#me: mom what was it like when it was airing? like. were you like me and you got obsessed about it bc i can't imagine you doing that.

[ace-of-bass]

All of this is real but I wanna add on a personal story that's the reverse of the original post, just so folks don't think all is lost.

When I was growing up, my parents were staunch Republicans. Both of them are very Evangelical, both are from from southern families, both were military brats, and my dad spent 20+ years in the air force. Not a combo that's particularly well known for making people less conservative. My mom tells me that when my parents were in college in the early 90s my dad could've been a Young Republican.

I think my dad's mind began to change around the 2008 election, when we lived in DC. DC is a fairly progressive city, though it's also a military town, and for the first time my dad knew people at church who were liberal and had productive, respectful conversations with them. He still disagreed, but he understood that it was a difference of opinion - not that liberals were evil or stupid.

My dad's mind further changed in 2014, when he was deployed to Afghanistan. He became really close with his translator, who was working and hoping to immigrate to the US - actually I think his first translator did immigrate while he was there and he had a second one for the last couple months he was there. He also saw the incredible hospitality of Afghan people and was blown away by it. He still keeps up with his translator, who lives in Texas now. One thing he said to me at the time was something to the effect of, "Afghans are just like us. They want a better life for their children and are willing to work hard to attain that."

I couldn't trace the evolution in my mom's beliefs quite as well, since she was less outspoken about her politics when I was a kid, but I know a couple things more recently helped move her left. One of our good friends from the church we attended in Arizona, a kid a couple years older than me, came out as trans a few years after we moved away. When we knew her, she had always been thoughtful, intelligent, and well-spoken, as had her mom. When she came out, her mom was unflinchingly supportive, despite plenty of transphobia from other people at the church. My mom didn't actively join in either side but watched it play out on facebook. A few years ago, after the Club Q shooting in my parents' current home of Colorado Springs, my mom said that she thought that all the homophobia and transphobia from the church was wrong. She said there were maybe some Bible verses against being gay, but she couldn't think of any that were against being trans.

But the thing that got my mom really fired up against the republicans was COVID-19. My sister is immunosuppressed and so the isolation of the pandemic hit my family particularly hard, since it was really not safe for them to go anywhere. All the while, conservative voices at their church insisted that services go on as usual, in person, masks and tests not required. This was life or death for my sister, and the callousness of my mom's community broke her heart, I think, and also got her upset at the republican party and Donald Trump (someone my parents had never liked). In 2020, my parents cast their first blue votes.

As my beliefs have rocketed leftwards, my parents' have less quickly. But I still find it fairly easy to talk about politics with them, as long as I don't use the most inflammatory language. Last year, my dad brought up not liking Biden's foreign policy, and said that the handling of the situation in Palestine was a disaster. He said, "I'm not pro-Hamas, I mean, they are a terrorist organization, but the response from Israel has just been so incredibly outsized and unwarranted, and Biden has done nothing against it." Maybe not #fromtherivertothesea, but a more progressive stance than most would expect.

Anyway, I think this reiterates what prev said, that you have to be continually progressing forward. My parents haven't ever been radical, but they've always been open to new ideas, new experiences, and new perspectives, listening to others and hearing what they have to say. If you strive for those things, I think that will do a lot to inoculate you against propaganda.

[22ayla21]

👀 What do you think the reaction of the father(amphoreus male) will be, when their kids ask them how they made a kid (meanwhile we just run away leaving the husband to answer the kid's question).

Can you make this as my request too? ✌😋

A difficult question

The reaction of Amphoreus men when their children ask the very question they are not ready for. And the wife runs away.

From the Author: I imagine how they will take revenge on their wife for this at night in bed🤣

The day was surprisingly quiet. There were rarely moments of complete silence in their house, but now, for a few minutes, everything froze. Mydei was sitting in a chair, sorting through some documents, when his son and daughter, as always, quietly crept up to him.

- Dad? - the eldest spoke up. Mydei did not even look up.

- Mm?

- How do babies appear?

The pen in his fingers stopped. The air in the room became somehow... dense.

Mydei slowly raised his head, only to see the door to the next room quietly close. A very familiar figure literally evaporated from sight. He narrowed his eyes.

- Your mother... left me alone?

His son and daughter nodded in unison. He sighed heavily.

Here it is. The test for which, despite all the years of preparation for politics and battles, no one had prepared him. Midey put the documents aside, clasping his fingers in a lock.

— Children… — he began, choosing his words, — when… two people…

The youngest daughter, sitting on the floor, rocked forward impatiently, her eyes wide.

— Let's not use complicated words!

He closed his eyes. Gods, why did they throw him into this battle alone?

— When two… love each other… very much…

— Well, yes, — the son nodded. — And then what?

Mydei looked towards the closed door. He knew his wife was standing behind it, probably holding her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

- Then, - he drawled slowly, - magic appears...

- Wow! - his daughter exclaimed in admiration.

- What magic? - his son narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Mydei felt sweat run down his back.

- Complex magic. Very complex. Only adults can use it.

- Do you own it?

- Of course.

- Will you show me? - he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

- Later. When you're older.

- Hmmm... - his son was clearly not happy with the answer, but fortunately his sister was already distracted by something else. Mydei felt relieved, but then the door opened slightly, and he heard a muffled chuckle. He turned sharply, his gaze promising revenge.

But his beloved had already run away. The battle was lost.

— Dad, how do babies come about?

Anaxa looked up from his book and saw his daughters, the eldest and the youngest, staring at him curiously. At the same moment, he caught a movement to the side: his wife, who was standing next to him, took a step back. Then another. Then, like a shadow, she quickly turned and... disappeared behind the door. He saw the edge of her clothes flash around the corner, and then he heard quick but quiet footsteps down the hall.

"...Are you serious?"

Taking a deep breath, Anaxa put the book down and focused on his daughters, who were impatiently awaiting an answer.

— How... Do babies come about? — he repeated slowly, as if checking to make sure he had heard correctly.

— Well, yes! Mom said you would explain everything! — the youngest declared happily. A tense silence filled the air.

Of course. It was a trap. He knew his wife was somewhere around the corner, perhaps even hiding behind a bookcase, barely holding back her laughter.

Anaxa closed his eyes briefly, considering how to handle this situation with dignity. If he started a long lecture on biological processes, they would definitely lose interest. If he said something evasive, they would still ask more questions.

Finally, he opened his eyes and said calmly:

- It's a complex process that requires precise calculation, compatibility and... certain conditions.

- What conditions? - the elder one immediately asked. Anaxa thought about it.

- Well... For example, trust and consent of the parties are necessary, - he began carefully. - And also a special closeness that helps create new life.

- Closeness? How so?

He cursed mentally.

- Well...

And at that moment a quiet laugh was heard from the corridor. Anaxa slowly turned his head towards the door.

- ...You won't get far, - he said quietly, but expressively enough. His wife immediately jumped up and, laughing, disappeared into the depths of the house.

The daughters, not noticing anything, continued to look at him in anticipation. Anaxa sighed.

- Good. Then let's start with the basics of biology...

The house was filled with the familiar, cozy noise of the children playing in the back room and their father, a male amphoraeus, sitting in the living room, leafing through notes from the last council. Everything was going as usual until suddenly one of the children ran out of the room and stopped right in front of him.

- Dad, how did we appear?

Phainon froze, gritting his teeth. He looked up and saw how his wife, standing by the door, changed her expression from surprised to extremely guilty in just a second... and then simply turned around and hurried away.

Before he could even call her, the door slammed behind her. Betrayal.

Phainon took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

- Well... it's... - he cleared his throat. The child looked at him with genuine curiosity. He was still a baby, but already smart enough to understand that adults usually did not want to answer such questions.

Phainon looked out the window, where his wife had disappeared out of sight. He knew full well that she had simply left him to deal with this alone. He turned back to the child, forcing a smile.

- You know... it's a long story, - the boys sat cross-legged on the floor.

- We have time, - Phainon ran a hand over his face in frustration.

- Okay. Then let's start with the basics...

He tried to explain as evasively as possible, but with each new phrase the child only frowned more.

- So, you want to say that you transferred some kind of... energy to mother?

- In a sense...

- And then she "shaped" me?

- You could say that.

The child looked at him suspiciously.

- But then why did Anaxa's teacher say that children are born when parents...

- Enough, no! - Phainon raised his hand, interrupting the reasoning before it went too far. The child puffed out his cheeks in offense.

- Well, can you at least say whether it hurts or not?

Phainon thought about it.

- For me? No. But for your mother...

He suddenly realized where this conversation was leading.

- So, mom suffered because of us?!

Phainon felt a cold sweat run down his back. If his boys went to his wife with this question now, he was in for a serious talk. The boys nodded to each other and jumped to their feet.

- We'll ask Mom, she'll explain better!

- No-no-no, wait!

Phainon rushed after her, realizing that he might have just made the situation worse.

[nerdygirlramblings]

the pups come home!

an: it's another long one. sorry?

cw: poorly executed accents, omegaverse biology, m/m anal sex (including knotting)

previous

Quiet but not quite. Still but reatless. Nervous energy crackles in the air. Excited tension. The house holds its breath, waiting. Your parents and the new pups are on their way home.

Every passing car causes a cascade of glances before the eventual, "Not them," from Ben, positioned at the front window until the gentle rumble of the engine in the drive sets everyone in motion.

