#the twins are the real star of this show

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 8: You Knew What You Wanted, and Boy You Got Her

Heeey besties sorry for yet another middle of the night fic drop. We are back and better than ever with some Clato content. This one and the next two are just all about them so! Live laugh clato era!. The next one..is in fact the one you have all been waiting for and I think this one gives the hint as to what that will be. Fun fact about this chapter, is this is the chapter i've been scheming for over a year. It is the reason I made the twins identical. All for this chapter to happen.

Masterpost

AO3

Title from Taylor Swift So High School, because this is like..referencing the uh..we'll just say readiness of her LOL. IDK it'll make sense when you read it.

As always let me tag my beloved @kentwells and @bodyelectric77 who literally listen to me do nothing but talk about this fic. I love u thank you for sticking around.

The first thing Clove does, every time she comes home, is kicks her shoes off without untying them. In the back of her mind she can hear her grandmother, telling her that's how she ruined them, by stepping on the feel with the opposite toe and yanking her foot out by the ankle. Later, she can hear Enobaria telling her at least she’s efficient and in all areas of her life she’s a quick girl. Now, she’s twenty three and even still, it is just so much simpler to slip her foot out of her shoes than take the time to untie them.

 She can always buy more. 

It’s one of the many things that, after the war that upended her life, has become part of new routine. It should shock noone that the kids who were raised in the strictest, highest level of training academy of District Two, grew into adults who craved some sort of order. Ones who especially craved it once every other aspect of the world around them changed. 

It was so simple, really. Clove goes on her little– little, being anywhere from four to twenty miles depending on how much her body could take– run. She comes home. She enters through the back door into the kitchen, because if she came in the front and Enobaria was home Cashmere would catch her on her way and talk to her for fifteen minutes. She took off her shoes, left then right, losing about an inch of height once the running shoes were off her feet. She takes approximately five steps to the island in the center of her kitchen, where she would take off her jacket if it were a cool day. On summer days like today, she pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it tumble past her shoulders and to the middle of her back where it covers the exposed skin between the elastic bands of her workout clothes. Because it is the beginning of September and summer is threatening to close in on them anyday, she sometimes treats herself to the last of whatever seasonal fruit she has on hand. 

Today, though, she bypasses the snack as she glances at the clock above the stove. Six thirty. Something about the time brings her pause, as she cocks her head and strums her nails along the marble countertop. Six thirty. Early September. She just has this sense that she’s missing something. Were they supposed to be somewhere today?  

“Babe?” Clove calls out, distracted as she counts out something on her fingers. No. That wasn’t today. Nope, not that either. Nope, the trip to Four is next weekend. Enough seconds pass with no response that Cato either did not hear her or is not home, and at least if it’s the latter she can assume he remembered whatever she didn’t. She tries again, “Cato? Babe, are you home?” 

As she calls out she makes her way from the kitchen over towards her living room, still perplexed by whatever it is she apparently forgot to write down. She’s missing something. “Cato, I think we’re supposed to be doing something?” She tries again, but as she rounds the corner she is aggressively reminded of what she was supposed to be doing today. 

“Oh look, there’s your Aunt Clovey.” 

Clove stops short in the doorway, taken back by Cato standing not too far from the center of the room holding not one but two little blonde babies in either arm. Six months old, almost, and yet compared to the size of him they may as well have been six weeks. 

 God he’s fucking huge.

Focus, Clove, Focus.

Clove pauses, leaning her head on the doorframe for just the slightest of a second before she crosses the couple of steps to stand directly in front of Cato and the girls, who even still are all significantly above her eye level. “Cato..” Clove starts, an artificially sweet tone filling her voice as she reaches up to grab the hand of one of the twins, not entirely sure which is which yet. “Where did these babies come from?”

“Uh, Glimmer? I mean technically I guess they came from Marvel first but–” Cato shrugs, in doing so making both of the twins giggle as they’re lightly bounced in his arms. 

Early September. Six thirty. Three months after her wedding anniversary which is..Glimmer’s. 

“No shit, I know they came from Glimmer, Cato. I mean where is their dear mother?” Clove rolls her eyes at him, but holds her hands out to the baby he holds on his left, allowing her to lean her upper body into her hands and transfer into Clove’s awaiting arms. 

“She just left, literally minutes before you got home, you probably would have run into her if you came in the front.” Cato explains, though he doesn’t even spare a look in Clove’s direction. Instead he directs all of his words in the direction of the little blonde he still holds, gasping desperately for the baby’s attention. His efforts are rewarded as the baby reaches her little hand up to his face, grasping her little fingers at any part of his face she can find a grip in.

“I can’t believe she actually left them. I don’t think she can even sleep without holding them. I thought they’d be eighteen before she could step away.” Clove mumbles, running her own spare hand through the soft baby curls of whichever girl she holds. “Which one is this?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to leave them. She looked like she was going to cry so I just shut the door on her. I told her she needed to go have dinner or mediocre sex or something.” Cato waves off, peeling the baby’s hand off of his face before he flips her around to face Clove. In the same motion he settles her on his shoulders, little baby hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair in the meantime. He’s been built for a lifetime of discomfort, and so the grasp of a six month old was absolutely nothing on him. The silly smile does in fact start to fall from his face at Clove’s follow up question, and he narrows his eyes at the baby absolutely pulling at Clove’s free flowing hair. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask. She was grabbing their hands and I could see the tears and I just pushed her out.”

Clove raises a disbelieving eyebrow, taking the minute to narrow her eyes at her husband. “...you didn’t think to clarify which of the identical twins was which?”

“Well I would have, but I thought she was going to change her mind so. No. How about we’ll call this one Glimmer Two,” Cato holds up the baby’s arm and makes her wave at Clove, which earns an excited little babble in Clove’s direction. “And yours can be Glimmer Three.”

“She’s going to actually kill us if we mix them up. What happens when we switch them and then Stella spends her entire life thinking she’s her sister” Clove teases, but glances down at her own assigned baby who is fascinated by shoving fistfulls of dark hair into her mouth. 

“Stella?” She tries, looking between the two for a reaction. Both are too fascinated with the adult who holds them to notice, so she tries the alternative. “...Aurelia?” Again, neither grace her with any sort of attention or acknowledgement, and Clove huffs in impatience. “Now I know they know their damn names.”

“Yeah, and the superior twin likes me better, but they seem pretty unimpressed right now. Do you think there's a secret third?” Cato questions, trying to turn his head to glance up at his designated twin resting around his neck. “Are you Glimmer Two or Glimmer Four?”

“...I’m color coding them.” Clove determines, glancing around the room for the bag full of outfit changes Glimmer brings everywhere she goes. “Glimmer Two is in Pink, i’m putting this one in purple or something. Also you know if Glimmer hears you call one the superior twin she’s going to lose it.”

“Oh we all know you like Stella better, Clove.” Cato flips his baby back around, quite literally, and she lands in his arms with a squeal of delight. A smug smirk finds his face as he glances Clove over from her head to her toes. “I just like to bet on the littlest ones, you would know about that. Sometimes the runt can surprise you.”

“I don’t like Stella better, Stella just likes me better. Aurelia likes you, anyway.” Clove waves off, holding back her eye roll as she gently unravels the baby’s hand from her hair. She offers him a coy smirk, looking him up and down.  “Maybe I just take pity on the big ones. Especially the big dumb boys.” 

“She’s just saying that, she’s obsessed with me, kid.” He directs towards the baby (who, for what it’s worth is in fact Aurelia), managing to drape the entirety of her little body over the length of his forearm. “It can’t be that bad, they can’t be gone long anyway. I give ‘em two hours max.”

“Lucky for us they actually need their mother so they don’t starve, she’ll come back soon.” Clove assures herself more than anyone else. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girls, quite the opposite actually. She’d even go as far as to say she adores them, but only to certain people who asked. Still, it wasn’t like she had any experience with being alone and responsible for entirely dependent human beings. Unless, of course, you count preteen Cato. At that thought she glanced around, her attention honing in on the haphazard collections of knives and other weapons around the general vicinity. “...watch her. I need a minute.”

Clove slides Stella down to the floor, and once she is sitting independently on the carpet, Clove goes to step away and collect the literal weapons out of their grasp. Almost instantly a high pitched whining comes from the baby, who immediately has her hands up in the air towards Clove, baby hands clenching into clingy little grasps for attention. Clove pauses, turning in place when she feels the little hands grabbing at her sock. “Seriously?”

The whining intensifies, turning desperate and higher in pitch as Clove glances down at the baby by her leg. She notices the pouty lower lip and almost immediately freezes. “No, no no no, no crying. Please. No crying.” Clove’s eyes immediately flit up to Cato, who’s still standing by her with the smuggest grin on his face. “A little help would be nice, Cato.”

“Fuck it, Clove. They can’t move anyway.” Cato points out, nodding his head towards the whining baby at her feet. “She’s probably literally never been put down in her life, just hold her.”

Clove audibly sighs, and exchanges the handful of metal for a handful of baby. It’s like she’s hit the metaphorical off switch, and the baby immediately stops her threat of tears. Stella settles right against Clove’s hip , laying her head down on her shoulder with not a threat of shedding a single tear. “Is this a joke? Are we going to have to hold them all night?”

“That has to be Stella. She liiikes you.” Cato decides, before he decides to kick back onto the couch with the twin he has deemed Aurelia. “Don’t act like the world’s ending, there’s worst things to be doing than holding cute babies, Clove.”

“They are cute.” Clove muses, resting her cheek on top of the little blonde head on her shoulder. “It’s fucking weird, they really do look just like Glimmer. It’s weird to be holding little versions of Glimmer.” 

“They’re just lucky they don’t look like Marvel.” Without much warning Cato reaches out and grabs Clove by the band of her sports bra, jerking her back towards the couch. As soon as her knees hit the edge he pulls her down and to his side, looping his free arm around her waist. 

It’s instinctive, the way she pulls her feet up and tucks them over his knee, angling her body towards him like the second nature that it is. “Isn’t it like..a weird thing to you? That our friends made these. Like..literally made them. Glimmer grew these hands.” She holds up Stella’s hand for emphasis, before it once again embeds in the lengths of her hair. 

“I feel like they should probably thank us for existing, I mean it was our wedding. It’s not typical that you need to ask your friends to watch your six month olds on your first anniversary.” Cato teases, before he pinches at Clove’s exposed skin. 

“Glimmer doesn’t appreciate the reminder of her shotgun wedding, you know that.” Clove flinches out of his grasp, letting out a yelp that startles one of the twins out of whatever little trance they seemed to be in. “She’s a good mom though. They’re lucky girls, to have ended up with her. I think she was born to be a mother.”

She misses the way Cato seems to be staring at her with something on his mind, as she has to once again pry her hair out of the death grip of a child. This time she has to also pull her strands of hair from Stella’s fist and mouth, only barely containing her disgust at moisture in her hair. “Do you think they’re hungry?”

“Huh?” He is only half paying attention, pulled from a daydream or something as Clove brings him back to their current reality. “What did you say?” “I said do you think they’re hungry, space cadet.” Clove teases, pushing herself back off of him so she could settle the baby in her lap. “She’s trying to eat my hair.”

“..can we even feed them anything in this house? Can babies…eat? I’m sure their parents fed them, Clove. Do they even have teeth?”

“Oh they have teeth, haven’t you heard Glimmer complain about it? Besides, babe, we go to their house three days a week so I can fill their fridge with baby and Marvel safe snacks. We’ve been doing it for two months.” She points out, before she’s off the couch and heading back towards the kitchen with one of the twins still tightly situated on her hip. 

Cato wastes no time following behind, albeit a little annoyed to be off the couch already after he had just started to get comfortable with her. “Are they even hungry?”

“I don’t know Cato, I just know I feel this urge to feed them, okay? Like it’s my job.” Clove waves off, flittering over to her usual side of the kitchen as Cato settles in across the island.

“Hmm..is it you who likes strawberries or are you the kiwi baby?” Clove asks the baby in her left arm, grabbing a handful of both out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. 

“I don’t think she’ll answer you.” Cato teases, sitting his twin on the island and holding her up against his chest. “I actually don’t know when babies talk.”

“I”m surprised these ones don’t already, considering their dad never shuts up.” She comments, holding her left hand firmly down on her twin’s arms and hands, so she cannot lunge for the knife in her right hand. “They like..babble at each other though. They’re probably telling each other we’re incompetent.” As if it’s nothing, Clove easily uses the knife to start cutting perfect heart shaped slices out of a strawberry with only one hand, the other still holding Stella (she thinks) back. She lets go of her hand to give her a single sliced heart, and immediately has to grab at her little baby hand once again. “No, baby, please don’t maim yourself. You have parents who could actually try to kill me.” She tilts her head when Stella crinkles her little nose, looking at Clove in confusion before resuming her babbling at her. “...are you the kiwi baby then?” 

She slides Cato the plate of strawberries for the other baby, before she resumes her one handed slicing and shaping. “How about we do Kiwi stars, since we have strawberry hearts?” Clove asks the babies, who simply continue their normal baby babbles at her and each other. 

She’s distracted by her knife work, handing pieces of fruit back and forth to both of the twins, each time emphasizing the fruit and the shape before she’d hand them a new slice. She feels the sticky kiwi covered hand on her collarbone and lets out an audible groan, “That's not very nice, baby blondie.” 

Clove glances up to see if Aurelia (maybe) is also covering Cato in the sugary handprints, and is instead met with Cato just staring at her with an adoring depth to his blue eyes. There's half a smile on his face, and he just looks lovestruck. Clove narrows her eyes back at him, shaking her head just a little. “What are you looking at?”

“Just you.” Cato muses, not even phased when a sticky piece of strawberry is shoved towards his mouth as he ducks out of the way. “I’m thinking, that's all. You just look really really good right now. With her.”

Clove hesitates, watching as Aurelia succeeds in shoving a now mushed strawberry into his unsuspecting mouth. Clove truly cannot help but laugh, nose scrunching up as she does so, and it must be infectious as little miss Stella laughs at Clove laughing at Cato.  

He clearly decides not to push his luck with whatever he’s thinking about (and Clove, for what it’s worth can connect the dots). “Can you make some big people food, too? I don’t think I can survive on star shaped strawberries.”

“Um Educate yourself, Cato, the strawberries are hearts and the kiwis are the stars.”

“My mistake, how about some triangle shaped steak?”

Clove does make the two of them adult dinner, too. Albeit it all ends up cut into finger foods, consisting of half moon shaped sweet potato slices, perfectly square carrot chips, and yes, even triangular shaped overcooked (“Intentionally Overcooked, you can’t give a baby rare steak, Cato”) slices of steak.

Later, Clove pawns both twins off on Cato so she can rinse the traces of smushed sweet potato and carrot, along with the sweat from her much earlier run, out of her hair and off of her skin. She wins the race to the shower with the simple reminder that she fed them so she gets to have ten minutes to wash handprints off of her skin. 

She comes back downstairs more than just ten minutes later, an oversized shirt she borrowed from Cato serving as a dress, wet hair wrapped in a towel atop her head and safely out of the grip of curious little babies. She’s halfway back down the staircase, when she is brought to a stop by the sound of Cato and his one sided conversation.

No, not one sided, but met with avid, nonsensical baby babbles in response. 

“See, you roll the ball and it comes back and you have to get it when it comes back, you have to catch it Glimmer Two..Three..Two…Whichever Mini Glimmer.” 

Clove peaks her head around the corner, to see Cato sitting  less than the length of his legs away from the wall, the twins situated side by side in front of him. He’s rolling a weighted ball into the wall, letting it slowly return and land at the feet of either twin. Once the ball hits one of their feet they squeal in delight, before they both turn back to look at him sets of wide green eyes waiting for him to push it back.

“You can use your legs! Come on, kick it.” Cato tries again, this time grabbing one of their little feet and nudging at the ball, earning delighted giggles from both of them. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Clove interrupts, breaking into a bemused smile as she settles down on the floor beside them. Almost instantly his hand comes up to rest on her knee, squeezing gently before he nudges the ball away. 

