#i think no matter what form their relationship exists in they just Get each other very well

[let-spretend]

hellooo here's part 2 , some minimal alexei & bucky in the beginning, then void and bob . ok bye

heavy space between us pt.2 (bob x reader)

CW self-harm, mental unwellness

pt. 1

You, Bucky and Alexei were being sent out on a short-notice mission, to assess several reports of a supernatural being in the upstate area. With a disproportionate amount of funding, missions that don’t call for immediate attention were to be gone with a car. Obviously, Alexei opted for a limousine and that’s what you got. No one really cared at that moment, but now everyone was slightly embarrassed to be seen in it for missions or to represent the Avengers. You didn’t mind, the room in the back was way too convenient and luxurious, despite it being on the cheaper side. But, 5 hours. It was a little bit daunting, when it was awkwardly silent Winter Soldier and overly extroverted Red Soldier occupying the car. The leg room was not cutting the two extremes you were facing. You look out to see the open fields. It was so flat that it didn’t feel real. But the green gave you a sense of relaxation. The bustling nature and blinding lights were nowhere to be found, but it wore off a while ago. 

Bucky fiddles with his gun to avoid talking to you. Guns were never your thing but they got the job done; another thing that kept you out of the loop from the New Avengers. You and Bucky have always had an awkward and strained relationship - where neither of you were willing to open up to each other and you both could tell. Despite this, you still looked up to and cared for him as much as the others. You couldn’t tell or say the same about him. 

You would give Alexei a couple chirps here and there to engage him in conversation, but something was off. You could feel another entity nearby. It wasn’t as though you were near bulks of civilization, just the same miles of field. 

“Bucky, I think something is here.” You say. He immediately stops his fiddling, his face full of alertness. His usual furrow of the brow forms onto his face, his eyes glaring into yours. You begin to confess, “I know I haven’t told you a lot of things but-“ 

“Something’s coming, New Avengerz!” Alexei yells, accentuating the Z. 

You couldn’t even react. The car was smashed into by some inhuman speed. The rear was smushed in, Alexi grunting by the lack of space, squeezed in. Shards of glass fly by, grazing both you and Bucky on the face. You reach for Alexei’s seatbelt, unbuckling him to help release him before he is crushed indefinitely. The green scenery was no more from the windshield, only black could be seen.

“Alexei, please! Coordinate with me.” You strain, as you try pulling him out of his seat. His panicked flailing stops and he tries to shimmy out whilst you pull his arm. His plans for a summer body were clearly not progressing.

“Opened.” Bucky muttered. He had worked on finding a way out for you all, kicking at the backseat’s one-way door. He shuffles on over and helps you get him out by pushing on him through the crack on the left, Alexei popping out in no time. The damage done to the car was irreplaceable, completely wrecked. Or rather, beginning to fade. The front portion of the car was just gone, like it had never existed. You hated the way it resembled the Blip. You squeeze your eyes momentarily to snap out of it. It seemed a miracle you all were able to avoid death.

“Like what I did there?” 

The three of you turn to see an older man, perhaps in his late 40s, in a regular working suit. He had no scratches or wounds, or any indication that he was the perpetrator. His mouth contorted in a smug way, proud of his work on the limousine. 

“I ought to think you wouldn’t show up! Y’know, like they always do, only caring about the big city ‘n all.” He confessed. 

“What is it that your town needs, exactly?” Bucky sternly asks.

“We need jobs, investment and focus in this area. No matter how hard I tried, my voice was never heard.” He looks down onto his palm. “I’ve always had this problem, y’see. I’m a Mutant. Always thought of it as something to hide and be ashamed of. But, I can use this.” His arm reaches out, you all crouch expecting impact. “No more waiting.”

Only speckles of black flakes remain where he used to be, disappearing. The warmth of another, resurfaces, behind you. You feel a hand grasp at your backpack, tugging you backward. You instantly hear your shoulders get lighter, items clanking beneath you. When you turn around he waves around a small light bomb that should’ve been in your bag. Shit. You turn back around toward your teammates, grabbing and slamming them to the ground. You attempt to cover at least one of their ears, your left hand on Alexei’s and and your right on Bucky’s. Your arms and back shield their eyes. Your left hand tingles from the pressure.

A hot, burning sensation trickles onto your back and a loud ringing follows. Disorientation was an understatement, everything had happened so fast. You open your eyes to a yelling Bucky, but you couldn’t hear anything spewing out of his mouth. His hands find your shoulders, lightly pushing you off him. All you could do was watch him dash toward the mysterious man as Alexei tries to get you back into the moment. His words were at least muffled now, face littered with worry. You don’t fail to notice the rips and tears in his uniform from when the car crashed.

You brush him off and begin to pick yourself up. You need to protect your people, your purpose. The sounds come rushing to you as you come to a straight stance, throwing off your equilibrium for a moment. Bucky grunts as he is thrown to you and Alexei’s feet. He attempts to help him up but is met with resistance. Your feet lose contact with the ground. You all were floating an inch off the pavement, flakes surrounding you. He’s making molecules disappear and transport you, as he did with himself seconds ago. You can only watch helplessly as just the flick of his finger makes you go flying 40,000 feet into the air. 

The world begins to warp and the houses begin to shrink. All the parachutes had been left in the car as an afterthought. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. The wind that hits your face hurts, as you all begin to hurl toward the Earth. Alexei begins to yell, the circumstance beginning to hit him. Bucky joins in with him, closing his eyes. There was really no other way. You had to rely on your powers. To save your friends. So it would be okay. 

You attempt to swim amidst the air, grabbing onto the Red Soldier’s thigh. His holster for a small knife carefully hidden away by the various straps on top of it. You hand snakes it out of the jail it was behind, freeing it for its use. To slit, to cut. 

“Alexei. Hold onto Bucky, okay?” 

He looks like he wants to ask what it is exactly you were planning, but Bucky does the “holding onto” for him, not questioning you. You hum at his obedience and look down to see his knife. Shining and in optimal sharpness. Raising and scrunching your left sleeve to your elbow, you don’t dare linger on it. You bring the knife near your left ventral and cut toward your palm. It was deep, you could feel it digging in. You couldn’t quite tell whether you hit bone. A flash of heat, followed by a shiver when the blade leaves you. You sigh. The comfort of this feeling was one you know you should hate. All the things you did because of your power, to yourself and others. This odd sense of familiarity is why you stopped when you were younger. It confused you.

The familiar feeling of blood oozing and rolling off your arm, reminds you why you even did this again in the first place. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on your blood, draining yourself. 

A maroon red begins to slowly cocoon you three, hardening it like a shell as best you could to brace for impact. You keep your eyes closed. Afraid of what Alexei or Bucky’s faces looked like. What they would say.

It felt like forever, falling back down to Earth. It killed you to not know when you would hit the ground. Your right hand that was squeezing your arm to hold in as much blood as possible should hurt right now. Alexei and Bucky are still yelling, arguably louder since they couldn’t see. Forever sounded nice. Until it wasn’t.

As soon as you hit the ground, the blood became plush to cushion your fall. It immediately disperses and turns into liquid. Bucky and Alexei’s bodies slam into yours and they roll off onto the ground. Your blood stains all of your clothes, the wet seeping through onto your back. It stung, with the previous burn from the stun bomb. 

“Oho~ I didn’t know you had powers, Avenger.” He mocks. “A weird one at that.” 

Too much blood was leaving your body, but you had to keep fighting. Your clouded mind was beginning to fade. 

You prop yourself up with your left arm, more blood oozing out of your body. Hurriedly, you slam your hand onto the wound. 

Crystalizing what blood was still on the ground, you fling it toward the man with two fingers. You didn’t want to create anything life-threatening to him by using the fresh blood from your arm. He yells from the several that penetrate his thigh and shoulder, immobilizing him. You had deduced he was just a man with powers with no physical training or battle experience from his appearance. 

Alexei seizes this chance, pinning him to the ground. The man struggles under his weight, but gives in after a couple seconds, flopping his arms and legs to the ground. The Red Soldier grins for the victory. Bucky swiftly administers a power suppressor onto the man’s neck, disabling his ability. 

You allow yourself to lay your head onto the ground, beginning to let yourself into the black. It was comforting, not in the way that it was familiar, but this devoid feeling reminded you of Bob. Early this morning was calm and enjoyable. You could stare at his concentrated, hard-working form all day. You could feel two sources of warmth approaching you, but you stay ignorant, staying in the comforting black. The Void.

-

It felt as though you woke up, but you were met again with nothingness. You never necessarily remembered how it felt or what you saw in your mind when you were unconscious. You simply woke up. This time, though familiar, there was no warmth like you felt before you fell into the dark. 

Faint dripping noises could be heard, looking down, the same wound you had inflicted was still on your arm. It runs along your forearm and continues to splatter onto the floor. There was no pain, only the sensation of the liquid running along. 

You guess you’d been staring at this anomaly for a while, as a pool of your own blood begins to form. Crouching down, you look at the moment the blood hits the pool. It ripples for only a moment, dying as soon as it lands. 

”Why do you not stop it?” A figure, seemingly blended into the darkness, stands before you. Only two small slivers of light could be seen radiating from his pupils. The Void. This must be his doing, but it didn’t feel as though he was creating this place out of malice. Whether he was asking about the ripple or the flowing blood, you couldn’t tell. You only look up, allowing him to have the upper hand.

”Stop what, exactly?” You try to clarify.

”The bleeding.”

”Oh, well. Not that I really can, can I?” You confess. The Void steps closer to you, crouching down with you, watching the fleeting ripples.

Softly putting your hand onto your wound, you squeeze at it, trying your best to stop the flow. No matter how you rearranged your hand, blood would always manage to seep through. Your once clean right hand, tainted with fresh blood.

“See?” You say, looking over to his bright irises. He takes several moments to stare you down, to assess you. Of course the Void and Bob were two different entities, but you could see many similarities in them. “Are you okay, Void?” You ask. He only blinks, taking his time to look into your eyes. 

“Hm.. yes.” He answers. “Why is it that you ask?”

“You seem.. different. More, present.”

The Void stands up, creating distance between the two of you.

“I had thought that controlling you, having you beneath me was what we wanted. Bob doesn’t know what he wants with you and I don’t either.” You turn to look at the Void in confusion. “I was born to be the manifestation of Bob’s flaws. You… your powers are like myself. Where, we are confined to be a specific way and cause harm, but there is solace and comfort in that familiarity. Why did it take me you to understand that I am needed, that I am Bob? And I figure, it is because you are so imperfect and raw that I recognize my being was never so ..” Again, his eyes meet yours. “Haah.. I can’t find the word..”

The bleeding had long stopped while the Void was talking. Only a long gash remained. You could see the inner workings of your arm, where the muscle lay and bone met. You look up to see the room lightening to a dark gray, the Void now clearly visible. He contrasts the place harshly, a rough outline of Bob’s shaded figure standing before you. 

“The others don’t understand us.” It states. The void steps forward, seeming to want to touch you, but stops the action. “I.. will see you again...” 

Your brows furrow as the room brightens in an instant, blinding you momentarily. You want to know what it is that you helped him to understand with your actions. How come you don’t understand that yet? 

That looming feeling of the Void dissipates, but lingers. Warmth.

You jolt up fully expecting to still be in upstate New York, bleeding out on the endless fields. You were met with the familiar blinding med bay lights within the tower. Your wound had been stitched up, due to its deep nature. 

A warm feeling fills your body, both sensing and seeing Bob at your bedside. His hand was on your left, answering your question as to why you were visited by the Void in your unconsciousness. An unknowing psychic. 

Keeping your hand under Bob’s, you quietly turn it around, holding his in yours. Your ventral side of your arm now toward you, you could see the red. You run your fingers along the closed slit, barely seeing any thread. Must’ve been a layered stitch. You sigh, leaning back into your pillows. They had been propped up so you were slightly upright in the bed. You wonder if Bob had done that for you.

You had never thought of the Void as something to be locked away, though you knew why the New Avengers had gone with that route. It made you question why the Void was okay with your complicity. Shouldn’t the Void be angry, even with me?

You turn your head to see Bob, sleeping, his head on your bed with his hand lightly intertwined with yours. You brush his bangs away from his face, revealing his closed eyes. They twitch a bit, now that the lights are fully hitting him. Mumbling into the bed, he pushes himself up with his left hand. “Ergh..” He groans, squinting.

Just like the other day, using the same hand, he rubs his eyes to wipe the sleep away. He softly blinks, realizing you were awake. His face contorts, wanting to say something, but all he could do was hug your body tightly. You hadn’t been in the fight directly, so nothing hurt really, but your heart tightens when Bob sobs quietly into your chest. More like a relief than anything. You let him be like that for a while. His cries did stop relatively quickly, but he remained in the hug with no intention of letting go soon. Though you wanted to, you decided to keep your arms to your sides. To have him initiate something, was new.

You also come to think it was nice to feel him physically. He is always scared to touch anyone due to the Void, which in a way you understood. He couldn’t really control it and you don’t think he ever will. 

“Thank you for being with me, Bob. You didn’t have to.” You say. 

He slowly peels himself off you, revealing his puffy red eyes. You admire his ability to be vulnerable, but wonder greatly why the Void hadn’t taken over. Usually when he is in great distress, the Void finds it easier to.

He gulps a small bit. You could clearly see the gears turning in his head, hyping himself up.

”Why…hadn’t you told us about your powers?” He meekly asks, scared you would be mad for bringing it up. His mouth tightens, his dark blue eyes meet yours. 

“Uh, well…” You trail off, trying to find the right words to say. You remember, how the Void had asked why you hadn’t stopped the bleeding and you didn’t know why. “I initially thought my reliance on my powers was normal, y’know, like Ava. It’s like second nature, a habit, and I’m sure for her it’s a healthy one.” 

You look down onto your arms to see the littered healed scars. It felt vulnerable to have them out due to the hospital gown you adorned, usually you would wear more concealing clothing. Not that you were ashamed of having scars, but you weren’t quite at the stage where you couldn’t look at them without convincing yourself it was to use your powers again. Which you knew wasn’t true. “There are good days and bad days, right?” You say, looking at Bob. His eyes were on your arms, accessing what that exactly meant. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what I was asking.” He states.

‘It’s not a crime to ask, Bob. Just that, I also realized that I was solely using my powers to hurt others and myself. When I met you, you reminded me of what I was like or, am, really. I still haven’t completely recovered that part of myself yet. And I know you don’t know this, but the Void had told me that he now understands that he is an extension of you. Not necessarily a part that should be pushed down, but I guess, we both have a part of ourselves we need to constantly be working on. I shouldn’t have been subduing it this whole time. You and the Void, your relationship, helped me understand that too.”

“You talked to the Void.” He goes a little bug-eyed, in disbelief. “Okay..” 

“I’m not quite sure of it either, but I think it was a good thing.” You say, with confidence. His mouth tenses, but he seemed to trust your judgement. Amidst this new understanding of you and the Void, Bob understands why he’s always felt a connection to you. That, every part of him feels it.

“I told Bucky I would call him over when you woke up. We’ll keep talking later?” He says, slowly standing up from his chair.

You simply nod. He averts his eyes and shuffles out of the room very quickly, not turning back. 

After the incident with the Void, he had been reluctant to give into great self-indulgence. He would read books and watch some TV to pass the time, but never anything he would specifically be interested in. Always picking out mundane channels or boring books. He felt undeserving. But this time, he walks out feeling lighter and he doesn’t know why.

[youandthemountains]

it probably is insane how much I wish I could express the thing about spones. the vibes about spones. Like there's the joking fun fandom vibes and I love them, I love to play with them, of course of course. but the THING. the CORE to me. i wish i could capture it and share it.

[just-a-sweet-girl]

Hii omg THANK U for opening requests for DMC just finished the Netflix show and I am now a fan lmao anyways ! Can I get Dantexreader who are in a beginning of a relationship but dante has yet to show his demon form to reader? Reader could be catching glimpses of his red eyes. Could eventually ask to see etc but ya! Just an idea that scratched my brain. Thanks in advance!! <3

Thank you for the request <3

Demons existing wasn't exactly a secret to you. As a kid, you're elementary school had been attacked and to this day, you had no idea if it had been planned or random. To be fair, you didn't want to know, surviving it had been more than enough.

So, it wasn't all that hard to believe your boyfriend of 3 months explained that he was half-human, half-demon. He's never harmed you, or even tried to, Dante was a great boyfriend. So you stayed.

Lately, however, you've begun to notice some new things happening. Like last night during a heated make out session. Things had been going as usual until you caught a glimpse of red in his eyes. The sight made a small, surprised sound escape you while pulling back.

"Dante, your e-" His large hand covers your own eyes. Brows furrowing, you reach out for him, hands gripping his shirt. "...Dante?"

"It's nothing, just..." He heaves a sigh. Still not removing his hand until he knew his eyes were back to normal. "I'm tired, that job earlier took a lot outta me!"

You didn't really believe him, yet you still nod. Hands cupping his face gently to gaze at his eyes. His now, very blue eyes. You smile. "Let's go to bed then... I'll even cook breakfast in the morning."

Dante grins, feeling better now that the subject has changed. Placing a noisy kiss on her forehead. "You're the best, babe!"

It happens a few more times after that. And each time, Dante came up with some excuse to run away or cover your eyes. He even went as far as throwing his coat over your head one time during a demon attack. Even though you had already see his eyes red, his form beginning to change. It was starting to bother you how secretive he was being about this.

Did he not trust you?

"Hey, hey, pretty. What's wrong?" His voice called out, cupping her face in his large hands.

you blink a few times and his face comes into focus. You didn't realize that Dante came home already. His expression filled with worry as he tried to look you over. You didn't think the thought of him not trusting you would have made you cry, but it did.

"You're eyes go red." you sniffle, getting straight to the point. "I accepted you being half-demon, so, i understand you would have some characteristics."

He called your name.

"Why do you hide it from me?" you whisper, hands holding his. "It doesn't matter to me if you have blue or red eyes. Or any other appearance besides the one i see now. You will always be Dante."

You finally see that vulnerability in him. "I don't want to scare you away." His forehead rests upon your own. eyes closing for a moment as he debates within himself.

"You won't." Then, you say, "Show me."

Dante close his eyes. Brows scrunched together as he hesitates. Even though you're asking to see, he was scared. What if you screamed and ran away from him? It hurt to think, but that might be the better outcome for you...

But you don't do any of that.

Smiling softly at the sight you only caught glimpses of. Nose brushing against his. "You're still my handsome Dante." The words are enough to have his smile return. "Red does suit you, after all."

[ordinary-barbie]

i burn for you.

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

summary: You hated Rafe Cameron. He lived to annoy you. There couldn't be anything more to your relationship—right?

word count: 3.5k

tags: fem!sassy kook!reader, enemies to lovers, cussing, sexual tension, underage drinking, dry humping, sappy ending

title from "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams!

~ • ~

It is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever you hung out with Sarah Cameron, her older brother Rafe was sure to appear. Didn't matter if it was at Tannyhill or the beach or some random Kook's party. Rafe always showed up at some point, to your utter dismay.

You'd moved to the Outer Banks the summer before ninth grade, feeling like you crash-landed on another planet. Kildare was not a huge place, and everyone else seemed to have known each other since birth, already forming their little cliques. You were a Kook—though you thought the whole "Kooks vs. Pogues" rivalry was pretty silly—but you felt like you couldn't fit in with all the pretty and popular girls. You thought making friends would be hopeless, until Sarah swooped in and took you under her wing.

