#just think for a moment about where i grew up for that to be the case

[xhyjin]

thinking about nanami kento! (when am i not) with a s/o that is socially awkward/shy

he knew from the start that you were distant. during work parties, you never showed up, only clocking in to work and leaving once your duties were done, never lingering to chat or mingle. the rare times you did attend, you stayed in the corners, quietly observing with wide, nervous eyes and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. he couldn’t help but be intrigued, and one day, curiosity got the better of him. he approached you. your words stuttered, your face burned red, but there was something about the way you responded that made him instantly drawn to you. from that moment, you became his reason to look forward to work every day.

he began to notice the little things about you. how you stayed tucked away in your cubicle, only speaking to coworkers when necessary. how you spent your lunch breaks alone, either watching a show on your phone or quietly eating, lost in your own thoughts. and how, at the end of the day, he’d sometimes catch you smiling to yourself in the elevator, as though you’d found happiness in the smallest of things. it fascinated him how content you seemed in your own world, and after weeks of silently admiring you, he finally decided to approach you properly.

but he was careful—patient. he knew you were shy and reserved, so he didn’t want to overwhelm you. he started small, spending lunch breaks with you. at first, the silence between you both was awkward, though not unwelcome. you blushed furiously at the attention but didn’t push him away. instead, you quietly shared bits of your lunch with him, a subtle gesture that said, i’m glad you’re here. he knew you struggled with words, so he didn’t press. instead, he let his presence speak for itself, slowly building a bridge of comfort between the two of you.

when kento finally worked up the courage to ask you out, making it clear that this wasn’t just work-related but a date; you could hardly believe it. your eyes widened, and then you nodded eagerly, your happiness shining through. his heart swelled at your reaction. he had planned a simple outing, maybe a cafe, but seeing your excitement, he wanted to make it special. he made reservations at a nice restaurant, ensuring you’d have a secluded spot to enjoy your time without pressure.

the date started just as he expected. you were quiet, your voice barely above a whisper when you responded to him, sticking mostly to “yes” or “no” answers. but kento was nothing if not patient. he asked small, simple questions, easing you into a conversation, and when he mentioned something you loved, your entire demeanor changed. your eyes lit up, your voice grew stronger, and you started talking more, rambling on about your interests. you didn’t even realize how much you’d been speaking until the waitress interrupted to take your order. your face turned crimson as you sulked in embarrassment, worried you’d talked too much. but when you glanced at kento, his gaze was soft, a gentle smile on his lips, he looked utterly captivated.

ordering was its own challenge. you felt embarrassed, too shy to tell the waitress what you wanted. kento noticed your hesitation and, with a subtle nudge of his foot under the table, gave you something to focus on. you nudged him back, and it was enough to calm your nerves, allowing you to place your order. he was thoughtful like that, always finding quiet ways to make you feel at ease.

by the end of the date, you’d grown comfortable enough to start asking him questions. the two of you talked for so long that you didn’t notice the restaurant had emptied. when you finally left, the night felt far from over. kento drove you to the beach, where the two of you walked hand in hand along the shore. the sound of the waves filled the comfortable silence between you, and when you stopped to look at the moonlight reflecting on the water, he turned to you and asked, “may i kiss you?”

your heart raced, but you nodded, and when he kissed you, it was as if you were something fragile, precious. he didn’t want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, but under the glow of the moon, he couldn’t resist the beauty of the moment—or of you.

after that, the two of you continued to grow closer, going on more dates and eventually making it official. over time, you began to come out of your shell, though you still retained your social awkwardness. kento loved every part of you, from the way you stumbled over your words to the way you blushed under his gaze. to him, you were perfect exactly as you were, and he made sure you always knew it.

[the-modern-typewriter]

The villain, who doesn't typically celebrate much anything gets invited to an event (holiday, gala, birthday, etc) by hero with no strings attached.

This is a Secret Santa snippet gift @snowshowerwriting 😊 Have a great one! I hope you enjoy.

---

“…And I was just wondering if, maybe, if you’re not too busy, you’d want to go with me?”

The villain stared at the hero for a long moment, watching the colour slowly creep up the hero’s cheeks and all the way up to the tips of their ears.

Snow begin to drift and eddy lazily on the empty rooftop around them.

“Only if you want to,” the hero said. “Sorry. You’re probably too busy, what with being…you. Forget I asked! It’s not a big deal or anything I just—”

“—You want me to go to the peace ball with you.”

“Only if you want to!”

“Why?”

The villain could think of a dozen reasons why, but none of them exactly fitted with their impression of the hero in front of them.

The annual peace ball was a tinsel-strewn, glittering festive affair designed to promote good will across the city by forcing all heroes and villains to join together in a night of absolute truce. No fighting. So help anyone who tried scheming, though of course everyone still did. Good will to all super-powered men, women and others on earth!

The villain had been invited before, in the first few years that the ball was hosted, by a few of the boldest players on either side of the roster. They’d always said no. Never mind that they’d never been much one for making a big deal out of arbitrary times of year. The hero in front of them was not a particularly bold creature, though, heroics aside. Nor were they the sort to want to make some kind of statement.

The hero was bafflingly genuine. Too true to themselves to be of much use in politics, and too powerful for most to want to risk taking a run at them. Powerful enough, certainly, that they didn’t need the villain’s protection or the implication of an alliance between them. Good enough, surely, that the villain struggled to envision a scenario where the hero tried to enlist them over mince pies.

Indeed, as far as the villain could tell, the hero had absolutely nothing to gain by having the villain on their arm.

The hero’s head tilted at the question. “Because I think it would be nice?”

“I’m not nice.”

“Well, no. But it would be nice to spend more time with you. But only—”

“—Only if I want to,” the villain finished.

The hero’s blush deepened. It was possibly one of the most adorable things that the villain had ever seen. Still, the hero stood their ground and waited for an answer, arms folded grumpily against their own overly expressive face.

“Yeah,” the villain said, smothering a smile. “Okay. Sounds…nice.” They kept their voice light. Casual. Their heart hammered in their chest, giving an almost painful squeeze at the bright grin that shamelessly crossed the hero’s face.

“Yeah?” The hero raised their eyebrows. “Nice.”

The villain snorted.

The hero’s grin grew, delighted. “I’ll pick you up at seven? Unless you’d rather meet there?”

“Seven is fine, but I’ll come get you. What address works?”

They made the arrangements, the hero practically fizzing, like they really were looking forward to a night with the villain at their side. No strings attached. It was…well. It was really was so damn nice. There was a rare, warm feeling buzzing in the villain’s chest.

Still.

“You do know you’re going to get hell for turning up with me, don’t you?” the villain asked. “Whatever your reasons.”

“Mm.” The hero made a show of thinking. “I fought a literal mutated snowman last week, but you know what really scares me? Other people’s dumb opinions at the Christmas party.”

The villain found themselves laughing.

“Honestly,” the hero said. “I don’t know how we’ll survive.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You could get hell for turning up with me. Whatever your reasons.”

“It’s cute that you think anyone other than you dares to give me hell about anything.”

“I could be a terrible, hellish date.”

“Oh yeah?” The villain took a step forward, before they could stop themselves. A belated lightbulb flicked on inside their head. “Is that what you are then? My date?”

“I mean—" The hero’s eyes widened. They floundered. They bit their lip, drawing the villain’s attention immediately, and parties were lame but that mouth was absolutely not. “Only if you want me to be!” the hero said. “We can just go as friends. Long suffering colleagues. I’m not trying to—”

“Oh, no. You’re my date, darling. No taking that back.”

“Oh, thank god.”

That time, the villain utterly failed at smothering a smile.

“Oh, crap. I mean—” The hero scrambled for a more eloquent, less relieved, cooler response. They came up endearingly blank.

“Nice?” the villain offered.

The hero narrowed their eyes, playful. “You’re mocking me. Rude.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date.”

“No?”

“It wouldn’t be very festive of me.”

“Oh, yes. Because you’re such a big fan of festivity and seasonal celebrations.”

The villain blinked, mostly out of surprise that the hero had been paying enough attention to even notice that. Maybe they shouldn’t have been surprised all things considered. The hero was smarter than they let on. “And yet,” they said, “you invited me to a seasonal celebration.”

“Well.” The hero shrugged, mostly managing careless that time. “Limited opportunities to take you out anywhere else. I think people might panic if I just turned up with you for a dinner.”

“We’d be served very quickly. I do tend to clear our restaurants with my presence.”

The hero snorted.

“So what does one do at a peace ball?” the villain asked, voice a murmur.

“There’s food. Drink.” The hero recovered themselves, reaching out and taking the villain’s hand, drawing them a few steps closer, leaving footprints in the snow beginning to coat the roof. Their voice softened too. Liquid caramel. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“You done much of that before?”

“You might have to teach me.”

“Well, we start by you wrapping your arms around me like this…”

The villain might have shivered. The hero might have grinned, humming a made-up tune beneath their breath as they swayed together.

The weeks until the ball flew by.

***

People did stare when the two of them walked in. The villain chose to believe it was because the hero looked absolutely gorgeous, despite their dubious choice of wearing a festive jumper to what was clearly supposed to be a black tie event. The jumper was red and said ‘yule can do it friend’.

Maybe the hero was bold, in their way. The villain definitely thought, in the last few weeks, that they’d underestimated their sometimes-enemy.

There were a lot of people crowded into the city hall venue. Pretty much everyone. The villain abruptly missed their usual peaceful night of strolling around the city, relishing the way that the streets emptied as everyone bundled away to wherever their festivities were.

No panic. No screaming or nervous looks. No chance of some would-be-hero showing up demanding what the hell they were doing.

The hero set a steadying hand on the small of their back, studying their face, and their easy read of the villain’s emotions should have been alarming. It was alarming. It was also…

“You good? Do you want to go and grab a drink?” the hero asked. “What can I get you?”

“I don’t drink in public.”

“They have hot apple juice and hot cocoa too. Some fancy mocktails.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not joining you on the champagne?”

“Why would I?”

Some people, the villain thought privately, minded. They had specific ideas on what a party was supposed to be like and felt judged should the villain deviate from that pre-determined idea. The hero led them through the party, expertly weaving people.

“So?” the hero waggled their eyebrows. “What will it be?”

The villain retreated from the stand with an alcohol-free glass of sparkling. Easy to blend in, even if the taste was nothing special. The two of them watched the room for a while, trying out the various different canapes in the buffet, chatting.

It felt better with the hero at their side. They so obviously knew what they were doing at a party, smoothly carrying conversation with anyone who came over, but not in a way that made it seem like they were schmoozing. It didn’t make the villain’s skin crawl. The hero mainly got excited about and asked for pictures of everyone’s pets. Whenever anyone tried to comment on the fact that the two of them were there together, the hero said cheerily that it was “nice, wasn’t it?”

They’d catch each other’s eyes as whoever it was left. An inside joke. It had been a long time since the villain had been in on an inside joke. With the hero, it was a little thrilling.

Of course, as the evening wore on, there was dancing.

The movements were familiar, after all of the hero’s ‘lessons’ in the lead up to the ball. It made it easy to ignore the rest of the room, and the gaudy tree, and the awkward feeling that they might destroy their reputation for the sake of a party. The hero didn’t care about their reputation, did they? They just did what they wanted to.

“So,” the villain said. “What else does one do on a date?”

The hero’s eyes lit up, better than any fairy-light or candle. They stroked their fingers along the nape of the villain’s neck. The music took the opportunity to change to something slow and intimate, inviting everyone to press a little closer. It should have annoyed the villain, but with the hero in their arms, grinning at them, it couldn’t possibly.

“Well,” the hero made a show of considering. “There’s hand-holding.”

“Indeed.” Their fingers wrapped around each other as they moved.

“And kissing.”

“Ah, kissing,” the villain said. Their gaze dipped, inevitably, to that mouth worth going to parties for. “You might have to teach me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve kissed before,” the hero said, amused. “But I’m always happy to provide a refresher.”

“Part of being a good, heroic citizen I imagine. Helping out the needy.”

“Needy, are you?”

The villain opened their mouth. They registered what they said.

“You’re blushing,” the hero said.

