#the. blue. hair. one. with. mismatched. shoes

[velvet-milk]

──── the graysons' dilemma...

❤︎──── pairing: dick grayson x wife! reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛a wayne gala is already a huge spectacle on it's own. add three tiny kids to the mix, and it's a full-blown circus.❞

WARNINGS. pure fluffy and bad humor. big family themes. pre-established relationship. minors can interact. dick's kids are very chaotic. batfamily is always around. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── "I don't like that, mommy," your oldest son whined, tugging at the tie you'd just spent five whole minutes perfecting. He made a valiant effort to wriggle free, puffing his cheeks out in protest and flashing you the most tragically adorable puppy eyes known to mankind. Pretty blue eyes, Dick’s blue eyes, framed by a mess of unruly black hair. Even the faint hint of a future jawline was all his father.

Little traitor. Spent nine months in your womb just to look nothing like you. You sighed and looked down at him, your posture only made taller by the pair of glossy black scarpins Dick had surprised you with last week.

"Sweetheart," you said patiently, smoothing a wrinkle from his little dress shirt, "you're the most handsome kid in the room, and that tie is staying on until we leave the gala. After that, you can pretend it never existed."

"But it’s choking me," he groaned dramatically, slumping against your legs like a tragic Shakespearean lead.

From across the room, Dick chuckled. "You're not being strangled, buddy. Believe me, I'd know."

"Not helping," you called over your shoulder as you bent to adjust his tiny collar, shooting your husband a look. Dick leaned against the doorframe, already dressed to kill in a perfectly tailored navy tux. The tie was slightly loose, but his hair was slicked back neatly and the cufflinks were from Bruce’s private stash. He looked like the cover of a magazine, and he knew it.

That’s how you ended up with three kids in four years of marriage. What can you say? Your man is just too damn hot.

"Okay, but look,—" Dick pushed off the frame and walked over to kneel beside your son, who immediately flopped dramatically into his arms. "I wore way worse stuff when I was your age. You're getting off easy."

The kid looked up at him, unconvinced. "You used to wear green short shorts."

Dick blinked. "Who told you that?"

"Uncle Jason."

You snorted, failing to hide your laugh behind your hand.

"Okay, I deserved that," Dick admitted, giving you a playful glare. "And who let them near Jason unsupervised?"

Before you could point out that Jason was basically their official, very underpaid, nanny, your daughter came sprinting down the hallway in a blur of tulle and sparkles, shouting something about needing a different tiara. She looked more like you, though the blue eyes and messy black hair were clearly dominant traits in the Grayson gene pool.

Dick stood with a groan. "We have created chaos."

Just then, she came skidding into the room, breathless. "Mom! Dad! He—" she pointed an accusatory finger at her older brother, he just rolled his eyes at her "—said I can't be a princess and a superhero at the same time."

Dick lifted an eyebrow. "I don't see why not. You live with two people who do it every day."

You gave her a high five as you passed her the new tiara. "Tell him to update his references."

Behind you, the baby let out a small squeak from the bassinet, clearly unimpressed with all the fuss. She was using a cute little dress Barbara picked up for her. Dick leaned in close, wrapping an arm around your waist as you looked over the room. One child stomping away in protest, another proudly wearing two mismatched shoes and a tiara, and a third blowing spit bubbles like the world’s tiniest critic.

"You know," he said quietly, kissing your temple, "I'd rather be here in this circus than anywhere else in the world."

Before you could answer, the circus kicked into high gear again.

"I'm telling you," your son declared, "Superman could bench press the whole planet."

Your daughter crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Wonder Woman literally fought gods. And she doesn't need a cape to look cool."

He scoffed. "She doesn't have heat vision."

"She doesn't need it. She has taste."

Without warning, she launched one of her sparkly flats at him. Dick snatched it out of the air one-handed, barely looking up. "Okay, no aerial footwear at the gala."

You raised an eyebrow. "That a new rule?"

He shrugged. "It is now."

Once everyone was dressed and ready, the Graysons were already mingling with the rest of Gotham’s elite at the gala. Everything was going almost smoothly, until something peculiar began to stir. A familiar storm was brewing in the ballroom, and every guest could feel the shift in the air. Especially Bruce, who glanced up at the ceiling with the deep, exhausted sigh of a man who had seen this movie far too many times before.

"Is that—?"

"Yup," Barbara confirmed, adjusting the baby in her arms. "It's happening again."

High above the glittering guests, your son had somehow, somehow, climbed into one of the chandeliers. Legs wrapped around the ornate gold fixture, he swung gently back and forth, belting out a very off-key but passionately heartfelt rendition of Chandelier by Sia.

"I'm gonna swiiiiiing from the chandelieeeeer!"

You froze mid-sip of champagne. "Richard Grayson Junior."

