#she just trying to pull a joke over on friend

[redflagshipwriter]

SNITCHES THE CAT SEQUEL pt1 and masterpost

Part Two/Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five

Part One

“This you?”

Danny pushed the newspaper down without looking at it, revealing Sam’s shitty grin. “That lost cat is not me, no.” He rolled his eyes. They had been showing him lost pet ads ever since he got back from Gotham. “Isn’t that joke getting old, guys?” He kicked his way further into a slouch in the booth as Tucker came back with refilled drinks.

Tucker laughed, and then there was a silence. “Danny? Are you sure this isn’t you, man?” He sounded uncertain.

He felt his jaw twitch and he had to tell his friend off. “Is it that funny that there’s a sad kid out there? Honestly, guys-” Danny opened his eyes fully to roll them and then saw the lost pet ad being brandished in his face. He blinked at it. His brain did a full reboot and he reached out to take the paper. 

It looked like him, sleeping on the cushion in the batcave. Had they gotten that photo from the security footage? “It’s me.” His voice came out way too high.

Danny pulled the paper over in disbelief and realized that it was a two page ad. “Oh wow,” he said faintly. There he was, leaping across the kitchen. And there, that must have been taken by Damian when he fell asleep on the bed. There was a cat toy partially in the frame.

Sam’s snorting laughter cut off. “Uh.” She kicked him lightly under the table. “Is.. Is that little kid going to be okay?” She asked in a small voice. She sounded like she felt bad for poking fun. 

Danny felt guilty. He stared at the evidence that Robin was missing his cat terribly and felt like the biggest jackass possible. “Should I go back?” he wondered. He squirmed, pulling a foot up onto the bench to perch on. “I mean… How long does a cat live? A few years?”

“Try about twenty,” Tucker said flatly. “I feel bad too, man, but you can’t defer admission that long.”

“Though Snitches was clearly not a little kitten, so you could really just give it a couple years,” Sam mused. Both boys stared at her. She blinked. “Not that I’m suggesting you do that!” She waved her hands at them. “The longer you stay with him, the harder he’s going to take it when his pet ‘dies’,” she said with finger quotes. “You did the right thing by leaving as soon as you could.”

“Maybe we could answer it, do a photoshoot, tell him that Danny was your cat or something and he’s come home,” Tucker mused. “He’d be sad that he couldn’t have the cat, but surely it would be better than worrying the cat died, right?”

“What are you losers talking about?” Star said, giving their booth a wide berth. “You’re not hurting cats now, are you, weirdos?” She eyed them like they were gross. “It would figure.”

“Fuck off,” Sam said pleasantly. All three of them gave Star a rude gesture in unison, just like they had practiced. “That shit’s uncalled for.”

Star sniffled and turned away on her heel, cheer skirt flouncing behind her. A few moments later she clearly reached her table because the sounds of popular kid conversation got a lot louder.

“She should be a reporter,” Sam said darkly. “I would love for her to get sued for slander.” She snapped open her clutch and began applying even more black eyeliner, as if that would differentiate her from the other girls in the restaurant.

Tucker groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes in despair. “That’s gonna be a bad rumor,” he complained. 

Danny couldn’t find it in him to care as much as he usually would. He was still stuck on the fact that Damian had put an ad in the Illinois Times. “Do you think he realized that Snitches got on a highway bus to Illinois?” he hissed, now aware that other people might be listening in. “How would he know that?”

Sam frowned. Tucker lifted his head and pulled out his phone to search. “That’s a good question,” he said to himself. He hit buttons rapidly. “Uh, same ad is in…” He trailed off. “Hold up, hold up, lemme search this backwards…” Whatever he saw had him raise his eyebrows high, look at Danny in disbelief, and then shake his head slightly. “You must be a really good cat. I'm kind of jealous.”

“What?” Danny hissed. “Just tell me.”

“Hey, hey, paws off.” Tucker moved his device further away. “Uh, this poor kid- well.” He paused. “Poor is the wrong word. He’s put ads in newspapers all the way up to Ontario and down to… Well, in Mexico at least.”

Danny and Sam stared at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking with us,” Sam said after a long moment.

Tucker silently shook his head. “There’s a nationwide Greg’s list ad,” he said grimly. “20 dollars an hour to print and staple missing cat photos to telephone poles. And a private detective’s agency on the case, asking for witnesses to come forward.”

Danny put his head in his hands. “I have to go back,” he said, haunted by the responsibility. “I can’t let him be this sad.”

“Danny, no.” Tucker said. Sam nodded her agreement. 

“…Yeah, that’s crazy,” he said unconvincingly. He gave a fake laugh. “He’ll get over it.” Danny stared into his drink, watching bubbles. Robin was not going to get over it. That kid loved hard.

“I could use 20 dollars an hour,” Tucker said in a thoughtful tone.

“No,” Sam said flatly.

Tucker shrugged, smiling slightly. “I wonder how much I’d get for bringing you back.” He shrugged theatrically. “You could send me to college, man! Don’t you want me to go to college?”

“No…” Danny said weakly. “I… Is that fraud?” Still. Money would be nice.

“Guys, no.” Sam knocked them both in the head with the pile of napkins. “You can’t do that to this little kid. He’s clearly not well.”

“Exactly,” Tucker argued passionately. “Imagine how happy he would be to get his cat back! We could reunite him with his pet!”

It was tempting. He felt, like, so bad about how sad Robin was. The little guy had been so proud of his pet. Danny could spare a few years to make a little kid happy, right? It was kind of greedy otherwise.

Danny stared at the bubbles in his drink again, really thinking it over. “I think I would have to fight crime with him,” he said dully. “That’s a minus.”

“Danny?” Sam rapped the table with her fingers. He looked up to see her pointed eyebrow raise. “What are you talking about?”

He hunched his shoulders up. “Nothing, nothing,” he lied hastily. He forgot they didn’t know. He couldn’t dox someone’s crime fighting identity, though, it would be really unfair. 

“You could buy me a house,” Tucker wheedled. Sam hit him.

[bbyg4rl]

i'm your JJ ✧

cw: JJ x Kie's sister!reader, fluff, slight allusion to sex, happy ending !

summary: JJ cant avoid his feelings for his friend's sister anymore. inspired by this request.

a/n: this lowkey so cute thanks i started kicking my legs while writing LMAO hope this is what u expected anon <3

You were just grabbing a glass of juice and making your way back to your room when your sister, Kie, stormed into your room behind you.

"I'm having JJ over tonight. Don't come out of your room."

"It's my house too. I'll come out if I want to" you shot back.

"Just don't, okay? you're annoying enough as it is" she replied, rolling her eyes as she walked out.

time jump

you buried yourself in your pillows trying your best to drown out the sound of the movie playing downstairs. you could faintly hear your sister make excuses to JJ about why you weren't hanging out with them, claiming you "weren't feeling well". The lie made you want to storm down and snap at her, but every time you reached for the door handle, Kie's words struck you like an alarm clock, the words froze you for a reason you couldn't quite discern and sent you back to your bed where you resumed trying to muffle the sounds of the tv.

suddenly, there was a knock at your bedroom door, you half-expected Kie to be on the other side, ready to take more shots at you but you were surprised to see JJ, he softly opened the door, searching for your face in the messy room. As soon as he spotted you, he rushed over and sat on your bedside, his hands gently reaching for your face.

"Hey, mama. how you feelin'?"

"Shouldn't you be downstairs with Kie?" you replied sarcastically.

"Don't answer my question with another question y/n. besides, your sister can handle herself for a little while. I'm here to check up on you, babycakes" he said, smiling at you as his hands combed through your hair.

You couldn’t help but smile at the nickname. "Thanks for checking up on me, JJ, but I’m fine. I just wanted to stay in my room today" you replied softly.

You didn't quite understand why you were covering for Kie. Maybe a little part of you felt guilty for feeling what you felt for JJ, especially since you knew Kie had a thing for him. She made it painfully clear, dropping hint after hint, but somehow, JJ seemed oblivious. His attention never strayed toward her. His eyes were always on you, never missing an opportunity to admire you, darting to you every time a joke left his lips.

Your train of thought was interrupted by JJ's calloused hand stroking your cheek.

"You're not really a 'stay in' kind of a person, mama. Tell me what's wrong, you know you can tell me anything. I'm your JJ"

You shot him a wry smile, "You're cute, JJ"

"You're just stating the obvious, baby" he quipped, flashing one of those smirks that always made your stomach flip.

"Why do you even wanna know what's wrong? You want me or something?" you teased.

"You have no idea how much I want you" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" Your eyes widened. Did he just say he wants you?

"Just come on down, babycakes" he said, cutting off any chance for a reply as he slipped his hands under you, lifting you bridal style. Before you knew it, he was carrying you downstairs.

You felt Kie's eyes boring holes into your back as JJ placed you on the couch beside Kie, pulling a blanket over you and settling in beside you. Your heart raced, waiting for an outburst to tear its way through your sister, knowing how much this must be killing her.

The three of you quietly settled in to watch the movie. That is, until you noticed JJ’s hand slowly inching closer to yours, eventually resting on top of it, his thumb occasionally swiping across the back of your hand.

As the movie went on, your mind wandered, You couldn’t help but notice how close JJ really was to you, his hand on top of yours, his knee brushing yours, his shark tooth necklace rising up and down on his chest with every breath he took.

An idea popped into your head, The movie wasn’t all that interesting anyway, it wouldn't hurt to spice it up now, would it?

you slipped your hand from under his and scooted closer, thigh pressing against as his. His breath hitched as you adjusted your blanket to cover his legs before resting your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing tent in his shorts.

"Y/n" he whispered, voice strained, not daring to look at you.

"Hm?" you responded feigning innocence, as you moved your hand higher before abruptly pulling it away and standing up.

"I'm gonna get more popcorn" you declared, only then noticing that Kie had fallen asleep in her spot.

Grinning to yourself, you made your way to the kitchen, thoughts of JJ swirling in your mind. You were rummaging through the cabinets when you heard JJ’s heavy breathing behind you.

"What was that, Y/n"

"What was what?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about, mama." he growled, his tone low and agitated as his hand snaked around your waist pulling you into him.

"Don't do that again " he murmured, pressing a small kiss to your hair before walking back to the living room.

Your face flushed as you stood there, stunned. The difference between the JJ who had come to your room earlier and the man that had just pulled your ass into him excited you. He wasn't usually this bold with you, but lately his resolve seemed to be breaking and his control was faltering, his obsession with you becoming harder for him to hide. Not that it was ever really hidden.

Finally, you found the popcorn and returned to the living room. The rest of the night passed in relative silence, with only quiet glances exchanged between you and JJ.

When it was time for him to leave, he shot you a smirk and gave Kie a quick side hug before heading out the door. You made your way to your room and flopped onto your bed, only to hear a knock on your window moments later.

It was JJ, with a shit eating grin plastered to his face. You opened the window to let him in.

"JJ? I thought you left-"

Before you could finish, his lips were on yours.

Pulling away slightly, he looked into your eyes. "I couldn't leave without kissing you, I can't pretend no more, baby. I need you"

You smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss. You’d been waiting for this moment for so long. He slowly led you to your bed, laying you on your back as he climbed on top, his hands rested on your sides, as he deepened the kiss, his knee between your legs, teasing you.

You cupped his face, pulling it back to look at him. "What am I gonna tell Kie?"

"Tell her I’m your JJ."

check out my other works ! masterlist

[nomie-11]

Chase After You - Part 2

masterlist! | part 1 | part 3

synopsis: vi is committed to making you believe in her as a soulmate, but you are having troubling believing in your own limits as her soulmate

pairings: vi x reader, lowkey ellie x dina

After your unexpected (and mortifying) first meeting, you texted Vi just so she could have your number—not because you secretly wanted to hear from her—but just in case. You didn’t expect Vi to follow through on her declaration to get to know you. You thought she’d chalk you up as a lost cause after you bolted like a spooked animal. But instead, she texted you. 

Every day. 

Relentlessly. 

And then she started texting you about meeting up, going out for dinner, hitting the gym together, all of these things that you weren’t sure you really wanted to do with her. And then she offered coffee after rotations, fitting herself perfectly into your existing rotation. 

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the way Vi’s eyes lit up when you said “fine,” or the near instant relief you felt when your headaches faded around her. Either way, you regretted it almost instantly. 

By the time the next Tuesday rolled around, you were second guessing everything. Caitlyn, however, wasn’t letting you back out. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous,” she said, leaning on the doorway as you grabbed your work bag. “It’s just coffee. You’ve already met her. Plus, she’s been texting you all week like you’re her new best friend.” 

“She’s not my best friend,” you muttered, zipping up your bag with more force than necessary. “And I’m not nervous.” 

Caitlyn gave you a pointed look. “You’ve changed your shirt three times.” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just coffee, right? Not a date.” 

“Exactly,” Caitlyn agreed, though her smirk said otherwise. “But if it were a date, you’d totally nail it.”

You groaned, grabbing your jacket. “Goodbye, Caitlyn.” 

She waved you off. “Have fun with your soulmate!”

You ignored her as you left, though her words played on a loop in your mind all the way to the coffee shop. 

Vi was already waiting when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with two mugs in front of her. She looked up the moment the door chimed, grinning as if she’d been waiting for this all day. 

“Hey!” she called, waving you over. “Thought I’d grab you something—hope you like caramel macchiatos?” 

You hesitated, standing awkwardly by the table. “Uh, yeah. How’d you know?” 

She nudged the chair across from herewith her foot, her grin widening. “Good guess, huh. Sit, relax. You look like you just ran a marathon.”

You muttered something under your breath but sat down anyway, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. Vi’s presence was… unnervingly comfortable, like you’d known her longer than a week. 

“So,” she said, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand, “how was your rotation?” 

“It was fine,” you replied, trying to sound neutral. “Busy.” 

Vi nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Must be intense, though. I mean, clinicals and lectures? How do you even have time for… you know, a life?”

You shrugged, not sure how to answer. “I have three friends, so not much of a life.” 

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she just looked at you, like she was piecing something together. Then she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, the muscles in her shoulder pulling tight. “Okay, so here’s the deal: coffee, twice a week. My treat. We’ll call it stress relief.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“After your rotations,” she clarified. “We meet here, twice a week. No pressure, no soulmate talk, just… getting to know each other.” 

You stared at her, unsure if you wanted to laugh or roll your eyes. “Why are you so insistent on this?” 

Vi shrugged, her grin returning. “Because you’re worth the effort. And I think you’ll figure that out eventually.” 

————————————

The first time Vi suggested ice skating, you thought she was joking. When she dragged you to the rink on your next ‘coffee date,’ you were certain it was a terrible idea. 

“I don’t know how to skate,” you protested as she handed you a pair of rentals. 

“That’s the fun part,” Vi said, already lacing hers up. “I’ll teach you.”