“This? I used to do this when Cora was little. I didn’t know how to play with her.” He explains, using his other hand to send the ball rolling back towards the baseboard again. “I still don’t know how, apparently.”

“They clearly love it.” She assures him, raising her eyebrows into a playful smile as the girls both lock in their gaze on her instead of the ball. One reaches little grabby hands towards her again, and she offers the baby her finger to hold to tie her over with Cato for just a little bit longer. “You’re good with them. Like…really really really good. You should probably do it more often.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be very athletic, which is kind of shocking considering who they came from..” Cato muses, nodding towards the baby that is so enamored with Clove. “I think they like you, Clovey.”

“They’re six months old, give them time to grow some coordination.” Her smile softens as she leans in and scoops up whoever it is, letting the baby snuggle directly into her arms. “Baby, which one of them is this?”

“I have to be honest Clove, I have no fucking idea.” 

“Glimmer will be back for them soon, anyway.” Clove shrugs, taking the opportunity to lay her head on Cato’s shoulder, stifling her own yawn as she watches one of the twins do the same. “This is weirdly exhausting. Not in a bad way. Just..I’m really fucking tired.”

“It’s probably easier if there's only one.” Cato shrugs, gently pushing the ball out of reach and settling the remaining twin in his own arm. “You’re right though. I don’t know how Glimmer is literally always bouncing off of a wall with them.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re all she’s ever wanted.” Clove slurs, stifling another yawn into his shoulder, leaving her forehead pressed into him for just a minute. “It’s like she’s living a dream.”

“I mean…I get it.” He admits, keeping his eyes focused on the baby who was rubbing adamantly at her little tired eyes. 

“Yeah?” Clove mumbles in response, resting more and more of her weight against Cato’s arm. 

“Yeah.” He reiterates, subconsciously moving his right arm containing the baby, lulling her closer to the sleep she clearly craved. “I think we should talk about-”

Before he can finish his sentence, he feels the bulk of weight sink into his left arm. He glances over to Clove, who has fully slipped to sleep against him, as has the baby who clings to her neck. 

“I guess we’ll talk about it later, huh Kiddo?” He whispers to the baby he holds, who is quickly falling asleep herself. Cato surveys between the three of them, and the tired smile he wears falls when he realizes he has more sleeping girls on his hands than he has arms.

It’s..God only knows..how long later when Clove is startled awake by a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Clove..Clove, we’re back.” 

She’s jolted awake, really, disoriented and confused. Somehow (Cato) she ended up in the recliner, covered in a thick furry blanket with the baby sprawled out on top of her. Her hand almost instinctively comes to the baby’s head as she’s startled awake, just naturally trying to keep her calm and sleeping in her arms. “Huh, what, what time is it?”

“It’s nine thirty one.” Comes an amused, whispering tone from her left, where Marvel’s hand still rests on her shoulder from where he just shook her awake. “The lights were all off, we knew you had to be asleep. How were they?”

“Fuck, I thought it had to be like three in the morning, what do you mean it’s only nine thirty?” Cato mumbles from across the room, where he’s fully sprawled out on the couch with the other twin asleep on top of his chest. 

“We told you we’d only be a few hours..” Glimmer chimes in, the noise of sequins rustling against each other mixed with heels on hardwood announcing her entrance. “Where are my girls, I miss them!”

“Can you whisper, we just got to sleep.” Clove whines, forcing her eyes open as she feels the baby she holds beginning to move and wake at the sound of her parents. She peaks an eye open up at Marvel where he stands over her and can’t help but smirk at the ruffled hair and pink lipstick at the collar of his shirt and dipping underneath. “Looks like you had a good night.”

“Good for you, we didn’t watch them for nothing then. I’m proud of you, Marvel.” Cato mocks, though he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes to make fun of them. 

Glimmer’s eye roll may as well have been audible, as she is heard tossing her shoes to the side with an audible thunk as they hit the wall. “You two are the actual worst, now give me Stella. I need her first. We’re just staying here, by the way, it’s too late to take them on the train.”

“It’s nine fucking thirty? Too late, what happened to nights starting at nine thirty” Cato questions, finally forcing himself to a half sitting position so he can fully (playfully) berate their friends. 

“It’s fine, you can stay, that's..fine. Whatever.” Clove half heartedly waves a hand off in defeat. “Stella? Do you have a favorite? Is that why you need her first?”

“Don’t be silly, Clove. It’s the schedule. I feed Stella while Marvel gives Aurelia her little bath and gets her ready for bed, and then we switch before they go to sleep. It’s a little routine.” Glimmer explains, kneeling beside Clove with a tired smile. “Which one do you have?”

Cato and Clove freeze, eyes flitting towards the other just momentarily. 

“Uh..yeah..I have one of them.” Clove starts, before Cato cuts her off. 

“I have no idea, they’re literally identical. You didn’t color code them, how were we supposed to know?”

Marvel’s eyebrows scrunch together in real confusion, looking between their overly-tired friends. “What do you mean, they’re not identical?”

“The fuck do you mean-”

Marvel laughs, not even bothering to stay quiet for the sake of not waking the girls. It doesn’t hurt, though, because as soon as the baby in Clove’s arms hears him she is woken from her dead sleep. She lifts her little head, whipping it as fast as she can to find the source. As soon as she sees him, despite how tired she is, the widest smile breaks out on her baby face. It’s as if Clove is a stranger as soon as the baby sees her dad, when one baby hand comes up to reach for him. 

He wastes absolutely no time taking his girl, and if the baby seemed to snuggle into Clove before, she practically melts against Marvel as soon as she is in his arms. If a baby could hold stress she would have just released all of it, snuggling her face into the fabric of his shirt. She absolutely clings to him, babbling softly until she’s effectively nestled into him. “Hi angel baby,” He whispers to her, kissing the top of her curl covered head as she clings to her dad. “Did you miss us too?”

“He’s kidding. But, also, I didn’t think I needed to color code them. Their earrings are their initials.” Glimmer teases, reaching down to just scoop the still sleeping Stella off of Cato. “Stella also likes to talk more, and Aurelia likes to bite on her hands more. I think she’s getting another tooth. Can’t wait for that.” She deadpans, instantly pulling her little blonde baby to eye level and kissing all over her face. Stella giggles, wrapping her little hands around the top of Glimmer’s. “God I missed you, sunshine.”

“I swear they liked us!” Clove defends, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I thought they did.” They had initialed earrings. Of course they did. 

“Of course they do, we’re just their parents.” Glimmer promises, before curling up at the end of the couch nearest Clove with Stella absolutely curled up against her. “They’ve never been away from us. They probably thought we were gone forever-”

“Glimmer not this again, please don’t cry-” Marvel pleads, subconsciously swaying back and forth with Aurelia in his arms. 

“I’m not crying. I’m just saying. They’ve never stayed with someone else before. Ever.”

“Not that we minded, but, wasn’t it a little freaky to leave them a District away? I thought you would have asked Cashmere, she’s right there?” Clove asks through a yawn, head resting in the palm of her hand as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “Like I said, not that we care but…”

Glimmer gives a tired smile herself, looking away from her daughter and up at Clove. She even spares a glance at Cato before letting out a little sigh. “We could have asked Cash or Gloss, sure. I dunno. They’re great. They would do everything for me. They would have said yes but…” 

“We talked about it a lot,” Marvel interjects, giving a little shrug. “We barely wanted to leave them at all.”

“We just…thought they’d be better with you two. We’ve never left them, but if something had happened to us and we never came home…we knew they’d be safe here. You’d take care of them. I dunno, it just felt right. We trust you, we felt the best leaving them with you two. You aren’t like..parents. But you could be.” 

“And Cato was going to force us out the door, we knew that too.”

“You’re welcome for that, you clearly benefited, Marvel.” Cato scoffs, but sits forward and digs his hands into his eyes to allow himself to stay awake. Not even ten and he’s fighting sleep, how the hell did he get here from the kid who won the Hunger Games?

“Oh. That's..oh.” Clove whispers, the gravity of their trust in her leaving her borderline speechless. They’ve seen what she was capable of and they still chose her, they still trusted her with the most important part of their lives. “..thank you…”

“At the end of the day, we love Cash and Enobaria but..when it comes to who’s going to do a better job at playing house with our babies..it’s an easy choice. It’s not even a question. You aren’t parents but you could be. Good ones, too.” Glimmer smiles, offering the words with genuine love for her friends. “And Clove knows how to cook, which is a plus too. Speaking of, honey, can you get me a snack?”

“Damn, you got Glimmer asking for food, good for you, you did something right today.” Cato practically jumps off the couch to grab Marvel by the shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. And I’d say thank you, Glimmer, but you’re right. We’ve actually never been less than perfect at anything we’ve ever done ever in our lives. We’re kind of flawless, if you didn’t know!”

“You’re the fucking worst, man.” Marvel mumbles, but does follow Cato’s guidance into the kitchen.

“He is the worst.” Glimmer tells Clove once the boys are gone, tucking her feet up into the couch with her before she shifts Stella in her arms. “Not entirely. I meant what I said. We trust you. And you would be good at it. I know you don’t want to, and I respect that. But you’d be good at it. The girls adore you.”

“...yeah, I know.” Clove admits, curling up on her side, pulling her blanket back up over her shoulder as she turns in her chair to face Glimmer. Before she thinks too long about the fluttery feeling she has in her chest, at the compliments but also just the idea of her own little blondes, she abruptly changes the conversation. “ You’re a good mom, Glimmer. The best, really. But I gotta say,I feel like it’s not the most romantic anniversary in the world, to sleep at your friends’ house with your babies.”

“Clove. I don’t know if we ever would have gotten back together if it weren’t for the girls. We would not be even having an anniversary, let alone married, if it were not for them. They are, quite literally, to thank for that.” Glimmer brushes her perfectly manicured nails over Stella’s curls, keeping her calm and comforted in the safety of her arms. “And you know, I gotta give it to them. You think you can’t love someone any more than you do, right? Like you think you’re living a dream but, Clove, it doesn’t even come close to how much I love him when I see him with the girls. There is nothing, in the entire world, better than waking up next to him with the girls between us. Nothing. It’s quite literally a dream come true. It’s better than a dream, Clove. You think you love someone..but then you make new people to love with them and it’s just…I can’t even describe it, Clove. I can’t describe it. I can only imagine that the reason I survived all of that…nightmare...was to be able to have this life, Clove. I know, it’s not my business, but I hope you get to feel it one day.  There is nothing in the world like it. It is so so so worth all of it. They are worth it.”

Clove pauses for a few seconds that to her feels like hours. She could hesitate, she could start listing off all the reasons she absolutely should not (could not), she could list off the million and one unknowns that she and her routines could not account for. Maybe it’s her exhaustion, or maybe it’s the permanent look of Cato giving her that lovestruck look burned into her brain, but she doesn’t offer a refute. 

“I believe you,” is all she offers instead.

[phoenixyfriend]

Something something """canon""" age difference, modern AU where Rex actually is a decade younger than Anakin

And for Reasons, 34yo Anakin and 39yo Padme have decided to invite this Hot Young 24yo Who Just Exited The Military into their bed for a quick romp that turns into something of a longterm relationship that is sortakinda sugaring

………….just realized this makes Rex only [checks math] twelve or thirteen years older than the twins.

Which is very funny to me. These tweens are so unimpressed by the GI Bill college guy their parents are wooing. Is this supposed to be their new babysitter? A nanny? Wait, he's your boyfriend??? EW.

Such a weird age difference to have with your sorta stepkids

[earmuffstar]

do you ever think about deleted ao3 fics that you cared about deeply and spent hours reading and re-reading and now they’re gone and you’ll never read them again or are you normal

[sanguith]

Just started watching "Andor" and I can't get over how great it is to have little bits of character-focused dialogue sprinkled in like this:

MY MAN JUST WANTED TO LOOK DASHING DON'T PATRONIZE A GAY REGARDING HIS FASHION CHOICES

[intistone]

this killed my artblock okay

well.

the hyperfixation created something something au, so....yeah.

AU where the whole Book of Bill and the backstory doesn't change at all, but instead of just putting bill into space therapy, the AXOLOTL also creates...uh.

This guy.

Not a twin, not a second chance, not a reincarnation.

This Bill, or "Nick" (chosen by Mabel because he's got a nicked side from le punch) is more of a "what couldve been" alternate created for the purpose of being a test or an example for the real bill. Everything Bill was SUPPOSED to develop personality wise before the collapse of his dimension...but with his memories sill intact from that moment. It's not a restart and memory loss thing, but more of a coping and learning to heal, starring the Pines family losing their minds over what seems like o be a lookalike of the evil dorito man.

Again....his only purpose was to show the real Bill what could have been, if his coping methods weren't as....unhinged and destructive. So he wasn't intentionally supposed to be a long-term friend or anything to the town of Gravity Falls.

....but things change.

Things change.

some more info stuff under the cut about this au :D

Nick is nervous, anxious, uses humor to cope, and a bit mischevious (bit of the og Bill there), but takes out his trauma/guilt on art and creating instead of destructive tendencies. He frequently likes to throw up murals and run off.

He has multiple self-care issues. Just in general because of his memories and because of his fractured physical state.

He had to do a LOT of work to gain the Pine's trust. Obviously. but he would definitely get along with Mable and, though it would take a lot more time, Dipper. Because....Dipper. The Book of Bill really showcased how pissed Dipper was with Bill's actions.

The Pines don't like to call him Bill because...bad association with that name. Hence the name Nick, because they kinda think its not REALLY bill. just a less fucked up version

His powers are limited and fractured due to being an altered form. He can't levitate, warp reality, or be considered immortal. however, he still IS Bill Cipher....so all that may be buried in there somewhere.

Bro has a LOT of stuff to work through and unpack.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp." 

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up. 

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum. 

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one. 

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it. 

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary. 

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way. 

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only. 

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage." 

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible. 

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later. 

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people. 

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile. 

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable." 

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation. 

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe. 

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best." 

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly. 

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it. 

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense." 

 "Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved. 

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you. 

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter. 

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin. 

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out. 

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair. 

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always. 

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities. 

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up. 

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave. 

Not until it had its fun with you.

[rizsu]

ꪆ୧ ── ROMANTIC LIFE ┊ INSIDER'S VIEW ﹑ JJK. ⤿ starring: megumi fushiguro as main male lead.

꒰ heart to him ﹢ a sneak peek into what's probably the very beginning of your relationship with megumi — how it started, to be exact. just two highschool students who found themselves a little attracted to each other.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: megumi = 2nd year student, you = 3rd year. both start as strangers into friends into (potential) lovers. split into two ‘chapters’ to break it up.

꒰১ CHAPTER ONE ﹕ it all started when…

“...pretty.”

“damn, for real?! i’ve been trying to work on my manliness. thanks, bro.”

megumi’s immediately snapped out of his trance. he zoned out of the conversation minutes ago, preferring to focus on the encounter he had with a stranger earlier.

being immersed in his head, he had no idea he’d begun to get vocal. from sighs that reek of longing to random compliments as seen before. the three friends that circled around his desk didn’t mind his absence in the conversation — rather, they played into it. whenever he said something entirely unrelated, they’d respond as if they’re the ones he’s daydreaming about.

somehow, megumi failed to notice until itadori responded to him.

“no.” is what megumi replied. with one eyebrow raised, he quickly looked up and down itadori’s frame.

“but you called itadori pretty, dude!”

“can it.” his defences rose. “i wasn’t talking about him.”

a collective “oh?” came from everyone — even the students who weren’t a part of the group’s conversation. the boys leaned in closer, eyes set on megumi.

“is this perhaps fushiguro’s first love scenario?!” tichi gasped, already trying to piece together what an interaction between megumi and a love interest would look like.