Dick, next to you, was choking on a canapé. "Oh my god, it’s happening."

Bruce turned, his voice low and dry. "Just like his father."

"Nope," you said, calmly handing your glass to Alfred. "Nope, not on my watch."

Tim, laughing way too hard, dipped your daughter like a pro on the dance floor, both of them in full performance mode. She wore her sparkly pink dress, the new tiara crooked on her curls, and she was clearly trying to outshine the entire room. And Uncle Tim was feeding into it, twirling her, showing her how to dip, bowing with theatrical flair every time she giggled.

"I taught her that," Dick said proudly.

"You taught her how to fake-dip people," you corrected. Your baby was being casually passed between Steph and Babs like a hot potato behind you and your husband.

"She’s so tiny," Steph whispered, rocking her gently and making goofy faces. "What if I break her?"

"You literally brawl with metahumans twice your size," Babs said, taking the baby back like it was nothing. "You've thrown me through a window."

"Yeah but she has dimples, Barbara."

The baby blinked up at her and sneezed. Stephanie made a sound that could only be described as feral cooing. Meanwhile, you and Dick made your way underneath the chandelier, trying not to panic in front of Gotham’s wealthiest donors and politicians.

"Sweetheart," you called up sweetly, through gritted teeth. "You are going to give your mom a heart attack."

"I'm not coming down 'til I finish the song!" the seven-year-old yelled.

"He gets that from you," Dick whispered.

"You're the one who used to backflip off those exact chandeliers, Dick," you snapped. "This is karma."

"I only backflipped once. Okay, maybe twice."

You were about to argue when your son swung too far and screamed, too happily, as he made a safe landing on the buffet table, knocking over exactly seventeen shrimp cocktails and a pyramid of profiteroles.

The room gasped. You visibly aged thirty years from the stress. Dick blinked. "That was actually kind of impressive."

You closed your eyes. "We’re never getting invited back."

"Nope," he agreed, already wiping off the kid's blazer with a cloth napkin. "But hey, at least he stuck the landing."

Just then, your daughter ran over, out of breath and glowing. "Mom! Dad! Uncle Tim taught me how to waltz, and I only stepped on his foot three times!"

Behind her, Tim gave you a dramatic thumbs-up from the dance floor while limping slightly. From somewhere behind you, your baby girl let out a joyful squeal. Steph shouted, "DICK, SHE JUST SPIT ON A WAYNE FOUNDATION DONOR—IS THAT BAD?!"

You sighed deeply, grabbed Dick’s hand, and raised your glass.

"To surviving another gala," you said.

Dick clinked his glass against yours. "Barely, babe".

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

1. First Encounter || Next

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

---

“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots. 

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers. 

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

 Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional. 

She let out a small hum. “Name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips. 

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag. 

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter. 

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.” 

 She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case. 

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.” 

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady. 

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.” 

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

---

Next

a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

[andersonsgf]

PAST TENSE

summary: when vi is let out of jail, everything is up in the air as she moves through zaun and life without purpose, until you. but is she built for a life of no fighting? (alternate au). word count: 6.8k

warnings: minors dni (18+), canon typical violence but not really, smut, soft!top!vi (writing her so gentle), alcohol no no's

vi masterlist

It was all different: the people, the buildings, the food, the drink, even the floor she was walking on. Seven years in prison. Seven years, and she hadn't gotten a single whiff of how Zaun had changed whilst she was behind bars. Not a single soul had bothered to tell her that the undercity was now a safe place, that people didn't starve anymore, that her family had been keeping well without her.

Her jaw clenched painfully, hands shoved into the pockets of her mismatched clothes that no longer fit in with everyone else as she grieved how much she'd missed, and realised that the home she was longing for no longer felt like home. It was too clean, she could breathe clearly, the people around her looked... happy. All Vi could do was huff whilst walking in the opposite direction of The Last Drop in what was basically a tantrum.

Away from the confusing reunion she'd had with her family. Ecstatic to see them, but not knowing who they were anymore. No longer was her family rough around the edges, no, Vander now had a thriving business that didn't have criminal activity at the heart and centre, Powder was well educated, terrifyingly smart and working with Piltovan scientific communities, and her two idiot brothers -who frankly, she thought would never amount to anything in the streets of Zaun without her leadership- had honest jobs, earning good money. Her family didn't make sense to her anymore, and she didn't make sense to them.

To top it all off, the plan was to move back into the basement under the last drop, in the room she grew up in, this time all alone, jobless, friendless. So much for being the most successful sibling, now she was nothing in this new world. A fighter with nothing to fight.

This whole safe world was because of her too, she had come to learn during the catchup at the bar that was serving juice to people too often for her liking. Why was no one drinking the hard stuff anymore? Probably because everyone's happy, her mind grumbled to her as she kicked a stone through an alley, headed to the docks, the old factory now up and running, providing thriving business and jobs for the everyday worker.