The first ten minutes were a disaster. You clung to the wall like your life depended on it, glaring at Vi every time she tried to coax you toward the center of the rink. 

“You’re doing great!” She called, skating backward in front of you with infuriating ease. 

“I hate this,” you muttered, taking a shaky step.

“You don’t hate it,” she said with a laugh. “You’re just mad you’re not good at it yet.” 

You glared at her, but her teasing grin was impossible to stay mad at. Slowly, she coaxed you away from the wall, her hands steadying yours as she guided you across the ice. 

You cling to Vi like she was a lifeline, your legs wobbling uncontrollably beneath you. Every time you felt even a hint of balance the ice seemed to betray you, and you found yourself clutching her arms tighter. 

“Okay, okay,” you hissed, squeezed your eyes shut as your skates slipped again. “I’m going to die, and it’s going to be your fault.” 

Vi laughed, the sound warm and genuine, echoing in the cold air. “You’re not going to die, Y/n. I’ve got you. Just trust me.” 

That was the problem. You did trust her—too much, maybe. Every time her hands steadied you, everytime she smiled and said, “You’re doing great,” you felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little. And that was terrifying. 

You stumbled again, and Vi caught you easily, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. “See?” She said, her voice soft. “Not so bad when you’ve got someone to hold on to.” 

You stared at her, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with skating. the pink of her hair stood out against the pale blue lights of the link, and her eyes were so full of warmth and patience that it made your stomach twist. She looked at you like you were someone worth catching. 

And that started you more than anything. 

“Are you okay?” Vi asked, tilting her head as she noticed your silence. 

You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… trying not to snap my ankle.” 

Vi smirked, her hands still warm on your waist. “Don’t worry. If you fall, I’ll catch you.” 

You wanted to tell her that the falling wasn’t the part that scared you. It was the way she made you feel safe, the way she looked at you like you mattered. It was the way your soulmate bond tugged at your heart every time she smiled, like it was pulling toward something you weren’t sure you were ready for. 

But instead, you tightened your grip on her hands and said, “Okay, but if I fall, we’re both going down.” 

Vi grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal. But only if you promise to let go of me and try on your own for a little longer.” 

You groaned but nodded, letting her guide you across the ice again. This time, you didn’t fight the way your body leaned into hers, and for a few minutes, you almost forgot why this was supposed to scare you.

Almost. 

——————————————

The rink was cold, loud, and way too busy for your liking when you walked through the doors for the second time. Vi had texted you the night before, practically begging you to come to her game, and just imagining her face when you showed up was enough to get you to come. 

Vi had said for you to come early so she could meet you by the rink before she had to stretch and warm up so she could introduce you to some people. 

Going to the game—not so scary. Meeting Vi’s friends? Terrifying. 

By the time you arrived, your nerves were frayed. The rink was packed with players warming up, families gathering in the stands, and the faint smell of popcorn wafting through the air. You scanned the crowd, trying to spot Vi, your anxiety building with every second. 

Then, you heard her. 

“Y/n!”

Vi’s voice cut through the noise like a beacon, and you turned to see her weaving through the crowd, half-dressed in her hockey gear. Her helmet dangled from her hand, her skate guards clinking as she walked toward you. She had that same easy grin that she normally does, the one that somehow made you feel both at ease and completely overwhelmed. 

“You made it!” she said, her voice warm with excitement. Before you could respond, she gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward a group near the benches. “Come on, there’s people I want you to meet.” 

You barely had time to protest before you were standing in front of two women and a baby. One of them, a tall brunette with a mischievous glint in her eye, was also half-dressed in hockey gear and holding a squirming baby on her hip. The other, a slightly shorter woman with strong facial features and kind eyes, offered you a small, polite smile. 

“This is Ellie,” Vi said, gesturing toward the taller woman. “She’s one of my best friends, and a total menace on the ice.” 

Ellie snorted, shifting the baby to her other hip. “Nice to meet you, Y/n. Don’t listen to her—she’d just mad I’m better at slap shots.” 

Vi rolled her eyes. “Anyway, this is Dina—Ellie’s soulmate.” 

Dina laughed softly, reaching out to shake your hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Vi’s been talking about you nonstop.” 

Your face heated instantly. “Oh, um… nice to meet you, too.” 

“And this,” Vi added, pointing to the baby, “is J.J. He’s kind of the star of the show.” 

J.J. babbled happily, reaching for your necklace. You couldn’t help but smile as his tiny fingers grabbed onto it, tugging gently. 

Oh my god, that is the cutest damn baby I’ve ever seen. 

“You want to hold him?” Dina asked, tilting her head. 

You hesitated, but Vi nudged your arm gently, catching the way your eyes lit up when J.J. aimlessly waved his hands in your face. “He won’t bite, I promise.” 

With a nervous nod, you carefully took J.J. from Ellie, his weight settling gently onto your arms and chest. He looked up at you with wide, curious eyes, and despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. 

“There you go,” Dina said, her tone encouraging. “You’ve got the magic touch. He loves you.” 

Vi watched you with a softness you weren’t used to, her gaze lingering as you shifted J.J. to your hip to make him more comfortable. 

“You’re a total natural,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the loud whistle of the referee cut through the air, signaling the last warning before it was match time. 

“That’s our cue,” Vi said, stepping closer to you. “Dina and J.J.’ll keep you company during the game. You’ll be fine.” 

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. Vi’s hand brushed yours briefly before she grabbed her helmet and jogged off toward the ice, her pink hair bright against the deep blue and gold of her jersey. 

Dina must have noticed your nerves, because she gave you a reassuring smile. “Come on, let’s grab a spot. J.J. and I are pros at cheering for these two.” 

Ellie laughed, pressing a kiss to Dina’s jaw before follow off after Vi, leaving you and Dina to make your way to the stands. 

You settled into a seat with Dina and J.J. at your side, the baby happily gnawing on a teething ring while Dina explained the basics of the ame. You nodded along, half-listening, but your attention was on Vi. She was easy to spot—her pink hair stood out even with her helmet on, and her confident stride on the ice was impossible to miss. 

When the game started, you quickly realized why Vi had been so insistent on inviting you. She was good. She was incredible. She was hot. Watching her skate was like watching someone entirely in their own element. She moved with a precision and intensity that was mesmerizing, weaving through players like they weren’t even there, her stick handling the puck with ease. 

“Wow,” you murmured, leaning forward as she darted past three defenders and fired a shot straight into the net. The crowd erupted, and Dina gently covered J.J.’s ears to give a loud cheer. 

“She’s pretty amazing, huh?” Dina said, her tone knowing.

You nodded, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah. She it.” 

For a moment, you forgot about the crowd, the noise, and the tug of your soulmate bond that always lingered when Vi was near. You just watched her, completely in awe of how effortless she made it look.

Then it happened—as she angled for the puck near the center of the rink, a player from the opposing team with a solid twenty pounds on Vi barreled into her at full speed, shoulder-checking her with enough force to send her sprawling to the ice. 

The moment she hit the ground, pain exploded across your shoulder, sharp and searing. You gasped, clutching at your arm instinctively, the sensation so vivid it made your vision blur. 

Dina turned to you, her expression concerned. “Y/n? Are you okay?” 

You couldn’t answer. The pain was too much, and it was everywhere—radiating from your shoulder to your chest and back. Panic clawed at your throat as you struggled to breathe, your mind spinning with her pain. 

“Y/n?” Dina’s voice was louder now, edged with worry. 

“I—I have to go,��� you stammered, standing abruptly. The movement sent another jolt of pain through your shoulder, but you ignored it, clutching the armrest for balance. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”

Before Dina could respond, you bolted, the sound of the crowd fading behind you as you rushed toward the exit. Your vision blurred with tears, your chest tight as you pushed through the doors and into the cold night air. 

You had to get away. 

—-------------------------------

The cafe smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon as you sank into your usual seat across from Vi. You were both quiet today—a rare occurrence. Your post-rotation coffee ritual had grown into something steady and comforting over the past few weeks. Twice a week, like clockwork, Vi would be waiting for you. 

But today, there was a tension that clung to the air like static electricity. 

“So,” Vi finally broke the silence, fiddling with the paper sleeve on her cup. “Another big game next weekend.”

You nodded absently, staring down at your drink. “Against Noxus Central University, right? I heard they’re brutal.” 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice carrying a faint edge. “Real bruises. Should be fun, though.” 

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a neutral tone. “Fun, huh?” 

Vi raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, taking a sip of your coffee. 

She didn’t buy it. “Come on, Y/n. Spill.” 

You hesitated, the words clawing at the back of your throat. “It’s just… you always come out of those games looking like you’ve been through a war zone. I mean—last weekend was brutal. I thought you broke your shoulder, and I’m the one who has to feel it.” 

Her eyes widened, and her hand froze mid-fidget, “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” You set down the cup harder than you meant to. “I don’t know what crazy pain tolerance you have, but it felt like I was hit by a freight train. It’s a lot, Vi.” 

Her jaw tightened. “You think I don’t feel bad about that? I don’t want you to hurt because of me.” 

“Then maybe you should stop putting yourself in situations where it happens!” The words tumbled out louder than you intended, and you winced at your own tone. 

Vi’s expression darkened, her easy going demeanor vanishing. “Are you seriously asking me to stop playing hockey?” 

“I’m asking you to think about what it’s doing to me!”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping into something sharper. “And what about me, huh? Hockey’s my life, Y/n. It’s not just a game; it's who I am.” 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” You snapped, the words cutting like a knife even as you said them. 

Vi recoiled, her blue eyes narrowing. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but a familiar voice cut in. “Alright, what’s going on here?” 

You looked up to see Ellie approaching, her gaze bouncing between you and Vi. SHe stopped next to Vi’s chair, crossing her arms. “You guys never argue like this.”

“I’m not the one making unreasonable demands,” Vi muttered glaring at her coffee.

“Unreasonable?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not asking for much, Vi. Just for you to stop throwing yourself in the path of a warm machine. Do you know what it's like to feel like your body isn’t your own because your soulmate tosses herself around recklessly.” 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t intervene. Not yet. 

Vi’s face twisted with frustration. “And do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly apologizing for just existing? For doing what I love? I can’t just stop being me, Y/n. Hockey’s my first love.”

“Maybe I don’t want a soulmate then!” The words erupted before you could stop them, and the moment they left your mouth, the room seemed to freeze. 

Vi’s expression crumbled, and Ellie’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the suffocating silence that followed. 

“Y/n,” Vi said softly, her voice cracking just enough for you to hear. “You don’t mean that. I thought we were past that.” 

You wanted to take it back, you wanted to take it back so badly, but the floodgates had opened. “I don’t believe in soulmates, Vi. I don’t and I never have. And Honestly? This—us—it’s just proving why I was right. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.” 

Ellie stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “Y/n, you’re upset. Maybe take a second before you say something you can’t take back.” 

“I already said it,” you whispered, your chest tight. “And it’s true.” 

Vi stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You don’t believe in soulmates? After all I’ve done to try to prove to you that this could work?” 

You stood too, unable to stay still under the weight of her gaze. “You think this is easy for me? It’s not! I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m enough, and now I’m supposed to be enough for you? Someone who’s fearless and— and perfect, and doesn’t need me slowing her down?” 

“Slowing me down!?” Vi’s voice rose, incredulous. “You think that’s how I see you? God, Y/n, you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… what I do.” 

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one compromising?” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. 

“I’m not asking you to change who you are,” she said, her tone softer but no less urgent. “I’m just asking you to please, give this a chance. Stop being so defensive.” 

“And I’m asking you to understand that I can’t keep waking up in pain every time you decide to throw yourself into a fight on the ice!”

Ellie stepped between you, her hands up. “Okay, let’s all take a breath here—”

“No,” Vi said, her voice breaking. “If she doesn’t want this, then fine.” 

“Vi—” Ellie tried, but Vi was already grabbing her jacket. 

“Stop, Ellie,” Vi said, shaking her head as she turned to leave. “Come on.” 

You stood frozen, tears stinging your eyes as she walked out the door, Ellie close on her heels. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Caitlyn appeared moments later, a confused expression on her face. “Where did everyone go?”

You just shook your head, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. 

Fuck. 

this is the second part in a three part series! read part 1 here! reader part 3 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[cosmiclily]

chapter one: heartache

wc: 2.1k

Five years. Vi and Caitlyn had been together for five years before Caitlyn decided that the exposure from Vi’s life as a musician was “too much.” She said she was already dealing with enough from her mother’s expectations, constant scrutiny, and the pressure to be perfect. Being tied to someone constantly in the spotlight only amplified the chaos she was trying to escape.

But how do you just walk away from five years? Five years of love, growth, and shared memories. They had been through everything together—the awkward phases, the big milestones, the small, intimate moments that made life feel worth it. They were each other’s first in almost everything: first love, first heartbreak, first time believing someone could truly know and accept them for who they were.

Vi couldn’t imagine a future without Caitlyn in it. Caitlyn wasn’t just her girlfriend; she was her rock, her balance, her safe place in a world that could be loud and overwhelming. With her, life made sense. Without her, it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under her feet.

Now, Vi was left standing in the ruins of what they had built together, forced to pick up the shattered pieces and figure out who she was without Caitlyn. Every corner of her life reminded her of what she’d lost—the songs Caitlyn inspired, the jokes they shared together, the faint trace of her perfume still clinging to the throw pillows they’d picked out together.

Relearning herself wasn’t just hard—it felt impossible. How do you start over when so much of your identity has been intertwined with someone else? How do you let go of someone who was your past, your present, and the future you were certain you’d have?

Vi’s days were spent trying to fill the void Caitlyn left behind, and her nights were haunted by the deafening silence where laughter and love used to live.

──────────────────────

“Wake up!” you say, shaking Vi’s body aggressively. “I sure hope you’re not dead or still drunk because we leave in 30 minutes. Pack your shit.” You’re already gathering her clothes scattered across the room, shoving them into her beat-up suitcase. It’s barely holding together, much like its owner.

The thing is, you love Vi—you really do. She’s one of your best friends, and without a doubt, one of the most talented people you’ve ever met. But ever since her breakup with Caitlyn, she’s been a complete wreck. All she does these days is drink and mope around like the world ended.

When she first came to you, heartbroken and teary-eyed, spilling every detail of the split, you were genuinely sad for her. Five years with someone isn’t easy to walk away from. But, selfishly, you couldn’t help but think,“At least we’ll get some killer songs out of this.” Heartbreak always fuels the best music, right? You figured she’d take her pain and pour it into the band.

Instead, she spends 85% of her days drowning herself in booze and picking fights with strangers in dive bars, and the other 15% passed out somewhere she probably shouldn’t be. Honestly, it’s exhausting keeping up with her. At least this time, she actually made it back to her own hotel room instead of crashing on some stranger’s couch—or worse.