Surprisingly, it's Davy who beats everyone to the door, opening it, revealing Mum mid-reach. From the sofa, you watch first as surprise then love chase away her momentary shock. Shaky arms come up as she enfolds Davy in a hug, murmuring softly to him. He returns the embrace, the muscles in his arms tensing as he squeezes her back. Michael and Helen drop quick kisses on her cheeks before slipping past her into the front garden. The three of you decided last night how you'd help when everyone came home from the birth centre. Their job is to help the moms bring Dad and the new pups in. You job is to get everyone fed and settled. There's soup for Dad, full plates for Mama and Mum, and two bottles ready.

While the elder twins bring in the younger twins, you let the triplets greet Mum and then Mama and Dad as they come through the door. All three adults give all three teens the same treatment: whispered words and tender hugs and kisses. It's a much more joyous return from the birthing centre than the triplets have seen your parents have before. All they've known is the litters Dad lost. You want them to be able to celebrate this miracle.

Though the elder twins bring the new ones in, it's the triplets who are officially introduced to them first, lifting each baby into the crook of their neck for just a moment to let the baby smell them, imprint their scent, and know this is family. Watching the ritual your parents established when the first twins were born, telling the triplets, "They aren't our babies, they're your babies too. You'll be here to love them and guide them. To look out for them. And one day, when we're gone, you'll be there for each other. Family."

Hearing it again, you realize your parents always stressed family, but they never said pack. You know many people see them as synonymous terms, but Mama was a literature major at uni, and you were raised with the importance of using the right words. You know there is a reason they use family instead of pack. You wish you understood what it was.

When you finally have a chance to be introduced, you take each baby from Michael, Grant first then Amelia, holding their little heads close, whispering the same thing you've only said five times, "You are more than my sibling. You are part of me, and that will never change. I will love you and support you and care for you always." Each reverent phrase accompanied by a kiss to the baby's temple before passing the child off to one of your parents.

Michael and Helen swing through the kitchen and pick up the bottles to feed the babies. You all remember how tired Dad is after a delivery, so you wrap an arm around his waist in the guise of holding him close after the successful delivery, Mum and Mama slowly trailing after you. You settle them all at the table, then join them to catch them up on how the household has fared in their absence.

You hadn't had a chance to talk with them when you first arrived, and now they ask why you're home. "Clearly you couldn't have expected this," Mum huffs a laugh.

"No," you smile indulgently at first her then Dad, "this was a pleasant surprise."

The question of why you're here, now, is tied up in feelings about your team you don't quite understand and aren't sure how to process, so you don't answer it. Hopefully your parents are too fatigued to notice, but it feels like Dad is watching you pick at your fingers even though his eyes are on his food and the doorway through which you can hear Michael and Helen teaching the triplets how to hold and feed the pups. Mum and Mama must catch on something too - your avoidance, your nervous tic - and blatantly watch you over their plates. "Did something happen with your team?" Mum whispers, keeping this conversation to the kitchen.

A shoulder rises and falls. Your lips twist for a moment. Small movements there and gone belie the mess of emotions you don't know how to name.

Mama's hand on yours, a warm weight tethering you. "I think we need to talk when the rest are in the nest and the pups are sleeping." You can only nod.

"Dunno if ye heard, but the lass's Da had his pups," Soap whispers into the quiet evening. All he receives is a grunt in response. He's wrapped in Ghost's arms, Ghost's knot slowly deflating in his ass. A cock in the ass is one thing. Heat and stretch. The burn pleasant, a successful workout. An alpha's knot is an altogether different experience. Heat hot enough to scorch if you're unlucky. A stretch too far to be comfortable for either party, despite biology at play. Micro tears and burst capillaries. But he and Gaz do this for Ghost and will do it for Price in a few months if you aren't pack by then. It's one way they help the pack with balance.

Soap keeps up his running commentary in these stolen moments when Ghost is lucid, unconsumed by his instincts. "Price said 'e thinks she may be open ta courtin' when we get back." The arm around his waist grips tighter, and Ghost's scent goes briney with his arousal, a perfect compliment to Soap's own marine notes. "Ye like tha', huh, havin' Ren as oor own 'mega?" He knows the other man wants you. They all want you. And Ghost has been vocal this rut, calling out your name. Soap overhead Price's side of yesterday's call with you. Could hear a tinny version of you voice through the phone. The sadness there unmistakable. He knows Price is playing the long game. He only wished he knew how it will all play out.

Things are dark, closed, safe by the time your parents pull you from the nest. The pups and triplets are fast asleep, but Helen startles from half-slumber and Michael turns from his screen. "Just need to chat with your sister before she heads back to base," Dad tells them. "Can ya watch the pups? We'll be in the kitchen, yeah?" Michael nods, back to scrolling through his phone in the dim room. Helen scoots into the space Mama left next to the new pups, her body a gentle barrier to the nest's edge.

In the kitchen, the quiet feels oppressive. The lights don't make the room warm and inviting, instead you're on the wrong side of an interrogation, like when your parents caught you sneaking in from a party when you were in Lower Sixth. A butterfly under glass. Pinned by the weight of their knowing gazes.

The air takes on weight. There's some silent conversation between the moms and Dad. You remember the looks they shared when you told them about being on the boards on base. Finally, you crack. "What?" you ask, nervous and unsure of your footing.

"Baby," Dad starts, "why are you here?"

You avoided the question earlier but know they won't let you deflect now. "We'll, the team had leave, so I came home." The omission is deafening.

"Ya didn't want to take leave with yer team?" Mum asks. "Get ta know them without all the trainin' ya do?"

Somehow they've mastered the art of seeing past your artifice, and if you don't start telling them now, Mama will cut through your bullshit faster than a dog can lick a dish. You shift uncomfortably. This is somehow worse than the conversations you had in your teens about sex and consent and your heats and an alpha's ruts. Your jaw clenches briefly before you force yourself to relax. "Well, I'm here cause it isn't really leave fer the others. One of the pack alphas has his rut, and the whole pack takes a week to handle it together." You don't rush because if you go too fast and have to repeat yourself, you will self-immolate.

Mama blinks while Mum stares at Dad. Clear whatever planned conversation they had, this is not the information they expected you to share. "Er," Mama says, "that's very... progressive of them, yeah?" She recovers quickly because she asks, "Aren't they on suppressants?"

You shake your head. "Captain Price said they only use 'em during missions. Keeps 'em from throwin' anyone off valance for too long." Dad nods, and you hope he's remembering your bad reactions.

He's the one who breaks the silence next. "How do ya feel about them doin' that? Takin' off together, without you, to handle their alpha's rut?"

You think he's asking about you, but he could be asking about your omega, and you hate that you don't know which one answers when you say, honestly, "I miss them."

Mum hums and Mama nods along, but it's still Dad who speaks. "Have ya given any more thought to the other half of yer Captain's offer?"

There's no denying now this is about you being 141's omega, being more than teammates. Your hands fiddle in your lap. The longer you wait, the more obvious your answer seems to be, to them and to yourself. "I don't want things to change," you finally whisper, sounding so much younger. Vulnerable in a way you haven't let yourself be in too many years to count.

"Hey, pretty girl," Dad croons. You can't help but look at him. "Captain Price seems like a good alpha. We know he's a good Captain and a good man. From what you've told us, the whole team supports you and wants you to be a successful soldier. They're already looking out for you in their way."

Your parents let you sit with that truth for a few quiet minutes before Mama tells you, "Seems like they've shown interest. And it looks like your omega is interested. You deserve a pack of your own, honey. You've already put so much faith in these men. Maybe it's time to take that last leap, yeah?"

Mum chimes in with, "You'll always be our sweet girl, but you deserve a pack who will love you in a way we can't." There are tears lining her eyes, but she blinks them away before they fall. "We want you happy."

When they head back to the nest, you don't immediately follow. You sit in the stillness and listen, really listen, to your omega. How the team makes her feel safe, desired, cared for. How she wants what your parents have: the love and support and eventual family.

You know the 141 wouldn't make you retire. They'll support your career, and in that way, they're already better than most packs you could find. If rumors spread about you sleeping your way into the team because you're their omega, you know the pack would have your back. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be seen as who you are, not what you are?

Isn't it worth it to try?

next

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap

[kxsagi]

i’m so obsessed with your writing, it’s not even funny. Especially the way you write sae, it has me on a chokehold ughh😊🙏

“𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫”

a/n: OH YOU LEMME SQUEEZE YOU IN A TIGHT HUG THROUGH THE SCREEN??? THANK YOUUU!!!

just for that, you’re getting this: 

sae really thought that he was going to have a baby boy. 

after all, he had a brother, and the rest of his family were mostly boys, too (a/n: not canon but wouldn’t be surprised if it was). 

so when the OB/GYN hands over your newborn baby to him, his eyes almost pop out of his sockets and his pumping heart nearly breaks the sound barrier when he sees that he’s now the father of a girl. he has a daughter. 

“awww were you hoping for a boy?” you joke, playfully teasing your husband. 

“i was expecting a boy, but i’m not complaining.” you watch a small smile form onto his lips, a proud sign of an exciting new beginning. 

a year has passed and your baby girl’s features are becoming more prominent. 

her teal eyelids, very tired-like but still pretty, are framed by long bottom eyelashes, identical to her dad’s. everything else, from her skin to her hair, looks like you. 

“sae-kun, she’s so pretty!” sae’s manager, girolan, exclaims, as he holds up your baby girl in his arms like that one scene from the lion king. 

in response, sae only scoffs and side-eyes him. he can’t help it, he’s overprotective of his daughter and is getting uncomfortable by the second. 

your baby girl just stares at girolan, before doing the same, exhaling a puff of air, turning her chubby face, and side-eyeing him. 

girolan is baffled and immediately hands your daughter back to you. “did… did she just –” 

you’re breaking out into laughter, cutting off the overthinking man who is now afraid to hold your daughter again. 

your baby girl only scoffs, turns her head, and side-eyes him again, and you’re laughing harder than you have ever had in your entire life, your baby girl wondering why her mom is shaking like crazy. 

