wrapping paper.
White bristles and bright green plastic greet you beneath it.
A toothbrush.
âBe my girlfriend,â Oliver whispers, nose brushing against your cheek.Â
You choke out a laugh as your heart swoops. âYou got me a toothbrush?â
Girlfriend.
âYou would have thought jewelry was a tacky way to ask,â he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth.
You tilt your face into the kiss, murmuring against his mouth, âI didnât get you anything.â
You almost did.
Several times, actually.
But nothing screams casual hookup gone rogue like a fucking Christmas presentâand that was the last thing you wanted him to think.
And yetâ
Oliver shrugs, spinning you around and cupping your face, the toothbrush still clutched in your hands. âYouâre my gift.â
Thereâs no hiding the ridiculous smile that creeps across your face as he kisses you, tugging you with him as he walks backward into the couch, pulling you into his lap.
His lips are warm and soft as his mouth engulfs yours, kissing you in a way that you know now is far too familiar to be casual. Far too easy and gentle and intimate as he cups the back of your head and feathers a thumb against your hip bone and nips your bottom lip and laughs andâ
He stops kissing you and looks at you seriously. âOh, I also got you that dough mixer you kept looking at videos of when we were laying in bed that one night, but itâs going to be late because of the storm. I donât want you to think I actually only got you a toothbrush.â
You blink at him.
âOliver!â
He grins. âWhat?â
âIâm leaving right now to get you a gift,â you grouse, trying to hop out of his lap.
The room spins as he lifts you up, and you find yourself caged in beneath him on the couch.
âWeâre snowed in,â he says, matter-of-factly.
âIâll walk,â you frown.
âNope,â he counters, hands sliding to pin your wrists above your head. âIâve got the perfect gift already. Have you met my girlfriend yet?â
He reaches down into his pocket to pull out his phone, and youâre met with a photo of you laughing that you hadnât even realized he took.
And itâs his wallpaper, for fuckâs sake.
Girlfriend.
âSheâs beautiful,â he murmurs as he puts down his phone and cups your face, lips brushing against yours. âAnd smart.â Kiss. âAnd funny.â Kiss. âAndââ
âI didnât say yes.âÂ
Oliver stills, blinking several times as he looks down at you with a serious expression.
You roll your eyes as you thread your fingers in his hair and tug his mouth back down against yours.
âYes.â
A pleased sound of satisfaction rumbles in his throat as his mouth skirts away from your lips, leaving a chaotic, hot, messy trail of kisses across your face, down your neck, across your collarboneâ
The smoke alarm goes off somewhere in the kitchen.
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Best friends little brother Tobio? đ for the ask game
ask game: a christmas drabble from an established AU AU: bff's little brother!tobio
"i know, mom," you say for the tenth time in your short phone call.
"they're calling for thirty centimetres!" your mother exclaims in disbelief.
"it's just snow," you remark with a sigh. "and i already told you: i'm not going anywhere, anyway. i'm gonna be fine."
the snow has brought tokyo to an utter standstill. the kind of storm that only comes once every few years, grinding the usually unceasing activity of the city to a halt. outside the windows of your apartment, the roads are snow-covered and empty, the flakes still falling rapidly outside the frosted pane of glass.
"all right," your mother says warily from her end of the call. "i was just calling to be sure."
after another half a dozen assurances that you are not going to imminently meet a snowy demise, your mother lets you go. you toss your cellphone down onto your sofa once the call concludes, and follow behind it shortly afterâlanding amongst the fluffy throw cushions with a little oof!
your tv is muted from when you'd answered your phone half an hour prior, the christmas movie you'd been watching still playing silently across the screen. you watch it for a moment, and though the dialogue is lost to you, you can tell a romantic moment is unfolding. the male and female lead are out in the snow, eyes glistening and cheeks rosy, and before you know it they're joined in a passionate embrace.
you sigh.
christmas.
it's not the first time you've spent the holiday aloneânor likely to be the last, considering how your love life seems to be going. but somehow, the weight of your own solitude sits a little heavier in your chest this year. a little more unignorable.
on the coffee table at your side there sits a postcard. you pick it up from the table and hold it over your head as you survey it for the hundredth time.
you'd received it in the mail a few days prior: a glossy photo of cinque terre, oversaturated and probably taken years ago but still undeniably beautiful, printed across the front. on the back there was no message, just your address scrawled in charmingly boyish script.
tobio.
you'd chastised him about a thousand times on your brief visit to italy that he ought to travel more while he's working abroad. before your trip, he'd never even seen the trevi fountainâbut you'd been sure dragged him along with you to right that during your stay. it seemed he'd taken your unrelenting criticism to heart, making a point to visit more tourist destinations in his limited time off.
and he always sends you a postcard when he does.
there's never a message included, or even his name, but you know without a doubt who the sender is.
usually you send him a text message to thank him for the card, and ask him what he thought about his visit. the conversations are usually briefâtobio's not much of a chatter, after all. but he has surprisingly insightful remarks to share about the places he's visited, and maybe a photo or two that he snapped while he was there. he's never in the pictures, but it makes you smile to imagine him amongst the scene regardless.
you haven't contacted him about this postcard yet.
you're not sure what the hold up is, really. the first day you'd been on your way to work, and planned to reply on your lunch break. the day had gotten away from you and before you knew it you were collapsing into your bedâthe postcard was your last fleeting thought before sleep overtook you, and the image of tobio overlooking the sunny, picturesque coast of cinque terre.
you dreamt of him that night. of his sunsoaked apartment in italy. of cobblestone streets and boisterous restaurants and the warmth of his back as he carried you home when you drank too much wine at dinner.
and now it's been days, and you still can't quite bring yourself to contact him.
you should have gone home with miwa this weekend like she asked you to. should have made any plan that would have gotten you out of your apartment and this strange funk you find yourself in. but now the snow is falling, and the trains are cancelled, and you're alone on christmas looking at a postcard from italy.
a knock at your door tears you from your spiralling thoughts.
you have no idea who it might be. not at this time of night. not in this weather. but you're shuffling to your door quickly in the wake of the knock, pulling a hoodie on over your head as you go to cover up the little pyjama shorts and tank top you have on underneath.
there are many people you're not expecting to see on the other side of your door, but kageyama tobioâwith rosy cheeks and snowflakes caught in his unfairly long eyelashesâis surely the least expected of all.