“Violet, seriously,” you snap, shaking her again when all you get is a groan. “You’re a grown-ass woman, and I’m not your babysitter. Get up, get dressed, and try not to look like you’ve been on a week-long bender. The van is leaving, and I’m not letting you make us late again.”

She finally stirs, one bloodshot eye cracking open as she glares at you. “What’s your problem?” she mutters, her voice gravelly and tired.

“My problem? My problem is that you’re wasting your talent and dragging us all down with you. I get it—you’re hurt, heartbroken, life sucks. But this?” You gesture around the room, littered with empty bottles and discarded clothes. “This isn’t you, Vi. And it sure as hell isn’t the Vi this band needs right now.”

She sits up slowly, rubbing her temples like even that’s too much effort. “You don’t get it,” she mutters, her voice low. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like Cait.”

You take a deep breath, softening your tone. “No, I don’t. I won’t pretend I do. But I know Caitlyn wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. And I know you’re better than this. So, get your ass up and let’s get to work. You don’t have to fix everything right now, but at least show up—for yourself, and for us.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. For a second, you think she’s going to argue. But instead, she sighs heavily, dragging herself out of bed like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

“Fine,” she mutters, running a hand through her mess of hair. “I’ll pack. But don’t expect me to look ‘presentable.’”

You snort, tossing her a clean shirt you found buried under a pile of god knows what. “Presentable’s overrated. I’ll settle for functional.”

She gives you a half-smirk, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from her in weeks, and starts gathering the rest of her things.

You make your way to the van, your thoughts swirling as you reflect on how much your lives have changed in such a short time. Just a few months ago, you were barely scraping by, playing gigs at any bar that would have you. Your dad thought joining a band was a terrible idea—especially since it meant you wouldn’t be going to college. He never liked Vi, or her family for that matter, constantly calling her a bad influence. He’d been saying that ever since the two of you met in high school, always claiming that Vi was the one putting reckless ideas in your head.

When you told him you were starting a band with her, he completely lost it. You could still hear the echoes of his angry voice, the awful things he said, the way he swore you’d never make it. “You’re throwing your future away for a pipe dream,” he’d yelled. “Mark my words, you’ll regret this.” Those words used to haunt you—sometimes they still do. But right now, you can’t deny the faint sense of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve proven him wrong. Sure, things aren’t perfect, but you’re here. You’re on a tour van, opening for a bigger artist, starting to get noticed by her fans. It’s not the dream yet, but it’s closer than it’s ever been.

Climbing onto the van, you spot Jinx already in her usual spot by the window, earbuds dangling around her neck as she scrolls aimlessly on her phone. She glances up when she hears you, a crooked grin forming on her face.

“Did you get her to wake up?” she asks, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disgust. “I tried, but it reeks in there. Smells like whiskey, sweat, and bad decisions.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Yeah, she’s up. Barely. I had to practically shake her awake and threaten to leave her behind. She’s packing now, probably still half-asleep.”

Jinx smirks, leaning back in her seat and tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “You’re a braver soul than I am. I gave up after two knocks. You know how Vi gets when she’s hungover—like a grumpy bear. Or a bear with a hangover.”

“She’s not a bear,” you say with a sigh, dropping into the seat across from her. “She’s just… going through it. Though, honestly, I wish she’d just move on already.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and frustrated. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. When does ‘going through it’ stop being an excuse? She’s dragging herself—and us—down. It’s not like we’re rolling in free passes for her to waste.”

You glance out the window, watching the early morning light streak across the horizon. She’s not wrong. Vi’s breakup with Caitlyn hadn’t just been hard on her—it had been hard on all of you. The drinking, the fights, the inconsistency... It was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Where’s Ekko?” you ask, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me he’s late too.”

Jinx shrugs lazily. “Oh, he forgot something in his room. He’s probably on his way back already. You know him—‘fashionably late’ and all that.”

As if on cue, the hotel doors swing open, and Ekko steps outside with Archie, your ever-enthusiastic manager, trailing close behind. The two are deep in conversation, their hands gesturing wildly as they talk.

“Oh, you girls are already here! Excellent.” Archie’s voice carries before he even reaches the bus. His short, chubby frame and thick british accent somehow manage to command attention wherever he goes. He’s the reason the band even had a shot, the one who saw potential when no one else did.

“I have exciting news,” Archie announces, his grin stretching ear to ear as he climbs aboard. Then, his expression falters. “But… where is Miss Violet? Don’t tell me she’s late again.”

“She’s packing,” you answer, sitting up straighter. “She’ll be out any minute.”

Archie narrows his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Packing? At this hour? I gave everyone strict instructions to be ready by now.”

“She had a rough night,” you offer, though you feel like a broken record at this point. How many times have you covered for her?

“A rough night?” Archie throws his hands up dramatically. “She’s had a ‘rough night’ every night for the past month! If she’s not careful, she’ll burn herself out before we even get close to making it big.”

You exchange a glance with Jinx, who shrugs as if to say, He’s not wrong.

At that moment, the can door opens again, and Vi steps aboard. She looks like she just rolled out of bed—hair tousled, hoodie wrinkled, and sunglasses covering her undoubtedly bloodshot eyes.

“Morning,” she mutters, flopping into a seat without so much as a glance at Archie.

“Morning?” Archie echoes incredulously. “Miss Violet, this is hardly the professionalism I expect from you. We’re opening for one of the biggest acts of the year, and you’re showing up like you’ve just walked out of a frat house!”

Vi groans, tilting her head back against the seat. “Save it, Archie. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Archie pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before shaking it off. “Fine. I’ll save my lecture for later because—believe it or not—we’ve got good news. Big news.”

Everyone perks up at that, even Vi, though she does so begrudgingly.

“What kind of news?” you ask, leaning forward with curiosity.

Archie’s grin widens as he claps his hands together. “You’re being added to three more tour dates! One of which is in LA. And, if you can manage to pull yourselves together, there might even be offers for an single on the table.”

The van erupts into excited chatter, a buzz of energy filling the space. Jinx punches the air, Ekko grins from ear to ear, and even you feel a rush of exhilaration. This is what you’ve all been working for—an actual shot at something bigger.

Even Vi, slouched in her seat with her sunglasses still on, cracks a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s there. Maybe this could be the spark she needed—the moment she finally stopped wallowing and started using all that anger and hurt for something productive.

“Quiet down, please,” Archie calls out, waving his hands to settle everyone. “I know you’re all excited, and you should be. But this will only be possible if you show your absolute best in the upcoming concerts. No more sloppiness, no more excuses. This is your chance to prove you’re ready for the big leagues.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the stakes. The excitement dims just slightly, replaced by determination.

“So,” Archie continues, checking his watch, “settle down, get your heads in the game, and prepare to give it everything you’ve got. We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

Jinx leans over your seat, her voice low but tinged with excitement. “Three more shows, an album, and LA? Think we’ll survive?”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Vi, who’s staring out the window now, her expression unreadable. “We’ll survive,” you reply. “The question is whether we’ll thrive.”

Jinx snorts. “Speak for yourself. I was born to thrive.”

Despite everything, you feel a flicker of hope. This was it—the break you’d been waiting for. Now all you had to do was rise to the occasion.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter two

notes: i love making vi suffer 😔 it’s a character flaw im sorry

[takes1]

i just wanted to tell you how GOOD that asahi x reader that u posted recently is like OML. ty for doing gods work and posting for my MAN

extra: a rough!asahi drabble

i appreciate your kindness so much. 😭this is just a small final-final drabble to the rough!asahi series, nothing much but some ppl were asking <3

warnings. implied nsfw, heavy recreational drinking, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / fluff-esque / asahi is the aftercare king / mutual size kink / playfighting kink / power struggle fetish / nishinoya loves his friends / 900 words

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. part one here. final part here.

Thanks to some calculated foresight, nobody noticed you and Asahi leaving at the same time. Everyone had been involved in their monetized 50/50 odds with Kageyama/Tsukishima's brawl that nothing else mattered.

That was, of course, only until Nishinoya couldn't find his bestie.

He was turning to call to you, make one more joke about how you scared the big coward off.

He quickly scanned the rest of the room- you had both vanished from thin air.

"Yachi?"

It was a little tap against her leg. He sat on the floor, back against the sofa that she was perched on. She leaned forward to hear him amidst all the commotion.

"Did you see where Asahi went?"

Her face grew bright, bright red. She straightened and didn't look at him, except for another tiny, nervous glance.

Yachi infamously could not keep secrets. And, although it wasn't exactly a secret that you two left, it was obvious that you didn't want to be followed, and she knew your feelings well.

Nishinoya's mouth hung open- he pushed himself to sit between her and Daichi, watching her way too close.

A suspicious mutter, right next to her cherry-red face, "You know something."

"Okay- okay, 'Noya-!" Daichi grabbed him hard enough to make him sit naturally again, "Stop that."

"Where is Asahi!" He shouted.

He shoved Daichi off and got up to a kneel again so that he could scan the entire living room. It was hardly a question, because this twilight-zone couch wasn't going to get him any answers.

Suga tried a smarter approach, after sharing a panicked look to Daichi.

"He probably had to take a shit, or somethin'."

Nishinoya stood on the couch, pointing a harsh finger at Suga. He was completely tipped off now, unable to trust a single person, because it was obvious he was not in on something. Now they were all trying to lie.

"You know he only shits in his own house!"

Daichi had to stifle his laughter- that was so true, and such a tiny detail they all knew, and never acknowledged. His attempts to grab Noya were compromised as he giggled. Being pretty wasted did not help.

"Noya, Sit- aah-hahaha-! Sit dowwn!"

"Okayyy, relax man!"

Nishinoya was freaking out, also drunk, knocked back down to his knees because of Daichi's clumsy pulling, "Wheeere! Is! Asahiii!"

Suga stood up to help, only throwing a glance to Yachi- who looked like she was about to implode. The pressure was high, made worse by everyone else's loud chanting, a count-down, for Kageyama to keep his hold on Tsukishima in the center of the circle.

"You're gonna-Ow! Hurt yourself!"

It took the combined strength of Suga and Daichi to keep their smaller friend in place. Tens of minutes passed by with Nishinoya restrained by his legs and waist- sprawled awkwardly over their laps. He would occasionally cry Asahi's name up to the ceiling in a monotone, defeated drawl, as if he was dead.

Nobody else cared, aside from thinking Nishinoya was a funny little guy when he had been drinking.

The rest of the matches were quieter. Daichi had to give up his ref position to Kageyama, since he was sober and the most willing, but that didn't stop him from making the world's worst calls.

Yachi was the first to hear it.

She was zoned out, staring forward at the blank wall, but got roused by a small, and somewhat familiar pitch.

"Oh- oh no--," She leaned over Nishinoya's leg, shaking Daichi's shoulder. She mouthed, 'I can hear them!'

Instead of springing up into action right away, like she expected them to, they sat still. It took a second to understand that they were trying to listen.

The very feint, but undeniable, sounds of some very good sex met their curious ears.

"The speaker-!" Suga caught his breath, sporting a very similar, harsh redness, as he shoved Nishinoya off, "Fuck, I- I'm getting th'speaker."

The solution was efficient, and a surefire way to keep everyone downstairs for longer. It was waking up those that were falling asleep.

It also helped to disguise Asahi once he began barreling down the steps. To the little group, all in on it, they were turned around already, waiting to see him as he stepped into the light.

He was glittering with sweat.

A brief, uneven, "H-ey, guys."

He cleared his throat, unable to meet any of their eyes, as he continued to the kitchen for some water.

Daichi collapsed onto the couch. He was taken completely with laughter, and Suga sat upright, mouth hanging open, growing warmer and warmer, clutching Yachi for support.

If that's what Asahi looked like, it was safe to assume that you must've been in shambles.

When he came back around with water, Nishinoya flung his torso over the back of the couch and barely snagged him by the shirt.

"Asahiii!" He gripped him tight, meeting his eyes with a messy smile, "Who won?"

Asahi made a frightened sound.

In his violent shudder, Nishinoya was shaken off and had to go without a proper response-- he scoffed, calling after him, "You're such a wuss!!"

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

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my masterlist. more haikyuu. my imagines.

[eternaldesi]

╰ dad!chris x . Mom!reader ᨸ Chris hesitantly agrees to let you have a girls’ night out, promising he’s got the kids under control—only to FaceTime you for help when the toddler throws a tantrum.

IT HAD BEEN WEEKS OF NON-STOP FAMILY LIFE. Between work, the kids’ activities, and keeping everything running smoothly at home, you hadn’t had a night to yourself in what felt like forever. So, when your friends suggested a girls’ night out, you jumped at the chance. After all, you deserved a little fun and relaxation, right? You glanced over at Chris, who was sprawled on the couch in his usual laid-back fashion, playing a game on his phone. “Hey, babe,” you started, trying to sound casual, but you could feel the nerves creeping in. “I was thinking I could go out with the girls tonight. Just for a few hours.” Chris looked up from his phone, eyes widening slightly at the mention of you leaving. He put down his phone, his expression shifting to one of concern. “Wait, you want to leave me alone with the kids?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You laughed lightly, not sure if he was joking. “Chris, you’ve got this. They’ll be fine. You’re a great dad.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but… I don’t know. What if something happens? What if they get… I don’t know… messy? Or—” You raised an eyebrow. “Chris, you’ve been around the kids for a long time. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Besides, it’s just a few hours. I’ll be back before you know it.” He sighed dramatically but eventually relented, giving you a smile of reassurance, even though you could tell he was still nervous. “Fine, fine. But if they start a riot or something, I’m calling you.” “Deal,” you said, laughing as you grabbed your purse. “I’ll be just a phone call away. Have fun with the kids, Dad.”