“what?” sae asks you. “what’s so funny?” 

“she’s doing the same thing you do!” 

“huh?” 

your baby girl notices the laughter and does the same thing to girolan for a third time. 

“the scoff, head turn, and side-eye!” you laugh, holding your baby girl closely and nuzzling your nose with hers in a fit of giggles, contagiously spreading to her and now she’s doing the same. 

“oh so she learned from sae…” girolan sighs. “so sassiness is a gene after all...” 

sae gently pinches his daughter’s chubby cheeks. “picking up on my attitude already, princess? you really are my daughter, aren’t you?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lovemetsumu]

you and me, religiously ; miya atsumu x f!reader

˚₊ ⸝⸝ ⟶ summary: you were never good at saying how you felt—and neither was atsumu. but the love was always there, quiet and aching, in the way you almost reached for each other but never quite did.

˚₊ ⸝⸝ ⟶ tags: bestfriend!atsumu, childhood friends-to-lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, soft angst

˚₊ ⸝⸝ ⟶ word count: 4k+

˚₊ ⸝⸝ ⟶ notes: just me writing about my fave boy and my fave trope again.

──────── · · · ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* · · · ────────

“you think coach’ll still let me start if i show up late?” suna asked you, monotone, eyes fixed ahead.

you snorted. “not if he finds out you stopped for vending machine snacks again.”

he gave a noncommittal shrug, tapping the volleyball against his hip. “cut me some slack. i just turned eighteen. feels like i should get a pass or something.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, happy birthday, grandpa. we're all eighteen this year. it's not that deep.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, gaze still on the hallway ahead. “last year of high school, and we’re still running late to practice.”

you grinned teasingly, “just you, sunarin.”

the gym wasn’t far now, the sound of drills and shouting teammates already bleeding into the hallway. then, without looking at you, he said it—casually, like it was just another update from class.

"atsumu’s transferring back here.”

you stopped walking mid-step, shoes skidding slightly against the hallway floor. “what?” you asked, turning your head so quickly toward suna it made your hair shift over your shoulder.

but he didn’t repeat it right away. just kept casually spinning the volleyball in his hands like he hadn’t just dropped the most shocking news you’d heard in years.

“no—wait,” you said again, voice a little breathless now. “are you serious?”

you searched his face for any sign that he was joking. a smirk. a twitch in his eye. something. but there was nothing—just suna, as unreadable as ever, giving a lazy shrug like it wasn’t the one name you never thought you’d hear again.

your heart was pounding. loud, quick, all-consuming.

atsumu was a memory you’d tucked away so deeply you thought it couldn’t reach you anymore. a name that still made something shift in your chest. and now—he was coming back?

he tossed the volleyball up once, caught it again. “yeah. thought it was already going around. he's starting next week.”

it had been years since you last saw him—back when you were both barely fifteen in the middle of junior high. he said goodbye outside your house, late in the evening. the streets were quiet, just the faint humming of the air. you still remembered the way he stood there under the dim porch light, his bag slung over one shoulder, eyes avoiding yours.

atsumu's voice had barely held steady when he said it, like each word scraped its way out of his throat. his fingers curled tightly into the hem of his hoodie, knuckles pale, like he was holding himself together with the smallest thread.

his eyes never really met yours—not for long. they kept flicking to the side, then back again, like he couldn’t decide whether looking at you made it harder to leave or easier to pretend he could.

the streetlight outside your house flickered gently overhead, casting his face in dim amber. he looked older in that moment. not because of time, but because of everything he wasn’t saying.

his heart was thudding too loud in his chest. he wanted to tell you it wasn’t his choice. that he hated the idea of leaving. that every time he packed a bag or thought about his flight, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind.

“i didn’t wanna leave,” he said quietly, almost like it was a secret. “it was just… my mom’s job. she had to move to tokyo, so I had to go too.”

and then he smiled—tight, fleeting. not bright or cocky like usual, but small, like he was afraid that if he smiled any wider, it’d shatter.

“i’ll see ya, ‘kay?” he said, voice barely steady. “promise I won’t forget, y/n. not ever.”

he hesitated for just a second before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you—tight, like he didn’t want to let go. his chin brushed your shoulder, and you could feel the way he held his breath.

“i'll text you. or, like… send pictures or somethin’. i dunno.” he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes earnest. “i'll keep in touch. i mean it.”

and then he let go—too soon—and took a step back, like staying any longer would make it even harder to leave.

he was gone. and at first, he tried—texts here and there, blurry pictures from tokyo, the occasional call late at night when he couldn’t sleep. you clung to those moments, tucked them away like little keepsakes.

but the messages grew farther apart. the calls stopped. life got louder. you were both just kids, and maybe that’s what growing up does—it pulls people in different directions before they even realize it.

until one day, there was nothing. no calls. no letters. just silence. and with time, you started to believe that maybe he was never coming back.

and then, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding—he was there. a week later, just like suna had said, as if he’d never really left.

it was early. the quiet hum of spring had just begun to slip in through the open windows, the scent of cherry blossoms faint in the breeze. your shoes tapped softly against the floor as you stepped inside, half-lost in thought. you enter the room without hesitation, making your way to your usual seat by the window.

as you settle in, you notice that suna isn’t in his seat beside yours. irritated, you grab your phone and quickly type—where the hell are you? i thought we were supposed to come early, then sit back, waiting for his reply.

the room is quiet until a gentle laugh cuts through the silence.

it was the laugh you’d known since you were little, in sun-warmed days playing tag in the park, scraped knees and shared popsicles, pinky promises made on random lazy summer afternoons. the same one that used to pull you by the wrist across the playground, that whispered you’re my favorite in a boy’s clumsy way—through laughter, and shared snacks, and sheltering you from the rain with a too-small umbrella.

you look up, startled, and there he is, already watching you from across the room.

miya atsumu

he looked the same. and he didn’t. he was taller now, with broader shoulders. his blonde hair still framed his face, and his uniform was worn in that casual, half-cared-for way. but it was his eyes that drew you in—something heavier, something older. they held a quiet intensity.

but the way he looked at you—gentle, surprised, as if he was seeing you for the first time—made his breath hitch for a moment. his eyes, focused and soft, took in every detail of how different you looked now. he noticed the way your hair now fell in waves, catching the light just so, and how your eyes looked like it could light up the entire world.

in that split second, atsumu thought none of the girls in tokyo, none of them, could come close, his lips parted, just slightly. he looked like he might say something.

“....y/n?” he called softly, uncertainty tinting his voice as if he weren’t sure the years had changed you both.

he took a step toward you. then another. and you thought you’d forgotten the sound of his voice, but now that it filled the room—low, a little raspier, softer than it used to be—you knew you hadn’t.

not really.

“'tsumu?” you said, your voice soft—like it might disappear if you spoke any louder.

“god,” he said, “you’re really here.”

the silence between you stretched, but not awkwardly. he looked at you like he was still piecing you back together from memory, and you looked at him like you were afraid to blink in case he disappeared again.

“you’ve…changed,” you murmured, eyes tracing the slope of his jaw, the line of his mouth.

he shrugged, then rubbed the back of his neck—boyish, sheepish, but his eyes never left yours. “you haven’t. not really.”

you smiled, and it hit him all at once—how much he missed that smile, how many nights he’d spent regretting the space that had grown between you. guilt settled quiet in his chest, and he wondered if you were angry with him. if he even had the right to miss you this much. and for a brief second, he found himself thinking if the two of you could ever find your way back to how it used to be—before the distance, before he left.

but whatever he was about to say got lost the moment another voice chimed in behind you.

“there you are!” osamu popped in first, eyes lighting up the second he saw you. “holy shit, i knew it! it was you!” he grinned, barely giving you time to react before he threw an arm around your shoulders, hugging you tight like you were still in junior high. “you haven’t changed one bit,” he laughed, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“speak for yourself,” you teased, smiling up at him.

then came suna, hands in his pockets. “you look the same, but less angry,” he said casually, lips twitching in the closest thing to a smile.

you gave him a look. “this why you ignored my text?”

he shrugged, sliding into the seat beside you. “figured you’d find me eventually.”

“yeah? next time we make a plan, i’m ditching you first,” you muttered, nudging him lightly with your foot under the desk.

osamu chuckled as he leaned against your desk. “some things never change.”

“like you being late?” you shot back.