"tobio?" you say, breathless in your bewilderment. "what are you doing here?"
"i came home for christmas," he says, a bit quietâalmost shyly. "i'm sorry it's so late, my plane was delayed because of the snow."
with the entire city shut down, tobio must have had no other option than to turn up at your door like this. any flights or trains he may have hoped to take to miyagi would be cancelled. miwa's gone for the weekend. you must have been the only choice he had.
"come in, come in," you say, ushering him in the door, brushing snow from the front of his coat as he passes. "you must be freezing!"
tobio's cheeks are even pinker as he starts to warm up, ruffling his hair to get the snow from the strands as he sits at your kotatsu. "i'm sorry to turn up without any warning."
"stop apologizing to me, tobi," you say with a laugh, setting the steaming cup of tea you'd just prepared for him in front of him on the table top. "it's no problem for you to spend the night. the trains should be running again by the morning."
he takes a sip of his tea.
"have you told your family you made it here safe?"
"they don't know i'm here," tobio replies, a furrow of confusion on his brow.
"you didn't tell them you were coming home to see them?" you ask him incredulously. tobio doesn't strike you as the type of guy to plan surprises.
he looks away from you for a moment, his eyes catching on something at your side.
"you got it," he says, with something akin to relief in his tone.
you follow his gaze to the postcard at your side.
"i didn't hear from you, so i thought..."
the christmas movie on the other side of the room is still muted.
the snow is still falling outside.
you look back at tobio, and find his eyes on you again.
"i didn't come here to visit miyagi," he says quietly. "i came here to visit you."
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7. the one with a challenge
a/n: I've been fighting with tumblr for TWO DAMN DAYS to post it, so I really hope you enjoy
warnings: swearing, suggestive ig
word count: 1.227
lyrics from: The Apparition & Jaws - Sleep Token
masterlist
âNo way.â
âWay.â
The face that Megumi makes rips a laugh from you. It was your classic evening meeting, but since the weather was tragic for the past few days, youâve ditched the rooftop, settling in your room instead. Lying on your bed with a couple of snacks and a respectful distance between you, youâve spent the last hour catching up. With how busy Megumi was in the past few weeks, your talks were usually short, and there were fewer of them. Somehow you only now told him about the DM from Zenin, but the amount of strength it took not to scream about it as soon as he stepped into your apartment? You deserve a medal.
âMaybe itâs some sort of âbe kind to your lamest fanâ charity event. You know, like make a wish.â He says, and you flip him off.
âMaybe Iâm just cool as fuck and someone finally appreciates that?â You counter.
âNah, Iâd bet on the charity.â Fushiguro laughs a little when you groan and shove a pillow towards him. For a moment you close your eyes and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, something you lacked in the past days. Working on a new collaboration, streaming, and maintaining your life at the same time was a bit tiring and mostly overwhelming. Thatâs why you appreciate the calm evening more than usual. You and Megumi talking about the events of this week, the room illuminated just by the fairy lights, music playing in the background from your PC⊠itâs nice and relaxing. Very much needed for probably both of you. Mr. Guitarist was close to being done with recording the songs for his job, so he stopped spending almost every waking hour of the day in the studio. You can clearly see that heâs tired, but when you commented on it, he shrugged and said it was more important for him to create something heâd be proud of than sleep for healthy 8 hours.
âWhatâs with the aggression?â Sudden question silences the thoughts in your head, but you keep your eyes closed still.
âWhat do you mean, aggression?â
âThatâs the fourth time you hit me with a pillow. I got two kicks to my shins and a mean fist in the arm.â He counts all of your attacks, and you peer at him.
âIâll never believe that this fist hurt you in the slightest. For someone who barely eats and locks himself in the studio, your biceps are crazy. But okay, I suppose Iâm a bit more aggressive than usual.â Megumi looks shocked, although youâre not sure if thatâs because of your aggression or how easily youâve admitted it. âItâs been a busy week, and I have a bit too much energy. And I havenât gotten my normal dose of annoying you and Yuji.â
âDamn, first of all, I still train even when Iâm working, thank you very much. And second... I donât even know how to comment on that. You should just punch Yuji, not someone who spends time with you, and bring snacks.â With that statement, he lies back, with his arms behind his head. Itâs not weird that you looked at his flexed muscles and a sliver of abs revealed by his shirt rolling up, right? God, this man is fine. Does he have to be so fine?
âYuji just whines when I do that, though. You flex. Easy choice.â You sigh and close your eyes again, pretending like it was just a normal thing. Yes, you both sometimes threw a flirty comment here and there, never directly referring to your night together, but it was a little different.
When you were on the rooftop, it gave you the freedom of saying shit in an open space. Here, in your room, you are almost painfully aware of how close he is lying. You can feel the heat from his body and smell his perfume. And youâd be lying if you said it wasnât doing things to you. But Megumi is no better. Youâve noticed how he eyed you up after coming, taking in your shorts, simple t-shirt, and messy hair. Or how his eyes lingered on your face for a little longer than they should.
âSo, you like what you see, huh?â He turns on his side, leaning his head on one hand, his elbow keeping him up. If your eyes were open, you would see how his own trace your body, ending their path on your lips. He just needs to lean forward a little⊠âThat makes sense, Iâm the hot neighbor after all.â
âHuh?â That brings you to open your eyes and look at him with shock. Only now do you realize that the snack barrier between you two did close to nothing, given how close his face is to yours. And you do not miss how his gaze moves from your lips, but after another second or two. Itâs a dangerous game, but neither of you seemed to care.
âIâve seen your stream. Well, a part of it. How did you put it? âI canât say heâs bad-looking." Youâre blushing at this point. You had no idea he watched any of it, especially since he saw how you answered a question about him.
âDonât let it get to your head. I was just entertaining the chat.â He smirks, knowing very well thatâs a lie, and leans a little closer. Your heart seems to be beating to the rhythm of the Fallen song thatâs playing in the background, your eyes peeking at his lips on their own.
âAnd I'm not here to be
The saviour you long forâ
âSure.â His voice goes down to a whisper. The seconds go by, and you seem to be frozen, both calculating how bad it would be to take the next step.
âMegumiâŠâ Youâre whispering too, hypnotized by how intense his gaze is. You want to tell him you shouldnât. You really do. But the amount of time youâve spent thinking about him, about his kisses and touch, keeps you from doing it. Would it really be that bad? Doing this one more time?