A FEW HOURS LATER, you were at a lively restaurant with your friends, enjoying a much-needed break. You’d forgotten how nice it felt to be around adults, away from the chaos of home. As the night went on, you found yourself laughing and chatting freely, your stress melting away with each glass of wine. But then, your phone buzzed. You pulled it from your purse, glancing at the screen. It was a FaceTime call from Chris. You frowned, puzzled. Was everything okay? You answered the call, and Chris’s face popped up on the screen, looking a little frazzled. Behind him, you could hear the sounds of children—loud, high-pitched, and very chaotic. “Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to hide your amusement. Chris’s face was a mixture of panic and exasperation. “I… I need help,” he said, voice low, as if trying to keep the situation under control. “What’s going on?” you asked, already knowing the answer. “Chloe won’t stop crying. I’ve tried everything. I gave her snacks, I sang her favorite song, I even put on the show she likes—nothing’s working! And Nico is jumping off the couch while Sienna is pretending to be a scientist and mixing random things in the kitchen.” You could barely suppress your giggles as you heard Nico’s excited voice shouting, “I’m a superhero!” in the background. Meanwhile, Chloe’s cries only seemed to get louder. You held back laughter, trying to keep your tone calm. “Okay, okay. Deep breath, Chris. Here’s what you do—try giving Chloe her stuffed bear, the one she can’t sleep without. It usually calms her down.” Chris ran a hand through his hair, his face scrunching with frustration. “I tried that. She’s still going off. And Nico won’t stop—he’s about to break something!” You couldn’t help it anymore. You laughed, a genuine laugh that rang out over the phone. “Chris, you’ve got this. Just breathe. Let me talk to the kids.” You put the phone on speaker and called out to the kids. “Nico! Sienna! Can you listen to Daddy for just a minute? He’s trying really hard!” “Mommy!” Sienna’s voice rang through the phone, and you could hear the excitement in her voice. “Daddy says I can’t mix the kitchen stuff!” “Yeah, because you’re not a scientist, Sienna,” Chris added with a sigh. “I swear, they’re out of control tonight.”“Alright, alright. Just tell them to give you a few minutes,” you said, trying to suppress another laugh. “I’m sure they’ll calm down.” Chris rubbed his temples. “I’m gonna lose it, I swear.” You could hear Chloe’s cries start to fade slightly in the background as Chris quickly retrieved the stuffed bear, probably following your instructions. It only took a few moments before the sound of Chloe calming down reached your ears. “There, see?” you said, grinning. “Just give it a minute.” Chris looked at you through the phone, his expression one of disbelief. “You seriously have a magic touch. She’s quiet now. Nico is pretending to be Batman, and Sienna’s cleaning up the kitchen… I don’t know how you do it.”“Years of practice, babe,” you said, smiling warmly. “You just have to stay calm, and they’ll follow your lead. But hey, if you need me to come home early, I’m just a call away.” Chris raised an eyebrow, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “I think we’re good now… but I don’t know if I can handle another night like this. Maybe next time you could plan a night out while the kids are asleep?” “Yeah, maybe,” you teased. “But you handled it. I’m proud of you, Dad.” “I’m not sure I’d call it handling it,” Chris said with a rueful chuckle. “But I’m surviving.” You gave him a reassuring smile, knowing he was doing his best. “You’re doing great. I’ll be home soon. Just remember—if all else fails, put on their favorite movie and let them burn off some energy.” “Got it. Thanks, babe.” As you ended the call, you chuckled to yourself, thoroughly entertained by the chaos at home. It had been nice to get a break, but honestly, you couldn’t wait to get back to your little family and see how Chris was holding up with everything.

[tricksh0t]

★ helping hand (Hamburger Helper)

☾ jaime lannister x m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ dw about the hamburger helper its a joke

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.14k words

cw: handjob, frotting, spit, sub Jaime, dubcon, swearing

Jaime is stressed. Actually, Jaime Lannister is stressed, because all his troubles seem to stem from his house duties.

Jaime knew that his father, Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, seasoned army commander, war winner, and expert at giving disappointed looks was likely to strip him of his titles and send him back to Casterly Rock to continue the family line if he so much as made a single mistake, even going as far as taking back his words of disowning him, now that his little brother, Tyrion, was a very persecuted criminal. A breeding mare, he would be, because as much as Jaime hates to think about it, he is a one-handed knight who lost his sword hand.

If there's something he has, it's his cock, and it works; but he can't say it stands proud anymore, because his secret sister-wife Cersei denies him so much as a hand and he is nothing but blisteringly loyal to her.

So here he is, sexually, emotionally and physically frustrated, without his usual duties to fulfill like flaunting his sword.

The only thing that's not Lannister about his troubles is actually Tyrell, or rather, the cocky knight his new to-be-in-laws have brought with them from Hightower to become part of the King's Guard, you.

Already, you think yourself a God not to be fucked with, the second coming of Ser Meryn Trant, not for the asshole's skill but for his arrogance and blatant discourtesy.

What you have over Ser Meryn is actual skill as a swordsman, something you are right to be proud of, if you weren't so arrogant about it. Then there's your looks.

The Tyrells and Hightower love to be pretty. Margaery is a good match for his son already, despite what Cersei says, she is pretty on the outside as well as the inside. Loras, the Knight of the Flowers, is a popular bachelor, even though he has apparent, different tastes, he knows how to use his looks to fool a girl for his house duty. Olenna, though old, still decorates herself with the finest dresses and jewelry, almost as if it is second nature to her.

Naturally, you must be pretty too. You're not a Hightower kind of pretty, though, you're handsome, more rugged, scarred. You wear the Tyrell colors, their embroidery, their style, and yet you remain in Jaime's eye different.

It's too bad you're an asshole. He might've been good friends with you.

Jaime doesn't know why he's thinking about you while he's doing this. Initially, he'd just screwed his eyes shut to try to empty his mind and think of better things.

He tries to drift his attention towards what he usually likes, another's soft hands he's proud to have kept soft; long, flowing, and wavy blonde hair, emerald green eyes; but then he finds himself thinking of you again.

Rough hands that might just feel good on him, short hair, narrowed, mocking eyes, and another mocking smile to accompany them. Then muscles beneath armor, then muscles beneath nothing, then sweat and that sword hand wrapped around your sword and then imaginatively, wrapped around his cock.

And it's getting him off.

Imagining the hand he's got around him is yours is a filthy, guilty pleasure he'll never admit to, but it only helps that it's his left hand, because it feels foreign.

"Need a hand?"

Jaime jumps. His eyes snap open and he flings his hand away, only to sloppily pull up the sheets of his bed to cover himself decently.

"Just what are you doing here?" He asks, because he knows you've heard of knocking.

Evidently, you spy on the fact he hasn't gone soft. You continue taking steps forward. "I asked you a question first."

Jaime steels his dignity to speak next, "Jerking off is a one-handed thing, I'm afraid."

"Not going to take my so very kind offer?" You only stop nearing when you get to the edge of his bed.

You look down on him like you're in some position of power over him, even though he has all levels of seniority on you, because that is how you are. Cocky and arrogant and self-entitled.

Jaime sits up, but you push him back down, placing a hand on the unlaced front of his sleeping tunic, on his chest. His weak flesh hand comes up to fight yours, clutching at your wrist. His gold-plated, heavy hand is useless, and thus though he may not surrender, he cannot push you away.

You suddenly place your other hand beside his head, making him jump pathetically, but he is unable to go elsewhere as you lean down to whisper, "Let's not pretend that you do not fancy me, Kingslayer."

Your hand plays the part of a seductress, pushing his tunic loose around the top to caress at his hairless, toned chest. A warm touch, and he was right: a rough one too, the pads of your fingers are calloused.

"You swore an oath when you joined the King's Guard."

"You did too."

Jaime clicks his tongue at your audacity, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. You only return a smirk, that damned smirk, audacious and playful.

And then the seductress trails a path down the line between his pecs, down his sternum and abdomen, slipping below the covers to do so.

Jaime doesn't fight this time, in fact he lets go of your hand, and you can tell it's because he wants it.

His narrowed eyes change expressions, from an angry glare into a look that tells you he's watching you.

They only narrow further when you lift his tunic to trail your fingers not around his cock like you know he wants it, but down his happy trail. You take your sweet time swirling the short, thick hairs around your fingers in circles, thumbing at the end of the trail and the beginning of the tactile, trimmed bush. You switch from your whole hand to two fingers, tracing down the messy, crooked trail until you're almost at the base of his length.

Jaime is about to complain about how you edge right around it, but then you're suddenly grasping the base in one full hand.

He gasps.

Rough, is his first thought. Rough because of how tough the palm of your hand is, calloused and worked, and rough because you spare him no mercy in how tight you grip him.

"Softer, ass–" Your eyes silence him, that smirk again, you're in control of his pleasure. Jaime sighs, "please."

The pleasure lighting up in your gaze brings him no pleasure, not until you move your hand and, "Shit."

He tries to keep stoic, biting his lip to keep his mouth closed. It's a fight in it of itself, one he can fight. Though he has lost his swordsmanship, he has not lost the discipline and endurance that come with it.

However, the simple motion of your hand makes him want to roll his eyes back, even though you're barely doing him any good.

Already an electric shock fires through his body. His left hand feels foreign, yes, but it is slow and the fog of pleasure forming in his mind would make it sloppy. Your hand is perfect; actually foreign, big and motivated.

Jaime hasn't been the best swordsman in Westeros in a long time, and so he finds that he is losing his patience. The sexual frustration and this very moment are evidence of it, because he finds pleasure in all of it.

When your face leaves his view, it makes his eyes refocus. He looks down at you as you lean over his cock and not take it in your mouth, but let your spit drool over it.

"Fuck."

It's a sight, the new asshole of the Red Keep pleasuring him willingly, eagerly at that.

You spread the drool over his length evenly, but then only pay attention to his tip, thumb pressing against the slit and swirling.

His hand finds the back of your neck, an outward, sudden thing through the fog of pleasure and unmediated strength. "Don't make this impersonal, at least."

"If you can sit a while, darling."

Jaime rolls his eyes, but sits back and waits.

He's seen your body before, your boundless muscles and scarce scars, but of course he hasn't seen your cock.

You don't make a show for it, but his anticipation only makes things feel slower as he watches you undress. Just the faulds and scale groin guard, and then your pants and underwear, and the wait is much too long.

He reaches out to help, but you push his hand back against the headboard roughly. Jaime scoffs, and you only laugh in turn.

"Asshole."

You take your time, and Jaime takes his to watch. He bites his lip at the sight of your V line, but he focuses more on your hairy happy trail, lets his eyes follow it down the more you expose.

Your cock slaps your abdomen when you finally free it, and Jaime has to bite back an exclamation when he sees it.

He hadn't noticed, but precum had been dripping down his length as he watched. You press the tip of your cock against it, against his, collecting and spreading the pre around the both of you.

Jaime groans.

"Is it personal now?"

"Uh-huh." Jaime huffs breathlessly, eyes glued to what you're doing to him.

You straddle his legs and slowly press your cocks together lengthwise. He has no time to dwell on the size difference, before you're wrapping your hand around the both of you at the same time.

Jaime's breaths grow to match the pace of your hand, slow for now. His eyes close.

"Jaime."

"Hm?" Lazily, they open once more, only to widen when you part his lips and keep them open with your thumb at the corner of his lip.

Drool gathers at the bottom of his mouth forcibly, and he can't do much about it, not until you tell him to spit into your hand.

With his mind truly lost now, he obeys, and you soon spit into the same hand and use the mix to continue jerking the two of you off.

It's disgusting, a mix of your spit and his that will soon be accompanied by both of your seeds.

There's a wet squelch each time your hand reaches the top again, and that's disgusting too.

It's disgusting, but a part of him feels like he's missed this. A foreign hand, a sexual partner, pleasure like he's never had before, and he could only ever want more.

It's disgusting, but it's so fucking good.

Jaime's hips buck into your hand, wanting more and only more.

You're not selfish, either. The attention you pay to his cock makes it swell all the harder. It's almost as if you're servicing him, and only him.

When you add more spit into the mess, right on the tip of his cock, he yelps. His hand reaches for your wrist, and yet it does nothing to stop you.

He can't stop the moans from spilling from his mouth anymore, a steady "uh uh uh".

The coil in the pit of his stomach turns and turns, coiling and making him clench his stomach. He's close, so very close.

More pre weeps from the tip of his cock, and you swirl your finger around the tip, spreading it around.

Jaime's eyes focus once more on the movement. He winces, "Please."

But you're an asshole and he's forgotten that.

You wrap your hand around the both of you weakly, languidly dragging it up and down your cocks. It's not enough for him, not after how mind-blowing you were, not while he knows how mind-blowing you could be.

In a spurt of determination, Jaime's hand wraps right around yours.

No longer weak, his left hand guides the movement again, rough and fast that has his reactive hips bucking in tandem too.

You're very clearly amused but he does nothing about it.

No, he's in control now, doesn't need you.

Jaime chases after his pleasure, as he deems he rightfully deserves. He uses your hand like a vessel, a puppet, just to get off.

Hips bucking, pre and spit squelching, tip swollen red; it's instinctual, animalistic, the way he chases to snap the coil in his stomach with no regard for his energy.

When Jaime finishes, it's his first in a long time, and it has his entire body going limp.

His cum washes over the both of your lengths, but he's already got his eyes closed when it does. He doesn't know when you finish, only that it's later.

"Do I get a thank you?"

Jaime opens his eyes and looks at your now clothed body, then at his cock. His spit, your spit, his cum, yours. His nose turns up.

"No."

[sris-skies]

LAKE DAY- niki enhypen

two facts about the day were true, 1) the day was hot, the sun beating down onto the ground and making the ground unbearably hot and 2) riki was the worst person to go on a car trip with on a hot day- even just a 20 minute one to the lake. y/n rolled her eyes as her best friend complained again about how hot and sticky he was, elbowing him with a glare to shut him up… that didn’t really work. honestly it made it worse as he was now also complaining about her ‘assaulting’ him. “riki, if you don’t stop asking ‘are we there yet?’ I am stopping the car and you are walking the rest of the way to the lake.” jay threatened from the driver's seat, heeseung turning around from the passenger seat to laugh at niki. “oh come on! I’m not that bad!! y/nnnn, tell them that i’m not that bad, come onnnn, do it for your bestie” riki pleaded and whined at y/n, earning him a judgemental stare and a silence that spoke volumes. “okay. I see how it is. you all hate me” he grumbled dramatically, crossing his arms and looking out the car window, evidently sulking. 

once the group had finally arrived at the lake, riki all but jumped out of the car, sprinting down to the lake’s shore. y/n sighed, going to check the boot of the car to grab their bags, only to realise that both hers and riki’s bags were missing. she squinted her eyes to seek out riki, her eyes landing on him holding both of their bags as he ran. god. what an idiot. that’s her best friend alright. y/n made her way down to the shore after him, jogging a little to catch up. “you’re such a bitch, why’d you take my bag without telling me” she laughed once she’d finally caught up to him. “dunno, just couldn’t let my girl carry her bag when i’m here and fully able to carry it for her” riki shrugged, flashing her a cocky smirk over his shoulder. y/n felt her heart flutter a little bit, he’d recently started flirting with her more, and it was leaving her mind and heart scrambled with odd emotions. she played it off by scoffing and shoving his shoulder lightly “ew stop that” she’d said, not really meaning it all that much. 

the rest of their friend group joined them finally, y/n setting up her towel and little area as everyone talked and joked. riki stood in front of her (was it on purpose?) and took his shirt off showily, flexing his muscles (was it for her?). he looked over his shoulder at her and winked overly flirtatiously (was it real?), receiving him yet another judgemental stare from y/n. “get your yucky self down here and i’ll put sunscreen on for you before you burn to a crisp” she groaned, pulling out her bottle of sunscreen, riki obediently sitting in front of her with a shit eating grin. y/n put the sunscreen on his back and tried so so hard- she really did- to not think too hard of how his muscles felt underneath her hands as she rubbed the sunscreen in, finally giving him a smack on the back of his neck once she was done. “ow! domestic assault! my girl hit me!” he whined dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest, looking wounded. “I’m not your girl, give this upppp” y/n groaned, covering up the way that it made her heart flip in her chest at hearing him call her ‘his girl’. he just winked once again and ran off to go swim in the lake, jumping off the pier with an excited whoop, into the water. 