“hey, at least i brought onigiris this time.”

atsumu hadn’t said a word, but somewhere in between the teasing, he’d moved closer. now, he stood just beside you—quiet, lingering—like something in him had been pulled there before he could think twice. it had been years, but standing next to you again made it feel like no time had passed at all. like if he reached out just a little, you might lean into him the way you used to.

he didn’t, though. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, let his arms barely brush your shoulder, and said, “jeez, you’re still short. thought you would’ve grown a little by now.”

he let out a soft chuckle, eyes flicking down to you. you could tell he was trying—softening the edges, reaching out in his own awkward way—and so you tried too.

you glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “you’re just freakishly tall 'tsumu,” you said. “it’s not my fault you hit a second growth spurt or whatever.” the words came easier than you thought they would. like muscle memory. like maybe this didn’t have to be as hard as you feared.

atsumu's shoulders eased, just a bit. he thought maybe you weren’t mad after all. maybe this could still be okay. and when you let out a small laugh—barely more than a breath, but real—and flashed him that same smile he used to see after long practices and stupid jokes, it hit him, soft and sudden—this was home. it always had been. wherever you were.

then, in between moments, the bell rang sharp, but not enough to break the feeling entirely. footsteps echoed into the room as more students trickled in, voices rising, chairs scraping against the floor. the teacher entered not long after, calling for everyone to return to their seats.

atsumu lingered for a second longer, then nudged your head gently with his elbow. “see ya later,” he said, tone light, almost too casual.

osamu gave suna a small nod. “don’t fall asleep in the first ten minutes.”

they both turned—and while osamu crossed the room, atsumu circled behind you.

you didn’t turn to look, but you felt it anyway—the way the air shifted as he sat in his chair just behind yours, of course he did. that was always his seat. still is. and somehow, that small familiarity felt louder now than it used to.

you pressed your pen to the page a little harder than necessary. he was right there. this was going to be distracting. you weren’t even sure why it got to you—just that it did. that he was close enough for you to hear the way he exhaled, the soft scrape of his chair against the floor. that if you leaned back even slightly, you might hear him humming under his breath like he used to.

time blurred after that. one class bled into the next—notes scribbled half-heartedly, lessons that barely registered. your pen hovered over your notebook, unmoving, eyes flicking toward the window, and then back—because you could feel it. that quiet, burning stare.

he was seated just behind you. too close. or maybe not close enough. his presence folded into the edge of your awareness like static, never fully gone. always there.

atsumu stretched once, and the motion behind you was slow, languid. a little exaggerated, a little too casual. you felt the back of his shoe nudge the leg of your chair when he settled again, not hard, just enough to make you glance over your shoulder. you didn’t. but he knew you felt it.

the teacher’s voice faded in and out, words smearing into the background. when he answered a question, his voice came from just behind your ear—low, raspy, but quite soft, like sleep hadn’t left it yet. you didn’t mean to notice it. didn’t want to. but it slipped in anyway, warm and steady. it didn’t matter what he said. it was the sound of it. the way it got to you.

you kept your eyes on the board, but the paper beneath your hand stayed mostly blank. a few scattered notes. a sketch in the margin you didn’t remember starting. you were half-listening, half-drifting, when you felt him lean forward.

“what was the thing the teacher said earlier? somethin’ about that definition?”

you blinked down at your notes. “which one?”

“dunno. you wrote it down, right?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the half-finished sentence on your page. the question wasn’t real—not really. he wasn’t looking for an answer. he was looking for a reason.

“you could just listen for once."

you dipped your head slightly, lips tugging into a smile before you could stop it.

“yeah, but then i wouldn’t get to bother ya.”

he let out a faint sound, something like a breath of amusement, like he was smiling into his hand. you didn’t look back, but you could feel it—his grin, lazy and crooked and far too pleased with himself.

you didn’t turn, just kept your eyes on your notebook. “you gonna keep staring while you do it?”

there was a soft shift behind you—the creak of his chair, the faint rustle of fabric as he leaned forward just enough for his presence to press closer.

“can't help it,” he murmured, and you swore you could feel the curve of a smile in his voice—quiet, a little tired, like it slipped out without thinking.

you told yourself not to read into it. it was just a line. just him being him. still, your grip on your pen tightened, and you had to blink down at your page like it could ground you. first day back and he was already getting to you.

then the final bell dragged itself through the halls like a tired breath. you packed your things slowly, letting the weight of the afternoon settle into your shoulders.

beside you, suna stretched in his seat, back cracking faintly as he let out a quiet sigh. the scrape of a chair. the rustle of bags.

osamu wandered over, dropping his bag beside suna’s desk with a thud. “coach’s gonna go hard today, huh.”

suna snorted. “yeah, well, it’s your fault for skipping practice for three years.”

“not my fault we had that whole tokyo thing,” osamu muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“you and atsumu both,” suna said. “hope you like serving drills. you’re gonna be doing them for the rest of the week.”

atsumu leaned back in his chair behind you, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest like he had something to prove. “try me, i’ll still ace every serve,” he said, all confidence, even if it wavered just a little.

osamu gave him a look. “you were complaining about it all lunch.”

“yeah, well. not in front of suna.”

suna rolled his eyes, and you kept your head down, slipping your notebooks into your bag. quiet, careful, like you weren’t listening—but you were.

you were halfway through packing your things, slipping your notebook into your bag while the boys were still talking—half banter, half complaint. suna said something under his breath that made osamu scoff, and atsumu laughed a little too loud, the sound stretching into the space behind you.

you didn’t look back, but you could feel him glance your way. once. then again. like he was waiting for something—or maybe just working up to it.

“you comin’ to watch practice?”

you blinked, unsure if he was talking to you. your hands hovered over your bag, halfway zipped. the question hung there for a moment, light but deliberate. you glanced over your shoulder.

he was looking at you now—eyes steady, a little too focused for something that was supposed to be casual. and so were suna and osamu—conversations fading, the room dipping into a pause. all three of them watching, like the question needed an answer.

you didn’t say anything at first. just nodded to yourself a little, like you were still thinking about it.

“…dunno,” you said eventually, softer than you meant to.

“she never misses,” suna said, deadpan, already slinging his bag over his shoulder.

you shook your head, smile tugging at your lips. “do you memorize everyone’s schedule or just mine?”

suna didn’t miss a beat. “just yours,” he said flatly, nudging your desk lightly with his foot as he stood. “gotta keep an eye on our number one fan.”

osamu snorted as he got to his feet, and atsumu was rubbing the back of his neck, trying (and failing) to hide a grin.

atsumu huffed. “we’re headin’ now. you should come.”

you hesitated. “i gotta drop something off with the teacher.”

he gave a small nod, like he didn’t want to make a thing of it. “alright. see ya there, then.”

they left together, voices fading into the hallway.

once they were gone, the room felt quieter somehow. still full of leftover noise—chairs askew, papers rustling—but without them, it settled into something gentler. something easier to breathe in.

you took your time packing the last of your things, then made your way to the front to drop off a paper with the teacher. your footsteps were unhurried, almost quiet. no real reason to rush.

instead of heading straight to the gym, you circled around the courtyard, taking the long way on purpose. the breeze brushed your face, the late afternoon sun soft against your skin. it wasn’t about avoiding them, not exactly—it was just… everything had felt a little too much all at once.

you lingered at the hallway corner, just outside the gym doors, fingers curled loosely around the strap of your bag. there were voices inside already—shoes squeaking on the polished floor, a whistle cutting through the air.

and then you stepped in.

the sharp thud of volleyballs hitting the court greets you first, followed by the low calls of names, the rhythm of feet against wood. they’re already warming up—spikes on one side, serves on the other. your eyes instinctively search for suna, and you find him crouched near the net, focused and loose-limbed, his movements precise.

but it’s the opposite end of the court that holds you still.

atsumu stands at the service line, a ball in hand, his body already in motion. you catch the fluid arc of his arm, the way his form slices through the air with such practiced grace that it almost looks like muscle memory brought to life.

then the ball sails.

it spins—fast, controlled, almost cruel in the way it dips just before the line. a perfect serve.

you don’t realize you’ve stopped walking until he’s already lining up another.

he looks up. his gaze catches yours.

and it’s… steady. not surprised, not sharp like before, but something softer—open, maybe. the edges of him aren’t as guarded now. he holds your gaze even as he tosses the next ball, his eyes never wavering until the last second, when instinct takes over and he strikes.

this one lands just inside the corner, making even osamu whistle low from the sidelines.

you shift your weight, unsure of what to do with the heat blooming behind your chest.

suna glances over and gives you a slight nod, as if to say you saw that too, huh? you manage a small smile, one that falters when you look back at atsumu—who’s still watching you, even as osamu tosses him another ball.

there’s something unreadable in his expression. not arrogance, not pride. just a quiet hope.

you sit where you usually do, just beside the gym wall. a little removed, a little safe. suna jogs over on a water break and tosses you a bottle he probably stole from someone’s bag.

“you made it,” he says, voice low and dry.

you nod. “long practice?”

“coach is squeezing blood out of us before prelims.” he leans against the wall, brushing sweat from his temple. “he’s serious about nationals this year.”

you hum in response, eyes drifting back toward the court.

atsumu’s still at the service line, though this time, it’s osamu who steps beside him, saying something only the two of them can hear. atsumu’s mouth pulls into a crooked grin before he sends another serve flying.

when it hits the court, it echoes.

a few minutes pass, filled with the steady rhythm of shoes squeaking and balls thudding against the court. The gym hums with effort, voices rising and falling as drills wind down. when the whistle blows for a break, the players scatter—some toward their water bottles, others to the benches lined along the wall.

atsumu makes his way toward you, towel slung around his neck, sweat glinting at his temples. you don’t look up right away, too focused on the notebook in your lap, the corners curled from how tightly you’ve been holding it. it's only when his shadow stretches over the page that you glance up.

“oh,” you say, blinking. “didn't realize your stuff was here.”

he doesn’t answer right away, just drops down beside you with a soft exhale, the kind that comes after a training that steals breath but feels good in the chest.

you give him a sidelong look, then smile a little.

“you're serving really well today, 'tsumu.”

he pauses, mid-reach for his water bottle, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes. he masks it quickly—tilting his head, smirking like it’s nothing—but inside, the words ring louder than the ball had when it smacked the court earlier.

“yeah?” he says, casual, wiping his neck with the towel.

you hum in agreement, eyes already drifting back to the court, unaware of how the praise has settled in him.

he chuckles, quiet but real, gaze still lingering on you.

“guess it’s ‘cause you’re watchin’.”

the words come softer than his usual teasing—lighter, but not a joke. and for once, he doesn’t try to cover it up.

you glance at him, but he’s already looking away, pretending to be more focused on the court than he is. but you can see it—the way his mouth almost twitches into a smile, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

there’s a beat of quiet, stretched just long enough to feel like it matters.

