#instead of letting others get their chance too

[puckstories]

Boyfriend Headcannons | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, that's it I think. Edited only once.

Summary; What I think Quinn would be like as a boyfriend (:

Word Count; 3.1k

Author’s note; Enjoyed writing this so much, also considering writing a nsfw version if anyone would be interested. As per usual, any thoughts or reblogs are greatly appreciated (: -Honey

Boyfriend Quinn, who absolutely lives for affection.

He’s not always the most vocal about it, but the way he craves your touch, your kisses, your warmth—it’s in the little things he does. Quinn has this quiet, relaxed way of seeking affection that makes your heart swell every single time. He doesn’t always ask for it with words; most of the time, he doesn’t need to.

You’ve learned to recognize his silent cues by now. Whenever he wants a kiss, he won’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he’ll simply stop whatever he’s doing and turn toward you, his soft hazel eyes locking onto yours, and then he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, his lips gently pouting in that way that’s both completely endearing and impossible to resist. He’ll just look at you with that silent, expectant expression, waiting patiently for you to indulge him, because he knows you almost always do.

And how could you not?

Sometimes, he’ll be subtle about it—like when you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a movie. You’ll feel him shift beside you, and when you glance over, there he is, his lips pushed out just a little, eyes soft and hopeful, his attention fully on you. It’s a request, his gentle way of saying, "Come here, kiss me." You’ll roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart melts every time. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, and you can feel the contentment in the way his body relaxes, the way his hand automatically finds yours and squeezes, as if thanking you without a single word spoken.

Other times, he’s a bit more bold, more obvious—like when you’re cooking in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables or stirring something on the stove. You’ll be focused on whatever task you have at hand, and you won’t even notice him sneaking up behind you. He’ll come up and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and before you even have a chance to say anything, you feel it. He presses his lips to your neck, soft and gentle, and then pulls away just enough to turn his face toward you, lips already slightly puckered, waiting. He doesn’t say a word, but his intentions are clear.

You’ll try to ignore him at first, teasing him, pretending you’re too busy with dinner to give in to his unspoken request. But he’s persistent. He’ll squeeze you a little tighter, nuzzle into your neck, maybe even let out a small, exaggerated sigh to get your attention. And when you finally turn your head, there he is again—pouty lips, soft eyes, silently waiting for the kiss he knows he’s going to get. You give in, every time. You can’t help it.

"Okay, okay," you’ll say with a laugh, turning your head to press your lips against his, giving him exactly what he wants. The way his lips curl into a smile against yours tells you just how satisfied he is.

It’s not just the way he asks for kisses, though. Quinn is equally generous when it comes to giving affection, and he loves surprising you with it at the most random times. You could be in the middle of reading a book or scrolling through your phone, completely absorbed, and suddenly, you’ll feel his presence beside you. He’ll lean in, wrapping his arms around you gently, his hands resting at your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. No reason. No explanation. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And it’s those moments that catch you off guard the most—the way he showers you with love so effortlessly, so naturally. He never needs an excuse. For Quinn, giving you affection is as simple as breathing. It’s the way he expresses his love, the way he reminds you how much he adores you, even without saying a word.

It's in the way, he loves being close to you. He always finds a reason to touch you—whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or draping his arm over your shoulders when you’re sitting beside each other. He’s not clingy, but there’s a need for contact that’s just so Quinn—that gentle, understated craving for connection. And you’re always happy to give it to him, knowing that being close to you is where he feels most at home.

When he’s tired, he’s even more affectionate. After a long day of practice or a tough game, you’ll find him seeking you out the moment he steps through the door. He’ll drop his bag, kick off his shoes, and walk straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms without a word. He won’t even need to say he missed you, because the way he pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, says it all. And when he’s feeling particularly worn out, he’ll simply press his lips to your forehead or your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he relaxes into your touch.

And then there are the nights when he’s lying next to you in bed, the room dark and quiet, both of you just on the edge of sleep. That’s when Quinn is at his softest. He’ll roll over, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your temple or your shoulder, and you’ll feel his gentle pouting, his silent plea for one last kiss before he drifts off. You oblige him every time, pressing your lips to his in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and he’ll hum contentedly, his body relaxing completely as sleep finally overtakes him.

Quinn never needs to say much when it comes to affection—his actions speak louder than words ever could. The way he seeks out your touch, the way he silently asks for your kisses, the way he gives so freely of himself—it’s all a testament to how deeply he loves you, how much he cares about you.

Boyfriend Quinn, who always does the little things for you.

It’s in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures that Quinn shows his love, the kinds of things that make your heart swell and remind you just how lucky you are to have him in your life.

Take winter, for example. As soon as the first snow starts to fall, Quinn’s mind is already on you—making sure you’re taken care of, even when it comes to something as simple as the driveway or your car. He hates the thought of you standing out in the freezing cold, shivering as you scrape ice off your windshield in the early morning before work. So, whenever he’s home and able to, Quinn is always up before you, dressed in his thick jacket and boots, quietly heading outside while you’re still bundled up in bed.

By the time you’re awake and getting ready for the day, the driveway is already clear, the snow neatly shoveled into piles, and your car’s windshield is free of snow and ice. It’s not something he ever makes a big deal about—he doesn’t even mention it, really. You’ll only realize what he’s done when you look out the window and see the work he’s put in, your breath fogging up the glass as you smile to yourself, heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

You always try to thank him, but Quinn just waves it off like it’s no big deal. "I don’t mind," he’ll say with that soft smile of his. "I just want to make things a little easier for you." And that’s the essence of Quinn—he’s always thinking about how to make your life better, how to take even the smallest burdens off your shoulders, whether it’s clearing the snow or making sure you don’t have to start your day on the wrong foot.

Then, there are the flowers. Every week, without fail, Quinn makes sure to pick up your favorite flowers when he’s out. It’s not a grand gesture, not some big bouquet delivered to your door—just a simple bunch of fresh flowers that he knows will brighten your day. Sometimes, they’re the ones you’ve always loved: delicate peonies, bright sunflowers, or soft, fragrant roses, depending on the season. Other times, he surprises you with something different—wildflowers from the local market or a mix of colors that remind him of you.

The best part is always when he walks in with them, his face lighting up just as much as yours does when he sees your reaction. He loves the way your eyes widen and the way your lips curl into that smile he adores, the one that makes his whole day feel brighter. "You didn’t have to do that," you always say, even though you both know how much you love it when he does. And Quinn just shrugs, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter or the dining room table with an easy grin.

"I like seeing you smile," he says simply, as though that’s all the explanation he needs. And it is—because, to him, these little moments of joy he brings into your life are worth everything.

It’s the same when it comes to things like the dishes. Quinn is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t just pitch in around the house—he takes care of the things he knows you hate. Like dishes. You’ve always hated doing them. It’s that one chore that gets under your skin, and you’ve made it no secret that scrubbing pots and pans is not your idea of fun. Quinn knows this, and so even on nights when he’s the one who cooked dinner, he’ll always make sure to handle the cleanup, too.

"Go relax," he’ll say, waving you off when you try to help. "I’ve got this."

You’ll protest, of course—after all, he’s already done the cooking, and it doesn’t seem fair for him to do it all. But Quinn is stubborn in the best possible way. He’ll roll up his sleeves and start running the water, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to convince him otherwise.

"You hate doing dishes," he’ll remind you with a smile, "and I don’t mind them. Plus, you always do so much for me." And that’s Quinn—always thinking about balance, about making sure you’re taken care of. He knows how much you appreciate the little things, and to him, doing the dishes after dinner is just another way of showing he loves you.

And then, there are the texts. When Quinn’s away for away games, his schedule is packed, and the time zone differences don’t always work in your favor. But he never lets that stop him from staying connected with you. No matter how busy his day gets, no matter how late it is, he always makes sure to send you a good morning and goodnight text, without fail.

Sometimes they’re simple—“Good morning, baby. Hope you have a great day.”—just a little reminder that he’s thinking about you, even when he’s miles away. Other times, they’re more playful—“Wish I was in our bed, I miss your icicle feet”—a teasing note to keep things light even in the middle of a long road trip. And when he’s too tired to string together a full sentence, it’s just a quick “Miss you” with a heart emoji, but that’s all it takes to remind you how much he cares.

He’ll always send these texts right before he crashes into bed, no matter how late or how exhausted he is. And when you wake up in the morning, knowing he’s already thinking about you from wherever he is, it never fails to make your heart skip a beat. It’s the small things like this that mean the most—how, even in the chaos of his life, Quinn makes sure you know you’re never far from his mind.

Boyfriend Quinn, who loves taking you on dates.

Whenever he has an off day, the first thing that crosses his mind is you. He always makes sure to check in with you first, sending you a quick text during the day or giving you a call, gauging how your day is going and whether you’re feeling up for it.

"How's work today? Not too tired? Feel like going out later?"

You never have to guess if he's planning, because you know Quinn's always thinking about how to make the most of his time off with you. It’s his way of creating balance in his life, something steady and beautiful amidst the chaotic whirl of hockey schedules, travel, and games. And even if you’ve had a long day at work, the thought of spending the evening with him—of getting out of the house, hand-in-hand, with nowhere else to be but together—always gives you the energy to say yes.

Most of the time, the two of you keep things casual, finding comfort in the familiar. Your favorite go-to is a small diner just a short drive away, the kind of place that feels like a second home. The staff knows your names, and there’s always that corner booth waiting for you two, tucked away enough for a little privacy. It’s not fancy, but it’s yours. The menu is simple—burgers, fries, milkshakes—but it never fails to hit the spot after a long week. There’s something cozy about it, something that makes you both feel grounded. You’ll sit across from each other, sharing fries and talking about everything and nothing, laughing over inside jokes that no one else would get.

But occasionally, Quinn likes to change things up. There are times when, instead of texting you about grabbing dinner at the diner, he’ll tell you something a little different: “Dress fancy tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” You can almost hear the excitement in his voice, even over text.

When Quinn decides to take you somewhere nice, it’s an event. He puts thought into every detail, planning a reservation at a restaurant you both love but don’t visit often—maybe that elegant spot downtown with the candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background. He’s a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t always show it in obvious ways. On those nights, he wants to make sure everything feels just a little more special.

One of the best parts is the little ritual the two of you have before your fancier dates. Even though you live together, Quinn always insists on getting ready in the guest bedroom, leaving you to get dressed in the room you share. It’s his way of adding an element of surprise, a way to keep things exciting. He loves the idea of seeing your outfit for the first time when you come downstairs, just like on your earlier dates, when everything was still new.

The guest bedroom becomes his own little prep space. He’ll spread out his suit jacket or freshly ironed button-down on the bed, taking his time to make sure everything looks just right. Quinn isn’t the type to obsess over his appearance, but on these nights, he pays a little extra attention to the details—whether it’s making sure his tie is perfectly knotted (though, he rarely wears one anymore) or his cologne is subtle but present. He knows how much you love when he dresses up, and honestly, he loves seeing that look in your eyes when you see him standing there, ready for the night.

Meanwhile, in your shared room, you’re just as focused, choosing the perfect dress and making sure your hair and makeup are done to perfection. There’s a thrill in getting ready separately, knowing that in just a few minutes, you’ll come downstairs and have that little moment of reveal. It’s a simple tradition, but it always makes the evening feel a bit more magical.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, your heart always flutters with anticipation. You make your way downstairs, and there he is—standing by the door, looking impossibly handsome in his suit or tailored shirt, his eyes brightening the moment they land on you. It’s like time stops for a second. Quinn’s not one to gush, but the way his lips part slightly and that small, slow smile spreads across his face says everything you need to know.

"Wow," he’ll say softly, his eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. "You look... amazing."

You can’t help but smile back, your cheeks warming at the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself," you’ll tease, though you can’t deny how much you love seeing him like this—dressed up, standing there with that look of admiration in his eyes.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and without a word, he’ll reach for your hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss—just a little gesture to avoid messing up your lipstick, but one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. It’s these small, quiet moments of affection that make Quinn’s love feel so real, so genuine.

And then, off you go, stepping out into the evening together, hand in hand, as the world seems to fall away. The restaurant is just a short drive, and the conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing. When you arrive, the ambiance of the restaurant is perfect—low lighting, the hum of quiet conversations around you, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware. But for you, the real magic of the evening isn’t just the atmosphere or the delicious food—it’s the fact that you’re with him, that Quinn has gone out of his way to make this night special for no reason other than wanting to spend time with you.

Throughout the meal, he’ll reach across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, or he’ll lean in to whisper something that makes you laugh, that private smile playing on his lips. He loves these moments—the ones where it’s just the two of you, away from the rush of life, enjoying each other’s company in a way that feels intimate and timeless.

And when the night is over and you’re both back home, the magic of the evening doesn’t fade. Quinn always makes sure to cap off the date in the sweetest way possible. He’ll pull you in close, his arms wrapping around you as he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering something like, "I had fun tonight," in that casual, endearing way of his.

[mixingandmelting]

Winter Series Day 6: Teenage Crush

Summary: how he's in love with you featuring the original Robin trio

A/N: was i emotional when i wrote this? yes, no thanks to remembering jason was the sweetest and cheerful robin at the height of 4' 6" in-canon

Robin!Dick:

Daredevil, gremlin child, and the nightmare of all of Gotham’s villains was what Robin!Dick was known for. But at the end of the day, he’s just a boy that’s completely gone for you. He can’t and doesn’t let you catch a break as he constantly pokes you from starting the silliest arguments to putting on a show of his routines he used to do back in his family’s circus. Not once does he approach you like a normal person. One day he’d be creeping silently behind you, suddenly asking what you’re doing right into your ear while peering over your shoulder. The next, he would simply stand in front of you and wait for you to notice. He pouts when it seems like it’s taking you too long, though he does appreciate getting the time to engrave your form and the other expressions you make when he’s not annoying you. All of this, he does constantly, almost every other day in fact, because in his mind and heart, you are the best thing to ever enter and be in his life. It amplifies his haughtiness, silliness, goofiness, and sass as he does everything in hopes that he could strike a chance with you. So when he comes back from a long mission and you express any indiction of concern and how you missed him, his smile stretches from ear to ear, his heart fluttering from how you care for him. Of course he would probe to hear more, his desire of wanting to hear your thoughts on him but he still manages to stop himself from overdoing it. During the times when you pull an uno-reverse card on him unexpectedly, he gets extremely flustered and flushed from his “impress to woo the other person over” backfiring big time and instead, he’s falling for you all over again.

Robin!Jason:

Despite his height, he’s considered the cheerful and bright one as he steals the hearts of the Titans after a single mission, and makes Batman of all people laugh. Have you in the room and  he lights the whole place from how much he glows. Before heading to you, he sniffs his uniform to make sure it doesn’t smell like cigarettes. If it has the faintest scent of it, he goes back to the cave to change into a new one, doing so even more after learning how second-hand smoking can cause cancer. At some point he gets fed up with sniffing and changing so many times, he starts going through all the tricks to quit smoking even faster. Time to time, he brings something small, making excuses including the classic “saved an old lady crossing the road” on his way as a rose gets placed into your hands. He’s notably chattier and laughing more around you, enjoying whatever the two of you talk about even if it’s mundane and boring. He can’t help it when your passion, laughter, excitement, and smiles are infectious. His love for you is so pure that he’d be satisfied with simply being by your side, his one wish being that he can bring you as much happiness as you do for him. Time to time when you get a burger combo meal, seemingly to believe that’s his favorite based on the one time he mentioned about his memory with it whether it’s to welcome him back from a long while or randomly he gets fuzzy, warm, and the heart palpitations while he shares the meal with you. You make him feel that his life is complete, that he won the whole world which motivates him to become a better person, a “good guy” as they all say, so he can stay with you even if he ends up not being your end game.

Robin!Tim:

He’s known as the smart one as well as the one that sacrificed his chance of normal for the sake of saving Batman and currently, Gotham. You were never part of his plan as he already envisioned how his life as Batman's sidekick would look like but here he is, completely smitten for you as he figures out ahead how to approach you when he catches you hanging out. Image training, standing in front of the mirror and going through his lines and poses until Alfred caught him doing it once. Now he does it after locking his door, double, triple checking he was going to get his little gig right so he can look cool when he appears in front of you. Take the “yapper and listener” meme. That’s his relationship with you where he’s serenaded by your voice and won’t ever get sick of listening to it. If you were to express anything you need or want, he gets it and leaves it where he was standing or sitting with a small note attached. He’s also guilty of abusing his alternative identities and disguises so he could extend his time with you even outside of being Robin. Not that you would ever know as he has no intentions any time soon to out himself. There’s no other reason for him being this extra other than that you are the one that gives him the comfort and relief he needs. You are his solace that makes his self doubt disappear and everything he has done worth it. So when you do any skin ship including the scandalous hand holding, he’s equivalent to the red on his suit and mute from how conscious he gets from feeling you extremely close to him. Also gets him to forget to breathe but that’s not the issue here.