y/n watched as she got herself ready to go join him in the water, carefully applying sunscreen everywhere- not too keen on contracting skin cancer. his head had poked up out of the water, beaming and shaking his wet hair out. good lord he looked so stupid (ly pretty). she walked calmly out down the pier, riki excitedly climbing up the ladder to join her on the pier, flopping a familiar arm around her shoulders and shaking his wet hair, getting her wet, causing her to squeal a little and futilely try to squirm out of his wet grasp. “nishimura riki get your wet ass hands off of me!” she groaned, wriggling against his strong arms. “well, if you insist” he responded cheekily- which was, quite frankly, never a good sign- before pushing her off the pier and into the water, jumping in after her. when y/n resurfaced, she looked at riki with an offended look on her face, swimming over to him with the intent to smack his ass. y/n was intercepted by riki, who picked her up bridal style and held her up against his chest. she felt her breath hitch and time slow down around her, the water dripping down off his hair that fell over his eyes, the stupidly charming, cocky grin on his face as he looked down at her, the feel of his skin on hers- it felt intoxicating. as if in a daze, y/n reached up and brushed back his wet hair off his forehead. “my girl..” he’d mumbled under his breath, his eyes darting down to her lips, wetting his own plush, pillowy lips- god, why did she want to feel those against hers so badly. “put me down!” she protested weakly, earning a soft scoff of “make me”. well. it’s important to note that sometimes, y/n let her demons win. she leant up and kissed him, her heart soaring as she felt their lips lock. riki, in such a complete daze that his best friend and the person that he’d been pining over since forever, kissed him, dropped y/n back into the water- staring blankly straight ahead. 

happy birthday maya!! @rizzkisworld

sorry this didn't get posted at 12am exactly, I did my best 😔

[one-eternal-sigh]

okay I’m a marylily shipper through and through but give me that brief, confusing, messy marylene

something that starts with mary kissing marlene, and marlene tentatively kissing back, because she’s liked mary for a while, and they’re both a bit drunk and mary looks lovely in that dress, eye-bags and messy curls and lipstick smudged and dry chuckles (even though it kind of caught her off guard, it’s nice to have mary relax under her touch, especially when she’s been so weird and distant all evening)

subtle beginnings, fingers squeezed under tables, smiles that last a little too long and sometimes, when they’re bored or lazily fooling around, kisses, more kisses, always heated, and taking and fierce, like mary’s trying to eat her whole and feel every single emotion there is to feel through it (it’s not exactly what marlene pictured, they never talk about it, even though there isn’t anything stopping them from doing that, it just feels…..simultaneously too cavalier yet something about it is strained? Which is confusing)

marlene’s eyes that can’t help but linger and then shift in confusion because she can’t understand mary for the life of her—how she’ll kiss marlene like she’s something to be revered and then act distant and quiet when it comes to talking things through seriously, distracted during regular conversations, how it’s seeping into their regular dynamic—

why her and lily don’t seem to be speaking as much ever since she got with james, how lily seems a little more tight lipped around them than usual, this strange, slightly icy mood that seems to have taken over their whole friend group ever since they started….well, whatever weird situationship it is, when mary will give something back or when she’ll pull away without explanation and marlene won’t ask for one either because it’s not something they explicitly discuss and she doesn’t want to ruin this, ruin them—and marlene’s so frustrated, hates being kept out of the loop and if anything she feels……used?

She hates it, hates that she and mary could joke around and rib each other like anything, misses cackling over the filthiest things while mary rolled her eyes, hates these casual makeout sessions and having to predict mary without being clued in about her feelings,

especially when she’s been a bit unsure all the while but mostly just glad that mary liked her back and dismissing her shift in attitude and random bouts of detachment for hesitation to be vulnerable since they were new to this, hates being an outlet for whatever mary is dealing with, hates being her choice of distraction

and so it breaks off, they’re not on speaking terms for a while after—though they do talk about it, the miscommunications—until eventually mary does get her shit together and they hesitantly fall back into the way things were

(eventually, when they do get together, the news of mary and lily dating stings a little, so perhaps they’re not exactly back to normal yet, but marlene brushes it aside—she’s got her eye on someone else, anyway….)

[afyrian]

line seven - cold shoulder m.list

    atsumu sits in the station's break room, legs crossed on another chair as he sips on an espresso. the spike of caffeine is the only thing keeping him awake as he waits patiently for sakusa to get there. ever since his discussion with you, he's wondered what happened to the spark that sakusa seemed to carry. the way he joked with you, talked as if he knew your coffee order and how you made the bed. 

  sakusa sat across from him at the dinner, rather than beside him. he sat next to you, knees touching, hands brushing. and atsumu found himself watching the two of you around work the next day, both acting like you didn't know each other. so, all atsumu can do is wait patiently for sakusa to come and give him the answers he desperately needs and desires.

  he's tried messaging him relentlessly about the situation. 'why was she upset?' 'why didn't you make her happier?' 'what did you do?' atsumu always knew that sakusa wasn't good with getting close to someone. he pulls back and isolates himself so that he can't be hurt. but in the end, atsumu can always tell, he's hurt nonetheless.

  "what are you still doing here?" atsumu is pulled from his thoughts when he looks up to see sakusa standing in the doorway, hand holding a decorated mug.

  he gets up from the chair, tossing his empty cup into the nearby trash can. walking over to sakusa, he peeks out the door and immediately gets to talking, "waiting for you! what happened with y/n? you haven't been answering any of my messages."

  "i haven't been because it's none of your business-"

  "you're my best friend of course it's my business. you two looked like you were having fun, like actual fun! something you never seem to indulge in. and then all of a sudden you're icing her out?" atsumu watches as sakusa sets a pod into the coffee machine, setting his mug below the spout.

  sakusa's jaw tightens and he keeps his eyes on the machine, unable to look at his friend. "we did have fun, but it's nothing more. i'm telling you now, nothing happened. we just had fun for one night and now we're coworkers again," he finally looks over at atsumu, noticing the way he immediately laughs, unbelieving. 

  "you're a fucking liar, sakusa. a fucking liar. 'nothing happened' you do know i know you by now? that i know when you've pulled away?" atsumu meets his gaze, making sure the two of them are on the same level, that they both know how unbelievably scared he is. 

  "what do you want me to say atsumu?"

  "that you'll talk to her, give it a chance. you’ve closed yourself off for far too long and it’s time to actually indulge in your feelings… which i know you have,” he grabs one of the bags of chips off of the counter, popping it open.

  sakusa looks back down at his mug as the coffee finishes flowing. there’s a part of him that knows that atsumu is right. that that night with you made him feel so free to be himself. to talk about things that he normally wouldn’t discuss with just a coworker. and yet he can’t help that bewildering feeling that forces him to back away before it gets too serious. 

  “i’ll try.. if you promise not to say anything else. you speak a word of this to y/n and i’m never going to onigiri miya with you again. and i’ll convince osamu to stop giving you free meals,” sakusa grabs a hold of his mug, listening to atsumu dig into the chips.

  atsumu narrows his eyes and nods, “okay, but if you pull away again, then i’m gonna hound you again. i’ll even shout it to the whole office.”

  rolling his eyes, sakusa gives atsumu a short wave and heads back to your booth. he walks down the same hallway he always walks but there’s an energy to him that he doesn’t normally have. he can feel his legs carrying longer strides, eager to get back to his seat. sakusa’s hands feel jittery, like he’s already had the full cup of coffee. however, he knows it’s because he’s still scared.

  he’s still scared to get to know you, to break down his walls and finally let someone in. it’s terrifying. yet he knows how freeing it could be to finally have someone to love. his hand grabs the door’s handle, a static charge shocking his finger, not helping with how fast his heart was already beating. 

  entering the booth, he looks over to where you typically sit. and there you are, some notes sprawled across the desk as you scroll through your computer’s list of songs. there’s a way you look so intriguing when you’re focused. fingers holding up your head from your temple to your cheek, biting your lip incessantly.

  sakusa almost thought he got out unscathed from looking at you for far too long, however, you quickly look up and meet his gaze. “good morning,” he nods, pursing his lips before heading off into his sound room.

  you let out a short sigh, eyes narrow as you look back at him, “good morning…”

  he wants to pretend like your cold demeanor isn’t his fault. however, sakusa tends to get a moment of clarity after his closures, realizing just how cold he can be towards others. and now, he’s just receiving the same treatment. doesn’t mean that he doesn’t look up at you every few seconds. from the moment you start the show to when you take your first break, sakusa is sure that you can feel his gaze boring into your face.

  much to his dismay, it seems your response to leave the room as quickly as you can, avoiding him at any and all costs. “i have some making up to do…”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@jadeoru @yessimo @lale-txt @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sugacor3

@quikhs @todorokiskitten @mollyrolls @honeyfewr @pookiebearcave

@phoenix-eclipses @madiexuberant @kameyyy @cr4yolaas @asrichin

@bakugouswh0r3 @bakingcuriosity @zazathezaer @diorzs @urslytherin

@ghostreader0307

[nicnak20]

You don't have to grow up:

*You and Nicholas's daughter is a preteen now, and it's something that Nick has a hard time adjusting to.*

Suzzanne adjusted the strap of her backpack, the worn leather creaking softly. Her dark brown hair, usually a cascade down her back, was today pulled into a high ponytail that bounced with each step. At thirteen, she felt a subtle shift within herself, an awareness of the world beyond her family’s cozy bubble, a world that whispered of friendships forged in hallways and secrets shared after school. She was still Suzzanne, the girl who volunteered at the local animal shelter and baked cookies for her neighbors, but now there was a flicker of something new – a curiosity about fashion, a fascination with music that resonated with her own burgeoning emotions.

Her father, Nicholas, watched her from the doorway, a familiar ache tightening in his chest. His little girl was blossoming, and while intellectually he knew it was natural, viscerally it felt like a piece of him was slipping away. Those bright brown eyes, so like his own, were starting to look outwards, their focus shifting beyond the familiar comfort of their home. He remembered the days when Suzzanne’s small hand would fit perfectly in his, when her biggest worry was a scraped knee and her most fervent desire was for him to read her “The Little Bear” one more time.

Now, the scraped knees were bandaged independently, the desire for bedtime stories replaced with hushed phone calls with friends. Nicholas, a man whose kindness radiated like warmth from a hearth, found himself clinging to those fading memories, almost as if holding them tight could somehow slow the inevitable. He tried to be supportive, genuinely wanting Suzzanne to be happy, but a knot of anxiety twisted within him. He feared the day she’d prioritize whispered secrets with girlfriends over his silly dad jokes, the day her heart would flutter for someone other than her parents.

This fear manifested in small, often clumsy ways. He would still insist on walking her the entire way to school, even though it was just two blocks, lingering until she disappeared through the gates, much to Suzzanne’s quiet mortification. He’d quiz her relentlessly about her classmates, his questions disguised as casual interest but laced with an undercurrent of protective scrutiny.

One Saturday, Suzzanne was excited. Her friend, Maya, was having a small birthday gathering at the park. It was the first time she was going to an event without a parent chaperone, a milestone she’d anticipated with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. She’d carefully chosen her outfit – a denim jacket, a comfortable pair of jeans, and her favorite sneakers. She’d even experimented with a touch of lip gloss, a recent birthday gift from her mother, Yn.

As she was about to leave, Nicholas cleared his throat. "Wait a second, sweet pea," he said, rummaging in a drawer. He pulled out a bright pink backpack with cartoon kittens plastered all over it. “Here,” he said, beaming. “This is much more suitable for a fun day at the park.”

Suzzanne froze, her smile faltering. Her stomach dropped. The backpack was a relic from her elementary school days, a symbol of a time she was now actively trying to navigate away from. It was childish, embarrassing, the antithesis of the image she was trying to project to her friends.

“Dad,” she started, her voice barely a whisper, a blush creeping up her neck. “I… I have my own bag.” She gestured to her sleek, black backpack leaning against the wall.

Nicholas, oblivious to the storm brewing within his daughter, chuckled. “Oh, this old thing is still good! It can carry more snacks, and look how cute the kittens are!” He even made a meowing sound, a playful gesture that usually elicited a giggle from Suzzanne.

Today, it felt like a betrayal. The warmth she usually felt for her father curdled into a sharp sting of humiliation. She could practically hear Maya’s sophisticated older sister, Chloe, laughing.

“Dad, no,” she said, her voice gaining strength, laced with a hint of desperation. “I’m not taking that. It’s…it’s old.”

Nicholas’s smile faltered, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “But honey, it’s perfectly fine. What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything!” The words burst out before she could stop them. “It’s babyish! I’m not a baby anymore!” Tears pricked at her eyes, fueled by the injustice of the situation. She grabbed her black backpack, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m going to be late,” she mumbled, and practically ran out the door, leaving Nicholas standing in stunned silence, the pink kitten backpack dangling limply from his hand.

Yn, who had been in the kitchen, quietly observing the exchange, sighed. She understood Nicholas’s anxieties, the fierce protectiveness that sometimes veered into overbearing territory. But she also saw the raw hurt in Suzzanne’s eyes, the painful realization that her father wasn’t seeing her for who she was becoming.

Later that evening, after Suzzanne had returned, still radiating a faint aura of residual embarrassment, Yn sat down with Nicholas. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Nick,” she began softly, her voice a soothing balm. “You know Suzzanne loves you, right?”

Nicholas nodded, his brow furrowed. “Of course, I know that. But…” He trailed off, the unspoken “but” hanging heavy in the air.

“But you’re worried she’s growing up,” Yn finished for him, her gaze understanding. “That she won’t need you as much anymore.”

He sighed, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but yes. She’s changing, Yn. And I… I just want to hold on to her, to keep her safe and happy.”

Yn smiled gently. “And she knows that, sweetheart. But loving her doesn’t mean keeping her in a box. It means allowing her to explore, to grow, even if it means a few bumps along the way.”

“But the pink backpack…” Nicholas said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “It was just a backpack.”

“To you, it was a backpack filled with good intentions,” Yn countered, her tone still soft but firm. “To Suzzanne, it was a symbol. A symbol of being seen as someone she’s not anymore. She’s thirteen, Nick. She’s finding her own identity, her own style. Those little things matter to her right now.”

Later, Yn found Suzzanne in her room, sketching in her notebook. She sat beside her on the bed. “Hey, sweetie,” she said.

Suzzanne looked up, her expression guarded.

“Your dad feels bad about the backpack,” Yn said gently. “He didn’t mean to upset you.”