“that place we used to go to after practice,” he says, voice casual, like it’s nothing. “it still around?”

you nod slowly, zipping up your jacket halfway. “yeah. still there.”

he reaches for his water bottle, then turns back to you with a look that doesn’t quite match the lightness in his tone—something steadier, warmer, a little more certain than before.

“wanna go after this?”

you pause, caught off guard in that quiet, fluttering kind of way. it’s not a big moment. he’s not making it one. and maybe that’s what makes it feel like one anyway.

you smile—soft, barely there, but genuine. “yeah. sure.”

he doesn’t say anything else, just nods once and turns back toward the court. but the expression on his face lingers like an echo, tucked between something fond and something hopeful.

and for a second, it sits with you—settles in, quiet and familiar, like something you almost forgot the shape of. not just the question, but everything behind it. the ease of old routines. the echo of afternoons spent in the same spots, sharing food and stories and laughter that spilled too easily.

you don’t breathe too hard around it, afraid it might break the spell. because it’s been years, and still, somehow, it feels the same. and maybe, just maybe, it always will.

──────── · · · ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* · · · ────────

© lovemetsumu

[dedeinthewild]

pepe martì x reader, intrusive thoughts

~ from hand scribbles series (tell me an oddly specific situation/state of mind and I'll rec/write a fic about it)

"Oh—uh—sorry. Intrusive thoughts."

situation : do you ever think about how sweet and gentle the other person is when trying to match your height? and how much their neck just seems so kissable?

-Dos polos, por favor.-

The sun had been scorching all day, and although the beach wasn't noisy, there were a few kids playing with a ball, slapping the waves with bright, beautiful smiles. It was a special time in Barcelona, when most of the young people had gone on vacation elsewhere, and many families had decided to go to the mountains, leaving the beach almost empty, except for a few groups who kept the music low and spent the day enjoying each other's company.

She and Pepe had spread out a towel, dropping their things on the sand, quickly removing their shirts and shorts like people who had no other worries and diving into the water, holding their breath against the cooler September ocean.

The driver had come up with the idea to go to the beach when he brought her to Barcelona for one of the last Red Bull events he had to attend. She pretended not to love it, just to see the look on his face when he realized that she had actually enjoyed it—almost like it wasn’t clear under the sun how happy she was to watch him do his thing.

-Gracias,- he looked up from his popsicle wrapper, a half-step behind her, lingering on the warm smile the man behind the counter gave her as she tried speaking in their language—with those cheeks full of lightness Pepe dreamed of and those special eyes, tickled by the rebellious, salt-sprayed hair that fell over her shoulders.

-I may be envying your accent,- he teased with a gentle smile as they walked outside, the only sounds in the air, besides the distant music and the waves, being the crinkle of plastic as they tossed their wrappers into a trash bin, squinting at the sun that was starting to set, reminding them it was time for a snack.

-It’s the worst,- she laughed, standing beside him, the breeze from the ocean tugging her hair back, revealing her soft features.

-I think it’s cute, actually,- Pepe bit into his popsicle, careful not to let the sticky tropical flavor drip down onto his chin. It was his favorite flavor, one he’d loved since he was a child.

Pepe didn’t need to look at her. He had every detail of her memorized in his brown irises, and he knew exactly what was going through her mind at that moment. She had always been one of those people who cared deeply for the people around her, who felt most fulfilled when she could spend a simple, carefree day with them—talking about a childhood she could never get back and a future so close she could almost touch it. She was one of those people who craved moments, yet missed them while they were still happening. And there she was, standing, wrapped in a sarong around her waist—something she’d been insecure about many times, but with him, it was the last thing on her mind. She stood there, breathing softly, the breeze making the light fabric of her sarong dance, while the sunlight tinted her skin just a bit too much, making her think of how much she disliked the sun, but the smell of sunscreen made her feel at home.

He’d learned to appreciate that expression on her face, and it would always be magical to him. It was like the look on your mom’s face when you tell her about something amazing you’ve done, and she’s so proud of you it shows in every line of her face. Or the expression on your older sister’s face when you tell her you helped someone, and her pride radiates from her. It was like hearing a song too many times, but it always had the same effect on him.

-Say something in Spanish,- he told her, taking another bite of his popsicle.

-Why?- she asked, eating her popsicle slowly, trying not to make a mess with it.

-Because I like it,- he smiled, looking down at the little seashells at their feet, washed up by the ocean but left unbroken.

-Eres muy molesto, Pepe,- she laughed, looking up at him from the bottom of their significant height difference, making her already sweet face even cuter.

And she couldn’t say something like that to him, expecting him not to laugh at the obvious misunderstanding of the phrase in Spanish, which could easily be interpreted in a negative way.

-Pero te encanta, ¿a que sí?- he looked at her, with one of those laughs that made you want to laugh along, fixing his gaze on hers as if she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She had a little popsicle drip on her lips, looking so young.

-Tal vez,- she didn’t look away, biting the inside of her cheek to hide the smirk that was creeping up from her chest as she heard how Pepe’s voice dropped when he said that.

The air smelled like salt, and seafood from the nearby restaurants started to drift through the breeze, preparing for the evening’s service, while a group of boys a little farther down from them had grabbed a guitar and were strumming it, chewing on their popsicle sticks, improvising lyrics to a song they didn’t know by heart. And at that moment, she understood why the Spaniard felt at home there, why he loved coming here when he visited Barcelona. Because this place felt like youth. Like having too many worries, yet none at all. Like knowing what the future would bring, yet having no idea at the same time.

-Dilo otra vez,- he said.

-What, ‘maybe’?- she asked, as they continued walking, playfully nudging each other with their hands and feet, stumbling a little but laughing loudly in the middle of Barcelona.

-No. Anything. Just—keep talking,- he suggested, looking at the horizon, trying to let her know that he didn’t just like hearing her try to speak in his language. He loved hearing the way she finished her sentences with a slight question in her tone, almost as if asking for his approval, and the fact that it was her speaking made it even better.

She started saying something, looking down as she tied her hair with the elastic she’d kept in the crook of her elbow, her skin still warm from the sun, her voice growing more confident. But the ocean had other plans, and with the sound of a wave crashing against the pier, accompanied by the voices of the boys nearby, it stole her voice.

Pepe lowered himself slightly, bringing his face closer to hers so he could hear her better, with such a soft, disarming sweetness that it made her stop in her tracks for a moment, stealing her breath away with the minty scent of his skin. His slightly olive-toned skin highlighted his squared jaw, which wasn’t too prominent, and framed his face in harmony, along with his smooth, black hair that fell gently onto his pilot’s neck. The way he had crossed his arms behind his back, completely focused on her, letting go of the distance between them like there was nothing else but them at that moment.

And in that moment, it happened. Yes, it happened.

Her cold lips pressed just below his jaw, leaving a gentle, almost shy kiss on his skin. Without her thinking about it, dictated by the moment, and desired deeply.

-Did you just—?- Pepe froze, like a computer malfunctioning at the most crucial moment, the almost-finished popsicle stick in his hand, the sensation of cold still on his neck, making him lick his lips as he realized what had just happened.

-Oh—uh—sorry. Intrusive thoughts.-

She laughed, brushing away that tiny hint of shyness caused by the insecurity she’d always had.

Her eyes were happy, her body light, as though she wasn’t even touching the ground, while the breeze played with her sarong and the sunlight made her figure seem almost ethereal. She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t spent the last hour calculating the pros and cons, letting the fear of missing an opportunity hold her back. She had done it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Like walking. Like breathing. Like laughing.

-…Intrusive thoughts?- Pepe was failing to hold back his smile, still with a piece of his cheek between his teeth.

-Yeah! You know, like, sometimes your brain just—just tells you to do something, and you—- she gestured with her hands—and you do it before you can stop yourself? That. That’s what happened.-

-So just to clarify… your brain told you to kiss me and you just listened?- he asked, letting himself smile fully, not touching her as he wanted to, because everything he wanted to say to her was in his eyes, and the way they were looking at each other with such ease.

-Technically, I kissed your jaw,- she smiled, leaving a hint of her dimples on her expression, as she smiled genuinely, without worrying about having the right expression or holding back.

The driver shook his head, the guitar in the background strumming their soundtrack, as it captured both of them and wouldn’t let go so easily.

-I’m onto you,- he teased, while his mind replayed the image of her cool minty lips just under his jaw, so naturally that neither of them had realized what had happened.

-Oh yeah?-

-That’s so you,- he said, looking at her, trying to imprint on his mind the image of her on the shore, the sarong low on her waist, the black swimsuit hugging her in a way her usual clothes never did, and a few strands of hair tickling her forehead.

-So… do you get a lot of intrusive thoughts about kissing me?-

I do, actually. I mean, not with pepe, obviously, but he suited the situation I had in mind so well I could not let it go. I'm desperately longing to be loved, is that reflecting in my fics?

[raayllum]

love you again

summary: A prominent mage and on the cusp of his thirtieth birthday, Callum thinks he’s finally starting to truly leave the past behind. Until a kid claiming to be Rayla’s shows up on his doorstep, that is, asking for his help. co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs word count: 3.3k

CHAPTER THREE:

They reach the other side of the Breach a few hours after waking, Ryn’s cheeks taking on a paler blue hue as he guides Callum off the main path.

“We were in this direction, I think.” 

Callum nods. The dirt gives way to rocks and tree roots, the horse steady even if she whinnies a tad nervously. 

“We’ll probably find something soon if we keep going this way,” Ryn says, trying to keep his tone hopeful. Mostly because he’ll go a little crazy himself if they don’t.

“Hm.” 