âTell me you donât want it.â Thereâs a hint of a challenge in how he says it. And since when are you one to hide from a challenge?
Youâre the one to kiss him first this time. His reaction is immediate; the hand that was lying on the mattress cups your cheek as Megumi tastes your lips, and you need to hold back a moan. How much youâve missed that feeling. His touch is gentle, yet reassuring, when he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. He moves to hover over your body, holding his weight on one arm.
âShow me those pretty white jaws
Show me where the delicate stopsâ
âFuck. Iâve wanted to do that ever since you stepped on that damn roof.â Whispering, he lowers his lips down to your jaw and neck, and your hands now move to his sides and back.
âYou shouldâve.â You whisper back. You donât need to see his face to know he has that irritating smirk on, you can feel it on your skin. His hands make their way under your shirt, and he pulls himself from kissing your neck to look in your eyes. âJust one more time?â
âOne more time.â
âShow me what wounds you've got
Show me loveâ
tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen imagines#imagine#jjk au#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jjk x reader#jujutsu megumi#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jjk megumi#megumi fushiguro#megumi x reader#jjk fushiguro#fushiguro x reader#jjk fake texts#jjk fanfic#jjk smau#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you
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so assuming Avery is actually pregnant / doesn't early-trimester miscarry (which is not a given), there's two reasonable ways this can go, right. number one is she gets an abortion, the plotline is used to pull them all back together again, and they all have some collective hurt/comfort about it. number two, the one i would write - don't get me wrong, i'm all for women getting career-driven abortions, but hear me out - is the one where she does have the baby. under the cut bc it got long.
she goes to med school at first while pregnant - Max is right, it can be done, people in my cohort did it - and either gets lucky with the timing of the actual birth being during holidays, or just works her way to getting time off for a few weeks around it. And then... there's a baby. And you know what else there is? There's two dads (because we're 100% Mamma Mia-ing this bitch. they never find out who the bio dad is and they never seriously try. Baby comes out with Avery's exact skin tone so that's no clue.), and an entire cruise ship worth of backup babysitters. So Avery goes back to med school, and leaves the baby with Tristan and Max.
And, yes, raising a baby while also running an infirmary with a rotating cast of temporary substitute nurses filling Avery's role isn't the easiest thing they've ever done, but Robert loves fulfilling grandparent duties any time he's not on duty; Rosie gets one of those strap-on baby carriers and walks her (i don't know why i've decided the baby is a her but i have now) around the engine room pointing out parts and explaining concepts and hey, the baby never complains about her Michigan stories; Corey gets a cart and a bundle of clean sheets and pushes her down the corridors until the smell of laundry powder automatically makes her start laughing.
Max and Tristan make a pact to send Avery at least two photos a day - which ends up getting supplemented by everyone else who's with Baby - and FaceTime her most days, and whenever she gets a few days off she meets them in port. (The most expensive part of baby-raising ends up being her flights to wherever the Odyssey happens to be at the time, at least until Robert finds out and figures out a way to start paying her 'maternity leave', despite her insistence that the whole point of this is that she isn't maternity-leaving and he should probably be paying himself that and anyway, isn't she technically not an employee right now?)
And the thing is, during this time, Max and Tristan start... realising some things. Like how neither of them feel like they've lost their only partner, because they.. haven't. Like how the co-parenting's been working out better than either of them expected, because they fell instantly (minus a few minor bumps) into a shared rhythm. Like how sometimes they look at the other one holding Baby and feel like their heart's about to explode.
Also, they've both started sleeping in Max's bed. Because Baby's spent so much time sleeping in the corner of the infirmary that now if she wakes up at night and can't see both of them, she starts crying inconsolably. And obviously Max's suite is more suited to multiple inhabitants, and they're usually too damn exhausted to even remember the first time they were in this bed together.
(usually. most of the time. and when they're not, they don't make it the other's problem)
So at the end of the first year of this, the last two days of the year's last cruise have been packed with crisis after crisis after demanding patient after crisis, and as soon as they finally wave the last passenger off they hand Baby gratefully over to Robert and go crash out in Max's bed.
Avery was supposed to be meeting them on board tomorrow, but her last exam gets unexpectedly moved up by a day (believe me, med school loves to pull that kind of shit on you), so a couple hours after the passengers have gone, she shows up to surprise them. And finds Robert (a known ody3 shipper) first, who lets her take Baby with minimal captainly sulking about it, and while she rocks and kisses Baby, tells her (as a known ody3 shipper) that the two dads will be on the Pelican deck, but they're probably asleep.
Avery kinda frowns at him, but doesn't question it, and takes Baby up with her to Max's suite to find them. And they are both fast asleep, on either side of Max's bed with a space carefully preserved between them (because it's usually where Baby would be and they're both terrified of accidentally rolling onto her in the middle of the night). She's also exhausted after exams, so she crawls into it, lies on her back with Baby on top of her chest, and goes straight to sleep.
Tristan and Max wake up before her, and when they look across at each other, at Avery and Baby between them, they both simultaneously realise, oh. oh. oh, this - this three, two-and-half, four people, all together - this is it. this is the love, this is the children, this might even be the home - the second, third, fourth bucket list items to happen in this bed.
#there is a non-zero chance i will actually end up writing this fic. there are multiple scenes half-coalesced in my head#but in the meantime have this#Doctor Odyssey#Ody3#Quackers#Doctor Odyssey spoilers#mine#Avery Morgan#Tristan Silva#Max Bankman#i wanted to cry and hug tristan into oblivion watching the last scene#he fucked up with the 'sharing' stuff but my god he pulled it out for this#my writing#the other version of this i would love that's probably not going to happen is the one where there is no baby#but the abortion/miscarriage makes them both go 'fuck it life's too short for [insert reasons here]. yes avery let's do it'#and then they're all having sex with each other but outside of it tristan and max are only doing romantic stuff with avery#not each other. and both wind up feeling like something's missing and have a crisis that they made the wrong decision#until someone external (i'm thinking Robert for Max and a random polyam passenger he makes friends with for Tristan) actually interrogate#them on exactly what they're feeling and it makes them realise. hang on. whoops. turns out i might be more jealous of avery getting to kiss#tristan/max than i am of tristan/max kissing her. bc i'm actually fine and chill with avery doing whatever#because i know and trust that she's with us anyway. so jealousy might not be the right word at all and also. hm.