Sarah was so sweet and funny; she quickly became like the sister you never had. It was just a shame that she had to be related to...him. Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. The guy always knew exactly how to push your buttons, whether it was getting into your personal space, snatching stuff out of your hand and refusing to get it back, and constant sarcastic comments—though you could always give as well as you got.

Today you were chilling at Tannyhill with Sarah, watching the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls because she'd somehow gone 19 years without watching one of the most iconic shows of all time. It was such a comfort show for you, and you were happy to be experiencing it with your bestie. Well, until you know who decided to flop down next to you on the couch, radiating with irritating frat boy energy.

"Y'all decided to have a movie night and not invite me?" Rafe fake pouted, putting his arm around you. You scowled, pushing it away.

"First of all, Gilmore Girls is a TV show. And secondly, why would we invite you? Don't need your mouth-breathing self ruining the vibes," you snapped.

Rafe rolled his eyes. "Chill out, princess. I promise I don't have cooties," he replied with a smirk.

"Now that, I highly doubt," you muttered.

Sarah sighed, pausing the episode. "Really guys? This again?" Poor Sarah had been witness to years of arguments between you and Rafe, and you did feel bad that she had to be caught in the middle. But maybe he should be less annoying—then you wouldn't be forced to bite back.

Rafe raised his hands in a show of innocence, though you knew he was anything but. "Hey Sar, I'm just here to watch the show. Not my fault your bestie here wants to bite my head off."

You scoffed, trying your best not to roll your eyes upwards towards oblivion. "Yeah, right, like you give a shit about Gilmore Girls. And I want to bite your head off because you're an insufferable ass."

"So you think about my ass, huh?" Ugh, you wanted to slap that smug look off of his face. You hated how the amused glint in his eyes and his lazy smile stirred feelings in you that you absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"In your fucking dreams, Rafe Cameron," you answered, scowling.

Rafe's smirk grew deeper. "Please, you wish I would dream about you."

"I think I'd rather have a root canal," you snarked.

"Okay, chill! Rafe, either watch the show with us or go away," Sarah said wearily, rubbing at her temples.

Rafe scooted closer to you on the couch, knocking his knee against yours. "I'm down. What do you say, princess?"

Your annoyance had morphed into a slowly simmering rage at Rafe's favorite nickname for you. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and plaster a smile on your face before saying, "Sure, why not?"

You came to regret your decision as soon as Sarah pressed play. While you and Sarah could watch shows together in comfortable silence, only adding occasional commentary, Rafe would not shut the fuck up. He always had something to say, whether it was about the dialogue ("Why the fuck do they talk so fast?") or the characters' appearances ("Lorelai is a fuckin MILF, I gotta admit.") It was a wonder you got through the episode without completely losing your shit.

Before you could at least try to enjoy the second episode, Sarah's phone rang. "It's John B," she explained, smiling sheepishly. She got off the couch and went upstairs to talk to her boyfriend in private.

"Well well well, looks like it's just you and me, princess," Rafe purred, taking the opportunity to put his arm around you again.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You were so close to Rafe that you could smell him—that heady mix of sea salt after an afternoon of surfing with Topper, cologne, and whatever detergent the maid had used to wash his clothes. If this was any other boy, you'd lean in, inhaling the scent. But this was Rafe, so you squirmed out of his grip, your stomach churning.

"Can you behave yourself for one second? You're like a middle schooler," you snapped.

Rafe chuckled. "Relax, princess. Get your panties out of a twist for once."

Your eye twitched. "I'd call you scum, but that would be an insult to scum."

"I love scum, drop the s though," Rafe casually responded, flashing you a lecherous grin.

You pretended to gag. "You're a Neanderthal."

"Keep talking dirty to me, baby, I love it," Rafe said, dramatically clutching his chest.

You were so relieved when you heard Sarah bounding down the stairs. She settled back onto her place on the couch, seemingly unaware of the tension that had sparked up in her absence.

Sarah stared at you and Rafe, arching an eyebrow. "Did y'all manage to behave yourselves while I was gone?"

"Rafe was—"

"Oh, we had a great time together," Rafe interrupted, smirking. "Just hanging out with my bestie!"

"I am not your bestie," you corrected, your voice dripping with venom, though that only amused Rafe more.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Who's ready for episode two?"

You picked up the remote and pressed play, immersing yourself in Rory and Lorelai's quirky world. Thankfully, Rafe was quiet—but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his gaze, laser-focused on you the entire time.

Against your better judgment, you'd allowed Sarah to drag you to a party.

Normally, you'd be along for the ride. As long as the music was good and the snacks and drinks were decent, you could vibe, whether it was a frat party at UNC or a bonfire at the beach. But this wasn't just any party; it was a Topper Thornton party. And as Topper's best friend, Rafe would definitely be there.

"You better not make me regret this, Sarah Cameron," you grumbled, fiddling with one of the spaghetti straps on your black tank top.

Sarah just giggled. "C'mon, it'll be fun! I promise."

You weren't holding your breath, but you allowed Sarah to hook your arm in hers and lead you into Topper's house anyway.

"Ladies! Welcome to the shit show," Topper greeted you and Sarah, wrapping his arms around both of you.

Shit show was an apt description. Music was blasting so loudly that it was making the house shake. A sea of people was milling about the place, with dozens of overlapping conversations. There were even loud shrieks and splashes as guests messed around in the Thorntons' pool.

"Oh, _____, Rafe is somewhere around here, I think," Topper said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "As if I would care where Rafe is."

Topper snickered. "Yeah yeah, sure."

Topper was convinced that you and Rafe had a thing for each other, which was, frankly, ridiculous. You and him? Please.

"You gonna get us some drinks or what?" Sarah asked Topper, putting her hands on her hips. Topper gave the two of you salutes and was back in a flash with two red Solo cups full of a bright blue liquid. He and Sarah may have been broken up, but there was still a part of him that was wrapped around her finger.

Sarah downed her drink immediately, but you were more cautious, giving it a sniff first before taking a sip. It tasted like blue Hawaiian punch with a dash of pineapple juice, vodka, and rum—not a terrible combo.

As the party rolled along, you began to loosen up. The playlist was banging, you and Sarah were having the time of your lives dancing, and the best part? Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

You dipped out of the living room area to use the bathroom, and when you came back, Sarah was putting her jean jacket back on, an apologetic smile on her face. "John B says the Pogues are having a bonfire at the beach so I think I'm gonna stop by there. Sofia's gonna pick me up."

You felt a pang of sadness but you understood. The Pogues were important to Sarah, and you weren't gonna keep her from her boyfriend and other friends.

"You wanna come? I'm sure Sofia has extra room in her car," Sarah offered.

You considered the offer for a second, but felt hesitant, as if some invisible tether was keeping you here. (A voice in the back of your head whispered thoughts of a certain guy, but you were quick to shove them to the furthest corner of your mind.) John B was chill, and his friends were always nice to you. But this time, you weren't in the mood for another party.

"Nah, I'll be fine here," you assured Sarah. "Go have fun! But not too much fun."

"Yes mom," Sarah responded, playfully rolling her eyes.

After a few minutes, Sofia arrived to pick up Sarah, leaving you to your own devices. You felt your social battery draining, so you flopped down on one of Topper's living room couches, mindlessly scrolling through social media to pass the time.

“Is this seat taken?” you suddenly heard a husky voice say. You looked up from your phone and were greeted by the sight of Spencer Bingham, who you vaguely knew from having a few classes together back at Kildare Academy.

To put it simply, the guy was cute. He had shaggy light brown hair, twinkling gray eyes, and the most dazzling smile. "Go right ahead," you offered casually, though you were internally swooning.

"So how've you been? I haven't seen you since graduation," Spencer wondered.

"Oh I've been good," you replied, smiling shyly. "Really enjoying it at UNC. How about you?"

Spencer matched your smile, putting his hands behind his head. "Oh I'm great. Loving Penn State and the lacrosse team. Though there are some things I miss about Kildare that I can’t find up north."

You giggled. “And what might those be?”

“Well, the girls, for starters,” Spencer answered, shooting you a flirtatious grin. “Specifically, you.”

Your mouth dropped open. You wouldn’t call yourself ugly, but you hadn’t exactly been Miss Popular with the boys of Kildare. You admittedly harbored a tiny crush on Spencer during junior year, but never even considered that he would be interested in you.

Spencer noticed your shocked expression and chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised! You’re a total catch—I’ve seen your Insta pics.”

You ducked your head down, suddenly feeling shy. Slowly but surely, you were being more confident in your looks and comfortable with your social media photos. You still had to get used to fielding compliments from people though, trying your best to silence that minuscule voice of self-doubt that lurked in the corner of your mind.

Spencer lifted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Can…Can I kiss you?” he asked, suddenly more bashful than before.

You nodded, giving him the green light. You’d been kissed before, but it was an unremarkable smooch during a game of truth or dare in tenth grade. Spencer gave you a real kiss—soft and slow, like something out of a rom com.

Eventually the two of you parted, catching your breaths.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “That was—I really liked that, Spencer.”

Spencer grinned. “We could keep doing it, if you want.”

“And what do we have here? The nerd finally hooks up with the jock. So cute.”

You stiffened, scowling at that all-too-familiar voice. “Rafe. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but I’d be lying.”

Rafe snickered, leering at you. “I noticed I hadn’t gotten to bother my favorite person tonight so I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I find you sucking face with Bingham. Are the pickings really that slim at PSU, Spence?”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Don't you have some blonde girl with big boobs you could be making out with instead of bothering us?" you snapped.

Rafe's smirk deepened. "Bothering you is more fun, princess. You're pretty hot when you're angry."

Your stomach betrayed you by doing a backflip at Rafe's words. Damn him. "You're insufferable."

"Thanks baby, that means a lot," Rafe smugly answered.

Spencer cleared his throat, looking awkwardly between you and Rafe. "Look...I don't know what's going on here, so I'm gonna go. See you around, ____. Nice chattin' with ya." He flashed you one last smile before getting up, leaving you alone with Rafe. Wonderful.

"What the fuck, Rafe? There was a perfectly nice guy who was totally into me, and you just ruined it." You were absolutely fuming. It was annoying enough that Rafe lived to push your buttons, but to essentially cockblock you as well?

Rafe snorted. "Come on, princess. Bingham couldn't handle a girl like you."

You clenched your jaw, glaring daggers into Rafe. "And what is that supposed to mean?" you demanded.

Rafe crossed his arms, huffing. "He's just not right for you, okay?"

"And how would you know who's right for me?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

For once, Rafe was silent. You rolled your eyes at him and hopped off the couch, completely done with his bullshit.

"Where ya goin'?" Rafe asked, furrowing his brows.

"Home," you curtly replied. "I'll just walk."

"Right, because it's such a genius idea to walk alone...at night...in those shoes," Rafe snarked. "Let me drive you."

You sneered at him. "No thanks. You're probably drunk anyway."

"'m actually sober, sweetheart," Rafe replied.

You let out a huff of surprise. "Rafe Cameron, not drinking at a party? Either the world is ending or you must've hit your head."

"Jus' didn't feel like drinking tonight, all right? Especially since Sarah asked me to make sure you got home," Rafe said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away from you.

You felt a pang in your chest. You loved Sarah for looking out for you, but you weren't prepared for Rafe to actually care about you or your well-being.

You sighed, not having the energy to argue anymore. "Okay, fine. Take me home."

The drive back to your place was uncharacteristically silent. Normally, whenever Rafe would drive you and Sarah places, he'd have a Spotify playlist blaring, or he'd be running his annoying mouth. But Rafe was focused on the road, not even sparing a second glance at you. You should've enjoyed this, relishing in the quietness. But something just felt...off.

You were relieved when Rafe finally pulled into your driveway. "Hey—thanks for driving me home. I appreciate it."

You went to open your car door, but Rafe put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you felt rooted to your spot, transfixed by his unreadable expression. What you wouldn't give to know what was going through Rafe Cameron's mind right now.

Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt and moved closer to you, cupping your face in his hands. Your heart fluttered in your chest in anticipation. Then, he softly kissed you on the lips.

A million different emotions raced through your mind as you felt his lips on yours. Before you could fully process what was happening, Rafe pulled away, stroking your lower lip. You shivered at his gentle touch.

Rafe cleared his throat, his ears flushing a bright red. "Um. So. Have a good night, princess."

You opened the car door and climbed out, flashing Rafe a nervous smile. "Yeah, have a good night, Rafe."

You found yourself replaying Rafe's kiss in your mind that night. Spencer's kiss had been nice, but Rafe? Of course, he was the one that had your head spinning.

Things had definitely shifted since...that thing happened after Topper's party. You and Rafe, usually firey with each other, had cooled off significantly. You felt like you would combust every time he spared a glance at you. It got to the point where you would refuse Sarah's invitations to Tannyhill, not risking the chance of seeing Rafe around.

Unsurprisingly, Sarah grew tired of both of your bullshit. "You're coming over," she said while the two of you hung out in your room, her voice not leaving any room for argument.

"Sarah, I—"

Sarah held up a hand. "Nope! No excuses! You and Rafe haven't spoken to each other for a week, and it's kinda freaking me out. You're coming over right now and both of you are gonna sort your shit out."

Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Sarah, so you conceded and agreed to go back to Tannyhill with her. You just had to ignore that your stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics at the thought of talking to Rafe.

When you reached Tannyhill, Rafe was on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Sarah whistled to get Rafe's attention and he looked up, blushing furiously at the sight of you. You nervously looked away, wishing you could sprout wings and fly out of there. Why did things have to be so weird?

"I'll leave y'all to it," Sarah said, bounding up the stairs.

Rafe cleared his throat. "So...you wanna sit down?"

You gulped, nodding, and joined Rafe on the couch. You wracked your brain, trying to think of a way to broach the subject you and Rafe had been dancing around for a week. Hey Rafe! So remember when you kissed me that night? I know I hate your guts, but I actually liked that!

"So—"

"Well—"

You and Rafe laughed, slightly easing the tension.

"So...about that kiss," you said, twiddling your thumbs.

Rafe awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Look, ____. I know I give you a lot of shit, but I actually really like you. Like, a lot. And I fucked around with you because it was the only way I could get your attention. When I saw you with Bingham that night? I was jealous. Because that should be me."

You took a deep breath, trying to process Rafe's words before you went forward with your own confession. "Rafe—I like you too. And I really didn't want to, especially with your charming personality." Rafe snorted.

"I tried so hard to push those feelings down to protect myself," you continued. "But when you kissed me, everything just bubbled to the surface. So I ran away instead of actually dealing with my emotions. I really liked that kiss. And I'm scared of how much I enjoyed it."

Rafe gazed at you fondly, and you felt like you would melt right there on the couch. You wished he would look at you like that for as long as he wanted to.

"You're probably the funniest girl I know. And you're kind, and smart, and hot as fuck," Rafe said, lazily raking his eyes over your body.

"You're all right too, I guess," you replied with mock indifference, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're insufferable," Rafe muttered, rolling his eyes, though there wasn't any real heat to his words.

You smirked. "But you like me anyway."

Rafe grinned. "That's true." He leaned in close, looking at you hesitantly before you silently gave him permission. Rafe kissed you deeply, pinning you to the couch. You eagerly kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've been wanting to do this for so fucking long," Rafe admitted, littering the side of your neck with kisses. You let out a whine, arching your back. You were such an idiot. You could’ve been experiencing Rafe’s mouth on you all this time.

“I think little Rafe is trying to say hello,” you wryly remarked, feeling a bulge poking you in the side. Rafe chuckled, his laugh warming your insides.

“So say hi,” Rafe purred in your ear, shifting you so your clothed crotch was right on top of the bulge in his jeans. You started grinding against his clothed erection, the two of you letting out moans of pleasure at the friction between you. You were trying your best to be quiet since Sarah was right upstairs, but it felt so so so good.

“Gonna cum, princess,” Rafe muttered before letting out a grunt. “Fuck…I haven’t cum in my pants like that in a while. You see what you do to me, baby?”

You shyly giggled, burying your face in his neck. Rafe softly smiled at you, kissing your forehead. The two of you laid on the couch, enjoying the comfortable silence before falling asleep.

Click!

Your eyes fluttered open at the intrusion, noticing a grinning Sarah holding her phone at you and Rafe.

Rafe stirred soon afterward. “Baby, what…” he trailed off, noticing his sister. “Sarah?”

“Sorry, but y’all looked too cute,” Sarah replied, giggling.

“I’ll forgive you if you send me that pic,” you said.

Rafe pouted. “Babe, I’m probably drooling and shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, it’s not like I’m gonna use it to hard launch us or anything. But it’s scientifically impossible for you to look bad in a photo anyway.”

Rafe smirked. “Wow, you’re really obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, giving Rafe a shove. He just laughed, giving you a peck on the lips.

You and Rafe’s phones both dinged twice with messages from Sarah, one with the candid photo and a follow-up message that said “You guys make me sick ❤️”

You looked at the photo, your heart swelling as you gazed at the image of you and Rafe. You were sleeping soundly, with your face pressed against Rafe's chest and his arms wrapping around your midsection protectively.

"Making this my lockscreen immediately," Rafe said, warming your heart.

Sarah pretended to gag, but she looked fondly at you and Rafe. "Glad y'all finally got your heads out of your asses."

"Me too. Especially Rafe. His was stuck waaay up there," you joked.

Rafe playfully rolled his eyes at you. "I was waiting for you to pull it out, babe."

"Okay, now I'm getting sick again," Sarah deadpanned, flopping down on the couch next to you.

You laughed. "Hey, why don't we watch Gilmore Girls again? I haven't forgotten your Stars Hollow education, Sar."

"Hey, I'm down," Sarah said, finding the remote and turning on Netflix.

"Where did we leave off?" Rafe asked.

"We didn't make it past episode 2 because someone decided they were bored," you dryly responded, shooting Rafe a pointed look.

Rafe smirked. "That was the old me, baby. I swear I've changed."

You shook your head, but you couldn't hide your ear-splitting grin. As Sarah started the episode and Rafe pulled you close to him, you felt a sense of peace. You never could've imagined yourself in this position a few weeks ago, or even yesterday. But in this moment, everything felt right. And while you were annoyed by it before, you'd let Rafe follow you wherever you went.

[mononijikayu]

good old–fashioned lover boy — fushiguro megumi.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious. He sighed, bracing himself. “What?” “I like you.” His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of feminine pronouns, post-shinjuku showdown, post-hidden inventory arc, aged up fushiguro megumi, fluff, friends to lovers, romance, romantic relationship, pet names (babe, megs, kiddo, cactus, etc), humor, teasing, light-hearted, healthy relationship, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, living together, friendship, family, anxiety, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of self-doubt, sorcerer! megumi, gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: this went through so much adding, removing and editing cause i kept adding so much and i didn't want this to be something that was too long, considering i want people to not be impatient with me too,,,,,in any case, megumi beat his dad in the last poll season for valentines special which is funny but no worries, toji will appear in the 2.5k follower special!!! in any case, i hope you enjoy this, even a little bit. i love you all so much!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

buono san valentino, 2025;

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HE NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD EVER GET TO THIS POINT. Even when he was young, he wondered what love really looked like. At least of what he could remember of it, he knows. He wasn’t an expert on love, per se.

But he had seen and experienced so many versions of it, each one different from the last, all passing through his rather short life one after the other. 

Some of it was truly a memory that would be worth forgetting, too messy and too complicated, tangled up in unspoken words and distance, yet still undeniably present. Others felt like they belonged to live forever, with its genuine warmth and its eager simplicity, yet always just out of reach. 

When he thinks about both of them, it feels like sunlight slipping through his fingers, like a home he could see but never fully step into. It was hard to express these feelings sometimes, because at times he doesn’t know if any words can encapsulate such overabundance and its extremes. He thinks about it often, how love can take on so many forms. 