“It’s rude to point it out and mock your date.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date,” the hero said. Then, finally, the hero leaned in to kiss them. Sweet, honeyed, and the warm thing in the villain's chest glowed. They dragged the hero closer, wanting more, more, more. The hero laughed with breathless pleasure and nipped at their lips.

The next year, the villain vowed right then, they were taking their hero somewhere private.

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #8— HE’S MINE! / mattheo riddle

december 23rd

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: it seems to be a little hard to get into the christmas spirit when your little sister is hogging your boyfriend!

warnings: fluff, established relationship

words: 1.4k

a/n: i love this one tbh :)

navigation ficmas masterlist

It had been your idea to bring Mattheo home for Christmas. Of course it had. You’d argued for it, certain your parents wouldn’t mind—and they didn’t. In fact, they’d been surprisingly enthusiastic about it. They liked Mattheo, for one, and they knew enough about his home life—or lack thereof—to see why he might need an escape for the holidays. Besides, the thought of leaving him behind in that cold, empty manor while you went off to bake cookies and trim trees with your family felt unbearable.  

What you hadn’t planned for was your little sister.  

The moment she saw Mattheo, her eyes went wide, her lips parted in a tiny gasp, and for once, she didn’t have a single smart remark. You’d expected her usual groaning protest of Ew, boys are gross or Whatever, he’s probably boring. But instead, she just stood there staring up at him, as though he were some sort of fairy tale prince who’d stepped straight out of one of her bedtime stories.  

“Hey,” Mattheo had said gently, crouching down to her level. He had that rare, soft smile on his face—the one he reserved only for you, and apparently now, six-year-old girls. “You must be the famous little sister. I’ve heard all about you.”  

Her face had turned scarlet, and she’d ducked behind your leg, clutching your jeans for dear life. You’d raised an eyebrow at Mattheo, trying to stifle a laugh. Well, this is new. 

From then on, it was as though she’d claimed him. Every time you turned around, there she was, dragging him off for some new adventure. At first, it was cute. Endearing, even. She’d taken him by the hand to show him the ornaments she’d made for the tree, chattering on about how she’d painted the reindeer one herself. He’d listened patiently, nodding and smiling as though her ramblings were the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.  

But then it escalated.  

By the second day, you found them at her little pink tea table, tiny porcelain cups in hand. Mattheo’s long legs were awkwardly folded beneath him as he pretended to sip imaginary tea. You’d leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting your lip to keep from laughing.  

“Really?” you’d asked, grinning. “A tea party?”  

“She made me a very convincing argument,” Mattheo replied, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Also, I think this is her way of letting me know who’s in charge here.”  

You’d laughed then, shaking your head, but something about the way your sister beamed up at him had made you pause.  

It wasn’t long before her demands grew bolder. She’d roped him into baking cookies—flour dusted all over his dark jumper—and insisted he give her a piggyback ride around the house. And though Mattheo obliged her every request with good-natured patience, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

Because every time you tried to steal a moment alone with him, she was already there, wedged firmly between the two of you.  

On the third day, you figured maybe it was time to steal back your boyfriend.

“Where is he?” you muttered, stalking through the house. The smell of gingerbread lingered in the air, and somewhere, you could hear your sister’s giggles echoing down the hall.  

You found them in the living room. She was perched on Mattheo’s back, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he crawled on all fours, pretending to be a dragon.  

“Really?” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the doorway.  

Mattheo glanced up at you, his curls falling into his eyes. He was grinning. “What?”  

“She’s hogging you,” you said, your voice teetering on the edge of a whine.  

“She’s six,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “You jealous of a six-year-old?”  

“What? No, I just– you know what? You two have fun, I’m gonna go help my mom with wrapping.”

And by the fourth day, you’d had enough.  

You didn’t know whether to scoff or to smile as you watched Mattheo from the doorway of the kitchen. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his dark shirt as he helped your little sister roll out sugar cookie dough. His hands were comically large compared to hers, yet he moved with such careful precision, as if afraid to crush her tiny fingers by accident.

Your sister giggled, a sound that echoed through the space like a bell, and your chest tightened at how easily Mattheo coaxed that sound from her. It was endearing—no, more than endearing. It was heartwarming. But also…infuriating.

You stepped into the room, leaning against the counter as you folded your arms. “How’s it going in here?”

Mattheo glanced up at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s going great. We’re making masterpieces, aren’t we, kid?”

Your sister nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing as she beamed up at him. “Mattheo says my snowman looks perfect!”

You raised a brow, biting back a smile. “Perfect, huh? Even though his head is sliding off his body?”

Mattheo chuckled, brushing a streak of flour off his arm. “It’s an abstract snowman,” he said smoothly, turning back to the dough. “He’s got character.”

Your sister giggled again, clearly thrilled by his attention, and you felt the beginnings of that familiar pang of annoyance. You’d invited Mattheo here for you, not so he could spend every waking moment entertaining your sister.

“Right,” you said, stepping closer and nudging him lightly with your hip. “Well, I’m stealing him now. We were supposed to watch a movie, remember?”

Mattheo looked over at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Baby, are you jealous of a six-year-old?”

Your mouth opened, indignation flaring to life, but before you could respond, your sister tugged on his sleeve. “Wait! We still have to make the reindeer cookies! You promised!”

Mattheo crouched slightly, bringing himself to her level as he smiled at her. “And we’ll make those, I swear. But your big sister’s giving me that look, and I think I’d better listen to her before she drags me out of here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“Oh, you’re giving me a look,” he teased, standing to his full height and brushing his hands off on a towel. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re practically glaring at me. I’d almost say it’s cute.”

“Don’t push your luck, Riddle,” you muttered, though your cheeks burned at the way his breath ghosted against your skin.

Your sister pouted, crossing her arms. “But Mattheo—”

“I’ll be back,” he promised her, giving her a playful wink. “And when I am, we’ll make the best reindeer cookies anyone’s ever seen. Deal?”

She huffed, clearly not pleased, but she nodded anyway, her pout softening.

You grabbed Mattheo’s wrist, tugging him toward the living room before your sister could protest again. “Come on. You’re mine, remember?”

He let you pull him away, laughing softly under his breath. Once you reached the living room, you rounded on him, poking a finger at his chest. “You’re supposed to be spending time with me. Me, Mattheo. Not my sister. Me.”

“Is this really happening right now?” he asked, smirking down at you. “You’re actually jealous of a six-year-old.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not jealous,” you shot back, though your words sounded more defensive than you intended. “I just don’t like sharing, especially when it’s you. And second, it’s not my fault she suddenly decided she loves boys after swearing for years that they had cooties!”

Mattheo grinned, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “So what you’re saying is…I’m irresistible.”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, finding his gaze soft and affectionate, his smirk less teasing now and more genuine. Your frustration melted away as quickly as it had come, replaced by a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest.

“Yeah,” you admitted, dropping your hands and stepping closer to him. “I do.”

“And for the record,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed your temple, “I’m yours. Always.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

[thesecondhandwoman]

hi!! i’ve recently come across your account and i absolutely love your works. i was wondering if i would be able to request a caitlyn kiramman x female reader? perhaps when she’s commander, but i was thinking some angst where the two of you just aren’t good for each other? but you’re trying to hold on to each other because you only have each other and nobody else. but it could be when you both just start getting into arguments more frequently and there’s just a point where you both just break down to each other??

TETHERED HEARTS

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Your relationship with Caitlyn wasn’t always in the gutter up until she became a commander and you two struggled to love one another without complications. But after a while, it became too much.

Request: Anon 🤍

The knock at Caitlyn’s office door was curt, almost hesitant, but still sharp enough to draw her attention from the towering pile of paperwork on her desk. She didn’t glance up immediately.

“Come in,” she called, her voice tight with fatigue.

The door creaked open, and there you stood, cradling two mugs of tea in trembling hands. The sight of you—your posture stiff, your eyes clouded with weariness—was enough to make her heart clench. It always did.

“I thought you might need this,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thank you,” she said, though the gratitude lacked its usual warmth.

You stepped closer, setting one mug down on her desk before hesitating. You lingered, your eyes scanning her face for any trace of softness, any invitation to stay. But Caitlyn’s gaze remained glued to the papers in front of her.

“Long day?” you asked quietly.

Her laugh was hollow. “Aren’t they all?”

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. Finally, you forced a smile and turned to leave, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You turned back, hopeful. She looked up at you then, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, you thought she might say something meaningful, something that could bridge the growing distance between you. But all she said was, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Your heart sank. You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak, and left her office without another word.

The fights started small. They always do.

It was about forgotten plans at first—a dinner Caitlyn had promised to make time for but missed because of a last-minute meeting, a rare afternoon off you’d planned for the two of you that ended with her asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even eat. You told yourself it wasn’t her fault. She was trying. You both were.

But the arguments grew sharper, heavier, like stones piling up in the river of your relationship until the current couldn’t flow freely anymore.

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” Caitlyn snapped one night, pacing the small apartment you shared. Her uniform jacket hung off her shoulders, the crisp fabric wrinkled and stained with the grime of another long day in Piltover’s streets.

“And you think I don’t care?” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Do you have any idea how it feels to sit here every night wondering if today’s the day you don’t come home?”

Caitlyn froze, her back to you. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but no less cutting. “I didn’t ask for this job to be easy. And I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You blinked back tears, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Is that what you think this is? Some obligation? I’m here because I love you, Caitlyn, not because I have to be.”

She turned to face you then, her expression a mix of anger and something softer—regret, maybe, or doubt. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing you every time I walk through that door?”

“Because you won’t let me in!” you cried, your voice trembling. “You shut me out, Caitlyn. I’m here, and I’m trying, but you, ” Your voice broke. “You make me feel like I’m just another thing on your to-do list.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Caitlyn looked at you, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“I can’t do this right now,” she muttered, brushing past you and disappearing into the bedroom.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin.

The breaking point came on a rainy night, weeks later. The fights had become a constant background noise in your life, like static on a radio you couldn’t turn off. And yet, you both held on, clinging to the fragile hope that things could get better, that the love you shared was enough to weather the storm.

But love alone was never enough.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Caitlyn said, her voice shaking as she stood in the middle of the living room, her hands trembling at her sides. Her uniform was gone, replaced by the soft sweater you’d bought her for her birthday, but it did nothing to soften the sharpness of her words.

You stared at her, your own hands clutching the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you come home every night looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Feeling like I’m just—just in the way?”

“You’re not in the way,” Caitlyn said, but her voice lacked conviction. “You’re not. I just… I don’t know how to balance this. I don’t know how to be enough for you when I can barely keep myself together.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. “And I don’t know how to keep fighting for us when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Caitlyn flinched, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re not the only one. I’m trying, too, but maybe—maybe we’re just not good for each other.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “Don’t say that,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to,” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking. “But what are we doing to each other? We’re holding on so tightly, but all we’re doing is hurting.”

You took a shaky step forward, reaching for her. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t reach back, either. “We can fix this,” you said desperately. “We have to. You’re all I have, Caitlyn. I don’t know who I am without you.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And you’re all I have,” she whispered. “But maybe that’s the problem. We’re clinging to each other because we’re afraid to be alone, not because this is working.”

The truth of her words hit you like a tidal wave. You sank to your knees, sobs wracking your body as you buried your face in your hands. Caitlyn knelt beside you, her arms wrapping around you even as she cried, too.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your tears mingling as the rain poured down outside.

Hours later, you sat together on the couch, the space between you both painfully close and impossibly far. Caitlyn held your hand in hers, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from crying.

“You won’t,” you said, though the words felt hollow. “We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Your words lingered in the air for a few more as the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, but Caitlyn’s hand in yours kept you tethered. Neither of you moved to break it, not yet at least. Words felt too clumsy, too sharp for the vulnerability hanging in the air.

Instead, Caitlyn shifted closer, her hand never leaving yours. She brought your entwined fingers to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, the gesture so soft it nearly broke you all over again.

“Stay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Just stay here with me tonight.”

You blinked at her, startled by the plea in her voice after everything that happened only hours ago. “I wasn’t going to leave,” you murmured. “I don’t think I could.”