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Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 15) - Rich Gold
This is a jayvik x reader fic now but it'll still be labeled as a Vik Fic until it's fully implemented. Ft. a visit from Mel! Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.
Planning on writing as much as I can this weekend to post in bulk before Christmas week, I'll be traveling a distance away and can't bring my laptop with me.
stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3
ââ*⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.â§-âŠ-â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§*ââ
The two men had been working over there for the last hour. The last thirty minutes of which they had spent muttering too quietly to discern. When you cast a look their way, curious about the whispering, you are presented with something very interesting. Jayce was standing by Viktorâs chair, his hand tracing a pattern you couldnât make out on the lithe manâs back. That usually would not be cause for concern, it wasnât something you had really seen before but nothing that risquĂ©. The fact that Jayce was bent down by Viktorïżœïżœïżœs face whispering something that made his pale skin glow red? That was new. And intimate. And something you probably shouldnât be seeing.Â
It stirs a warmth deep in your stomach that you furiously try to tamp down. Whatever was happening over there was not your concern. The sketch you were working on was. When you had shown Viktor and Jayce your sketchbook they both lingered at the same spot. Answer enough. You had several iterations of it sketched out, that should have been a sign. Youâve had this happen before though. Where your subconscious had fully decided on something, and pushed it to you again and again, and it took something else to make you realize that you already knew what you wanted. So you tear your gaze away from whatever flirtations the two were engaging in to go back to your sketch.Â
General composition confirmed. Now you need to decide on little details. Foxgloves for ambition. Or Hollyhock? The former also could represent ambition for another person, not just your own glory. Fitting for their commitment to each other and their Hextech dream. Golden Rod for encouragement and Grapes for charity. King Cup for yellow to go with the Golden Rod, and to represent their wish for it to prosper. Purple or yellow for the Carnations to show pride? So many options. The petals of all of these flowers and more were sketched out in front of you. Changing their colors, layering, placement. Part of your panic in selecting a final composition earlier was knowing that Mel would be visiting today.Â
She had come in a few days ago looking for Jayce. Something about their next council meeting, What to and not to say. Who to kiss up to. Who to placate. Versing him, and Viktor by association, on the proper etiquette. Viktor had told you once that Jayce already knew everything he really needed to know from his patrons the Kirramans. Yet he listened to her with rapt attention. When she was done with them she floated by your station, ever graceful steps on the tile. Her jewelry clinked softly with each movement, like a quiet chorus of bells and crystals. Something about her presence was anxiety inducing and enchanting all at the same time. She thrummed with something otherworldly.Â
Mel had set a date and time for her to visit with you, something that you considered a luxury. A councilor taking interest in your art was one thing. The idea had crossed your mind when you had applied for this project, part of why you had considered it in the first place. Not to climb any ladders, but to make sure you could stay here in Piltover. Now you were teetering on an edge of potential friendship or securing stability. You felt that you were not one whose words were graceful enough to secure, well, anything. Felt that your skills laid in your hands. Hands that you were doing your best to keep moving despite the appointment you had set grew closer and closer to the present.Â
You were finally hitting a groove when there was a familiar sound pulling you away from the sketchpad. A scraping sound. The lab door is opening and Melâs gentle footsteps clack against the tile floor. Smooth and swift movements to cross over the lab. She held a box in one hand. This time she didnât immediately stop at Jayceâs or Viktorâs station. Direct line of motion to you. You stand and brush your hands against your slacks. When you glance in the menâs direction, they had separated and turned to the both of you. You realized that you did not know if Mel was aware of how deep their partnership ran. A blush on both their faces. It was cute and you try not to smile at the sight. You instead shift your gaze to Mel and offer her your smile instead.
âForgive the intrusion,â her voice like honey, âare you ready?âÂ
âYes! Just a moment.â Youâre grabbing a pouch and sketchbook. Today was going to be more of a walk-and-talk situation, you doubted youâd have the time to really draw anything. Still, you wanted to be prepared. As youâre gathering your supplies you hear Mel talking with Viktor and Jayce.Â
âCouncilor Hoskel sends his regards.â You turn to see Jayce opening the box, the largest bottle of wine you had ever seen and two glasses inside. Piltoverâs iconic gold filigree crawling up the bases, stems, and swirling around the bottom of the bowls. Expensive.Â
âWhatever for?â Viktorâs holding one of the glasses now, turning it in the light of the lab. Watching as it glitters, it seems that there may be small jewels set into the whorls and swirls. Very expensive.Â
âTruth be told, itâs a set he gave me. I thought that it would be better enjoyed here. I know that these meetings are growing repetitive. Consider it an incentive to continue your hard work.â Usually Viktor would scoff and mutter some reply about how they did not need incentives, but heâs eyeing the bottle of wine. Itâs Jayce who stutters out their thanks and puts the box on the table behind him.Â
Mel just nods, pristine and simple before turning to you. âShall we?â You give Viktor and Jayce a nod of your own and trail behind her when she starts walking towards the door. The two of you make your way to the hallway.Â
âThank you for making time for this Counc-,â Her head tilts with her raised brow. âMel.â
âDespite the finery and brilliance here in Piltover it is hard to find minds worth talking to.â Your cheeks heat. That was a compliment right? âIf those two let you stay with them, then you must be intriguing.â
âIâm just painting.â Itâs hard to keep the doubt out of your voice. Doubt that she thinks you are worth spending her little free time with. Doubt that Jayce and Viktor find you intriguing.
âYou have grown close with them. I'm glad. The two are so busy I worry that they forgot how to make friends.â When she notices you falling behind she slows her pace. Having you at her side like you were equals.Â
âYou're a friend too aren't you?â A genuine question. Jayce had a crush yes, but her frequent visits didnât imply to you that she returned the sentiment. Her energy was so kind, warm like the sun. It was hard for you to believe that she didnât want companionship.Â
âMmm. Perhaps. I'm not sure both of them would agree with that." You both give faint laughs at that. She continues. âI would like to be a friend to you though. We will need to find time to paint together soon.â The statement settles around your shoulders, the air around your ears buzzing.
âYes, Iâd like that too.â This time itâs your chest heating, swelling at the thought of being friends with Mel Medarda. âThose two could probably use a solo lab day.â
 âYou know with your skills, you could help promote them.â Your steps falter for a moment.