“ah.” itadori folds his arms across his chest, nodding with eyes closed. “so i’m not ugly!”

the other friend kept quiet, waiting for megumi to reveal more information.

as for the main character in the moment, megumi’s ears flushed a particular shade of red — one that usually indicates embarrassment. a heat overtook his body; being the centre of attention for his group and the long-eared classmates certainly wasn’t the most ideal situation for him.

but megumi must keep his cool. he has an image to maintain — the image of “that one guy who’s always unimpressed.”

reaching a hand to scratch the sides of his neck, he gave a sigh before satisfying everyone’s curiosity.

“it’s a girl…”

“gender reveal!”

“anyway, she’s a third year.”

silence unfolds. megumi doesn’t continue after that, and the crowd doesn’t give their input — all except for a fellow classmate who’s definitely going to put the two together. as someone who has connections with the third-year students, he’s going to be megumi’s fairy godmother.

“well, well, well.”

heads turn to the voice — even megumi’s eyes met the owner’s.

“what’s her name? if you say it, i can make connections. the third years are graduating in a few months — time is not on your side,” tacho says, walking towards megumi with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

quite a dramatic entrance for someone who’s on cleaning duties after class.

“dude, do you think you’re in a show?” the unfortunate twin brother of tacho, tichi, sighs.

ignoring his brother, tacho leans down to megumi, maintaining eye contact with the boy. not just any eye contact though, the eye contact that screams business! boss to employee eye contact!

“i’m not telling.” megumi refused.

“boohoo, you’re lame.” tacho fakes a cry.

“but,” megumi continues, regaining his position as the centre of attention. “if i manage to talk to her and don’t get her number… i’ll tell you.”

“deal?” tacho’s ears perked up. he liked what he heard.

“deal.”

“pinky promise?”

“what are we, eight?” megumi frowned almost immediately.

there’s finally something for the second-year students of class 2B to look forward to. the love story progression between megumi fushiguro and the mysterious third-year student.

P.O.V SWITCH ⟡ THIRD-YEAR STUDENT, Y/N.

“psst, y/n!” a crumpled page hits the back of your head.

“what?!” you whisper-yelled, turning around to face the culprit.

“what’s the answer for question forty-five? is it b or d?” the culprit asked with urgency and desperation. the first multiple-choice mock exam of the week is certainly handing his ass back to him.

your expression flatlined — you should’ve known it wasn’t anything important.

“don’t you have your phone on you?! just cheat.” not-so-good advice was exchanged through whispering.

“that’s too much work!”

“then choose b. ‘b’ as in bat. if you get it wrong, blame mai.”

the perfect third-year class experience: getting an answer from a friend who got it from a friend who got it from a— you get the point. mock exams aren’t always taken seriously, it might as well be a regular class.

although there wasn’t a need to cheat for the answers yourself, you were too lazy to debate whether the answer was this or that based on the previous mock exam. call that the curse of repeated questions.

with thirty-five minutes left on the clock, you circled the final answer before closing the booklet. there’s nothing more relaxing than taking a nap after finishing an exam. it’s not like you can leave anyway.

“if you’re finished, leave the classroom. don’t be noisy in the halls or you're getting failed.

…apparently you can now.

you wasted no time in getting out. leaving a friend in need hurts you, but he can consider it revenge for throwing a paper ball at your head.

stretching your limbs, you snuck up behind mai, lightly kicking behind her knees to surprise her.

“fuck— y/n!”

“hey, shhhhh. we’re in the halls~” you hushed her, reminding her of the warning the class received beforehand.

mai showed no sign of regret. she’s heard that warning ever since elementary school days — it’s nothing more than empty words.

“you believe that shit?” she asked, disappointment lacing her tone.

“do i look stupid in your eyes?” you asked, saddened at how your friend viewed you.

mai nodded, ignoring your offended reaction. tapping twice on her phone screen, she hummed and slid it back into her skirt’s pocket.

“my ex messaged.”

“i thought you blocked—”

“anyway, let’s go get an early lunch before the younger ones.”

mai cut you off from finishing your sentence. she completely forgot that she told you a lie.

-> 11:15 A.M ◟ under the oak tree.

two ladies enjoying the gentle breeze as leaves dance along the wind’s track. they were having a meal, appreciating the shade they got from the tree along with the silence that came from being dismissed during class time.

the two totally weren’t ignoring the complaints from the sole person who’s been going nonstop since he came out of the classroom. he’s not appreciating the wrong answers given to him from a friend who got it from a friend (×2).

“—she said it was c. can you believe that?! C?!”

“wait.” you sat up straight. “who said that?”

“the fucking teacher! were you even listening to me?!”

“no, not really…” you’re guilty as charged.

“teru, swear upon your life that she said the answer’s c.” mai spoke with authority.

“i swear, dude.”

the senior student life: friends saying “fuck” in a exhausted way together. the reaction of when you know you completely fucked up.

another moment of silence was enjoyed. this time, it was a silence where everyone came to terms with the possibility of failing the entire exam — it’s only the beginning of many, many mock exams to come.

clicking your tongue, you decide to break the silence.

“so, mai’s ex messaged her but didn’t she say she blocked him?”

gossip time!

“plain lie.” teru expressed disappointment.

“watch that tongue. he unblocked himself.” mai defended herself.

“and i can turn water back into wine.” teru refuted.

“let’s not jump mai now,” min said. “i saw y/n talking to some guy during our first break.”

all eyes on you now. you couldn’t put a face to the guy you were talking to, but you sure as hell won’t go down without defending yourself.

“tsk, tsk. and you’re talking about me?!” mai shakes her head, happy with the party forgetting about the supposed-to-have-been-blocked ex.

“min, you were silent all the time. when you finally speak you throw shots at me?! i was just helping him!”

“and i can part the ocean into two.” teru once again expresses sarcasm.

“zip it, terushima.” you glared at him. “i don’t even know the guy, okay? cut me some slack!”

“what year is he in?” min asked, stuffing her mouth with mini marshmallows.

“dunno. probably second? he’s kinda tall with insane bed hair but i don’t remember his face…” you bit your lips trying to recall his face, but you couldn’t.

“was his hair black?” again, min questions.

“yeah.”

“no tie, sleeves rolled up to the elbow?”

“i think… maybe?”

“it’s probably megumi fushiguro.” popping the final marshmallow into her mouth, she dusted her hands off, ignoring the surprised reactions.

“okay google. who even is that? why do you know the second years’ full names…” teru questioned min, judging her for her knowledge of the students.

“well, she’s in the student council… anyway, i wanna see this fushiguro.” mai’s interest has peaked. sleeves rolled up to the elbow with no tie? he’s probably a mischievous kid.

your response is a bit later than the other two. you were repeating the name ‘megumi fushiguro’ in your head.

“his name has a nice ring to it.” finally you spoke.

“he’s a second year!” teru’s shocked at your interest in him. just a moment ago you couldn’t put a face to him. you probably can’t put a face to the name either.

“just a year younger, no biggie.” you shrugged

“how are you gonna talk to him?” mai asked, wondering if you’d walk around the second year’s floor questioning everyone on who’s megumi fushiguro.

“who said anything about that?” you shook your head. “if i see him, i see him.”

“more like if you hear his name, you hear it.”

“terushima.”

min suddenly claps, outing the fire that would’ve ignited between you and the bitchy boy.

“i’ll give him y/n’s number, but you have to send screenshots.” she offered a trade.

“i would’ve done that anyway.”

P.O.V SWITCH ⟡ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO.

-> 02:30 P.M ◟ sudden after school meeting.

the lesson megumi learnt today was to never reveal anything to his friends again. he was kept hostage all day without a single chance to catch a glimpse at the newfound crush.

whenever they could’ve, the phrase you’d hear kids singing was sung to him: “megumi and a third-year student kissing in a tree! k.i.s.s.i.n.g!”

for the first time in his life, he experienced what it’s like to hate something from the very core of his heart. it got to the point where he sneaked away from the group to leave the school grounds alone. however, even that led to no peace. he was bothered once more.

“fushiguro?” someone called out to him, lightly patting his shoulder.

he didn’t show it, but he was certainly spooked. the increased racing of his heart provides evidence of such.

“yes? oh, it’s you, min.” he turned around, keeping his poker face. can’t be caught having expressions in the school grounds.

“yup. so, that third-year girl you met during the first break, here’s her number.”

min stuck a sticky note on the pocket of his shirt, ready to walk back to where her destination is.

“wait— are you close to her?” megumi mentally cringes. he acted on impulse.

“yeah, that’s my friend. bye now.”

and she’s gone, leaving a stunned megumi in the hallway. he can’t believe it was this easy to get your number. seeing that he’s alone… maybe he can do some victory moves.

“DAMN! she beat me to it.”

“tacho, can’t you ever be quiet?!”

“was that her? she's pretty...”

“nope, that’s the friend.”

never mind. he forgot he’s got four friends who are master spies — fueled by the fact that they can’t mind their business.

turning back around to the group, he puts a hand on his hip.

“are you guys serious?”

“as serious as you are, brother.” itadori’s hand rests on his chest, providing an answer on behalf of the others.

an exasperated sigh left megumi. one day he’ll consider transferring schools.

-> 06:38 P.M ◟ courage! dominance! bravery!

megumi’s a male. a male that lacks courage, dominance, and bravery when it comes to love-related situations. once he finished his after school routine, he got comfortable in bed and is currently staring at his phone, contemplating on whether he should send you a message or not.

after a serious meeting with himself and the voice in his head, he mustered up the courage to send you a message.

megumi: hey. this is megumi fushiguro, from second year (2B).

five minutes of silence before a “ding!” is heard. he purposefully set his phone to ring after he sent the message.

y/n: oh hello i’m y/n!!

y/n: third year (3A) as u probably already know

excitement overtook megumi and he’s not pleased with it. suddenly, he’s making a typo every two words, palms sweaty, and smiling.

y/n: what’s up hru

y/n: hope min didn’t scare you

—

megumi: i’m alright, just bored. wby?

megumi: she didn’t scare me. i was a bit stunned, though.

y/n is typing…

y/n: that’s good! i’m bored too

y/n: sick of these assignments </3

y/n: drop out before it’s too late you hear me?

y/n: ok don’t but it’s an option if you’re privileged enough

—

megumi: lol i’ll think about it.

megumi: thanks for the help earlier btw.

—

y/n: anytime bro igu

y/n: oh i gtg

y/n: i forgot my mom asked me to do smth oops

y/n: we can talk later or tmr in school okay

y/n: bye ^^

—

megumi: good luck, y/n. bye.

y/n is offline.

“wow...” he re-reads the conversation, looking at the amount of messages you sent compared to his. “she’s chatty.”

his excitement calmed down a little after you went offline. actually, it was replaced with annoyance. it’s almost as if the guys put a timer and recorder on his phone. they texted the exact minute he came off your chat.

(20+) new messages from ‘cool gc name’:

> tacho: megumi don’t leave us hanging

> tichi: call me curious george

> itadori: yo that min girl been on my mind

> tacho: lemme hook u up bro

> itadori: please bro

> toeni: hop on vc

> tichi: for what

> toeni: im too lazy to type

> tichi: boy bye

> itadori: need min to give me a minute of her time so i can express how she’s been on my mind

> tacho: that shit fire

> itadori: i’ll be a poet

> tichi: ???

> toeni: who’s min?

> tacho: girl who’s friends with other girl megumi likes

> toeni: oh right her

> toeni: she scary

> itadori: u dont talk to women anyway

> tichi: already on her defence itadori’s far from saving

> tacho: truly megumi’s best friend

“what the fuck.” megumi audibly shows his shock. from the sheer amount of messages incoming, he doesn’t want to get involved.

it’s too late, though. because everyone’s online, the others can see that everyone, including megumi, read the messages. caught red-handed.

> tacho: MEGUMI

> toeni: welcome back megumi. i removed your AFK.

> tichi: easy there discord addict

> toeni: pls hop on vc

> itadori: how’d it go? u messaged her?

—

megumi: i did. she’s chatty like you guys

—

> tacho: add her here she one of us

> tichi: absolutely not

> itadori: real this is a sacred gc

> itadori: unless u get min in here too

> tichi: brother you saw her for less than five minutes

> itadori: five MINutes that blessed my life

> toeni: betting fifty dollars megumi didn’t hold the convo

—

megumi: get off my dick? she had to go offline.

—

> toeni: that's what they all say

> tichi: don't listen to him he’s mad no one’s going on vc

> toeni: true :(

> tichi: too bad :((

> toeni: die

—

megumi: i’ll probably talk to her tmr. it’s late and she isn’t back yet.

—

> tacho: DUDE NO

> tacho: how does one cockblock their own talking stage

> itadori: here goes mr. always in a relationship

—

megumi: we just started “talking.” i don’t want to come off as a creep.

—

> toeni: couldn’t be me

> toeni: i would’ve spam tf out of her phone

> tichi: how to get blocked 101

> toeni: here we go

> toeni: another lesson from The Wise And The Righteous

tichi has kicked toeni out of the groupchat.

tacho has added toeni into the groupchat.

> toeni: LEGENDS NEVER DIE!!!!

> toeni: tacho i apologise for calling you a glittered horse all this time

tacho has kicked toeni out of the groupchat.

megumi: k i’m gonna sleep.

—

> itadori: ur probably gonna dream about miss 3rd yr

—

megumi: correct.

—

> itadori: WHAT

> tichi: oh

megumi is offline.

> tacho: he’s in too deep i fear

> toeni: he just like me fr

> tacho: how the fuck did u get back in

> toeni: please refer to the capitalised message i sent before getting kicked again

꒰১ CHAPTER TWO ﹕ good morning?!

P.O.V SWITCH ⟡ THIRD-YEAR STUDENT, Y/N.

it’s not a proper morning unless your mother blinds your vision with the lightbulb of heaven, mai spamming your messages, teru asking for your mom’s breakfast, and min stealing your hoodie for herself.

truly, this is peak highschool friendship. you couldn’t have asked for more. in the classroom 7:30 A.M on the dot with the air conditioner’s cranked up to the coldest. you were copying assignment answers from another classmate and the group scrolled through the chat with megumi.

“he’s the type to text with actual grammar,” mai says, pulling her lollipop out of her mouth with a “pop” sound.

“short ass conversation.” teru does what he’s best at: judging.

“you guys actually texted this morning?” min’s surprised. “when it’s with us you just dip the convo and never text until it’s some random hour where everyone’s asleep.”

“i told you i usually dip to play games!”

“lies and more lies.” mai clicks her tongue. “anyway, teru did you read their convo?”

“barely. the awkwardness pained me.”

“here, read it.”

teru hesitantly took hold of your phone, scrolling back to the beginning of today’s chat with megumi. with a gulp of fear, he reads the messages.

y/n: im back

y/n: well the next day

y/n: still counts!

—

megumi: morning. welcome back.

—

y/n: oh right good morning!!

y/n: what r u doing

y/n: im fucking up this sandwich

—

megumi: nothing really. i’m on my bed.

—

y/n: did u eat breakfast

“did you eat breakfast?!? this cliché.”

“shut up and read quietly, teru!” embarrassment hit you at that moment.

megumi: no. i don’t particularly like breakfast.

megumi: well, not this early into the morning.

—

y/n: ur more of a brunch guy ???

—

megumi: preferably. what about you?

—

y/n: me personally i just eat if im hungry

y/n: even during class i sneak in some bites

—

megumi: really? you sound like a fun deskmate.

—

y/n: aww ty!! you sound like a reserved guy

y/n: wish u were my deskmate. the one i have just sleeps

y/n: mind u shes apart of the student council

—

megumi: min?

—

y/n: yes!! gotta be principal’s niece privileges

y/n: i love her tho she's very nice

—

megumi: she is. you are too.

“were you guys flirting or just being honest?”

“bro, i don’t even know.”

y/n: i will definitely meet u today

y/n: somehow

y/n: gtg now see u later

—

megumi: bye.

teru swipes off the app, closes your phone, and places it face down on your desk. his expression seems serious — all three of you girls are silent.