Caitlyn exhaled shakily and nodded, but she didn’t let go of your hand. Her other hand reached up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear tracks there. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “For everything. For shutting you out, for hurting you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You shook your head quickly, leaning into her touch. “Don’t apologize for feeling overwhelmed, Caitlyn. I know you’re trying. I see how much you carry, and I hate that I’ve made it heavier.”

She closed her eyes, her forehead falling gently against yours. “You didn’t make it heavier. You made it bearable. I’m the one who made you feel alone when all you’ve ever done is love me.”

Your chest ached at her words, but you couldn’t stop yourself from brushing your lips against hers in the lightest of kisses. It wasn’t hungry or desperate, but full of something deeper—a shared longing for comfort, for reassurance.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said again, your voice barely a whisper. “We can figure this out. We have to.”

She nodded, her breath mingling with yours. “We will,” she promised softly. “Together.”

Caitlyn pulled you into her lap then, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she could hold you together with the strength of her embrace alone. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, her scent, mixed of lavender and rain, grounding you.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her skin. “Of fighting with you. Of feeling like we’re breaking apart.”

“I know,” Caitlyn whispered, her fingers threading through your hair. “Me too. But I don’t want to give up on us. I’ll do better. I’ll make time, let you in. I just—I need you to remind me it’s okay to lean on you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your arms tightening around her waist. “Always,” you said softly. “We’re a team, Caitlyn. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She exhaled shakily, her hands roaming up and down your back in soothing strokes. “And you don’t have to feel like you’re just waiting for me to come home. I want us to be more than that. I need us to be.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your apartment forgotten. Eventually, Caitlyn shifted slightly, her hands cupping your face as she pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been carrying so much, and I’ve been too blind to see it.”

Your lip quivered, but you nodded. “Okay.”

She guided you to your shared bed, her touch tender and unhurried. She helped you out of your day clothes, replacing them with one of her soft sweaters, the fabric still warm from the dryer. Then she disappeared briefly, returning with a damp cloth to wipe away the tearstains from your face. Her movements were so gentle, so precise, that it made your chest tighten.

“Lie down,” she murmured, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. You did as she asked, watching as she climbed into bed beside you.

Caitlyn curled around you, her arms wrapping protectively around your waist. “You’re everything to me,” she whispered into your hair. “Even when I’m terrible at showing it. Especially then.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning in her arms so you could press a soft kiss to her temple. “And you’re everything to me. No matter how hard it gets.”

She held you closer, her fingers lacing with yours once more. “We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. “One day at a time.”

You nodded, your tears soaking into her sweater as exhaustion finally pulled you under. And as you drifted off to sleep in her arms, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that love—flawed and messy as it was—might still be enough.

A/N: I wrote this at 2 in the morning so it is not even close to proofread, but I hope it’s okay either way (I’ll read it later when I have the strength to not possibly cringe).

[getthehexstrap]

Hi! So, I have an idea for a Jinx x fem. I was thinking reader’s parents are meeting Jinx for the first time for Christmas dinner. They ultimately disapprove of Jinx, so reader leaves with her. Maybe, it could end with reader telling Jinx how much she loves her. You can totally play around with this if you want. Thanks for your time!

Not So Picture Perfect

Jinx x piltie!(fem)reader

omg i love this request, thank you!

summary: jinx is meeting your parents for the first time at christmas dinner.

genre: a little angsty, fluff

warnings: arguing, cursing, stuck up parents.

a/n: it's been forever since i've written angst, bare with me... also, this was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i accidentally clicked the wrong button 😭

"You know, I'm never really nervous but right now I feel like I need to run the other direction and hide." Jinx laughs softly as she scratches the back of her head.

The two of you are currently standing on the doorstep of your childhood home for Christmas dinner. She's dressed in a different attire than usual; a white, flowy button up that she stole from you, and a pair of black pants. Her hair is done in her usual braids and you only used a little bit of makeup as you thought she didn't even need it, but it made her feel better.

You grew up in Piltover, but as you got older you quickly realized you weren't fit for it, so you ventured down to Zaun where you met Jinx. Much to no one's surprise, your parents weren't too fond of that.

"You're going to be just fine, baby." You assured her, flattening the soft wrinkles in her shirt with a grin.

Your back automatically stiffened up straight at the sound of the door opening. "Y/n." Your mother addressed you, tone sharp as she eyed you and your... 'guest' down. "Mom, Hi." You smiled softly as you grabbed Jinx's hand. "I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Jinx."

Your mother's eyes glanced at the blue-haired girl beside you. "Yes, I've heard so much about you, Jinx." She spoke, looking the girl up and down once, turning on her heel. "Come in. Dinner is getting cold." You turned your head towards her with a sorry smile before squeezing her hand, and pulling her inside.

•

"So, Jinx; I've heard you... make things?" Your father questioned after a few moments of meaningless chatter. "Uhm, yes sir, I do." You could hear the nervousness in her voice. Your hand found its place on her thigh, rubbing soft circles with your thumb as you shot her a reassuring smile.

"And these things are?" He asks, taking a bite of his food. "Well, they're all different, ya'know?" She laughs softly, trying to lighten the mood. "She makes these beautiful trinkets." You smile, saving her before she tells them she makes bombs. She sends you a thankful smile in return.

Your mother clears her throat, dropping her fork and picking up her napkin. "Trickets?" You immediately heard the judgement in her tone as she spoke. "How peculiar." She snickers quietly, and your hand softly squeezes Jinx's thigh again.

"Don't worry about them, baby." You quietly mouth to her with a small smile before changing the topic.

•

"Y/n, may we speak to you in the other room please?" Your mother's voice rang behind you, grabbing your attention away from talking with Jinx by the tree. You give her a quick peck before following her to the other room, reassuring you'll only be gone a few moments.

"Yes?" You ask, crossing your arms as you reach the next room. "I think you two should... break things off." She says, placing her hands on her hips with a stern look. You scoff in return, shaking your head. "No." Your voice is just as stern as her face, and as you stand up straighter to meet her eye, you can see the shocked look in her face.

"No?" She questions you, eyes wide in anger. "How dare you—" "No, mom. How dare you! I'm not a kid, you can't tell me who to date anymore! You don't get to control who I can and can't love like you do everything else." You finally stick up for yourself, and you hear the gasps from both parents.

"You cannot speak to your mother like that young lady!" Your father chimes in, sticking his finger in your face as he gets closer. "Oh please! She's spoken to me the same way since I was 8 years old, it wouldn't kill her to be treated the same way for once." You roll your eyes before you feel a hand slap your cheek.

You scoff again, grabbing the now burning flesh with your hand before looking her in the eyes. "This is your last chance, Y/n. Break things off with that– street trash, and we can forget about this little outburst of yours. Or, you leave with her and you will get cut off." Your mother stared down at you with narrow eyes, with her jaw clenched in anger.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, but it wasn't because you were sad, no, it was just confirmation settling in. "Okay." You start, wiping your eyes once before standing up straight again. "Goodbye, then." You go turn to walk away when you see Jinx, standing in the doorway with an almost guilty look on her face as she picks at her fingers.

"You turn back around right now!"

You look back at your parents once more before walking towards Jinx and grabbing her hand. "Come on, we're leaving."

You pay no mind to the screaming voices of your mother and father as you walk out of your childhood home. "God, I fucking hate them." You mumbled under your breath.

"I'm really sorry." Jinx speaks up, though you can barely hear her. You stop walking and turn to face her, grabbing her face. "Baby, listen to me." You smile as you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong, they're just a couple stuck up dicks who can't get their heads out of their asses." You like softly, stroking her cheek with your thumb.

"But they said—" "I don't care what they said. I want to be with you. You make me so happy, I love you, Jinx." Your eyes look into hers as you speak, and you can see the shock hit her when you say it.

"Wh—" She blinks slowly. "What?" It comes out in a whisper, not fully comprehending what was just said. "Y/n. You don't mean that. I'm not good for you– you should just go back." Jinx tries, beginning to walk away while shaking her head.

"Jinx! I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. You're more than good for me, baby. I love you." You call out, trying to catch up with her but it's quickly replaced with a deep, passionate kiss as she spins around and her lips crash against your own.

The snow covers you both as you pull away. Jinx takes a breath, closing her eyes before opening them again with her own soft smile. "I love you."

You lean in to kiss her once more, this one quicker than the last. "Let's go home, baby." You kiss her cheek once as you lead the way back to your city.

"Home." She giggles. "I like that."

this is so short and lowkey horrible im so sorry guys 💔 buttt, merry christmas and happy holidays 💋

[rebelssvy]

holiday hero party ✧.*

kirishima x reader

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you meet red riot at a party, a lot of flirting, some back story monologue. bakugo and kaminari come make fun of him. you save him.

i love thinking about flirty but also himbo-ish kiri.. he’s just trying his best ♡︎♡︎

every year the hero association would hold a party for the top hero’s in each country. this year it being held in france. in your country your country you were celebrated, thought of highly. you gained the name ‘queen’ by some of your fans. choosing to be humble, you would laugh off whenever your nickname came up.

so here you were, finishing up your look. wearing a dangerous long dress that paired your skin tone well. pairing it with lots of jewelry. you looked stunning.

arriving at the party, you recognized many people. it was going to be a long night.

it was an hour into the party, feeling utterly exhausted. saying far too many ‘hello’s and ‘thanks you’s for your own good.

some what overwhelmed you made your way over to the bar you stoped dead in your tracks when you ran into a solid wall. looking up you realized it wasn’t a wall but a man..

“oh my gosh i’m so sorry!” you blurted out stumbling backwards to create space.

“no worries pretty girl..” he said staring down at you, charming smile printed on his face. looking up you came to realize it was red riot. you read the events that happened to his class in highschool and always kept track of him since. recently you saw that he saved a pregnant woman from several bullets just by standing infront of her.

you stared at him not knowing what to say. starting to feel vulnerable under the weight of his eyes, you chose to stand tall. remembering who you were you gained some confidence in yourself.

“red riot..right?” you asked him tilting your head his way. you watched as he wore a shocked expression for a minute before a smile replaced his face once again.

“the queen knows of me? i must be blessed!” he laughed out. you cringed at his words. you didn’t like that he thought of you like that, let alone that he also knew who you were.

instantly picking up on your change in demeanor he saved your conversation, “oh you don’t like your little nick name?” he chuckled out, fixing his posture slightly.

“no no i don’t mind it, it’s just i see you as my equal… not like my fan..” you giggled, suddenly feeling very hot.

“let me buy you a drink.” he said before taking your hand and leading you to the bar. you gasped at how charming he was. you felt like you were running behind him as he lead you with large strides.

as you sat down at the bar with him, you took a moment to take him in. staring at his body that was clothed in an all black tux, black dress shoes. if you looked closely there was red accents all across him. very minimal.

he caught your attention with his words “i am a fan by the way.” he said while turning to face you. his confidence shook you slightly.

“is that right?” you questioned him further.

“i saw you on the news in highschool… when you saved that bridge from falling.. is it true you did that while walking home from school? if it is i admire you for being so strong seriously!” he commended you with flushed cheeks. his eyes telling the story that you lived.

you took a second to respond to him, sipping on the drink he payed for. “well yea i guess.. i was walking home from school and someone had a quirk awakening on the bridge. i heard the explosion before i saw one of the beams coming down. i just kinda thought that if i had the power to save them, that’s what i should do..” you realized you rambled to far on and then grew shy waiting for his response.

when you looked back at him you realized that he seriously wasn’t joking about admiring you.

“that’s so fucking cool.” he said before changing his focus to the drink infront of him. as he sipped it you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat. slowly your eyes wandered to all of him.

you decided to make a remark, hoping to see where you actually stood with him. “ok this is going to sounds crazy…” you started. “around the time that i gained some traction from my acts, i saw you on the news.. when your class had all those things happen. i’ve always kept an eye on you since…” you finished.

the look on his face was priceless, shock and disbelief that slowly morphed into curiosity. questioning you he said “you’ve been keeping track on me?”

“i would be lying if i said no.” your drink making its way into your system, surging some needed confidence and energy into you.