How it can be obnoxiously proud and boisterously loud,like Gojo Satoru’s laughter echoing through any room when they’re together, or dazzlingly silent and resiliently tender, like the way his sister Tsumiki used to squeeze his hand just to let him know she was there when his father left.

Love can look a lot like sacrifice, like choosing someone else over yourself. It was just that way to him when you love someone. It can be fleeting, burning bright and disappearing before you ever get the chance to hold onto it.

And just as much, love has many colors, many words, many textures. It can be the rough scrape of bandages being wrapped around bruised knuckles, or the soft hush of a whispered be careful. 

It can be the weight of someone's winter coat draped over his shoulders when he didn’t even realize he was cold. It can be the exhaustion in someone’s voice when they say I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me—even when they clearly aren’t, even when they want to say it out loud.

For a long time, Fushiguro Megumi thought love was something you had to earn. He always thought that it was something you had to be worthy of in order to gain. That if you weren’t good enough, strong enough, or needed enough, it would slip away, leaving nothing but empty space where it once existed.

For as long as he could remember, Megumi carried a gnawing doubt within him. He couldn’t help it. There was a certainty in his soul that love was something distant, always out of reach.

No matter how much he was reminded he mattered, that doubt lingered like a shadow at the edges of his heart. He didn’t know where it came from exactly, only that it had burrowed deep inside, whispering that he was undeserving.

At times, he wondered if love was something some people were simply never born to have. Maybe it was a gift reserved for those with a past worth cherishing or a future worth hoping for.

He had neither. He didn’t even know how he had come into this world or who he was meant to be. How could someone who didn’t know themselves be worthy of love?

But then in his doubt, came the truth and that was named you.

You who was like the meteorite that crashed on his Earth.

You who was the universe he found himself alive for the first time.

And suddenly, the thought of love, the very word, feels like something else entirely. The word somehow finally made sense. Something he doesn’t have to chase or fight for.

Something that stays. Something that holds his hand and meets him where he is, rather than waiting for him to catch up. And more than ever, his heart felt full of warmth in the spring of love.

Fushiguro Megumi never expected to find love’s truth, not like this. And certainly not with someone like you. The two of you were just too different, especially when you were children. He didn’t understand why Gojo Satoru thought that it would be a good idea for you both to meet. 

He was all quiet brooding and thoughtful stares, while you were a storm of energy and laughter, moving through life like gravity itself. Megumi could easily remember the first time Gojo Satoru introduced you both when you were children.

You were Gojo’s little niece, his only one and since he and Tsumiki were the only kids around your age, he thought it would be wise for you to meet them, especially Megumi.

But what was premonition on Gojo Satoru’s part was that the two were destined to be best friends. Though back then, he looked at him with a weird look that could only be akin to a cat’s soured frown.

What was Gojo about? Megumi couldn’t help thinking. And why does he keep talking about it with a grin on his face? I don’t even know the kid.

"You'll love her, Megumi!" Gojo grinned, ruffling his dark hair with an obnoxiously affectionate hand. "She's just like me—minus the blindingly handsome part."

Megumi scowled, swatting Gojo's hand away. "That sounds like a nightmare."

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "A nightmare? Me? You wound me, kid."

"Good." Megumi muttered.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. "Seriously though, she's great. Full of energy, adventurous, charming—"

"Loud." Megumi deadpanned.

"You're not wrong, kid." Gojo admitted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But that just means she’ll bring some excitement into your broody little life. Trust me, it'll be fun!"

"Your definition of fun is questionable." Megumi muttered.

Before he could come up with a decent excuse to escape this impending chaos, Gojo Satoru stops at one of the massive wooden buildings around the gardens. Fushiguro Megumi could not mentally prepare as you came barreling around the corner, waving enthusiastically towards the,.

"Uncle Satoru!" you shouted gleefully, sprinting toward them.

"There's my favorite niece!" Gojo grinned, catching you in a playful spin before setting you down. 

You giggled. “But I’m your only niece!”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, sweets.” He ruffles your hair too, eliciting another giggle from you. "Hey, sweets, I came with a visitor. This is Megumi. He's about your age, and I'm officially declaring you two best friends starting now."

"Best friends?" you tilted your head, scrutinizing Megumi like he was some science experiment. "He looks grumpy, uncle Satoru."

Megumi crossed his arms, his expression flat. "And you look annoying."

Your face scrunched into an exaggerated pout. "And you look like a cactus."

Gojo, who had been sipping from a juice box like some oversized child, promptly choked and burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I love this already. Besties immediately!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You two are gonna be perfect together."

Megumi's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"Cactus vibes." you said confidently, tapping your chin. "Tall, spiky, and grumpy."

"I am not grumpy." he protested, though his tone only made your point stronger.

"And yet here we are, cactus!" you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Gojo cackled, slinging an arm around Megumi's shoulders. "You are kinda cactus-y, kid. But hey, she’s got the sunshine to balance you out. You might even grow a flower or something."

Megumi sighed in defeat. "I don’t need metaphors from you of all people."

"Don’t worry, cactus boy." you grinned, poking his arm. "I like a challenge."

"Great." Megumi muttered under his breath. "Now I’m stuck with a loud weirdo and a lunatic white haired old guy."

Gojo clapped his hands together triumphantly. "See? This is friendship in the making."

Megumi glared at both of you, but Gojo’s laughter and your bright smile made it hard to hold on to the scowl. Maybe Gojo wasn’t entirely wrong—though he wasn’t about to admit that anytime soon. Not just yet. He wasn’t one to give in just because there was space for it. 

Megumi sighed, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Disaster?" you grinned wickedly. "Sounds fun!"

Gojo clapped his hands together, beaming. "See? Told ya you'd love her."

Megumi grimaced. "I'm already doubting that."

From the start of you two starting to play together, you easily grated his nerves. He hated how loud you were, hated how you always seemed to find trouble at every turn, and somehow, at every sudden thought you had, you easily managed to drag him into it too.

And that was perhaps the most infuriating part: he hated how effortlessly you pulled him into your orbit. But the truth was, he never really hated you at all. He liked you, genuinely and deeply, in a way that bewildered him. He just didn’t understand it back then.

"Come on, Megumi! Don’t be boring!" you'd whine, tugging insistently on his arm as a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Help me put these fart pillows on their chairs!"

Megumi stared at you, deadpan. "You're going to get us both in trouble."

You waved off his concern like it was a pesky fly. "Trouble? Nah. It'll be hilarious. Just picture it with a very vivid imagination. The Gojo elders, all serious and proper, sitting down to a pfft! symphony. Priceless!"

"I like being boring." he grumbled, firmly rooted in place even as his feet betrayed him by inching forward.

"No, you pretend to like being boring, Megs." you shot back confidently, dragging him along despite his weak protests. "Deep down, you’re just waiting for me to show you how fun life can be."

Megumi sighed heavily. "You have an overactive imagination."

"And you have underdeveloped prank skills." you retorted with a grin, tossing him one of the cushions. "Come on, you're already in this. May as well go all in."

He stared at the cushion in his hand, weighing the likelihood of Gojo elders delivering a stern lecture versus the small, treacherous part of him that was curious about their reactions.

"Fine." he muttered, resigning himself to chaos. "But if we get caught, this was your idea."

"Deal!" you grinned triumphantly. "Now, put that under the grumpiest elder's seat. It'll be poetic."

Megumi couldn't suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he followed your lead. Chaos was inevitable, but with you, it was never boring—and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much.

“You’re always scowling, do you notice?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t actually hate me, y'know.”

Megumi rolled his green-blue eyes. “That’s debatable.”

“Oh please, you’re basically glued to me at this point.”

“You glue yourself to me.” he countered, lips twitching despite himself.

“Admit it, Megs!" you grinned. "You like me.”

He sighed, long and exaggerated, like he was being asked to move a mountain rather than admit his feelings. "Maybe." he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible.

But it was enough for you. Your entire face lit up, your grin brighter than Gojo's sunglasses on a summer day. "Is that a maybe from Megumi? I'll take it!"

He groaned inwardly, already regretting his choice of words. 

But the warmth spreading through his chest betrayed him. 

Perhaps, the truth is that there was no maybe about it.

And over time, as the days blurred into years and you remained firmly by his side, continuing to drag him into your schemes when he came around the Gojo manor, making him laugh when he least expected it, and somehow softening his rough edges. He would have figured it out. There were more words for you than just like.

It hit him one afternoon during a clan gathering. The elders were droning on about something he wasn't paying attention to, but his green-blue orbs were somehow trained on you, standing across the garden path, animated as always. 

Then he showed up.

That stupid clan boy with a perfectly styled ponytail and a smug look that Megumi immediately decided he hated.

Megumi's eyes harshly narrowed as the boy leaned in, all charming confidence, and reached for your delicate hand. He watched as your fingers slid easily into the boy's, and something inside him snapped. Something he never expected to be inside him whatsoever.

"Nope." Megumi muttered under his breath, already stalking across the garden before he could think better of it.

You blinked in surprise as Fushiguro Megumi suddenly appeared beside you, his strong hand suddenly and possessively wrapping around your own hand, pulling it free from his new enemy, the Ponytail Boy's grip. 

"Hey, I was talking to her, you punk." Ponytail Boy protested.

"She's busy." Megumi said flatly, not even sparing the guy a glance.

"I am?" you blinked up at him, amused.

"Yeah. With me."

You bit back a laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as you squeezed his hand. "Well, when you put it like that..."

As Ponytail Boy slunk away, clearly outmatched by Megumi's sheer intensity, you grinned up at him. "Jealous much?"

"No." he said far too quickly, his ears turning an undeniable shade of pink.

You beamed. "Adorable."

"You're imagining things." he grumbled, but his grip on your hand remained firm.

And in that moment, without needing to say a word, you both knew: there was never a maybe. Not for him, not when it came to you.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, 2017.

This was a day that was already testing Fushiguro Megumi’s patience with all the pink balloons, heart-shaped everything, and couples everywhere. It was hard enough that he felt these possibly one–sided feelings for you. But now he had to be confronted with the idea of love once again. And he hated it. He hated it too much.

The only reason he’s bearing with all of it was that you had urged him to meet up because you wanted ice–cream. And for the first time in a long time, you were allowed to leave the confines of Gojo Manor, to visit your uncle in Tokyo. And by extension, hang out with him.

The two of you sat on a park bench, quietly enjoying your cones under the peak of the beam of the persistent sun. Well, he was trying to enjoy his, but you kept sneaking bites from him despite having your own. And he could not for the life of him stop taking glances at you with these eyes of his.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious.

He sighed, bracing himself. “What?”

“I like you.”

His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

“I said.” you grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction, “I like you. Like like-like you.”

Megumi blinked, as though processing your words required advanced calculus. “Is this... is this because it’s Valentine’s Day? Like some weird theme confession? Is this some stupid prank from you?”

You laughed. “No, dummy. I just thought today was as good a day as any to tell you."

He stared at you, his heart doing some chaotic drum solo against his ribs. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you teased, leaning closer. “That’s it? Just oh?”

Megumi huffed, looking away as if the pigeons nearby were suddenly fascinating. “I... I guess I like you too.”

You gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh, was that a confession? Did Megumi Fushiguro just confess his feelings, romantically?”

“Stop making it weird, you dummy.” he grumbled, ears turning bright red.

“Too late!” you beamed, nudging his arm. “We’re totally counting that as your confession. Mark it in the history books: Valentine’s Day, 2017, Megumi Fushiguro admitted he likes me!”

He groaned. “I should’ve dropped my ice cream and run when I had the chance.”

“But you didn’t.” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

“No." he muttered, hiding a small, reluctant smile. "I didn’t."

And so began Fushiguro Megumi’s unexpected, often confusing, and undeniably heartfelt adventure to understand love.

Love, as it turned out, wasn’t some abstract ideal or distant fairy tale — it was you, standing right in front of him, messy and beautiful in all your chaotic brilliance. Love was shaped by you, and to him, that made it the most perfect thing he could ever hope for.

But he had to be honest: it wasn’t easy. And it will never be easy.

He struggled with it more than he cared to admit. Love wasn’t just about keeping you safe, though his protective instincts always flared when you tripped into trouble. It wasn’t just quiet affection either, where he'd stand in the background making sure you had space to shine. Love wasn’t just comfort found in familiar silences, though he cherished those too.

No, love was new.

Love was terrifying.

Love demanded vulnerability and bravery in ways that battles never did. Because of this love, his heart would stutter when you smiled at him, catching him off guard like a punch he never saw coming.

It made his chest ache in a strange, bittersweet way when you were upset — as though he carried your burdens alongside his own. It made him want to try, even when his instincts told him to retreat into silence.It made him want to be someone worthy of that love, someone who would stay, despite the part of him that feared he never could.

It’s in the little things, the moments that are easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention. But when you do, when you really see him, it’s impossible to miss the depth of his love. And you tell him each time, you adore it. Everything about it was perfect.

It’s the way he loves you in the quietest and yet loudest way all at once so beautifully. It’s in the way he waits for you after class, leaning casually against a wall, trying to look indifferent, but you know—you always know—he’s been there for much longer than he lets on. 

It’s the way he keeps track of your favorite snacks, the ones you forget to buy when you’re too busy with school, work, or whatever else life throws at you. And when you’re rushing out the door, he slips them into your bag with a quiet, almost invisible smile. No words, just a simple gesture of care that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s in the way he insists on walking on the side of the road closest to the street, always positioning himself between you and the traffic like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours, ever so lightly, but there’s a promise there—a silent vow of protection, of never letting anything bad happen to you if he can help it.

It’s in the way he takes off his uniform coat on a chilly evening when he visits you and presses it against your own body, his eternal warmth enveloping you like a shield against the winter cold. The way his hands linger just a little longer than necessary, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

And it’s not just in the little things. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet way he listens when you talk about everything that’s on your mind, even the things you think are too insignificant to mention.

You could ramble on for minutes, spilling out thoughts, worries, and stories, and he’ll just stand there, eyes blossoming with affection, his attention never wavering. 

He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. He just listens to you. Just truly listens to you, as though he truly wants to understand you, to carry your thoughts for you if he can. To make sure that he holds your thoughts as closely as you do his.

It’s in the rare moments when he’s vulnerable, those quiet admissions that sneak out when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The way his gaze softens when he talks about his past, about how he’s learned to trust you.

It’s in the way his hand finds yours when you least expect it. Sometimes just a brush of fingers, other times a firm grip that says I’m here, no questions asked.

And there’s the way he tries to make you smile when he knows you’ve had a bad day. He doesn’t have to try hard, because you know the secret behind his subtle humor, his dry wit. Just a look from him can turn the world back to normal, like the simple fact that you’re together is enough to make everything right again.

And in those little moments, your heart beats faster—over and over again.

Somehow, each moment, each time was louder with love than the last.

It was easy to see how much he loved you and only you.

Of course, Fushiguro Megumi isn’t great with words, you know that much. He’s told you from the very beginning. But he’s never needed to say much, because he always shows you. Actions meant more to you.

So, he makes sure, without fail, to let you feel his devotion, every single time. Even when his words falter or he stumbles on his feelings, that doesn’t matter much to you. 

The way he loves you is almost a quiet rebellion against everything he's known about himself, about what he knows love, that was enough to turn the world upside down. Fushiguro Megumi’s never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and even with you, it causes him a lot of grief. 

Fushiguro Megumi adores you, much more than he could ever hope. And just as much, he feels like he fails at it. At least that’s how he feels about it. He thinks he just can’t help it.

He can’t help but feel like his actions are not enough, that his sleeve isn’t wearing your heart close to him. It’s like he’s falling short of being someone worthy of you, when you do so much for him.

Sometimes, it feels like no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. It frustrates him, gnaws at him late at night when he stares at the ceiling, wondering if he loves you enough, if he shows it enough.

Because you make it look so easy. You laugh when you’re happy, you say I love you so freely, and you never hesitate to pull him into a hug, or press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He wants to be more proactive, just like you. He wants to be as good as you when it comes to love. But he’s stiff. Awkward. Someone who is a little too rough around the edges, perhaps even more than that.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you, he does, so much it terrifies him. Yet he struggles with what words to use or would those words be enough.It had been years. 

"You know…." he grumbled, leaning against a wall and watching you laugh at something Maki said. "I wish I could just... I don’t know, tell her I love her. Like a normal person."

Nobara raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. "Normal? Megumi, you are literally the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something."

"Hey!" Yuuji protested, nudging her. "You can’t say that about our bro. He’s a classic kind of weird."

Nobara ignored him. "So what’s the problem? You’ve been dating her for years now. I’m pretty sure you’re closer to marriage now. How have you not told her you love her yet?"

Megumi squirmed, tapping his foot awkwardly. "I don’t know. It’s just... I can’t make it sound right. I’m not... loud enough, you know?"

Yuuji snorted. "Bro, are you telling me you can't even shout ‘I love you’ in her face like a normal person?"

"Yuuji!" Nobara scolded, glaring at him. "This is Megumi we’re talking about. He’s more of a ‘grumble in the corner’ kind of guy. Or you know, ‘act it out like a mime if I can’t say it out loud’ sort of guy."

Megumi just groaned. "Exactly! I can’t just scream it! That’s...weird, right?"

Nobara crossed her arms. "You’re seriously telling me you can’t even try? I mean, look at her!" She pointed at you as you walked over, still in your own world. "She’s practically begging for you to shout it out loud!"

Megumi shot her a side-eye. "She is not begging for anything."

"I mean, I’m just saying, Megumi." Yuuji shrugged. "The guy who practically glows around his girlfriend could definitely manage a 'Hey, I love you!' without coming off as weird."

"I don’t glow." Megumi muttered, but he was starting to feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Nobara clapped him on the back. "Okay, look, here’s what you do: You. Take a deep breath. And then—" She paused, putting her hands together in a mock prayer. "You say it loud and proud: 'I love you! You're my sunshine! You’re the ketchup to my fries! The soy sauce to my sushi!' You get it?"

"That’s not what I’m trying to say at all." Megumi protested, now totally flustered.

"Come on, just let it out!" Yuuji grinned, his energy bouncing off the walls. "You love her, right? Then scream it from the top of your lungs!" He pulled out a random megaphone from his bag. "I’ll even provide the sound effects!"

"Yuuji, I swear to—"

"Just... just say it however you feel comfortable." Nobara interrupted with a knowing look. "But maybe—maybe—try something that doesn’t sound like you're reading from a self-help book, yeah?"

Megumi took a deep breath, hands still sweaty. "I don't even know if I can—"

"You totally can, I know you can!" Yuuji encouraged, giving him a thumbs-up. "Just say it, man! Use songs, do whatever. Just tell her out loud! Think about it like it's a movie moment! Gotta go big!”

Megumi had their words in his head all day and now it was simmering too long. He couldn’t help but look at you for a moment. You’re sitting beside him on the couch, leaning into his side as you scroll through your phone, checking what to buy for your mom’s birthday.

The sound of the television hums in the background, playing a show neither of you are really watching. The warmth of your presence should be comforting, but it only makes his heart heavier with the weight of everything he wants to say.

He steals a glance at you. The way your lips are slightly parted in concentration, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your features. And god, he loves you. He just does, too much, too overwhelmingly. But the words get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the walls he hasn’t quite learned how to break down.

Still, he tries.

You know he does.

That’s why you love him.

Your good–old fashioned lover boy.

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I—uh, you know I—”

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you having a stroke, babe?”

“No.” he grumbles, ears already turning red. “I’m trying to say something.”