“i’ve got to see what this dude’s like,” he begins. “so, i’ll be hanging around outside all day with the guys.”

“yes! be useful for once and get some intel.” mai’s now eager. she raises a hand to hold teru’s to which he accepts with the same enthusiasm.

you remained silent, wondering if you should make up a bullshit excuse to visit megumi’s classroom. realistically speaking, you can visit whatever classroom you like as a third-year student, but you don’t want to come off as abrupt.

“what’s on your mind, y/n?” min asks, poking your arm.

“i kinda wanna see megumi — given that i don’t remember his face at all.”

“ah.” both girls react the same way, nodding at your words.

“why not text him?” mai suggests.

“nah, too early for that.” you decline.

“well, we can walk around where the second years usually are. or we can just wait on teru.” mai revealed plan b and plan c.

you and min agreed, opting for the second one. you’ve got eight hours of class school anyway, there’s time to see him “by chance.”

-> 10:02 A.M ◟ first break of the day.

two minutes into your break and you felt your phone vibrate. you slid it slightly out of your pocket — just enough to where you can read the time and notifications.

(1) new message from terushima: lemme borrow five dollars

instagram: follower request from @tachosandcheese , @itadoredbull

+99 new emails.

“anything important? did he message?” min teases, eyeing your phone.

“who’s tachosandcheese and itadoredbull?” mai asks, slightly impressed by the usernames.

“no clue and no, he didn’t text.” you press your phone’s power button. “i’ll view those two insta accounts later.”

shrugging, you stood up from your chair, stretching your limbs before you make a move to the cafeteria.

“she’s already gone— mai, can’t we stay here?”

“get your lazy ass up, min.”

“i hate you both.”

P.O.V SWITCH ⟡ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO.

-> 10:02 A.M ◟ in the gym.

megumi and the four friends are currently downing entire water bottles in one go. having physical education class first thing in the morning isn’t what they’d look forward to. this break is hardly a break. they have yet another p.e class awaiting them after.

once they calmed down, tacho started up a conversation.

“so, i was talking to itadori last night right?”

they hum in response.

“and we found min’s instagram profile.”

“doesn’t surprise me.” toeni shrugs.

“yeah, did you find the one for megumi’s?” tichi says what megumi wanted to.

“well,” itadori unlocks his phone, showing the group a screenshot of an instagram account. “we think this is her.”

the group leans in, studying your supposed profile’s aesthetic.

“that’s a private private account, for real. it doesn’t look like there’s her name anywhere.” toeni’s the first to say something.

they all look at megumi, waiting for him to clarify. he’s the only one who knows your name.

“it’s not there.” he satisfies their curiosity again.

“dude, if we requested the wrong profile i’ll deactivate.”

“i’m with you on that one, itadori.”

they all continue to gossip, taking turns to tell a story until the class of hell begun once more. hopefully they can hold out until lunch break… hopefully.

-> 02:36 P.M ◟ end of school: not so unsuccessful.

the thing megumi looked forward to the most did not happen. he’s trying to not dwell on it too much — you’re a senior student, chances of you being busy are high.

somehow, it seems as if megumi has a skill for meeting your friends after school but not you. this time he was stopped by a guy who quickly informed him of the completely platonic relationship between him and you.

the information given to megumi by the friend, teru, was quite helpful — if megumi had the balls that is.

“if you’re looking to meet her alone, go to that large oak tree, she’s always there.”

advice he’s going to hold dearly. he won’t go directly (at least not right now) but he’ll get a view of you from a spot closer.

double tapping on his phone’s screen, he unlocks it before locking it back immediately. he wants to text, but school just finished. he will wait another four hours.

it’s not like he’ll be free to talk anyway. his friends decided that he needs to experience going on dates. there’s an unfortunate busy schedule of arcade and night market business later.

P.O.V SWITCH ⟡ THIRD-YEAR STUDENT, Y/N.

you’ve nothing to do — literally. chores are completed, no assignments, finished end-game content on your games, watched everything that interested you — quite literally nothing to do.

it’s eight p.m. you lost count on the amount of times you changed positions in bed and let out sighs of boredom. you’d call your friends but that’ll just end up with you all complaining about boredom.

at times like this you wished you had a boyfriend or something of the sort to be entertained by.

…

megumi.

but he hasn’t texted. should you do it first? he did text first initially.

grabbing your phone, opened megumi’s chat, ready to send a few messages.

y/n: hey wyd rn

megumi is typing…

megumi: hi. i’m at a night market with my friends.

megumi: the reception’s a bit bad.

megumi: the messages aren’t sending fast enough.

—

y/n: woah was that ur first triple text???

y/n: go megumi go!

—

megumi: you’re rubbing off on me a bit.

—

y/n: glad to hear my influence is strong

—

megumi: are you bored?

—

y/n: bored to the point of death

y/n: how’d u know

—

megumi: [photo attachment]

megumi: would you like one?

megumi: sorry. the messages aren’t sending in order.

megumi: but which keychain do you like?

—

y/n: thats ok dw

y/n: as for the keychains uhhh

y/n: i cant choose u do it

—

megumi: are you sure?

—

y/n: yeah do it

megumi is typing…

“how bad is the reception over there… he’s been typing for a hot minute,” you mumbled, unaware of the smile settled on your face.

megumi: nvm. it won’t send.

megumi: i’ll send a voice message.

—

y/n: fine by me bro

megumi’s message made you realise you also somewhat forgot what his voice sounded like. your boredom has officially been defeated.

megumi: [+ voice message: 00:20s]

“hi, y/n – if that’s how you pronounce it. i’ll buy you the black keychain since it'll match anything. i’m not sure if you’d want any— is that the girl? hi we’re megumi’s friends!! i’m tac— fuck off, tacho. as i was saying – it’s megumi speaking by the way – would you like anything else?”

the chaos of the voice message got a laugh out of you. you could’ve heard a faint “he’s so mean!” at the end of it – it was probably the tacho guy.

—

y/n: mmmm i dont want anything really

y/n: just buy two of what ur getting

y/n: we’ll match

—

megumi: sure.

megumi: talk to you later or when i get back.

megumi: sorry about my friends.

—

y/n: it’s okkkkkk they seem fun

y/n: mine would’ve stolen my phone during the voice message

—

megumi: seems like our friend groups are alike.

megumi: later. sleep well if you’re going to sleep.

—

y/n: and you stay safe!!

megumi is offline.

and the boredom returns. man, you really do need a little entertainment from a guy. just look at how megumi kept you smiling when he’s only met you once. tragic.

‘if tomorrow’s saturday…’ the voice in your head ponders, trying to piece together a potential date. it appears you have a gift or two to collect; maybe — just maybe you can further this short talking stage. you’re too impatient for it anyway.

[almostfoxglove]

AIN'T THAT A BITE

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV), The Last of Us (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Central Characters: Reader, Young!Joel, Sarah

Central Relationship: Joel / Reader

Word Count: 6k

Pre-Outbreak & No-Outbreak AU

SUMMARY

It's the night of Jackson High's Sock Hop, the 8th grade dance which took you weeks to organize, and everything seems determined to go wrong. Thankfully, one student's dad—the handsome and brooding Joel Miller—comes to your rescue. READ ON AO3, if that's your jam!

Four weeks ago, volunteering to organize the eighth-grade dance committee had seemed like an excellent idea—a chance to make a solid first impression on the PTA and the chilly cast of your new colleagues while giving yourself a little excitement, some frivolous living beyond the usual boredom of your repetitive existence. Lesson plan, grade, report card, lesson plan, grade, report card—you love your job, but it gets old.

But now, on the night of Jackson High’s September Sock Hop, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Someone brought cookies with walnuts that had to be ceremoniously tossed, one of the speakers in the gym is crackling, three of your parent chaperones have bailed, and oh, yes—a sink in the girls’ bathroom has decided to spring a sudden leak and flood the place a mere fifteen minutes before the kids are due to show up.

Drenched and sweating, you make a hopeless attempt to mop the flood of water with the gym’s supply of linens, turning the tiled floor into a swamp of soggy towels that squelch beneath your shoes. It’s all a futile effort—the burst pipe beneath the far left sink is spewing water faster than the towels can sponge—but here you are, trying anyway, looking like you’ve just taken a long walk in a fucking monsoon. 

A row of square mirrors sits framed above each ceramic sink, taunting you with your reflection. Your red poodle skirt has gone burgundy with water and your once pristine white button-up clings to your chest, translucent, peek-a-booing your bra. 

Real professional. 

“Miss Green?” comes a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a weary knock. “Believe students are arriving now.”

With a sigh, you take a final glare at your reflection as if looking again might fix things, then call out, “Alright,” with as much patience as you have left to muster. Outside the calculus teacher is waiting in his pin-stripe vest with a sorry grimace. He agrees to lock up that bathroom from use and with a tired thank you you click down the hall towards the school doors, stomach raw with nerves.

As promised the first, eager attendees stand outside Jackson High’s wide glass doors, giddy to be let in for the night’s event. Kids are in everything from pastel poodle skirts to leather jackets and waitress get-ups—you even spot the Broderick twins in matching, vintage baseball uniforms striped with strawberry red. Behind them stand their parents, some smiling and others bleary-eyed, who you force yourself to smile cheerfully for as you let them in, a clipboard held over your chest to hide your bra.

You don’t miss how the parents stare at you—soaking wet and clearly befuddled—and you mutter your apologies as they shuffle into the school. All but the main hall has been blocked off, leaving the children a one-way path to the gymnasium for the dance. You check your watch quickly; maybe you can sneak in a quick smoke around the corner before the rest of the eighth graders arrive.

Outside the air is perfect: your one reprieve. Blue-dark clouds haunt the star-pocked sky and the balmy remains of the dying summer sweep through the parking lot as a breeze. You breathe easily for the first time in an hour, lift your face, and close your eyes, stitching yourself together in the calm. 

When you’re steady again, you decide against the smoke break. Too many parents pulling up in shiny cars with the kids. It’s enough to feel them in your skirt pocket—an escape hatch when you need them, a totem when you don’t. A nasty habit, your mother always says. But you only allow yourself two cigarettes a year. Not so bad, as habits go.

You’re about to turn back in and see if you can’t call a plumber at this hour when a pickup groans into the lot—steely-blue, bold text stickered on the side. It pulls not into a parking spot but the drop-off zone, right in front of you.

Miller Construction Ltd.

Maybe miracles are real after all.

As the passenger window rolls down and the cab light blinks on inside, you rush over, desperation rocketing your heart around in your chest. A girl in a lilac poodle skirt blinks up at you from the passenger seat, eyes wide with surprise. She’s got her hair pulled back in two big, curly pigtails ribboned with bows, and looks adorable—exactly what you’d pictured when you took on the behemoth task of putting this whole stupid evening together—complete with a matching neck scarf and shiny black shoes. You give her what you hope is a friendly grin and start rambling.

“I am so sorry,” you say, before you bother looking at the driver. “But we’ve got a plumbing emergency and if there is any chance you might have a few minutes to take a look at it, you’d be a—”

Your sentence drops off as you at last hunch down to make eye contact with the man in the driver’s seat through the open window. Dark-eyed and frowning, all curls and scruffy beard and thick flannel shirt: your type to a T. In your pause his daughter stifles a chuckle, and you shake your head to restart your brain. Focus. Sinks to fix, floods to mop.

With a tight grin, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Would be a lifesaver if you could, I don’t know, take a look. Even if it’s just to tell me we’re fucked and need an emergency plumber. We had a bunch of parent chaperones bail last minute, so we’re a little short on hands.”

Now the kid snorts, giggling. Shit—your teacher-voice has slipped. 

You close your eyes, horrified. Seems there’ll be no end to your embarrassment today.

Sighing, you step back to open the passenger door so the girl can hop out. “If you promise not to tell any grown-ups I swore in front of you,” you tell her. “I’ll give you all As when you get to my class in a couple years.”

“Deal,” the girl says, grinning at you. “But I’d probably get an A anyway.”

Despite yourself, you smile—this time for real.

“You ain’t her teacher?” comes the driver’s voice. Deep and coarse, all Texan. When you glance back, he’s still frowning, eyes narrowed at you.

“Tenth grade English and History,” you say. 

“And you’re workin’ the eighth-grade dance,” he says.

You shrug. “I’m new. Thought it’d go over well if I came in eager and offered to plan the thing.”

He hmphs, expressionless, his skin golden under the overhead light, eyes glinting with amber. You’re almost glad the kid’s not in your class; parent-teacher interviews would be torture. Sitting across your desk from this man, forced to pretend you don’t want him to ruin you. 

Beside you on the sidewalk, the girl shoots her dad a daggered look and crosses her arms. “He’s free,” she says. “He can do it.”

“Sarah,” the man hisses. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarks. “Do you suddenly have a social calendar I don’t know about?”

After a brief stare-down which Sarah seems to win, he huffs and mutters a cranky one second before pulling out of the drop-off zone to park. 

“I like your skirt,” Sarah says when he’s gone. Streetlamps have you both in a cloak of shadow, and the pale light radiating from the school’s front doors doesn’t quite reach this spot, but her inquisitive expression is unmissable in the dark. 

“It’s a little ruined,” you say sheepishly. “But I like yours.” 

Pleased, she gives you a little twirl, purple fabric blooming from her waist. “Thanks,” she says, when she stills again. “My dad sewed on the poodle.” 

Across the lot you hear the harsh slam of a car door cracking shut and spot her glowering father stalk across the asphalt, silhouetted by a distant streetlight, his shoulders unfairly broad. You nod toward the front doors. You’d never admit it to anyone, but the thought of this surly figure lovingly stitching a felt poodle to his daughter’s costume makes you a little weak in the knees.

“You can go on in,” you tell Sarah, and she waves at her dad before running inside.

Then he’s walking up the pavement, growing closer. Of course he smells good—like patchouli and something earthy and skin. Of course he’s rolled up his sleeves, baring his tanned forearms, one tensed by the toolbox clutched in his hand. You manage a stiff grin as he approaches, no teeth, to which you receive only a curt nod in reply. 

In silence, you walk him through the glassy doors, heels clicking as swing music crackles from the gymnasium some distance away. You catch, in the corner of your eye, the shape of his head turning as he watches Sarah running full-speed down the main hall to catch up with a group of girls that must be her friends. She launches herself at them, and even at this distance you hear the shrill of their joy, the sugar-high laughter, and smile to yourself.

“She’s sweet,” you say, guiding him into a branching hallway, away from the main event.

He grunts, then mumbles, “Pain in my ass is what she is.”

You chuckle. When you dare to look back at him again, you see his begrudging tone doesn’t match his expression. You swear his eyes flit quickly away as if you’ve caught him already looking at you. Hard to be sure, you think, in this dimmer light. But his cheeks almost look pink.

After a beat too long, you realize why.

You’ve dropped your clipboard to your side without thinking, unveiling your water-logged shirt, which clings sheerly to your skin. Grimacing, you cover yourself again. “Not much of a plumber,” you say quietly.

Once you’ve grabbed the keys back from your colleague, you drag this poor, probably busy dad to the girls’ bathroom and unlock the door, glancing down at his boots before you open it. “You don’t love those shoes, do you?” you ask.

His eyebrows lift, jaw tensing. “Sure they’ll be fine, darlin’,” he grunts.

You push into the bathroom before your brain has the chance to recover from darlin’. You’ve been in Texas all of six months and you still aren’t used to the pet names. Everyone here seems to call each other everything. Even the old woman who works the till at the grocer by your apartment calls you honey or angel, and you wouldn’t exactly describe her as the friendly type. Darlin’ isn’t even irregular. Bus drivers call you that. 

Difference here is that it’s this man saying it—which is to say, someone gorgeous with a voice that could melt you if you let yourself listen close enough. Your heart purrs, thrilled.