âWhat do you mean?â Promote them how? Why? Questions she is reading on your face.
âJob security after your painting is done. They'll need someone who can help them advertise, especially once Hextech goes public.â She says it like itâs the only logical conclusion. Finality in her belief alone.
You hadn't thought about that. Well, you had. When you first met them you had brought it up as an idea for someone else to do. Not yourself, you hadnât assumed it would be you. And the look on her face tells you she knew that. Like she knows everything. Not in a patronizing way, but in a calming one.
âIâm not sure how theyâd feel about that.â They both didn't like the amount of schmoozing they were having to do now. If you helped with anything it could be selecting designs but you werenât a designer or typographer. And if the other advertisements youâd seen plastered around Piltover spoke for what she would want you to make, it would be their faces. Having their faces plastered around everything is not something you thought they'd like either. This city is all about claiming credit for things that went well and sweeping things under the rug if they didnât.Â
âThey are fond of you. Iâm sure they would agree to it.â You give a friendly scoff at that word. Fond of you? The word makes your heart warm more than it has already. And your face. The upturn of Melâs lips doesnât help either. Nor does the hand she places on your shoulder. âConsider it for a friend?âÂ
Youâre looking at her hand, her arm. Eyes meeting hers. Such genuine eyes. Green and glittering with the gold in her hair, on the freckles speckling her face. You raise a hand slowly to place on hers. âFor a friend.â Â
âGood!â She pulls her hand away and motions for you to walk with her. âEnough talk of those boys.â You join her side again as you travel around the halls of the Academy. You talk about art, about the pleasant memories you had of Zaun and she lets very little slip of her childhood in Noxus. She shares artists you recognize the names of, some you donât. You shared that you make your own paint as a hobby. Leading the two of you to the topic of what paints you each preferred. It was nice. Talking to someone about things you truly did understand. Viktor and Jayce would explain their work to you, and you would listen. But finally talking to someone that was just as knowledgeable about art as you were was a breath of fresh air. You were explaining the process of tempera paints, and why you liked making them, not using them when someone calls for Mel.Â
A woman holding folders approaches, giving you a onceover before closing the distance.Â
âElora. Is it that time already?âÂ
âYes, it seems that-â, she pauses before looking at you again. When Mel nods she resumes. âThat thereâs been a development on those trade routes we discussed earlier.âÂ
âHmm, itâs always something isnât it.â She turns to you. âThank you for our time today, a nice escape.â Mel places her hand on your shoulder again. âI do hope youâll keep our talk in mind.âÂ
âOfcourse.â With that she leaves, Elora following behind her. When they round a corner you can hear their voices talking in a hushed tone. Imports and merchants being discussed as their voices and footsteps trail away. Youâre left standing in the hallway. Realizing that with the couple hours that have passed you and Mel had traversed to a part of the Academy you were not familiar with.Â
A groan leaves you as you turn to where you had come from. So if you had taken a right here, then you should see a vase on your leftâŠÂ
ââ*⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.â§-âŠ-â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§.·:·.*.·:·.⧠⊠â§*ââ
-------------.·Í*Ì©Ì©ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Ì„Íăâ©ă*Ì©Ì©Ì„ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Íâ§Í-Part 14-.-Part 16·Í*Ì©Ì©ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Ì„Íăâ©ă*Ì©Ì©Ì„ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Íâ§Í .----------------
------------â§ÌÌ·Ìâ§Ì„°̩̄ËÌ©Ì©Ì„Í°̩̄â§Ì„·Ìâ§ÌÌ âĄ Â°Ì©Ì„ËÌ©Ì©Ì„Í°̩̄ ·Í*Ì©Ì©ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Ì„Í· Master Fic List *Ì©Ì©Ì„ÍËÌ©Ì„Ì©Ì„*Ì©Ì©Íâ§Í °̩̄ËÌ©Ì©Ì„Í°̩̄ ⥠â§ÌÌ·Ìâ§Ì„°̩̄ËÌ©Ì©Ì„Í°̩̄â§Ì„·Ìâ§ÌÌ--------------
#I feel like Mel would be radiating arcane energy long before she became a mage and that plays into her playing wolf and fox so heavy to me#I honestly want to write an angsty melxreader fic where she wonders/realizes how much the people around her are there for her and not there#<- becuase she unwittingly manipulated them via the arcane. Not what is happening herebut i wonder#<- <- also i want her to be happy and writing her sad hurts me#fanfiction#fanfic#arcane#viktor arcane#x reader#viktor league of legends#viktor lol#jayvik#jayvikmel#jayce talis#mel medarda#elora arcane#artists talking like artists
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CaitVi prompt: hospital
[u are all so silly, i got four asks with 'hospital' so here's the first of probably a few more :) also on ao3. there's not any real angst as i've tried to stick to in this little au lol. some more jinx pov, cait being kind. just the little family they all deserve!]
///
immediately thereâs, like, a lot of blood. you wrap a towel â greasy, but better than nothing â around your arm and take a deep breath so you can stop yourself from feeling like you want to pass out. after a few perilous seconds, the wave of nausea and lightheadedness passes.
not that things even get easier, though, because you remember quickly that ekko is out of town on some arborist soil sample something something trip, and vi had texted you ten minutes ago that she was going out on a call â she always does, so you know whatâs happening and can work through your anxiety without spiraling into a panic attack â and vander is picking up some new stools for the bar two towns over. the voices start immediately, partially because youâre in pain and partially because youâre really starting to panic: your arm is going to be fine, probably, but the cut was deep and messy, a clumsy slip in the lab; you spent a lot of years trying your best not to take care of yourself, but you know thatâs not what you should do now.
youâre a burden, you hear, flashes of ugly images following. you close your eyes tight, as tight as you can, and shake your head. youâre still not used to not having your braids, but vi fixed it as much as possible and told you that you look badass; you look like your big sister more now, and sheâs the most badass person you know, so itâs fine. itâs okay, you tell yourself, even though you donât deserve care runs through your mind, so loudly, in a voice that isnât yours. you know what to do now, though: you breathe into the bottom of your spine, just like you practice with your therapist all the time. you sniffle and blink away some tears and say some affirmations to yourself, ones that vi and vander and ekko and even caitlyn tell you all the time, big and small compliments and reassurances all the same.