“must be my lucky night.” he paused before saying “prettiest girl in the room keeps tabs on me..” before he took his drink into his mouth, eyes never leaving you.

you gasped at his words, suddenly you felt light.

“are you flirting with me?” you asked him with a giggle.

“yes. i am.” he said comfortably, stating his truth. “or at least im trying. im not very good at it.” giggling with you.

“well whatever your doing i think its working” you said reaching for your drink once again. only to realize it was emptied out. frowning slightly at without realizing.

“here,” he signaled over the bartender and ordered you a second drink. also getting you a water. his charisma was overwhelming.

“thank you.” you mumbled out before sipping on your drink again.

the silence over took you once again. you realized how easy it was to talk to him. you really liked him being around you. almost too much, a concerning amount.

“what can i call you? if i can’t call you queen?” he said leaning over to you, you felt the tension change slightly.

“just call me y/n.” you stated.

“how about princess?” he asked softly, lowering himself to your ear. you couldn’t form words. stuttering to a reply, you said.

“you can call me whatever you want.” you said, weakly. soon after your response you started cringing at yourself. bringing yourself to a giggle yet again.

“i’m sorry i can’t take myself seriously!” you laughed out, he laughed with you. “what should i call you red riot?” you asked him.

“just call me ejirou.” he said leaning back in his chair, you noticed his legs fall apart slightly.

you jumped in place when a loud voice boomed behind you.

“kirishima my guy! holy shit no way.” you turned to find a yellow haired man paired with the more popular pro hero dynamight. they closed in on the two of you. making their way to stand behind the two of you. you turned in your chair.

you noticed kirishimas face, it was full of agony.

“this is fucking halarious” the explosive one said. you knew his name was bakugou. but to be honest you were too afraid to call him by his name.

“what’s so funny?” you asked the two standing next to you.

“kirishima here has had a crush on you since highschool. so it’s kinda hard to think your sitting here with him at a holiday party.” the yellow haired once laughed out.

kirishima flushed at their remarks. you noticed all of it. they were obviously close to eachother.

“the queen and red riot, a dream come true.” bakugou laughed out. taunting his friend.

“this is so embarrassing.” kirishima shrugged into his hands.

coming to his rescue you said “well.. funny enough as it is. ive been harboring a crush on red riot for a while.” you shrugged nonchalantly.

bakugou and yellow hairs face dropped into shock. kirishima along with them.

“i’m not trying to be rude but me and ejirou were just about to leave.” you stood up and grabbed his hand. urging him in silence to follow your lead.

“it was nice to meet you two.” you said calmly before dragging him away from the men and to the exit.

after a silent trip to the coat rack and out the door. you finally made your way outside. the cold air frosting over you.

“you really are my hero, princess.” he said from behind you, you turned to meet his eyes.

“it’s no problem. and i meant what i said so.” you watched the air get sucked out of his lungs. taking in his expression, he really was handsome.

“can i take you out sometime princess? like without my friends coming to embarrass me, just me and you.” he smiled softly, praying you would say yes.

years ago this was your dream. funny how things work out like this.

“yes i would like that a lot, ejirou.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

thinking about making a part two when you hard launch, maybe even starting a family. the worlds favorite hero family ♡︎♡︎

[ram-bles]

Happy Holidays!

With love,

The Tulpar crew.

#: gender neutral reader. romantic. pre-crash. fluff. kisses.

The holidays were near. The main area had garlands made of green plastic and tinsels sparsely hung around, a small water-activated paper Christmas tree growing in the middle of the dining table, and a bright red Christmas hat on Polle's ear. It wasn't much, but at least festive enough to feel some semblance of home. Though, one day, an additional piece of decor had been added by the entrance of the lounge.

[ Anya ]

You two were on break, folding and snipping away. The medical bay was filled with both your chattering, accompanied by gasps, giggling, and more as you both gossiped about stuff back on Earth— occasionally, some rumors about your co-workers too. Before you know it, you two were unfurling the last pieces of paper snowflakes.

"You think this is enough?"

"Yeah!"

With exchanged grins, both of you gathered the newly made decor and made your short trip towards the lounge, continuing the chat from beforehand. When the door slides open, you were both silenced by Daisuke pointing above your heads. In sync, you and Anya's eyes trailed from the intern, to the Captain beside him that gave you both a wave, then to the mistletoe, then to each other with a matching tint of red on both your cheeks.

Anya's hand covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers, and yours held your own cheek. It was silent for a quick moment which scared the other two, but you both started a giggling fit.

"You don't hafta do it if you don't want to!"

"Nono, it's okay. I promise. C'mere." Anya reassures you immediately.

You lean in and so does she, planting a kiss on both sides of your cheek and then a peck on the lip.

[ Curly ]

After convincing your Captain, he agrees to discreetly make a cake for a small holiday dinner. With a not-so discreet 'Yes!' from you, he chuckles and shakes his head. Whatever makes you happy.

But that means you have to help, which isn't much of a problem to you anyways. It's just shoving packets into a machine that automatically makes it, so it's not that big of a chore. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to spend time doing something together with you.

"Alright, doll. Let's go make your cake."

Beaming, you followed just beside him. He finds it endearing how quickly it is to please you.

The door opens and something taps his forehead, making him stop, and you as well, following his gaze.

"Cheeky." He exhales from his nose as he smiles. "You put this here?"

"No, but are you giving me a kiss?"

He looks around, body leaning back to check at the hallway again before he returns to you. His fingers gently held your chin, tilting your head up and closing in. Curly presses his lips against yours, once, twice, and a last one for good measure. The man couldn't wipe the grin off of his face afterwards even if he tried to.

[ Daisuke ]

GRUMBLE.

From where you were comfortably resting and spectating his gameplay, his stomach roars at you, the sound twice as loud with your ear pressed against it.

"Wanna eat?" Your hair scrunches at your temple as you faced him.

"Mm. Almost done." The sounds of hard plastic tapping grew louder and faster as he speedran through the level. A soft mechanical tune plays as he finishes it and he throws his tiny console to the side of his pillow. Grunting, he sits up as your head rolls onto his lap. Daisuke scoops his hand behind your head to help you sit up as well, both of you stretching and leaving the bed. It was the end of the day after all, you both couldn't help but be lazy with how tiring the shift was today.

Upon successful collection and opening of canned foods, you sat on the counter to watch your partner in crime punch some numbers into the machine that popped out sweetener packets. It's impressive to you, managing to convince the captain for some of it so he could find out what the code was and memorize it.

"Got it!" He raises the two pink packets with a grin and tilting his head towards the door. "Let's go?"

With a nod, you hop off the surface and made your way back to your shared sleeping quarters when you noticed an object at the top of your peripheral. You stop on your tracks, nudging his side and nodded your head since your hands were full, gesturing at the mistletoe and pointing with your mouth.

"Pucker up, babe." He grins, energy suddenly coming back to him.

"You can just kiss me whenever you wanted to. You didn't have to sneak that in."

"Didn't put it up there, chief."

"Then who?"

With a shrug, he winks at you. "Dunno. Beats me!"

[ Jimmy ]

His mood was sour the whole day and he always beats around the bush when you try to ask about it. So, you resort to the other option-- giving him space. Oh, but that only made his mood worse. He's thinking you were ignoring him now.

It's been frustrating, you didn't know what to do about it either, so you decided to ask Curly for some advice. But that still makes everything worse! Jimmy saw you talking to Curly too and it made him even more irrationally upset, somehow resorting to a conclusion that now you don't want him, so you're going for Curly.

Jimmy then devised a plan. Making sure to chat with you and Curly in order to keep you both by the dining table, long enough so that the other three would head back to their designated quarters and unfortunately for him, he needed to be a chatterbox like you guys.

But hey, it worked, right?

That's when he suddenly had to excuse himself and asked you for some help. Agreeing, you both went on your way to exit the lounge when his arms hook around your waist, planting a kiss on your lips and you let out a surprised noise. Jimmy made sure Curly was looking too.

"Jimmy, not here!"

"Hey, I'm just following tradition." He points up at the mistletoe above your head with a smug grin.

[ Swansea ]

Another sigh escapes your lips and you hear Swansea put down a screwdriver.

"Alright, what's botherin' ya this time?"

You shift from Swansea's chair, twirling it slightly as you readjust your position so that you could rest your head on your palm. "Don't you miss celebrating the holidays?"

He seems unamused but you notice his demeanor change ever so slightly. With a huff he responds. "You get used to it up here." He takes another tool and continued tinkering.

Swansea could see you deflate from his peripheral vision. There was a moment of silence when he spoke up, not looking away from his work. "There's a box beside the birthday shit. If you could fix it before I finish here then I'll help you put it up. Deal?"

Beaming, you hopped out of the chair, rushed over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek before heading out.

"Thanks, Swans."

Fortunately for you, it wasn't a hard fix anyways. One of the wires connected to the battery holder was snapped off and all it needed was a little soldering.

Safe to say you did finish before him.

Excitedly, you helped him clean up and you both headed for the lounge. This was nice, you'd proudly say it if you had to and Swansea felt the same albeit never admitting it. Idly chatting about stuff back home as you hung up the lights. Swansea seemed to be having fun talking about his kids as well, going on about their holiday shenanigans whenever he got the luxury to come back home during these seasons. Surprisingly, the lights were long enough to decorate the wall behind Polle, even blending nicely into the garlands.

"Let's call everyone to eat now?"

"Alright."

You were walking towards the door when you notice it, grabbing Swansea's wrist as he turns back. Before he scolds you, you point up at the mistletoe above the both of you.

"I'm too old for this shit."

"C'mon, Swans! Just this once, please!"

You hear another defeated sigh from him when he suddenly holds you and dips you as you kissed. When you both finish, he raises your hands, twirling you and landing another kiss onto your knuckles that got you speechless.

"Hah. Still got it."

[fail-eacan]

My parents and their friends were discussing this idea a few months ago. It was supposed to happen at a parade, I believe. I remember my mom’s friend speaking enthusiastically about placing a Palestinian child in a manger surrounded by rubble and I remember being horrified by the fact that she clearly had no idea it was antisemitic.

I spoke to my mom afterward. She’s very anti-Israel- an academic, they both are. I said something like, “Don’t you think it’s antisemitic to use Christian iconography to imply that Israel, commonly thought of as a Jewish state, killed the christian God? Isn’t that one of the most classic examples of antisemitism like… ever?”

She just stared at me for a while and said something about Jews today claiming everything was antisemitic, even when it isn’t.

I went to an event held by Ithaca College’s Hillel last year. It was a Holocaust survivor, speaking about his experience, at the campus center. There was a security officer in full bulletproof gear with some sort of huge gun in his arms, watching the entrance.

My friend told me her Temple was taking volunteers to guard it during services because they were worried someone might come attack them.

I met a Palestinian, once. She wrote a song about violence and generational trauma. There was a choir concert where they performed it. Maybe in Watkins Glen? A few hours outside of town. It was beautiful.

I read about a Palestinian boy who when asked what he would do when he grew up said, “Children in Gaza do not grow up.”

I knew an Israeli. A girl, in my fourth grade class, named Gili. She could hardly speak English. My same friend from before became close with her. I didn’t really notice her throughout middle school- perhaps she went to Boynton, or LACS. But I saw her at IHS. She was just another one of my classmates, until she wasn’t. I didn’t notice that I hadn’t seen her in months until we were discussing war and involuntary military service in my English class. Someone said they knew someone who had been drafted into the Israeli army. I have never felt so close to the war as that moment. I hope she is safe.

I have known Jews all my life. At least while I was there, Jews were a fairly high percentage of the student population at Belle Sherman. My grandmother (a family friend, who became my grandmother when all of mine died in early childhood) is a Jewish Holocaust survivor. She has a wonderful sense of humour, and the most beautiful laugh. She has been a consistent part of my life, but is growing frailer. I can hardly bear to think about how it will be when she is gone.