Ryn isn’t quite sure what Callum is thinking, exactly, even if Ryn nudges him to make a right into a thicket of trees rather than the left. Things are starting to look familiar, Ryn not shutting out the memories of that night despite how badly he wanted to... even if he’d just shut his eyes and run the way his mother had told him to. 

Still... the last place they’d been here, where they could begin tracking her, has to be around here somewhere , right? 

“What were you and your Mom doing when the poachers came?” Callum asks, guiding their steed over bigger tree roots.

“We were sleeping,” Ryn mumbles.

“Okay. So you guys lit a fire?”

“Well yeah, but it’s been weeks and probably rained since then, how —”

“Sun magic and Earth magic have a strong recall,” Callum explains, digging around in his pouch. He produces what looks like a sun ruby, if modified—green along the crevices. Two magics at once. “This’ll help us find the campfire site. Then we can do historia viventem to see what happened.” He crushes it in his hand, using both to draw two runes in the air. 

Ryn watches, mystified, as a tiny ball of light glows and hums, gold and emerald swirling together before it streaks ahead, and Callum urges their horse into a faster trot and then a jog to keep up. 

Finally, they emerge in a glade that is distinctly familiar—his mother tapping him on the nose as she teased him over constellation stories, eating the last of the roasted bird on a spit—so familiar in fact that his heart hurts a little. It’s been knocked over, the smaller twigs taken by animals for their nest, the ash scattered by the wind, but he can still make out their campfire in the grass.

Callum’s seeking spell dissipates. “Is—?”

“Yeah,” Ryn says, his voice strangely distant to himself. “This is where—” His throat tightens. “Where we were last together,” he finishes, eyes and nose stinging.

READ THE REST ON AO3

[agaypanic]

Hello! I wanna request for aged up Roderick where he falls for his tutor that he was forced by his mom to get. Maybe a little bit of insecurity on his part cause he's scared she'll think he's dumb.

You're Not That Dumb (Rodrick Heffley X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: By some miracle, Rodrick graduates high school and decides to take some classes at the community college. When his mom finds out he’s failing one of his classes, she hires you to tutor him. 

A/N: guys i think taking adhd meds and vitamin d is working bc why am i starting to pop off rn (writing 3 fics a month instead of 2). rodrick and reader are 19 and go to community college. Rodrick is dyslexic bc “dore” and “sweaty” bae cmon now… apologies in advance for a lil anorexic joke towards the end, it was the only word i thought rodrick would know that sounded like dyslexic

***

“Mom, I’m an adult. I don’t need a tutor.”

“Yes, Rodrick, you do.” Susan sighed, dropping the laundry she was folding back in the basket and looking at her son. “You’re failing English, and your father will be furious if you get dropped from the class. So, you’re getting a tutor.”

Rodrick groaned in frustration. “What happened to you guys trusting me to be responsible?” 

“When you start acting responsibly, then we’ll trust you.” His mom replied, starting to fold her clean clothes again. “Please, just give it a chance. I talked to one of my friends, and she said her daughter can help you on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.”

“My tutor’s a girl?” Rodrick asked, starting to warm up to the idea of getting help with his class.

Susan gave him a suspicious look. “Yes… Is that a problem?”

“Nope! Not at all. I think this tutor thing is actually an excellent idea.” Rodrick started to back out of the room. Once he got to the doorway, he turned around and sped away so he wouldn’t get any further questions from his mom. “The best idea.”

***

Rodrick didn’t seem to take into account that having a tutor meant he was actually expected to work. He tried his best to evade it, but you obviously weren’t letting up. 

“Dude, it’s not that hard.” You tried to keep your irritation from coming out. You knew Rodrick was a bit of a slacker, but it was completely ridiculous that you two had been sitting at his desk for fifteen minutes just staring at his problem packet.

“I know,” Rodrick replied defensively. He let out a huff of air, moving around in his seat. “I’m just… focusing my eyes.”

The more he tried to look at the page, the more confused he seemed to be getting. You needed to think of a different approach quick before you lost your cool.

“Maybe seeing all the different questions is getting you mixed up.” You finally took the packet, and Rodrick seemed to be relieved. “How about I read the questions, so you can come up with the answers. Okay?” He nodded, turning in his desk chair to face you. “Ready? Okay, why is it a sin to kill a mockingbird?”

Rodrick was quiet for a moment, and you hoped it was because he was formulating his response.

“Because they…” You braced yourself for his answer. “Don’t… deserve it?”

You raised your brows in surprise, and Rodrick mirrored your expression. “Yeah! I mean, you could say that about probably any bird, but good job! See, Rodrick, you know this stuff!” 

The next couple of questions went the same. Rodrick would give you a hesitant half-answer, and you would give him more details while praising him for getting another question right. Both of your moods improved, Rodrick trying to hide (but failing horrendously) his giddy smile every time you told him he was right, and you were relieved to finally be getting somewhere in your study session.

After a few more right answers, you decided that Rodrick deserved a break. In his excitement, Rodrick somehow stretched the supposed ten-minute break to almost an hour. He captivated you easily despite the fact that earlier that afternoon, you were grumbling about having to waste a day helping him when you could’ve been out with friends. But now, as you watched him air drum to a song you couldn’t recognize for your life, you realized that he was kind of cute.

“Okay, okay, I think you’re done now.” You laughed when the song faded out, and Rodrick slumped down in his chair. “We should probably finish up your homework.”

Rodrick sighed but didn’t argue. You handed him back the packet of questions, and once again, he just stared down at the questions. 

“You can do it, Rodrick.” You urged, trying to sound encouraging as you eased a pencil into his hand. “It’s just all the stuff we were talking about.”

“Right…” He trailed off, not very convinced. 

At first, Rodrick dropped the tip of the pencil to the first question. It didn’t move, just making a small dot on the paper as he looked down helplessly. Then his eyes flicked up a bit, and he suddenly scribbled something at the top of the page. 

That seemed to give him the confidence to start writing answers. His handwriting was messy; you couldn’t read it very well from your current position beside him. But you were just happy he was actually doing the work now. 

As he went down the page, his writing had more pauses and uncertainty. You told him he could take a break after the first page so you could look over his work. When he marked down the last period, he shyly slid the packet over to you. You gave Rodrick an encouraging smile before picking it up, and that seemed to ease his nerves.

But the immediate bewilderment he saw when you scanned the page made him even more panicky.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

You didn’t answer for a moment, trying to figure out how to approach the topic you wanted to bring up. 

“Rodrick, can I ask you something?” He nodded instantly. “Have you ever, uh, like… been tested? With your reading and writing, I mean?”

Rodrick was a bit confused by the question. He couldn’t recall any of that happening. But then again, Rodrick wasn’t the best at paying attention. He shook his head, wondering what you were trying to say.

Sighing, you decided to bite the bullet. “Rodrick, I think you might be dyslexic.”

He blinked at you, processing the information. Then he knitted his brows together, looking at you like you were the one that had something wrong with them. “Nuh-uh, I eat all the time.”

Now you were the one to blink at him, taking a second to try to connect the dots that Rodrick had. “I said dyslexic, not anorexic.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed by the mixup, he straightened up in his seat and scratched at the back of his neck. “But I know how to spell.” One quick glance from you back down to his paper made him gasp. He put a hand to his chest dramatically, which helped lighten the mood. “I can spell!”

“Rodrick, you put an ‘E’ in your first name.”

***

Rodrick Heffley Taglist: @tweedledipshit @screechingsandwichtriumph

[skywlkrhoney]

Kisses, cigarettes and salty breezes

Sam monroe x fem!reader

Warnings: Sam and reader miss class to smoke in the morning

FLUFF!! reader and sam completely in love

The cold morning breeze hit my skin, causing a little chill. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to warm up, even wearing my favorite purple cardigan. The walkman in my ears played Complicated, by Avril Lavigne, while I walked to my boyfriend's house, Sam Monroe, so we could go to school together.

I climbed the steps of the balcony and knocked on the door three times, waiting a few seconds until the door opened. Sam's mother appeared on the stop, slightly frowning before opening a surprised smile.

- Y/n, what a surprise you are here at this time.

I took the walkman out of my ears and opened my mouth to answer, but before I could say anything, Sam appeared behind his mother, his hair messy and his backpack hanging on one of his shoulders. He rolled his eyes, taking my hand without ceremony.

- Let's go soon y/n, have a good day mom

- Samuel! - his mother scolded, crossing her arms.

He just pulled me by the hand, dragging me out before the conversation continued.

- You didn't need to be so rude, Sam - I commented, trying to keep up with the pace of his steps.

- Yes, I needed to, or she was going to keep talking... I don't know, cake recipes or anything else useless - he replied, throwing a quick look at me, with a half-funny smile.

I give a low laugh, intertwining our hands even more as we walk side by side, our shoulders touching each other from time to time, bringing a subtle feeling of comfort.

We walk in silence, one of those that doesn't need to be filled, until Sam suddenly stops. I feel the slight pull on my hand and turn my face to him, arching an eyebrow in doubt.

- What's up, Sam?

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, a small smile plays on his lips as he gently pulls me by the intertwined hands. My body approaches his, and before I know it, Sam lets go of my hand to hold my waist with both hands, his fingers slightly squeezing the fabric of my cardigan.

My heart speeds up a little when I realize how close we are. His face is inches from mine, and his gaze slowly goes down to my lips before returning to my eyes.

- I don't think I said "good morning" the right way to my girl - he murmurs, squeezing my waist a little more.

I feel my face heat up with the proximity, and a silly smile escapes before I can contain it. I look away for a second, trying to disguise it, but Sam lets out a low laugh.