The bathroom is a calamity. Though the drains in the center of the tiled floor have meant no water has flooded into the hallway, there’s still an inch or so blanketing the tiles wall to wall. Under one of the mirrors, the guilty sink continues to spew: a graceful font of silver gushing from a fault in the pipe.

Over your shoulder you hear Sarah’s dad clear his throat before you step out of his way.

Fearless, he trudges through the mess unfazed, dodging the tides of boggy towels like this is the most natural habitat to find himself in. His boots and the ankles of his jeans blacken with water, and though you’re in some stupid, clacky pair of heels to go with your outfit, you follow him into the shallows anyway, riddled with shame. At the slosh of your footsteps behind him, Sarah’s dad turns to give you a cutting stare you cannot read and you freeze, caught.

“What?” you say.

“No reason you gotta be in here for this,” he says. “Might be wise to dry off a little, don’t you think?”

Does the corner of his mouth twitch upward, or do you imagine it—you can’t decide. “Right,” you manage. “Sorry. Thank you, seriously.”

You pivot to leave him to it, splashing weakly as you go, your skirt bunched in one hand to keep it safe from the splatter. In the doorway you can’t help but look back, and see him kneeling in the mess, tool in hand, his toolbox open and shelved on a not-broken sink. He spots you looking and this time, you don’t imagine it. He lets slip half a grin. 

“Got it from here,” he says.

You nod but don’t move and you don’t know why.

Well, that’s not true. You do.

Sarah’s dad cocks one dark eyebrow at you, bemused, maybe, by your hesitation. “You really have chaperones bail?” he asks, voice low.

“Three,” you say.

He grunts, then turns his attention back to the spitting sink, and you step out into the dim hallway without goodbye.

You slip into the bathrooms in the teacher’s lounge to stand under the hand dryer for a bit, letting your shirt dry out. When it’s no longer see-through, you stand in front of the long mirrors looking at yourself, fussing. You retouch your lipstick—red, like your skirt, like your nails—though the hair’s a lost cause. The best you can do is run a hand through the end bits and say an empty prayer.

Then, finally, you emerge, and take off with a sidelong glance thrown at the closed door of the flooded girls’ bathroom as you pass.

You volunteered four weeks ago, and you spent three of those weeks working on the decorations in tiny pockets of time between the school day, your commute home, and all the hours you spend every evening and weekend on lesson plans and marking. Maybe it’s only September, but the whole staff has been working since August and it’s no slower now than it will be in the spring. Still, you gave up sleep. Gave up seeing friends. Gave up proper, home-cooked meals and reverted to the habits of your college days, eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot over the stove. 

Now, it all pays off. 

The gymnasium’s a goddamn ritz. Ribbons of twinkle lights droop from the rafters, sparkling above the scatter of a disco ball. You thrifted huge, vintage neon signs—with your own money, thanks so much public school district—that cast pools of candy-colored light on the shiny floor. Gingham tablecloths sheath the drink stands. You had to bribe the theater department to let you repurpose an old bartop set from some long-gone play. Painted that sucker with black and white checkers, even scrounged up some round, pleather bar stools to match. Instead of a bar-bar, it’s a snack bar—pastel cupcakes and dairy-free milkshakes and huge metal bowls of nut-free, everything-free snack mixes displayed behind the bar. Kids all get three snack tickets ‘cause the PTA had strong feelings about sugar intake, but hey. All the bar stools are full; the kids seem to love it.

Despite the last-minute disasters, you’re tempted to cry with relief. Slept three hours last night, painting the last of the stars that hang overhead, but they look like magic now. Glossy and twinkling while Elvis plays. It looks pretty close to perfect. And the kids, by some miracle, are dancing. The gym teacher comes out to show them some simple swing steps, and as clumsy as they all are, it’s fucking adorable.

“Hope you’re willing to do this for all the dances,” one teacher mutters to you as you pass. 

You flit from table to table, refilling and wiping down and checking in with chaperones—twenty minutes zing by in the blink of an eye. When the gymnasium door creaks quietly open, the dark shape of Sarah’s dad appears in the doorway. You set down your punch glass with a grin and scurry over. 

But he’s looking up when you make it to him, starstruck by twinkle lights, his face pink and blue with the neon light. Christ, he’s easy on the eyes. Facing this way, with none of the gym or kids or decorations in view, you can almost imagine that you’re standing in a bar looking up at some handsome stranger you might have a shot in hell at taking home. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, when he still hasn’t looked down, his hand flat and broad on the door to prop it open.

He blinks, wakes from his daze, and the look of wonder that just now softened him fades, his face stiff again. You step into the hall and the door slides shut behind you. The honeyed voices of The Isley Brothers muffle.

In the direct light of the hallway you can see he’s soaked—jeans wet to the tops of his thighs, his whole flannel clinging to his chest. One curl lays flat and damp against his forehead. He would’ve had to kneel right in the spray to work on the sink. Might as well have set a hose on the poor man.

Jesus, you must have ruined this guy’s whole fucking night. 

“Oh my god,” you say, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry—”

He lifts one hand as if to say stop and your mouth snaps shut. “Just water,” he grumbles. “Sink’s fine now. Joint was old and brittle. Had a part in the truck that’ll hold you over till Monday, but you’ll need someone to do a proper repair next week.”

You run a hand over your face, so grateful to him that all logical thought and processing flutters right out of your head. “Jesus, I could kiss you—thank you so much, seriously,” you start to say, hand still over your eyes as you stutter to a halt, realizing your mistake.

Heat boils in your face as you split your fingers to peek at him through your hand, but he doesn’t look horrified. He just rolls his eyes, a little playfully you think, and shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Not necessary,” he says. 

You let your hand drop. “I’d insist that I’m normally the epitome of professionalism, but there’s no way in hell it’d be convincing,” you say, grinning sheepishly. 

Shrugging, he remains silent. Maybe you should take your friends up on their offers to set you up—you clearly need to get laid. Just him shrugging is doing things to you. Nevermind the tiny flick of his tongue that graces his bottom lip as he looks off down a roped-off hall. 

“Still short on chaperones?” he asks, not looking at you. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “But we’ll make due.”

Another shrug. “Could help out—‘m already here.”

Your eyes round. Though part of you wants to refuse, insist he’s done more than enough already, that he ought to get home and into dry clothes and forget about this mess, you don’t. It’s definitely selfish, almost greedy, but you don’t want him to go. Even if you only get to look at him across the gymnasium without saying another word to each other the whole rest of the night, you’d like him to stay.

A grin squirms across your face before you can stop it; you have to look away to smother it as you tap one foot against the floor. 

“Okay,” you say coolly, returning your gaze to him once you’ve gathered yourself. “But you can’t go in there looking like this.”

The theater department’s costume room gives you the creeps. Has since the first day you stepped foot in this place back in August when you got the grand tour—anywhere with this many mannequins is cursed, frankly—and it turns out it’s even worse in the dark. When you swing open the door, pale light from the hall slants against the black floor, and you reach blindly across the wall for the switch as your heart patters with dread.

Then finally: light. Weak, stuttering, yellow, but light all the same. You breathe.

Regardless, stepping into the costume room feels like being squeezed. Cramped alleyways have been formed by clothing racks stuffed well past their capacity—gowns of past Shakespeare productions hang beside the gothic frocks of Morticia and Wednesday Addams—forcing you to inch between racks, grazed by a parade of empty sleeves.

Sarah’s dad, bless him, hardly fits at all, and has to shuffle through the aisles sideways to follow you on what must seem to him like a blind mission without any destination. 

But you’ve been in this place. You know exactly what you’re looking for. Turning a corner, the next section is too narrow for the man to fit through, so you point out a chair across the room by the mirror and tell him to wait. 

“And you can ditch the flannel,” you call out as he goes. “Can hang it over the heaters to dry.”

Though you hear the low thunder of him mumbling, you miss the words.

When you emerge from the dusty racks, unnerved by the looming, half-dressed mannequins standing guard over their lot, Sarah’s dad is sitting where you asked him to wait, stripped out of his flannel, left in a slightly damp white t-shirt, his shoulder blades faintly visible in the stuttering light. If him shrugging was doing something to you earlier—this is likely to kill you. 

You clear your throat as you approach and he quickly straightens his posture. When you’re close enough, you hold out the hangers to him, even give them a little shake when he cuts his eyes at you, doubtful. You roll your own in reply. “Come on,” you insist. “Sarah will love it.”

That gets him to stand, albeit with a scowl, but it still makes you grin. With a grumpy hmph, he takes the hangers from you and you duck between racks again to give him some privacy. Sure, maybe you’d like a peek as he strips off those wet jeans, but even you know better than that. So you stand in the disordered aisle of costumes and listen instead. 

For a long time you hear nothing, like he’s hesitating. You did have to guess the sizes, but you worked plenty of retail jobs in your early twenties. Aren’t so bad at guessing. Every breath in this room, now that you’re silent, feels agonizingly loud. Not just yours, but his. The swelling of his chest with air. 

Then finally—clink. A belt buckle slacking open. Your eyes slam shut even though you’re looking in the opposite direction, at some 60s-style dress from what must’ve been an old Hairspray production with construction paper polka dots duct-taped on. He lets out a soft grunt. There’s a shuffle of fabric. Then a wet slop as his jeans hit the floor.

Your whole body throbs with heady, certain want.

Yes, you definitely need to get laid. This is humiliating. 

When you hear the belt buckle’s metal clink again, signaling he’s got the new, dry jeans on, you feel it’s safe to speak again. “I never asked you your name,” you say, still staring at the costumes. You hear him set the next hanger on the chair and even though putting it on requires no further undressing, you’ll stay exactly where you are until he’s done. Don’t trust yourself not to leer.

More shuffling, this time of sturdier fabric. “Joel,” he gruffs, and after a pause adds bitterly, “I look ridiculous.”

Chuckling, you squeeze out of the aisles and find him standing before the full-length mirror wedged in the corner of the room, into which Joel is sneering at his reflection. 

Also, he’s dead fucking wrong.

The jeans are a little tight, but frankly they’re better this way. His thighs taut beneath denim, his calves hugged. He’s a little bow-legged. So Texan. From the waist down he might as well be a cowboy. From the waist up, however, he looks like he’s just strutted off the set of Grease, putting even 1978’s Travolta to shame. His white t-shirt sits crisply beneath the black leather jacket, which he snaps to adjust the lapels. Fits him perfectly, like it was made for those shoulders, and he’s raked back his wet hair, giving it the look of being gelled, one stray curl rebelling over his forehead.

He catches your eye in the mirror, mouth twitching again, but it doesn’t become a grin or a frown. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t know what you’re looking at,” you say. “But you do not look ridiculous from where I’m standing.”

His nose scrunches as he breaks his eyes from yours in the reflection, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck. Seriously, you’d crawl all over this guy if he weren’t the dad of one of your students. Future students—whatever. But you’ll save yourself the humiliation, gotta get this show on the road, and so you jut your chin in the direction of the door. “Let’s go. Got kids to supervise, hands to keep from wandering.”

Joel balks, hands flat to fists in an instant, ready to kill.

“Oh please,” you tease, and wave one hand dismissively as you make your way to the door. “Like you weren’t thirteen once.”

You listen as he stomps after you, muttering a cranky, “Gonna have to be at all these fuckin’ things,” that makes your head fall back with a sudden laugh.

The moment you return to the gymnasium, you’re needed by everyone—so and so needs to know where the extra ice is; what’s-her-face is concerned about the sugar content of the fruit punch; and some parent wants to talk about their kids’ English grade like this is the appropriate venue for such a conversation. You immediately lose Joel to the call of teacher-slash-host duties, and he slips past you, hugging the wall as he strides over to man the drink table which, in your absence, has stood without supervision. The man might as well be a saint—you manage to catch his eye and mouth a silent thank you across the gym, to which he half-grins from a pool of neon pink glow, setting you ablaze.

Most of the night you spend running around like a madwoman, responsible for switching in new music as each CD ends, refilling snack bowls, and pulling one student off another when you catch them kissing in the hall. Thankfully neither of them is Sarah, but you do have to give the kids a talking-to.

Late in the night, you’re chatting to some of your colleagues against the gymnasium wall and watching the kids shimmy to Rock Around the Clock, poodle skirts billowing like spinning tops, when you spot Sarah rush across the floor toward Joel—apparently only spotting him now. You’re too far to hear them, too far to read their lips, but Sarah’s runaway smile is obvious at any distance. She hops in place, delighted, and forces Joel to do a little spin for her. 

Though smaller, you catch his smile too. The dimple in his cheek as he fails to restrain his contentment at her approval. How he shakes his head, embarrassed to be fawned over. Adorable.

When the Spanish teacher makes his rounds with the school’s camera, snapping flash photos of the kids’ eager smiles and costumes as they pose with their milkshakes or friends, you tap him on the shoulder and point in Joel and Sarah’s direction. “Get one of them, would you?” you whisper, and he nods, shuffling off.

Joel spots him coming a mile off, camera in hand, and immediately frowns. He makes eye contact with you across the gymnasium like he knew exactly where you were standing, and shakes his head as if to say no way. You smile, wicked, and mouth yes. One of his hands balls to a fist. 

But when Sarah spots the photographer a second later, she wraps an arm around Joel’s waist to pose and his resistance crumbles. When you were thirteen, you’d have been humiliated to be seen posing with your parents in front of your classmates, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her adoration is obvious, abundant. Anyone can see how much she loves him—you can see, too, Joel’s love for her. Once the Spanish teacher raises the camera to shoot, he throws his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft, grump-less grin. The white flash snaps in the dark gymnasium, photo taken, then Sarah returns to her friends.

You cut your eyes away when he starts to turn his head in your direction, returning your gaze to your colleague. Don’t need him catching you staring. Your dignity has suffered plenty tonight.

You cave about twenty minutes before parents are due to pick up the kids at the end of the night—not due to stress, just exhaustion—and sneak out into the black night to smoke. Tucked just out of view of the parking lot and doors, you sink onto a wooden bench and light up, letting the tension unwind from your body. Gray smoke tendrils as you exhale a half-formed smoke ring. Never could get those right, but it’s fun to try while crickets croak unseen from the shadows, braiding their eerie melody. With every drag, you relax into a kind of trance, at one with the night. 

Eyes shut, you don’t hear him coming. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your eyes snap open and you realize someone’s caught you smoking.

“Shit,” you mutter, adjusting your posture to sit up straight.

Joel stands over the bench, caliginous in the dark. His hair has dried, curls loosening from each other. You hear a low chuckle that must come from him, but you can’t quite make out his face until he lowers himself onto the bench beside you—then you see he’s smirking. 

You tap ash onto the sidewalk beside your feet, away from him, unable to look him in the eye. “Not worth trying to defend myself, is it?” you joke sheepishly.

He adjusts his position, thighs spread just a touch, and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather jacket is practically criminal, it fits him so well. 

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies. “Don’t need to.”

You bring the cigarette to your lips to smother your impulse to smile, the filter stained crimson by your lipstick. You risk a glance at him. “You want one?”

Shaking his head, the corner of Joel’s mouth tugs. “Quit when Sarah came around,” he admits.

“Very responsible,” you say, and though you really shouldn’t flirt, it comes out a little snarky, like you’re teasing him. “Quit after college, but I get to indulge twice a year.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow at you, though doesn’t question the obvious flaw in your logic. “Miss it?” he asks.

You shrug and exhale a thin stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth. “Always think I do,” you say. “But it’s so much grosser than I remember. Can’t believe I used to smoke these everyday.”

He lets out a deep hmph, not quite a laugh. 

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning now. “These things are vile. They reek and make kissing gross. I might as well burn the clothes I’m wearing after this. Don’t even like it anymore—it’s just nostalgia, I think.”

Shifting again, Joel’s legs spread a little wider, though from the other side of the bench you’re still nowhere near touching. As you click one lacquered nail against your cigarette, ash rains softly to the ground. 