My friends were mostly Jewish growing up. I knew so many Cohens as a kid I thought it was a very common name even outside the Jewish community. I didn’t realise Judaism wasn’t a huge religion (I conceptualised it as slightly smaller than Christianity) until I was in 9th grade Global History. My teacher showed us a pie chart of world religions. Judaism was hardly even there. We looked at “most common religion by country”. I was shocked that only Israel had Judaism.

I was at an afterschool program in which a few other kids and I made jewelry together out of metal wire, jeweler’s saws, brass sheets and resin. We often had political conversations. This was before Oct 7, years before, when I was in middle school. My instructor was Jewish. We were discussing Israel for whatever reason. She said she didn’t approve of how Israel treated Palestinians, but the idea that there was a place in the world that was majority Jewish was very important to her. “You never know what will happen” she said, “when you look through history we have never been safe, and we never will be. I do not approve of the modern politics of Israel, but it represents a kind of safety to me that I can never have anywhere else. I went there once, on a birthright trip, as a young woman. I remember the potency of being in the majority for the first time in my life.” I nodded, and we discussed it more. This woman, a girl, and myself. Later, the girl’s father was accused of antisemitic remarks. Later, my mother was accused of the same. The girl and I were friends. I heard she was bullied because of what her father was reported to have said.

When I was in elementary school, I was reading a book. One of those “Dear America” or “I Survived”, one of those children’s historical fiction series that I was so fond of. It was about a young girl escaping the Nazis. My mother scoffed at it and said, “they should write one of those about a Palestinian child, there’s already so many books about the Holocaust.” She was right, but she was also wrong. There should have been one about a Palestinian child. There wasn’t one. And also, there being one about a Holocaust refugee had nothing to do with that. She saw them as one or the other. Many people did, I came to find out.

When October 7th happened, posters went up around Ithaca. “KIDNAPPED” they proclaimed in large, bold lettering, “Taken by Hamas terrorists.” One of those posters had a “Free Palestine” sticker on it.

On my walk home from school every day I cross over a bridge. Someone spray-painted “LET GAZA LIVE” on the concrete. Someone else painted over that, “LET ISRAELIS LIVE” if I hadn’t known what it said before, I wouldn’t have been able to figure out the message. Either of them. It was hard to read- all the same colour, faded from rain and scrubbing.

My favourite message is over by the boulevard near Gimme! Coffee, the one that runs along one of the creeks downtown. I was walking home with my friend. We had grown somewhat apart lately. I was relived to walk with them. They stopped, at an innocuous house along the boulevard somewhere. I stopped, too. “We grieve for all Palestinians” my friend read, “We grieve for all Israelis” then underneath, “End the war in Gaza”. My friend nodded. “I like this poster,” said my friend. I agreed. We are all humans looking to live lives free from violence and terror. We are all cast into stereotypes judged on the actions of extremists who happen to share some identities with us. You are Israeli, people say. You want to murder Palestinian children, you want to steal people’s homes. You are Palestinian, people say. You want all Jews to die, you torture Jews and strap bombs to your hospitals.

I wonder what would happen if we in America could see places like Palestine and Israel the way we see our own twisted and beautiful country. Our leaders want us in constant conflict. They make money that way. Our leaders are extremists. They are elected over and over again, no matter how hard we as individuals try to fight against that current. Our fellow citizens are tricked by hateful rhetoric and vote and act against their own interests to feel a sense of belonging. We are Americans and we do not agree with our government’s actions. We are humans.

It is shameful how my community is acting. Ithaca is against collective punishment until they hear that there are some Jews, somewhere, who are hurting people. Ithaca is opposed to terrorism until there is an opportunity to throw stones at a place of worship.

People look for excuses to hurt Jews.

When I look around and see the numerous examples of Jewish lack of safety that surround me on every side, I’m reminded of that afterschool teacher. A safe place for Jews, as she said. A place Jews can defend themselves and be together. Somewhere to go when it gets ugly elsewhere. When Jews are under threat, once again.

She did not agree with Israel’s actions, and she also believed that Israel was necessary. And now when I look at Ithaca New York, my hometown, where I have lived my whole life, a place with more Jews than most others in this country, a place of education and learning, a liberal stronghold, after just a year of intensified American interest in Middle Eastern politics I have to agree with her.

I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Unconnected anecdotes that I’ve been meaning to share but I don’t have a thread to string them all together. I don’t know if they’re even relevant. I am a seventeen year old goy in Ithaca New York.

I'm feeling fucking sweary today. I just found out that some of our local pro-Hamas anti-Israel "Christians" have put up a Christmas "creche" with the baby Jesus wrapped in a kaffiyeh under a sign saying "stop the genocide."

Jesus was a Jew, not a Palestinian. It's quite possible to denounce Israel's destruction of Gaza without resorting to the ancient antisemitic charge that the Jews killed Jesus.

This is what was posted to Facebook today:

[mshalfemptygirl]

Under the Tree (S.R)

Plot: Y/N decorates the apartment for Christmas with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid, and things get pretty cute between the two of them. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Contents: A sweet Christmas fic where they’re being cute and flirting with each other. Maybe it releases a lot of oxytocin. A/N: I hope you all like it! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and if you don’t, I hope you have a wonderful day anyway and enjoy this little piece of joy. Love you all, and thanks for reading my fics! Happy Holidays!

The sweet scent of hot chocolate filled the apartment as I curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket. Across the room, Spencer was intently focused on his self-proclaimed mission to “perfectly top” our Christmas tree. I watched him as he studied the golden star in his hands, his brows knit together in concentration as if he were tackling one of his impossibly complex equations. “If you spend five more minutes deciding the exact angle of that star, the tree’s gonna give up and decorate itself,” I teased, trying to hide my amusement behind a sip of hot chocolate.

He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Did you know that the probability of a Christmas tree being perfectly symmetrical is practically zero? The branches are almost always uneven, even if they’re artificial.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that your fancy way of blaming the tree for how long this is taking?”

He turned back to the tree, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile. “I’m not taking that long,” he said, climbing carefully onto a slightly wobbly chair. “I just want it to be… perfect.”

“It’s already perfect, Spencer,” I said softly, my words more for me than for him.

But he heard me. Spencer paused mid-movement and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze was steady, the warmth in his brown eyes making my chest tighten in the best way. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile, meeting his gaze. “And I’m not talking about the tree.”

His ears turned a deeper shade of red, and I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. He always got adorably flustered when I caught him off guard like that. But this time, instead of deflecting or looking away, he stepped down from the chair, the star forgotten in his hand, and walked toward me with deliberate calmness.

“You know,” he began, leaning one hand on the back of the couch as he hovered just a little too close, “flirting is actually considered a sign of intelligence.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, my voice softening despite the playful edge in his tone. “So, what does that say about you, Dr. Reid?”

His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made my heart race and my knees feel just a little weaker. “It says I have exceptional intelligence... and impeccable taste.”

Heat rose to my face, but I managed to keep my composure, raising an eyebrow at him. “Humble as always.”

He chuckled, settling onto the couch beside me and tugging the blanket over both of us. His arm slipped around my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I leaned into his warmth without hesitation.

“You want to know something else interesting?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly, the rasp in it sending a pleasant shiver through me.

“Let me guess,” I said, tilting my head to look at him. “You’re about to hit me with another weirdly sexy statistic?”

Spencer laughed, the sound low and warm, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I could,” he admitted, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “but I was thinking of something a little more practical.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Like the fact that you’ve got hot chocolate on the corner of your mouth.”

Before I could react, he leaned in and wiped the spot with his thumb, his touch lingering just a moment too long. My breath hitched, and I swore his smirk grew as he noticed my reaction.

“All fixed,” he said softly, his voice casual, but his eyes held that undeniable spark that left me completely disarmed.

“Thanks… I guess,” I managed, my voice quieter than I intended.

“No need to thank me,” he replied, leaning in to press a quick, feather-light kiss to my cheek. His lips were gone before I could fully process the touch, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But if you wanted to repay me,” he added, his voice lower, more daring, “I have a few ideas.”

I laughed, trying to steady my racing heart. “Ideas, huh? Like what?”

He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts playful and enticing. “Well,” he began, his tone light but purposeful, “we could finish decorating the gingerbread cookies. You know, keep things wholesome. Or…” His voice dipped, his gaze locking on mine, “we could forget about the cookies entirely and stay right here. See where this... takes us.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider his words as my pulse hammered in my ears. “And what exactly do you think ‘this’ is going to lead to, Spence?”

He didn’t hesitate, shifting closer until his knee brushed mine, his presence impossibly magnetic. “That’s the best part,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning. “I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty confident I’ll like wherever it goes.”

[kinzhae]

Hi hiiii! Okay so... I'm not quite sure if you accept like request and all but i enjoyed your vlog so much cause been craving for Gojo angst that hurts my heart and i love it 😭😭

And i have this idea... You know Toga Himiko right? So like i have this idea in mind where Gojo neglected the reader, like the bully fic you made? And so, in the end Gojo was like dyin (In his teens where he still didn't know RCT). Reader having the same power as Toga Himiko so yeah you know what happens next.

That episode ached my heart so much that i cried and i kinda wanna see it in Gojo x reader part. You don't have to make it just sayin my idea and all 😅

Omgg hello, you are actually the first person who requested to write something so ofc I will do it. I didnt continue watching MHA after season 2 so I might not capture Toga Himiko's quirk that well </3 but I still tried and hoping you will like it.

Note: it ended with a slight angst.

Past Wound That Will Never Change

The world had always been cruel to those who were different, and you learned that lesson early. Your cursed technique was rare, one that made people uneasy. By consuming the blood of others, you could take on their appearance and, to a degree, their abilities. It was powerful, yes, but it was also isolating. People whispered behind your back, called you a parasite, and avoided you like a curse waiting to manifest.

Gojo Satoru, of course, had been the worst of them all.

He wasn’t just cruel; he was relentless. With his unmatched abilities and natural charisma, he had no reason to think twice about how his words or actions might hurt you. To him, you were a joke, a walking anomaly he could poke fun at when life at Jujutsu High grew dull.

“You ever think about how creepy you are?” he’d say, his friends laughing along. “Like, do you just look at someone and think, ‘Wow, I wanna drink their blood’? That’s disgusting, man.”

The words stung every time. You tried to fight back, to pretend his insults didn’t matter, but he had a way of cutting deeper than anyone else. The more you tried to stand your ground, the more he mocked you.

“You’re not even a real sorcerer,” he said once, his voice dripping with disdain. “You just leech off of everyone else. What’s the point of keeping you around?”

No one defended you. Geto sometimes gave you a pitying glance, but even he didn’t dare go against Gojo. They were close friends after all. You were utterly alone, and every day felt like a battle you were losing.

It all came to a head during a mission gone wrong. You’d been sent out with Gojo and another student to exorcise a particularly nasty curse. Things had been going well until Gojo, confident as ever, underestimated the enemy. The curse turned its attention on you, nearly killing you in the process. You barely managed to survive, but when the dust settled, Gojo shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Stop being so dramatic.”

That was the moment something inside you broke. That night, you packed your things and left Jujutsu High without a word. If they thought you were a parasite, then so be it. You would survive on your own terms, far away from their judgmental eyes.

---

Years passed, and you became someone entirely different. The pain of your past hardened into a cold resolve. You used your cursed technique without restraint, earning a reputation as a rogue sorcerer. People feared you, and for the first time in your life, you felt powerful. You no longer cared about proving yourself to anyone. You lived by your own rules, taking what you needed and leaving destruction in your wake.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor.

You found him in the ruins of a cursed battlefield, slumped against a crumbling wall, his once-pristine uniform soaked with blood. Gojo Satoru, the untouchable, was dying.

He looked up at you with bleary eyes, his usual confidence replaced by something fragile.

“Figures,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Of all people… it had to be you.”

You stared at him, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, bitterness, and something you didn’t want to name. He looked so different now—vulnerable in a way you’d never imagined. For a brief moment, you considered leaving him there. It would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Letting him die alone, just like he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago.

But you couldn’t do it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said coldly, kneeling beside him. “I’m not doing this for you.

He didn’t respond, too weak to argue. His blood pooled around him, staining the ground a deep crimson. You bit into your hand, drawing your own blood, and then leaned down to press your lips to his wound. The metallic taste filled your mouth as your cursed technique activated, his power flooding into you.