- Are you running away from me now? - he provokes, tilting his head slightly to the side.

- I'm not running away - I reply, biting my lip to hold a bigger smile.

He laughs softly and tilts my head gently, making me look directly into his eyes before approaching and connecting our lips. His hands squeeze my waist once again, and I pull our bodies even closer together, wrapping my arms around his neck.

The kiss deepens, and for a few seconds—which look more like minutes—we get lost in each other. When the air finally becomes a necessity, we walk away, taking a deep breath. Sam gives me a few soft kisses, before touching our foreheads together, his eyes half-closed in a satisfied smile.

- Good morning to you too - I murmur, a funny and passionate smile dancing on my lips.

He lets out a low giggle and slides his hand to my face, pushing away some strands messed up by the wind.

- We can divert the path from school and go to the beach to smoke, hm?

I laughed, shaking my head in denial

- We can't skip class, Sam.

He makes a dramatic face, tilting his head to the side.

- Shall we go, please? You can ask your friend for the notes.

I bite my lip, pretending to be deeply thoughtful. I put a hand on my chin and narrow my eyes, as if I were calculating the consequences of that choice. Sam crosses his arms and watches me, clearly having fun with my little theater.

- Right... - I finally let go, smiling sideways.

He smiles victoriously and lightly pats my waist before pulling me closer, putting an arm around me. Our bodies now stick to each other as we begin to walk in the opposite direction of the school, going towards the pier.

The salty smell of the sea mixed with the aroma of the cigarette as I rested my hands on the wooden railing of the pier, feeling the cold breeze mess up my hair. The waves beat gently against the pillars below us.

Sam was behind me, the heat of his body contrasting with the icy wind. He held the cigarette between his fingers, taking it to his mouth before releasing the smoke slowly, as if there was no hurry for anything. Then, without saying a word, he extended the cigarette to me.

I took it between my lips and took a deep breath, feeling the nicotine mix with the calm of the moment. The silence between us was not uncomfortable—in fact, it was comfortable.

Sam slid his hands to my waist, the warm touch on the thin fabric of my cardigan causing me a chill. He leaned a little more, his breath hitting the back of my neck.

- Did you know that I like it more here when you're with me? - he murmured, his voice hoarse for the cigarette.

I released the smoke in a low laugh, turning my face a little to look at him at a glance.

- You say that because I let you skip class.

He laughed lightly, touching his chin to my shoulder.

- Also... - he admitted, squeezing my waist a little more. - But it's true.

I turned my head slightly, feeling the proximity of his face, and left a soft kiss on his cheek. Sam smiled from the corner, but before I could get away completely, he raised his head and captured my lips in his.

This time, the kiss came slower, more intense. His hands squeezed my waist lightly, as if he wanted to keep me there for as long as possible. My heart beat harder, and my hands, previously resting on the fence, instinctively went to his arms, holding the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to slow down until, little by little, we moved away, our lips still brushing against each other as if neither of us wanted to break the moment completely.

- I like it here with you too - I murmured against his mouth, a soft smile escaping without me noticing.

Sam smiled back, and there we stayed, just enjoying each other's company to the quiet sound of the waves breaking against the pier. At that moment, everything seemed in perfect harmony—the wind, the smell of the sea, the subtle warmth between our bodies. Maybe skipping class wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

[noorpersona]

Managerial Duties: Aoba Johsai

Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team was many things—talented, competitive, and, above all, nosy. But when it came to you, their manager, they had collectively accepted one simple fact: you lived in oversized, comfortable clothing.

Baggy sweatpants, hoodies, loose athletic shirts—if it wasn’t designed for maximum comfort, you didn’t wear it. Even during official team meetings outside of school, you opted for relaxed attire: a sweatshirt over leggings, sneakers, and maybe a jacket if it was cold. It wasn’t that you disliked fashion, exactly. You just didn’t see the need to dress up for them.

So when you casually mentioned you had to leave practice early for a family event, no one thought much of it.

"Skipping out on us?" Oikawa teased, tossing a volleyball in the air as you packed up your clipboard. "And here I thought we were your favorite people in the world."

"You’re absolutely not," you deadpanned, adjusting the strap on your bag.

"What’s the occasion?" Iwaizumi asked, more genuinely curious.

"Wedding," you muttered. "Family thing. My parents are making me go."

Matsukawa, stretching lazily, smirked. "That why you’re sneaking off?"

"Something like that," you grumbled, crossing your arms. "They’re making me wear this stupid dress. It’s all tight and uncomfortable, and the shoes are even worse. Who the hell decided that formalwear should be painful?"

Hanamaki raised an eyebrow. "What’s it look like?"

You groaned, already dreading the memory of trying it on. "It’s one of those straight-jacket ones that make you feel like you can’t breathe. Apparently, looking ‘put together’ is more important than basic human comfort. I swear, my mom picked this just to torture me."

"Sounds fancy," Watari mused.

"Sounds awful," you corrected. "I’m gonna suffer through this thing and then burn it the second I get home."

"Bet you’ll look nice, though," Kindaichi added hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You gave him a deadpan look. "If you call suffering looking nice, sure. Anyway, I’ll see you guys at the next practice. Don’t destroy the gym while I’m gone."

"No promises!" Hanamaki called as you walked off.

That was the end of it.

Practice was still in full swing when you stepped back into the gym, freshly changed and already regretting every single life choice that had led you to this moment. You had only come back because you’d stupidly left your phone on the bench, a mistake that now seemed far worse than just being phoneless for a few hours. The team was scattered across the court, finishing up drills and cooldowns, their chatter filling the space as they moved around. You had hoped—prayed, even—that you could slip in, grab your phone, and leave unnoticed. But fate, as always, was cruel.

Then you stepped forward.

And the entire gym stopped dead in its tracks.

Oikawa, who had been mid-sentence, visibly choked. His water bottle slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

"Holy shit," Matsukawa whispered, not even trying to be subtle.

Iwaizumi, caught off guard, blinked hard, as if his brain needed an extra second to process what was happening. Yahaba, who had been chatting with Kunimi, turned so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, mouth opening but no words coming out. Kunimi, usually too lazy to react to anything, actually paused, his usual indifferent stare slightly wider than normal.

Even Kyotani, who rarely paid attention to anything that wasn’t volleyball or fighting, furrowed his brows, looking between you and the rest of the team like he had just walked into some elaborate prank. After a long pause, he finally muttered, "Why do you look like that?"

You shifted uncomfortably, hating every second of this. "My God. Can you guys stop staring?"

"We can’t," Watari blurted, sounding just as shocked as the rest.

Because, for the first time since they had met you, you weren’t wearing your usual baggy, oversized clothing. You weren’t hidden under loose layers of fabric that swallowed your frame. No, today, you had been dressed by your mother, which meant you were in something far more… put together.

The dress was sleek and form-fitting, something you never would have picked for yourself. The fabric hugged your silhouette in a way that felt unfamiliar, and you had spent the entire night feeling like you were playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. To make matters worse, your mother had insisted on makeup—subtle, but noticeable enough to make you feel even less like yourself. The heels were even worse—unsteady, impractical, and making you curse whoever thought fancy shoes should hurt.

"Why—how—what?!" Kindaichi, who had been stretching, nearly tipped over from shock.

"Is that you?" Hanamaki added, pointing unnecessarily.

"No," you deadpanned. "I’m an imposter. The real me is at the wedding, plotting my escape."

"Hah—seriously, though! You clean up nice," Matsukawa mused, looking you up and down with a smirk. "Didn’t know you had it in you."

"No one did," Yahaba muttered, still looking at you like you had just shapeshifted before his eyes. "What the hell."

"I don’t," you grumbled, adjusting the hem of the dress uncomfortably. "My parents picked this out. Not my choice."

"Your parents should pick your outfits more often," Oikawa said before immediately ducking as Iwaizumi chucked a towel at his head.

Kunimi let out a short exhale. "So that’s what was under all those sweatpants. Huh."

Kyotani just grunted, arms crossed. "Tch. Whatever. Doesn’t change anything." But the way he kept glancing at you said otherwise.

"And that’s why I dress the way I do," you huffed.

Sensing your growing discomfort, Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand down his face. "Alright, that’s enough. Stop freaking out."

"I am freaking out," Oikawa retorted. "This is earth-shattering news."

"You’re an idiot," Iwaizumi muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You love me," Oikawa shot back, undeterred.

"I don’t," Iwaizumi deadpanned.

You exhaled, already exhausted. "Okay, I’m leaving now. If anyone makes another comment, I swear I’m quitting this team."

"No, wait!" Oikawa called. "Just one picture—"

You shot him a withering glare that promised pain if he continued that sentence. He wisely shut up.

With that, you turned on your heel and left, still muttering under your breath about hating dresses, hating heels, and how you were never letting your mother pick your outfits again. Behind you, the team was still buzzing, voices overlapping as they tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Matsukawa let out a low whistle. "Damn. We’re never gonna see that again, are we?"

"Nope," Hanamaki sighed. "Should’ve taken that picture."

"So we had a hot manager this whole time?" Yahaba muttered, still looking at where you stood like he was processing a cosmic revelation.

Oikawa, arms crossed, hummed thoughtfully. "Iwa-chan, do you think we could convince her to dress up again?"

Iwaizumi didn’t even hesitate. "No."

[angelofcha0s]

Like Mother Like Son. (Part 1??)

A/N; First time im actually posting any of my works here, please dont mind the punctuation i know it’s bad. I made this like half a year ago. I also wrote this free flow ADHD style LMAO

Warnings; drugs , smoking , death, implied abuse

Jason put a cigarette to his lips, taking a hit — god that feeling gave him back so much power— his eyes closed, the cold wind of Gotham's depressing yet beautiful city smacking him in the face. smoke appearing into the air as he exhaled — tip tap tip tap —footsteps could be heard, 'god Dickie, you’re gettin rusty' Jason thought to himself; "Could i get a hit of that little wing?"