“Never minded,” he mumbles. He’s looking out at the dim street, not you. Streetlamps dot the street with coins of gold between cedar elms that have already begun to drain their color. The breeze is next to perfect, whisking your smoke politely away from Joel.

“Minded what?”

“Kissin’ someone who smokes,” he says matter-of-factly. His tone isn’t flirtatious—nor is his expression, his face still profiled to you—but goosebumps scale your arms all the same.

“Hm,” you hum in reply. 

Best not to dwell in this breath of quiet. The long pause in which you feel yourself want. You shift on the bench, cross your legs, and prepare to change the subject—but Joel beats you to it. 

“Looks good in there,” his voice rumbles, and in your periphery, he turns to look at you for just a moment, handsome and leather-clad. Practically put on this earth to punish you. You hold your breath until he turns his head away again. “Impressive.”

Your heart squeezes like he’s crushed it in his fist, but you tilt your head back and forth nonchalantly. “Guess it doesn’t look so bad,” you admit. To your surprise, this drags a quiet chuckle from Joel, and your eyes drop quickly to his hand where it hangs from his still-crossed arms—a brief and discreet glance, you think—and see no ring. It shouldn’t make a difference, but you're glad.

“Gotta be more subtle than that, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, despite the fact that he’s not looking at you.

You feel your face rash with heat. “Fucking eagle eyes,” you mutter, pinching the last of the cigarette to your lips for a final drag. You hold the smoke in your lungs as Joel laughs again, this time with more warmth.

He shakes his head. “Could’a just asked,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at me,” you say, smiling despite your embarrassment. You bend over to crush your cigarette against the bottom of your shoe, then pocket the spent filter, disappearing the evidence. “How the hell did you even catch that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a whine. 

Joel shrugs. “Don’t have to be looking at you to be watchin’,” he says.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or disappointed that the moment you both look at each other, the whole of his face finally visible in the murk of nightfall—warm eyes, summer skin, that stubbly beard you’d like to nuzzle into—a caw of noise erupts inside the school and shatters the moment. The sound of students emerging from the gymnasium into the hall draws Joel’s attention first, and you allow yourself a long look at the back of his head to study his curls, just beginning to thread with gray, before you let the noise draw your attention, too.

“That’d be our cue,” you say, and you both rise from the bench.

As Joel starts shrugging off the leather jacket, you put a hand on his bicep to stop him and shake your head. So solid. Warm. He freezes under your touch, black leather slumped part-way down his arms, until you withdraw your hand. 

“Nu-uh,” you say. “You’re keeping that.”

He frowns. “Not sure I like the idea of stealin’ from Sarah’s school,” he says. 

You roll your eyes, wave one hand dismissively. “You saw where it came from, they’ll never miss it. There were at least half a dozen more in there.”

When Joel narrows his eyes at you, you narrow yours back stubbornly. Finally, he sighs and snaps the jacket back over his shoulders—a gesture that turns you to honey—and shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The also-stolen jeans. You’re gonna make him take those too. Not like anything that fits him is gonna fit any of the students here. You don’t even know why the theater department has costumes this size. 

“Least take this and sign me up for,” he gestures vaguely with one hand as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to you. “Whatever. More chaperonin’.”

Pinched between his fingers is a crisp business card bearing the same logo stickered to his truck. Miller Construction Ltd—Joel Miller, Co-Owner. His phone number is printed squarely at the bottom. You take it, running your thumb across the printed text. 

“Very generous,” you tease, and Joel looks down at you and grins, one dimple creasing his cheek. When you smile in return, his dark eyes slip down your face, landing on your lips.

As you make your way back up the path to the school, he walks close enough that his arm brushes against yours just once. Your body purrs with want, made worse when he smirks and leans toward you, lowering his voice. “Trust me,” he rumbles quietly. “Offer’s entirely selfish.”

Then, entirely composed, Joel yanks the front door open for you and winks.

Moodboard created by @studioghibelli!

[neiptune]

you can feel it on the way home

cw: 1k wc, female reader, childhood friends to lovers, atsumu is so lovesick it'll make you gag, just fluff fluff fluff. sponsored by @mangostarjam, thank you so so much for trusting me and contributing to @ficsforgaza!

Summers in Hyogo are hot, humid, made of sleepless nights and the quiet buzz of fans blowing air that is always too warm. They get sweeter, whenever Atsumu visits.

On his very first official trip as a member of the MSBY black jackals, you remember thinking Osaka didn’t know how lucky it was about to get. You also remember his blinding grin at the airport, the way he took off his black cap to push it on your head right as your bottom lip quivered, how he proudly showed off his good luck charm. You couldn’t believe he still had the stupid bracelet you made him when you were 10. ‘Samu got one too, because back then no one could befriend a Miya without necessarily befriending the other, but Atsumu’s bracelet had one extra clay charm and faux pearl beads that were colorful.

You’ve known each other your whole lives. You were 8 when your parents moved into a bigger residential neighborhood, their mom was the first one to ring the doorbell with a tray of freshly baked cookies. Two little boys standing on either side of her long skirt, pretty much identical, differentiated only by the snot still drying underneath the nose of the one with reddened eyes. Despite his miserable state (stemming from Osamu tripping him and deliberately making him face plant on a pile of dirt) the little boy still mustered the courage to ask for your name and whether you knew how to play hopscotch.   

Before they became the iconic freak duo, the twins were simply the biggest chunk of your childhood afternoons. While you did everything together, from going to the beach to consuming the slide at the playground a few blocks away from your house, ‘Tsumu was always the one to stay whenever Osamu would decide it was too hot or he was too bored and just wanted to go home. You could tell it felt weird for them to split up but Atsumu would forget his brother as soon as you offered to push him on the swing.

Then came high school and he no longer was the little crybaby you’d grown so fond of, the kid who’d refuse to let go of your hand while stomping around the nanko sports park at the sunflower festival his mother dragged the three of you to. Atsumu convinced himself he didn’t care anymore whether people liked him or not (whatever helped him sleep at night) and that you, along with his teammates, were the only friends he needed anyway. Neither of you cared that Aran, Rintaro and at some point even Osamu were convinced you were secretly dating, an assumption only the two of you knew wasn’t completely groundless.

At the age of 13, you decided you wanted to be each other’s first kiss. It was a perfect agreement: no chance of the memory ever being ruined, as you were going to stay best friends for life. Neither of you anticipated the second time you kissed him, right after he announced he was asked to attend the Ajinomoto youth training camp. Just a friendly peck before an even friendlier hug, to celebrate.

But there was nothing to celebrate after the game with Karasuno, was it? The Inarizaki High volleyball team members were the only ones not really enjoying the party thrown just for them, so you and a few others took it upon yourselves to make sure they did. Atsumu was already wasted before you could playfully suggest he’d drown his sorrows in a disgustingly sugary drink, glassy eyes set on your lips as you listed all the reasons why he should’ve been proud of himself, why you were so proud anyway and absolutely certain his star was soon going to shine the brightest not only in Tokyo but for the entire country to see. And then he just pulled you close, arms wrapping possessively around your waist, captured your lips in a real kiss that knocked the wind out of your lungs, made your legs unsteady.

Atsumu is away more than he is home but when he is back, Hyogo seems to glow. It’s 1 am and you stroll by streets that are dazzling, his presence alone enough to light up the neighborhood you grew up in, your fingers are interlaced with his rough ones and everything in the world feels right.

“You’re not listening” he lightly flicks your forehead and you flinch, snapping back to reality. The bench you’re sitting on next to each other is the same one you’d kill time on as teenagers, when neither of you wanted the night to end too soon.

“Sorry, I was just thinking...”

“That’s new”

“Shut up” you attempt to land a smack on his chest but he catches your hand and brings the knuckles to his lips with an infatuated smile.

“Just kiddin’, sugar. Penny for your thoughts?”

You fix him with a falsely annoyed stare.

“I just... never asked. When did you know? That you liked me, I mean”

Atsumu hums, pensively strokes his chin as he peers at the starry sky above. Always so theatrical.

“Right away. Ya looked so cute in those dungarees, hiding behind your dad, too scared to even say hello. I was sick of ‘Samu at that point and I really wanted a new friend” he smiles when you snort “always the kindest, smartest kid in every room. Scraped knees to prove ya could keep up with the boys, making sure no one ever felt left out. Grew up to be as beautiful as your heart is. You’re my best friend” he’s far from being a crybaby anymore but Atsumu still gets teary eyed fairly easily and it makes your heart flutter knowing that, sometimes, you get to be the reason.

“That’s sweet” you cup his cheek to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, he takes advantage of the proximity to gently grab your chin and keep you there, presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that lingers a moment too long. Atsumu could get drunk on the way you smile, chase him as he pulls back to steal two more pecks.

“When did you know?” he asks, lips still grazing yours, big hands now holding your face and a thumb lazily tracing the curve of your cheek.

“Hmm... I had my suspicions when I felt more and more inclined to leave you the last bite of my mom’s cherry pie. I was sure when you started going out with that Kobayashi during freshman year and I tried to convince myself that I could like ‘Samu to make up for, well, you” he snorts out a laugh, half outraged, half amused. ‘Samu? Hilarious. As if.

“I was already in love when you left for Tokyo” you gently nudge the tip of his nose with yours.

“So was I. But it’s just” he shrugs “I never could tell for sure. Sunarin used to call me an idiot but I just never really knew”

“What? All those years, you really didn’t notice that I was falling in love with you?”

“Didn’t think I was your type”

You laugh at that, then melt into his embrace, rest your head on his shoulder when a strong arm is wrapped around you.

“Well, you’re my best friend” you murmur into his neck.

[funnyjb]

Look at the Stars

One of your twins is having a hard time sleeping one night. It was the night before one of joes games so some family was over. You guys were talking in the living room when Logan came down the stairs with his blankie and looks like he’s been crying.

“Mama?!”- Logan

He was crying

He ran up to you in the living room.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong.”- you

The burrow family counting both of joes siblings and their wife’s were sitting around waiting for Logan’s response

“I’m really scared. I heard a monster coming from the closet and noises in da walls.”- Logan

“Oh, baby. Those are just house noises. The air conditioning just turned on so that’s what’s causing the rumbling and I bet you something fell in the closet. There is a lot of junk in there.”- you said running your fingers through his hair

“I’m still really scared. I don’t want to go up there. It’s scary.”- Logan said putting his hand on your baby bump that has been growing these past 5 months

His head resting on your chest.

“Is mason still sleeping?”- you asked

Logan nodded his head.

You looked around the room and then at Joe.

He looked at you also trying to figure out what to do.

“Hey, I want to go show you something. I think it will make you feel much better.”- you smile

“Oktay.”- Logan

You got up slowly and then reached for Logan’s hand. He put his hand on top of yours and laced your fingers together.

“Let’s go.”- you whisper

You started walking to the glass sliding door that goes out to the backyard.

It was dark out. Some light illuminated the backyard from the house.

You both started walking further and into a big grassy area that looks out into the Cincinnati skyline from your house and a small river.

You picked Logan up and sawing him around you being careful of your bump.

“Look! You see those beautiful stars?”- you

“Yeah..”- Logan

“There are thousands of stars up in the night sky! Some of them even make funny shapes! Like, you see that one right there?”- you pointed a little bit towards the left

“That’s the Pegasus.”- you smile

Logan looked mesmerized

“These stars will protect you. They are up there so they can look out for you. Shining bright so you can see them. If you ever feel scared just look out the window or picture the stars in that wonderful brain of yours.”- you point at his head and laugh

Logan starts to laugh making your heart grow fonder.

“And know those stars will protect you. And also daddy and I are here to protect you too. We won’t let anything get you, ok? They aren’t real, they’re just made up in your mind.”- you smile trying to calm him down

“But why does ma mind do that?”- Logan

“Because your mind likes to play tricks on you, but you got to be the stronger person and say “it’s not real, it’s all made up.” And your mind will back off.”- you

“Okaty. Thank you, mommy.”- Logan

“Of course, baby. I’m always here for you, so is daddy and mason and even your sister.”- you

You give him a kiss on the cheek and decide to go back in. It was already 9:00.

You opened the door and walked in. Everyone was still sitting and talking.

“You ready to go to bed, Bubs?”- you

Logan nodded.

“Okay, let’s say goodnight.”- you

Logan started to wave his hand goodbye

“Bye Logan!”- Robin

“He is precious.”- Codi (joes sister in law)

You then walked over to Joe so he could say goodnight.

He got up and placed his hand on your arm and his other on Logan’s head and kissed him goodnight.

“Goodnight, my boy. Love you.”- Joe

He placed a soft kiss on Logan’s cheek then looked at you.

“You got him?”- joe

“Yeah, all good!”- you

“Good.”- joe

He then placed a peck on your lips.

You then walked up the stairs and into the boys room.

Mason was sleeping peacefully as you put Logan in his bed.

“Goodnight, baby. Love you to the moon and back.” - you

“Love you too, mommy”- Logan

You then placed a kiss on his forehead and got up. You moved from his bed to mason also placing a goodnight kiss on his cheek. Then exited the room slowly closing the door behind you.

You went back down stairs and into the family room.

“How is he?”- joe

“He’s ok now. He looked like he was going to fall right asleep when I put him down.”- you

You sat next to Joe on the couch. He put his arm around your shoulder and gave your head a kiss

“You are so good with them, y/n. It used to take forever to convince Joe that there was nothing there at night when he was younger.”- Robin laughed

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure everything was perfectly fine.”- joe

“He used to get scared of thunder and run into our bed too.”- Jimmy laughed

“Really guys? Ganging up on me?”- Joe

“Haha it’s ok, joe. I’ll protect you from thunder and scary monsters at night.”- you laughed

He looked down at you and started laughing and pulled you in closer.

“Thank you, baby.”- joe smiled

Joe was so grateful for you. He loved you ever since he laid eyes on you in college and now he gets to raise his kids with the love of his life. His heart was so full when he saw you take care of Logan tonight. He loved seeing you take on the mom role. He can’t imagine life without you and the boys.

[puppycheesecake]

OC Connections CAS Challenge 👥 (V.2)

Now with even more people~!

Looking to populate your world? Flesh out your character? Are you just bored and want to fuck around in CAS? Then have I got a challenge for you!

Pick an OC and then make their:

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Mom and/or Dad

👺 Evil Twin

👯 (Non-Evil) Fraternal Twin

💕 Best Friend

🔪 Mortal Enemy

🏆 Rival

💍 Crush (past or present)

💔 Ex

💼 Coworker

🐈 Pet

🍎 Favorite Teacher

🏠 Least Favorite Neighbor

🩺 Doctor

🎸 Favorite Musician

🎨 Favorite Artist

🦄 Childhood Imaginary Friend

🎮 Character They'd Cosplay As for Geekcon

👷‍♀️ Worker They Say Hi To Everyday (mailman, barista, etc.)

📺 Star Of Their Favorite TV Show

📰 Local News Anchor

✂️ Hairdresser/Barber

🚪 Real Estate Agent (or landlord if renting)

🍳 Waitress At Their Favorite Restaurant

📽️ Actor In Their Favorite Movie

💀 Favorite (or Least Favorite) Horror Movie Antagonist

(use the tag #oc connections so I can see them~!)

[beiasluv]

Hii can you write how the sully boys would react when the reader calls them by a cute pet name for the first time? Thank youu

sully boys react to pet name

a/n: yessssss, your order is served / no proof reading because I am a potato / enjoy! 🤍

masterlist

jake (2009)

pet name? what’s that? he probably never heard of one, or should i say no one ever called him something 😭 (well, probably except a loving one from his mother and a not-so-loving from his twin brother)

but anyways, jake wasn’t use to a pet name AT ALL (plus the fact he probably haven’t found a love on earth 😭)

well, we are here to break the curses

it all happened in a one loving night. the stars are shining and your love is blooming under the starlight

you cuddled close to him, resting your head on his chest, while feeling it rise and fall in a repetitive pattern.

until you saw an unusual manner in the shrubs next to both of you. his light blue ears twitched but his mind still laid unaware.