It was overwhelming. For a brief moment, you were the strongest, the infinite possibilities of his Limitless technique unfurling in your mind. You used it to heal his wounds, channeling his power with a precision that surprised even you. When it was done, you pulled away, wiping your mouth as you staggered to your feet.

Gojo sat up slowly, testing his limbs. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“You saved me,” he said quietly.

“Don’t read into it,” you snapped. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

He frowned, guilt flickering across his face. “Why? After everything I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to apologize. Not after what you did.”

He fell silent, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. For once, he looked small, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was a fool back then. I didn’t—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone icy. “I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it. Just live with it, Gojo. Live with what you did.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, his words hanging in the air. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t call after you. He simply watched as you disappeared into the distance, the weight of his guilt settling over him like a shroud.

---

Gojo recovered, but the encounter haunted him. He searched for you, hoping for a chance to make amends, but you were always one step ahead, always out of reach. The guilt of what he had done to you lingered, a constant reminder of his failures. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t fix what he had broken.

You, on the other hand, continued to live on your own terms. Saving him hadn’t changed anything. It hadn’t softened the bitterness in your heart or erased the scars he left behind. You didn’t forgive him, and you didn’t need to.

In the end, the past was a wound neither of you could heal. He was left to carry the weight of his guilt, while you carried the scars of his cruelty.

[brox-not-a-badger]

Cut your teeth on me

A little NSFW reader x Perturabo for you, think of it as a holiday gift from your favorite, frankly stupid author

Tw; breeding kink, implied pregnancy, bruises, fingering, Perturabo being a petulant and horny whore of a man

___________________________________________________

Perturabo is not the most skilled in the art of flirting or lovemaking. Not to mention the fact that he’s barely in touch with his emotions, so when a pretty little serf catches his eye, he figures it’s not his fault, and evidently blames you for his odd attractions.

___________________________________________________

You served the primarch of the IVth legion, Perturabo. By far, the most petulant and irritable primarch, and he was looming over you, an unfortunate serf who ended up on the wrong end of a brief conflict. At your feet stood the shattered remains of a vase, evidence of your brief scare due to the run-in with the primarch. You were attending to your usual duties, cleaning his study and not bothering him as per usual. Normally, he’d sit in the corner, working on a model or some plans or another.

Normally, his business was not yours, but right now he was making his business yours. “Throne damnit, woman- pick this mess up. I’ll see to it you tend to something-… less fragile. You’re dismissed.” He snarled. You found your hands trembling as you bent down to pick up the remains of the now shattered vase, quickly shuffling off to discard of the broken parts. For a brief moment, you swear you could hear mumbling coming from the mountain of a man, however, you quickly dismiss it, seeing that Perturabo was already in a bad mood.

Perturabo was hardly furious about the vase. It was the way you looked at him so gently yet so frightfully. How you moved with so much grace, despite your evident clumsiness in dropping the vase. It was infuriating how tempting you were to the eyes, so much so he hated just seeing you.

You made him feel things he thought shouldn’t have been possible. And now that your presence was no longer in the room, it felt strangely empty. Perturabo hated the emptiness of the room more than he hated your presence. Perhaps it wasn’t even hate at all, either. That was a possibility. A foolish one, but a possibility nonetheless.

Before you could leave down the hall upon disposing what was left of that vase, you heard the door slowly creak open. Perturabo poked his head out, looking around before spotting you very abruptly. “Come back, please. I may have dismissed you too quickly, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” That was quick considering how suddenly he’d already dismissed you.

For a split second, you could see a light pink coloring in his cheeks, across his stern features. Was that blush? You quickly reentered the room as Perturabo was returning to his seat. “Do you need something, my lord?” You asked. For a moment he just stared at you, almost completely distracted by you, before quickly snapping out of it. He scolded himself internally as his features quickly grew stern and uncaring once more. He nodded.

“Yes, yes I need you to finish… reordering the books, on that shelf. I prefer they stay in alphabetical order, unless it’s a triology, or a set of chronicles. Then I expect you to order them accordingly.” He said sharply, staring at you with a concerning glare. Perturabo was renowned for snapping on a whim, so you took no time to begin preforming the task he ordered of you. You stood up on the ladder, starting by taking each of the heavy books off, starting with A’s, B’s, and so on and so forth.

Perturabo found his gaze wandering from his models over to where you stood on the ladder. He only intended for a quick glance, but found himself staring for much longer. His eyes drifted over your robes, how they hugged your curves in all of the right places, how you delicately moved. It was all enticing, and tempting. Tempting enough that Perturabo found himself feeling heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The moment he’d caught himself staring, he’d abruptly turned away, back to what he was doing, muttering something under his breath. “Damn temptress.” He snarled scornfully.

You paused for a moment, eyes wide as you caught what he’d said. Your mind was screaming at you to stick to what you were doing, but unfortunately, your heart was louder than your head that day. Pathos overcame ethos, as you slowly turned to look at him, surprised at what he’d called you. A temptress? What on Terra did that insinuate? “Sir. What-… what do you mean by ‘temptress’?” You looked so innocent in your confusion at his description of you.

The primarch quickly snapped his attention to you, briefly stumbling over his words. In a moment of sudden panic, he blurted the first words that came to mind. “I’m calling you a whore.” There was a feral growl to his voice that only a man like him could convey. He tried to play it off, even as you stood there, staring and looking stunned at the primarch.

“M- my lord I don’t mean to pry but where did that come from?!” You sounded somewhat distressed and confused, which caused the Lord of Iron to give a blank stare, as though it had just now occurred to him the magnitude of what he just called you, very quickly he switched to an accusatory tone. Though, of course, instead of apologizing, Perturabo took the stubborn route and doubled down on his harsh words.

“I called you a whore. A harlot. Or did you mishear me? Get over here.” He snarled, watching as you did as commanded of you. You scrambled off your ladder, wandering over to the towering astartes with a startled look in your eyes. Perturabo hated your timid mannerisms, but he could never hate you directly. It was strange to him.

“Did I do something wrong, sir?” Were the first words out of your mouth. Of course, you didn’t. He knew you didn’t, but to him those feelings were conflicting, leaving you confused and a little afraid due to his unpredictable behavior with his legion. Approaching him the way you had been was like approaching a wild animal, you never knew what he would say or do next, whether it was him making a passing comment, an annoyed gesture or something more direct, he always kept you guessing. However it never truly felt like you were walking on eggshells around him, he simply felt unpredictable. He was never outright violent, nor has he ever made any violent threats towards you.

The way he kept staring at you made you a little concerned. He just stared, before speaking slowly, in a tone that was a little hard to recognize. “You-… damned whore. What is it with you? You’re just a serf. Why is it so hard to talk to you specifically?” He growled, though it sounded more like a question than scornful words. You were at a loss for words, the fact that he was towering above you made the situation even worse than originally thought possible. There was a low growl in his voice, the way he stared at you like a piece of meat could almost be described as alluring if it wasn’t a little intimidating.

You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment, which was made all the worse by the fact that he could clearly tell what was going on, seeing how fast his expression changed from a hardened look of disdain to very sudden surprise. “S- sir, I mean no disrespect, however that seems like an issue that’s your fault?” You tried to pipe up, only being met with a stare.

Perturabo found he was realizing a lot of things about himself at once as his eyes traced over your form as you spoke. He huffed and licked his lips, trying to mask something you couldn’t quite figure out. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, serf.” He borderline snarled in a rather animalistic display. He reached out to you, grabbing you by the face, his rough fingers digging into your cheek. It was a easy to reach you, seeing you stood to the side of his desk, right beside him so you were within reach.

He examined you for a long while, eyes locked on your delicate frame. Perturabo looked, for the most part, largely unimpressed, were it not for the light pink blush that had subtly spread across his face. After what felt like an eternity, you were let go. “Come here. In front of the desk.” He commanded of you harshly. Of course, you obliged to his commands.

You stood before him, specifically in the space between him and the desk, looking intimidated by the fact that he was looming over you. “Up, on the desk. I feel as though there is a lesson to be taught here that words cannot convey properly.” He growled, watching you scoot up on the desk, sheepishly moving things around, you looked behind you momentarily to straighten yourself out, only to be met with the primarch baring down on you, his palms on the sides of the desk.

Emotions were running very hot, so much so you could physically feel the heat coming off of Perturabo’s massive body. By the holy throne on Terra, you drove him to the brink of insanity. He’d always assumed the flowery language that Fulgrim had used to describe his vices with women back on Chemos was just talk, but now that he had such a woman in his office, propped up on his desk like a decorative piece, he understood just what Fulgrim meant.

“My lord, are you-… asking something of me?” You questioned. It was a bold thing to ask him, especially seeing how stiff and hesitant, yet extremely desperate and starved he seemed. Without words he answered your question when he slid whatever project he was working on aside and grabbed you, not by the wrists but by the hand and pinned you down to the desk. His grip was strong on you, not enough to hurt or bruise but it was enough to keep you in place so you didn’t get away.

__________________NSFW BELOW HERE ________________________

A yelp escaped your lips, it was a noise that made heat begin to pool in Perturabo’s belly. By the holy throne, everything about you made him want to just devour you more. “Ask less questions. They annoy me.” He said simply, his eyes locked on you like a wolf to a hare. You swallowed your initial tough realization, allowing your thighs to slide open in the heat of the moment.

You could see what appeared to be the faint shape of his hardened cock beneath his robes, a sight that had made your face flush even worse than it had been before. He must have taken notice of this, seeing how he’d distracted you next.

Perturabo growled like an animal as he leaned over you. Taking two fingers and abruptly and unceremoniously shoving them into your mouth. It was slightly hard to take at first, seeing just how large his fingers were, but gradually you got used to the feeling, your tongue working around his hand and covering them in saliva. “You know just what I’m going to do with these, don’t you?” A sly grin played on his lips as he reached up to push your own clothing up.

He’d then take his fingers from your mouth, making you feel a bit out of breath. He momentarily looked down at his now saliva-soaked hand, fingers spreading apart before he looked back at you. This entire encounter was leaving you at a loss for words, even more so when he praised you for how well you were doing so far. “Good, that’s a good little serf. I bet you were just begging for that to be over with, hm?” He sounded like he was taunting you, which wasn’t a tone you were used to, especially not from him.

Perturabo then slid his still-slick hand under your robes, eliciting a soft whine from your lips that drove him mad. You whimpered as he gently drove his fingers into your hot cunt. The sounds you made as you wriggled on his fingers made him want you all the more, but he persisted in his patience. Perturabo spread you open with his slicked fingers, wet sounds coming from the space between your pretty thighs.

He slid deeper in to you, until he was at least up to his knuckles. He’d begun to make swirling motions, using the pads of his hand to massage the clit. His breathing got more ragged as he gently gripped your side, hoisting himself over you. “Look at you, how pathetic. I seem to have been right to call you a harlot.” Perturabo was rather hypocritical as he spoke, seeing it was him lusting after you so intensely, however, you didn’t seem to mind his harsh words.

Perturabo wasn’t as experienced as Fulgrim or Horus when it came to pleasing women, but he was still decent, and at least knew what he was doing. His motions were slow and delicate, knowing he could probably force you down and take you however he’d liked, but he chose not to. Despite his initial hunger and annoyance at being so easily tempted, he was still soft on you. Parts of him could have even said he was in love with you, but that was preposterous. This was just some simple ‘discipline’, at least, he assumed it was.

When Perturabo finally pulled his slick fingers out, you’d felt empty, and a little disappointed, finding yourself yearning for a little bit more of that sweet, sweet stimulation. What was even worse was that you were getting surprisingly close to climax off of just his work with his hands alone. Just as you assumed Perturabo was about to let you leave, he didn’t.

As you went to sit up on his desk to get up and leave, he set you right back down. He licked his middle and index fingers, lapping your juices off of his hand, then grabbed you by your hips and lining you up with his. “Mh~ you’re not going anywhere just yet. I’m not done with you.” Perturabo grunted. He was hard as a rock, and you could feel it between your thighs, through the silky fabric of his traditional robes.