[atoriv-art]

what are your thoughts on the hyuga siblings and their relationship

OOF now thats one of my favorite naruto dynamics lmao. i think neji and hinata have a very interesting relationship and i say that as someone who really didn't (and tbh still doesn't) love how that relationship developed in canon

i really like the hyuga fight in the chunin exams because the way it's perceived is sooo interesting to me.. neji comes off as an outright bully and i don't even blame the kids for calling him an asshole after all of that, but from reader's perspective it's really obvious that his animosity only exists because of a larger issue...

neji shouldn't treat hinata the way he does, but he does so because of her unique position as a scorned heir. she still benefits from everything that makes his life awful - her life is still valued more than his - but hiashi hates her enough that he won't care if neji dishes out verbal abuse on her. it's an awful dynamic and definitely contributes to hinata's terrible self-worth, but it's a symptom of the life they have been forced into by the man who the manga is intent on letting escape all of the blame for this situation lmao

(hiashi himself can be a really fascinating case honestly. i think he fully means everything he says, which is what makes him so grating but fun to me LOL. his apology to neji is entirely sincere AND it completely misses the point of all of the issues, but neji is young and deprived of acknowledgement enough that he accepts it wholeheartedly. hiashi thinks he's the best uncle of all time.)

hinata herself has so little belief in her own worth that she just sits there and takes whatever abuse people throw at her... i don't actually think neji's anger towards her was a constant - i think some people interpret it that way - rather i feel like it was something that came up whenever he was pushed too far. in more normal circumstances where he's not being made to fight her directly, he was likely more detached than anything. he wanted nothing to do with her.

in one of the filler mini arcs ive mentioned before (i think. the one that focuses on hanabi and hinata) there's a scene that rang very true to me (and im gonna recount this without rewatching it atm so sorry if i get details wrong,): neji was being made to train with hinata, asked to be allowed to leave because he felt his time was being wasted and correctly noted that it doesn't have to be him here, was told no by hiashi and then he started getting vicious and violent. towards hinata, of course, not hiashi. he then got horribly punished for it LOL i think that's the general dynamic they were living in, neji reaches a limit of disrespect that he can take and explodes on the nearest most acceptable target (we loove a boy with no emotional regulation <3), goes too far and suffers the consequence of it while nothing else changes. to him interacting with hinata at all is just asking for pain, either emotional or straight up physical

But, for hinata, she saw herself and neji as similar (the black sheep of the family i suppose), and would have liked to bond over that fact; theyve known each other since they were very little and she outright refers to him as a brother. it's clear to me she's always cared a lot about neji and imo feels responsible for what happened to his father (something that hiashi doesn't help with. Dad of the year), so she saw their match in the exams as a chance to close the distance between them and get neji to see her as a person, an equal instead of a symbol to lash out on.

but, you know, she was 12 LMAO so she ended up pressing all of his buttons instead and it led to his famous outburst, which led to the famous moment of Every Single Jonin (other than asuma.) coming to stop him and further cementing his belief that her life is seen as special. i think (and this is a mix of Shit I Made up, and Me trying to make sense of the manga's insane mishandling of their plotline) that despite her trying her hardest to reach neji she didn't really grasp the horror of his situation. that's the tragedy of neji's life really LMAO, no one really tries to grapple with the severity of what having that curse mark does to a person. she thought of his fatalism as more of a psychological, metaphorical way of dealing with hurt and not like... "my life literally does not belong to me no matter how much i try to fight it"

this is loooooong take this readmore.

i think hiashi-hizashi were hoping that the cousins could have had a better relationship than they did... letting them hang out often and stuff, introducing them early, hizashi not discouraging neji from being friendly with her, to me it all reads as very "ok well this didn't work for Us, but what if it works out for them... even though literally nothing has changed". they were proper family once and hizashi wanted to die for his brother, not his leader, so that just makes sense to me.

i do nautttt like the naruto vs neji fight so to keep the post positive i will gloss over it <3 but hinata and neji's relationship post-chunin exams to me is peak like. God i wish this was done better because it could have been soooo good

neji realizes that his anger is consuming him and adjusts his behavior accordingly, getting a lot of his kindness back, and he becomes intent on fixing his relationship with hinata... i don't hate that premise at all, it's just the way it's executed that bothers me!

the impression i got (and i could be mistaken im in the process of rewatching the anime + rereading the manga) is that their relationship getting better is done exclusively through like. neji repenting for being mean to her. which, don't get me wrong, he SHOULD apologize (AND THAT WOULDVE BEEN A COOL THING TO SEE ONSCREEN, BTW) but you CANNOT divorce his behavior from the hyuga system in general. from the way they act after the exams you would think their issues were born solely from neji being a bully for no reason, and not, like... him lashing out on her because his uncle is literally the devil.

i don't think hinata has the power to change a lot in her clan on short notice (she did get disowned. did that un-happen offscreen? we will never know. Hiashi gets to be a grandfather to her children btw.) but i certainly would have liked to see her standing up for branch members and in the stuff i draw that's the story i have in mind LMAO. like, her gaining a deeper understanding of neji's situation and trying to work against her father trying to make her cousin's life better? i think that would have been really sweet and even show her gaining more confidence in herself and her beliefs. you can still have neji fussing over her and being protective because he feels bad for how they used to be, i actually really like that because neji IS a very sweet person, i just reject the idea that it's his sole Moral Obligation to put everything aside and make things better by the power of I Will Die For You Now, But This Time, For The Right Reasons

as for hanabi i wish she had more screentime soooo bad because i'm obsessed with how she gives off Haunted Child vibes lmfao. talking abt her requires me to expose myself a little bit and have to admit hiashi is kind of a blorbo to me because of how much he sucks ass, but like. Essentially his insane resentment of hinata was born when hizashi died, it doesnt matter it wasn't really her fault, he needed someone to blame and he would never blame himself, at least not outwardly lol. hiashi did genuinely love his brother, it just didn't stop him from being a monster to him, and he is certainly not gonna grapple with that now that he's dead!

(and, you know, the whole "sorry we sent a guy to kidnap an heir. you do need to die for killing him though" thing is really dumb but if we stop at every single stupid thing in naruto we will be here all day.)

with all that being said i think hiashi tries his best to make hanabi everything hinata isn't, and he has very little interest in having her and hinata have any bond at all. he just left neji and hinata to fester in that god-awful dynamic with no supervising, and took hanabi as the best direction for the clan to head towards. but, you know, father of the year is very demanding and doesn't seem to be very fatherly to her at all from the little we see of them. she's just like. a good soldier, and that's what he needs.

i think hanabi growing to resent her sister for the situation she's been put into (if hinata weren't 'weak' she wouldn't have so much responsibility) is very interesting! by the time we meet her i think she's learned that the best thing to do wrt her sister is to just ignore that she exists. as for neji he barely registers as a presence to her; neji has no reason to interact with her and hiashi has no reason to incentivize it. it's very fun to me!

in general i really like all of their dynamics can be used to explore how hurt and trauma drive people apart, i could talk about them for hourssss LMAO i love the suna family for the same reason!

[afterglowkatie]

sliding into something real | c.f.

caitlin foord x kerr!reader | 1.1k | 'from slide tackling me to sliding in my dms,' + ‘being with you feels like coming home,’

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘I thought you two would have your shit together by now,’ A, slightly tipsy, Sam leaned on the table next to Caitlin. You had skipped the pre planned night out after how the match had gone beforehand. Losing a London derby to Arsenal was always going to sour your mood, especially when the person responsible for disrupting your last big chance to at least get the equaliser would be there.

You and Caitlin had mutual crushes on each other, but it had never been anything more than that. Or at least neither of you let it be anything more, you both didn’t even realise that the crush each of you had was mutual. Though it didn’t mean that the longing looks you both gave and the way you’d seek out each other's comfort, especially during national camp, didn’t go unnoticed. 

Sam, who frustratingly knows you better than you know yourself, picked up on the mutual feelings her best friend and younger sister had for each other. You’d skipped the night out and now Caitlin had been caught by your older sister, looking through your old instagram posts and debating on whether she should send you a message.

‘What do you mean?’ Caitlin tried to hide her phone away when she realised who was next to her, but she knew Sam had already seen anyway.

‘Just send her a message,’ Caitlin gave Sam a look, wanting to make sure that she was definitely okay with it. Sam being the main reason Caitlin had been holding back from acting on her feelings towards you, not wanting to cross any boundaries or lose an important friendship with your older sister. Sam rolled her eyes, ‘There’s only so much more I can take when she gets all pouty after showing her a picture of you smiling next to literally anyone else. Don’t get me wrong though, you better treat her well or you will have me to deal with,’ 

Sam left Caitlin to dwell on whether she actually would message you or not. Though she had a little confidence boost knowing your sister would be okay with it. She’d spent too many nights thinking about you and what it would be like to be with you, maybe she could make it actually happen instead of just thinking about it.

I thought you were unstoppable, or do you just like falling at my feet?

You half groaned when the message from Caitlin came through, reminding you of the match earlier, but you felt your heart race when you saw her name on your phone screen. Your cheeks heated up and you bit your lower lip trying to stop the grin that wanted to spread across your face. You felt like a teenager all over, smiling and kicking your feet while your crush was actually talking to you.

From slide tackling me to sliding in my dms.

Very smooth Cait.

Caitlin looked up from her phone, making sure no one was around to see the smile that wasn’t leaving her face any time soon. She’d surely be teased and everyone would try to see who she was texting. So she was thankful everyone else was preoccupied and she could focus on you. 

Smooth just like my tackle.

You rolled your eyes, but laughed a little anyway. It wasn’t often that Caitlin ever had the chance to make a tackle like that on you. Normally not playing near each other on the pitch. 

Keep that up and maybe you won’t get the chance to come here.

Somewhere you got the confidence, sending a bold and kind of risky message, especially considering you’d never really talked to each other like this before. Some conversations border lined it, but you both always stopped before implying something else.

Are you inviting me over?

Caitlin, already thinking of an excuse to leave the night early, not that any of the others would really notice if she left or not. 

Would you like to come over?

‘Thank god,’ were the first words out of your older sister’s mouth when you told her you and Caitlin had gotten together, a few months after those texts which led Caitlin to spending the night and the two of you talking and enjoying each other's company for that entire night and next day. Leading on to more talking and eventual official dates.

Sam ended up being you and Caitlin’s biggest supporter in your relationship. She also liked to take credit for the two of you actually getting your shit together, as she likes to say, and finally becoming official. Even if you did get endless teasing from your teammates when they found out, for going soft for an Arsenal player.

You waved up from the pitch where Caitlin and Sam were sitting. Arsenal had played the day before so she was able to make it to yours to support you. It was nice for you to look up and see your girlfriend sitting in the stands. You’d made a compromise and she would wear one of your Australia jerseys whenever she came to support you and you’d do the same whenever you found yourself at an Arsenal match for her.

As soon as the final whistle sounded, your hands went to your face as you let out a sigh of frustration. You’d not played your best, neither had your team, and Chelsea ended up dropping points to a club you shouldn’t be dropping points to. From the stands Caitlin could tell how hard the match had been for you. Wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around you and tell you not to worry too much about everything that happened.

Finally you made your way through the stands towards your girlfriend. Sam had already come down, giving you a little hug before pushing you towards where Caitlin was, knowing who you really needed right now.

‘Hey,’ Your voice was small, exhaustion evident on your face. Caitlin reached out, grabbing a hold of your hand before pulling you onto her lap. You laid your head against her shoulder looking up at her, small, tired smile on your face, ‘Thank you for being here. Sorry I couldn’t play better,’

Caitlin frowned a little, wrapping her arms around you a little bit tighter, ‘You always play well and baby you know I love watching you play, even if you’re wearing the wrong colour,’ Caitlin trying to lighten your mood a little, you let out a small chuckle. The two of you always ‘fighting’ over which club was better. Caitlin leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, then each of your temples, a little one on your nose and peppering kisses all over your cheeks. Your smile widened and you cuddled further into her, turning your head when she went to kiss your cheek so she’d kiss your lips instead. 

‘Being with you feels like coming home,’ You laid your hand on top of where Caitlin’s were resting against your waist. Even after a match that wasn’t an ideal result, you had the comfort of your girlfriend you could come home to. When you were with Caitlin not much else mattered.

[admirationandromantics]

Teacher's Lounge

Another request! I'm thinking about not posting updates to anonymous requests, and instead just pasting said request in here? I'll tag you if you didn't ask anonymously. It's easier and more neat.

🍋‍🟩 Hear me out, Josh becoming a temporary teacher for film with his own office, he often let you study in there seeing as the campus didn’t have enough study space to accommodate everyone and you become quite overstimulated on a normal day (@b3rryb3t)

This is therefore maybe a teacher x student thing, but you're roughly the same age anyway (maybe 2 years difference), since he graduated before you and has already come out with his debut movie. You're still hanging out with the friend group as well.

Word count: 1,6k (Unedited)

It’s hard to find good reading spots on campus. My messy room could be an option, but I can’t get inspired there. I need different surroundings than what I’m used to. Booked rooms are a no-go, especially now that exams are coming closer. They’re always booked, and everyone uses them. I’ve tried going to the library, but if there’s room, the place is never quiet. The librarians don't care. I get it though, everyone is stressed, and the only place you can work on a group assignment is the library. You have to talk, you have to discuss. This means that I’m still left without a spot to study. I’ve tried other libraries, other cafes and even at my friends place. Nothing works. Maybe there’s something in the other buildings? Somewhere quiet where I’ll feel content. 

The first building that comes to mind is the Teachers house. A large building with some group rooms and many small study sofas. Many of the teachers have offices there, but if I'm quiet, they won’t mind. These spots are usually also taken, but maybe I’ll have a chance if I’m quick. 

I walk down the hall, stopping when I see the old abandoned office. This room is usually always empty, waiting for someone to inhabit it. But it’s not empty anymore. The previously collected dust is cleaned away, the wood door has a new furnish and a brand new slide-on plate reads a familiar name. Joshua Washington. 

I widen my eyes in surprise, it cannot be. Why is he here? Didn’t he already finish his degree? He just finished his debut movie, which was excellent. I saw him at one of Emily’s parties too, which was not long ago. About three weeks. He looked good then, very good. Like he felt fulfilled and accomplished. He should feel good about himself. Not many people do that on their first big project. He did talk about a new job he got, but I assumed it was another film-related gig. Was this the job? 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I carefully knock three times. The sound is beautiful, hard and dark wood which doesn’t vibrate as I hit it. I wait, hearing shuffling and metal clinking inside. 

“Um, yeah, come in!” 

I open the door, holding the handle hard. If I was wrong, then this would be an awfully awkward encounter. The door glides easily without making any sound. They have really improved this place. He lifts his head, meeting my stare as he does. A smile creeps on his face, eyes lighting up by the sight. I stand still, mouth agape and furrowed brows. He’s really here. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite student” 

“You teach here?” 

“As of this Monday, yes” 

I close the door behind me, looking around the room. It’s cozy, filled with family pictures and a couple of movie posters. His diploma is also on the wall. On one surface are many small film trophies from his childhood, and in front of all of them, the price he got last year for his first debut Hollywood movie. I look around in awe, the yellow light making everything feel so professional and real. 

“And by the way, I’m not your student, I take another course” 

“That can’t stop me from stating that you’re in a superior’s office” 

“How did you get this job?”

“They offered it to me”

“Just out of nowhere? You don’t have experience in teaching. You’re not even a professor” 

“I guess my talent shines through”

I look at him and his smug face. He’s leaning back in the roller chair, feet upon his desk. Everything here is so neat, so unlike him. He also loves being able to joke like this, but honestly, I’m still surprised by the circumstances. He made one movie, and now, the university wanted him to teach a course? 

“If I know you correctly, you’ll probably be fired by the next month” 

“And why’s that?”

I take a seat in front of him, not surprised that the chair is lower than him. Oh, how he loves his power trips. The chair is comfortable, and suits the surroundings, but I feel small. 

“Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself” 

“That’s true” 

“There’s only a question about time, when will you fuck one of your students, and when will you get caught” 

He laughs, shaking his head as he fiddles with an expensive ball pen. He looks at me in disbelief, maybe a little surprised that I said exactly what I thought. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t done it already?” 

“One week into the job?” 

“Maybe” 

“You’re disgusting, Washington” 

“That’s Mr. Washington to you” he corrects, pointing at me with the same pen. I smile at him, almost unable to hide my laughter. 

“I’m not gonna start calling you that” 

“Ugh, damn you” 

A slight silence follows, and analyse his desk. Many, many pens, his laptop, a stack of papers and a couple of memory sticks. Again, everything is so neat. It makes me feel weird. 

“By the way, I actually haven’t had a teacher-student relationship” 

“You shouldn’t” I quickly shoot back. It would not be a good idea. Being in the filming industry is hard in itself, but he also has a shot of doing something more. This was not something to take lightly. 