itâs hard, though: youâll only annoy her, you think, the second you remember what vi had told you a few weeks ago â caitlyn wanted to make sure you know that you can text het whenever you need. caitlyn will be mad at you; sheâll break up with vi and then vi will be mad at you, or vi will choose caitlyn over you, and either way she wonât want to live with you anymore, and youâll be back on the street, and you wonât be able to stay on your medications, not without viâs help, and ekko wonât want to spend any time with you when youâre like that, andâ
âno,â you say out loud, âthatâs not true.â you take a deep breath. ânone of that is going to happen.â
it feels like a miracle, even still, every time youâre able to come back to reality without hours of spiraling, and especially when youâre able to do it on your own. you still feel like youâre itching just under your skin, like everything is a little off-kilter, too fast and too bright, but youâre able to take one more deep breath and then find your phone.
your hand shakes as you press on the contact info and then call, and you put it on speaker and place it down on your work table before you put pressure back onto the towel over your cut. after only one and a half rings, caitlynâs very proper accent comes through with a friendly, âhello, jinx.â
âhi,â you say, try your best to not sound as stressed and near tears and a little bit crazy as you feel.
when you canât bring yourself to say anything else, after a few seconds she asks, âcan i help you with anything?â
âyouâre probably busy,â you say. âyouâre at work, and i really shouldnât be bothering you.â
you can almost see her shaking her head as you hear a little tisk. âiâm between meetings,â she assures, âbut, even if i wasnât, if i can do something, iâd like to.â
thereâs flashes of intrusive voices and images and thoughts, but you count to five and then nod. âokay.â
âgreat. what can i help you with, then?â
âwell, i was being safe, i swear, and i wouldâve asked vi, but sheâs out on a call, and ekko and vander arenât in town, and ââ
ââ jinx,â caitlyn says, gentle enough you would cry if you werenât as tough. âiâm happy to help, especially if youâre hurt.â
âitâs just a cut on my arm.â
âokay.â she sounds unfazed, not angry, just concerned. âdo you think you need stitches?â iâm not too far; i can come pick you up and bring you to the hospital.â
âare you ââ
âyes,â she says. âi am sure. i actually have a meeting there this afternoon anyway.â
âwell, okay. i guess.â
she laughs. âkeep pressure on the wound, and iâll see you in fifteen minutes. i can come up if you need.â
âno, thatâs okay.â
âiâll text you when iâm here, then.â
âyeah. okay. and, like, thanks, i guess.â
you hear the fondness in her voice when she says, âof course.â
/
itâs been eight months and youâre still kind of blown away by how neat caitlyn is: her new car thatâs always clean, no matter how dirty you get it on your climbing trips; she irons all of her work clothes, which you only know because vi teased her the pleats in her slacks a few weeks ago; her hair is always perfectly sleek, not a strand out of place. it would be kind of scary if you havenât also spent the last eight months watching her trip over herself to impress your idiot sister, and wear viâs hoodies, and make truly shitty coffee when she stays the night at your apartment.
still, youâre a little scared to get blood on the pristine leather seat, but caitlyn gets out of the car when you get out of your building after she texts you and looks at your arm. she frowns â less in concern than, like, compassion or something â before she pulls you into a side-hug, making sure to not jostle your bad arm, and then opens the passenger door and makes sure you get in safely.
sheâs in a neat dark turtleneck and slacks, a white coat actually hanging up on the hook in the back, which is comforting; the voices are quiet because your own is so loud wanting to scoff and tease her. but she turns on music she knows you like, and she doesnât bother with trying to get you to make small talk. caitlyn drives carefully, she always does, and you rest your head against the window, the pain finally catching up to you.
âi let vi know,â caitlyn tells you as she pulls into a spot with her own name on it in the parking garage at the hospital.
you thank her quietly, feeling relieved that you donât have to, even though sheâll definitely make you explain later how, even with all the new safety equipment jayce had given you, this could happen. still, the voices calm more and more as you walk in. caitlyn shrugs on her white coat, and she tells you to sit in a chair in the ER waiting room while she checks how busy it is.
âdr. kiramman,â you hear a nurse happily greet her. you lean your head back and close your eyes â the pain finally hitting you fully as your adrenaline has worn off â and grumble, âso fancy,â just for posterity.
soon enough, though, only a few minutes, she gently says your name. âweâll get you settled in the back,â she explains. âitâs a little busy, but thereâs a bed, and we can get you some pain medicine while you wait. itâll be much more comfortable.â
you nod and she helps you up and then wraps a gentle hand around your shoulder, guiding you comfortingly. a nurse comes in and takes your vitals, which are normal enough, and then bustles out to get pain meds and a suture kit.
âi â i canât have opioids,â you tell caitlyn, quietly. vi is always the best at leaving the details of what youâve gone through up to you to tell people, but youâre still surprised when caitlyn doesnât know things.
she just nods, though, unfazed. âi put in an order for local anesthetic, which should be the most helpful. otherwise, we can have you take tylenol and then see how your pain is; there are stronger options we can explore if you end up needing it.â
you kind of want to cry, but you donât because youâre big and tough and strong and crying is for babies, obviously. you look around at how nice everything is, how shiny and new, and you take a second to really see her. caitlyn sits calmly in the chair next to your bed, perfect posture and slightly tired eyes; you know how strong she is since you climb together often, and you also know how kind she is.
âthis is a way nicer hospital than the ones iâve been in before.â
her smile is a little hesitant but pleased all the same. âiâve been working on improving all of them in the region.â
âeven the psych wards?â
her smile grows a little, genuine, and just for you. âespecially the psych wards.â
itâs impossible not to return it. âreally?â
âcompassionate and comprehensive mental health care has always been a priority of mine,â she says, completely serious. âitâs part of the reason i went into public health policy, rather than just practicing.â youâve tuned out whenever she and vi have talked about caitlynâs multiple degrees, because usually youâre climbing or someone has just brought you food, both of which are much more interesting than, like, seven million years of fancy school or whatever, but maybe itâs less dull than you thought. âiâve grown to care about it even more in the past year, though.â
it takes you a second, but then you understand. âoh. huh.â it seems impossible, but sheâs not joking. âbecause of me?â
âyes,â caitlyn says. âwe donât have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, but iâve noticed how hard you work, and i know how much vi helps coordinate your care.â
for a second, you want to argue, or yell, or storm out and crash a car or fall into a hole or something, because you are a burden and vi does do so much to help you stay as stable as you can.