Perturabo was absolutely throbbing. The way you laid there and stared at him with those eyes he hated seeing, the way you sprawled out, willingly giving yourself to him in every sense, he hated it. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate you. He hated everything about you because you were alluring and tempting, like a siren that leads sailors astray. He needed you.

And, evidently, he was going to have you. Perturabo pulled away slightly, brushing his robes out of the way as he had done yours. Perturabo reached up and gripped the fabric in his teeth to keep it out of his way, revealing his somewhat soft abs and just under his chest. It was quite a view to have, seeing just how strong he was under there.

Then there was his cock. Perturabo was huge in every aspect. Every, aspect. Parts of you were worried he wouldn’t fit, and you were almost correct. It explained why he had to be so thorough with his foreplay. He squeezed his cock into you just narrowly, feeling you just writhe made his sensitive body react. You could see the faint outline and bulge from his member in your lower belly. It was a feeling that sent you spiraling.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he began. At first, moving his hips deliberate and slow as to not injure you, which was a shockingly considerate move on his part, considering how much he was going to wreck you. Slowly, he sped up until he was at a steady rhythm. His hips pumped, leaving you a moaning, whining mess. The sounds coming from you were like a personal orchestra to Perturabo. He clenched the cloth of his robes in his teeth harder and started going down on you like there was no tomorrow.

Part of him wanted to keep going until he got you pregnant, but he tried to stifle that part of him deep down. Perturabo then bent over the desk, letting his own robes fall from his teeth as he wrapped his arms around you, grunting and growling like a wild animal as he kept thrusting in and out of you. You felt good, absolutely divine, even. The way your walls hugged his cock, how your moans sounded in his ear. Even the way your nails dug into his back made him want to fuck you like it was your wedding night.

Perturabo’s hips did all his talking for him, while your cries of pleasure certainly fueled him to keep going. He was so wrapped up in fucking you that he drowned out the sounds of the desk creaking beneath you. He placed his full weight down on the desk, but being careful not to apply too much pressure to your body. Perturabo reached one hand out to grab the edge of the desk, keeping it in place even as it creaked.

His iron grip had even caused the hardwood of the desk to crack. It wasn’t long before he was laying into you with considerable force. You, on the receiving end, were struggling. It was beginning to hurt your lower back, and your insides, seeing just how big and robust he was in every way possible. It was too much for you to handle, which very quickly brought you to climaxing before him.

Pure ecstasy riddled through your entire body as you stiffened with a loud moan. You were feeling very swiftly overstimulated due to his onslaught. Though, luckily for you, not long after you’d climaxed, so did he. Perturabo gripped your hips with bruising strength, staying inside you as he rode his pleasure filled climax to its peak.

You could feel the hot, sticky liquid pouring into you in large amount. His seed was hot, but not hot enough to burn. Perturabo remained with his body on top of yours, having to lift you off the desk and sit back in his chair. The two of you just sat there for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to one another’s heartbeats thundering. “Th- throne on Terra, I need to make you my wife as soon as possible.”

He leaned back. You were far too spent to comment, so you decided to simply nod and groan. You looked down at your lower stomach, wondering if there would be consequences to your master’s actions, however, the chances of that were unlikely. But not zero. “Sir-.. P- Perturabo, we should probably clean up, yes?” You asked, panting between breathes.

Perturabo had nodded in agreement. “Yes, cleaning up is a good idea… lets-… lets just stay here, for a little while.” He said to you, his tone much gentler compared to when you started off. Perhaps, he could even go for a round two in the shower. He’d decide that later though. For now, the pair of you needed to rest.

___________________________________________________

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while!!! I got hit by a car, BUT I AM OKAY! There were some superficial wounds but I’ll live. A broken wrist + some snapped ribs never killed anyone (at least I don’t think). I hope I portrayed the silly little guy correctly, Perty is kind of hard to nail down in writing! I also may have gotten a little too wrapped up writing the smut portion

[nose-rice]

OH MY GOD YES. YES YES YES. I mentioned this in my og post but with the whole Nuru being raised differently, I mainly focused on her being a girl and royalty. But being a black girl also plays a huge roll with the whole "you're either the mom friend, or sassy". I've seen her portrayed as straight up mean before which is personally infuriating to me.

And with Yong!! Like you said he's a pre-teen! While I certainly wasn't matured, I wasn't thinking surface level thoughts. You start to overthink, find yourself, and your rose-tinted glasses start to fade just the tiniest bit. He's more than just "wow.. ypu guys seem really sad," or "wow! I'm so happy my fireworks worked!" And him being the fat asian kid leads is also troubling like you said. He's never taken seriously beyond the surface level "I don't wanna bother you guys" It's just really sad to me because I see so much of myself in Nuru, and I absolutely ADORE Yong and his absolutely vibrant personality. I feel like he holds immense power when it comes to shifting the tone of the story since he's the main source of optimism in the group, which could also set up a character arc that deeper than one short little moment of introspection.

Also this is a more personal thing but as a mixed poc, I am STARVING for literally any fun cool story I love with MAIN poc characters with complex thoughts and arcs. And I mean the MAIN. STARS. I'm a little tired of seeing the white lead with their poc friends that serve them in every way, and if we're LUCKY, perhaps a poc love intrest, which we didn't get here lol. Ofc I still love them. I just have been craving more diverse characters that can be seen in a complex light, which is what started my whole Nuru rant (i love Nuru soso much)

And i do agree that part of it is the way the story was set up fundamentally, with there being almost no info on Nuru and Yong, and being centered more on the main white couple. But I think it's great that it was just a first draft, and Anna and Kay have said they enjoy seeing different interpretations and chages. It's just unfortunate that most people tend to grasp onto what we're given a little too much, and not exploring so many possible concepts. The whole point I feel was that it was an idea thrown out there to whoever wants to add on to it or simply just enjoy what's already there, but the fandom pretty heavily tilts toward the "enjoy what's given" side.

Not to mention DONELLA AND ULLA?? EVEN CYRUS!! I personally am biased towards Donella but I feel a lot of the things with her can be said for Ulla too. I feel that a lot of the time they serve as plot devices for Varian and Hugo respectively. Obviously they're all very important to eachother, but I wanna see more of THEM. Just Ulla. Just Donella!! There are some good fanworks and art out there that do dive deeper into them, at least a big chunk more than Nuru and Yong which is a little sad. But I feel like I never see any fanworks that focus on their backstory aside from the library and "sons". What about THEIR parents, where they grew up? Their little quirks and their cultures? I especially find the way some Donella redemptions feel half hazardly taped on for the plot infuriating because to get to her state, you have to be pretty set in you beliefs!!

And to be fair Cyrus is very much less involved as he is Don's "side kick" sort of? Bodyguard? It's up to interpretation. But I really like seeing people giving him a bigger role in stories. Like. PLEASE. This is more just me asking for things I personally wanna see but I sorta wanna see a found family dynamic between Cyrus, Hugo, and Donella. The "villain trio". I think it would be super fun! Love seeing people rant about this stuff because I never see it talked about!!

Guys I NEED to rant about my thoughts on Nuru because i love her <3 ramblings ahead

Like I feel like in almost every fic i read, she's just like, a side character that's there to make whitty remarks to Hugo and be the levelheaded one. If she has an insecurity or problem it's usually pretty surface level and solved quickly, or only mentioned once or twice. I think there are SO many aspects of her character that are so cool.

Okay first, I think we sometimes forget that she's a nerd just like the rest of the gang. Yes, on the outside she's definetly the most 'normal' one, but I think we should concider the fact that she's the only girl in the group, and she's literal royalty. She was raised with a completely different set of standards than the other three. I don’t think I've really ever seen anyone cover that. I feel like she would get called "mature for her age" when she's only 15/16, and almost always gets critisism when she talks back with her own ideas (like her concerns about the meteor shows for example). I feel like out on her journey, she would finally get the freedom to just be herself, and be a kid and be able to rant on about her intrests with the rest of the group. It could be a struggle at first, but it would be awesome to see her getting more comfortable with the group the longer they spend together! Nerds encouraging nerdy rants lol

Since she is a kingdom figurehead, you could also argue that she always has a lot on her hands (especially since she's very proactive when it comes to science and solving problems). This could bring up a need to be productive, or always feeling like she needs to make the right decision, even for the littlest things.

I also feel like a lot of the time she's potrayed as the "right" one, who is 100% right when it comes to stuff like arguing with Hugo. Since they're opposites when it comes to class, they often are compared through that lense. I think it's cool just having Nuru tell Hugo off for judging a book by its cover, but I feel like they have a lot more in common than they realize. I think it would be interesting to see Nuru judging a book by its cover too. Maybe not to the degree that Hugo does, but I feel like calling out both their judging would not only call out character flaws, but it also enforces that even though they hate eachother and would never want to be like the other, they have a lot of the same flaws.

Also, being sheltered in a palace her whole life, I think she might think kind of black and white sometimes, and while she knows when people are just being mean as an act, she might struggle when it comes to people like reformed criminals.

Maybe she's able to be meaner to Hugo because she justifies it by telling herself he's criminal, and therefore bad, possibly glossing over the reasons he might be like that (maybe it crosses her mind, but she tells herself it's not a good enough reason, because stealing is still stealing, and he literally steals EVERYTHING. Even little trinkets and stuff he definitely doesn't need!). When they find out about Varian's criminal history, maybe she reexamines her views on morality and how she used to see people, because by her standards, Varian is a 'bad guy' who's caused harm to SO many people, but he's also the kind, caring, helpful friend that she's been traveling with who would never willingly hurt anyone.

Moving on to Amber x Nuru, I honestly never find myself liking the ship because Amber isn't developed enough which is fine. I don't think every character has to be a magnificent work of art. Side characters are side characters, but their romance is usually written like: "wow that girl is cute! I have a crush now!" Which is cool, but then that's about as far as it gets, then timeskip! Or offscreen they're a couple now. I know it's a side couple so it won't have as much devlopment as something like Varigo, but I never really see their dynamic play out in different situations. Like I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like they solely exist to be a couple? Amber sometimes just feels like an extention of Nuru, and their relationship feels surface level a lot of the time.

I feel like too often she's just watered down to the nice, smart, grounded friend, and I don't know I just think there’s so much more to explore with her. She’s not just some side character. She's literally part of the main cast! Even in fanart I feel like she doesn't really get a lot of stuff besides funny art and just like, pictures meant to look pretty. Unlike something you get a lot with characters like Varian or Hugo.

And honestly I get it. Some characters you just don't take an intrest in. I know I find Varian, Hugo, and Nuru more relatable than I find Yong, but I feel like part of that is developing their characters rather than just seeing them on a surface level. Ofc there are exceptions and there are some stories that dive deeper into Nuru's character out there! I just happen to see this A LOT.

Wow i said "surface level" a lot didn't I 😭😭

Anyway thank you for reading my rant i wanna know what you guys think!!

[oscconfessions]

Idk why it ticks me off when people view pb mourning in ii 17 over JUST lightbulb dying. Im 98% sure everyone just interpreted it that way because of lightbrush but that just feels.... strangley shallow to me? That was a full on breakdown because they just witnessed their close friends violently killed in front of them and leaving them alone with the survivor's guilt to follow. Pb looked so distraught having to comfort fan over tt's death, and once it was fan's turn did you literally hear the way they SCREAMED his name? Then when lightbulb died, that was the final straw for them.

If you look back at the past episodes, paintbrush wasnt just magically inseperatable from lb, fan and tt, but it was something their bond grew overtime. Despite the rocky road pb had with those respective partners, its the later episodes and then ep 15 where we see just how warmed up pb was really getting with those three. And then everything from ii 17 happened. Theres the back shot of pb sobbing over lb's body, and theres fan's corpse right behind them. All in the burnt dead field of nothingness. Just. Think about that symbolism for a moment. (No clue what they did with tt's corpse).

But yes, going back to my point, pb's grieving isnt so black and white and i really wish people could actually see that more. Pb's defining trait is not that they love lightbulb. Im tired of everyone glossing over pb as a whole just for the sake of a shallow fanon interpretation. Not even jazzy oliver the god damn voice actor of paintbrush seems to see this whole picture.