“At least not gonna with my own students” 

“Jesus Chris Josh”

He laughs again, loving my overdramatic reactions. He knows what gets me to tip over, how to make me irritated and upset. Of course he’ll use it to his advantage. 

“Anyways, what are you doing here? Isn’t your building on the other side of campus?” 

I sigh loudly, leaning back in the chair and letting my head fall back. I’m tired, exhausted even. But just two more weeks, and I’ll be finished with the exams. My diploma isn’t far away. 

“Trying to find a study spot, but everywhere is taken”

“Why don’t you just use your dorm?”

“Easy for you to say, you never lived in one”

He leans back, furrowing his brows and being deep in thought. 

“You could sit here?” 

I look up, surprised by the offer. Is that even okay, am I, as a student, allowed to do that? I think about it, the place is quiet, cozy and a completely different atmosphere than usual. It could work. 

“Can I?” 

“Of course, it wouldn't be the first time you’ve been in my quarters” he teases, leaning back over the desk. 

“Haha, very funny, but are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I mean, my students usually don’t come here, too busy actually understanding the material, compared to some” he points at me and my backpack. I roll my eyes. 

“Well, if getting my degree consisted of knowing the on and off button of a camera, I would excel at it”

“Careful, or you might not get to study here” 

“Okay, okay, sorry. You’re an accomplished producer and teacher who’s totally awesome” 

“And you have to call me Mr. Washington”

I scoff at his request, shaking my head. He’s still smiling, biting casually into his lower lip. 

“I draw the line there”

“Fine”

I take up my laptop, immediately starting to type. This was gonna be great. Might have some negative effects though. We’ve got a history. Too much time spent together has usually led to more uncivilised activities, but that’s not something I have to worry about now. 

***

The weeks pass, and I truly enjoy his company, even if it’s in silence. He’s busy grading papers and making schedules. I’m prepping for my exams, writing, reading, and memorising. Everything was going great, and the day of the exam finally came. 

I took one look over the questions, and my heart fell. What the hell was this? I did my best, drawing out a mind map to help me refresh my memory. It actually went quite well, if I do say so myself. Not the best, but I’m definitely not failing. 

I walk down the hall yet again, not bothering to knock on Josh’s door. His head rises, noticing my presence, and he smiles. God I love how he smiles. 

“So, how did it go?” 

I close the door, biting my lip as I turn to face him again. He looks up expectantly, eyes big and round. He rises, walking around the desk to face me. 

“It went great!” I blurt out excitedly, arms going out. He smiles, meeting me in a hug as I throw my arms around him. His hands go to my waist, pulling me closer against him. I bury my face in his neck, warm skin against mine, smelling his expensive cologne. 

“See, you just needed a place to study”

“I indeed did”

We break apart a little, arms still holding tight so none of us leaves. He leans in, eyes lowering to my lips. I know what’s about to happen, it has happened a million times before. In his bedroom, a couple of random bathrooms, the mountain lodge, but never in an office. My finger finds its way to his lips, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Mr. Washington, what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Just celebrating” he whispers against my finger, hand going up to take it away. He finds his way to the back of my head, tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. 

“You can get in trouble”

“Never stopped us before”

His breath feels hot against my skin, head getting dizzy and body warmer. How long were we going to keep this thing alive? 

“Fuck it” I whisper against him, capturing his lips on mine.

[4ranghaes]

meeting santa with unagi!!

day 11 ⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆ meeting santa!

kim woonhak x reader [fluff, fem!reader]

12:01 - “oppa, i don’t even believe in santa, why have you dragged me here?!”

you laughed as woonhak tackled his little sister in his arms.

“do you see how many little kids there are here?! you can’t be saying that shit!” he hissed, “and anyway. we do this every year, i’m not gonna stop now.”

she rolled her eyes, as woonhak let up his headlock, wrapping his arm around your waist instead. the line moved slowly, kids throwing tantrums and babies crying in the arms of stressed parents surrounding you; three teenagers (or thereabouts).

“let him hang onto it,” you laughed, playing with his little sister’s hair as she sighed.

“you have a choice, why don’t you leave?” she asked, woonhak pulling a shocked face as he looked between you.

“wha–?! what?! how dare you?! i’m older—”

“next!”

“come on, pouter!” you giggled, grabbing hold of woonhak’s arm as the three of you entered santa’s grotto.

“god this is so embarrassing,” his sister whined, “i hope no one from school sees me.”

“this is not embarrassing,” woonhak rolled his eyes.

“yeah, just give it a chance! plus we get a present,” you said, bumping her shoulder as you walked through the beautiful hallway of lights, entering into the room where santa sat on an armchair.

woonhak giggled upon seeing him, leaving you looking shocked at the boy on your arm. you laughed, embarrassment slightly taking you over at this point.

“merry christmas!” santa cheered, woonhak’s little sister hanging onto your other arm - shyly?.

“go on,” you said, pushing her forward, she gave you an angry look.

“he’s the one who made us come!” she exclaimed, pointing at woonhak.

he grinned, walking forward to father christmas, “merry christmas, santa!”

“hello, young man. and what’s your name?”

“i’m woonhak. and this is my little sister, and my girlfriend,” he beamed, giggling through his words slightly. you pulled your phone out, both you and his sister watching as you videoed the scene – you knew five men who’d love to watch this.

“well that’s nice,” santa responded, “and what would you like for christmas this year? each of you.”

“i’d love a pair of new headphones, santa,” woonhak giggled, “if that’s not too much.”

“of course not! and for you, little girl?”

his sister rolled her eyes, but looked at you shyly before continuing.

“i’d like some make-up.”

“some make-up?! a perfect present,” he cheered, very into his role considering his audience, “and for yourself, young lady?”

“um,” you paused, looking to woonhak as it suddenly dawned on you why he’d dragged you here, “i’d love some new jewellery, santa.”

“that’s definitely doable!”

“and can i tell you my wish too?” you asked, finally looking away from woonhak and back to the jolly man in the corner. woonhak’s sister laughed, burying her face in your arm. “i wish for my very busy boyfriend to have some time off to rest, and we could go on holiday.”

santa smiled, giving a pointed look to your boyfriend, “i have a feeling you might get anything you ask for.

“now is there anything else?”

the three of you shook your heads, smiling at the man.

“well i have some presents for you then,” he cheered, getting three out of his bag and handing them along, “sorry if they’re a bit childish.”

“we’ll love them, i’m sure,” woonhak’s sister smiled, making woonhak laugh and hug her from the side, beginning to drag her out the grotto.

“thanks, santa, bye!” woonhak cheered.

you laughed, thanking the man and leaving, catching up to your boyfriend, “god that was so awkward, woonhak! next time just ask me what i want for christmas!”

“are you serious?” his sister asked, “is that why we were there?”

woonhak grinned sheepishly, “but now i know!”

[celli-ohs]

hubba hubba!

part two of accidentally in love! series frat boy!yeonjun x stubborn!reader; college!au, one-sided love to lovers! comedy/crack, fluff, angst, smut

ATTENTION: reply/comment for taglist!

18. expired milk (written chapter 2.05K)

When you wake up, you expect to turn around to find your (possible) new boyfriend sound asleep. Maybe his arms would be wrapped around your waist. Or maybe he would be snoring into your ear. Or perhaps there was a chance he would be staring right at you with his loving eyes. Instead, you turn and find an empty bed. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you stretch. Grumbling to yourself, you finally sit up. Last night Yeonjun had let you borrow his favorite t-shirt, mainly because he found you “too irresistible” if you both went to bed naked. You stare at the empty space beside you as you sit in his queen bed. You can visibly see the imprint of his body where he slept next to you all night. A hand gently touches the spot, it’s cold.

You venture out of his boyish bedroom and into the hall. Quietly you walk into the living and kitchen area, predicting Yeonjun was making breakfast. Again you’re disappointed to find it empty. The room is bland and messy looking, with dirty dishes in the sink, and a pile of mail on the counter. Yet everything looks untouched. The living room is the same as well, the couch is vacant and the remote is lost somewhere. Confused, you wander down the hall again. The bathroom is unoccupied, and both of the other boys’s rooms are silent without their owners. When you circle back to Yeonjun’s room, it hits you. Seeing your clothes strewn across the floor, and Yeonjun’s nowhere to be found was devastating. His keys are missing, nothing in his room leaving you a hint of where he’s gone.

Jen was right. Yeonjun had used you. After finally getting into your pants, he’d vanished into thin air. You feel sick to your stomach, and not because you were hungover. No, no you had to be mistaken. You try to make sense of everything, as to why the man you’d fallen for would desert you all of a sudden. But as you stand in the middle of his room, all alone, all you can hear are Jen’s words echoing in your brain. “You deserve to know who he really is.” Biting your lip, you take a deep breath. You quickly grab your clothes off the floor, hurriedly putting on your skirt as you grab your phone from his nightstand. You slip on your shoes and debate whether or not to take off the shirt he’d let you borrow. You look at yourself in his mirror, and glare. You didn’t care how horrible of a person he was, you were keeping it. Because nothing would hurt a fashion student more than losing their favorite article of clothing. You huff to yourself, before storming out of the apartment.

When Yeonjun wakes up, he expects to find you nuzzling into his side, sleeping like a princess. In some wild fantasy, maybe you were even giving his morning wood a well-deserved blowjob. Instead, he finds you snoring, half of your body falling off his bed as you’re splayed out like a starfish. The sight makes him chuckle. He must have done a number on you because you don’t even flinch when he readjusts you into a more comfortable position. You’re sound asleep as he lays on his side watching you snore. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, he thinks to himself. He’s never even imagined someone like you before, yet here you are, dead to the world as you dream sweetly. He fondly brushes stray hair out of your face, before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You were adorable. 

He finally sits up, deciding he is going to cook you breakfast. He hoped you liked instant ramen, as that was the only thing he was good at making. Venturing into the kitchen, he opens the cupboard, only to realize he’d eaten the last of his ramen stash yesterday. He opens the fridge next. He’s brutally reminded that today was supposed to be grocery day, as all they had was half a carton of (probably expired) milk, Sprite, and old grapes. Excluding the condiments, the fridge was embarrassingly bare. What was he going to do with this? Chunky Sprite milk and grapes sounded like actual shit. Yeonjun walks back into his room. You looked so peaceful, he’d hate to wake you. Sighing quietly, he reaches for his phone on his nightstand, only to realize it’s gone. 

He could’ve sworn he’d taken it with him. Yeonjun quickly raced out to his car, searching through the seats in case it’d slipped out of his pocket last night. When he returns defeated, he begins to panic. You wouldn’t mind if he borrowed your phone right? Just to call his own, he thinks. He takes yours and slides open the emergency contact page, punching in his number before dialing. There’s silence in the entire apartment as your phone rings against his ear. Suddenly it stops, and someone grumbles a hello. “Mingi? Is that you?” Yeonjun asks. “Who’s this?” Mingi’s words slur together. “It’s Yeonjun, you have my phone.” He answers. The two quickly get the situation fixed, Yeonjun had left his phone at the frat house last night, and Mingi had kept it safe by pocketing it (Yeonjun swears Mingi had planned to throw out the sim card and resell it, but Mingi strongly denies it despite witnesses aka San).

“I’m gonna drop by really quick and grab my phone, stay there.” He instructs before hanging up. He returns your phone to his nightstand and quickly puts on the outfit he’d worn last night. While he’d dressed you in his favorite shirt before bed, Yeonjun ran hot so he’d only slept in his boxers. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before leaving. “I’ll be back soon baby.” He tells you, though you don’t hear a word, your snores drown him out. He reenters the kitchen and grabs an old receipt. On the back he scribbles a note: “went to grab breakfast brb - ur hot n sexy bf!” He grins to himself as he leaves it on the counter, making it visible to you. He hoped you liked McGriddles, cause he was craving some and planned to stop by the drive-thru on the way back. Yeonjun leaves in a hurry, hoping to return to bed with you for one last cuddle before breakfast.

Ten minutes later Beomgyu yawns as he unlocks the front door to his apartment. He was still so tired from last night: he’d had an epic night of gaming at Soobin’s apartment. While the other boys went to the party, Beomgyu crashed at his friend’s place and raided his room, using his PC for his own amusement as Soobin partied with his girlfriend at the ETEN house. Inside it’s quiet and empty, something that was uncommon under this roof. Beomgyu pays no mind, entering the kitchen. He opens the fridge and scans the contents. They really needed to go grocery shopping. There weren't even any pizza pockets left. He pours himself a glass of Sprite, before leaning against the counter. His hand rests upon something slippery and he turns to find a receipt. He picks it up, it was a Walmart receipt for 147 packs of condoms. Not thinking much of it, Beomgyu crushes it up and throws it into the trash. With a sigh, he grabs his keys and heads out again. He might as well stop by the grocery store before Kai gets home.

The drive back to your apartment is complete silence. It’s so quiet that when Heeseung turns on his signal, it echoes inside his car. You had walked a couple of blocks before deciding to call your best friend. You would’ve walked home, but then you realized you were tired, hungry, and sore. No way would you make it home before passing out. Heeseung had picked up your call faster than you’d thought. “Hello?” He sounded horrible, he’d probably just woken up. “Hey, can you come pick me up?” You asked quietly, sitting on the curb outside some office building. “What?” Heeseungs brain was lagging. “Pick me up. I need a ride.” You say, gritting your teeth. “I thought you were at Yeon-“ “Heeseung. I need you to pick me up. Please.” There’s silence on the other end. “Send me your pin, I’ll be right there.”

And there he was, within the next ten minutes a disgruntled (and hungover) Heeseung pulled up in his Honda Civic with the worst bed head you’d ever seen. “Hey.” He joins you on the curb. You don’t say anything. He nudges you. “You alright? Wanna talk about it?” He asks awkwardly. You shake your head, and he nods with a sigh. You both sit there in silence, looking off in the distance. You don’t realize you’re crying until Heeseung turns to you, wiping your tears with his hands. “Come on, it’ll be okay.” He gives you a hug, and you begin to bawl. All of your pent-up frustrations, desires, and sorrows spill out as you wail into Heeseung’s chest. He comforts you the best he can, gently rubbing your back and rocking you back and forth. “Forget him Y/n, you don’t deserve a jerk like him. Remember what Rei always says? Men are the scum of the earth, so know your worth-"

“Hey! You guys can’t loiter around here, this is a privately owned building, we’ll call the cops.” The shrewd voice of an elderly man interrupts Heeseung. “Oh shit, my bad. Sorry! Sorry, we’ll go.” He helps you up and hurriedly you both get into the car before driving off. You calm down quickly, dazed as you guys drive back home. Once back in your apartment, you shower, ridding yourself of his clothes, his smell, of himself. You sit in bed, hugging a pillow when Heeseung enters your room. “Here, it’s Jay’s hangover soup.” He places a bowl on your desk. “Thanks.” You mumble. He watches you quietly eat. “Y/n,” Heeseung starts. You look at him confused, wondering what else could he say to try and make you feel better. Heeseung sighs. “Wanna have another girls’ night? I promise I won’t ask to play League this time.” You put your spoon down and look at him with tired yet warm eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Yeonjun juggles the bags of food in one hand and grabs his keys to unlock the front door. He tries his best to be quiet as he enters. Placing the food on the kitchen counter, he then tiptoes to his room, opening the door slightly to peek at you. Except you’re gone. He opens the door wide, looking inside confused. You’d vanished. His bed was empty, your clothes missing. He steps out to the hall and into the bathroom. Empty. Back to the kitchen and living room. Nothing. He opens both Beomgyu’s and Kai’s rooms. No one. There’s no way. Was this some kind of trick? Suddenly his phone rings, and he looks to find Beomgyu calling. “Hello?” He answers. “Hey, can you check if the milk is expired? I’m at the grocery store right now.” Beomgyu asks. Yeonjun opens the fridge. “It’s overdue by 4 days.” He hears Beomgyu groan. 

“Hey, by the way, did you come home? Did you see Y/n leave?” Yeonjun questions. “Yeah, I came back really quick, but I left right after. Had no idea she was even there.” Beomgyu answers. Yeonjun can hear the bustle of the crowd through the speaker. “Yo, stop leaving your trash around the house, I’m tired of cleaning up after you and Kai,” Beomgyu suddenly complains. Yeonjun frowns. “The fuck are you talking about?” He scoffs. “Your shit? I was in the kitchen and you’d left your nasty ass condom receipt on the counter. Imagine if Y/n had seen it,” Beomgyu argues. It suddenly dawns on Yeonjun on what had happened. “Beomgyu you motherfucker,” Yeonjun growls. “Excuse me? You know what- This time I’m gonna break your leg, maybe both of them-” Yeonjun hangs up the phone as he digs through the trash. He finds the receipt, it’s squished up into a ball. He unravels it, realizing you’d never read his note. 

You’d woken up to an empty apartment and walked out with a broken heart.