“jake…jake,” you whispered into his ears.

“hm…?”

“wake up, please…sweetheart, i am going to see what’s over there,” you whined softly in his embrace.

“huh…? what did you called me?” he held up his head and a shocking gaze met your eyes, while is arm tightened its grip on your waist.

“huh? i was saying there’s something in the bush,” you replied.

“what did you called me?” he smirked as he pulled you close. “you worry too much, gorgeous, it’s probably a little pup or something.” “now tell me, what did you called me?”

“well, i apologize, mr. perfect, i forgot, i am going to sleep now,” you turned against his face.

“nope, not until you call me that again,” he swooped you up easily onto his lap.

“fine, sweetheart, i am going to sleep now.”

“thank you, gorgeous, i’ll be your knight in shining armor and protect you tonight, m’kay?” he tucked you in his embrace.

a teaser 100% GUYS HE IS A TEASER! smirking to himself the whole night after the first time you willingly called him that.

loves hearing your pet names, it reminds him of what he is to you, being something more than a ‘jake’ to you is his honor.

he knows how you are too shy to express yourself but he never gave up. I guess hard works pays off for jake sully.

he loves coming up with new nicknames for you and love seeing your red face every. single. time.

definitely jealous of your personal pet names.

“NO, you can not call y/n, sweetie, she’s mine.”

“son, I am literally her grandma” (jokes aside, we love a slaying grandma! show him who’s the real boss!)

jake sully case closed. amen sis

neteyam

neteyam, neteyam, proving that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree everyday. preach.

he is a teaserrr, loves making you blush everyday. however, something unlike his dad is he is so much more expressive.

he’ll sneak a hand around you, wrapping his tail, or to the intertwining legs thing. *internal screaming* adding one more point with calling you pet names with a seductive voice.

first time is always hard, but you’ve managed to make your boy blush asfff

“nete, can you help me with something?” your shout caught his ear twitching towards your direction.

“yes, my love? what do you need your hero for?” he ran towards your body and embraced you from behind.

“i need to hold this up but i can’t get the another piece to stay, hold this please,” you shoved it into his hand.

“yes, my love,” he smirked at the sight. neteyam always love to watch you work on something you love, your marui is filled with your loved projects. ranging from a small figure of you two or a personalized cabinet for his weapons.

“okay, you ready? hold still.”

…

“good job, y/n, I’m proud of you,” he hugged your back against his chest.

“thank you, handsome, my knight,” you giggled in his chest.

“what? did you just called me handsome?”

“yeah…? oh!”

“HA! i knew you had it somewhere!” he spun your body around. “don’t need to remind me that I am handsome, while i am seeing you everyday.”

“hey! put me down! or i’ll stick to the basic ‘nete’,” you poked his chest with your finger.

“oh, my love, i apologize, my greatest weakness is you,” he faked fainted onto the sand and receiving a tackle from you.

a lover boy 100% we adore him.

jumping up and down, got him blushing, swinging his legs and tail and throwing up crying, screaming and everything in the recipe.

he loves you to shower him with pet names everyday. and loves getting surprised with new pet names you’ve managed to muster up.

definitely flexing it to lo’ak and, poor lo’ak, he is dying of cringe. “guess what she called me today…uhuh…”

definitely gets so proud if especially if you use it in front of his parents. *insert jake’s proud father moment*

will definitely trick you into saying some of his favorites.

“oh, princess, my leg is hurt, it can only be heal if you call me your prince,” he fake pouted.

“if i call you that would you stop clinging on to my legs?” you messed with his locks.

“oh, I’ll look into consideration, giving you 75% chance,” he does the puppy eyes he could do.

“fine, my prince, love ya, now let me go.”

lo’ak

*AAAAAAAAAAAA* do i have to explain?

although he isn’t as expressive as his dad or brother, he isn’t much less loving than them. no, no, no none of the sully boys will give up so easily on this topic. (the blood is strong people)

this boy love language is definitely touch but he isn’t too bad with words of affirmation.

a certified lover boy, he shy asf, and we love that. amen

loves to make the first move but froze up, which i think is so cute 😭 but this time wasn’t so similar

“y/n, i was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tonight?” he entered your marui and made his way over to your bed.

“hm?” you answered half awake.

��want to go out tonight? i’m free, I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he chuckled at himself.

“what do you have in mind, my lo’ak?” you said with a voice in your neck, not coming out properly as a word but it managed to swoon lo’ak every time.

“i am guessing we could go out to the reefs and spend time watching the stars tonight?”

“my darling, having you is enough for me,” you replied softy turning to face him.

“hm? my darling?” his face becomes redder and redder.

“yeah, my, and my only, darling,” you claimed his face within the palm of your hands. tracing down from his locks to his nose, his pouty mouth, and down his chin.

“i like that,” he chuckled. “then you are my darling too,” he returned the act.

he is internally screaming, crying, throwing up, curling up into a ball, throwing himself off the floor. he is so flusteredddd

his breath hitched up in his chest and his face reddened. he wants to inject you into his vein and it is so painful that he can’t.

definitely attacks you with physical touch and everything. he became so needy to a new thing that he never had before, and now that he got a taste of it, he wanted more and more.

he would beg you to shower him with pet names everyday AND YOU WILL PROVIDE

showering him with pet names in the morning when you wake up, lunch time, swimming, flying, or even cuddling together

loves calling him your darling 100% he loves to call you his darling as well 🥺

will 100% hiss at anyone who makes fun of you calling him pet names or anyone who dares to call you something theirs.

jealous boy for you only. of course, a little sprinkle of childhood trauma, because he just needs a little bit more love. you assured that he’ll never starve for more love, keeping his cup full everyday. BUT he is so hungry for more of your love 😩

loves to stick to ‘darling’ but sometimes sprinkle some spice for you, because he is your favorite chef *chef kiss*

“honey bear, how are you doing, my darling”

“my pumpkin, are you okay?”

case closed for the sully boys, amen.

today’s a great day to treat yourself 🤍 take care as always!

@rosaryos / @bumblinbumblvee / @loudcolorwolfgarden / @nyotamalfoy / @fangirl-2610 / @astablacksword / @lokisblueskin

[cillianhead]

Cillian married to high libido wife

Yes yes yes yes!

Thank you for your request <3

In Your Car, I'm A Star || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, vulgar language, sex in a car, unspecified somewhat large age gap between Cillian and reader, general adult content ahead. I'd also like to warn that this is a bit wordy and rambly and probably poorly written but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

18+ Minors DNI

Insatiable little thing, you are, Cillian always said. Ever since you two had first met you couldn't keep your hands off of each other, the mental and emotional connection was there, of course, the love was real, and that made the physical contact so much better. His hands over your body, cock in your mouth, hands in your hair, you sitting in his lap... it didn't matter what you were doing, you just had to be touching him at all times.

You got married after a year spent together, and you'd go wherever he went, Cillian never wanted you to leave his side, he was madly in love with you, you were his muse, his everything. You two were devastatingly in love, two twin flames, you were meant to be together. No matter the age gap or what the public thought about you and how much younger you are than Cillian. Cillian didn't care, he just loved you for you.

Now Cillian being an older man, sometimes he can't handle your high libido. At first in your relationship, it was ridiculous how much sex you two were having, it was a constant. You'd go to work and then you'd see him and your clothes came off within a blink of an eye and you'd milk Cillian dry and then you'd still be begging for more. You've done it in every single room of your home, in his car, in a public park, and in other morally questionable places that you'd rather not discuss with anyone else but him. You've slowed down a bit but you're both at a healthy at least twice-a-day sort of thing. How could you not want to constantly ravish him? You have him all to yourself, completely wrapped around your finger... or maybe you were wrapped around his. He had learned ways to tame you like a wild horse, ways to get you to calm down like stuffing you full of his fingers, letting you ride his thigh while he worked, shoving his cock down your throat to mute your bratty requests. You always got what you wanted though... how could he ever deny you, his sweet little wife, of what she so desperately craved?

Now you were sat in an award ceremony, restless, knee bouncing up and down. A deep maroon gown was your outfit, pearls tightly clasped around your neck, you were dressed elegantly and stood out amongst the crowd, especially when you sat next to the one and only Cillian Murphy. He wore a sheer button-up, in complete black, he looked incredibly mysterious and honestly, you were ready to pounce on him like a jaguar would to its prey. Unfortunately, you were surrounded by hundreds of people, most of whom were some sort of important celebrity figure and you knew Cillian would hate to make a scene.

"Show's almost over, sweet thing," Cillian whispered in your ear, his hand slipped onto your bare thigh, in between the slit of your crimson dress. "Then we'll get outta here..." You knew he could feel your hungry eyes on him all night.

He hadn't touched you all night long- wait that's actually a lie, he'd eaten you out to settle you down a bit before you got to the venue but that wasn't enough. It never was with you. But the feeling of his fingers caressing the skin on your inner thighs made you feel like you could cum right then and there. Cillian continued to suggestively stroke your sensitive skin as the night went on. People would walk over to greet Cillian, but his hand was covered by the cloth of the table so no one could see his hand gripping onto your thigh in annoyance of having to talk to someone who wasn't you. He didn't stand up, he just remained seated, nodding along and smiling as politely as he could to this person just trying to make conversation.

As soon as you got the signal that you could leave, Cillian grabbed your wrist and pulled you protectively into his side, guiding you by your lower back out of the event and towards where he had his car. It was all too swift for you to truly process, having him push you down into the passenger seat before he himself sat in the driver's seat. You watched him as he leaned over to put the car in reverse, the way he looked back out at the road, one hand on the headrest of your seat, so focused and oh so sexy.

"Cillian..." You whined, he was driving way too slow and your home was way too far for your liking. "I need you now."

"I know," He smirked at you briefly before sticking his eyes back on the road. "Trying to get us home as fast as possible, love."

"No," You complained. "Need you. Right now."

Cillian glanced at you with an incredulous look before he swerved over to the side of the road, a bit too reckless and at this point, it didn't matter... you just needed to be fucked. It was a somewhat secluded area, a dimly lit backstreet that only the occasional passerby would walk at this hour. "Get in the back." Cillian hummed cooly, checking himself out in the rearview mirror as you slipped into the backseat, spreading your legs for him with anticipation.

"Cillian... hurry..." You whispered, he was combing through his hair, occasionally making eye contact with you through the mirror before he sighed and stepped out of the car. Casually strolling over to your side of the car. Cillian opened the car door, crawling into the backseat with you and connecting his lips with yours as his fingers trailed up your shaky legs. His touch was like a drug, you couldn't get enough of the feeling of Cillian's skin on yours, no matter how little or how much you got of it.

The kiss was wet and sloppy, tongues thrashing together, teeth biting down on each other's lips. It was like you were racing to see who could consume each other faster... harder... deeper. Cillian's hand reaches up and unzips your dress, the straps falling off your bare shoulders until he tugged it off of you completely. Naked and horny in the back of his car.

"Fucking hell," Cillian gasps out at the sight of you, jaw agape as he eyes you up and down. "What am I to do with you? Hmm? So fucking beautiful." He leans in again, attaching starving lips to the hot skin of your neck, sucking deep bruises into the skin. "I'm the luckiest man in the world." You just smiled bashfully, Cillian was incredibly affectionate, especially verbally. He always told you how he was the luckiest man in the world or how you're a goddess that needs to be worshipped. You felt like it was the other way around.

You grabbed ahold of his coat, pulling it roughly off of him. "I love you in this shirt, Cillian..." You whispered, tenderly rubbing the palm of your hand over his chest. "So pretty." He just looked at you, eyes deeply filled with a wonderful concoction of lust and love. You knew that look, you'd seen it a million times; his lips parted, panting heavily, eyebrows knitted together, eyelids hung heavy, and pupils wide. It was the look of love. A look that said 'Take me, I'm yours'.

By now, you had straddled him, pushing him up against the backseat and unzipping his pants, you wanted to keep him in his shirt, you wanted to admire the view. In the backseat of his car, you slipped his cock out of his dress pants, the dirty act turning you on even further as you stroked him slowly, getting off on teasing him.

"Stop your teasing," Cillian grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he bucked up into your fist. "I know you need me just as badly as I need you, baby."

"Mmm," You caught your lip in between your teeth, rubbing your clit on the head of his dick before slowly sliding down on him. "I wish you could always be inside me, feels so good."

"I know, honey," Cillian leaned his head into the crook of your neck, taking in deep breaths as you began rocking your hips back and forth. "Ride me, baby, that's it... good girl..." He moaned loudly and desperately, hands gripping onto your hips with a sense of urgency, helping guide you back and forth on his hard cock.

You threw your head back, giving Cillian a show, tits bouncing right in front of his face and fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders. The windows fogged up and the car rocked back and forth with each rough movement you made.

"Fuckin whore," Cillian snarled, growing closer and closer to the edge himself, head hazy and eyes watching you intently. "Can't believe how fucking horny you are all the time, can never get enough of me, can you?" He tapped your cheek with two of his fingers to get you to respond.

"No, just love you so much... I want... you all the time."

"So cute," He chuckled, you hung your head low with embarrassment at him calling you 'cute'. "My pretty girl, hmm.... my angel girl, I love you." He praised. Your hands slid up your waist and groped at your tits, fingers twiddling your nipples, making you moan further. There was no doubt that if anyone were to even just casually walk by they could tell what was going on. There was no point in hiding it now.

"God... fuck..." Your eyes were squeezed shut, mewling at the way his hands held your body and the sounds of his fucked out gasps for air. "Want your cum inside me, please!"

"Y'know I'll give it to ya, sweetheart, you've just gotta go on and take it from me."

You immediately dove in and kissed him, mouths open against each other, not really kissing, just sucking in each other's air. You felt spurts of hot cum shoot up into you as you began unravelling yourself, moaning with satisfaction at the feeling of him filling you up.

"Come on, that's it," Cillian mumbled in your ear. "So good... fuckin' so good to me, baby love."

He coaxed you through your orgasm, knees giving out around him as you fully sank down on his cock that still weakly spat his seed into you. You bit down on his neck, a tear slipping down your face, probably further ruining your makeup as your cum seeped out of you.

You sat there for a little longer, panting, coming down from how hard you came. "Thank you... Cillian."

"No need to thank me," He chuckled, pressing a loving kiss to your temple before pulling you back by your hair to take a look at your tired face. "Look so pretty after you fuck me, my goodness, I'm so bloody lucky." "Oh hush," You shook your head, biting your tongue and grinning at him coyly. "You're so sweet to me."

Cillian kissed you tenderly, hands cradling your head as you showed all your love and devotion to each other in the form of a kiss. "Let's go home and rest, yeah?" Cillian hummed, you nodded as you slid off of him. In unison, you both let out your own whimpers of sensitivity.

By the time you got home, it was around midnight or a little past midnight. You both immediately went up to your shared bedroom and into the lovely en suite connected to it. You found yourself sleepily sitting in the bubble bath, back pressed up against Cillian's bare chest as he hummed a love song softly into your ear.

"Cillian." You whined, clearly drowsy but also whiny about something else.

"Hmmm?" Cillian's hands stroked your waist innocently. You knew it was innocent, he didn't intend to turn you on but it was too much for your little mind to handle... you and your loving husband... naked in the bath together... his hands on you... it couldn't be a better time in your sex-crazed mind to be horny.

"Please touch me," You whispered. "Please."

"'M already touching you, sweet girl." He whispered back to you.

"Hmph!" You whined again, acting like you were giving him the cold shoulder and pulling away from him. You liked playing hard to get. "You know what I mean."

"Such a spoiled brat," He sits up with you this time, pushing your wet hair to the side and pressing kisses to your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "You really need me again? Hmm? Your cunt is so fuckin' greedy, so cock-hungry, aren't you?" He growled, fingers slipping down and pinching your clit harshly.