(and no this isnt slander towards jazzy or lightbrush shippers or none of that. Im being critical yes, but PLEASE dont have that as the takeaway from this)

-🐈‍⬛

[yentlnoctis]

"If people can explain Ace to me, I'd be happy to. However, I've never seen the musical, more any clips, boots, slimes, whatever. Nor any soc Saturday lives or nothing. Please, I need Soc information and Ace information 😭" @witchyleehibernates

Okay, this is a really long one, so BUCKLE UP.

In the script, she's described as a tomboy (from what I've heard), but I've also read some hcs that she actually likes presenting fem, but that's just a hc (edit: this is actually canon, the tomboy style is a defence mechanism -> reblog by @specific-dreamer :)). She's very bold and will tell anyone what she thinks. She's more likely to show them, though; in Friday at the drive-in, she pushes Bob off of the tire, in Tulsa '67, she very openly flips off the socs... I don't know if we have any info on her family??? (Edit: we do, @specific-dreamer added on in the reblog :))

Almost all the greaser boys are always doing lifts with her or carrying her or whatnot. She doesn't mind either. She's always having fun. They all respect her, too.

She's friends with Dally. In the scene where they all come together after Ponyboy got jumped, she did a sort or handshake with him, so I feel like they get along fine.

She has this flirty friendship with Soda. People always wonder if they're joking or not (they are). For example, after Soda's verse in Grease Got A Hold (which was all about getting girls), he says: "Ain't that right, Ace?" and she answers with: "You wish." and shakes her ass a bit. I feel like they call each other the worst sappy pet names just to piss the other off.

Anyway, Ace and Darrel. Darrel is the most gentlemanly of the greasers. Everyone's respectful, but him especially. I think that out of everyone, Ace is the only person Darrel allows himself to be a bit more at ease with. During Hoods Turned Heroes, he lifts her up, and he's smiling. He also helps her onto the greasers' car when she could easily do it herself. A few other examples bc I love them to death: during Grease Got A Hold, she yells: "I love you, Superman!" at Darrel, at the end of Hoods Turned Heroes, she jumps on his back... I can't really explain their friendship, but I love them sm.

Two-Bit and Ace!!! In my opinion, they're kind of like Ace and Soda, except their friendship more on the physical side (dancing together, cuddling under the bench at the drive-in...). It's not really flirting. Their love language is just physical touch. (They're besties, your honour.)

We don't have that much info on musical!Steve or Ace in general, so I don't have much to say about them. I'm not saying they aren't great friends. They are. She's leaning on him during GGAH, he throws her to Two-Bit in FATDI...

With Ponyboy, she shares a couple high-fives and a little twirl in Tulsa '67. I don't really have much more. I'm sorry. She doesn't really have any moments with Johnny (I think?).

Finally, romantic interests. Tilly (Ace's actress) has told us that Ace has a big fat crush on Bev/Beverly (a soc girl they added). Bev hates Ace, though. So, yeah... My personal hc is that they were friends as kids, grew up and developed crushes on each other in like middle school, dated secretly for a while, but then Bev broke it off because, as a soc, she can't be dating greasers. So, now she hates Ace and all greasers bc she's petty like that (no bev hate). I would talk about them more, but this post is already way too fucking long, so I'll end it here.

This was my (not so) short take on Ace :).

[ajmasch]

@here4hualian kissmas day 24: a kiss that comes naturally

When Xie Lian was a kid, love seemed so far away. It was a thing for stories and adults to worry about, not for him.

Then, he got a little older, and suddenly it seemed to be the only thing anyone around him talked about. “Such-and-such girl is around the right age…” or “she could be a potential match for the prince’s future wife…” or anything else. Even his oldest friend Feng Xin had seemed to swap gears, now seeming to be intimidated by any girl they passed by where he had normally treated them with indifference.

“It’s just… she was very pretty, don’t you think?�� he mumbled when Xie Lian questioned him on the difference.

“I hadn’t really noticed,” was the prince’s reply.

Joining the cultivation sect was a relief in that regard at first, considering abstinence was the basis of its teachings, but then he listened to the other disciples whine and complain about the harsh restrictions that he seemed not to have a problem with. He told himself it was just that he was more dedicated to his training. It didn’t matter that he didn’t feel the same things as others his age, since it just allowed him to dedicate his focus on ascension. Love was unnecessary.

Despite Xie Lian’s stated goal of ascension, until that time, he was still the Crown Prince. That meant finding him a wife was a wide topic of conversation as he grew closer to coming of age. He was pushed to spend more time with ‘suitable’ girls, though it never seemed to go well. He told himself it was because of his cultivation, that he had been trained to resist the charms of women. He pretended he didn’t notice how he always seemed to say the wrong thing or behave in the wrong way.

“So what?” his father said when he tentatively brought the subject up over dinner. “It’s not like you have to be head-over-heels for the girl. As long as you can tolerate her and she gives you an heir, what’s the big deal?”

“Xie-lang…” his mother scolded, and then they started bickering. Xie Lian was seeing them argue a lot more lately. Had they always been like that? He wasn’t sure. A part of him thought they loved each other still, despite it. Another part of him wondered if they had ever loved each other at all. Love was confusing, he decided, and it was hard. He’d much rather put his effort towards something like his cultivation, something that he really cared about, something that made sense.

Then, ascension.

Then, the war.

Then, Bai Wuxiang.

In the rush of becoming a god, then in the chaos of the war, love was the farthest thing from Xie Lian’s mind. He was much too busy, much too focused, much too exhausted. Then, that creature in the half-laughing-half-crying mask appeared and showed Xie Lian: love was nothing except more pain. Because Xie Lian loved his people, he loved his friends, he loved his family, and one by one they were ripped away from him.

Love inevitably ends in heartbreak, so why try? Xie Lian walked away from the spot where a ghost in a smiling mask had sacrificed everything for the love of his god and resolved to never allow himself to feel that pain again.

Then, San Lang.

From the moment Hua Cheng waltzed into his life, Xie Lian knew he was screwed. From his charming smiles, to his sharp intellect, to his cutting humor, he quickly pushed his way past Xie Lian’s defenses.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

It was embarrassing, as Xie Lian realized he was beginning to act how he remembered others around him growing up had acted with the people they had crushes on. Was this love? If so, he had been wrong in the past. This wasn’t confusing or hard, it was so so easy. 

And the first time they kissed without any pretenses, without any hidden feelings, it felt as natural as breathing because somewhere in the last few months, loving Hua Cheng had become a habit. One that he would not break, even though somewhere in the caves nearby Bai Wuxian was lurking, waiting to take it from him.

Maybe it will end in heartbreak, Xie Lian thought as they broke the kiss and continued running, hand in hand. There’s no way to know the future, but whatever happens it’s worth it to have loved him for even a moment.

[reiwanwan]

A warm place for goodbyes

Summary: Hazel Shelby thought she had left chaos behind when she moved to London, but an unexpected connection with Alfie Solomons challenges everything she thought she wanted

part 3

content warning: none

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the soft fabric of my dress. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a simple, dark green piece that hugged my figure—but I couldn’t help fussing over it. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, only to pull it loose again a moment later.

“You look fine,” Ada’s voice came from the doorway, making me jump.

I turned to see her leaning against the frame, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on me with a look I couldn’t quite read.

“Fine?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “I was going for stunning.”

Ada smirked, stepping into the room. “You’re stunning, alright. That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

I sighed, brushing my hands over the dress again. “I know, Ada. You’ve made it painfully clear how you feel about this.”

She walked over and started fixing the loose strands of my hair, her fingers surprisingly gentle. “I’m just saying… be careful, Hazel. Alfie Solomons is charming, I’ll give him that. But charm can be dangerous.”

“I will,” I said softly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I promise.”

She stepped back, eyeing me one last time before shaking her head. “Alright. Go knock him dead. Just… not literally, yeah?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll do my best.”

From her upstairs window, Ada watched as I stepped outside, and I could feel her gaze staring down on me even as I walked down the steps. Alfie was waiting by the car, his coat draped over his broad shoulders. When he saw me, his expression softened in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Fuck me…you look lovely,” he said, his voice warm as he opened the car door for me. “Cmon in you go then”.

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckled, closing the door behind me before getting in. “Right, off we go,” he told the driver.

“And where exactly are we going?” I asked, glancing at him.

“You’ll see,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Patience, love.”

The car ride wasn’t long, but my curiosity grew with every passing minute. When we finally arrived, Alfie stepped out first, offering me his hand as I climbed out.

“Alfie,” I breathed, taking in the grand chandeliers and elegant décor of the restaurant we were walking into. “You said this wasn’t going to be fancy.”

He smirked, his hand still on mine. “If you think this is fancy, love, you need to raise your standards.”

I laughed, shaking my head as we were led to our table. The evening passed comfortably, with Alfie’s sharp wit keeping me laughing and his stories holding my attention. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I could relax.

The slow music played as the chatter of many other people filled the place and at one point, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “So, Alfie, what is it that you actually do?”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression perfectly serious. “I make bread.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You… make bread?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “At a bakery. Best in Camden.”

I narrowed my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” he replied, deadpan. “Tell you what, come by tomorrow, and I’ll show you the place. If you’re free, that is.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll think about it.”

“And what about you?” he asked, shifting the conversation. “What is it you want to do, Hazel Shelby?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated before answering. “Well…I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.”

“A teacher,” he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “That suits you. Smart, patient, good with people. You’d be brilliant at it.”

I felt warmth spread through my chest at his words. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, his tone firm. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

The conversation between us was amazing. Although I slowly realised that Alfie was a chatterbox and often times he would change the topic and talk about something completely different from what we were initially talking about. Actually… scratch that, not often times, always. I had trouble catching up with what we’re talking about at the moment but either way, I just loved hearing his heavy cockney accent and his unnecessary use of curse words in his sentences.

I promise I was actually listening to him talking shit about tommy, the food being a bunch of expensive rubbish, and about the guy that made him mad last week or something like that.

The evening passed in a whirlwind of conversation and laughter, and before I knew it, Alfie was walking me to my door. The street was quiet, save for the soft hum of the occasional car in the distance.

“Here we are,” he said, his voice low as he offered me his hand to help me up the steps.

“Thank you,” I said softly, pausing at the door. My fingers lingered on the handle, but I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I turned back to face him.

“Goodnight, Alfie,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. On impulse, I leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, the roughness of his beard brushing against my skin.

Before I could pull away completely, he caught my wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “Oi,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “C’mere.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat as he pulled me just a step closer. “What?” I asked, trying to stifle my giggles.

“A proper kiss, love,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “None of that yeah?.”

I hesitated for only a moment before leaning in again, this time meeting his lips with mine. The kiss was slow, patient, and warm in a way that made my chest tighten and left my head slightly spinning.

When we finally broke apart, his hand lingered at my waist for just a second longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Hazel,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender.

“Goodnight, Alfie,” I whispered, slipping inside and closing the door behind me.

I leaned against the door and tried to catch my breath and smiling so sheepishly to myself and giggled like a school girl.

“So how was it?”

I jumped, my head snapping up to see Ada standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips.

“You saw?” I asked, my cheeks flushing.

She raised an eyebrow. “The whole bloody thing. Couldn’t exactly miss it, could I? You were right there on the steps.” I could tell she was annoyed and slightly cringed out by my excitement.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Ada…”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m not going to give you a lecture. Just… be careful, alright?”

I nodded, meeting her gaze. “I will. I think I’ve heard you say that for the 10th time since the day I told you”

“Good,” she said, turning back toward the living room. “Because if he breaks your heart, I’ll have to shoot his bloody legs. And that’s a mess I’d rather avoid, you remember when we would play with dad’s pistol and shoot rats don’t ya? have I ever missed?” she asks and I scoffed and shake my head, “nope, no you never did Ada”. “Exactly” she says and goes into the other room to check on Karl.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I made my way upstairs, Ada’s words echoing in my mind. As I lay in bed that night, I replayed the kiss over and over again, a smile tugging at my lips.

@weepingdreammarvel