Dick's accent was soft - not to rough , not to unnoticeable. Jason's eyebrow shot up "A hit, huh? for 'the golden boy'?" a faint chuckle came from Jason. dick rolled his dark brown eyes at jason — his not so little brother — c'mon Jay" his new jersey accent now getting thicker " 'm serious, can i getta hit or wha?, yer ass has been avoidin everyone for hours now!". it was true Jason had been avoiding everyone for hours.. he didnt mean to or maybe he did? he wasn't even sure himself... his mind was in ruins, Jason slowly handed his cigarette over to his brother. Dick said something but Jason didnt hear it as his vision started to blurry and memories played out, "ma?" a soft voice called out it came from a younger Jason just coming home from the corner store his step mother sent him to. he couldnt have been any younger than 8. his father at 'work' selling drugs to crackheads or even having meetings with two-face about the latest drugs on the market everyone craved. Jason knocked on the door to his families apartment "Ma, im back!" he yelled. His step-mom didnt answer, Jasons heart started to sink- oh god.. he was the verge of tears "MA?" there was no answer... Jason kicked in the door not caring his father would beat him later for it. He ran through the apartment screaming for his step-mom until he finally ran to the bathroom and oh god.. one of his fears came true.. there laid his step-mother in their bathtub — dead — she had overdosed on drugs.. he wasnt sure which ones. she and his father had this 'bad habit’, the walls felt like they were closing in on him.. his head spinning everything blurred together…

“JASON! are you even listening?!” Was suddenly all he heard as he slowly came back to reality.. “Sorry, dickie i— i uh… never mind” he bit his tongue not wanting to explain what he had been thinking about or rather what he had been remembering almost every night for the last six months… the sight of his dead step mother, the sound of that damn clown’s laugh, the fuckin sound of his ribs being broken, god just the smell of fire… of smoke… the feeling of being able not to breathe. He just wants to sit down and stare at the walls, what shapes they make as he escapes reality — and thats all he wants to escape the reality he is in because he can’t believe that his mother is dead… and he isn’t dead anymore.

Both of his mothers, dead. Just as he was… he could care less about his father (but his father would care about him… in his own way anyway), Jason sighed “dick, go home” .

Dick looked at his little brother, trying his best to understand what was happening with him even though he knew he couldn’t always him like he wanted — he wanted to be a good brother to make up for the past and not being able to save him — “Jason, please when ever you need to… talk to me, alright?” He asked with concern laced in his voice and under his mask behind those beautiful brown eyes of his. Jason just nodded in response, he wouldn’t actually go through with it but he wanted his brother to think he would As his brother left. Jason stared at Gotham’s twist beauty, the strip clubs neon lights flashing. The cop cars driving down the street, the sound of couples fighting… yeah he was home again. Sadly, putting on his helmet he started to walk away looking to see what roof top to climb or some place he could actually. Be alone at maybe just maybe he could be ‘ normal ‘ for once, but that all changed once he heard a scream from crime ally… a scream that was all to familiar but he knew it wasn’t her.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

@gxuxhdjdu just for you love since I haven't seen you in my notifications in a while.

Kyle is just getting back with his team from another grueling mission. He's tired, and all he wants to do is go home and crash. He turns his phone on once they are landing on base and is immediately bombarded with notifications from his family group chat. He's been gone for five months, and it's his mom and aunts and uncles and cousins saying congratulations.

He wonders what he missed during that time and is scrolling back. Then he stops when he sees your message. It's a photo of a sonogram with the message

"Baby A B and C will be here in December! 3 Sagittarius babies send help, y'all!"

He blinks a few times and starts scrolling through again and sees everyone asking who the father is, when the wedding is (from his mom and uncle mostly) and you saying you can't say just yet. At least not until Kyle gets home as he needs to know first, that then got everyone asking if it was someone on base, and you just sent an 'LoL, yes' and changed the subject. He is curious, and he's frowning. Whoever got his baby sister pregnant waited until he was gone because he just did the math, and your conceive date lines up around the week he was deployed.

Kyle doesn't notice John staring down at his own phone in shock.

You're waiting on base for your brother and fiancé to get back. He had Kate send you a message on when he'd be back, and he wanted to see you right away. The tarmac is loud, with the planes coming and going, but you'd rather be outside in the nice August weather than inside the stuffy mess hall with curious eyes watching you.

It's been five long months, and growing three full people has been hard, especially considering who their dad was. John Price wasn't a small man. He was imposing in size and always seemed larger than life.

The week before, he left on his extended deployment he had asked you to marry him. He didn't have a ring. It was spur of the moment, and he was literally rearranging your guts when he asked. You said yes, of course, and your body was promptly put into a mating press, and he kept whispering, 'I love you, Mrs. Price', repeatedly. The next morning, you talked about his proposal and that when he'd get back, he'd get you a proper ring meant for an officer's wife. Your main concern, though, was what your brother Kyle was going to say. He'd probably flip the fuck out and then flip out some more because 'Sis my captain?' You could already hear him fussing at you and John.

The morning air shakes with anticipation as you see the aircraft rolling down the air strip. There are other families and wives now assembled, waiting for their soldiers to return. You're leaned against your car, hand placed on your comically large belly, feeling your babies rolling about and playing soccer with your kidney. They are often moving these days as your fifth month progresses, and from the movement, it feels like they are all either arguing or playing. As people exit the plane, there are plenty of reunions, but your eyes are glued to Kyle, who is searching the crowd for you. He's a bit stockier than when he left, like always, and he was probably gonna eat a hole into your mom's kitchen and grocery budget while on leave. He spots you, and unlike normally where he would smile big and bright at his best friend, he's in shock. The shock strains between being happy and stern, but he settles on pursed lips. Behind him, you see John chatting with Simon, but John is looking at you with so much love and adoration.

"Sis." Kyle greets as soon as he is within reach. He's pulling you into a hug (as much as your belly allowed). "What's this all about? Who's the fuck that got you pregnant? " his brows are furrowed, and he keeps looking around "were they deployed recently, or did they just get back?"

You can only sigh at his rapid-fire questions, "Kyle Garrick...promise me you won't flip out and lose your job." You smile at him.

"You already know I'm gonna flip out. I specifically said to multiple people that my sister was not up for grabs." He pouts.

"Aye lookit ye lass, the bairn ye're carrying must be huge!" Soap is smiling large as he hugs you, ignoring the glare from Kyle.

"It's triplets." You hug him back, your eyes shift to John and Simon, and the two are still off to the side, chatting quietly. Whatever they are talking about has Simon stalk still, and then John claps his hand on his shoulder and laughs.

"This better not be your doing MacTavish." Kyle can barely contain his anger.

"Wot? No, she's like a little sister tae me too." Soap laughs, "whoever the guy is is lucky, though."

"Lucky I make it quick and painless." Your brother grumbles.

You only roll your eyes, "you promised you would not flip out. The father of my children is a nice man. And for the record, he wanted to say something right away, but I told him not until we knew what we had was permanent."

"Three kids is very permanent, sis..." He dead pans, and it makes you laugh. "Just tell me who it is."

It's at that moment, John and Simon join you three. You don't miss the way Simon sorta positions himself between Kyle and John. So that means he now knows, and he is very aware that Kyle may try to commit murder. To be honest, you'd rather do this privately, but being in public would mean Kyle won't crash out immediately. He will be forced to hold it together until you got home.

You take a deep breath as you finally get a good look at your fiancé. His beard is grown out, and you'll have to shape it up for him. His bright blue eyes seem to sparkle in the light, but they are trained on your baby bump. The smile on your face is wide, and it feels like it's only you two at the moment as you launch yourself into his arms. He hugs you tightly and kisses you on the forehead.

"Mrs. Price I've missed you." He whispers in your ear, "Didn't really think we'd get three out of four the first time around, though." He huffs a laugh.

"You're the worst, you know that?" You laugh.

Both of you are ignoring the other three. Kyle is shaking, trying to hold it together. Simon is still in shock from the conversation he had with Price (he isn't sure if Captain Riley will sound right when that promotion comes in three years' time). Johnny has a smug look on his face he turns to Kyle.

"Aye, an' ye worried about tha wrong John gettin' after her?" He was smug and laughing at the situation.

"Shut it, MacTavish." Kyle manages to say between grinding his teeth. His eyes are going from you to his captain.

If Kyle had a little sister...he would not want Johnny trying to talk to her.

Like Kyle goes out of his way to make sure his sister isn't around Johnny ever and if she is she isn't left alone with him. Not because he doesn't trust his best friend, but because he doesn't want the headache of Johnny dating his sister and if he breaks her heart now he has to explain to military judges why he tried to murder his teammate.

Jokes on him though...he worried about leaving her with the wrong John.

[manicali]

Hate how my mother repeatedly reminds me that my life is going great by telling me how all my friends from elementary are miserable like bitch you could just say “Shut the fuck up your fine” instead of reminding me that people I used to care deeply about are doing terribly Jesus fucking Christ.

[keeps-ache]

yay yippee yay :3 🎉

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

what if I told y’all I got these for $28

[thecherrygod]

man knowing that there are parents out there controlling what their kids watch and read is. wild to me. like as soon as i was able to read subtitles i was sitting in the living room with my family watching whatever the fuck my parents wanted to watch. the first tv series i watched was sopranos i think, to the point its been long enough that i dont remember a lot of it. like. i feel im at the opposite side of the spectrum there