Suzzanne shrugged, tracing a line in her drawing. “I know. He just… he doesn’t get it.”

“He does, in his own way,” Yn said. “He loves you so much, Suzzanne. Sometimes, that love gets a little… clumsy. He’s scared of losing that little girl who used to hold his hand at the park.”

Suzzanne’s gaze softened slightly. “But I’m still his little girl,” she said quietly. “Just… a bigger one.”

Yn smiled, pulling Suzzanne into a hug. “Exactly. And that’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful.”

That night, after dinner, Suzzanne found her father in the living room, reading. She hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside him on the sofa.

“Dad?” she said softly.

Nicholas looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and hope.

“I’m sorry I ran out like that,” Suzzanne said, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “The backpack… it just wasn’t right for today.”

Nicholas nodded slowly. “I understand, honey. I… I wasn’t thinking. I just… I miss those days sometimes.”

Suzzanne looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes. She understood, in that moment, that his actions weren't meant to embarrass or belittle her. They came from a place of love, a deep-seated fear of change.

“I still love spending time with you, Dad,” she said, her voice clear and sincere. “Just… maybe we can choose the activities together now. Less tea parties with stuffed animals, more… movie nights?”

A genuine smile spread across Nicholas’s face. “Movie nights sound perfect,” he said, putting his arm around her. “And maybe… you can give me some fashion advice? So I don’t pick out embarrassing backpacks anymore?”

Suzzanne giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder. The space between them felt warm, familiar, yet also subtly different. They were both learning, growing, navigating the uncharted territory of adolescence and fatherhood. The pink kitten backpack, tucked away in a closet, remained a symbol, not of embarrassment, but of a love that was learning to adapt, a love that would continue to grow, just like Suzzanne herself.

[livefromthedas]

Surviving Purely Out Of Spite

By ClickClickBoom

(Also here on AAO3.)

Chapter 8: Making it Weird in Rivain and Talons in Treviso

“Lucanis, duck!” Shouted Taash.

The battlefield ran red, buzzing with a swarm of furious Deep Stalkers, but the assassin, as ever, was incredibly fast on his feet. Lucanis dropped back within seconds of an enormous chunk of granite whizzing by his right ear. It immediately lodged into the skull of another rampaging beast.

“Nice one, Taash!” Dellamorte hollered with a fierce grin.

“Pack leader on your left!” Yelled Rook over the din.

Spite’s wings erupted from Lucanis’s back and he launched skyward at an impossible speed. Within seconds he had landed on the muscle-bound beast, a dagger lodged into its skull. Even dying, the furious creature lurched and bucked, desperate to get free of its attacker. Lucanis hung on like a champ, and a second dagger to the eye sent the beast clamoring to the sand in a heap.

Rook fried a trio of the creatures in succession with bombastic bolts of lightening. They too crumpled to the sand, sizzling with smoke.

Seconds later, Taash gored the final two beasts with their gleaming golden axes, one in the head, the other splayed fully across the gut.

The battlefield had fallen silent. Rook and Lucanis both wavered where they stood, panting from exertion and sweating buckets beneath the scorching Rivaini sun. They’d been traipsing around the coast since well before sunrise, and at barely past 9, the day was already becoming a scorcher.

“How on Maferath’s left nut does anyone manage to run into a horde of deepstalkers within twenty minutes of chasing off a dragon?” Rook joked between pants. They had barely caught their breath after helping a couple of Isabela’s Lords of Fortune flush a lightning-belching Northern Hunter from one of their more frequently traversed caves when an ambush of three Deepstalkers quickly became many times the problem, “I am really starting to think one of us is cursed.”

“…Was that a demon joke?” Lucanis deadpanned, “That was a demon joke.”

Rook quirked an eyebrow and snickered, “Good? Bad?”

“Workshop it.”

“Uuugh,” Taash complained. Their Qunari friend waded through nearly two dozen bodies to retrieve a sword, “is it just me, or have these damn things gotten juicier lately?”

It was a fair question, given the state of them all. The beach was riddled with deepstalker corpses and soaked through with blood. Taash, Rook and Lucanis hadn’t faired much better - Rook was quite sure blood had soaked through every layer of clothing she had on… it was deeply unpleasant.

“It’s the numbers,” Lucanis assessed, trying and failing to wipe a dagger clean on his thigh - his pants were just as bloody as the blade, “You cut open anything in numbers greater than three, you are going to have one hell of a mess.”

“Well, it’s gross. This is gross,” Taash grumbled.

“Death is gross,” Rook noted. She squint against the sweat in her eyes, “But, I mean, aren’t dragons super bloody to kill? I’d think you’d be used to this kind of mess.”

“Yeah, but it makes sense in an animal that big,” said Taash.

Lucanis had given up on his daggers and worked to peel off sticky, sodden gloves instead, “Universal rule - Generally speaking, most bodies are the same. All are basically just bags of water and farts.”

An unseemly snort escaped Rook - a sign of success, judging by the Crow’s grin.

Taash, meanwhile, balked, “Aaugh! That’s worse! You just made it worse!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Oh my god, seriously though?” Rook’s attention was quickly pulled to the fact that her hair - waist length and curly as it was - was also matted with blood. She could feel it sticking to her back through her clothes, “I don’t think I can make it all the way back to the Lighthouse like this.”

“See?” Taash insisted to Lucanis, jabbing a finger at Rook, “Exactly!”

The assassin looked unphased.

“In which case,” Rook pressed, “Two questions. One, is that river nearby decent freshwater?”

Taash shrugged, “Technically, they all should be. They’re all coming in from the mountains.”

“Good, then two,” Rook bumbled a bit, trying to pull a boot from her foot a sickening squelch, “Think you can handle a couple of naked human asses while we try and get some of this mess washed off?”

Taash laughed, “Yeah, whatever. Doesn’t bother me any.”

It was a surprisingly time-consuming affair. Every scrap of clothing, and every weapon (which, by Rook’s count, hit nearly 15 between Taash and Lucanis alone. So many knives!) had to be soaked or scrubbed through.

An hour later, accoutrements of all sorts were splayed across granite boulders, baking beneath the sun. Taash ducked back beneath the roaring waterfall just up the way, making sure they were free of any more errant bits of deepstalker.

Rook, meanwhile, sat chest-deep in the river’s frigid crystal waters. She leaned back, thoroughly relaxed, as Lucanis helped gingerly work the carnage from her hair.

“You nearly took an entire deepstalker home with you,” he teased.

“Can’t have that,” said Rook, cracking one eye open against the sun to watch the Crow’s endearing concentration over the task, “Between Assan, Manfred and Spite, I’m pretty sure we’re full up on chaotic tag-alongs.”

Lucanis’s eyebrows rose humorously, “No doubt… Ah,” he managed to detangle one last fleshy bit of something, before nodding, “There. About as good as we’re getting without a decent soap.”

Rook dunked back beneath the chilly currents, quick to re-emerge with a sputter, “Shit this is cold!”

Lucanis, meanwhile, float back to submerge up to his collarbone and was eyeballing her with a chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he teased.

“I’ve got that whole ‘kinda looks like a drowning rat’ thing going on, don’t I?” Rook joked knowingly.

Her curls had run straight under the water’s weight, and a usually full, bold head of hair ran lank and incredibly long. She was familiar with the effect - it always looked absurd.

The Crow threw up two hands in a mock defense, “Your words, not mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lucanis quickly found himself dodging splashes and trying to catch the hands that launched them his way, cracking up the whole while.

“Heeeyy,” they only calmed down when Taash’s voice sounded from closer nearby, “You two leaving enough room for the Maker over there?”

“Oh, I have not heard that one in a long while,” the assassin laughed.

“How we doing with the drying?” Rook asked.

Taash had waded over to everyone’s gear, giving their own tunic a good shake, “Eh. I think half of Lucanis’s leather’s gonna need overnight and some conditioning. The rest? Wet, but good enough.”

“Good enough means lunch soon. And I am starving,” Lucanis replied.

Rook was already making her way for their gear… smartly out of reach of the Crow before turning back to tease, “Yeah, vehnan. Come on out, let’s see just how cold that water really is.”

“Making it weird,” warned Taash.

Lucanis, meanwhile, half-scolded, half chuckled, “Ohh-ho …Rook.”

He tore after the elf, grinning after her ridiculous squeal and laughter, just as Spite chimed in, “NICE one. Rook!”

———————-

They were still tracking drops of water onto the stone floor as they arrived home through the Vi’Revas. Rook suddenly found herself shivering. After hours boiling on the coast, the Lighthouse’s cool underbelly felt frigid.

“Chioccolata Calda?” Lucanis offered at the sound of Rook’s chattering teeth.

“Oh yes please.”

Boots squelched wetly the entire way up the stairs.

“Did Rook take another surprise trip to the bottom of a lake?” Neve mused from her perch on the Library’s couch at her teammates’ soggy appearances.

Taash snickered, continuing their damp trek to the second floor.

“Oh, come on,” said Rook, “A gal falls into a lake once—“

“Thrice,” Lucanis correctly playfully, “We really do need to teach you how to swim.”

“If we could ever find the time,” Neve mused from over her quill and a fat stack of notes. She then looked up, adding seriously, “Your baby Crow is in the Dining Hall, Lucanis. Apparently, whatever news he has was too important to write down.”

Lucanis went shock-serious. He spared Rook a glance, before quickly making for the door.

———————

“Ser!”

Valentín scrambled to stand from a casual slump at the Dining Hall table the moment he realized just who, exactly, had entered the room. At just the right age where long legs and big ears hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of his growth, the teenager somehow looked even more reedy than usual. Quickly adding to that was the look of genuine nerves that seemed to have struck ramrod up his spine at being found slouching by one of the heads of his house.

“What do you have?” Lucanis bit coolly.

“Movement from the Talons,” said Valentín, “All of them. The staff… houses De Riva and Cantori… Treviso Crows only just found out this morning as they started to arrive.”

The boy blanched, looking a bit baffled as Rook walked right up to him. She had placed hands upon his cheeks and was giving him the hairy eyeball.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” she noted warmly, “How long have you been here?”

“I…” he squirmed, casting a cautious glance at Lucanis.

The senior Dellamorte sighed as he watched the little woman fuss over details that he had brushed past entirely. The knot in his brow unfurled a bit as he thought better of himself.

“Sit. There is nothing that need be said that cannot be done over food.”

Before long, a solid spread of meats, bread, cheeses and fruit sat before the boy, and he was quick to dive in. Rook beamed at the steaming mug of chocolate that Lucanis placed before her before taking a seat of his own with his coffee.

“According to Viago, the third Talon said he received an invitation weeks ago,” the boy continued unprompted, “It seems much the same for the others. And all sworn to secrecy about the meet. The Villa has been scrambling - Food, preparations. We’ve a dozen extra security from Teia and Viago alone… and for some reason, the entire staff has been forbidden from the east wing. Tia Alma has been furious.”

Lucanis managed a chuckle at that, for all of his pensiveness otherwise, and it was little wonder why. He had regaled Rook of more than a few stories of Tia Alma. The shrewd, matronly little woman had overseen the entire staff of Villa Dellamorte for as long as Lucanis could remember, and she was nothing if not incredibly skilled at ruling that particular roost when Caterina was busy with business as First Talon. She was also, apparently, an exceptional cook. The one area she and young Lucanis had bonded most over was food, and over the years she had taught the boy everything she knew on the subject.

“Illario and half truths are to be expected,” Lucanis noted, “Though I suspect Viago and Teia are less than pleased about discovering the inventions second-hand.”

“However mad Alma may be,” Valentín agreed sheepishly from past a healthy bite of ham, “They are much worse. Especially Teia.”

“Si,” Lucanis mused evenly, before cutting to the chase, “But you are burying the lead.”

“Aye, siento,” the boy winced and was quick to explain, “It’s bad, ser. Illario has everyone expected to gather in the Opera House by dusk. To discuss his succession as First Talon.”

Rook froze, mid-gulp, and watched over the lip of her mug as the color completely drained from Lucanis’s face. His temples twitched as he bit down hard, and she swore she caught a flash of violet light in his eyes. She carefully placed her cup back on the table. Valentín, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed silently upon his food. Both Rook and the boy, it seemed, knew Lucanis quite well enough to gather when he was genuinely, deeply irate, but doing his damnedest to mask it.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly as he stood, “A moment.”

Rook and Valentín watched in silence as the senior Crow strode for the pantry and shoved his way inside.

“You’ve got a shit job, kid,” Rook whispered apologetically to the boy, a hand patting his forearm.

Valentín watched the open doorway for a moment, clearly trying to gage his own safety, before a sad little smirk crossed his face.

“Believe it or not,” he mused quietly, “I have had worse.”

Rook tittered a chuckle of her own, “From what that one has told me of his own training, I believe i—“

There was a violent flash of purple light and a plume of unctuous black smoke from the pantry door. Rook scrambled to catch Valentín by the sleeve of his coat as he leaped to his feet in a panic.

“Nonono,” Rook whispered quickly. She was glad the kid was smart enough to listen, less he make an already tense situation much worse, “Sit. You focus on your food, I’ll…” she had stood up as the teenager reclaimed his chair, still unable to tear his wide, worried eyes from the door.

“But it…”

“Eat, sweetheart,” She said, patting a hand upon a scrawny shoulder as she rounded the table, “I’ve got it.”

…She hoped. Rook strode cautiously for the open doorway, the scent of ozone and sulfur tickling her nose the closer she came to the room.

“Lucanis? Are you…?”

She blinked owlishly for a moment, trying to gauge what she was seeing upon stepping inside.

Violent streaks of char and ash streaked the walls, fanning out from center in vicious tendrils. But not just streaks - the singe of two white-hot, furious wings - at the center of which, sat huddled upon the floor, was Lucanis.

“Oh, Vehnan,” Rook whispered softly.

Lucanis sat, his knees pulled up nearly to his chest, elbows upon his knees. One hand laced into his hair, his eyes glassy with tears.

Rook doubled back, and quietly shut the door - Privacy between them and the stressed out teenager at the table.

She sat right down with him then, face to face, a gentle hand brushing his cheek. He couldn’t make eye contact at first, thoughts trapped in a painful, grief-stricken spiral. The moment he blinked tears, Rook pulled him into a tight hug, “I’m so sorry, Vehnan. There’s nothing about this that mustn’t hurt like hell.”

Wickedly tense shoulders relaxed just enough to wrap arms around her, pulling Rook as close as he could manage, anxious, furious trembling be damned. She held him quietly, breathing slow and even - breathing he struggled to ground himself to once again.

“How are we doing in there, Spite?”

“Hurts,” was all the demon could manage.

It made sense, Rook thought. She knew from experience that few emotions stole words from tongues more completely than the sting of betrayal.

Lucanis closed his eyes against fingernails that brushed softly through his hair, hot tears warming the damp fabric at her shoulder where his face had hidden away. It was only once the Crow had managed a deep, shuttering sigh that she let him go - and even then, only enough to sit back against the wall, looking deeply miserable.