Bonus:

all of this happened basically in the span of one hour

Yeonjun took longer at the frat house than expected because he was arguing with Mingi about his phone

also the line at the local McDonald's was long af

Kai went straight to work that morning, which explains why he didn't go back to the apartment with Beomgyu

Heeseung had slept over at his situationship's place, he told her there was an emergency when he left

previous | next

hubba hubba! masterlist

taglist (open): @justandloyal2961 @hoonatic @emosakumas @ancnymcnzjy @gomdoleemyson @yamsinthetaso

[33max]

I was thinking about a little fic set when Spyke dies ☹️ so tw pet death. ft the comforting presence of Gianpiero Lambiase

Max isn’t there when Spyke dies. He doesn't actually know that Spyke is sick. His Dad calls him one morning, on New Years Eve, and tells him they have had to have Spyke put down. Jos tells him that Spyke-, his legs had-, that he was was not going to make it.

So Max doesn't get a chance to say goodbye. One minute he’s oblivious, thinking his best pal is probably snuggled up with his little sister, and the next minute his best boy of 11 years is gone.

He blinks.

He blinks.

He can't cry on the phone to Jos. That's not what they do. His Dad will tut at him, tell him Spyke was just a dog. But Spyke wasn't just a dog. He was-

Max’s best friend.

So, he hangs up the phone and lets himself cry.

He looks through pictures of Spyke. Some from a recent trip home, some from when he still lived at home, and others of Spyke as a messy little puppy. Moustache overgrown and ears too big for his body.

Without thinking too much about it, he sends one of the puppy pictures to GP. Along with a broken heart emoji. Because he doesn't have the words, but he needs someone to know that he's- his world isn’t the same anymore.

The message gets marked as read, but instead of the three dots to indicate that GP is replying, Max’s phone starts vibrating in his hand. A call.

Before GP even asks, Max is sobbing down the phone. Hard. Trying to tell GP that he didn’t get to say goodbye. But between the bad connection and the tears, he’s not sure if GP even understands what he’s saying.

“I’m sorry Max, I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you.”

“It’s ok to cry.”

And it is ok to cry in front of GP. Because GP has never once told him to grow up, to care less. Never rolled his eyes at Max for being emotional. Always stood with him, listened, and been a comforting presence. And this is no different.

It’s the winter break, so they’re not scheduled to see each other until at least early March.

But it’s 31st December, fucking New Years Eve, and Max is supposed to be going out with his friends tonight. But no. He can’t. Not tonight. Not anymore.

And GP seems to sense that Max might end up spending midnight by himself, alone in Monaco, after losing his best friend. So he says “Hey, Maxy, why don't you come over here? We’re going to play some board games, watch the fireworks, and have a family night. You're family. Join us.”

So Max flys to Milton Keynes, and instead of going to the factory, he gets a cab to GP’s family townhouse.

When GP opens the door he cries a little into GP’s shoulder before wiping his eyes and greeting the rest of the family. They know him well. He’s been coming here since he was freshly eighteen.

And when they sit down that evening GP’s collie, Ella, jumps into Max’s lap. She noses at his hand until he runs his fingers through her fur, and then encourages him to press his head against hers.

“She knows, Max,” GP tells him. “She’s good like that.”

“He was a good boy, Ella,” Max tells her, quietly.

She looks up at him with big brown eyes, before softly bumping her nose against his cheek. I know.

“Thanks for having me, GP,” Max says, “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t come here.”

“You’re always welcome here, Max.” GP says.

“You’re family!” GP’s little girl yells, it’s past her bedtime and she’s so excited to be staying up with the adults.

“Can I get you a gin and tonic, Max?” GPs wife, Marie, adds. “You’re not driving after all!”

Spyke might not be here. But he feels at home.

maxverstappen1: My little friend is no more… rest in peace Spyke ❤️ 11 years I won’t forget… 😞❤️

[pedroscurls]

christmas confessions (pt. 4 - day 4)

summary: it's christmas eve and you and logan reveal your true feelings for each other. pairing: origins!logan howlett x fem!reader content warnings: n/a. word count: 1.4k a/n: we're almost at the end of the story everyone. i've had so much fun writing this and absolutely love love love origins!logan. next and final part will be posted on xmas! pt. 3 | series masterlist.

DAY 4 — The weight of Logan’s words linger throughout the night into the following morning. You hadn’t slept all night; your mind racing over and over again at the thought of Logan’s feelings for you. It was mutual. He loved you too, but his scars just ran too deep. The trauma he experienced was just too much. 

And you couldn’t blame him, but you were determined to change his mind. He had avoided you the entire night last night, resorting to staying in his bedroom. Even when you knocked on his door to tell him that dinner was ready, he just said a quiet thank you without even opening the door. 

His words continue to repeat in your mind as you step out of the bedroom. 

“I’ve lost everyone I ever loved and I’m not losing you.”

There’s an eerie silence that encompasses the cabin; it doesn’t feel like he’s here. So, you tiptoe over to his bedroom and knock on the door. No answer. You let out a sigh and then turn on your heel to walk into the kitchen instead. You take a quick glance at the front door, taking note of his missing keys and coat from the rack. 

He isn’t here. 

You shake your head to yourself and walk into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. You grab your phone and send him a quick text, asking him where he’s at and if he’s okay. He doesn’t respond, just reads your message. It upsets you because you didn’t even get a chance to tell him how you felt, how his fear of losing you is completely valid. 

But Logan made a decision for the both of you without even giving you a chance to make your choice. 

You don’t even bother to eat, the emptiness of the cabin making itself known. It’s so much bigger than you thought, even as you walk around the living room with your mug of coffee. You look at the decorations Logan had put up for you, the fire that’s going that he probably put on before he left. 

It pains you to know that nothing might ever happen between you and Logan. You feel the safest with him and these last few days have just proven to you that he also feels like home. Despite not being able to spend the holidays with your family, there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be but here with him. 

You sit on the couch and bring your legs up to your chest, glancing down at your phone to see that he hasn’t yet replied. You try to give him a call, but he doesn’t answer. You let out a heavy sigh; Logan always liked to run away from his problems and you hated it, but you know that he probably needs to cool down, needs to reevaluate what he needs to do moving forward. 

—

Hours pass before he finally gets back home. He walks in and doesn’t find you in the kitchen or living room like he thought he would. Assuming you’re still in your room, he removes his coat and boots and then makes his way into his own bedroom, making sure to pass your door without hesitation. 

It isn’t until he opens his own door that he sees you lying on your side on his bed. On his bed. You’re curled up in his sheets and he can tell you’re sleeping, the sound of your soft breathing filling his ears. He bites his lower lip and walks over to you quietly, grabbing the blanket to drape over you. When you feel the weight of the blanket encompass you, to move to lie on your back, his name escaping your beautiful lips. 

Gently, he reaches out to brush his thumb along your cheek. Logan watches you lean into his touch and he leans down to lightly place a soft kiss on your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers almost inaudibly. “And it scares me.” 

Logan fully stands and walks towards his closet, grabbing a change of clothes. He walks into his bathroom, stealing another glance at you in his bed. He wants so badly to climb in and pull you into his arms, tell you that he loves you, that he’s willing to give this a try with you. 

But he can’t. 

He doesn’t want to lose you. 

Because if he ever did, he’s sure that it’d break him. 

Logan’s shower doesn’t take long, but when he steps out of his bathroom, he finds you beginning to quietly climb out of the bed. He clears his throat, bringing the towel to run through his damp hair as he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom door. 

“Hey,” he calls out. 

You stop in your tracks and slowly turn to face him, eyes gazing up at him. “I’m sorry. I just–”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Logan interrupts. “Didn’t get enough sleep last night?” 

“No,” you answer. “Was up all night.”

He sighs and moves to sit on his bed, gently patting the empty space next to him. He moves his eyes down to his hands, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t– I just–” he sighs. “I care about you, you know?” 

You slowly walk over to him and sit on the edge of his bed with him. You bring your legs up underneath and turn your body so that you’re facing him. Hesitantly, you reach out and take hold of one of his hands. “Logan…”

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “I need you to understand that.”

“You won’t,” you answer as you slowly play with his fingers. “I do understand your fear, Logan, but you– You can’t make that choice for me.”

“Baby…”

“I love you,” you blurt out, stopping your movements to look up at him. He turns his head to look over at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he stares into your eyes. “And I think I’ve loved you for years now. I’d take every risk with you, Logan.”

He stares deeply at you, eyes moving down to your lips and then back up to gaze into your eyes. Logan slowly reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your jawline. He can hear your heart rate pick up, sees your eyes drift down towards his lips and slowly, he leans in to press his lips lightly against yours. 

Just as your lips touch, he hears you let out a quiet gasp and it only urges him further. Logan slowly moves his hand from your cheek to cup your neck as he moves to hover over you. His free arm wraps around your waist and lifts you further into the middle of the bed, settling himself between your legs. 

You card your fingers through his long hair, feeling the dampness of his hair. You part your lips for him, feeling his tongue slide in as your legs wrap around his waist. 

Logan pulls away for a moment, resting his forehead against yours. “Tell me again,” he whispers. “Tell me you love me…”

“Only if you tell me the truth too.”

Logan looks into your eyes as he contemplates the consequences of telling you how he feels about you. He tries to push away the lingering thoughts, the memories that he had tried so hard to forget, and even as he gazes into your eyes, all he can see is the possibility of losing you.

He feels your hand move to cup his own cheek and he realizes just how meaningful and grounding that simple action is. He leans into it, keeping himself propped up on his forearms as he continues to gaze into your eyes. 

Soon, the thoughts that linger transition into the memories he’s shared with you. The laughter and joy he’s felt ever since meeting you, the hope he feels whenever he’s around you, and the way he’s only ever felt at home with you. 

“I love you,” he whispers quietly. “And it scares the shit out of me, but I love you,” Logan repeats. “I think I loved you the moment I met you.”

“Logan…” you smile, tears filling your eyes. “I think Christmas Eve might be my favorite day now.” 

He chuckles. “Oh? What about Christmas?” 

You shake your head. “Christmas Eve will hold a special place in my heart now… it’s the day we told each other how we felt.”

“I love you. I really do and the fear will always be there–”

“Then we handle it together, baby,” you finish for him.

---

taglist: @kellyxo1 @misscrissfemmefatale @mooneyloveydovey @oatmilkriver @steviebbboi

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Any chance of getting something fluffy/romantic with Thorin or Fili (reader could be a Mirkwood elf or a human from Dale). You are the best!

I'm working on finishing Across Time right now, so this one is short and sweet!

Public Relations(hips)

The cobblestones of Erebor’s great halls glisten beneath your boots as if polished with starlight, the golden veins threading the stone catching the glow of the many torches lining the walls. Though you’ve walked these halls before, the grandeur never fails to strike you silent. Yet today, your focus is elsewhere.

Thorin Oakenshield walks beside you, his steps measured and steady, though you can tell by the occasional glance he casts your way that his mind is not entirely on the path ahead. His dark hair is pulled back in braids that frame his face, and the weight of his heritage rests as visibly on his shoulders as the fur-lined mantle he wears.

It had started innocently enough—a visit to Erebor to strengthen ties between Dale and the Kingdom under the Mountain. As the daughter of a merchant and one of Dale’s most skilled negotiators, you had been tasked with representing your city’s interests. Thorin had been polite, if a little reserved, during your first few meetings. But somewhere along the line, formality had softened into shared glances, late-night conversations, and an unexpected companionship that warmed your heart.

Now, Thorin seems more hesitant than usual, as though weighing his words. His deep voice finally breaks the silence.

“You seem quieter today,” he says, his tone softer than the stone walls around you. “Is Erebor proving too overwhelming for you, Lady of Dale?”

You smile, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. “Not overwhelming,” you reply, your voice light. “Merely... awe-inspiring. It’s hard not to feel dwarfed by all this splendor.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Aye, it has a way of humbling even the proudest hearts.” He pauses, his gaze flickering to you. “But you seem to hold your own well enough.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression—an unspoken thought he’s debating sharing. You don’t press him, instead letting your steps slow as you approach a balcony overlooking one of Erebor’s vast forges. Below, dwarves toil with practiced precision, the sound of hammers and the glow of molten metal creating an almost hypnotic rhythm.

Thorin joins you at the railing, his hands clasped in front of him. “You have a gift, you know,” he says quietly.

“A gift?” you repeat, turning to him.

“For seeing beauty where others might only see stone and shadow,” he explains. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between you. “It’s rare to find someone who can look at Erebor as it is and still see what it could be.”

His words catch you off guard, but before you can respond, Thorin continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Your presence here has brought something... unexpected into my life.” He hesitates, then takes a breath as though steeling himself. “I’ve known duty and responsibility all my days, but you’ve reminded me that there is still room for joy—for warmth.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his steady gaze, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his words. “Thorin...” you begin, unsure of how to respond.

“I know I am no easy companion,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I am stubborn, often too set in my ways, and my path is not one that promises ease. But if you would consider walking it with me...” His voice falters, a rare vulnerability showing through.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, this proud and noble dwarf who stands before you, offering something he guards so fiercely—his heart.

Reaching out, you place a hand over his where it rests on the railing. “Thorin,” you say, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you, “there is no path I would rather walk than one by your side.”

The relief and happiness that flicker across his face are enough to make you feel as though the weight of the entire mountain has lifted. He covers your hand with his other, his grip firm yet gentle, as though afraid you might vanish if he holds too tightly.

“I will not let you regret this,” he promises, his voice a low rumble.

You smile, the warmth in your chest blooming as brightly as the forges below. “I have no doubt.”

And as the sounds of Erebor hum around you, you know that this moment marks the beginning of a new journey—one you will take together.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Interior Hallway]

Trey: Next class is… Oh, alchemy. There's stuff I need to prep for the experiment, so I guess I should head to the classroom already.

[Silver approaches]

Silver: Hello there, Trey-senpai...

Trey: Silver, hi. What's up, why are you staring at me so intently? Do I have something on my face?

Silver: Trey-senpai, is there anything you wish you had right now?

Trey: That's an unexpected question. Hmm, what do I want…?

Trey: Oh, maybe an automatic flour sifter? It'll speed things up and will keep my hands from getting too tired. It'd make baking sweets much easier on me.

Trey: Also, I'd like an apron. I have a few that I can hang from my neck, but that might cause my shoulders to get stiff, so I'd like to try out new kinds.

Trey: Plus, they tend to get pretty dirty before long, so it's never a bad thing to have too much.

Silver: I see… That was helpful.

Silver: Thank you. I think Riddle will be pleased once he hears what you've said.

Trey: Hm? Why are you bringing up Riddle?

Silver: Yesterday, before we began our club activities, Riddle was pondering over what to get you for your birthday.

Trey: Oh, so that's why you asked me what I'd want all of a sudden. …But hey, should you have told me all that…?

Silver: He seemed to be stuck in a conundrum, so I thought perhaps I could help with suggestions. Is that a problem?

Trey: Uhh, I mean, I thought maybe he might have been trying to keep the gift a secret, since he didn't come ask me directly…

Silver: …Forgive me if I've done something terrible to the both of you.

Trey: Y-You don't have to look that grave!

Trey: I'm sure this'll help him, so you should try telling him it was something you picked up through casual conversation.

Silver: I understand, I'll try telling him that. Thank you, Trey-senpai.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Yeah. See you, then.

Trey: Silver is one strait-laced guy. A bit different from the way Riddle is, that is...

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Hallway]

Trey: Ah… It's already past 8PM. I have to start making my rounds to see if anyone's breaking any of the Queen of Hearts' laws.

Trey: I'll go check out the kitchen first. I'd like to think there'd be no issues, but…

Trey: It'd be bad if there was someone trying to steal a tart from the refrigerator again, even if it's only a slim chance.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Lounge]

Trey: So far, so good, for now. Next is the lounge. Hm? What's this smell…?

Trey: Hey, you two sitting on the sofa. What is that drink you have there?

Trey: Just as I thought, it's honey lemonade!

Trey: It's already 8PM. You planning on violating Queen of Hearts' Law Number 256?

[Heartslabyul Student A speaks up]

Trey: …Oh good, if you haven't actually drunk any, then that's fine. Make sure you pour it out before any issues arise.

[Heartslabyul Students A and B run away, Heartslabyul Students C and D arrive]

Trey: …Hm? Hey, you guys who just walked into the lounge, did I just hear you say "that turkey lunch was delicious"?

Trey: Do you remember the Queen of Hearts' Law Number 648? You forgot? It'd be bad if you violated that rule. Make sure you check if there were any others who might've forgotten, too!

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Phew, somehow, we got through the day without there being any rule violations. Please, all I'm asking is for them to do better at not getting caught…

Trey: Now that I've taken a shower and freshened up with a good teeth brushing, guess I can just relax a bit in my room.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Oh, yeah, I should answer the Headmage's survey before I forget. Let's see, it's about…

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Trey: Things we want improved…? I feel like I could take it or leave it. Hmm, guess I'll try to think it over while drinking some tea.

Trey: …Oh. Ah, right, I just brushed my teeth using fluoridated toothpaste.

Trey: I can't let the fluoride film dissolve. I'll just drink water instead.