“Oh?” You set your phone down, tilting your head. “Then say it.”

Megumi swallows, his body somehow tense. He can feel the words clogging his throat, his mind screaming at him to just get it over with. Megumi looks at you, nervously, his face red from it all. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You can see the way he shifts his weight like he’s debating whether this was a terrible idea. (It probably is, he thinks. Overwhelmingly, to be sure).

But still, for some reason—maybe insanity, maybe the way you’re looking at him so expectantly. Yet, he decides to go through with it anyway. If he bombs, you’ll laugh and that would be worth it too.

Clearing his throat, he mutters. “I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.”

You blink at him, your head tilting slightly. “Huh?”

He’s already regretting it, but at this point, he can’t just stop. His voice is a little lower now, more hesitant, but he continues, “We can do the tango just for two.”

Now you’re really confused. Your brows furrow, and he can see the gears turning in your head, trying to piece together what exactly he’s saying. But he keeps going, voice a little stiffer, a little more awkward than before. Almost instantly, he can feel the heat crawling up his neck.

“I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings.”

And then finally—it clicks for you.

Your lips part slightly before curling into a slow, amused smile.

“Ah.” you hum, crossing your arms. “So Queen’s lyrics are your idea of romance poetry, babe?”

Megumi tenses like he’s been caught doing something unspeakably embarrassing, his entire face burning. “It’s not—” he starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, never mind.” 

He shakes his head, looking utterly done with himself, already gearing up to escape this moment entirely. But before he can retreat into his usual brooding silence, you reach out and take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. He freezes at the warmth of your touch, and when he looks back at you, you’re grinning, eyes twinkling with delight.

“No, no. I love it, babe.” you say, squeezing his hand. And then, with that playful glint in your eye, like when you were kids. It was the one that made his heart do something stupid. You continue. “I mean, I can also be your Valentino just for you.”

Megumi stares at you, utterly dumbfounded. For a second, he looks like he’s buffering, as if his brain is refusing to process what just happened. And then, finally, he groans, dragging a hand down his scarlet colored face. “I hate you.”

You burst into laughter, tugging him a little closer. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part? You’re right. 

Because despite the sheer, soul-crushing embarrassment consuming him, despite everything in his being telling him he should never have attempted this in the first place, he doesn’t let go of your hand. No matter what, he had to hold your hand, even if he was using his other one to hide his red face.

Fushiguro Megumi exhales sharply, his fingers twitching in your grasp as if debating whether to pull away or hold on tighter. He settles for something in between—keeping his hand in yours but looking anywhere but at you, like that might save him from further humiliation. 

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” he mutters, his voice flat but laced with unmistakable exasperation.

You grin, squeezing his hand. “Oh, absolutely.”

Megumi groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically, like he’s hoping the universe will take pity on him and make this all go away. But the universe, as it often does when it comes to you, seems to have other plans.

Not only are you still holding onto him, your fingers intertwined so snugly. But you’re also swaying your linked hands gently, like you’re encouraging him to dance. He sighs deeply, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

“You’re seriously not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, never.” you answer, grinning, your voice light and teasing. “Was the idea from Yuuji? Or was it Nobara?”

“How did you—”

You giggled. “Who else is going to make you do something like this and thinks it would work?”

He groans at you, shaking his head. “Look, I was desperate. And it just….”

“It did work, you know.” You say to him, flicking his hand with your fingers. A big smile on your face. “Your message was well received.”

“......Was it really?” He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest.

You nodded happily. “It did. Though, I have to say…..I thought we were doing the tango just for two. Are you backing out now, Mr. Lover Boy?”

Megumi’s eyes snap open at your words, and he immediately narrows them at you, clearly ready to refuse. “We are not—”

But it’s too late.

In a swift motion, you’re already standing, tugging him up with you, not giving him a chance to protest. You can’t help but laugh at the way he stumbles slightly, thrown off balance for just a second before he catches himself, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters, a scowl pulling at his lips as he steadies himself, trying to hold onto what little pride he has left. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to act annoyed, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching as if he’s fighting back a reluctant smile.

You tilt your head, still grinning. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta drag you out of your shell every now and then, right?”

Megumi huffs, looking at you like he’s been cornered, but there’s no real anger in his eyes. He’s already giving in, whether he likes it or not. His hands hover at his sides for a moment before one of them moves to hold yours more firmly, as if to say he’s not completely defeated yet.

“Fine, fine.” he grumbles, finally giving in, his voice soft but with a hint of warmth creeping through. “But don’t expect me to make this look good.”

You give him an exaggerated pout. “Aww, I have high hopes for you, babe. I think you’ll be a natural.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s an undeniable softness in his gaze now. The usually guarded Fushiguro Megumi is slipping away, replaced by the version of him that’s willing to indulge you, even if it means he’ll probably trip over his own feet a few times.

“Yeah, right.” he mutters, but his hand tightens around yours, and just for a second, he lets go of his usual serious demeanor.

“And you’re blushing.” you point out smugly.

He immediately looks away, ears burning. “No, I’m not.”

You chuckle, stepping a little closer, resting your free hand lightly against his shoulder. “You are. But that’s okay.” you say, voice softening just enough to make his heart stutter. “It’s cute.”

Megumi grumbles something incoherent under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightens. For a moment, there’s just the two of you, just eager to be standing close to one another.

Your bodies sway slightly, wrapped up in something that feels light and easy and warm. It’s embarrassing, but somehow, it’s also nice. All too nice.

After a beat of silence, you tilt your head, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. “So… does this mean you’re more of a Somebody to Love kind of guy? Or just a Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy?” You pause for effect, smirking. “Are you gonna take me to a club, or to the Ritz?”

Megumi freezes for a second, caught off guard by your incessant teasing. The edges of his prominent cheeks quickly go a little pink to cherry red, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how to answer without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I—I’m not, uh…” He stammers, waving his hand dismissively, clearly flustered. “I’m not a Queen fan, okay? I just—” He trails off, suddenly aware that he’s over-explaining. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You snicker, leaning in just a little closer, your voice teasing but warm. “You sure about that, Megumi?”

“My name is babe.” His eyes dart around, like he’s hoping for an escape, but then his gaze flicks to you, and he slumps in defeat. “Also…. I don’t really know. You’re a Queen fan. But I’m not a Queen fan, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him, pretending to analyze him like he’s some kind of puzzle. “Okay, then. So tell me, what about Weezer?”

He blinks, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “What? What does Weezer have to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you tease. “Except the fact that you’re practically obsessed with their music. You do listen to Buddy Holly and Say It Ain’t So on repeat, right? I mean just Island in the Sun alone, babe…..”

Megumi’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I—I like their music. That doesn’t mean…”

You’re grinning now, enjoying his discomfort. “That doesn’t mean what? That you don’t like romantic stuff?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words don’t come out. Instead, he just huffs, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of his cool demeanor. “Weezer’s not romantic.”

You raise your hand in mock surrender, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, sure, just a bunch of songs about heartbreak, longing, and that old-school, angsty vibe. Totally not romantic.”

“Shut up.” he mutters, looking away and crossing his arms in his typical brooding fashion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, I do, Mr. Fushiguro Megumi.”

He looks at you again, frowning. “Why are you calling me by my name? Aren’t I babe?”

You can’t help but laugh, a light sound that makes him glance back at you, half-exasperated and half-amused. “I’m just saying, babe.” you continue, poking his chest with a finger. “If you love Weezer, you’re basically guaranteed to love romantic stuff too. You might not admit it, but it’s in there, just waiting to come out.”

He groans, dropping his face into his hands, embarrassed and defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you get all defensive.” you tease, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna force you to do some big romantic gesture… yet. But I can see it, babe. Deep down, I know you’ve got it in you.”

He sighs, not bothering to fight it anymore. “Whatever.”

You can’t help but grin, your heart light and warm from the back-and-forth. The teasing, the playfulness. This was just on brand. It feels like an easy rhythm between you two, like a dance he didn’t expect to enjoy but now can’t help but follow. You’ve gotten under his skin in the best way possible, and the connection is undeniable.

“No, seriously.” you say, your voice softening, letting the playfulness slip away just enough to let something deeper surface. “It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it. You’re just what you are. And I love that. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything. For a moment, the world around you seems to still. The playful air between you two quiets for just a beat, and in that space, Megumi shifts slightly, as if he’s considering something deeper than just the teasing.

His gaze softens, and for the first time, there’s no defensiveness in it. It’s genuine. It’s a look that tells you he’s letting his guard down, just a little.

And then, for once, he doesn’t try to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. It’s subtle, almost shy, but it’s there. The kind of smile that says he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. And that, in itself, makes your heart swell. Your grin can’t help but grow wider. You’re winning.

“Besides, babe….” you add, your voice teasing but affectionate. “You’re romantic. You’re my lover boy, aren’t you?”

Megumi freezes, and the light in his blue-green orbs slowly shifts. There was a mix of disbelief and amusement, like he’s trying to process the words you just threw at him. His face flushes, and he rubs the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard.

“Fine.” He sighs, the word heavy with resignation. “Maybe… maybe I’m not totally immune to it. Being…being your lover boy.”

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a teasing glance. “Oh? So it’s true?”

“Only…” His voice drops slightly, like he’s about to admit something that feels too vulnerable for him. He shifts again, looking away from you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Hm?” You nudge him, your voice light, but there’s a warmth in it now, something that makes his heart stumble a little.

“Only because I really like—”

You raise a hand quickly, cutting him off with a playful wag of your finger. “Uh, uh. It’s the other word.”

Megumi’s eyes widen as the weight of what you mean hits him. He swallows hard, visibly embarrassed now. “Yeah, yeah. I… I love you.”

The words hang between you two for a moment, and your grin spreads wider, your heart fluttering with an almost childlike joy. “Much better, lover boy.” you say, your voice soft but full of satisfaction, like you’ve finally heard the thing you’ve been waiting to hear for so long. 

Megumi huffs, his face still pink, but his posture loosens just a bit. You can feel the tension in him fading, the part of him that has always held back just a little, a part that he didn’t know how to let go of, finally giving in to what he truly feels.

You chuckle, stepping closer and giving his hand a playful squeeze. “I knew it. Deep down, I knew you were a softie all along. A softie I love.”

Megumi grumbles, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there’s no real heat behind it. His cheeks are still a little flushed, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. His voice drops to something quieter, almost tender, as he mutters. “Shut up.”

You grin even wider, brushing your shoulder lightly against his. “Aww, look at that. I made you all shy.”

He groans, but there’s no force in it. He gives your hand a little squeeze back, his touch almost gentle, like he’s trying to hide just how much he’s enjoying this. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward, even if he’s pretending not to care.

“You’re impossible.” he mutters, but it sounds more like an affectionate confession than anything else.

You lean up, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice teasing. “Impossible, huh? I think you just like having me around.”

Megumi’s eyes widen for a second, and he quickly looks away, though you can see the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

But the way his hand stays in yours says everything you need to know. You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that seems to melt the last of his resistance. There’s something about him, in this moment, that feels right. Like everything he’s been trying to hide is coming to the surface, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

His bright eyes flicker to yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. No more barriers, no more hesitation. Just you and him. And you realize, as you watch him trying so hard not to smile, that despite his grumbling, despite the layers of defensiveness he wraps himself in, maybe Megumi really is a romantic at heart. He loves you, after all.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The evening had settled in, soft golden light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. Fushiguro Megumi was standing over the stove.

There was a half-smile tugging at his lips as he stirred something in a pan, pretending to be nonchalant. You’d been chatting and laughing with him, but now you were distracted by the phone buzzing on the counter next to you.

“Hey, check my phone, will you? I think I missed a call while I was cooking dinner. Might be Maki–senpai.” he called, not even looking over his shoulder. His tone was casual, but you could sense a hint of something beneath the surface. Something that made you curious.

You reached for his phone, raising an eyebrow at the way he’d phrased it. Missed a call, huh? When you opened it, you found that the call had already disappeared, as if it was never even there. Strange, you thought, but didn’t give it too much thought—until a new notification popped up on his screen.

A notification from Spotify.

You clicked it without thinking, the app opening automatically. You froze, blinking at the screen in surprise. The very first thing that caught your eye was a playlist titled My GF’s Favorite Tunes.

Your heart skipped a beat as you scrolled through, realizing the entire playlist was a mix of Queen songs, Weezer hits, Taylor Swift, and a whole lot of other random songs that somehow seemed to perfectly fit your taste. You blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh.

“What is this…?” You murmured, flipping through more of the tracks, utterly charmed by the odd yet thoughtful combination of songs. Some of the tracks were ones you had casually mentioned liking, others you never thought he'd remember.

You could feel Megumi standing behind you now, his footsteps quiet on the floor. “What’s up?” His voice had an almost imperceptible shift in it, but you didn’t look back at him right away.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you said, your grin spreading wider as you glanced over the playlist one more time, now thoroughly amused. “Just, you know… a little surprise.”

You gently set his phone down on the counter and turned toward him, your grin widening as you closed the distance. Megumi looked at you, confusion and a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes. “What? What’s so funny?”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him in a sudden, tight embrace. Megumi froze, his body stiff in surprise. He stood there for a second, the silence between you two stretching, before he gently placed his hands on your back, his voice a little rough with a quiet, unexpected warmth. 

“What’s this for, hm?”

You pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your heart still beating with fondness. “For being the cutest, loving, prettiest, person I’ve ever met. And for making me a playlist that proves you’re secretly the most romantic person alive.”

Megumi blinked, his usual cool exterior cracking for a second as he flushed a little under the weight of your words. He looked away, muttering under his breath. “It’s… it’s just some songs. Nothing big at all—”

You laughed softly, pulling him closer again. “Well, you sure know how to make me smile, don’t you?”

His beautiful lips pressed into a tender smile reserved just for you. And for once, there was no argument. Just the quiet, comfortable warmth of being together, in each other’s arms. Nothing was more perfect than this moment right here, you were sure.

[tanghuyuj]

do you think you could love me?

genre: fluff, classmates to ??, high school au

pairing: non-idol!woonhak x gn!reader

synopsis: woonhak’s relationships always lack seriousness, ending with the other doing something that breaks his heart. all he wants is to commit to someone and for them to commit to him as well. fortunately, you might be just that.

warnings: food (dumplings and sikhye which is a korean rice drink), they get in trouble, woonhak has a mentioned history with girls, little jihoon cameo, random teacher ocs, yn has a habit of biting their inner cheek

wc: 2.8k

maia’s note: woonhak oneshot we cheered!! this is inspired by the song ‘do you think you could love me?’ by yung kai and it’s such a cute song so i recommend listening to it ^o^ this work is also kinda in celebration of 300 followers sooo. enjoy reading!! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!! 🤍

woonhak says he doesn’t believe in true love. yet he is always, in one way or another, in some kind of romantic relationship.

no, he isn’t a player (or at least, he doesn’t think he is), it’s just that every experience of his has ended up having a dramatic, horrible downfall.

he meets a girl, she promises him that she is unbelievably smitten, and then proceeds to either cheat or end their relationship with some sappy, strange, and/or stupid reason. ‘the three s’s’ is what he calls it.

at first, he thought it was just bad luck—a silly curse, maybe—but he very soon realized that true love simply and sadly does not exist. for him, that is.

read under the cut! ⬇️

still, woonhak finds himself in romantic relationships that lack in seriousness left and right. he can’t quite pin a certain period of time where he didn’t have romantic involvement in his life. it could just be that he doesn’t know how to live his life without it, but woonhak can’t exactly admit that yet and keeps on chasing.

and with each breakup, each ghosting, each whatever the situation is—he finds himself digging the hole deeper down.

he wonders often if he’s ever going to see the light from the surface that has been hidden his whole life.

“woonhak!”

he turns to his right to find his friend, jihoon, calling him.

the ends of jihoon’s eyes are crinkled in frustration and his face conveys a clearly upset expression.

“do you know how long i’ve been calling your name?” the boy sighs. “you were sitting here, blanking out and staring off like you’re insane. in fact, you are insane.”

woonhak blinks. his eyebrows furrow in realization of jihoon’s words.

“i’m not insane. you’re insane!” he grumbles.

jihoon scoffs, leaning down and resting his arms on woonhak’s desk. “yeah, yeah, sure. the teacher told us to put our desks back into regular formation. that’s why i was calling you, you weirdo.”

woonhak rests his head on his arms. “why does that matter to me? i don’t have a seat partner.”

“well, it matters to you now. we have a new kid coming.” jihoon pushes himself off the desk and stands again, putting his hands in his pockets.

woonhak jumps in his seat and sits up straight. “wait—what? there’s a new kid?”

jihoon nods, “yep!”

a curiosity arises inside woonhak as he wonders who this person is—especially if they’re gonna be his desk partner.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

woonhak is, as he would say it, currently as ‘single as a pringle.’

sure, there are a few people asking for a form of attention from him, but he isn’t in anything serious and definitely doesn’t have a commitment currently.

with his last breakup, the girl ghosted him out of nowhere.

then, during the following days, they saw each other at school and she would quickly walk away, pretending as if her and woonhak had no relation between them and never once did.

only a few days later was when a friend of woonhaks spotted her with a new guy and woonhak was left with another piece of his heart broken off.

when woonhak meets you, he simply stares.

he watches as you walk into the room, approach the seat next to him, and sits down right there with a small few inches between you two.

he seems to have no shame in doing so since this gaze lasts for basically what is the whole entire day.

the next day starts the same way. woonhak ogles you throughout the morning as if studying your every action.

though, it gets put on pause midday.

your teacher is in the middle of a lecture and about everyone in class is dozing off; daydreaming about a good meal and chatting with some friends. lunch was soon.

woonhak was part of that majority until he notices your hand sliding over to his desk and gesturing him to read something on your notebook.

‘do you have an obsession?’

woonhak’s eyes widen.

he picks up his pencil, scrambling to quickly scribble down on the paper.

‘what do u mean?’

you slide the notebook closer to you, writing a response.

‘what is so interesting about me, woonhak?’

woonhak doesn’t necessarily think he is an easy man, but perhaps this was being proven wrong as his heart skips a beat.

you know his name. this isn’t a big thing at all, so why is his heart thinking otherwise?

he writes down a reply without thinking and you watch him attentively.

‘ure pretty’

he stares at his writing for a moment before realizing what he just wrote down.

he gasps, and a loud, disruptive sound releases from out of his mouth.

your teacher turns towards your desk with a stern look plastered on his face.

“do you have something to share with us all, kim woonhak?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

the notebook gets confiscated.

and now, you and woonhak are sitting in your school’s office. your teacher is sitting in front of you with a stone-cold expression.

he starts, “yn, it has only been one day since you have been here and you have already caused trouble.”

you look at woonhak, who’s staring directly at you. you wish that the stupid, brainless expression on his face would falter even once. to you dismay, it does not, though.

you turn back to your teacher. “i’d like to correct you, mr. lee, in the nicest way possible.”

you frown, continuing to speak, “i didn’t cause any trouble. it was him.” you make a waving gesture to woonhak, thinking the look on his face will now form into something more shocked.

it doesn’t.

he stays looking straight at you. a warm, increasingly hot feeling boils in you.

mr. lee, who now stares at the two of you with a confused manner, looks to woonhak. he scans him before saying, “woonhak, is this true?”

“yes, sir. yn is right.” he continues to stare at you and his words come out with almost no hesitation. the corners of his lips turn upward into a cheeky smile. “it was all my fault. i mean—you heard me. i was the one who disrupted the class.”

the middle-aged man nods slowly. “alright.” he writes on a small piece of paper, pressing the pen against it a little too roughly.

mr. lee hands the slip to woonhak. “i hope this is not a common occurrence from here on out. if so, i’ll have to separate you two as desk mates.”

woonhak grabs the slip and gives the teacher a small smirk.