“I have to be ready for this, mi amor,” he said quietly, admitting, “I do not feel it.”

“Lucanis, I don’t know how anyone could,” Rook replied. “This… this is a lot. For anybody. But I also…” she mulled carefully over words, a hand rubbing idly over where his heart thrummed a war drum in his chest, “I cannot imagine anyone more capable. Or more brave. And who will absolutely not be doing this alone.”

He caught that hand, and pulled it to his lips, leaving a kiss upon the soft, delicate underside of her wrist, before holding it warmly back over his heart.

“Then… We deal with this tonight,” he agreed. He slowly wrestled back his calm with that small scrap of composure, one breath at a time, “The three of us.”

“We absolutely do.”

[magical-reid]

In the Shadow of a Trickster

Pairing: Stiles/ Void!Stiles x reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: When the Nogitsune possesses Stiles’ body and uses his hidden feelings for the reader to manipulate her, the pack must convince her of the supernatural world and her role in stopping the trickster. After helping to defeat the Nogitsune, the reader and Stiles work through the aftermath, rebuilding trust and turning his long-held crush into a genuine, heartfelt relationship.

Stiles’ POV

The worst part about losing control of your own body isn’t the fear, though that’s definitely there, gnawing at the edges of your mind like a rabid dog.

It’s the helplessness. The way you’re forced to sit in the passenger seat of your own life while someone else—something else—takes the wheel.

And when that something decides to spend its time being everything you’ve ever wanted to be for the girl you can’t stop thinking about? That’s a special kind of torture.

I could see everything the Nogitsune did. I could feel it, too, like I was a puppet being yanked around on invisible strings. When he smiled at her, it was my face she saw. When he opened the door for her or brushed his fingers against hers, it was my hands doing it. When she leaned into him on the couch, trusting and warm and so perfectly hers, I felt the weight of her against me like it was some kind of cruel joke.

But it wasn’t me.

It wasn’t me leaning in to kiss her forehead as she laughed at something stupid on the TV. It wasn’t me running my fingers through her hair or pulling her closer during a quiet moment in the movie. It wasn’t me whispering little compliments that made her blush and smile like I was her whole world.

And yet, it was my voice saying those things. My lips pressing to her temple. My heart pounding as if it was my own reaction.

I’d wanted this for so long. Years, maybe. I’d imagined what it would be like to finally tell her how I felt, to pull her close and hold her the way he was doing now. But I never thought it would happen like this.

I’d always been too afraid. Too awkward, too unsure of myself. I thought there was no way she’d ever see me as anything more than her weird, slightly neurotic best friend.

But now, here she was, thinking it was me. Thinking I’d finally gotten over my insecurities and stepped up to be the guy she deserved.

And the way she smiled at him—at me—like I’d somehow become everything she’d ever wanted… God, it hurt.

It hurt because it wasn’t real.

Not for me, anyway. For her, it was everything she’d probably dreamed about. She had no idea that the man she thought was falling for her wasn’t a man at all. Just a parasite wearing my skin and weaponizing my feelings against me.

But how could I blame her? How could I be angry at her when all she saw was me? The confidence, the charm, the easy affection—that was what she thought I was capable of if I’d just let myself try.

I could almost hear the Nogitsune laughing inside my head, relishing in my misery. He wasn’t just doing this to her; he was doing it to me. He was rubbing my nose in all the things I’d never had the courage to do myself.

And I couldn’t stop him.

All I could do was sit there in the back of my own mind, helpless, and watch as the Nogitsune did all the things I’d spent years dreaming about but never thought I could have. Watch as he curled his arm around her shoulders on the couch, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her arm while she leaned into him like he was the safest place in the world.

I’d spent my entire life wanting to be that for her. And now, the thing inside me was using her to destroy me.

And it was working.

Reader’s POV

I’d always known there was more to Stiles Stilinski than he let on.

Beneath all the rambling, the awkward hand gestures, and the nervous humor, there was someone… different. Someone thoughtful, protective, and incredibly sweet. I’d seen glimpses of that side of him over the years, but I never thought he’d actually let me see all of it.

Until now.

I didn’t know what had changed, but something had shifted between us recently. He wasn’t just the same dorky Stiles I’d always known. He was more. Confident. Smooth. Almost… magnetic.

At first, I’d been a little surprised. Stiles had always been sweet, but he’d never been the type to hold my hand without overthinking it or press a kiss to my forehead like it was second nature. But lately, he’d been doing those things without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And I couldn’t lie—it was nice.

It was more than nice.

It was everything I’d been too scared to admit I wanted from him.

Tonight, he’d shown up at my door with takeout from my favorite Thai place, flashing that grin that made my stomach flip. “Thought we could do a movie night,” he’d said, holding up the bag. “Your pick.”

“Did you steal my dream boyfriend checklist or something?” I teased, stepping aside to let him in.

He chuckled, the sound deeper and smoother than I remembered. “Just trying to keep you happy.”

And he did. God, he did.

We settled on the couch, his arm sliding around me like it belonged there. He was warm and steady, his fingers lightly tracing my arm as we watched the movie. Every so often, he’d lean in and say something just loud enough for me to hear, his breath brushing against my ear.

I wasn’t sure what had changed to make him act this way, but I wasn’t going to question it.

Stiles Stilinski had finally stepped out of his own way, and I was falling for him faster than I could stop myself.

Reader’s POV

“You’re joking, right?”

The diner felt too bright, too loud, even though it was mostly empty. My hands were wrapped tightly around my coffee cup, its heat grounding me as I stared at Scott, Lydia, and Kira in disbelief.

Scott shook his head, his expression earnest. “I wish we were. But everything we’re telling you is the truth.”

“That’s… insane.” I leaned back in the booth, my heart pounding. “You’re saying Stiles isn’t Stiles because he’s been taken over by some… spirit?”

“A Nogitsune,” Lydia said matter-of-factly. She was calm, but her eyes betrayed the worry she was trying to hide.

I glanced at Kira, hoping for some kind of explanation that would make this all make sense. Instead, she nodded solemnly.

“And all of you know about this? About… supernatural stuff?” I gestured vaguely at them.

“Yes,” Scott said, his voice soft but firm. “This isn’t just about Stiles. It’s about the whole town. There’s been werewolves, banshees, kitsune—things you wouldn’t believe if you didn’t see them yourself.”

I stared at him, trying to process his words, but they felt like they were bouncing off some mental wall I’d built to protect myself from losing my mind.

“And you’re saying the Stiles I’ve been…” My throat tightened as I struggled to find the right words. “The one I’ve been spending all this time with isn’t really him?”

“It’s his body,” Lydia said carefully, her voice gentler now. “But it’s not his mind. Not his heart.”

“Then why does he…” I swallowed hard, the words feeling too raw to say aloud. “Why does he act like he… cares about me?”

The three of them exchanged a glance, and I felt a flicker of unease.

“That’s the thing,” Scott said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “The Nogitsune is using Stiles’ feelings for you. It knows how he feels, and it’s manipulating you both. That’s what it does. It feeds off pain, chaos, and destruction.”

The air left my lungs in a rush. “You’re saying… Stiles—real Stiles—has feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, her voice firm and certain.

“And the Nogitsune knows that,” Scott added. “That’s why it’s been so… attentive. It’s pretending to be everything Stiles has always wanted to be for you, because it knows it’ll hurt him.”

I shook my head, my mind spinning. “This is… insane. I can’t—”

“We’re telling you this because we need your help,” Lydia interrupted. Her eyes locked onto mine, steady and unyielding. “We can’t stop the Nogitsune without you.”

“Why me?” My voice cracked.

“Because he—it—has a soft spot for you,” Kira said. “It won’t see you as a threat. You’re the only one who can get close enough to distract it while we set the trap.”

“You want me to be bait?”

“No,” Scott said quickly. “We’ll be right there with you. We just need you to keep it focused long enough for us to contain it. You won’t be in danger. I promise.”

I wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry. None of this felt real. Stiles couldn’t be… possessed by some ancient spirit. Supernatural creatures couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be my life.

But then I thought about the way he’d been acting lately. The confidence, the ease, the way he seemed to know exactly how to pull me in. It had felt too good to be true because it was.

And if there was even a chance they were right… if Stiles was still in there somewhere, trapped and helpless, how could I say no?

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll help.”

Stiles’ POV

It felt like drowning.

I could see everything, feel everything, but I couldn’t do anything. I was trapped, watching as the Nogitsune paced back and forth in the school gym, a smug smirk on my face—on his face.

Then she walked in.

“(Y/N),” the Nogitsune said smoothly, his voice dripping with false warmth. My voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She hesitated at the door, her arms crossed over her chest. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes darted around the room, but she stepped closer anyway.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, her voice steady despite the obvious fear in her eyes. “You’ve been… different lately.”

The Nogitsune laughed, tilting my head to the side as he looked at her. “Different? How so?”

“You know how,” she said softly. “You’ve been confident. Sure of yourself. Sweet. But it doesn’t feel real.”

For the first time, the Nogitsune faltered.

“It’s like you’re trying to be someone you’re not,” she continued, taking another cautious step forward. “The Stiles I know isn’t like that. And that’s okay. I like him the way he is.”

Something inside me cracked.

The Nogitsune’s smirk slipped, and for a moment, I felt the faintest flicker of control, like her words were enough to shake his hold on me. But it wasn’t enough.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply, stepping closer to her. “This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been.”

“Then why does it feel like a lie?” she asked, her voice trembling but resolute.

Before he could respond, the trap sprung.

Scott and Kira charged out of the shadows, Kira’s sword glowing with electricity as she slashed at the Nogitsune. He roared, spinning to face them, but before he could attack, Lydia’s banshee scream filled the gym, stunning him just long enough for Scott to pin him down.

I felt the Nogitsune’s grip on me waver, and suddenly, I was there again—really there—my mind my own for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“(Y/N)!” I gasped, my voice hoarse.

She ran to me, her hands grabbing mine as Scott and Kira finished binding the Nogitsune.

“It’s me,” I whispered, my eyes desperate as I looked at her. “It’s really me.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, her eyes filled with tears. Then she threw her arms around me, holding me so tightly I thought I might break.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe.

Reader’s POV

It had been two weeks since the Nogitsune was defeated, and Stiles still hadn’t quite met my eyes.

We sat in my living room, the air between us thick with everything we hadn’t said yet.

“Stiles,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

He looked up at me, his expression full of guilt. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “For what it did. For everything it made you think.”

“It wasn’t you,” I said firmly. “I know that now.”

“But it was me,” he insisted. “It used my feelings for you, and now you probably think I’m some pathetic—”

“I don’t,” I interrupted, reaching for his hand. He froze, his eyes wide as he looked at me. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, Stiles. I think you’re brave. And kind. And… everything I’ve been looking for.”

His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

The silence stretched between us, and then, slowly, he smiled—a real, unguarded smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “Maybe we could… start over?”

I smiled back. “I’d like that.”

And this time, it was real.

[cutesyaddy]

from foes to forever

(part two)

Min Ho Moon x Reader

a/n:uhm kinda short sorry, i’ll try make the next one a little longer, hope you enjoy anyway

—————————————

After arriving to kiss and settling in my dorm with my roommate (and maybe new friend), Madison, I was so ready for this welcome party.

I wore a cute light yellow dress with intricate folds that cascaded down my legs. To pair with that, I wore some strappy heels and minimal gold jewellery, along with some cute yellow eyeshadow to bring it all together.

When I made it to the party, I couldn't help but feel nervous, yet excited. all at the same time.

I shrugged the nerves off and walked into the venue.

I heard a small ping from my phone, and I pulled it out quickly; it was my sister back home. I smiled at my phone while trying to text and walk at the same time.

The room was packed with students, the music was loud, and I was trying to weave through the crowd while simultaneously on my phone. bad idea.

My focus was completely elsewhere, and when I finally looked up, I collided with someone—hard.

(Sorry this part may be confusing because I kept switching povs.)

Min Ho was holding a drink and joking around with Q when bang, someone bumped into him, and the collision sent liquid from his drink all over his designer shirt.

He stares down at himself, then at the person that bumped into him. He gave me a disbelieving look. “God, watch where you’re going!”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention,” I blurted out, handing him some napkins from the table.

He snatches them from me, annoyed. “Yeah, clearly. Do you make a habit of running people over, or is it just me?” His tone is sharp, and there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes—he remembers her from the airport.

I freeze, narrowing my eyes as I realise who he is. “Oh, it’s you,” I say, my tone immediately shifting. “The guy who doesn’t believe in apologizing.”

A few people turned to watch our encounter. “Are you always this clumsy? Should I be worried for my future shirts?” he sneered.

“It was an accident; I already apologized, jeez.” I folded my arms in front of my chest. “Maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the walkway, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you were watching where you were going.” He stepped towards you, fuming.

“You’re one to talk, am I recalling incorrectly? Was it not you who bumped into that poor girl at the airport and didn’t even apologize for it?” A sudden realisation occurred in your head.

“Hey, you told her you couldn’t speak English; what, are you a liar as well?”

After a heated back-and-fourth with him, I muttered, “You know what? forget it” and walked away embarrassed and frustrated.

I left him standing there annoyed by our interaction, but what I didn't know was that he was amused by my ability to dish it back.

——————

the next day i was walking around campus, trying to get used to the new environment.

Sometimes people would look at me funny; they probably recognised me from my “performance” last night.

I groan inwardly at the thought. I caused a big scene in front of like half the school on the first day. ‘how embarrassing’

Madison wouldn't shut up about it this morning.

flashback**

“So… I heard you made quite the impression last night. You and Min Ho are the KISS gossip right now.” She pokes at me.

“ugh. Please don’t remind me.” I hid my face in my hands. “Hey—I'm just saying, I've heard things about him, and it takes guts to talk back to the Min Ho. Most people wouldn’t dare.

“seriously? “the” Min Ho? He’s not even scary, just super infuriating.”

flashback over**

‘I just hope I don't run into him again for a while.’

I decided to stop at the café to grab a coffee, and of course, the one person I didn't want to see was ahead of me in line.

‘Okay (y/n), play it cool; maybe he won’t notice.’ but unsurprisingly, with my luck, he noticed me behind him.

When he saw me, he smirked and stepped aside. “Ladies first. Or are you worried you’ll trip over me since you’re such a clutz?”

“You know, I would’ve thought you’d already used up your quota of annoying comments for the day.”

The tone with this “argument” was different than the night prior. This seemed like pointless bickering; there was no malicious intent behind his voice.

“I'm full of surprises,” he spoke smugly. I couldn't help rolling my eyes. “Maybe I don't need a coffee.”

finished with this conversation, I started walking away. “Careful; I wouldn’t want another accident!” He yelled loud enough for others to hear.