âiâm in awe of you both, really, for navigating it all, even now,â caitlyn continues, though, and the storm of your bad thoughts fades. âhowever, it should have never required the effort it did to get your care and social supports at first, and it still should be easier to coordinate presently. and,â she continues; you have to fight a smile because, sometimes, it is fun when she really gets going; caitlyn can be terrifying when she wants to be, âif you or anyone else needs inpatient care, you should get to be in fully fundedfacilities that promote healing, grounding, and stability â mentally, but also physically. we know scientifically that aesthetics play a role.â
âwell,â you say, your voice a little thick, âcanât argue with that, can i?â
she laughs, and then the nurse comes back in with a man in a white coat trailing behind her; he has a greying beard but is otherwise tall and stately, with a gentle eyes and a smile that is exactly the same as caitlynâs. she smiles and hugs him tight, which he returns happily; you donât wonder where caitlyn got her easy affection from.
âjinx,â she says, âmy dad will be able to give you stitches today. i do have a meeting in about five minutes, but if can push it back if youâd like me to stay.â
âwhatâs the meeting for?â you ask, mostly to be annoying, but also because youâre lowkey curious.
unfortunately, by now caitlyn is unfazed. âa plan for the improvement and expansion of our regional gender affirming healthcare program.â
you almost groan; you canât believe youâre going to have to suffer through your sister â worldâs number one Good Personâąïž, as far as youâre concerned â and caitlyn â another Good Personâąïž â for the rest of your life, if things go the way they have been. itâs kind of a big thought, but you find it makes you happy. âwell, canât postpone that.â
she smiles. âvi texted and should be on her way soon to drive you home when youâre done. i already put in your prescriptions at the pharmacy, so you can just pick those up on your way out. iâll stop by later with some dinner.â
âyou donât have to ââ you catch yourself and take a deep breath â âthank you, caitlyn.â
she hums, squeezes your shoulder, and then gives a little wave on her way out, perfectly pressed coat and all.
âdr. kiramman, the original,â you say as caitlynâs dad pulls up a stool and sterile tray next to your bed.
âtobias, please,â he says, easy warmth to his voice. âcaitlyn and vi have both told me so much about you.â
âterrifying.â
he laughs as he readies a syringe. âthis is just local numbing agent. youâll feel a little pinch, but it shouldnât hurt any significant degree.â
he waits for you to nod before he starts, and it stings but not bad.
âand only good things,â he assures you, finishing up. âmostly about your school, and how much they both enjoy climbing with you.â
âoh.â
he nods, and then quickly and clearly explains the process for stitches. again, he waits for your consent before he starts.
âyou and mrs. kiramman like my sister?â
he expertly ties off a suture. âi loved vi right away. cassandra is, well ââ he rolls his eyes, like you for sure know and are in on it, and, like, vi is still kind of scared shitless of caitlynâs mom, so you can figure it out.
âintense?â
he laughs. âi donât think anyone caitlyn wouldâve grown serious about wouldâve impressed her at first, no matter what.â
maybe itâs because youâre in pain, or because the routine of your day has gone to shit, or because everyone is being nice to you and itâs kind of overwhelming, but you feel a little defensive. viâs, like, the best person in the world though. she knows that, right?â
âshe does.â tobias is serious and gentle. âsheâs actually been pestering the girls to have you and your father over for dinner soon.â
âreally?â
âi think theyâre both just working up to having to endure hours of embarrassing childhood stories at their expense, to be honest.â
you perk up; tobias has to remind you to stay still through a fond chuckle. âiâve got some really good ones.â
âiâm sure you do.â
and the rest is easy: tobias asks thoughtful, genuine questions about your senior thesis project, about your work with jayce and viktor, even about ekko when you mention him. itâs, well, easy, and you know when you share all of this with your therapist theyâre going to go on and on about how good this experience will be for your continued work of remapping your thought patterns, helping you through trauma responses the more good things happen, blah blah, even if theyâre right and it has helped a lot. he places a bandage gently and explains what you should do the next few days; vi has had more stitches than you can even count, with her younger propensity to fight anyone and her current propensity to run into burning buildings, but you listen closely anyway.
vi comes rushing in, a little out of breath and flushed in a fire department crew neck sweater and her uniform pants and boots, a smudge of soot still on her cheek, one of caitlynâs nice patagonia tote bags youâre pretty sure vi has stolen at this point slung over her shoulder. when she sees you, intact and fine, and then tobias, she deflates in relief as she skids to a stop.
âall fixed up,â tobias says, and gives her a hug that strikes you as familiar; your chest aches a little, but itâs a good ache.
you can tell vi is still resisting the urge to take your face in her hands and check over every inch of you, so you roll your eyes. âiâm fine, vi.â
it seems to appease her for now, and she listens so intently when tobias explains everything to her, and then gives her directions to the pharmacy. âand bring jinx and vander for dinner soon, please.â itâs accompanied with an expression that is so caitlyn â generous but demanding; thereâs nothing vi can do to argue â you have to laugh.
when tobias leaves, vi hugs you tightly. âiâm glad youâre okay.â
you really donât want to suddenly start crying, so you shove her back after a few seconds. âno big deal, sis.â
she looks at you carefully, now that itâs just the two of you, to make sure youâre not putting on a brave face.
âi will say, itâs pretty sweet to have an in with the head of public health and her dad.â
vi smiles. ânow you know why iâve paid attention when she talks about her job.â
âitâs still boring to hear,â you insist. you realize, belatedly, as vi gets out one of your comfortable jackets from the tote bag, that youâre just in an old ratty tank that you wear when you tinker around; you let her help you into the jacket, taking comfort in the gesture even if you donât want to acknowledge it aloud. âitâs cool in practice, though, gotta give her that.â
vi hums happily and then pulls a beanie over your head.
you roll your eyes. âi can do that on my own. plus, i donât even need that.â
âitâs starting to snow outside.â
you humph, just because you can. sometimes itâs grounding to be stubborn.
âplus, take it from me, your head will be cold now if you donât wear a hat.â
she has a point, maybe,so, âwhereâs your hat, then?â
she produces another beanie from the tote, a very nice arcteryx one that youâre sure belonged to cait a few months ago.
you roll your eyes and shove off her help when you get up from the bed, and she rolls her eyes. still, she walks close to you as you head out, and she gets your prescriptions for you when you donât feel like going to the counter and talking, and she drives home safely in the snow. you doze on and off on the couch under your favorite fleece blanket after you change into one of viâs softest hoodies and shorts and the best fuzzy socks, and you wake up drearily â the disruption of your routine and the adrenaline wearing off catching up to you â when cait lets herself in after itâs gotten dark. she brushes snow from her coat and takes her boots off on the welcome mat and racks them neatly next to viâs, and then kisses her hello.