“it won’t sir.”

while leaving the office, woonhak’s steps tread lightly as if he didn’t just get assigned detention. you decide to stop him.

“hey, woonhak.”

he turns. “what’s up?”

you bite the inside of your cheek; a habit of yours.

“sorry. you didn’t have to go along with what i was saying, you know.”

he shrugs. “it’s fine. one detention won’t kill.”

he takes a step closer to you.

“if you do want to make it up to me though..” he offers you the detention slip.

you furrow your eyebrows. scoffing, you reply, “i’m not going to detention for you.”

he shakes his head, taking your hand and putting the paper in it. the touch of his soft hands makes you put more pressure into your cheek. “you won’t have to.”

and with that, he begins walking down the hallway.

you frown and turn your attention to the slip, staring at it with confusion.

“look at the back!” woonhak yells to you and his voice bounces off the walls of the empty hall.

you flip the paper over, finding his sloppy writing there.

it reads: “come help me escape detention? you’ll be helping me and i promise i’ll treat you afterwards.”

then, at the bottom of the slip: “deal ??” is written with a messy drawing.

you squint at it, trying to figure out what it possibly is.

a penguin? no. mochi..? no. a blob? maybe.

woonhak shouts to you once again, now at the very end of the hallway.

“it’s a snowman!” you can’t quite hear what he follows up with since it’s more of a grumble but it sounds something like, “is my drawing really that bad..?”

he chuckles, “see you then! don’t let me down!”

he waves in a big flashy motion, flapping his arms as if he’s a baby bird trying to fly.

he leaves, and you stand there in the hall alone, trying to process everything that had just happened.

still, the only image that lingers in your mind is woonhak’s face. that absolutely stupid, unbearable expression of his.

you continue to nibble at the inside of your cheek harder.

but if it’s so unbearable, why can’t you stop thinking about it?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

here woonhak was—in the gloomy detention room, waiting for you to enter the room and come to his rescue.

he looks up at the clock. 4:30, it reads.

he focuses on the sound of the clock hand ticking, counting each tick. perhaps this is what boredom does to someone, he thinks.

when the count reaches 129, he hears the door open.

his head immediately turns to look, and a smile grows on his face in no time.

you walk into the almost silent room and your gaze wanders to woonhak. you roll your eyes, already able to tell what he’s thinking behind that lopsided smile of his.

you walk to mrs. park, the detention supervisor, who sits at a desk at the very front of the room.

“hello!” you say, generating as much enthusiasm as you possibly can.

she looks at you with a confused smile. “hello. what could i help you with?”

you bite a little at your inner cheek. “i, uh, had some questions about the elective you teach.”

her face brightens automatically. “of course! ask away.”

you smile awkwardly. “i actually wanted to know where it is held. is it possible for you to show me?”

she hums, looking around the room. woonhak quickly diverts his attention from your way as he was focused into the conversation.

“i’m afraid i cannot. i can tell you the room number, though?” she responds.

you crinkle your nose, trying to think of some kind of excuse to get her up and out of the classroom.

you exhale a long sigh. “i’m actually new here.. i don’t know my way around campus well.”

her face softens and she thinks for a moment, taking a look at her watch.

“alright, come with me,” she concludes.

you internally celebrate but quickly catch yourself. wait—why are you so happy?

you follow her out the room and around the school as she leads you to an art class with an interior of scattered easels and cabinets full of paint and other creative supplies.

you nod the whole time, not quite faking you interest as it does seem even the slightest fascinating to you.

when she is finished, you thank her for her time and walk to the entrance of the building.

there, you find the boy you saved.

he smiles warmly at you. “thank you, yn.”

you scoff, continuing to walk without stopping. “you’re welcome, snowman. you gonna treat me out now?”

he rushes to match your pace. he grins, “why, of course. i’m a snowman of his words.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

he takes you to a small, hole in the wall dumpling place.

it sports an old-school style with a cozy, somewhat lived in feeling. messages of customers from the past and present are written on the walls in messy marker smudges and faded letters written in pencil. you can tell they have immense meaning, even if you can’t exactly read it.

you and woonhak sit against the wall at a dark wooden table.

“this place is…” you take time to think about the right word.

“unbelievably beautiful?” woonhak chuckles, finishing your sentence.

“yeah. it feels like there’s so many words to describe it yet none of them can quite hold all of it.”

woonhak nods, and his piercing gaze on you is back. you aren’t oblivious—woonhak has been staring at you the whole way from your school to the restaurant and even now as you both sit there.

an older lady approaches your table. she smiles sweetly at you and woonhak.

“what could i get you two?”

woonhak gestures you to order first.

“i’ll get the juicy pork dumplings, please.”

an unfamiliar emotion flickers over woonhak’s face for a moment before it quickly leaves. you think you might just be imagining it so you brush it off without another thought.

the woman giggles a bit before responding, “alright, and what about you, young man?”

woonhak answers, “i’ll get the same thing, thank you.”

the older lady nods and leaves with a suspicious smile.

“so…”you start. “how did you find this place?”

he leans on the back of his chair. “an old friend of mine! i heard the dumplings are delicious and, well, how could i resist?”

you nod, “true, true. i’d never pass up a good dumpling.”

“i mean it, by the way,” he says, switching to a more serious tone.

you tilt your head slightly. “what?”

he continues, “for getting me out of detention. thank you.”

you shrug. “well… it was kind of my fault anyway. plus, you followed up with food afterwards.”

“right.. right…” he teases.

he looks at you gently, and you feel like his stare become less and less unbearable as time passes. or maybe it never was, and you just don’t want to accept that.

“hey! you just said you couldn’t resist this place so don’t judge me,” you scowl.

he grins and the two of wait for the food to come while conversing over random topics.

when your food comes, both of you dig in immediately.

“this is insane. how does something taste so heavenly?” you comment on it.

you don’t realize how comfortable you’ve become around woonhak or how it has even gotten to this point so fast. in a way, it just happened in a natural fashion.

plus, if you were completely honest—dead serious, honest—you can already feel his warmth rising inside you. you don’t know much about this boy in front of you who wears his heart on his chest (which he may not be fully aware of) and has a smile where his teeth stick out just the smallest bit, but you want to. you want to get to know every single detail about him.

he grins in response to your words and for a second you’re convinced his laugh is like music to your ears.

as the two of you are eating, the older lady comes up to your table again.

“how are we enjoying the food?” she asks.

you nod in a fast manner. “very good!” you hum, “it makes me crave sikhye..”

woonhak’s head snaps to you in a blink of an eye.

“what?” he says, dumpling still in his mouth.

you frown, “what?”

the two of you pause, eyes meeting for what feels like an eternity.

then, you hear a loud laugh.

the older lady still stands at your table, chuckling and holding her stomach as if it’s going burst open.

you raise an eyebrow, looking at her in confusion.

“oh, are you two funny!” her laughs slow, “mister kim woonhak, i think you’ve found the one!”

his eyes widen. “ma’am!”

she leans closer to you, whispering in your ear, “this boy you’re here with, kim woonhak,” she gestures to woonhak, “is here to test you.”

your mouth hangs open slightly. “test… me?”

woonhak digs his face into his hands, groaning.

she nods. “you ordered his favorite dish, you noticed this place’s design, and now you’ve just put the cherry on top—the sikhye.”

you slowly turn to woonhak.

“is this true?”

“yes…” his voice is muffled.

you begin to laugh, but it turns to a loud, almost obnoxious (to woonhak) one.

woonhak has this plan. he takes his newly met and possible partner to this exact dumpling spot, sees if they have similar tastes as him, has a hopefully engaging conversation, and decides afterwards if he likes the potential development that is there. he usually does, but still does the test anyways.

and if the subject just happens to order the same thing as him, order sikhye in the middle of eating, and notices the atmosphere of the restaurant, it might just be meant to be.

you so happen to have done all of these things.

and in response to this, woonhak turns tantrum mode.

“agh! this is so embarrassing…” his words are somewhat incomprehensible.

“woonhak.. it’s okay,” you giggle.

he looks up from his hands.

you hum. “i guess it’s just fate, huh? we might be meant to be.”

woonhak’s eyes widen with a subtle glimmer in them.

and finally, woonhak sees a hint of light. love no longer feels like it is going to end with a sappy, strange, or stupid reason at all; and he hopes desperately that it is all going to be because of you.

please do not copy, repost, or translate.

perm taglist: @bambisnc @mungbeancoups @starriniqhts @stantxtforabetterlife bnd taglist: @uncasings @oowir net: @kstrucknet

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[emiliehornby]

when you get me alone (it’s so simple)

pairing luke castellan x fem! child of aphrodite! reader

synopsis while luke is known for making people’s heads turn at camp, you finally give them a reason to stare after learning how much everyone seems to want him

warnings implied sexual content, descriptions of a make out session

author’s notes happy valentine’s day everyone!! the voices in my head were louder than usual, so i figured we could all use a sweet treat today!! mwah!! i hope y’all enjoy these headcanons

On a particularly slow day, the Aphrodite, Athena, Apollo, and Hermes kids decide to spend their free time around the lake. In a glimpse, Luke can be seen laughing with Chris. A radiant smile is plastered upon his lips while he takes in the sight of you. In the distance, Annabeth sits with Grover on a towel, letting her toes wiggle into the warm earth. She watches the water intently, making sure none of her siblings are in any imminent danger when the giggles from Apollo kids, Sadie and Caroline, drown out her thoughts.

“Gods, what I’d give to be in his arms right now.” Annabeth’s ears can’t help but pick up on the conversation taking place beside her. “It’s no surprise he’s taken. But you’d think as a Hermes kid, he’d go for someone more like…us.” Sadie sighs.

Grover leans in closer to Annabeth, his interest piquing when she rolls her eyes. He fears that the daughter of Athena is going to give them a piece of her mind when she stands, but Annabeth merely picks up the frisbee that lands near her feet. She throws it back to where it came from and sits back down to hear Caroline encouraging Sadie, “Come on, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll get your chance. The Aphrodite charm has to wear off eventually. I mean, it always does.”

This time, Grover can’t stop her from turning to them. “Look, you don’t know how things seem to work around here, so I’m going to explain something to you.”

“What Annabeth means to say is that-” The satyr attempts to soothe the situation, but she cuts him off amidst her stubbornness.

“Now, I know not all the Aphrodite kids are palatable, but Y/N is easily the sweetest one I’ve ever known. And there’s a real reason as to why Luke is so in love with her. But I guess you’ll never find that reason for yourselves if you continue to act like this at camp.” This effectively humbles Sadie and Caroline, who mumble to each other while they make their exit.

As if on cue, you walk up to Grover and Annabeth. You’re laughing with a Hermes kid that soon leaves to join the game of frisbee, but it dies down when you notice Annabeth’s hardened stare. You place a hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?” 

Grover stands and hands over your towel while insisting it’s nothing. But Annabeth cuts Grover off again to explain, “Sadie and Caroline were saying things about you…and Luke.” You understand what she’s trying to imply and give her a squeeze.

It was no secret that Luke was well admired among his peers. Most of the time, it isn’t even an issue, but there were campers who thought they could change the course of your relationship every now and then.

Sadie and Caroline easily fall under that category, seeing as they completely ignored your existence when Luke decided to take you with him during their initial tour around camp…then there was the time Caroline pretended to lose her way at camp as an excuse to get Luke away from you and alone with her. And just two weeks ago, Sadie feigned hopelessness during a sword skills session. As the instructor, it was Luke’s job to adjust her form. However, it was glaringly obvious the Apollo girl had an ulterior motive, especially when she threw a snarky smile in your direction when she thought you weren’t looking.

“Oh…You don’t have to worry about that, Annie. I can handle myself just fine.” You reassure Annabeth to the best of your ability. She nods and stands to settle herself into your side.

In your peripheral vision, Luke is jogging over to you with his shirt in hand. You don’t miss the way Sadie and Caroline ogle at the thin layer of sheen coating his flexing muscles and the lines running down Luke’s back that aren’t actually sparring scars, despite what you tell the curious kids that help him out in the infirmary. You smile when he pats Annabeth’s arm and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Hey, is it time to head back already?” He asks, putting his shirt on as Annabeth checks her watch.

She huffs, “Unfortunately. We should get going if we don’t want to be late. I still have to grab my dagger.”

It’s a comfortable walk back, and when you reach the Athena cabin, Annabeth bids you two goodbye and runs inside. Luke’s hand is loosely intertwined with yours as you lead him to the Aphrodite cabin. He raises his eyebrows, asking, “Did you need something from your cabin? I thought you were working on archery right now.”

You push the door open, sheepishly admitting, “I am, but I was actually thinking of skipping out on lessons today.”

Luke’s tone is suddenly laced with concern, “Are you okay? Did something happen at the lake?” He drops your hand to check you over, but his touch doesn’t stray far from your waist to prevent you from moving away. But the gesture is welcomed and you take a step forward, a shy smile peeking through the corners of your lips.

His worry for you falters, mirroring your love struck expression, “Oh,” Luke pinches your side. You shove his chest with a shriek. “You’re awful.” He tells you, but he’s already got a hand tracing lightly over your cheek.

Your gaze switches from his dark eyes down to his lips, “You love me.” and that’s all it takes for Luke to dip down his head and meet you halfway. Your hands reach down under his shirt, feeling the warmth radiating from his toned torso. You bite down on his lower lip, and you know you’ve sent Luke’s head spinning when he lets out a short whimper. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but you pull away before he gets the chance.

Your eyes flutter open, whispering, “Do you want to skip lessons with me?”

Luke’s lips are lingering above yours when he responds, “Did you even have to ask?” and pulls you onto your bed. He settles his back against the wall and hums in content when you begin to pepper pecks on his jawline. 

After a moment, you pretend to move off of him, “I don’t know…you were pretty excited for combat training earlier. Maybe I should just let you go.”

In retaliation, Luke’s blunt nails dig into your waist, “Don’t you dare.”

A warmth flutters through your stomach when you hear the desperation in his voice. Your fingers itch to tangle themselves in Luke’s ravenous curls, lightly pulling so he can look up at you. A deceptively innocent smile paints your lips and you don’t skip a beat to get him back on you.

Heavy breaths. Discarded shirts. Whispered promises. This is how you spend the next hour in between your skipped lessons and the nightly bonfire. It’s nice, but you know it’s your cue to take a step back when the crowd of kids crawling outside the cabin becomes heavily audible.

You’re still on Luke’s lap when you say, “You look so pretty like this.” Your eyes flicker from his own to his kiss swollen lips and rowdy hair. There’s an urge to run your fingers through them, but you settle for lightly tracing over the fresh love bites that are scattered across his neck and collarbone.

Luke smiles dopily while you admire your work, “I think we should skip lessons more often.”

You finally get off of him, throwing his shirt to his chest while you smooth yours out, “Don’t be such a bad influence, you’re a camp counselor.” You can’t help but stare again when the marks heavily peek out near his collar, fading in between the orange fabric.

Luke notices your longing gaze and walks over to you, “You know, you’re not the only one with charm in this relationship. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go, lover boy.” You roll your eyes and take his hand. You stumble on your way out, but Luke is there to catch you. He chuckles and lets his arm rest over your shoulders while you reach up to hook your hand with his. He helps you find your footing until your legs wake up on the way to the amphitheater.

“Wait,” You halt just before you reach the steps. You grab Luke’s necklace, gently pulling him in. You let your hands rest on each side of his marked up neck and he hisses at the feeling of your fingers gently pressing on his sore skin. Luke bites down on your lip in response, savoring the hint of watermelon that seeps through until you pull away, “Just wanted one more.”

You’re satisfied once you see the hint of pink gloss smeared at the corners of his mouth. He takes your hand again, guiding you inside. You spot some of your sisters, greeting them with a wave. They giggle at you two in response, whispering frantically to each other while you find an empty space at the front of the bonfire.

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” Luke asks Sadie, who happens to be standing to his left alongside Caroline. Chris, who’s sitting a step above them, unashamedly howls with laughter at the sight. He leans forward to clap Luke on the back, catching the attention of Grover, who sighs in embarrassment, and Annabeth, who’s trying her best not to giggle at the sight of a gobsmacked Sadie. She and Caroline shake their heads frantically, broken words bubbling from their throats as they take in Luke’s glossy, blissful smile that he throws at you.

They finally give you the time of day, noticing that the reason for his contentment comes from your own swollen lips. You look back at them with a smile and take your rightful seat next to Luke, who wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer, watching as they go back to their siblings to start tonight’s singalong.

If the fire glows a little greener as Sadie and Caroline lead the singalong, no one comments on it. They all know better than to mess with the insatiable charm you hold on Luke. After all, you are your mother’s daughter.

[iceunhie]

indirect kiss moments !

summary: you drink from their cup on accident = the realization that you may or may not have shared an indirect kiss. how do they feel about that? too flustered beyond belief, it seems....

featuring: part one (here) - kazuha, wanderer | part two - albedo, neuvillette, alhaitham

notes: not exactly established relationship, crush crush hehe, fluffy, my two anemo faves in one post.... loud gasp effect in the background (pls don't perceive this as my betrayal to the other anemos they'll have their turn soon i promise 🫡)

WANDERER — (in/ex)ternally flustered as fuck + has stopped working

wanderer doesn't think he has a heart, but the way the void in his chest thumps for but a flicker of a moment proves him quite wrong.

why, you ask? it's all because of you.

he resists the urge to snap, terribly so, but out of being flustered more than anything, not irritation. because there is absolutely no way for him to properly process these turn of events with even a hint of rationality. you seem to be promptly ignorant of the whirring of thoughts in his mechanical head. ignorant of his rather foolish situation of going irrational and borderline idiotic.

all because of a damn indirect kiss.

his eyes lift from where he's burning holes onto the cup you're holding—his cup, he corrects, and lingers embarrassingly long (too long) on your lips. he tries not to fight the way heat creeps up his skin, synthetic yet all too real (perhaps like his own, untouched feelings); he thinks he might be red in the face. horribly red, thinking that oh no, he’s faced with the egregious notion that he may be too (very) obvious with how his reaction to your simple action betrays his secret fondness for your existence. most troubling.

it's fine, he tries to rationalize, he's got to relax. it was but a sip of tea. tea he so carefully procured and offered with much reluctance that was more feigned than anything else. tea he only drank because he heard in passing about your preference for it, very, very sweet tea he wouldn't normally drink, he notes with faint distaste—the things he lets you get away with—

….and then you lick your lips to savor the taste.

if the traveler hadn't showed him a taste of an almost death, then he thinks this might just be how he falls.

[ spoiler alert: he ends up hastily getting up to leave after pouring you another refill, muttering curses that would certainly alarm the average civilian. fast as light; if only to hide the utter mess that was his face. red, breathless (even though he doesn't need to breathe) and disgustingly, horribly flustered.

you’d better do your best to calm his self-imposed brooding— he isn't going to tell you anything about what exactly made him fluster this much. best of luck. ]

KAZUHA — flustered, but smiling like a lovesick fool (wants to write endless haikus about this)

kazuha is drunk, both in love and on the sake that burns his throat in a pleasant blend of sweet and strong.

it all started with your request to drink from his cup. you ordered a different drink from him while the crew of the crux were celebrating beidou’s birthday. even now, the sound of laughter and drunken slurring fills the night, a slow and, if he has to be frank, tone-deaf melody of a simple happy birthday echoing in the air. of course, being as drunk in love (beidou’s words) as he is, kazuha didn't even hesitate at all to give you a sip.