Trey: Even if I were to just brush my teeth again, the washroom always gets pretty crowded around this time, so it's not really a good time to go.

Trey: Sigh… If there were at least a sink in my room, I could do it all here, even my flossing…

Trey: I'd like to put that in the survey, but there's no way they'd accept me asking for a private washroom…

Trey: …Then, doesn't that mean it should just be that every room should have its own washroom?

Trey: Yeah. That might be a necessary change to make sure that all the students have clean dental health.

Trey: Even now, whenever I try to hand them floss, or tell them to brush more properly,

Trey: There's a ton of guys who only do it halfway, giving excuses like, "it's causing a line" in the washroom.

Trey: But it'd take too much time to renovate every single room. If I want them to renovate something while I'm still here at this school…

Trey: Oh, I know. I should write in the survey that I want them to "widen the washrooms."

Trey: That feels a little more realistic than asking for a private washroom for each room, so this request might get accepted, right?

Trey: If this actually comes to fruition, I would be able to go brush my teeth on my own preferred schedule…

Trey: And none of my other dormmates would be able to use the excuse that they'd be holding up other people in line.

[knock on door]

Trey: …Hm? Who's that? One second, I'll open the door.

[Heartslabyul Student E arrives]

Trey: One of my packages got mixed in with yours? Sorry for the trouble. Yeah, goodnight.

Trey: Wait, is this…? Ah, it is! It's the recipe book I bought online!

Trey: It had good reviews, so it grabbed my interest. Hmm, let's see… The sweets I wanted to make was…

Trey: Ah, found it. This is the one, combining cream and caramel into a puff pastry. This looks easier to make than I thought.

Trey: I need to try making it tomorrow… Ah wait, there's supposed to be a lot of sweets at the birthday party tomorrow.

Trey: Guess I'll have to wait until at least the day after tomorrow to try and make it. Oh man, just looking at this book is giving me more and more things I want to make.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

[alarm rings]

Trey: …Ugh…

[Trey slaps alarm off]

Trey: …Shut up.

Trey: …Is it morning already? Hrrrngh… Ugh…

Trey: Yaaawn… Glasses, glasses… Mmm… It's not here… Where is it…? Ah, found it.

Trey: Nnnnggh… I'm so groggy… Uhh… What's going on today again?

Trey: Oh, right. Today's my birthday party…

Trey: .....................

Trey: …Ack! This isn't good, at this rate, I'll fall back asleep. I should go wash my face and brush my teeth…

Trey: Mmm, I feel like my brain's finally working.

Trey: I only planned on skimming it, but I ended up staying up late reading through that recipe book

Trey: I'm not a morning person, so I was trying not to stay up too late… Guess I can't get carried away like that.

Trey: Alright, guess it's time to get ready for the day. I'll pull out my mirror and start with sunscreen… Oh, oops.

Trey: That was close. I still had my glasses on, I should take them off.

Trey: That reminds me, I remember when I once forgot to take off my glasses and took a shower with them on.

Trey: All the other guys in the dorm couldn't stop laughing at how my lenses fogged up, that it was a running joke for a little while after that.

Trey: Okay, I'm done applying it. This sunscreen is pretty easy to apply, so it helps me get ready faster.

Trey: "Do you find daily maintenance troublesome? All the more reason to pick and choose the exact items you use!"

Trey: …Or so Rook said, when he gave me this. It's definitely different than the one I used to use, that's for sure.

Trey: Guess I'll just buy the same thing again once I'm out. Oh, right. I need to do something for Rook to pay him back for this, too.

Trey: Okay, next are my eyebrows. I'll use a pen to gently give them shape…

Trey: …When I look at my eyes this way, it really looks like I have a mean glare.

Trey: Cater did say once that a lighter-colored eyebrow mascara could help give a gentler feel. Maybe I should try that next time…?

Trey: Nah, nevermind, it's not like I tend to glare whenever I'm wearing my glasses, so I can just leave it. If anything, it'd just be a pain to add more to my makeup regimen.

Trey: All it needs is to look good, right? Oh, and I should paint on my suit before I forget…

Trey: Back when I was a freshman, all my clovers tended to be asymmetrical, or distorted, or just plain misshapen…

Trey: Now, I'm able to draw it on pretty quick and cleanly. Guess I've just gotten better over the years. …Alright, I've finished applying everything, so now I can put my glasses back on…

Trey: As for my hair… It looks like I have a bit of bedhead. Maybe I shouldn't've been wearing a headband like this?

Trey: But hey, I should be able to fix that with a bit of brushing. I just have to be a little careful here… I guess this'll do.

Trey: Once I get changed into my school uniform, I guess I'll head to campus a little earlier today. After all, there's someone who's waiting to give me a surprise.

[Main Street]

Silver: Good morning, Trey-senpai.

Silver: I was able to inform Riddle of our conversation yesterday. The present he chose is…

Trey: Hey now, you don't have to say anything else! I'll save the surprise for when I actually receive the gift.

Silver: I see. I understand. Well then, I hope you have a good birthday.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Thanks. Sorry for all the trouble.

Trey: I'm perfectly happy if I can just have a peaceful day, sure… But I guess I can still get excited about getting birthday presents.

Requested by @farfalla049 and @sakurakudo.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Envy (Mayhem) Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 4k Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, and weapons. References to bombs. Mention of death and the description of one of the unsubs k!lling himself at the end. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2008

Bookend: "We win together as a team, and we lose together as a team." - Kenny Smith

“Penelope, what do you see? Are they hurt?” you plead, the panic rising in your chest.

“Hotch seems to be okay, but Kate hasn’t moved. He’s not moving her either,” Penelope responds, her voice shaky. “Okay,” you answer, trying to steady your own breath. “Check on the others. I’m going to Hotch and Kate.”

“Please be careful,” she begs, the worry clear in her voice.

As you pull up to the bomb site, the scene is chaotic. The road is blocked off with first responders, their presence thick and tense. You slam the car into park and rush out, already knowing what’s coming. An officer steps in front of you, prepared to stop anyone trying to get through.

“You can’t come through, ma’am. None of us can. Orders,” he says sternly.

You shake your head, irritation boiling over. “I’m with the FBI. We created those orders. Let me through.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, he holds you back, unyielding.

“My boss is in there!” you snap, voice rising in urgency.

He pushes you back, and then you hear it—the sound you were dreading. Hotch’s strained voice, distorted like it’s coming through a haze, “Officer down! Please! We need help down here!”

Your heart sinks, and everything inside you screams to break past the barricade, but you’re still stuck.

“Let me through, damn it!” you yell, hands shaking with frustration.

“We’re here! Please!” Aaron cries out again.

Your heart feels like it’s tearing in two at the sound of his pain. You fight to keep your tears at bay.

Just then, Morgan pulls up. He’s already furious, storming toward the barricade. The officers try to stop him, but Morgan’s presence is far more intimidating than yours, and they turn their focus to holding him back.

You lock eyes with him, giving a subtle signal. It’s risky, but you need to take the chance. Morgan ramps up the theatrics, getting louder, and playing his part perfectly.

You don’t hesitate. The moment they look away, you slip through the gap, moving fast, heading straight for Hotch. You can hear the commotion behind you, but all that matters is getting to him.

“Aaron!” you scream, your voice breaking through the chaos.

His eyes find you, and a wave of relief washes over him.

You rush to his side, immediately checking him over. He seems okay, just some cuts and bruises, but you can tell he’s shaken. You glance at Kate, who’s bleeding heavily, and then at the man standing next to Hotch. Something about him feels off, but your focus stays on Hotch and Kate for now.

“I’ve got it pinched off, but I can’t move her without losing my grip,” he says, his voice trembling.

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to help her, just hold on.” Turning toward the barricade, you call, “Derek! We need you!”

It takes a moment, but Derek eventually breaks through the crowd of officers and runs to your side. Together, you all work to stabilize Kate. But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong with the man standing off to the side, looking too calm, too collected.

“You need to leave,” you say to him, your voice firm. “We can’t help her until you’re out of the way.”

Derek’s phone rings, and you signal for him to answer it. His face immediately falls, and you follow his gaze, your heart sinking as you look at the man again.

“Hotch,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Hotch, still trying to keep his composure, turns to the man. “Go, Morgan. Y/N, stay with me.”

Finally, you think to yourself. You’re not going anywhere.

A paramedic comes running through the chaos, rushing to Kate’s side. He immediately begins assessing her injuries, his face grim as he kneels beside her, gently pulling her into a more stable position.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” the paramedic mutters, working quickly to apply pressure to the wound. “We need to get her out of here now.”

You step forward, keeping your eyes on Hotch. “I’ll take my car and clear a path for you to the hospital,” you offer, your voice unwavering despite the alarm building in your chest.

The paramedic looks up, nodding sharply. “Good idea. We need to move fast. Go ahead.”

You nod in return, already moving toward your car. “I’ll be right ahead of you,” you call out, glancing back at Hotch one more time.

With determination setting in, you climb into your car and start the engine. You weave your way through the barricades, ready to clear the road and get Kate the help she desperately needs.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital doors burst open as you and Hotch rush into the ER, trailing closely behind the gurney carrying Kate. The medics shout vitals and updates to the doctors, their words blending into a blur. You follow closely, your eyes locked on Kate’s pale, bloodied face.

“She’s stabilizing,” one of the doctors says as they wheel her through the double doors toward the OR. You exhale deeply, relief washing over you, though your body still hums with tension.

Turning to Hotch, you expect to find him focused and composed, but instead, his face is ashen, his steps unsteady. His hand suddenly grips your arm.

“Aaron?” you say, alarmed, as he sways.

Before he can answer, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground. 

“Hotch! Someone help!” you shout, panic threading your voice.

A nurse rushes over, quickly assessing the situation. “We need a gurney here!” she calls to a nearby orderly. Within moments, they ease him out of your arms and onto the gurney.

“I’m fine,” Hotch mutters weakly, though his pallor and shallow breathing suggest otherwise.

“You’re not fine,” you counter, your heart pounding as they wheel him toward an ER room. “Aaron, just let them help you.”

He doesn’t argue, his head lolling back slightly as his eyelids flutter. The sight unnerves you, but you force yourself to stay calm, following closely as they take him into the room.

The nurses hook him up to monitors, checking his vitals and administering fluids. “Looks like exhaustion and stress-induced shock,” one nurse says, glancing at you. “He needs to rest.”

You nod, your worry settling into a sharp ache in your chest. “He doesn’t stop, not even for a second,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Hotch’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, his voice faint. “Kate… the team…”

“Shh,” you interrupt gently, stepping closer to him. “Kate’s in surgery. The team’s fine. Right now, you need to focus on you.”

He gives a slight nod, his hand brushing against yours on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” you ask softly, leaning in so he doesn’t have to strain his voice.

“For scaring you,” he replies, his gaze flickering with guilt.

You squeeze his hand lightly. "I'll get you back one of these days.”

The tension in his features eases slightly, his breathing slowing as the monitors show his vitals stabilizing. You stay by his side, unwilling to leave, your own relief tempered by the knowledge that the night is far from over.

You sit in the waiting area, your eyes darting toward the entrance every few minutes, hoping Derek will arrive soon. The hum of the hospital feels louder than usual, amplifying your nerves. You’ve just managed to settle into a moment of calm when raised voices echo down the hallway.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need to be here,” you hear Hotch’s unmistakable tone, clipped and insistent. Your stomach drops.

You jump to your feet and hurry toward the noise. As you approach his room, the nurse’s frustrated voice cuts through.

“Sir, you need to stay in bed! You’re still being monitored—”

“I don’t need monitoring,” Hotch snaps. “Where are my clothes?”

Rushing in, you find Hotch halfway off the bed, his hospital gown untied and his hands fumbling with the IV line attached to his arm. His face is pale but determined, his jaw clenched as he tries to pull the monitors off his chest.

“Hotch, what are you doing?” you exclaim, moving quickly to his side.

“I’m fine,” he says without looking at you, his voice low and stubborn. “The team needs—”

“No, they don’t need you like this,” you interrupt, your tone firm but calm. “Aaron, you’re going to make this worse.”

The nurse stands frozen, clearly exasperated. “He’s refusing to cooperate,” she says, looking between you and Hotch.

Before you can respond, Derek strides into the room. “Hotch, man, you need to chill,” he says, his hands raised in a calming gesture.

“I don’t have time for this,” Hotch bites back, still tugging at the IV line. “I’m fine, Morgan. I’m fine.”

Derek steps closer, but Hotch’s eyes flash with irritation, his composure fraying. “Don’t,” he warns, his tone sharp.

You take a step forward, gently placing your hand on Hotch’s arm. “Aaron,” you say softly but with authority, “look at me.”

His movements still for a moment, and his eyes reluctantly meet yours. There’s a storm of frustration and exhaustion behind them, but you don’t waver.

“I know you feel like you have to keep going,” you say, your voice steady. “I know you think you’re fine, but you’re not. Your body is telling you to stop, and you need to listen. For Kate, for the team, for me.”

His gaze softens slightly at your last words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to continue.

“Please,” you add, your tone almost a whisper now. “Sit down. Let them do their job. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse again.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to argue, but then he lets out a long breath and sits back on the bed, his hands falling to his sides. His eyes close briefly, the fight draining from him.

You glance at Derek, who gives you a small nod of approval, before turning to the nurse. “Can you give us a minute?”

She hesitates, then nods and steps out of the room.

Hotch looks up at you, his voice quieter now. “I just… I can’t stand waiting. I need to be doing something.”

“I know,” you say, sitting beside him on the bed. “But right now, waiting is the best thing you can do. Trust me, okay?”

He exhales again, his hand brushing against yours briefly. “Okay,” he finally agrees, his tone resigned.

Derek leans against the doorframe, smirking slightly. “Guess I’ll leave this to you next time, huh?”

You shake your head, your focus still on Hotch. “There won’t be a next time.”

Hotch gives you a faint smile, and you know he’s far from fully convinced, but at least for now, he’s staying put.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

A short while later, the doctor gives the all-clear for Hotch to be released. You wait outside his room with a fresh set of clothes, ones you managed to grab from a nearby bag the team had on hand. When he steps out, he looks exhausted but determined, his expression already refocused on the case.

“Here,” you say, handing him the clothes. “Let me help.”

He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the assistance, but he nods and lets you adjust the FBI vest over his shirt once he’s dressed. You tighten the straps securely, your hands brushing against his shoulders before stepping back.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, glancing down at you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it all night.

You meet his gaze, knowing now is the moment to say what’s been weighing on you. “Hotch,” you start, “the profile. Something about it isn’t right. It’s been bothering me ever since we presented it earlier.”

He frowns, his attention sharpening. “What do you mean?”

“When I first laid it out,” you explain, “I said it was a test, but also a diversion—something meant to distract us while the unsubs worked toward their ultimate goal. We got too focused on the idea of it being a test run for something bigger. I think we’re missing the real target.”

Hotch exhales, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. Then, unexpectedly, he looks back at you with something resembling regret. “I should have listened to you sooner,” he says, his voice low but sincere. “You were right from the beginning, and I dismissed it.”

His apology catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. “It’s not too late to make it right,” you reply. “But we need to shift our focus before it’s too late.”

He nods, already slipping back into his leadership role. “Let’s regroup with the team. We’ll start from scratch if we have to.”

“Are you okay?” Emily asks as you both enter the room.

“Yeah. I just want to understand why I’m still alive,” Aaron responds, his voice low.

“I was asking her,” Emily corrects, motioning toward you. “She’s the one who had to deal with you.”

Aaron looks at you, his expression flickering with insecurity—or maybe regret. He glances down, avoiding your eyes.

You offer him a soft smile, brushing your hand lightly against his arm. “He was a good patient,” you reply with a touch of humor.

Aaron inclines his head slightly. “Y/N has a lead. Her original profile suggested the unsubs might be using these attacks as a diversion or working toward a larger goal,” he says, stepping aside to give you the floor.

Taking a breath, you step forward, the weight of everyone’s attention on you. “We know terror cells evolve and adapt, learning from one campaign to the next. What if this isn’t about the individual attacks? What if it’s about what comes next? They’ve been deliberately targeting isolated locations, ensuring minimal civilian casualties. It’s not random—it’s calculated. Each move is designed to refine their process. They’re testing, learning, and perfecting their methods. This isn’t just a series of practice runs; it’s a setup for something much bigger.”

You catch Hotch flinching slightly, his hand rising to rub at his ear. He meets your gaze and gives a subtle shake of his head, silently asking you not to mention it.

“Hotch,” Spencer calls out, pointing to the computer screen. It’s playing security footage of the car bomb explosion, showing Hotch and Kate being thrown through the air. Hotch freezes, watching it play out, his jaw tightening. You glance away, unable to watch the moment replayed, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter.

Hotch finally speaks, “Same, the kid who stayed by Kate and me, did anyone locate his phone? Did he call 911?”

“It was a disposable phone,” Spencer answers. “He never called 911, only the same number six times every few minutes. Garcia tracked the number, but it went dead right after Sam died. Whoever had it destroyed it.”