"Fuck... please..." You moaned in response. "Please... I need you always, Cillian." "Fucking insatiable," Cillian groaned. "That's what you are. How is an old man like me supposed to keep up with you?"

"Not an old man..." You sighed, leaning back and resting your head on his shoulder. "Please... baby... Cillian... just need you to make me cum..."

"I can do that." He sucked a bruise onto your collarbone, slipping two fingers into your pussy.

"You're the only one for me, Cillian," You cried. "Only one who can touch me like this... only one who can make me feel this good."

"I know, love," He said smugly. "All mine, isn't that right?"

"All yours." You agreed. He kissed your jaw happily at your response.

He slipped a third finger into your hole, thumb rubbing pleasing circles on your clit. You writhed around in the hot bath, mewling like you were being murdered. Pleasure shot through you like electricity, Cillian's lips on you were too much, your mind going into overdrive as he whispered dirty things in your ear. And oh fuck, the feeling of his tongue licking up your neck quickly brought you over the edge, you spasmed pathetically, squeezing his fingers that still stroked at your g-spot. You couldn't really tell because you were already submerged in water but you were pretty sure you just squirted all over him.

"Good girl," Cillian nipped at your earlobe playfully, slipping his fingers out from your overstimulated cunt. He licked his fingers clean, moaning like a madman at the taste of your cum on his sticky fingers. "Sweet girl."

"More." You demanded in a whisper. "Want more." "'Course you do," Cillian laughed, kissing your cheek. "Let's dry off, then I'll make sweet love to you in our bed. How's that sound, Mrs. Murphy?"

"Sounds good." You hummed happily.

-

I'm back! I hope you enjoyed!

[yan-lorkai]

*vibrating in excitement for platonic yanderes*

Ok, so I haven't watched black butler in years, imma re-watch it soon tho, so if none of this makes sense it's cause my memories shit and you can just ignore this lol

Anyway, here's my idea/request, Obv platonic yandere Ciel with a young reaper reader (14-16)? Like maybe they meet through Grell who mentors the lil reaper. Or maybe like a young ghost reader, he meets during an investigation or smth.

Your free to pick which one obv, anyway. I hope you are having a wonderful day luv, make sure to eat and stay hydrated!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Lemon, I made you wait a little but I finally finished this request hehe, despite having changed it a little and distorted some historical facts. Funfact: Ouija boards were created in 1891, but for the sake of this fic let's all ignore that Ciel was born in 1875; btw yesterday was his birthday. Congratulations Ciel <33. Also, many people have a hc that his real name has something to do with stars, hence the nickname present in the fic. Having said all that, I hope you enjoy Lemon, I loved writing this! Happy reading everyone!!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere content, spoiler about Ciel's brother in case nobody knows about it, ouija board and some typos probably!

Ciel likes to watch the sky. He likes to watch how the clouds race to overtake each other, he likes to watch the sun dancing alone in its place, twirling its colorful skirt of orange, yellow and pink during the hours that pass until finally the moon takes its place.

Quiet moments like this now, where he just sits in his armchair, his work all done and Sebastian far away, is when he can think about the things he's lost. But also the ones he won. If Sebastian had any knowledge about such thoughts, Ciel would certainly be subjected to his jokes and mockery.

The demon, while bound by the contract, could still make fun of his little master and he knew exactly how to embarrass the young lord. But Sebastian didn't need to know how the boy thinks about his twin brother, his parents, the employees and his childhood friend, Y/n; If they were alive now they would be maybe thirteen or fourteen, just like him and his brother. It was a fateful day, indeed.

The murder, the cult, Ciel hates remembering it, but he doesn't know how to let it all go. He's a child and there's no one he can ask for help - even if there was, perhaps his pride wouldn't allow it. He didn't ask for help when he was kidnapped, he didn't ask for help when he went through countless assassination attempts, nor did he ask for help with difficult tasks that the queen assigned him. He was the Phantomhive heir, the family's leader, he couldn't just simply ask for help.

The count narrows his blue eyes at the brooding darkness that has settled in his office, counting how many grains of sand fall into the hourglass and how long he has left in peace before Sebastian shows up to annoy him.

Maybe fifteen minutes.

With enough time for the boy to put his small plan into action, he pulled a wooden board from one of the drawers and placed it on the table. Ciel, by and large, was not superstitious, but recent events had left him puzzled. Moreover, he had a demon as his butler, a boy with super strength as his gardener, a sniper as his maid, and a soldier as his cook. In any case, he had even encountered death gods.

Therefore, if he suspected that the presence lingering over his shoulders while he worked or the entity hiding his items and making them appear in different places was something to be investigated, then he would investigate until his doubts were cleared. The giggles and whispers were becoming unsettling. Of course, he heard voices, but they were the voices of occultists, screams and cries from when they died at the hands of Sebastian.

But this particular voice was incredibly irritating and almost familiar.

Ciel scanned the wooden surface, wondering if he was a fool for buying it. The boy was almost certain that Sebastian knew about the board, but he decided not to comment; the butler had been rather distant since they returned from London that morning. Ciel didn't mind, quickly reading the rules and holding the pointer in his hands, trying to see something through it.

There was nothing… yet.

Ciel laid the pointer on the board and sighed, placing his fingers on it, ready to start. He hadn't said anything yet, but an aura already seemed to completely envelop his office. Or maybe he was anxious; he couldn't tell.

"Is there anyone there?" Ciel murmured, his firm voice echoing in the silent room.

For several moments, nothing happened. He really didn't expect anything to happen, judging this whole thing as something foolish that only became popular because of the horror stories that circulated in cities. He stared at the board intently, each letter in cursive, every mystical symbol adorning it, waiting for a response that would satisfy him. Impatiently, he repeated the question once more.

"Is there anyone there?" He looked at the pointer and then around. "If there is, give me a sign."

This time, the pointer began to move slowly across the board as if the entity on the other side was drowsy, gliding from one letter to another with a calmness that Ciel himself didn't possess. Ciel watched with intensity, his expression impassive. But inside, a strange feeling took hold of him.

It was real, after all. As real as shinigamis or Sebastian. He stifled another sigh in his throat.

"Who is there?" He asked, the words leaving his lips with determination.

Who behind the veil was tormenting him, holding on to him tightly so as not to be pulled into the forgetfulness of eternal sleep. He put more force on the pointer as if everything depended on the answer he would receive.

The letters came together to form words, and Ciel remained focused, but a hint of skepticism was present in his gaze when the words spelled out a name. Your first and last name.

"Y/N?" He wondered aloud.

Ciel may have lost a lot, but he also gained a lot. He gained another family, gained new friends allies, gained a new chance.

And yet… He hadn't gained you back. Or had he?

For a second, he let the pointer rest on the board, feeling a heavy sensation settle in his chest as he thought about the days when you used to stay by his side when he was bedridden with asthma, telling him your silly stories and jokes, all while holding his hand and looking tenderly at him. You were his best friend. And he missed you a lot.

And now you were here. You were here.

He placed his finger on the pointer again, still feeling doubtful if it was really you or some other spirit. Confidently, he asked something that only you knew. "What was the nickname that only you called me, and why?"

The nickname you used for him when it was just the two of you. Not for his brother, not for Ciel. If it was really you there, you would notice the small differences, as you did when you were alive.

The pointer moved, taking with each movement a beat of the young earl's heart. One by one, the letters formed a nickname forgotten by time and bitter memories of the only Phantomhive still wandering through this tedious world.

"Pleiades, that's what I used to call you." There was a pause, and Ciel felt his entire body trembling with the confirmation that yes, it was you on the other side. He straightened up in his chair, trying to show that he was calm — little did he know that you could perceive how surprised he was.

And you would tease him about it later.

"Just like your hair, they are blue, an optical phenomenon caused by the dispersion of light in the Earth's atmosphere." You explained, nodding as if he could see you. Ciel rolled his eyes but almost unconsciously smiled.

"I see you remain a know-it-all." He teased.

And you stuck your tongue out at him, moving your arms to make the chair he was sitting in slide backward. Ciel's cheeks immediately turned pink as a little yelp escaped his lips. He hadn't expected you to have more tricks up your sleeve, but soon he regained his composure and cleared his throat, watching you move the pointer.

"One of us has to be clever," You chuckled. "Obviously, I'm the smart friend."

Ciel let out a long sigh. "Your knowledge is all random, though."

You shrugged. What importance did any kind of knowledge have now that you were dead? You said nothing for a few minutes, running your fingers over the wood of the board and the supposedly mystical symbols. Being dead was boring, different for everyone, and you weren't even sure how your soul managed to escape the shinigamis for so long.

But you had one certainty; you were stuck in this world for some reason still. In many stories, there would be an unfulfilled desire or a want, and you had several, but you had made peace with the fact that you could no longer fulfill them. So what was still keeping you there?

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Ciel nodded, gesturing with his hand for you to continue.

"Can you free me? Can you invite me out?"

Ciel had already broken some rules, especially the one that said he couldn't play alone and that the player should have a form of spiritual protection, whatever they had faith in — a crucifix, a talisman, anything. Ciel, however, had a mark on his eye, so you assumed that nullified this rule. Did that thing serve as a protective mark, though?

The boy remained silent for some time, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of taking such action. To bind a spirit to himself, to the world of the living, when he knew he should let you rest in peace, when he knew such agreements were dangerous.

But he was still the selfish earl who liked to monopolize your time; he was still that same sickly boy who needed a friend. And no one else could be his friend but you. Only you understood him, after all.

He nodded.

It was foolishness, but not even Sebastian could have stopped him. He pressed the pointer harder, desperate for it to work, but of course, it would work if you were already in front of him, the dead proof that there could be life in death.

"I invite you, Y/n, to leave this board."

A warm feeling flooded your chest, as if your skin were kissed by the sun again after so long. You savored it for a moment, smiling, feeling strangely more alive than before, and withdrew your hand from the pointer.

"Can you see me?" You asked, your voice hoarse from not speaking for months.

But Ciel didn't seem to understand, not yet at least. So you touched his cheek as you did when congratulating him on a chess victory, and he felt it, his eyes widening as he assimilated the situation. You figured that now that you touched him, he could hear you, so you asked the question again.

And slowly, he nodded. You could only imagine what he thought of your bloodstained shirt and disheveled appearance, so different from the one you once proudly preserved. Times change, and so do you, and you were like this now, a lost ghost that not even death seemed to want.

You smiled, squeezing both of his cheeks and watching him shudder. It was good to see him, good to be back, even if nothing would be the same. Nothing could ever be the same again, but being able to touch him again after so long, you didn't hesitate to hug him.

You were together again.

[teambyler]

Will's anti-Vecna song should be David Bowie's "Heroes"

We know from the new BTS pic that he has headphones and a Walkman. Like Max, he might be fending off Vecna:

Max's anti-Vecna song was highly personal to her. It helped her through her guilt and depression and feeling like she deserved to die.

For Will, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is cute, but it doesn't have emotional weight. It might have helped a child Will in the Upside Down in s1, when it made him think of home and Jonathan, but he's all grown up now. He's changed.

If Byler becomes realized, David Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect song for Mike and Will's relationship that would help Will resist Vecna. It's canon that Will likes David Bowie: kid Mike prefers the androgynous rock star over Kenny Rogers (s2e1).

@surferbeto on YouTube comments:

This is a heroic love song. Bowie starts out crooning but pretty soon he ramps up and belts it out hard. This song is about risking getting shot by East German border police and dragged over barbed wire for love. This is about young love against impossible odds. It's about that gloriously tragic fantasy... of giving our life in some grandly romantic way to save the life of our beloved. Maybe by taking a bullet for them and dying in their arms in the shadow of the Berlin Wall.

Having David Bowie's "Heroes" in the show would call-back to Peter Gabriel's somber 2010 cover from s1, when Mike hugged his mom thinking Will was dead. But Bowie's original is defiant, triumphant, and bittersweet. (Seriously, if you haven't yet, listen to it before reading further. It's perfect.)

It would play when Mike and Will have their first kiss. Their song of losing each other is now of finding each other.

If Byler is realized, it could play as Mike and Will dare to hold hands in the school hall, as we fade out to the end credits.

Will would put it on his Walkman. If Will and Mike are bullied for their relationship, "Heroes" perfectly expresses their defiance and willingness to love each other despite the harm that might come to them.

It's the song that would most help Will in case he gets Vecna'd. It doesn't just remind him of Mike; it culminates his journey over the five seasons. As a kid he told Jonathan he's not a baby, not just a victim. Despite seeming shy and weak, he has a huge amount of quiet courage, but his struggle in s3 and s4 was largely internal. ("I'm not gonna fall in love.") Show creator Matt Duffer says about s5: "Will's going to be a big part and focus... We're starting to see his coming of age, really... You're starting to see him come into his own." If Byler becomes real, then his fight becomes external, confronting the homophobia in Hawkins and the literal hell threatening his friends. He will rise to the occasion.

"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."

In s2, Will only allowed Mike to protect him because he didn't feel pitied by Mike; Mike saw his strength. A stronger Will will pay him back and protect him from the twin dangers they face.

It's Will's turn to be the hero. His fight for others is his fight for himself. "Heroes" perfectly expresses his journey of defying all odds to fight for HIS RIGHT TO LOVE.

-teambyler

[gffa]

Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi | "Brotherhood" I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT I STRAIGHT UP CRIED REAL TEARS AT THIS MOMENT. IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO READ AND IT HIT ME RIGHT IN MY EMOTIONS. I was so wary going into this story, because the concepts of Force Ghosts are deeply important to me on a narrative level, that the Force and Lucas' philosphy in the movies and for the worldbuilding is that the message is: You need to let go when it's time. You can't hold on beyond anything or anyone's time, it will only cause you and others suffering. So, when Anakin's fiery determination seemed to be what kept him around as a Force ghost, I sighed a bit and kept shouldering on. I did not expect to be hit by the one-two-three-four punch of Obi-Wan's gentle guidance to get Anakin to the other side of the Force, Anakin's regret for what he'd done and the heart-wrenching way he instinctively turns to Obi-Wan and listens to him, Anakin looking on over his children with pride and faith in what they would do next, and then the ultimate message: "Finally, Anakin Skywalker let go." I AM EMOTIONAL. MY BOY FINALLY GOT TO THE PLACE THAT GAVE HIM PEACE. It was a perfect build-up to where Anakin needed to be in this moment, that this story is centered around the depth of his connection to Obi-Wan, that it's instinctual for him to reach out and grab onto the hand Obi-Wan is holding out to him, to turn to Obi-Wan and listen, like a flower turns towards the sun, now that he's out of the worst of the haze of the dark side. To seeing his children, seeing Padme in them, seeing both of them in the twins, and finally, finally letting all that noise in his head go. Trusting that Luke and Leia and their friends would make their own way forward. "It just took one final nudge from Obi-Wan to get there. Finally, Anakin Skywalker let go." What a perfect summation of Anakin's character and his difficult journey, his relationship with Obi-Wan, and one of the most central themes George Lucas intended for Star Wars. Becoming a Force Ghost is about letting go--Qui-Gon said that in the original ROTS script, he said it in TCW, the OWK show basically had the same message, and now Anakin has gotten there, too. That it acknowledged his part in everything that happened and did it with tremendous compassion, because that's what Jedi are all about. Obi-Wan has let go as well, he doesn't hang onto the hurt or the suffering, especially not when he will gain so much by letting go and embracing compassion for Anakin. He gently guides Anakin to understanding that he wasn't solely responsible for everything, only for the choices he made. Those choices were terrible, he bears that mark, they aren't erased just because Anakin is sorry, but holding onto all that guilt and pain is just more suffering. Obi-Wan has let go and, through that, he can guide Anakin to let go as well, and regain his friend. This is everything the Jedi have always taught coming to fruition. So, I'm emotional for my baby boy, that he finally got there after a lifetime of struggling, that he's finally at peace, and I'm emotional as a Star Wars fan, that the themes of my favorite franchise were just knocked out of the park.