…and it just so happens that you managed to drink at the exact place he drank from earlier.

small mercies come in the form of playing off the intense blush of his face and chalking it up to the effects of the wine and sake. kazuha isn't one to be flustered easily, but he must admit this one elicited no light reaction from him, no matter how much he may downplay its impact.

perhaps it was delusional, but was there not a tradition about drinking from each other's cups like this that could symbolize marriage….?

oh dear, the alcohol was getting to him, and fast.

[ spoiler alert: the next day, when you wake up with a sore headache and an achy body and an extremely clingy kazuha, try not to be confused when he mentions something like kissing you in the haze of his sleep.

the following week will also make you subject to two things: 1) an increasingly clingy kazuha (see above), and 2) dozens upon dozens of haikus left at your home, along with silkflowers of innumerable count you’d think he'd plucked the entire lot of them. you never did know why kazuha had become even sweeter (was that even possible...?) all of a sudden. ]

[९] 2024 © iceunhie :: do not copy or use my works.

[monster-disaster]

The bite marks and back scratch marks made me twirl my hair. lol!

Got me thinking what type of monster marriage rituals you think exist?

For humans we got the dresses, rings, and walking down the aisle, so I’m curious to know what other things the monster groom would have the human bride do?

Uh, I love this! I think there are a bunch of rituals that aren’t so common nowadays, they got forgotten, mixed in with human or other monster traditions, but there are still a few that stuck around.

(I'm rambling, and I'm extra sorry for my English.)

WOLF-SHIFTERS are pack creatures, always have been. The need for big families, close-knit communities, and strong bonds is basically in their DNA, so when a couple decides to get married, it’s not just about them tying the knot, it’s about welcoming a new packmate too (shifter or not). It’s a celebration of love, yes, but also of belonging. It’s loud, joyful, and a little wild. And because shifters blended into human society pretty easily over the centuries (thanks to their human forms), their wedding rituals look familiar, just a little more untamed if you look closer. No one is surprised by the bunch of unruly pups darting between chairs, howling and growling, or when wolves start wrestling in the grass after everything is said and done. Most weddings happen outside for that exact reason. Nature feels more like home. Forest clearings, fields full of wildflowers, anywhere with sky and space and soft ground to shift on. And look, it’s nothing new, but shifters don’t do distance. They stick close to their partners the whole day. The groom is (let's stay with monster!groom and human!bride, but it's true with two grooms or two brides too) not standing at the altar with some polite distance between him and his bride. Oh no. He is at her side every second he can be, brushing against her, scenting her, pressing soft kisses to her cheek or the side of her neck. He is all over her. And would it be cliché to bring a chasing kink into this? Maybe. But let’s be honest, that’s probably one of the oldest wedding-night traditions out there in shifter culture. It’s not just a kink, it’s a ritual. If the bride still has the energy to run, the shifter is more than happy to chase her under the stars. To catch her, pin her down gently in the moss, and make her his with the moon watching above. It’s playful, sacred, and a little primal, exactly the way they like it. _

In the past, I think ORC wedding rituals used to stretch on for days, sometimes even weeks. It wasn’t just about the ceremony, it was a whole event, all about proving devotion and strength. The orc bride or groom would show off in every way they could to prove they could take care of their partner. Hunting, crafting, fighting, cooking, whatever their skills were, they put it all on display. And when the big day finally came, the whole clan gathered around. It looked like a human wedding in some ways, but instead of exchanging rings, they used jewelry or (more often) handmade beads and decorative trinkets braided into each other’s hair. It didn’t have to be fancy, what mattered was that it was made with love and effort.

Nowadays, the showing-off ritual is kind of mixed into day-to-day relationships. When it comes to the wedding itself, they will absolutely still make or give their loved one hair accessories, and they will braid it into each other’s hair during the ceremony. Handmade is best, always. It’s not about the price, it’s about the meaning behind it.

Orc weddings can be just as rowdy as wolf-shifter ones, but the energy is different. The party is more focused on celebrating the couple. There’s always music, dancing, and tons of food, but they also have games and little competitions.

In the old days, the party ended for the couple when the groom would just toss his partner over his shoulder and carry them off into the night, literally stealing them away. It was dramatic and bold and got the whole crowd cheering, but now, things are a bit more equal. It’s not a rare sight to see the bride slyly luring her husband away when no one is looking, tugging him by the hand into the shadows with a mischievous grin that tells the orc everything he needs to know about the night ahead of him. _

With MINOTAURS, it was always more intimate and still is. Their weddings aren’t flashy or overly complicated. They’re the kind of gatherings where everyone pitches in. Family and friends cook, decorate, gather flowers, and set up the place. It's about creating something together.

Don’t get me wrong, minotaurs can absolutely be loud and love a good party, but their wedding rituals have a softer tone. Warm, steady, full of meaning. The day itself is about the couple, their love, and celebrating a new chapter. There’s joy and music, but also quiet moments, shared glances, heartfelt toasts, and the sense that something truly sacred is happening, even if it’s just in someone’s backyard or a field of wildflowers.

Over time, they adopted some human traditions, made them their own, but always kept some rituals close to their hearts. I can picture them using Stefana crowns (I hope that’s what they’re called). Delicate, handmade pieces crafted by family, woven with flowers, tiny beads, bits of ribbon, or polished stones. There’s one for the bride, and for the minotaur, it’s something decorative that fits around his horns. The two are tied together with a long ribbon, connecting them, a symbol of unity and the path they now walk side by side.

And while wearing rings is totally normal among minotaurs these days, it’s also not uncommon to see a small band or ring slipped onto one of their horns. It might be simple or engraved, but it’s always personal. Some even add more over the years; a ring for a child born, one for a major anniversary, or a vow renewed. Their horns become a quiet history of their love and life. _

If you marry a RAKSHASA, get ready to be pampered on your wedding day thoroughly and lovingly by your soon-to-be husband. The ceremony and the party afterward? That’s for family and friends. But before all of that, it’s just the two of you, tucked away in your own little world. And he makes absolutely sure it’s one of the best, most indulgent days of your life.

Rakshasas, being the big cats they are, adore comfort. Softness. Luxury. And on your big day, he insists you get the same. The morning starts slow and sweet. He wakes you gently, kisses your forehead, maybe purrs against your neck, and brings you breakfast. Then comes the bath. A shared soak in warm water filled with flower petals or herbs, the kind of scents that make your whole body sigh. He washes with care, long fingers massaging your scalp until your whole body melts. His touch is slow, teasing, and affectionate. He scrubs your skin, kneads your muscles, and holds you close. He drowns you in love, in care, in pleasure, and takes his time doing it. And he doesn’t stop there. He helps you with your dress, and if he’s practiced (and trust me, a lot of rakshasas absolutely will take the time to learn) he’ll do your hair too.

And of course, you return the gesture. You dress him in fine fabrics, soft layers that flatter his build, maybe even something traditional from his culture. You comb and groom him, tend to his jewelry, and by the time you are both done, you are glowing. Not just from the effort, but from how close you’ve grown through the ritual of preparing each other.

When you walk down the aisle, it’s together, hand in hand.

The party is for the guests, yes, it’s loud, vibrant, full of good food and dancing, but it never really touches that soft little bubble you and your rakshasa built earlier in the day. Through it all, he keeps you close. His arm around your waist, lips brushing your temple, low purrs just for you. The world can spin and celebrate, but the two of you stay wrapped in that private, intimate warmth.

_

I put NAGAS and DRAGONS in one, because honestly, in a lot of ways, they feel very similar. Especially when it comes to love and marriage. In the past, both species were deeply solitary. They didn’t seek out big families or surround themselves with friends. They lived alone, and when they chose a mate, it was rare. Sacred. Back then, marriage wasn’t really a concept for them. There were no ceremonies, no celebrations. Just two beings deciding they belonged to each other. That was enough. No need for witnesses. No need for traditions. It only started to change when dragons and nagas began mingling more with other monsters and cultures. So whatever kind of marriage ceremony they have nowadays comes from others. And even now, they only do it if it’s important to their partner. And when it’s over, when the guests are gone, they will pull you close, curl around you, and whisper something low and soft, in a language older than time. A promise that doesn’t need to be spoken out loud. A vow that’s just for the two of you. _

INCUBI and SUCCUBI are a lot like nagas and dragons in this sense. In the past (because of their nature, and more importantly, because of how the world saw them) they didn’t really have the luxury of settling down. Most didn’t even consider the idea of getting married. They were treated like temptations, like tools or taboos, not people you built a life with. So they learned to keep things light, temporary, easy to walk away from. And even now, marriage still isn’t really a priority for them. It’s not something they grow up dreaming about. It doesn’t define love for them the way it might for others. But it’s also not that rare anymore. Things change. Cultures shift. And they have found ways to belong. These days, when an incubus or succubus falls in love, really and truly, they are willing to go through whatever their partner wants to make it official in front of the law too. Not because they suddenly believe in the idea of marriage, but because their partner does. And that matters more. And when the night’s over, when the party fades, they don’t just undress you. They unwrap you. Like a gift they have waited their whole life to open. Something just for them. Their love is physical, yes, but more than that, it’s focused and fierce. _

Back then, for GOBLINS (and for the most part of the world) marriage was more of a contract than a romantic gesture. A business deal. Who had what, who gained what, how to merge households, goals, or fortunes. Love didn’t have much to do with it. And while the world has shifted and changed, for goblins, it’s been harder to let go of that old way of thinking. Even now, it’s not unusual for them to approach the whole ceremony like they’re finalizing a deal. Efficient. Straightforward. They often need their partner’s guidance to understand why things like flowers, vows, or a first dance might matter. Left to their own devices, some would just sign the papers, shake hands, and move on. Done and dusted. But it doesn’t mean they are loveless. Not at all. Goblins just... express affection differently. They are often very practical in their emotions. They’ll make sure your favorite tea is always stocked. They’ll learn how to fix things you break. They’ll remember the tiniest details of what you like or don’t like.

In the past, when arranged marriages were the norm, they often didn’t even know their partner before the wedding. Getting to know each other after the ceremony was part of the ritual, a tradition of slowly, carefully building something real. And this part is still very much alive in modern goblin culture. They don’t care much for big weddings. But the honeymoon? That’s a different story entirely.

That’s where they shine. Once everything official is done, goblins take pride in making sure their partner is completely comfortable. If their partner is okay with it, goblins absolutely prefer to disappear from the world for a while. No distractions, no outside world, just the two of you. And they plan everything carefully; good food, cozy settings, maybe a remote little cottage packed with all your favorite things. Just hide away and spend time together. It’s intimate in a quiet, thoughtful way.

[bambi-kinos]

What’s up with paul obsession with sex?? Im seeing many posts about paul being asked different things and he doing a 180• and answering about sex?

Some people are just naturally more horny than others. Paul is just kind of like that and always would be no matter where his life went.

Paul was initiated into a world of no-limits sex when he was 18 years old and he was made a man through the introduction to truly wild sexual expression in Hamburg. He was introduced to sexual ideas and scenes that he never imagined existed and would probably shock even us internet people.

Once he knew that kind of horny could be on tap, there's no way he was going back to an ordinary life of a wife who put out once every 2 weeks. He is telling the truth when he said he wanted to be a rockstar so he could have sex with a lot of girls. The Hamburg residency was not just musical, it was also sexual and Paul put a lot of effort into studying music and sex. And yes if you want to be good at it then you have to make it a discipline and a study and you have to practice. A lot of Paul's sexual interests were first practiced on brothel girls who were up for anything and he clearly learned a lot.

His best mate was John Lennon, a guy notoriously against restrictions. John encouraged Paul's sexual expression as he did for thousands if not millions of women all over the globe. There are lots of people with stories about spending the night with John and coming out as different people on the other side.

Paul is terrified of being alone but not willing to commit to true intimacy. Sex is an easy way to have someone's physical company for a few hours but he can jettison a sex worker the moment she becomes too much trouble. Some people have emotional support dogs, Paul has emotional support hookers.

Paul demands artificial closeness where he is benefitting materially from his time and mental investment but he still controls the field and sets the terms. This defines most if not all of the non-Beatle relationships in his life. See: Nancy Shevell, Jane Asher, Robert Fraser, Jane Asher's mother. All of these relationships while supposedly "deep" and "close" all end up mirroring Paul's patronage of prostitutes. They are for his emotional and/or material benefit and he will end them the moment they become inconvenient no matter how personally fond of them he may be. See: Heather Mills, Jane Asher's family when she broke up with him.

Sex is an emotional and material benefit for Paul that doesn't require a lot of work or investing from him because he has something they want. For sex workers this is his money and his company; for regular people it's his money and his company and the illusion that they have a special relationship with him. Paul even gets an additional bit of chuff from selling this illusion and he enjoys their emotional back and forth while knowing he has the power to end it at any moment. Very reassuring for a lonely control freak. All of it is a form of prostitution.

Coping with his own PTSD from Beatlemania and a traumatic upbringing. Paul, like the other Beatles, was sexually assaulted, chased, yanked, punched, spat on, forcibly kissed, and stalked by deranged fans. This is on top of his childhood with abusive parents that couldn't decide what they actually wanted to teach their kids.

Frankly I think that Paul's sex obsession is a response to the parentification he experienced when Mary died and responsibility for the entire household dropped on him all at once. See the "but what will we do without her money" quote which was the exact moment that Paul realized he was now head of the household no matter what Jim said or did. Sex becomes a comfort/distraction/break/escape as a result. Remember, Paul was partially driven into John's arms because Jim was beating Paul at home.

John was very horny and Paul mirrored his actions and desires. John and Paul were not just mirroring each other musically or emotionally, they mirrored each other sexually as well. The timing of Linda's first pregnancy implies to me that Paul wanted to try for a baby because Yoko was pregnant. The end result was Mary.

John mentored him sexually and eased him into uncomfortable but still safe situations like the group wanks to further mold Paul's desires in a direction John liked. He encouraged Paul's revealed preference for enjoying feminization by putting him in the position of being John's girlfriend/wife, something John likely picked up on when Paul fed him toast as a teenager. Many of Paul's sexual habits and needs were shaped and fostered by John into something that complimented his own. That is why John took Paul to Paris to play the part of "Mrs. Lennon on honeymoon" and not Cynthia. Remember that Paul affirmed John's masculinity in their relationship by putting John's package at the center of this photograph of them coming out of the Louvre:

John is obsessed with sex and has a high sex drive, Paul drove his higher to compete and match this, they were fucking like bunnies, the end. Now John is gone and part of the wreckage left by his passing is that Paul has an unbearable sex drive and no one he can trust to exhaust him properly. They learned how to fuck girls together and then how to fuck each other, together. The most formative relationship of Paul's life was centered around sex.

None of this is a shitpost btw I am being completely sincere with all of this.

[sordidmusings]

How to Break Rules (Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Art by xuchuan25 on x!

TUMBLR ATE THE FUCKING ASK WHEN I SAVED IT AS A DRAFT 🙃 luckily I had it saved in my doc and it was anon so they wouldn't have been notified anyway

Anon Ask: Crocodile doesn't seem like the type to kiss during sex unless he's down bad. Maybe he starts a casual relationship with a strict "no kissing on the lips" rule but anywhere else is fair game. It's fun to think of the different ways a possible "first kiss" could happen when he's already rawed you lol and the different reactions if he initiates it or you do and whether it's spur of the moment or calculated.

A/N: OOOOOOOOOO love this and have actually come across this in my own travails haha as someone who loves service, there is such a rush in being told “you can kiss me anywhere but my lips; you have to earn that” 😩 Like it’s just dangling that fruit of how much of a rush it’ll be when you earn the right, when you’re told you’ve been so good for so long. It is also kind of a wild and intense dynamic to be in to have done So Much Stuff but not a simple kiss 💀💀💀

I will also say that I have a WIP smut request in this vein that has been FIGHTING ME FOR MONTHS 🥲 except it’s reader who has put down the rule of “no kissing” and the reason is because love is a requirement for it. Hoping this exercise helps get more flowing for continuing that beloved behemoth 🙏🏻 Ficlets and thoughts in bulleted form below! They get longer as they go because that’s what tends to happen for me lol

Word Count: ~3k total over a few scenarios and such

Warnings: brief allusions to sex but nothing nsfw, gn!reader, not actually unrequited love, a few flavors of reader personality, from very bratty to docile, for dynamic variety 🤌🏻, jealousy/possessiveness

Goodies below the cut - dig in (‘∀’●)♡

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

At first I was a bit clinical in my brainstorming of this, more stuck on the grid of who does it to who 

He kisses you

Involuntarily

Poor croc is finally at his limit in keeping his lips from yours and being so deep in indulging in all the rest of you is his undoing. Every piece of you feels so good even though every moment with you is agony - agony from having you but not all of you, being with each other but not belonging to each other. He was Tantalus and you were his fruit and drink, always slipping just past his fingertips. If he could taste you, share your breaths, feel your voice, then maybe he’d finally stop wasting away. 

On purpose

You’ve been vexing him with your teasing, always gifting him the touch of your soft lips everywhere but his own. He didn’t want to be the one to fold on his own rule, but no matter how loose he got your mind, how far you were from forming words, how pliant and placating, you’d kiss him and kiss him and kiss him but never his lips. It didn’t matter if he hovered his own over yours close enough to taste your voice on the air, you’d never push forward. It was maddening. 

One day he finally barks at you after you turn your face away, “Why do you always run?” 

You answer, confused and honest, “You told me I wasn’t allowed.” 

The response is a hook at your neck, pulling you closer; a hand in your hair, cradling you; a mouth on your own, consuming you.

A promise to you that you’re truly his

This Sir Croc warms more to the idea of you being his with no qualms stemming from his own pride. 

It took a long while, but your home in Croc’s life was built brick by brick, sure and steady and obvious. He noticed it and kept an eye on it like he did with everything, but he did not reject nor rush it. No, it was inevitable beyond his will, the way you slipped into his head and chest and nested there. No stubbornness would stop the way it warmed him. No clinging would allow you deeper into a space that was always meant to be yours. As he first noticed the foundation you’d set, saw the promise of his future in your care and vision, he knew he was meant to exist next to you. 

He waited for this understanding to sink in you too. It never did. 

No matter his well-thought gifts, steadfast support, or opulent compliments, you never pressed to take more promises from him than he offered himself, never set to make claim to him outside of closed doors. He knew he had to change that. 

The thought possesses him the next time he brings you around with him and someone has the gaul to approach you. They ask about why Croc keeps you so close to see if they had a chance to stick to your side instead. That won’t do. 

Croc stalks over quickly, seeping dominance but not quite aggression. When he gets to you, he places a weighty hand on your right shoulder and leans over the left, fully encasing you in his presence. 

All the other man sees is the threat leaning over your shoulder and he scatters before you can finish saying “-my boss.”

Much happier with Croc surrounding you, you lean back into his warm chest. A low chuckle plays with the hair around your ear, causing you to shiver in delight.

“A boss? Is that all I am to you?” There’s a teasing lilt to his deep voice, one steeped in deep fondness.

“Of course not,” you assure. He guides you to turn with his hook under your chin, letting his fingers tickle the back of your neck to your other shoulder as you spin to face him. The smile on your lips is easy and familiar and softens Croc into clay, ready and happy to be molded into whatever you want. Yet you always just ease him back into his own shape, each time with fewer cracks and dents, waiting for him to be as solid as he’d like for when he enters the kiln.

“Then tell me, dear,” his voice is as warm and rich as the purple of his eyes. He pulls his cigar from his lips with two fingers. You watch his lips as he speaks. “What am I?”