I shot him a glare, but I couldn't stop myself from feeling amused.

SORRY ITS SHORT!! PART THREE HERE

ALSO IM VERY OPEN TO CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM SO PLEASE LEAVE ANY TIPS IN THE COMMENTS 🙏

[sevicia]

omg. hi dante.... i was just running thru ur oc tag for my oc blog, but who is mary and how can i learn everything about her?! mary cheat sheet please, blab as much as you want on this ask, im so curious 🙂‍↕️

HIIIIIII God I'm so happy you asked I love to ramble about her!!!

Prefacing this by saying that in all honestly some things kinda may not make sense because I'm uhmm. Figuring it out<3 Also there's mentions of violence but nothing graphic. Due to the way she is.

OKAAAY so some basic things about her are that she's 24, currently working at a gas station (previously a fine arts student), has no family to speak of, and is dating Agnes (wet guy you may or may not have seen</3). Her "life goal" or biggest desire is to be "one" with somebody in the most literal sense of the word.

A very not brief maybe even unnecessarily long recount of her life so far:

As a kid she was odd, spacey and awkward, and could not grasp "basic" concepts as quickly as her peers did. She often had to be told what was right and what was wrong because her understanding of morality as a whole was just... not there at all. She would stare intensely with a blank expression at things/people she found interesting, and had a pretty flat tone when speaking overall. She never had any pets; her behavior towards animals raised concerns in her parents (+ their friends) since she had a tendency to squeeze, pull or even strangle them whenever she could, all because she thought they were cute and liked feeling their warmth when she held them and as they struggled, kinda like cute aggression maybe. She just really struggled to understand others and have them understand her in return; most people wouldn't even bother trying.

She attended a religious school up until she graduated highschool, and her parents would take her to church very often, but all she'd do was space out until service was over. She didn't really care nor understand what the priests and church members talked about, and her mindset was that she just had to do as she was told and everything would be ok; it didn't matter that she wasn't all the way there.

Around middle school age she managed to make friends (through the power of practicing facial expressions and noting what other kids said and did). This was a bittersweet experience as she got made fun of quite a bit for not really getting why certain jokes or games were funny, but also found friends that did like her and that she liked beyond just tolerating.

At one point they'd planned an outing together to go see a movie, and Mary brought it up to her parents, but they said no. This was the first time in years she'd been excited and actually wanted to do something, so she tried to convince them by telling them that one of her friend's parents would be watching over them at all times (which was actually true! They planned it this way so Mary could come in the first place), but they just wouldn't have it, and the argument ended with her father slapping her after she just wouldn't give up and drop the subject.

Mary had never been hit before, and she'd always had a freakishly high pain tolerance, so really it wasn't the pain from the slap itself that shocked her, but the fact that her dad had hit her at all for something she had figured wouldn't escalate to that point, based on watching her friends' experiences. In her head then she started feeling like a child again, thoughts like "I just have to do as they say" and "what I want doesn't really matter", but with an added layer of "I'm not worth being listened to", and a feeling of dehumanization she couldn't really put into words yet.

In the end, the shock lead to her avoiding her friends completely and only going outside for school and church, basically losing all those years of progress regarding her individuality and her ability to even see herself as an individual at all.

Towards the end of highschool, she was confessed to by the son of her parents' friends from church. He told her to "think about it", and when she told her parents later that day, they told her that it'd be wonderful if they dated, and joked about her still being "such an airhead" to even ask in the first place.

So they start dating, and through his and her parent's pressure she kinda just... molds into whatever he wants. This is why she dyes her hair black and starts dressing in more modest, plain clothes, all the while losing sleep over "this is my life now and forever", a horrifying thought that became all the more real once he proposed to her and she saw no other option but to accept.

Here I just have to mention that those notions of her self not mattering and never being listened to/understood, plus being constantly reduced into something sanitized and non-violent, much less threatening, had all mixed together into wanting just that; to be understood, listened to and accepted as a whole, including every violent and/or sexual thought she'd ever buried within herself after being told they were "unsightly". Basically, what she wants is to be known entirely, inside and out, by someone who'll let her do the same and take her as she is.

While she had no desire to ever pursue the kind of "love" she wanted and couldn't care less about the "sanctity" of marriage, she did know very well that it would trap her legally, physically and mentally into a life she'd hate and would never escape until either of them (or their parents) died.

The wedding was planned to take place early in the year; only a few weeks after her 22nd birthday.

To "celebrate" her birthday, her and uh. that other guy (that I cannot refer to as her boyfriend/fiancé)(I'd rather shoot myself) "decide" go on a camping trip, something only he'd done before and that Mary was fully dreading.

They get there, and the day is pretty much spent on him taking her around the site and talking at her or with other men while she nodded along, barely present enough to know when and where she was. By now her sense of reality had been so shattered due to trying to run away from her own life, she'd stopped caring about anything at all.

And then night comes and they're camping with a view of the lake and he falls asleep but Mary's still awake, now used to not being able to fall asleep until very, very late into the night. She's just sitting outside their tent, and when she looks towards the forest she sees some sort of faint glow that she just... decides to follow for something to do, not caring whether she'd get lost, or murdered, or abducted, or ever make it back to the campsite.

She follows the glow for a while, her brain getting more and more scrambled with every step, and suddenly she's in a clearing and hearing whispers both from inside her head and all around her.

...there is some dialogue of sorts but this is so long already I'll try to be brief here... at least... plus this is where things are kinda loose so yaaay</3

Basically, an odd whisper that she ends up referring to as an angel offers her a gift to help her achieve her desired form of "love": she will be able to heal and reconstruct another person, as long as they're wounded and so is she, by pressing their wounds together and merging their bodies this way; she would, in a sense, be part of them in the most literal sense.

The only caveat is that she would be completely removed from her previous life. As in, everyone that ever knew her would never even know she existed in the first place; she would be 100% wiped from their memories and any records they had of her would be adjusted so that she wouldn't be in their lives anymore in any way.

Obviously she says yes, some flesh-absorbing stuff happens, and when she gets back to the campsite she wakes the guy up, watches him get startled over some stranger standing over him, and promptly bashes his head in with a rock until he stops moving... and then some more.

Now she's finally able to think and act by/for herself, and she kiiinda doesn't know how to do that very well? So it takes her a while to adjust to. She slowly goes back to her habit of staring blankly for extended periods of time, but is now able to smile genuinely and stumble her way through saying "no", though she's still polite to an almost unsettling degree.

She's also finally started to look for someone that she can love and share herself with, and she realizes pretty quickly that her type is gloomy, lonely and pitiful-looking people that flinch at everything, both for cuteness aggression sadism reasons, but also her believing that someone who doesn't value their life much would be a lot more willing to take her in and let themselves be taken as well than someone more lively and strong-willed.

For a while she chases people who fit her type, trying to find "the one", with the final test being her getting them alone and trying to kill them (basically), just to see how little they really value their life. The trick is, if they fight back or hesitate she goes through with it and kills them, but if they let go and give up their life to her, she lets them live.

By the point she meets Agnes she's pretty unapologetic about it all, and has stopped caring much about anyone but whoever she's set her sights on, though still disconnected from reality and society as a whole in many ways. They meet when he stops by her workplace and she's like Ohhhhh he looks so miserable I have GOT to torture him. And she chases him around and scares him a little (a lot) but he makes no effort to run away or even acknowledge it in any way, and is the first one to ever pass her test!

I think that's um. Pretty much it... uhh some fun facts: she's super bad with technology, has a wide creepy and sweet (TO ME!!!) grin on her face more often than not, her apartment's a mess, her favorite artificial flavor is strawberry, she loooves to scratch certain surfaces (mainly Agnes), and is like if The Downward Spiral YES THE WHOLE ALBUM!!! was a girl. And your honor I love her.

[nezuscribe]

you’re glad to have a friend like arranged!gojo, it feels good to have somebody to talk to and listen to. you feel nice being able to laugh with somebody and not apologize for the awful jokes or strange things you say. but sometimes you have to stop yourself from getting attached, reminding yourself that he won’t care for you like that.

and though that’s the farthest from the truth, it’s what you’ve convinced yourself. so when your birthday comes around, you decide to celebrate the way you always have, alone.

he’s your friend, not a husband, so you don’t see any need in dragging him into this ordeal.

you bake a little cake for yourself a couple day in advance, just like you used to at your old home. you stash it away for when night rolls around and it’s just yourself, you can enjoy it the way you have for years.

when you were little you would gawk and stare at the lavish parties your father and his wife threw for your sisters, the balls and the presents growing bigger and bigger the more they grew up. you’d mimic their behaviors on your own, dressing up in the best dress you had (a hand me downs from your older sister that never fit quite right) and pretended you too were surrounded by a room of people as they watched you eat cake.

and sure, when you were younger you’d feel embarrassed eating by yourself surrounded by drawings of people you’d prop up on chairs, but it’s become tradition now (not the drawings, you realize now how depressing that must’ve looked).

so the night of your birthday you take the cake you had hidden in the back of the ice den out, bringing it to the corner of the kitchens where the cooks kept the little table for themselves and began cutting into it, cursing yourself for freezing it too long.

you serve yourself a piece, hunching over your plate as you dug in with your fork, eating in silence.

you write a little note for the cooks to enjoy the rest of it as you place it back in the den once you were done, going back to your room for the night.

the following day when you were walking around the library looking for something new you spot gojo talking to one of his advisors, his eyes focused and his tilted slightly as he gave him all of his attention.

you pause, holding back until you were sure they were done with their conversation to reveal yourself from behind one of the looming bookshelves, watching as the advisor bowed his head to you before he left.

the crease between his eyebrows relaxes, his eyes softening when you waved at him, your smile gleaming.

“i didn’t see you for breakfast,” he tells you as he walks over to where you were standing, pushing some of his hair back as you grin apologetically.

“i slept in,” you admit sheepishly, tired from last night as you play with your fingers, “i also might’ve been a little snippy with alina when she tried to wake me up.”

gojo snorts, absentmindedly pulling some books out and putting them back in as he rests his side on the wall of binded pages.

“baking?” he asks simply, knowing you well enough to know that the only reason you’d miss breakfast would be because you spent the majority of the night in the kitchens.

“how’d you know?” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest as he tsks, his fingers picking some stray leaves from your head from earlier when you were walking through the gardens.

“i help whisk the butter and sugar when you don’t feel like it. i don’t know why you keep me out of the kitchens,” he murmurs petulantly and you chuckle a little bit, rolling your eyes at his antics.

“it’s for your own sake,” you tell him, a glimmer in your eyes that he’d chase around the world the see, “and besides, i wasn’t baking. i was enjoying the fruits of my previous labor.”

gojo squints a little bit, confused. usually you eat what you make the night of, sometimes bringing a plate by his room if it’s not too late.

“when else did you bake this week without me?” he asks, trying to mask his hurt with a playful grin, trying to recall the times he heard back from one of his guards that you were down in the kitchens.

“only a few days ago, when i trying to assemble the cake.” you say with a shrug. his mouth opens in shock, a pout on his lips as he averts your gaze.

“you had cake? without me?” he almost whines it out and you shove his boot with the point of your shoe, trying to calm him down.

who would’ve thought the most fearsome warrior of the north, hell, the entire kingdom, would have such a sweet-tooth?

“it was small,” you try to reason, “and you wouldn’t have liked the flavors. it’s a recipe from the west.”

gojo groans, stepping closer to you as he gently flick your nose, watching the way you’d scrunch it up in annoyance.

“but you know i love cake,” he murmurs, “and you said you’d only bake it for birthdays…you lied to me,” his pink lips pull into a pout, one that you want to kiss off his gorgeous face, and control yourself from letting the heat get too much in your cheeks.

“well,” you quirk a brow, “if it helps, it was for a birthday.”

gojo looks up from the ground, brows furrowed once again in confusion.

“mine?” he says a little hopefully, as if it was anywhere near his birthday.

you snort, shaking your head as your finger pokes itself in your chest.

“mine…you idiot,” you mutter under your breath, wondering how somebody how his caliber could be so daft.

but he doesn’t seem to find it funny, in fact, his brows seem to meet in the middle, the pout gone form his lips as he frowns.

“what do you mean yours? your birthday isn’t for…? isn’t it in…?” he tries to think, think back to when your birthday was, only to realize he didn’t know, to realize he’d never asked you about it, always assuming it’d be something told to him.

“it’s nothing big,” you try to say quickly to cover up the awkwardness, “i usually just make myself a cake and get it over with.” you say with a chuckle but he’s not finding anything about this humorous.

great, you think bitterly to yourself, said something else and fucked it up. you wince, wishing you’d just stayed quite.

“your birthday was yesterday?” gojo asks, his voice hushed and heavy. he looks like he cares, he looks sad. you find it unnerving.

“i,” you laugh uncomfortably, fidgeting with your ring as you swallow thickly, “i think so...? i eyeball the day every year.”

truth be told you done really know what day you were born. your father never remembered the exact date seeing how the nature of his relationship with your mother was so secretive, and nobody ever found the true date out. so usually you find a date each year that you think matches with what time season you were born with and go with that.

gojo feels like his heart has slowed, watching the way you shrink into yourself the way he notices you’d i when you feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“eyeball?” he bites out and you wince at his tone, and he wishes he could take it back and start over again without the bite of a general in his words.

“look gojo it’s nothing, really,” you insist, waving him off as you try to escape, shifting around so you were closer to the doorway, “it’s just a day, it’s nothing important,” you tell him reassuringly.

but he doesn’t believe you, running a hand down his face as he pinches at the bridge of your nose.

“why do you write these things off as if they’re not important?” his voice is deep, echoing around the walls of the vast library as your hold your breath, “why don’t you-”

“because it’s not important,” you say again, your voice a little bit harsher, “it’s just a day.”

his eyes drown in blue, dark and wavering like the shoreline.

“then why bake a cake?” he snaps, not in anger but in genuine questioning, and your face falls a little.

maybe because years ago you thought it was something important. maybe because you want that little girl to feel like she matters.

he gapes, knowing he said something wrong, but can’t speak.

“i…” you open your mouth then close it again, looking away from him as you shrug, “i have to go, i - um, shoko asked for me.” you lie lamely, not caring as you bow your head down slightly to him before you briskly leave.

and maybe if you turned back you could see the way his face fell too.

but with all the maybes you’ve told yourself no to, you’ve grown accustomed to the belief that every maybe wouldn’t have a chance of becoming something.

because maybe if you had actually told him the truth when you wanted to a couple days ago, that you’d like to celebrate with him, he wouldn’t shut you down the way you’d imagined he would and maybe he would’ve said yes.

but for now you convince yourself that this man is a friend who pretends like he cares. because never once have you heard of a man caring so deeply for somebody that he’d shed a tear over the fact that you’d celebrate your birthday alone. but then again, you’ve never met a man like gojo before.