Hotch’s brows knit together in thought. “If he didn’t have a secondary device to detonate, there’s only one reason he stayed with us.” He turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “What was it?”

“To make sure the ambulance got to you,” you say, the pieces clicking into place. “And in a city on lockdown, an ambulance with its siren blaring and lights flashing can get through every roadblock virtually uncontested.”

Hotch steps closer to you, his voice dropping slightly. “And straight into a hospital with a bypass order on it.”

“What does that mean?” Morgan asks, trying to piece it together.

“Secret Service has a bypass order for this hospital,” you explain, your tone grim. “It’s closed.”

“Secret Service?” Morgan echoes, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Who are they protecting?”

“We need to find out,” you answer, frustration mounting. “So Sam was calling the man in the ambulance the whole time.”

Hotch’s expression hardens as realization dawns. “The ambulance I was brought in. This hospital is their target.”

He pauses for a beat, then looks directly at you. “Y/L/N, I need you with me.”

The words settle over you, and despite the pressure of the moment, a spark of relief and pride ignites in your chest. Finally, he’s not shutting you out. You nod, ready to follow him. “I’m with you.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital halls are a frenzy of activity, but you and Hotch cut through it with singular focus, questions sharp and urgent as you flash your badges at every nurse, doctor, and hospital staff you come across. The paramedic in the ambulance—it all comes back to him. No one can recall his name, and the details are too vague to pull from memory, but you piece together his last known location: the parking garage downstairs.

“He never left the hospital,” you say, adrenaline spiking.

Hotch nods, already moving toward the elevator with you right behind him. “If he has the detonator, he won’t leave willingly.”

The two of you reach the garage, your breaths echoing in the eerie quiet. The space is dimly lit, with shadowy corners creating a sense of unease. Then you spot him—sitting on the edge of a low concrete wall, the dim glow of the garage lights catching the blade of the knife in his hand.

The man looks up, his face pale but eerily calm. He isn’t scared; he’s resolved.

“FBI,” Hotch announces, stepping forward with his hands raised in a show of nonaggression. You follow his lead, your eyes locked on the man’s every movement. “Put the knife down. We just want to talk.”

The paramedic shakes his head, his other hand clutching a small device—the detonator. “It’s too late for that. You don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

You take a step forward, voice steady but firm. “Then help us understand. Tell us what you’re trying to prove. Killing yourself won’t make your message clearer.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m afraid to die? You think I’m afraid of you?” His grip tightens on the detonator. “That ambulance—your agent is driving it right now. One press, and—”

“Stop!” you cut in, heart pounding. “You don’t have to do this. It’s over. You’ve already made your point.”

Hotch inches closer, his tone commanding but calm. “Look at me. You don’t need to die here. Tell me why. Tell me who sent you.”

The man glances between you and Hotch, his resolve flickering. For a moment, it seems like he might relent, but then he shakes his head again, muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t,” he whispers, more to himself than to either of you. He raises the knife, his hand trembling but resolute, as though preparing to strike himself. For a fleeting second, you think— surely he wouldn't.

"Look away!" Aaron shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. Instinctively, you obey, turning your head.

A metallic clatter rings out, followed by a sickening thud. When you look back, the knife lies on the ground, blood pooling around the man's lifeless body. His eyes are vacant, his chest still.

You freeze for a moment, your mind racing to catch up with what just happened. Hotch moves swiftly, stepping over the body to grab the phone clenched in the man's hand.

His fingers close around it, but before either of you can react further-

A sudden, deafening explosion erupts in the distance. The blast reverberates through the parking garage, shaking the veryground beneath your feet.

"Derek," you whisper, fear clawing at your chest.

Hotch doesn't let go of the phone, his expression hard as he pulls his comms to his mouth. 

"Morgan, report! Do you copy?"

The static seems endless, each second stretching unbearably as you and Hotch remain frozen in the garage. The weight of the explosion lingers in the air, the silence amplifying every doubt in your mind. Then, finally—

“Hotch? Y/N?” Derek’s voice crackles through the comms.

You exhale sharply, a rush of relief making your knees weak. “Morgan!”

“I’m good. Ambulance is toast, but I got it clear of the city just in time. Shook me up a bit, but I’m in one piece.”

Hotch presses his comms button. “You’re sure? No injuries?”

“No injuries, man. I’m solid. What’s the status on your end?”

Hotch glances at you briefly, then replies, “Situation contained. I’ll fill you in later. Good work, Morgan.”

As Derek’s voice fades from the comms, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes shift back to the paramedic slumped on the ground, the crimson stain spreading beneath him. The stark finality of it hits you, and your stomach churns.

Hotch steps closer, his hand brushing your shoulder. His presence is grounding, his warmth pulling you out of the chaotic swirl of emotions.

“It’s over now,” his voice is steady.

You shake your head, your gaze locked on the lifeless figure. “He stayed behind to make sure the bomb went off. He really believed in what he was doing.”

Hotch’s hand moves to your back, his voice low and steady. “We stopped it. That’s what matters.”

You nod, swallowing hard before pulling yourself together. Your hand brushes against his arm as you steady yourself. “Kate,” you say suddenly, looking up at him. “You need to check on Kate.”

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “And you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, the determination in your voice not quite masking the lingering tremor. “She’s been through enough already. Go.”

Hotch gives a short nod, squeezing your shoulder one last time before stepping away. As he moves toward the stairs, you turn back to the paramedic one last time, the reality of the night settling over you like a heavy fog.

The team gathers in the hospital lobby, their exhaustion etched into their faces. Derek slings his go-bag over his shoulder and glances at you. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ll stay. Hotch shouldn’t be driving himself. He’s been through too much tonight.”

Rossi gives you a knowing look, nodding slightly. “Take care of him.”

Emily squeezes your arm briefly, offering a small smile, and Spencer gives a quiet, “Call if you need us.” They head out together, leaving you alone with the low hum of the hospital and the weight of waiting.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours until the elevator doors finally slide open. Hotch steps out, and your stomach tightens. He looks pale, his face drained of color, his eyes dull and distant.

You approach him, searching his face for something to hold on to. “Hotch… how’s Kate?”

He stops in front of you, his posture stiff, his jaw tight. His eyes flick to yours, then away, as if looking at you directly is too much. “You didn’t have to wait,” he says, his voice low and almost resigned.

Your throat tightens, but you steady yourself. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, you think you see something break behind his guarded expression. “She didn’t make it,” he says softly. The words seem to drain the last bit of energy from him.

Your heart sinks, the air catching in your lungs. You reach out instinctively, your hand hovering near his arm, but you hesitate. The uncertainty between you lingers, a barrier you’re not sure how to cross.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods slightly, but it’s a hollow gesture. His eyes seem focused on some distant point, lost in the enormity of the night.

“Hotch,” you say hesitantly, trying to find the right words. “Let me drive you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

For a moment, he seems ready to argue, his jaw tightening, but then he exhales, the fight leaving him. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You guide him toward the parking lot, keeping close but not too close. The silence between you is heavy, but for now, you stay by his side, knowing that even if words fail, your presence might be enough.

[eponathegoodpagan]

Astrology Observations - Placements that make a person cold hearted/blooded

Disclaimer:

This astrology observational post is only made for the purpose of using my wisdom of astrology and making observations using the knowledge of astrology. Don’t take this personally or to heart and trust your intuition.

Moon in 8th house, moon in 12th house, moon square and opposition Saturn

People with placements in the eighth house using moon in the eighth are private or secretive. They prefer having a privacy or private life not sharing too much of their life on social media or media in general. Natives with moon in the twelfth house are emotional people, however they’re good at hiding their feelings or repress them. Because the twelfth house symbolizes illusions, hallucinations, the dream and spirit realm. When you repress your feelings especially hide them you become numb. The reason why we humans feel numb because of the hurt or pain we experience in the past. The only solution to these problems is letting go or do shadow work. Instead of healing like we humans usually do letting go of what no longer serves us gives inner freedom to live our life without being in pain.

Moon square Saturn or Moon opposition Saturn. In astrology, Saturn represents death, age, rules and laws, and karmic lessons. Natives with moon square Saturn or moon opposition Saturn may have had harsh or traumatic childhoods which led to becoming who they are today because of the pain they went through. When their feelings and behaviors go unchecked and without help, they become helpless and cold-hearted. However, it’s possible to get help the solution is therapy, the letting go technique, unlike healing. Because sometimes healing isn’t always the answer healing heals with time, however, people want results that’s why people want the results more than taking a long time to get what they want. By letting go you’re giving yourself the inner freedom to not hold onto the pain and emotional baggage anymore.

Moon in Capricorn, Moon in Scorpio, Moon in Aquarius, and Moon in Virgo or Moon in Gemini

People with placements in Capricorn, Scorpio, Aquarius, Virgo or Gemini are not emotional people. However, for people with Scorpio placements they are emotional except when sharing anything private they become closed off. Because of the fear of coming out vulnerable or being seen as weak. From my research, I learned that hiding your feelings doesn’t make you strong it actually makes you weak. Because the longer you repress and hide your feelings the chances they’ll resurface. When you openly express them in healthy ways through art, singing, or writing it becomes more clearer and easy to understand. I feel that it’s possible to live your life by freeing yourself from the emotional baggage you’re carrying. Healthy ways of expressing yourself is a great way to regulate your emotions, however it won’t replace professional help and therapy. You need help from professional to get the therapy you need.

Aquarius, Capricorn and Scorpio stellium

Stellium’s in astrology is when there’s 3 or more celestial bodies in one zodiac sign. For instance, moon, mercury, Venus, and mars on the eighth house in Aquarius. This means the person who have their stellium in Aquarius in the eighth house of secrecy and transformation ruled by Scorpio, Mars, and Pluto. Natives with stellium in Aquarius on the eighth house may appear cold hearted because they are private with not only themselves, yet their lives they don’t share too much of their life on social media especially media in general. They rather live a private life than a life where they share their life publicly.

Before I forget, currently in 2024 until 2044 Pluto will be in Aquarius until 2044 actually. To remind you all, take caution of sharing too much of your life on social media and media in general, when you over share your life on social media it’s a target for crime, harassment, bullying and other problems. Save yourself the trouble and stay safe. Because remember we are in the age of Aquarius and it’s associated with technology. The technology today is completely different from the past because technology in the ancient world were far more advanced than today.

Chiron in Scorpio, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Gemini.

People with these placements are rather private when sharing their feelings than their personal information. As humans we’re emotional creatures by nature, however we humans neglect them and turn to the dark side and shut everyone out some call them dark empaths the opposite of what an empath is actually. These types of people are private with their feelings because to be brutally honest no one understands better than ourselves. Because our souls speaks the truth when our soul is hurt or in pain we shut people out, and numb our feelings unless with proper and professional treatment from therapist.

The reason why suffering and evil exists. In my adulthood, as someone with Chiron in Scorpio on my first house I’ve learned that it’s because we humans commit bad deeds unconsciously and without awareness. I also learned something fascinating from Aaron Doughty when you learn Ho’oponopono the Hawaiian ancient technique of forgiveness the point of this technique is that you’re healing yourself from inside out because you’re clearing your aura, and forgive the people who were also hurt too. The phrases are, “I’m sorry, thank you, please forgive me, I love you” they are super powerful and it immensely helps with healing yourself and your aura.

Why am I mentioning a Hawaiian technique of forgiving? It’s because when we do something bad, evil or is suffering everything comes from the unconscious the parts of ourselves that are unaware. Remember the eyes are the windows to the soul? Our unconscious is responsible for our behaviors, deeds, and actions without awareness and with awareness we become who we are. Creation was born from source and source is the origin of consciousness. Without awareness we are just an empty void of nothingness.

That’s why self awareness, letting go and shadow work is the key to freeing yourself from the emotional baggage. And don’t forget to get help. It’s okay to heal because it’s human to feel you have the right to express yourself because it’s a part of who you are.

If you come this far thank you for reading. Stay updated for more posts from me.

[writingsbychlo]

DECK THE HALLS | DRACO MALFOY

SUMMARY: Narcissa has big plans for her son's girlfriend this time of year, and you're determined to live up to her expectations. WORD COUNT: 7680 NOTES: The first fic of this year's Christmas series, and I think you guys will really love it! It's cute, it's sweet, and it's just the right amount of sassy-Draco.

The moment you sank into the seat beside him, Draco pushed a cup of your favourite herbal tea across to you, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered a sleepy greeting. Opposite you, Mattheo was half-asleep above his bowl of cereal, his head tipping forward precariously — and a slight thrill shot through you at the idea of him dropping face-first into the milky bowl. 

“You’re evil for choosing a six am lecture, do you know that? And they think Matt’s father is the darkest wizard there is.” Daphne groaned as she shuffled into the kitchenette of your small, shared flat in her bunny-eared muggle slippers. Chancing a glance at Draco, you didn’t miss the disgraced twist to his lips as he eyed them. Just like always. 

“Nobody forced you to get up at this time, y’know.” You teased, blowing the steam away from your mug, and Mattheo’s head lulled forward just far enough to fall when the toast popped. He jerked his head back up, only inches from getting a face-full of milk and rice crispies, and you pouted in disappointment as he blinked himself back awake, and scooped some more into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “Why do you get up at this time every day?”

“Because Dray makes us all breakfast if we do!” Daphne chirped, adjusting far better to the early rise than your other roommate, who would be cranky until noon, even without face-planting his crackling snack. 

“Correction, I make my girlfriend breakfast, and you two just pilfer food that isn’t yours.” He snarked, buttering the toast, and kissing the top of your head a moment later as he placed it down in front of you. Moments later, a teapot, jam, a plate of only slightly too-crispy bacon and hashbrowns floated over too, laying themselves out on the table along with plates and cutlery. 

Since his insistence on moving into his own accommodation at the start of university, Draco had been practising his cooking skills. After setting off the fire alarms every day for the first two weeks and screaming every insult under the sun at the beeping box on the ceiling, he’d started to become quite adept at it. 

A harmony settled across the table as you all tucked into your food, only the scrape of butter on toast and the occasional squeak of metal on pottery sounded, the tea in your mug sinking dwindling as the clock on the wall ticked on. Finally, when it was time to leave, you floated all the dishes to the sink, and let Draco trail you to the door of your cramped apartment. Wrapping a thick scarf around your neck, he used it to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your lips when you grumbled;

“I have to go, Dray.”

“I know.” He mused, licking across your lower lip in that same way that always made your legs tremble a little. 

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your boyfriend teased, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you in close. Your hand, that had been reaching for your coat, somehow found itself tangling into those soft blonde strands instead. 

“I’m going to be late.” Your murmur was swallowed by his mouth closing over your own, a wider kiss, covering your mouth and you sagged into him. He was practically radiating smugness, the squeeze of his arms around you, the arrogance in his breathy chuckle. “Dray…”

“Mmmh?”

“I—”

A tapping at the window cut you off, and Draco pulled back with an indignant sound, whipping his head around to look at the window. He sighed with agitation, “Do you think my mother simply does not care that our apartment building is Muggle, or does she still think Muggles use carrier pigeons?” 

You smothered a laugh as he made his way over to the window, taking a little more effort to open it as ice frosted the seals closed, but when he finally did, the tawny brown owl acknowledged him with a rather irritated hoot. The moment Draco had taken the letter, it was stretching its wings, flapping again and taking off into the murky dawn light. 

Tugging on your coat as he closed the window back up and shuddered, you shouldered your bag. Upon seeing your progress towards leaving, and another morning of failing to hinder your departure, Draco pouted. His attention turned to the letter in his hands as you opened the front door. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“My mother, she sent the letter to you. Do you want me to leave it on your—”

“Give it here!” You squeaked, lunging for the letter, and letting the door fall back shut as you snatched it from his hands. Just like he said, elegantly scrawled across the front in Narcissa’s handwriting was your name, and a flush of nervous heat flooded your body. Suddenly, despite the ice and snow outside, you were wearing too many layers. 

“I thought you had to leave?”

“It’s a letter from your mother! I can’t leave this until later!” Turning it over and running a shaky finger under the seal with the Malfoy signet, you popped it open, the envelope falling open into a folded parchment with the same lovely handwriting contained inside.

Scanning your eyes over the words, seconds seemed to drag on into endless minutes, as you read it again and again. At last, you clutched the letter to your chest, peering up at your confused boyfriend with wide eyes. “So, what did she say?”

“She wants me to plan the annual Christmas Eve party this year.”

Your breathing was light and shallow as you sat inside the restaurant, smoothing down floo-rumpled hair that had taken Daphne almost an hour to style for you. Your dress was new, courtesy of a panicky shopping trip with Draco after insisting you had nothing appropriate to wear to eat dinner with his mother. Your lipstick was the perfect shade and you’d made sure your perfume was just on the right side of decorous, not the sultry date night scent you typically wore to places like this. 

And still, despite all your preparations, your hand trembled as you picked up your water glass and brought it to your lips. 