âis that pizza for me?â
she laughs at the way youâve perked up, your head just peeking over the back of the couch. âyouâre feeling hungry? thatâs a great sign.â
you get up and wave both of them off when they try to help you get a plate; you take a slice straight from the box and go back to your little nest. vi brings you a plate anyway, and, after caitlyn changes into comfortable clothes â hers, left here consistently in a drawer or two in viâs dresser â they cuddle up on the far end of the couch with their own slices.
âsince i faced a life-threatening medical emergency today,â you say, âi get to pick the movie.â
they both groan in protest, but vi hands you the remote anyway. you take pity on them â and maybe a little bit of gratefulness â and pick something all three of you had wanted to watch anyway, which vi seems especially pleased by. sheâd told you on the way home about her shift, how sheâd basically worked through the night and then had another call this morning, both pretty intense burns. she has a beer and cait has a glass of wine, and, unsurprisingly, vi falls asleep on caitâs shoulder about halfway through the movie, after sheâd put away the leftover pizza in the fridge and done her nightly routine of checking all the locks on the windows and doors, a habit that you donât think sheâll ever break.
you smile at the two of them, and unfortunately caitlyn catches you out of the corner of her eye. you wrinkle your nose at her and she laughs softly.
âhey,â you say, âthanks for today.â
âof course.â
âand, like, for your work, i guess. or whatever.â
she pats your hand, then squeezes once as you get up.
you wrap yourself in a little blanket cape, hooded over the top of your head, so just your face sticks out. you debate telling her to be sure to be quiet if they have sex tonight, or to please not bother making coffee tomorrow morning, but youâve learned that there are lots of ways to say that you care about â and even love â a person.
âsleep well, caitlyn.â
she smiles. âgoodnight, jinx.â
#arcane#arcane fic#caitvi#jinx!!!!! my GIRL!#this rly got away from me lmfao but i love them. give jinx the world (ppl being nice to her)#honestly i probably will devolve into angst soon but i've really held out so long#the girls :)
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Yeah I get that for sure, the game doesnât offer you a choice but I also see a lot of people conflating his upset with hate and I just really donât think that he hates Shepard at all?
Idk itâs personal to each person I guess but from my pov the first thing he does is hug Shepard and then reacts quite rationally to his closest person being dead for 2years no contact suddenly appearing with a terrorist group and being like âhey kaidan howâve you been? đâ
I would be angry too if Iâd been traumatised by leaving the person I love behind on her orders to then receive no word from her (again, defo not the players fault but that is the way itâs written) but it wouldnât mean that I hate them Id just need time to process this new info again, which is what heâs done by Me3, and then I think itâs actually LESS realistic to have that person just accept in 3 mins at first glance that Shepard in front of them actually is their Shepard and not some experiment by Cerberus in the first place after spending the entire previous time together pretty much taking apart Cerberus bases and experimentsâŠ
Idk, I can understand some of the points Espesh when it comes to the writing and the playerâs lack of ability to change the story choices with the virmire survivor -defo frustrating- but a LOT of the kaidan hate Iâve seen seems to just boil down to âI donât like that he didnât immediately drop everything for Shepard/I donât like that he had an angry reaction to Shepard/he cheated with a doctorâ when to me itâs clear heâs spent two years trying to move past what was probably hella traumatising, starting to make progress and sheâs just appears out of nowhere with a whole new team
And then he sends the email and Idk I personally loved it!! From Me1 Kaidan is shown as a character to be emotionally mature and worked through his demons, so to me if anything his outburst on Horizon is because he cares about Shepard so much his control slips, and then with the email I just thought ok fair enough!! he reacted angrily after his base was attacked and in shock that Shepard is actually truly alive as any person might but then recognised that he was maybe wrong to react that way in the moment, apologises first then lets her know he went on one date at the request of his friends which he specifically says was not serious, and tells her he needs time but essentially leaves the door open, again reiterating that he doesnât trust Cerberus and to be careful, so idk how that comes across as hating shep when to me it read more like an apology for a shock response..
This was a looooooong ramble hahahaha but yeah I basically understand 100% why you feel that way, cos the forced choice of joining Cerberus defo doesnât lend to then having people angry at you in game, but I just think itâs so strange that 98% of the fan base hates him and so few people seem to be able to cut some slack for Kaidan given the entire context/circumstances that the conversation goes down
I am prepared to be hated but I really think Garrus is a bit overrated?????? I went into this game being like damn Garrus is clearly the one to be with cos of how popular he is and donât get me wrong I LOVE that turian so much heâs a bestie fr but I had actually 0 interest in romancing him at all???
Prepared for double the hate but yall overhate Kaidan as well lmao he does not deserve the hate he gets I love him !?? his romance for fem shep was completely fine and destroyed me at the end of 3 even with horizon (this is a whole separate thing but some of you willingly decide to not see he has some very valid points on horizon), and I love Thane too so Iâm excited to see his romance now on my second play through but damnâŠ
#just my personal op tbh#I am a kaidan LOVER#I clearly have a lot of feelings about Kaidan#thatâs my lieutenant đđđ#I will protect Alenko with my life fr
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âTake my handâ pages 5-11
1 - day 2 - truth - 3
#nmweek23#narumitsu#wrightworth#phoenix wright#miles edgeworth#i spent all yesterday shading and lettering these your boy is so tired BUT IT WAS WORTH IT#in which i cram way too much into way too little and yet way too many pages for a single day#my sincerest apologies to them on their day but i will make it up to them i PROMISE#âprove itâ youâll NEVER GUESS what happens next :^))))) (<-guy who is extremely predictable)#phoenix is so strong because if miles looked at me like that iâd be going crazy and im like a known enemy of edgeworth#see you guys in like 5-7 business days on part 3 o7#fan art#aa#fan comic#rendevok#OH OH ALSO thereâs like a whole fucking essay i could write about these pages esp wrt light and also The Hands but youll have to ask for it#just know that if you see something⊠there was probably a reason for it!#ok thats it fr this time
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