Before the falter in your smile can fully steal it away, Croc slips forward to taste it on your lips. You freeze and Croc snakes his hook behind your neck to pull you forward, but by the time it gets there you’re already pressing into him. You’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t savor the feeling of finally belonging fully to each other.

You kiss him

Power Move

Sir Croc never seemed able to control you and he loved and loathed it in equal parts. It’s one of the reasons he sought you in the first place. You knew exactly when to push and when to follow, when to challenge and when to submit. It was a very rare day when you genuinely got on his nerves.

Today is a very rare day.

You’re clearly upset with Sir Croc - not leaning into his affection, barely answering his attempts at conversation, unwilling to look at his face for more than a second. More than anything you refuse to tell him what’s wrong.

Now, you’re not doing it just to piss him off; you don’t feel quite allowed to be upset about the issue so you don’t want to share. You don’t want to have an attitude but every time you see him it reminds you of the realization that you’d do anything for him. Worse than that, that thought was immediately followed by the Knowing that you aren’t his and the uncertainty that you ever will be.

Right now, you feel like you’re not his to have, but his to use.

Though, he does give you special treatment. He lets you closer to him than any others, treats you with gentleness except when you corner him into using a firm hand. He’s never even used his power over you when it’s not for play and pleasure. Except for one little rule.

No kissing on the lips. 

You thought you’d earn it months ago. You’ve earned everything else, every sweet treatment and treasure you could think of will be yours if you ask it of him. He’s come to spoil you even more rotten than a queen with her fat lap dog, and yet you’ve not gotten a single kiss to the lips.

It’s begun to feel like he’s keeping it from you to let you know he’ll never fully give himself to you because he never fully intended to keep you. And it hurts.

And now he’s mad because you’re mad but you can’t tell him why you’re mad and the whole thing is maddening.

You watch him knock the ash off his dwindling cigar into the ornate ceramic tray on his desk. The heavy sigh accompanying it annoys you. Why is he the one sighing?

Oh, now he’s rubbing at his temple. He thinks he’s frustrated? You’ll show him frustration.

“Should I go?” You ask, peeking at him from the corner of your narrowed eyes.

“Do you want to go?” Croc rebuts, sounding confounded and at the end of his rope.

You eye him unhappily. 

Instead of responding, you stand up from the leather sofa across from his grand desk. It’s a decent distance, two chairs to its sides are placed closer, but of course you chose to sit away from him today. It’s to your advantage now; you need space for your next move.

You make your way to him slowly, swerving your hips smoothly the way he likes and adding a teeny bit of weight to each step - both to be closer to stomping and to have the motion give a slight bounce to all the soft parts of you for him to watch.

And watch he does - his face melts into the hungry admiration he saves for you, albeit still a bit guarded. 

When you get to his desk, instead of addressing him you gracefully gather the papers spread across it into your hands. You take a moment to pretend to scan through and consider them, only to frisbee them onto one of the chairs.

Croc’s eyes turn sharp and burning.

“Brat-” he cuts himself off, looking at your face and picking up that you’re having even less fun than he is. He sucks in a tense breath and hisses it back out. Let’s try that again.

“Am I working too much and you need more attention? Is that why you’re having a fit?”

Good enough.

“If I was having a fit, the whole base would know,” you bite back at him.

Instead of arguing or redirecting, Sir Croc settles on watching you. Nothing’s worked, so he’ll just allow you to take this wherever it’s headed.

You plant your palms on his desk and let the quiet linger. He lets you lean into his space and stare him down. He’s unsure what you’re looking for and honestly so are you. You’re unsure if you find it but you do find some fortitude in the settling air. You finally speak up.

“Do you remember the rule you set when we started this…” your eyes flit around, searching for the right word, “agreement?”

“No kissing on the lips unti-”

Your hand is fisted in his shirt, your lips are warm and insistent against his.

You expect anger, pulling back, or even shoving hands. Instead, Croc is scrambling out of his seat, careful to keep your lips locked, and helping you to clamber over the desk towards him with a greedy grip. You won’t be free from his taste or hold the whole night through. Now that they’ve had you, they’ll haunt you all your days, keeping him alive with each time they possess you.

You sneak your way into it

Sir Crocodile doesn’t get to enjoy late risings often. That’s why he makes sure to wring them of all they’re worth, and that’s only become better with you there. 

Knowing that the morning lacked a rude awakening, you both indulged in a night of the senses - seeing the sights, hearing live music, eating and drinking with abandon before coming home to get your fill of each other in all five senses, especially touch.

As Sir Croc comes back to his body, floating from the abyss of sleep one breath at a time, he finds his sense of touch being coaxed and teased. Gentle fingers brush across his skin along familiar trails made to map and admire his large form. They round over muscles, press into places of softness, tickle at the sensitive skin of his wrist, his blunted forearm, his hips, his neck.

The touches all feel so full of adoration and something else he’s felt more and more from you. He’s finding it harder and harder to ignore, especially because he’s used to adoration and there’s something different in yours - something softer, gentler, surer. Something he is sure by now is genuine love.

Each time it comes out he lets it wash over him as best he can without solidifying its bond. After all, this was never meant to be love.

But feeling your affection made it impossible to ignore how much better life would be if he always woke up with you.

Sir Croc encourages more of your touches, following them where he could and bedding his cheek into the top of your head. You happily snuggle deeper against him and his heart leaps.

Knowing he’s awake, you begin placing sweet kisses against his skin, teasing at the edge of his trimmed chest hair. He lets out a long breath with the undertone of a content groan rumbling through it. You smile against the plush of his pec, happy he’s still fuzzy from sleep and primed for your plot

Your lips trail and massage higher, over clavicle and to neck. He tilts his jaw away to give you free reign of the sensitive skin from his throat to his ear. Your thigh mimics the rising of your lips, trailing slow and tender over Croc’s front until it brushes from his thigh to his stomach. The rise and fall with his breathing is calming under you and the steadiness made it easier to notice when his breathing hitched and his muscles twitched against you.

His hand returned your affection mindlessly, simply following whatever instinct compelled him. Mostly it trailed from the nape of your neck to your hip and back, taking small moments to press you closer when he didn’t want one of your kisses to move quite yet.

Everything was deep breaths echoing against skin, the comforting pressure of bodies melding wherever you touched, the dance of give and take with affection. Each place you pushed your love, Croc opened himself to feel more of it, even when you left his shoulder chest and neck to explore his scarred cheek

He doesn’t even hesitate to let you near when you first trail the tip of your nose over the strong angle cut by his jaw. The barely there stubble blended to a moment of pure softness before being interrupted by the ridges of his scar

Croc is fully and willingly enchanted by your soft and smooth actions. He couldn’t bear to make you stop, couldn’t care for any pretense or boundary of his it would break so long as you don’t stop touching him so sweetly. His whole body feels light and alive and he’s struck with the realization that he’s as in deep as you are.

You place your first kiss to his face on his scar where it cuts across his cheekbone. He presses just a millimeter deeper into the plush of your lips

You follow the path of the scar, feeling his lashes tickle the tip of your nose on your way. All the while Croc keeps his languid caresses going on your skin, still lulled by recent sleep and the comfort of your touch and warmth and the want for more.

When you get to the bridge of his nose, you break contact to press your foreheads together. His hand slips up your back to rest at the back of your neck, holding you to him. You bump your nose on his and he bumps back. You tilt to leave a kiss on his cheek. His finger tail up to softly scratch at the base of your skull. You smile against him and feel his own cheek rise momentarily against you.

Sir Crocodile feels more free of thought and obligation than he has in years. Your slow acts of worship have brought out a peace in him that he’s rarely known. There is no rush or push, just a calmness and sureness that this is where he should be and how he should feel. That you both belong here.

And then something changes when you kiss right outside the corner of his lip.

He is left wanting.

You linger at the spot before moving just barely away and coming back just a hair closer to his own lips.

Each near miss felt unnatural and unsatiating, quickening his heart and breath in his discomfort and discontent. The hand at your head goes from caressing to holding, urging you to stop fleeing and teasing.

You smile again against him and this time there’s no mirrored grin from him; he’s falling too quickly into a pit of need, one he didn’t notice you digging with every caress and kiss.

You tease  your lips to the corner of his, planning to press more firmly directly on target, but his hand grips you firmly and he’s turning and insistent lips slot hungrily against yours.

You gasp in delight while he shudders out a breath he’s been holding since he met you.

Then I had a better angle come to me by remembering a basic writing preference, that the circumstances around the kiss - the ‘why’ not just the ‘what’ are much better for generating a scene, luckily in the above I think I amended that mistake when I went into more detail! (keeping these more to the stream I originally wrote them in cuz I fear I went on too long above LOL)

He kisses you after fearing for your safety

He kisses you for fear you’ll leave

You kiss him in anger, wanting to prove you’re worthy

He kisses you while you sleep, too afraid for you to know the hold you’ve had on him all along

He kisses you to soothe you, pull you from your fears and sorrows to just float with him in your little bubble away from all the hurts of the world, held aloft by sensation and need and affection

He kisses you to possess you, someone else coming too close and needing the message

You kiss him in joy, ignoring all the dirt and grime that came back with him from Impel Down

You kiss him with a sorrowful heart, needing to comfort the man who was larger than life now sat sadly before you bare of all, even his golden hook and ego

You kiss each other, your lips had sweetly made their way up his neck and across that strong jaw, coming to rest unsure right at the corner of his lips, your shaky breathes puff sweetly across his cheek as he tilts his head to rest temple to forehead, the turn to face you fully is slow and caressing, his own breath coming to mingle with yours, your noses bushing gently. The barest tilt of his head has your lax lips tentatively brush his, just the faintest tickle of skin on skin. A shaky exhale - his or yours you’re not sure - and your lips press more surely, first easing in like the first step into dark waters before you both succumb to diving under. A fierce grip slips to the nape of your neck, endlessly dragging you closer

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading and thank you anon for your ask 💜 I'm gonna be better at getting back to the others (life was being life lol) and up next I have some comfort fics and x marine reader! And perhaps a little filth 👌🏻

Masterlist

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Fully prepared for this to be a minority position but I am deeply emotionally invested in Paul and Chani not getting back together in Dune Messiah. Not just because I love angst and tragedy (I do) but because I don't think there's a way to do it without undermining the narrative and character arcs that Dune Part Two executed so well.

Paul and Chani's relationship in the Villeneuve films exists on a totally different foundation from what's in the books. It's a political love story and you simply cannot separate out the politics from the romance. Their connection starts with the politics and the love is built on top of that.

It's not just that they happen to fall in love while fighting together in an anti-colonial guerrilla war; that is why she falls in love with him. Because he is willing to take the same risks as her in fighting for her people's liberation. Not by trying to impose himself as a leader (at first) but side by side with her as comrades and equals. Let me fight beside you. That's all I'm asking. He is quite literally willing to put his body on the line for a struggle that's been with her all her life, that she cannot escape, but that he could walk away from if he chose. And in fact he proves himself to be an asset and not a liability in this struggle and they start winning. And yeah that shit's romantic as fuck!! Kudos to whoever on the writing team was like actually direct action solidarity is sexy af because they were right and they should say it! There clearly is some attraction or at least interest in Paul on Chani's part from fairly early on, but it's only after he's proven his political worth, in battle, that she allows herself to trust him on a personal level enough to begin a romantic relationship with him. (And it's only after Paul takes off the Atreides ring, the symbol of the fact that he came there to rule over her, that the narrative permits him to advance to this point.) They could have been comrades but not lovers, but never the other way around, because there's no other version of Paul that this Chani would have fallen in love with.

It's important that they meet in circumstances where Paul has no structural power over her. Chani never would have trusted the Paul who stood in the colonial palace and pledged to "honor" Stilgar by offering him hospitality on his own fucking planet. Because she would have known, just as Stilgar did, that such an offer of fellowship, no matter how genuine and well-intentioned, is not made on equal terms. It's only once Paul has been forcibly separated from his colonial privilege that they have even a chance to approach each other as human beings. (And, in a sort of dark irony, that violence becomes a bridge that connects them. That Paul is driven not by abstract power games among the Great Houses but by real grief and anger over the violent death of people he loves at the hands of the Harkonnens must surely be something Chani understands. And it builds a level of trust and empathy between them, that she doesn't have to explain the stakes of what they're fighting for. He knows it in his bones.)

It's not a coincidence that all their explicitly romantic moments are shot through with politics. Their first kiss is wrapped up in a conversation about what it means to be Fremen and I would very much like to be equal to you. (Yes, he's flirting his ass off with that line, but I do think he is sincere.) Their single post-coital scene has I'm no messiah, I'm a fedaykin of Sietch Tabr--not just a commitment to her people and her home but to her specific form of political struggle in which he is joining her. Throughout their whole relationship, the personal and the political are so interwoven as to be indistinguishable from one another.

This kind of commingling of emotional commitment to a person with political commitment to a culture/people/cause could have very easily slid into something tokenizing or fetishistic, but the writing manages to avoid that by sticking very strongly to a couple of guardrails. One, Chani is not some passive prize to be won, but an active agent of her own liberation, whether Paul is in the picture or not. She is the Fremen liberation struggle within the political allegory of the film; she is its voice and embodiment from the moment we meet her. On a character level, she is doing her thing and it's up to Paul to either follow or get out of the way. Even though we know he is afraid of her dying, he never once suggests she leave the front lines of armed struggle (can you imagine?) because that struggle is such a fundamental part of who she is and what he loves about her.

Two--and this one is important for what comes next--the narrative never trivializes the political side of their relationship in favor of the romantic. The second Paul reaches for any kind of power over the Fremen, over Chani, the trust between them is broken and the romance cannot continue. She might still love him as a person--you don't just turn that off--but she cannot be in love with him as the Lisan al-Gaib, fulfillment of a false prophecy she hates; as the Duke of Arrakis, her colonial overlord; or as the Emperor of the Known Universe, overlord of her overlord. As soon as he pulls that shit he is just another colonizer and she's done with him.

And like, kudos to the narrative for being absolutely uncompromising on that point! That's what makes both the political allegory and the personal tragedy hit so hard! Paul, bro, you fucked that one up good and now you are Experiencing a Consequence! I LOVE that in the end, love isn't enough. All the love in the world isn't enough to keep Chani from walking out at the end of the film, because the foundation that love is built on is broken and cannot be repaired.

(I do believe that by the time he is declaring himself Emperor, Paul thinks he has no choice, that this is the only way to save the people he loves from any number of worse fates. But that, too, is a betrayal, of a kind I don't think Paul fully understands. Because either you think the Fremen are capable of governing their own planet or you don't. Deciding unilaterally that having a "friendly" imperialist in power is the best you can hope for is a profound denial of the agency of the people Paul claims to be doing this in the name of. It's either paternalism or despair, and neither are acceptable modes of thinking for a serious revolutionary. Chani would tell you as much.)

The thing with making a bold writing choice like that is that...you cannot then walk it back in the next film with Chani choosing to forgive Paul or coming around to seeing the world his way and understanding that yes it's politically unsavory and he's manipulating the people he said he was in solidarity with but this was the only way! If you do that then the whole framework of what the first two films are trying to say about power and imperialism and resistance and solidarity collapses into incoherence. On a thematic level Dune Messiah is all about the consequences of Paul taking power the way he did and these are the consequences.

And on a character level...I just don't see any way to come back from such a deep betrayal. Even if some part of Chani still loves him. Even if she's pregnant with his child(ren). (We have like, zero information about how movie Chani feels about family and pregnancy and childrearing that would indicate that she would care one bit about her children's biological father being involved in their lives when he is otherwise busy being a space dictator.)

There are several categories of scenarios I can think of to get Paul and Chani interacting again (she goes back to him as a spy/assassin; she's brought back to the palace under some sort of duress, "for her safety" or even as a political prisoner) but none of them involve them being genuinely together as a couple. I could also see them not interacting at all for most of Dune Messiah. What I cannot see is any scenario in which she genuinely forgives him or ever fucking trusts him again. That shit is over and there's no getting it back.

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 5]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (Farm Arc)

3.6k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Sitting on the porch injured foot elevated and iced. Sounds of shuffling was heard within the Greener home. With Carl being shot and awaiting medical intervention, you couldn’t help but wish for a moment alone. Two of the groups children within a few days of each other are in extreme danger. The bump of your stomach and the hormones that come with it didn’t help the fear of, ‘when is mine next?’. However the peace you tried forming for yourself was crushed when the porch door swung open Rick walking out with Lori behind him.

“Are we doing the right thing though Rick!”

They both were apparently oblivious to your spot in the dark corner. Rick leaned heavy on the railing. While he whisper in exasperation his words were still clear, “An what?! Let him die?” Your hands tightened on the wooden arm rest of the chair. “What kind of world is this for him to live in.” Lori words make gravity seem to swirl, her words causing a nauseous spin in your gut. Rick seemed to feel the same with his voice strained out, “The deer.” He lifted his head back to his wife. “He thought of the deer, not that he got shot. He is the good for this world.” Lori seemed to think to herself looking out to the darkness. Rick’s word stuck inside your head, it boosted respect in him.

Despite the lovely revelation going on, your wish for hearing and ease dropping into it was none existent. Clearing your throat to make yourself known you spoke calmly, “Y’all realize I can’t exactly move anywhere, right?” They jumped heads whipping over to your corner. It was Rick who spoke in shock, “Y/n? Since when did you-“ He stopped looking down to your injured foot, “Woah- What happened?” You could only suck in the night air and respond, “Little worse then a sprain, Hershel could only take a look at me for a moment. I can’t take anything he gives me because my baby. Honestly I would like to come inside but I think Glenn forgot me again.” Glenn got distracted by that Maggie girl… typical.

You slightly pout at the thought. It was Lori who surprised you, “Let’s get you to bed for the day then.” She helped you up and you hopped along side her. She managed to get you to a couch and as she help you lay down you whispered to her, “Does being pregnant get any easier.” She smirks seeming to think back to when she still had Carl to carry around, “It only gets easier thinking about how you wish they never left.” You hum at the thought closing your eyes. “True. Now even more so in ‘this world’. If it helps any with Carl, I think he’ll be fine. Kids have a way to heal like no other.”

Late you lay there half awake when you overheard a women crying in the kitchen. Opening your eyes you see Shane walking into the bathroom. At first you thought Lori was the one crying making you believe Carl didn’t make it. But that thought past when you saw Rick and Lori leaning on each other with a smile of relief. Sighing yourself you closed your eyes to rest.

In the morning you felt the deep exhaustion still in your bones. Your foot felt as though it had a pulse as it throbbed. There was some commotion happening in the house but your head spun and you felt slightly warm and uncomfortable. The spinning made nausea hard to swallow. A hand pushed your hair back. Blinking up you couldn’t help but smile, “Daryl.” He looked at your face for a minute before frowning, “Not looking so hot, you doing alright?” You scoff, “Real charmer you are.” You drag and hand up his arm while you look up to meet his eyes, “Think after everything, this was the first time I’ve slowed down. My body is just catching up with me and it’s not happy.” He seemed to contemplate something but a thought hit you,

“Where did you come from?”

Daryl started to help you stand, “Just got here, had to check on ya.” You hummed, “And Sophia?” Daryl just shook his head. “We have a map of the area now. Putting together a real search.” You lean back into the couch body still buzzing with all kinds of discomfort, “How long have I been out?” A cup of water was thrusted into your hand, “It’s a little pass noon. Didn’t miss much other then an awkward funeral.” You raised an eyebrow a clear question to elaborate. “Otis, guy who shot Carl died while looking for medical stuff for the kid.” You exhale a long breath, a little nod of understanding. You both stare at each other in a comfortable silence. Almost like you’re trying to soak in his presence. He opened the palm of his hands an offering to get help up, “I set up are tent, let’s get you away from all this noise.”