And then, the green flames at the front of the restaurant flashed once again, and out stepped Narcissa Malfoy. Sophistication incarnate, she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, one that made your own feel like a burlap sack. Several members of staff flooded to her side before she’d even finished stepping down from the line of fireplaces, and she smiled politely as she handed over her coat. Inquisitive gaze flicking over the room, that smile became genuine as she set her sights on you sitting at the table already, and she walked through the room like she owned it as she made her way to you. 

Standing as she approached, she let out a regal scoff —how she managed to make a scoff sound so posh was beyond you— and waved a hand in the air. “No need for formalities, dear. Sit, please.”

She kissed both of your cheeks, before pointing to your chair, and you sank into it as she settled into hers. “It’s so lovely to see you, Narcissa. I was surprised you wanted to see me, alone. Draco is—”

“Draco is probably pacing in that little apartment you both live in that he insists upon. Why he forces you to live there when he could have much nicer accommodations is beyond me.”

“It’s a nice apartment. We bought some lovely throw blankets.” Hiding your smile in your glass, your laugh at her expression bubbled your water, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you lowered it and patted at your lip. “I’m so sorry.”

The woman before you only chuckled privately and raised her hand to a waiter. The young man hurried over, cracking open a bottle of white wine without even having to be told, and Narcissa smiled at your confusion. “I have the same wine every time I come, this quaint little place is a favourite of mine. Did you know Lucius attended this same university when he was your age?”

You tried not to hang on the word quaint, thanking the waiter as he poured you a glass too, before hurrying from the table once again. Instead, you moved on to something else, “Which university did you attend, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t attend university, dear. In my day, a woman was never supposed to be more intelligent than her husband. Educated, of course, but not too smart.” A fond look passed over her features, “Though, Lucius has never seemed to mind. I have read enough to possess multiple degrees by now, he is not intimidated by my curiosity for knowledge. It is one of the reasons I love my husband. But, enough about me.”

Your breathing hitched as her eyes sharpened on you once again. She toyed with the bracelet on her wrist and plucked off a small charm. Placing it on the table, with a single muttered incantation, a gorgeous, pure-leather briefcase with her initials embedded on the side in gold, filled the available space. The clasps popped open, and she peered at you over the lid. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we, dear? We have much to discuss. You know what you’d like to eat, I presume?”

You did not, in fact, know what you wanted, but you nodded regardless, and picked the first thing from the menu that came to mind. When your order was given, Narcissa placed a delicate pair of reading glasses onto her nose and began to pull out papers and folders to stack beside her wine glass. 

“You shall host the Christmas Eve party this year, but despite it being loosely called a ‘party’, it is so much more. It is a social event, a business event, and one of the most desired gatherings of the year. It is exclusive, thousands of wizards globally vie for a spot on this guest list and most are disappointed year in and year out. It must be spectacular, splendid, and unique. Repeated themes are the death of any social event, as I’m sure you know.” Peering over the rim of her glasses at you, she raised a manicured eyebrow inquisitorially. “Are you taking notes?”

With a jump, you reached for your far less elegantly-stored bag on the back of your chair, and rooted through for your notebook and QuickQuill, setting it to work atop the table as she continued to speak. 

“I have brought my records for the last ten years, and a list of the themes dating back the last thirty, in order to help you. I have also included a copy of any and all documents I typically use, to help you out a little. Nobody helped me when I first began. Merlin, Lucius’ mother hated me until the wonderful day the old hag died, she wanted to see me fail. I do not want to see you fail.” She looked up as the scribbling of the quill on your paper stopped at her small rant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I, uhh, I—” You stumbled over your words, clearing your throat as she closed the briefcase and linked her hands, setting them upon the tabletop with poise as she waited, “I’m just wondering why?”

“Why?” She sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose and raising one brow into a high arch. “Why what?”

“Why you’re giving this to me? It’s an honour, truly, but I’m just wondering why you would put something so important, your family’s name, into my hands?”

At that, Narcissa’s lips turned up into a fond smile, and her head tipped to the side. “My son loves you.”

After a moment’s pause, you nodded, throat feeling thick. “He does.”

“I am happy for him. He adores you, as he should. You are a wonderful girl, my dear. I do not want you to have the harsh break into this world that I did. I thought I had been prepared to become a wife, I was an heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, but a union between the most noble House of Black and the most powerful House of Malfoy created something else entirely. You, you are clearly Draco’s one. The men in this family love wholly, powerfully, and obsessively. You will be a Malfoy one day, and I wish for you to be ready. I wish to guide you in a way nobody guided me.”

Words froze in your throat, and tears prickled behind your eyes are her words. “You really think that? You think Draco will marry me one day?”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t already thinking about it. He is, at the end of the day, still a high-society boy raised to find a suitable wife.” She left her statement short and succinct, and you sniffed lightly to hold back your feelings. “Do not cry.”

“Sorry, I—”

“I mean it. Do not start crying. We have work to do.” 

You nodded, but then she smiled fondly, and a small and emotional squeak escaped you.

The number of notes Narcissa had given you at dinner alone had required their own folder entirely to properly organise. So this morning, you’d braved yourself on a journey out in the ice and snow to a local stationary store to pick up two more. Surrounded by open folders, QuickQuills, and some coloured tabs and inky pens deemed highlighters that you’d noticed some Muggle girls picking up, you had set to work hours ago. 

Your neck ached, your back was sore, and two of your QuickQuills had broken while the notepad in your lap had more pages torn out in frustration than actually had useful ideas and notes. 

That, and Draco had been needy since the moment he’d gotten home, laying himself out dramatically on the floor in front of you and trading refills on your tea for kisses. Some time ago, he’d convinced you to take a break for dinner and to do your homework together at the table. 

Now, the sun had set, Mattheo had long since returned from his part-time job at the record store, and Daphne had come back from her weekend study group, gotten ready, and gone back out for a date, and you still felt like you hadn't quite done enough. If the stress of party planning didn’t kill you, it was certainly going to cripple you. 

Stretching your arms over your head from where you perched before the coffee table, you pushed your legs out into any space available. As you did, a relieved groan slipped free at the delicious pain of tight muscles unfurling in your back. Draco cupped your chin, tipping your head back to drop a kiss onto your lips as he passed by to go to the kitchen, leaving his book marked and closed on the side of the couch. 

You listened to him make another cup of tea, rubbing blurry eyes and attempting to focus once again. Just before you could re-enter the zone, tapping on glass broke your focus, and you heard Draco sigh. Cracking open a window, he retrieved whatever had been sent, feeding the bird a few treats before sending it on its way again and closing out the cold chill of the December night. 

He appeared moments later, his black and white Christmas-themed socks filling your peripherals. 

“Another letter for you, from my mother.” Draco drawled, passing the envelope to you as you glanced up from your folders. He waved it before your face, and you snatched it with a scowl, adding in a glare for emphasis when he only laughed. “You know, she writes to you more than she writes to me these days.”

“Yes, well, we complain to one another about the terrors of you Malfoy men and how we’re supposed to put up with you.” Your words were muttered amid distraction, skimming your gaze over the letter in your hands and frowning. “Word has already gotten out about this party, and now the Prophet wants to run an article on it.”

Your voice climbed higher and higher as you spoke, until your boyfriend winced at the shrill tone you had taken on. “I wouldn't worry too much about that.”

“Wouldn’t worry— it’s the party, Draco! And now the media wants a piece! If it’s a failure, the entire Wizarding World is going to know about it by eight the following morning!”

“More like six, if they hurry it though printing—”

“Draco!”

He rolled his eyes, flopping ungracefully down onto the couch and stretching his body long out on it. Holding his arms open, you collapsed into them with a whine, and he kissed your forehead as he wrapped you into a tight embrace. With the letter crumpled between you both, you pressed your face into his neck, taking in a deep breath of his cologne and letting it calm you slightly. 

“You’ll still love me even if I throw the worst party ever, right?”

“Yes, I’ll still love you!” He spoke through peels of sudden laughter, and the shake of his chest underneath you brought a smile to your face. Propping yourself up to peer down at him, he puckered his lips, a request for a kiss that you eagerly indulged. “And I meant it. This isn’t personal to you, this is just Skeeter trying to push a new weak point. I don’t even think she knows you’re the host yet, she does this every year. She tries to wrangle her way into an invitation through her job, and every year, my mother sneers at her letters and burns them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my love.” Rubbing his hands up and down your back, Draco leaned up to press another loving, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Now, can you please put those folders away for the night? We haven’t set up our Christmas tree yet, and you haven’t given me proper cuddles all day.”

“Just five more minutes?” You bargained, and his lips tightened with annoyance for a fraction of a second. 

“Only as long as it takes me to make two hot chocolates.”

“Deal.”

“Hi, baby.” You whispered, leaning against the doorframe. Draco peered up at you from over the top of his reading glasses, folding his book silently and placing it down on the bedside table. He laced his fingers together, resting his hands across his stomach, and waited. “Whatcha’ reading?” 

“A thousand and one ways to ruin your girlfriend’s Christmas party.” He deadpanned, and your smile fell, arms crossing over your chest. Straightening up and stepping into the room a little more, Draco smirked at the glare you gave him. 

“If you would just help me out a little—”

“You’ve yet to apologise for what you said earlier.” He crosses his ankles casually, lounging on the bed. 

“Yes, well, earlier was—”

“That’s not how apologies start.” Draco chastised, clicking his tongue. With a strangled sigh, and a slightly childish stomp of your foot, you caved. Ignoring the urge to ask him what he knew about good apologies, you instead made your way closer to the side of the bed. As you approached, he reached out, wrapping his arm around the backs of your legs and looking up at you, waiting. 

“I’m sorry for shouting at you and calling you a bad boyfriend when you messed with my sticky notes. It really wasn’t that deep.” Your words were begrudging, certainly holding an underlying bitterness to them that wasn’t hidden, but Draco grinned nonetheless. “I’m just really stressed out.”

“You’re putting too much thought into this, darling. You need to relax. It’s just a party.”

“It’s not just a party! Do you realise that these people will—” Will be our wedding guests one day? Will be the people who pass judgment on my suitability to be your wife someday? Will remember this social event for the rest of their lives? It all sounded too shallow to say out loud, but somehow, it still meant something to you. “Will be so disappointed if it’s not good.”

Your boyfriend’s brows furrowed, he knew there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t push. Instead, he wrapped his arms more securely around you, tugging you down onto the bed, and you squealed as he rolled you over, your back in the blankets and his lips closing over your own in a slow kiss. 

Your fingers laced into his hair, nails dragging over his scalp and he hummed happily, lips pressing more insistently into your own. Every tug and drag, every beat of his heart onto his chest pressed to yours, helped to settle the raging nerves that were sending tremors through your body. 

“I know you don’t think it, love, but it’s going to be fantastic. You needn’t be so worried.”

Smoothing your hands along his cheeks, you unhooked his glasses, folding them away with a sweet kiss to his nose. Putting them down on top of his forgotten book, you decided to try your luck one more time. “Does this mean you’ll help me? Because I could really use a second opinion on—”

“Nuh-uh. My mother entrusted you with this job. And I know why.” 

At your gasp, he smirked. “You do?”

“Of course, I do. This party is a tradition for generations of Malfoy women, so if you’re going to be a Malfoy woman, you’d better learn now.” At your scoff, he pressed a kiss to your lips, chuckling when you puckered and attempted to steal more. 

“If you don’t help me, then you’d better find a new future woman.”

“Shan’t. Can’t. I’ve already chosen you, and the men never party plan. We’re terrible at it. Just ask my mother about when my father suggested a Weasley-orange banner for—”

“Alright, alright!” Your arms flung around his neck, pulling him in for more kisses, and leaving the conversation behind. For a little while, you were perfectly willing to let Draco help you forget your stresses. 

“My darling, what are you doing?” Draco’s groggy voice split the silence of the room, and you blinked as you refocused on him. Pyjamas pants low on his hips and no shirt, a spattering of pale hair trailing down his lower stomach and disappearing into his waistband… Some absent part of your exhausted brain sparked with excitement at the sight of him. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“What? No, it’s not. I said I’d come to bed at—”

“At midnight?” Draco yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing at the clock with the other. True to his word, it was actually past two, and a sigh slipped out. 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm.” Draco shuffled across the room, standing behind you and running his fingers through your hair. “This is what we’re doing now? We’re staying up all night?”

“No, no. I’ll pack away and come to bed now.” Stacking up your papers, you turned to look up at him with a smile. “I did it.”

“You did it?”

“Yes. I have officially finished the whole of my planning stage. Now, I just have to… y’know, actually put everything together and pull it off and hope it’s a success and—” His brows raised, and you took a deep breath, remembering all the steadying words he’d muttered to you over the last few weeks. “I’ll just put all this away, and come to bed, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.” Draco promised, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

He padded away silently through the room, and as you scooped up a pile of papers, they slipped out of your sleep-trembling hands, spilling across the floor. “Oh, crap.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He grumbled, returning across the room and leaning down, smacking the papers out of your hands where you attempted to clear them up. Dipping down, he hooked an arm underneath your legs, lifting you swiftly up into the air and cradling you to his chest. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Sleep, now.”

An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but he was right, and the moment your cheek touched his shoulder and your eyes slipped closed, you knew it too. You were half asleep before he’d even reached the bedroom, dropping you both onto the mattress, still warm from his body, and cradling you to his chest. A sweet kiss and a deep rumble in your ear were the last things you recalled, before curling into his chest and falling asleep. 

Shaking out your hand, you whimpered a little at the pain taking over. “I’m going to end up with my hand locking in this shape.” 

Daphne glared at you from across the table, clearly still unhappy about the fact that two hours ago you’d managed to rope her into helping you with this job as well. Your eyes were blurring, your hand was cramping, and you were still only halfway through writing out the invitations. You’d put Daphne on folder organisation, her voice was hoarse from reading out addresses, and creating a filing system for RSVP’s and replies for your records. 

If you had to hear any more dietary requirements, special requests, or seating demands, you were going to lose your mind. Only a few more envelopes had been completed, joining the pile of ones still waiting to be sealed with wax and sent on their way, before a shooting pain shot up your arm as cramps set in. 

Dropping the quill in your hand and messing up the letter before you, you cursed at the smeared ink. Rubbing your palm and digging your thumb into the tense muscles, you conceded that now was most definitely the time to take a break. 

Swaggering into the room, Mattheo peered over at the mess that had become the shared kitchen table, his brows shooting up his forehead. “You two look busy.”

“I’m being held against my will,” Daphne muttered, tucking away the pages into the folder and beginning to pack away, despite your protests. 

“You want some help?” Mattheo offered, and your gaze snapped to him.

“Oh, Matty, that’s so sweet…” Your lips pressed together, wincing a little bit as he eyed all of the stationary and neatly-arranged piles on the table. “It’s just…”

“Your handwriting is shocking and your organisational skills are even worse.” Daphne put bluntly, and you hid a laugh at the sulky expression on his face, even if he knew it was true. “Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“Well, yes.” He spun to give you both his back as his cheeks flushed pink, opening and closing random drawers in an attempt to look busy. 

You gave an excited squeal as Daphne smirked at his bashfulness. “Is it with—”

“Yes!” He huffed, the tips of his ears now turning red too.

“You really like this girl, huh? You never see the same girl twice, and this is, what, your fourth date?” Your teasing made him relent, and he at last turned around. He was picking nervously at the sweater he must’ve bought just for this occasion, as you’d never seen it before. 

“Fifth, actually. We, uhh, bumped into each other last week after class and went for some impromptu coffee, and…” He scratched the back of his neck, a sweet smile taking over. “Do I look okay?”

“You look lovely, Mattheo.” Standing up, you fixed his collar for him, brushing off the shoulders of his sweater, and he preened into your touch. “Oh, wow, Daph. You have to come and see this. Is this… what I think it is?”

“What?” Mattheo panicked, turning his head to his shoulder as you rubbed the fabric between your fingers. Turning him around, he attempted to peer over his shoulder as you turned the inside of his collar out. “What is it?”

“It doesn’t say it on the label, but…”

“You know, I think you’re right,” Daphne said, feeling the fabric stretched across his shoulders. “No, no, it definitely is.”

“What? I don’t have time to change! My jumper is what?” Mattheo gasped anxiously.

“Boyfriend material.” You said, very seriously, and it took a moment for the fear to melt out of his eyes and be replaced by annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Mattheo pushed you both away from him, scowling as your laughter filled the room, and the pair of you made your way back over to the table. “You two are the worst.”

“You love us.”

“I don’t know why.” He mumbled, glancing at the clock, even as his cheeks stretched into a smile. “I have to go soon. But how about I make you both a snack before I do? I can at least make a good sandwich.”

“That’s… everything.” You mumble, staring in awe at the two —almost three, filled folders of notes, invitations, floor plans and more. “I can’t believe that’s it.”

“It is?” Draco asked, through a mouthful of fried rice as he fixated on the screen. Since Mattheo’s introduction of a Muggle television into the flat, Draco had been hooked on a ‘sitcom’ a half-blood in one of his classes had introduced him to. He had written to Theo three times this week alone to update him on ‘Ross and Rachel’. Theo had given up replying last week.

“Yes. Everything, it’s all done.”

“Mhm.”

“Draco!” You snapped, and he paused the show, wide eyes moving to you as he stared innocently. “I’m done.”

It took him a moment to process before his face split into a wide grin. “You finished the party planning?”

“I did!” He put down his container of food as you dove across the couch to cup his cheeks, smacking giggly kisses onto his mouth as you took him down into the cushions with you. Large hands gripped your waist, a smile on his face as he chuckled by your ear.

“So, does this mean I get my girlfriend back, at last?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You rolled your eyes through a smile, flattening yourself out against him on the couch, content to melt into his body as he pressed play on the show. He picked up a new box, hand-feeding you dumplings in turns as the episode played on, and you chuckled between jokes and comedic pauses as you finally allowed yourself to unwind. 

“Don’t you think Pansy is just like Monica?” Draco asked after a while, wincing as you screeched a laugh beside his ear at the impromptu comparison. “The need to control, that inherently irritating early-morning mentality, looking shockingly good in red—”

You pinched his side, just over his ribs, and he yelped but did not continue comparing how good other women looked in red. After a second or two of deliberation, you added, “Tom is Ross.”

“What? No. Tom is Chandler! Tom is smart and ridiculously awkward and incapable of talking to women!” Draco argued, and you sat up in his lap, shaking your head. 

“No! No. Tom is Ross, the complete obsession with one specific thing and also being a massive control freak, plus, the commitment! He was adorably committed to Carol, and Rachel, bar that whole cheating moment—”

“They were on a break—” You pressed your finger over Draco’s lips to silence him. 

“Anyway, I can totally see Tom accidentally getting someone knocked up, and also, you have to save Joey and Chandler for Theo and Matty!”

Draco mulled it over, “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

He pulled you back down onto his chest, and you snuggled in. Between the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the dulled tones of the easy-going TV show to send you off into a hazy place, with Draco’s fingers smoothing up and down your back. 

“You look perfect.” You smiled, hands clasped under your chin as you looked at Draco in his newly fitted dress robes. This was the first time he was seeing them, the look on his face unreadable as he took in the design, fit and patterns, but you thought it was just right. “Do you like it?”

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again, straightening out the sleeves and buttoning the rather modern front, tucking one hand into a pocket. At last, he turned to you and smiled. “Well, it’s nothing like what my mother normally makes me wear, but I love it. Are you finally going to tell me the theme?”

“No! You said you didn’t want to give any opinions, so now, it’s a surprise! Nobody knows, except me!” Smoothing your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you admired the pretty picture he painted before you, even in the dim light of your bedroom so late at night. “I have a couple of handkerchief options for your pocket, and I was thinking we could pin a sprig of holly onto your—”

Your words died in your throat in a sudden rush as a thought crossed your mind, and Draco waited, brow furrowing the longer you remained silent. “What’s wrong, you don’t like it?”

“I forgot a dress.” You whispered to yourself, shock draining from your body as realisation set in. “I got so caught up with everything else that I never ordered a dress! It’s next week, Draco! How am I supposed to find something by then, between classes and—”

“You’re okay.”

“No, this is so not okay!”

“Darling, breathe.” Draco cupped your face, kissing your lips quietly, “I have something for you.”

Opening up the wardrobe dedicated to his clothes, Draco pulled out a garment bag. Embroidered on the front in sparkling gold was the name of his family tailor, and he hooked it onto the front of the door. Unzipping it slowly, beautiful waves of green silk and jewels filled your vision, a sparkling corset and a flowing skirt that spilled out of the bag the moment it was open. 

“I noticed a few days ago that you’d ordered me new robes, but not a dress for yourself. I asked my mother and Daphne, and you hadn't planned anything with either of them. So, I ordered you something.”

“Oh, Dray…” You whispered, stepping closer to admire the dress. Your fingers hovered just over the top of it, and Draco carefully lifted it out, laying it over his arm for you to better admire. “It’s perfect. How in Merlin’s name did you know?”

“Well, red, green and gold were some of the specified colours on the invitations, and I knew damn well you weren’t going to dare dress me in red, so green it was. Plus, I mentioned to my tailor that I needed a dress for you that matched whatever secret outfit you had planned for me.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, and your cheeks flushed as you looked between him and the dress. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good, because I already picked up some jewellery for you too.” You quirked a brow, smirking at him as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t have you pulling the same nonsense you did last year, so I fetched a couple of items from the vault.”

“Can I see?”

“No. It’s a surprise. Unless, of course, there’s anything you want to tell me?” He bargained, and your jaw dropped at his audacity, shaking your head. 

“I love you?”

“Hm. No. But I love you too.” Kissing the tip of your nose, he held the dress up for you. “Try this on, I want to see you in it, and see us both side by side.” 

Taking it from his hands, the soft material slipped through your fingers and floated like clouds as you held it up. “Draco, I…”

Words died in your throat, unable to properly convey just how much this meant to you. Despite his refusal to get involved with the ridiculously stressful planning of the party, Draco had made sure to dote on you and take care of you all the way through. He seemed to see right through you, his expression softening as he leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “Hey. You take care of everyone else, and I’ll take care of you.”

Straightening out Draco’s collar for the eighth time, you huffed anxiously when he batted away your hands. “Darling, my robes are fine. Tug on them anymore and you’re going to crease them.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”

“Don’t be. You planned a perfect party, and you worked so hard. Let yourself enjoy it now.” Draco took both of your hands in his as he chuckled, kissing your knuckles as you conceded to his point. He was right, this ridiculous batch of nerves was far more out of a need to impress his mother than it was to impress anyone else on that invitation list, but you couldn't shake the buzz of trepidation in your veins. “Let me distract you.”

“Distract me?”

“Yes. Let me distract you.” Draco grinned, tipping your chin up with a finger underneath your jaw, and dipping his head down. His lips encased your own, a soft sound of pleasure bubbling from inside you as the taste of mint and lingering wine from his drinks with Theo spread to your tongue. Two large hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your lower back. He tugged you closer to him again, until you were crushed to his chest, no doubt wrinkling his robes, as your arms looped around his neck. 

With every crush of his mouth against your own, your worries slipped further from you, letting the proximity and adoration of your boyfriend settle the unease brewing within you. Something cold brushed against your collarbones, the dipped neckline of the dress Draco had chosen for you showed goosebumps in its wake, and you pulled back with a gasp at a tug on your earlobe. 

You raised your hand, a simple but elegant charmed bracelet was wrapping itself around your wrist, as your fingers brushed your sternum to feel the pendant of a necklace perfectly setting itself on your chest. In your ears, a string of diamonds now swung lightly from each one, completing your look at last. 

“Perfect. Now you’re properly adorned, as Malfoy woman should be.”

“Don’t tell me this necklace is your family crest like a brand.” You teased, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger, but only the precise cuts of a perfectly-carved gem were felt beneath your finger pads, not a name or brand to be found. 

“Well, I was tempted, but no. I went a little subtler, instead, I chose a very recognisable piece from the Malfoy public collections.”

His smirk made a flush rush to your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to address it before one of the Manor’s house elves popped into the empty space before you, curling a finger around its ear as it bobbed excitedly where it stood. “Misses first guests be arriving, the floo has been opened and the guest’s carriages be coming through the gates. Does miss or sirs be needing anything else, or should Fip be starting pouring the drinks?”

“Pouring drinks would be excellent, thank you, Fip.” Draco murmured, sending the elf away with one final pat on your back as he stepped away, Draco smoothed a hand down the front of his robes. With the mere wave of a hand, the large wooden doors separating you both from the grand hall began to creak open, and Draco offered you an arm. “Shall we greet our guests, my love? I’m rather excited to see your party theme at last.”

You slid your arm through his, taking one more bracing deep breath, before at last turning to see the culmination of all your hard work. 

As the doors parted further, you were left breathless at the sight of the room before you. It had been transformed, from something you’d seen so many times before in so many luxurious visions, to the dream of your own making. The enchanted ceiling was that of swirling clouds and a dark, starry sky. Snow that could pass for real floated around the outside of the room in glittering flakes that disappeared into thin air before touching the floor, creating a wintery setting that was countered by the cosy and warm feel of the crackling fireplaces around the room. 

Floating around the dance floor were sparkling, swirling lights that would bob and weave between the guests, keeping the lighting low and romantic as candles flickered on the tables and gave the room a wonderfully golden glow. Tablecloths brushing the floors, centrepieces made of golden flowers, wreaths and holly berries. Snow-touched Christmas trees, twinkling lights and ornaments, red ribbons, green silk, accents of gold and silver, and it all came together so perfectly. Draco walked you slowly towards the centre of the room as he took it all in, his jaw dropped as he peered around the room. 

“Well, we’ve certainly never had anything like this before.” He whispered. “It feels so… cosy.”

“Do you think they’ll—”

‘Who cares what they think? Do you like it?” Draco pressed, cutting you off as the two of you stood squarely in the centre of the room, the spelled instruments in the corner starting to play classical versions of your favourite Christmas songs, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Are you happy with it, my darling?”

“I love it.” You finally relented, pressing your lips together to quash nerves and choosing instead to revel in your masterpiece. “I wanted to tap into that old-fashioned, classical, comforting Christmas. I wanted to make my mark, I wanted something beautiful but simple, I wanted it to feel like an intimate gathering, not a social event.”

The doors at the other end of the hall opened slowly, voices from the other side filtering through, and your attention turned to that of your friends and their families. Theo whistled under his breath as he looked around, stopping abruptly at his father’s command, and he rolled his eyes when the older man wasn’t looking. Across the room, he caught your gaze, and gave an approving nod and a smirk. Pansy’s lips were curled into a smile as Daphne’s jaw dropped, admiring the enchanted sky-scene with her sister. 

You moved to greet them, accepting their approval and using the warmth their comfort offered to soothe the jagged feelings inside of you and put them to rest. 

The more the crowds piled in, the better you felt, slipping into polite chatter and breezy small talk as you greeted each guest to pass through. The drinks were flowing, the music was playing, and most of all, people were smiling. You’d only heard compliments, no whispered talk under anyone's breath of backhanded compliments, only genuine kindness. 

By the time Narcissa and Lucius came gliding into the hall, you’d almost been reassured enough to let your guard down. However, as the regal older lady greeted all her old friends and favoured guests on her way to you, the nerves all seemed to reappear. 

By the time she reached you, her hands had extended out and clutched your own as she smiled. “My, my, dear. What a party you threw, and to think you’ve been so worried. You had no need to be.”

Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. “I-I wouldn't say worried, just a little concerned, that’s all—”

“Please, let us not hide things from one another. Draco has been writing to me, he told me you were panicking like a, what was that odd Muggle term you used, like a headless chicken?” Her nose wrinkled as you blushed, and Lucius rolled his eyes. Your glare turned to Draco, who only shrugged and sipped his drink, feigning innocence. “This is a marvellous party, I hope you’re proud of it.”

“I am. It was exhausting, though. I don’t know how you do it.” You sighed, and she smirked as she squeezed your hands before letting go. 

“Did it.”

“Hm?” You questioned, and her shoulders rose and fell delicately. 

“Oh, you did such a fantastic job here. You’re all anyone is talking about, and truly, I am so tired of planning these events. I think it’s due time you take over them now. The next one is February, I’ll be sure to send you all of the details.” Your jaw dropped open at her words and Draco choked a little on his champagne. His father scowled, poking him in the ribs with his cane and telling him to stop slouching and spluttering, as you tried to find words. 

“Oh, I’m not sure that—”

“Lucius, dear, I think I see Tauria Parkinson. Come, I must ask her about her gardens.” 

“Yes, dear.” He mumbled quietly, and she had whisked her husband away before you’d even finished your sentence and turned to Draco. With your jaw still dropped in horror and shock, he covered his snicker behind his hand. 

“I can’t believe this.”

“What? She’s right. You planned a great party, and you were going to have to take over all of this one day anyway—”

“Draco!”

“Yes, dear?” He drawled, and you smacked lightly at his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re a menace. I hope you know that you will be helping with party planning. If we’re to proceed down this road, we’ll be a modern couple. None of your old-fashioned ways.” You scoffed, taking his drink from his hand and swirling the bubbly inside, before drinking the rest in a single gulp.

“None of them?” He pressed, an arm snaking around your waist as his lips brushed your neck. His lips moved to your neck, whispering some sweet, some slightly inappropriate things into your ear about honeymoon traditions, drawing a laugh from you. 

“Alright, maybe a few.” You caved, tipping your head up to him just in time to catch the growing sprig of mistletoe over your head. Snaking one hand around to cup the back of his neck, you pulled his lips down to yours, brushing your mouths together lovingly. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

[whump-galaxy]

Alright, so in another bad dream, it started pretty normal.

I was driving with my aunt to my school. We got stopped by a light, and to my left there were 2 other cars stopped in the median. Maybe a crash? In the middle, there was a man yelling, waving a weapon around. He walked up the window of one of the other vehicles and started screaming, yelling, waving his arms around at them.

Then he turned to look at me, and started storming over. I tried to push the gas but the car wouldn’t go anywhere. When I turned back, he was already at the window. He broke it with the butt of his weapon, glass shattering into my face and lap. He then pointed the gun in my face and started saying something. I couldn’t make it out, I was absolutely frozen and terrified he’d hurt my aunt.

Then I sort of…woke up in the dream? I was in a new location. In a house I’d never been in before. I was sitting near the door with my hands and legs bound.

The same man walked in, but he walked right past me. He knew I was there, but he didn’t need to acknowledge me. I could feel how heavy his boots were as he walked by. How they shook the glassware on the table.

Luckily I could get my hands free, and untied my legs. He was right in the other room, a kitchen I think, so I had to be careful about my escape. I knew I couldn’t outrun him.

So I took my chance when he had his back turned. I ran out the door. It was overcast and there were plenty of trees canopying the neighborhood. A neighborhood I still do not recognize, except for the Spanish moss hanging from the trees.

It had been drizzling, and the mud tried to slow me with every step. I weaved around houses and through yards, just hoping to find one house that I could get to with enough time to call for help.

But I looked back.

He was following me.

Not just following me.

Olympic level sprinting at me. I couldn’t see his face twisted in anger.

In terror I tried to find somewhere to hide, but I knew I couldn’t outrun him. I knew there was no real hiding spot now.

There was a large mound of dirt by someone’s house. I thought if I could climb it and shout for help, maybe someone would come. Maybe I could trick him into following me up and give me some time to run away.

But when I got to the other side of the mound he was on me. He grabbed me and held me. It was like an inescapable hug. His grip was tight but not painful. Like we both knew I couldn’t escape, so he didn’t need to crush me.

I tried wriggling and crying, saying I was sorry, I wouldn’t tell anyone, I would do anything for him to let me go.

And that’s where that dream ended.

Another, shorter dream:

I was kidnapped by a guy and held in his apartment.

He punched out a mirror and grabbed a shard of glass and sat in front of me.

He had a box of sharp things in front of me, and I was chained to a wall. He smiled, happily playing with the shard of glass. I’d been crying and knew he was going to kill me, or at least torture me to death.

He put down the glass, and said something I can’t remember. He picked up a pair of scissors instead and held them to my neck.

Then he started cutting my neck open. Not just slicing, actually using the cutting motion of the scissors to cut my neck open.

I woke up from that one with my neck feeling funny, but I don’t know what caused it irl.

I have more, and some slightly less traumatizing but nonetheless harrowing dreams. I also have good dreams, but they’re usually a bit less interesting. Usually about food and family.

Then I have the weirdly anxiety inducing recurring dream about having too many chinchillas.

I like having these dreams put to better use than just sitting in my mind, giving me anxiety.

Had a terrible dream where I was stalked and attacked several times by this person. It’s not the first time I’ve had dreams like this. I get bad dreams, nightmares, and sleep paralysis from overheating or sleeping at the wrong angle. This time just felt weirdly personal.

I was trying to protect someone else, a girl younger than me. I knew the stalker was after me, but I still didn’t want her in harms way. A few times we outsmarted him, but when I thought she was safe, the stalker basically held her captive till he knew I was there.

I went to find her and he started chasing me. He tackled me to the ground in the street and beat me with golf clubs and a mallet and something sharp. I protected my face and tried to grab at his weapons to stop him. I managed to hit him back. Maybe I killed him with his own weapon. I don’t know.

Afterward, he was being investigated and they found a lot of evidence of his obsession with me. It wasn’t romantic or anything, he just kept following me and drawing pictures. Pages after pages. I flipped through his journals. Boxes upon boxes of brown paper sketches. Some were graphic and brutal and others were just…me.

That’s when I got woken up, so I guess that’s over.

I get a lot of bad dreams, but this was one of the worst. For now.

[ikram1909]

Gavi apologized to fans because he couldn't take more photos because the light was green 😭❤️