You smile grasping this hand, “Thank god, these people have so much drama.” On your feet you lean into Daryl as he wraps an arm around your waist. It was a little before half way when Daryl put an arm between your legs grabbing your hip and lifting. You screech in offense leaning on his shoulder as he carriers you. “You’re slow.” You huff at him, “Your impatient.” He walks to the tent setting you down to unzip the door. You notice your guys tent is farther from the other, just like the quarry. You crawl past him flopping on the bed. He crouched down and you could see the smirk creeping on his face.

He looked back to the open flap, “I’m back on the search for that little girl.” You lean onto your side to look up at him. He had his thumb in his mouth, a nervous tick. “Do me a favor and stay away from Shane. His screws are gettin’ loose.” You hum, “I’ll try to not be alone with him.” He sighed like he was fighting to stay before he finally leaned down a quick kiss. ‘He is becoming over stressed again.’ You grab his face to guide him back for a proper kiss.

“Be careful.”

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Days moved slow for you. Always seeming to find yourself in the background of everyone’s shit. You couldn’t do much while injured so you fixed cloths, sat and washed dishes. Andrea also seemed to take issue with how ‘domestic’ the tasks you did were. Forgive me my majesty I am pregnant and injured and over it! Daryl was out again he seemed to be the only one looking for the poor girl in the woods. Speaking of Sophia her Mother seemed to try and distract herself with helping with things, and who do you think needs the most help nowadays. Whether that be simply getting help standing, or getting something so I had no need to stand in the first place.

It was sweet, better contrast to the start of the group. At least one person was warming up to the Dixons. Dixons… just going to pretend that wasn’t a thought. Alas Daryl was looking for her daughter so maybe it was out of obligation. Finally that comes back to what you just witnessed. For some reason the ability of being in peoples shit unintentionally is a gift you possess. Like seeing Lori trying to stop herself from gagging at the smell of meat cooking, ‘Great.’ Just got to stay out of whatever that shit storm will cause. Then there’s Glenn. It was funny seeing Glenn trying to flirt with the farmers daughter. Even though she seems to be mad at him. Probably for the almost dying to a water logged walker that was stuck in the well thing. Wasn’t hard to hear her call him “Walker bait.”

Hershel seemed to warm up to you surprisingly. He was concerned about how rough the ankle still looked. Though I don’t think he knows you have been hoarding the drugs he try’s to give you. You can’t take them, but he don’t know that. That was were the debate of telling him about the baby came in. You ended up just asking Rick about his thoughts. It was a potential reason to get kicked off the farm and Rick has been trying tooth and nail to keep us on it. So you let him decide.

“Hey Rick!”

He was a distance away before jogging over to were yours and Daryl’s tent was. Rick looked worried of course. I think he has been the only one in the group to not immediately look at you as a burden. “You alright?” You nod talking to him while he stood outside as you sat at the front of the tent door. He crouched to be face to face, “Your ankle still isn’t doing great. It’s been awhile Y/N.” You inhale and nod, “I know, I can’t take any of the things to help it heal faster. Thats kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Rick just hummed and look at you expectantly, “Hershel doesn’t know about the baby.” Rick’s face seemed to pause before thinking, “Ah… right.” You rub a hand down your face, “It’s a possible reason to be kick out, I know. They seem decent enough, but it’s still a risk.”

Rick stared down at the dirt so you spoke again to break him from your thoughts, “I’m letting you handle this the way you want. I know you’ve been trying to make this visit a little more permanent. So tell him or not.” Rick stood putting his hands on his hips, “I’ll need to think about how to handle it. Thank you for trusting me with this decision.”

Rick looked around, “Daryl still not back yet.” Your eyebrows scrunched. You look to see the sun had gotten close to evening. “Huh. Think he took a horse, maybe he found something this time.” Rick rubbed at the forming stubble, “How about we get you to Dales RV until he comes back. If he isn’t back before dark I would hate for you to be alone while still injured so bad.” You hummed offering your hand to get help up. “That sounds good. Gives me another chance to kick T-dogs and Dales ass in poker.” While getting closer to the RV you notice Andrea on the top with binoculars scanning the area. About 20 feet away you are startled by her yelling.

“WALKER!”

Rick makes sure your up right and balance before running off in the direction of the walker. You hop slowly to the RV. Everyone was running Rick was yelling but the words didn’t seem to register. You stare off into the distance. A pull in your chest lights a heavy unwanted thought… Daryl. The sounds a gun being loaded snaps you out of thought. Andrea is lying prone sniper in hand pointing off to the group that seemed to have stopped. Dale can be heard but you yell over him, “Andrea don’t!” Just as the words left your mouth a gun shot rang. The body went limp to the ground. The group in the distance was yelling and swinging their arms. Andrea was looking up from the gun with a smug satisfaction.

They started to drag the body… the body. You were hyperventilating. The body, was covered in blood and limp. The body. The body. You didn’t know you had limped forward. Chaos was falling around you. Andrea’s yells are what snapped you out of it. “Oh my god! Did I kill him!?” Dale at some point was holding you up, you pushed off swinging at Andrea. Knocking her in the teeth she stumbled back. Your fist bleeding from hitting bone. “YOU FUCKING DUMB BITCH!” The angry turned to tears as you stumbled and fell on your ass. Crying as you watch them drag Daryl to the farm house. Drag HIS body. His limp and covered in blood body. Your spiraling and choked sobs making the corner of your vision blur. You attempt to stand stumbling. “Daryl! Daryl please! PLEASE!” It was useless because as soon as you were up right your vision flicked to black.

————————————————————————

You woke up with a pressure between your eyes. Whispers and mumbling gain your attention first. “-down around here, must have dropped it in the water and washed up on the bank.” A hmm followed by more talk, “We will circle around here tomorrow, you’ve done enough for now.” A whine leave you when you try and open your eyes. The light makes your mind spin. “I’ll leave you to handle her. She didn’t exactly have the best time watching you be dragged lifeless.” You felt something shift, like a dipping of a body on a mattress. A grunt of acknowledgement followed by soft click of a door.

A soft pulse was felt in your fist, like you punch a brink wall. Then it came crashing back- you had punched Andrea… she had- You quickly sit up, “Daryl?!” Light swims in your eyes as you look around. A arm from your left pushes you back down slowly to a pillow. Your eyes flickering over to the source. There Daryl sat, shirtless covered in bandages. He was leaned back is arm still on your chest. “M’ right here-“ You burst into tears staring at him. “Woah!”

Daryl sat up but quickly regretted it. He grunted holding his side. You mumble through tears, “You scared me- I thought- then the baby!” You huff sucking in air. “I need you!” Daryl put his hand into yours, “Breathe for me huh? They said you worked your self up about me and passed out.” You met his gaze, his eyes flickering between yours. His eyes were full of life. It made you calm down. Daryl sighed, “Heard you also slammed Andrea into the grass.” You gave a watery chuckle. “Think I sprained my hand now to.”

“Crazy women.”

You suck in a breath now staring at the ceiling. The wave of sudden emotions drained you. Daryl’s thumb swiped the back of your hand. You felt his gaze still on you. “I love you.” You froze. Slowly turning your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes shine with resolve. With him being so near death he had pushed himself for the purpose of you. Even when hallucinating Merle he was pushing for you. You sniffle, in a watery tone,

“I love you too.”

You had shuffled closer to Daryl, now laying on your stomach on half of his side in an embrace. His arm curling around you rubbing the side of your shoulder as you huff quiet wimpers. That’s were Carol had found you half asleep. She smiled down readjusting her gaze to Daryl. “Just thought you both should eat. I also wanted to thank you Daryl. You’re a good man.” With that she quietly slipped out of the room with the door softly clicking. Your tired mumbling catching him off guard, “Damn straight he is.”

————————————————————————

Hershel checked on you both suggesting you stay in the house for a few days. He was still worried about your ankle, but you and Daryl agreed it would be best to be away from everyone’s shit. You both managed to get yourselves back to your tent, Carol helped you mostly. While the events that frazzled you seemed to come to a close... you got what you wanted in the end. Time with Daryl. How could that possible go wrong?

Part 6

Feedback welcome and requests open!

That's right I'm back! Got a job and coping better with my mental health! My job is kinda dangerous so I hope the authors curse doesn't smite me...

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[radioactiverats]

Are seekers in trines then drawn towards being in romantic poly relationships or is it more of a some seekers in trines are not romantically involved but might be more friendship or platonic focused with one person in there trine. You indicated that Thundercracker and Skywarp are in a romantic/flirty relationship but does Starscream have that kind of relationship with them too then? Just curious kinda the idea has just been rattling around in my brain since the new chapter 18. With starscream actively looking to expand the trine as well oof the tension with seeker reader!! Feels like seeker reader and starscream are pretty bonded though so it was so sad to read Starscream flirting and looking to find other seekers to frag!! Ahhh I can't wait to see how it turns out! Its such a good update I can't wait to see the progression!! 💖💖

Thank you for your ask and for following along with the story!! <333

In this AU all types of trine relationships exist, platonic/romantic alike. Trining for me feels more like a declaration that you trust these bots to have your back no matter what. Here specifically, the Elite Trine engage in romantic/intimate activities on top of their bond with each other, but I imagine TC and Skywarp spend more time together and have their own sort of way to interact - because Starscream’s the leader, and SIC to boot. He’s always busy and grumpy as a result :,)) Imagine engaging with a group of friends and they’re all your friends, but you have different sorts of relationships with each of them individually. At the same time, this leaves Starscream stranded aloft on a plateau of loneliness more often than not, because there’s no one to really understand his troubles as leader. TC and Skywarp probably help Starscream blow off steam quite often, or cajole him into letting himself be taken care of before he actually shuts down. Starscream snarks at his trinemates a lot, but deep down he’d worry if anything happened to them :,)

Starscream’s pretty open about flirting with other bots, you know this. Maybe it’s a seeker thing, maybe it’s a Starscream thing. But either way, he doesn’t seem to think much of flirting with others - he seems to view it as a valid tactic to gain allies. All the same, he doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. You at least take comfort in the fact that he doesn’t sleep with just anyone anymore - you’d listened in rapt fascination and horror during one Girls Night when Skywarp got hold of some engex and decided to regale you in great detail with tales of their past. But with your instincts emerging now, you’re not sure how you’d take it if Starscream came back to your shared habsuite directly from a tryst with someone else, or if he simply didn’t come back for the night. (Absently, you wonder whether it’s your presence that caused this change, but nah. You can’t, won’t be so presumptuous. Especially when you get to leech warmth from his frame every night - you’re not complaining.)

The bond you share runs deep, but it’s one of those characterised by a fierce protectiveness, care, and trust. Beyond that, you don’t know what to call it, and there are trine bonds like this. You’re happy knowing that the depth of your affections for him are reciprocated, but you can’t help but want more given that he actively wants a flock. You’re right in front of him. Your instincts scream that you would be a good candidate, and and the turning point now is Starscream realising that you’re suited to be a trine leader, which opens up the possibility of bonding as leaders and forming a flock together. (Of course, when others try to court you as a potential trinemate, Starscream turns his nose up at the very idea of you being anything less than trine leader and doles out the rejections for you.) Your reaction to his flirtations with others are a sign - he’ll be observing you carefully, testing your reactions to potentially pushing your bond further.

But at the end of the day, the connection with him is one based on a deep sense of care and trust for each other. You’d trusted him with many of your ‘firsts’, so to speak, graduation, fighting, injury… and now trining instincts. Even if you had more choice in the matter, you would without a doubt choose him to guide you through these experiences, because you can’t think of anyone you trust more. His bond to you is markedly different as well, because by virtue of staying by his side for so long, you understand what he’s up against - the stresses of being Air Commander and SIC, Megatron, his worries about his trinemates. You see it all, and as a result understand him in a way that’s different from the others. TC and Skywarp had remarked on it, too - you’re good for him, Thundercracker had told you gently. The way he so naturally assumes to find you by his side… it’s a good thing. I hope you feel the same.

[unhetalia]

Could you share some of your headcanons for the relationship between Alfred and Matthew? Like what kid of relationship they have?

These two are weirdos, first and foremost. I have a few different configurations for how they are depending on how angsty I want a universe to be. If we're talking headcanons for the relationship that looks similar to what they have in canon (they spend time together of their own volition), this is what I have.

My Matthew and Alfred's relationship can't be talked about wholly without mentioning the fact that there is an additional sibling - Maria, the eldest - and that she actively preferred Alfred to Matthew, meaning that there has NEVER been a time when Matthew felt in equal standing with Alfred when someone knows both Alfred and Matthew. I cannot emphasise how much this fucks Matthew up.

(Lack of self-awareness on Matthew's part, he also vastly prefers Alfred to Maria.)

This means that Matthew really doesn't like sharing friends with Alfred. This means he tends to be friends with Nations who actively dislike Alfred - Cuba, for one. Old English colonies who have always been bitter about having to compete with the ghost of Alfred Jones.

Alfred doesn't mention it, but this is something that hurts Alfred quite a bit, and leads to Alfred seeking out Maria and others' company more than Matthew's, which upsets him.

Matthew's blind spot is absolutely Alfred - he doesn't consider Alfred's feelings because he can't imagine that Alfred's feelings are capable of getting hurt. He truly sees Alfred as someone with a charmed life.

On the other hand, Alfred underestimates his twin. He never brings up anything Matthew does wrong because he believes Matthew "doesn't mean anything bad by it" and doesn't think Matthew can handle the criticism, thereby leading to a relationship where Matthew feels like he is a better sibling to Alfred than Matthew is to him.

It isn't just in their relationship - Alfred sees Matthew as dependent on his government, on England and France. He doesn't really see Matthew as someone who can stand on his own two feet, and therefore he doesn't see Matthew as being able to handle lots of things. (This is kind of a bigger thing wherein both Alfred AND Maria look down on Nations who work too closely with governments, as they see it is antithesis to their existence - more on this later.)

So these two have a lot of issues! Matthew blames Alfred for too many things that Alfred can't actually control instead of addressing his own issues with his self-worth, and Alfred lets Matthew get away with a lot of things because he sees Matthew as a delicate flower who is incapable of malice and can't handle criticism (or anything too hard, really).

BUT as with all familial relationships it's not all bad! These are two people who love each other DEEPLY.

Matthew doesn't love anyone more than he loves Alfred, no matter their issues. He will defend Alfred from any physical harm (see: Canadian response to Pearl Harbour - there ARE pluses to being attached to your government).

Alfred never forgets Mattie! He's on his speed dial! (Which number he is on speed dial I have not yet decided). He and Mattie have a lot of things they do, just the two of them - a lot are hiking-in-nature related. Or food related.

Matt and Al have six different secret languages - one of which is a form of sign language and three which they can use to communicate while one of them is bound and tied up and the kidnapper makes the ransom call in the same room.

Matthew has one of Al's baby teeth saved all the way from the 1600s. It's one of his most prized possessions, as its basically one of the only real proof of them ever being children that he has.

I've always headcanon'd that Al only has one home in the US, BUT he also has a cabin in Canada that he and Matthew stay in often. (Al just stays with Maria when he's in Mexico, but Al feels uncomfortable staying in Matt's house because both the Canadian AND US governments know where it is.)

Alfred remembers Kumajirou's name and vice versa.

Matthew favourite food is Alfred's apple pie - even more than pancakes. Alfred likes hockey over American football or baseball.

[cultkinkcoven]

TW: Talk of suicidal ideation and dissociative disorders

guys r/realityshifting is such an incredibly toxic and borderline scary subreddit omg

This isn’t me slamming shifting or astral projection, I actually have a lot of respect for the practice and find it very interesting. I do in fact believe in shifting.

But I constantly see posts there from what are obviously very vulnerable people expressing how badly they want to permanently shift to “escape” this reality, and it always leaves a pit in my stomach. These posts read like suicide letters and the mods don’t do anything about it at all. They legit read posts like “I’m sick of this world and want to leave forever” and respond with “hey have you tried the count down method? 😇”

like,???

and I get it, it’s probably common for a lot of shifters to start due to a dissatisfaction. But when you see people saying shit like “I’m so miserable and shifting is my own hope at happiness” or “If I can’t shift I’m going to k*ll myself”, “my desired reality makes me hate this world” maybe???? don’t continue to encourage this behaviour???? Maybe drop some help lines??? Maybe share some mental support resources???

Today someone made a post like that, and I tried to calmly explain that the idea of permanently shifting is not only incredibly dangerous but also quite literally impossible by the basic concept of what shifting is.

Your consciousness will always return to your body because your body contains your brain. Your body is not an unwilling oblivious participant in this, it knows exactly what you are doing, it actively agrees to it, and it can actively disagree as well. It will absolutely force you back into your body to make you take care of yourself if it feels neglected.

You can astral project or shift as much as you want, your brain is still the fundamental base point for your consciousness. “You”- as in the you that exists right now- were created there quite literally. When you shift you’re still inherently tethered to the part of your brain that generates consciousness. This is your home. You will always return to your body and this reality regardless of how badly you don’t want to. Your spirit has made a home inside of this body for a reason, even if you don’t understand why. The body and soul are very committed to this relationship even if you aren’t. They do not need your permission to continue working together. You as a consciousness are not in complete control of your body, and it will absolutely force you back in to ensure it’s own survival. The mind and the body rely on each other, but the body is a conscious machine itself outside of you. It thinks outside of you. It will not allow you to abandon it. Your desires in this regard do not matter to your body and brain. Survival comes first.

Abuse of shifting will literally cause your body and brain to forbid the activity, you quite literally will not even be able to attempt shifting because your body and brain itself know what you’re trying to do. They are actively observing you and making plans to best manage- even entertain- you whilst also ensuring it’s own survival. You cannot expect your brain and body to comply when you are effectively killing them. The more you venture down this route of “trying to escape”, the more you inherently trap yourself here. And let me just say, being in a state where your own body does not trust you is not fun at all.

This is a form of self harm, full stop. Escapism in itself is not inherently bad. I definitely have astral projected or used my practice as a form of escapism, and that can actually be very healing. But permanently trying to escape this world, to make active attempts to prevent returning, that is dangerous.

and it’s like, I do understand. I hate to be the “life is so wonderful you should just enjoy it :)” guy because I know that lots of people are in terrible situations. I’m not trying to tell anyone they’re wrong for being dissatisfied with life or wanting to leave. I mean have you looked at this place? It’s ghetto as hell up in here.

But this idea that you can just shift to a better world where everything is okay without having to deal with the very necessary challenges that come along with being a human is incredibly dangerous, and it boggles my mind that not a single mod thinks to maybe make a pinned post about mental health and misconceptions about shifting.

On the contrary, they permanently BANNED me for daring to even bring up mental health, saying that I’m hating on shifting. Which, no, I’m not, I don’t think shifting in itself is a dangerous practice just like I don’t think that giving blood offerings is inherently dangerous. But alike trying to permashift, if I was making active attempts to drain all of the blood out of my body to use as an offering, that wouldn’t be very good!

Putting all your energy into trying to escape reality means you are inherently rejecting reality, you are hijacking your brain into not being able to understand what is and isn’t real, and that is very scary.

Should you try shifting? If you’re interested in it I think it’s a very cool thing to explore. But understand that shifting is not the answer to your all of your problems. You can travel to other places to gain valuable experiences, that’s what the point of these journeys are supposed to be. But you will always find your way back home. You may not appreciate it, but I assure you it is in fact, a very good thing.

tldr: holy shit r/realityshifting freaks me out.