Vi huffed for the nth time, plonking herself down on the edge of the dock, annoyed that her old quiet space now had raging noises of machinery in the background. All of this because she'd nearly gotten killed by some glowing blue gem thing across the bridge. The last job she did with her siblings, and one that was an epic fail. They'd nearly made it out until the explosion.

After the enforcers checked her over after being nearly decimated, she'd been thrown into Stillwater Hold of all places, for breaking and entering and other such accusations. The younger ones got off with a warning, the eyes of the law stating that they didn't know what they were doing, that they were just following the words of the pink haired kid who had been spotted sleuthing through people's things in Piltover time and time again. A repeat offender.

The light waves of the water brushed against her shoes as she considered that day. How that explosion and being caught had cost her seven years of her life, time with her family. Seven years of going insane in that tiny cell. But it had also made topside and bottom work together when they nearly lost a child from each side during the accident -which turned out to be an unauthorised scientific experiment of some kind.

When Councillor Kiramman found out that the explosion had wounded her daughter and a zaunite child, nearly killing them, she was on a warpath to finally create safety for all of the citizens under the council's care, which was now why Vi was breathing in fresh air instead of smog.

She just didn't know what to do. Now that Zaun was this new-fangled modern world, how was she, someone with a criminal record, going to earn money. It wouldn't have been a problem back in the day, but apparently reputations within the workplace were a thing now. She was gonna be stuck working at the bar for the rest of her life, she just knew it. It wouldn't be a bad arrangement if it wasn't her dad handing out the job, she wanted to earn a place somewhere, just like her brothers and sisters had. It was unlikely, though. For a few years at least.

For now, all she could do was mope around and relearn how to live outside of a cell. The world was too big, too overwhelming. "It'll take time", Vander tried to reassure her after a week of her release when she had come home completely shitfaced when it all got too much. When the bright colours everyone seemed to wear paired with the bright sky and bustling noises of active vendors and buyers on the street had made her want to lose all of her senses.

She'd completely lost her mind when she saw a group of Piltovan and Zaunite enforcers seeming all jolly and high-fiving adoring kids in the street. People looked up to these monsters now? Zaunites had joined their ranks and made a city-wide police force? She required some whiskey to get her head around that. A lot of it.

Hopped up on that much whiskey is when she spotted you for the first time, pouring a clean glass of water from the tap behind Vander, a pitying expression on your face. 'Well fuck you', she thought to herself, calling you every Piltie slur under the sun as you handed the water to Vander who in turn handed it to the seething woman slumped at his bar. That was until she reminded herself that she couldn't tell the difference between Zaunites and Pilties anymore because apparently no one gave a shit about their multi-hundred year long feud and abominable oppressive behaviours from topside.

"You need to get ahold of yourself, kid", the brawny man who had been everything to her said, wiping some glasses down with a cloth whilst you made yourself busy around the bar, preparing it for closing. Her eyes shakily followed your movements as she pushed the water back towards Vander who hastily shoved it back towards her. "Drink, and stop staring at my hires".

Vi scoffed but took a tentative sip, her hands moving to push it back again after just to prove a point. "I'm not staring at your hires. I'm staring at that hire".

Vander sighed, his cloth flopping down as he leaned his gigantic arms on the bar. "Look, I know everything's different, and it must feel like you've woken up in some kind of dream-".

A scoff, "Well, obviously-".

His expression went sharper, interrupting before any more snark could come out of her mouth, "We all love you, and have been fighting to get you out for years, but this isn't a place you can just rock up to sloshed out of your mind anymore", Vander's face shifted to try and be more understanding. Vi may not be his technically, but he'd known her since she was a baby, taught her her first punch, raised her in the latter years. This was his baby sitting in front of him, and she was hurting.

"It feels like I can't do anything right here anymore", her voice slurred and she slumped down a little, side eyeing you as you said an awkward goodbye to Vander to clock out. The big man gave you a bit of an exasperated smile goodbye, still trying to be friendly to his staff. You were always a sweetheart after all.

Vi seemed to think otherwise, a vendetta against you after the heinous act of offering her water. "What's her problem?", she grumbled as Vander picked her up like she weighed nothing, treading down the wooden steps to the basement and gently laying her down in a bed that she used to be much smaller in. The scrape of a wooden chair broke the silence, Vander sitting next to her, making sure she didn't die from choking on her own vomit or something.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now", Vi croaked out, angling her face away.

Vander's eyes took her all in, her eyes were so sad, her cheeks reddening, the wraps on her hands slightly bloody. He breathed out, a hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "You give it time, then you live".

You cradled a drink in your own hand, taking in the atmosphere of the bar on your afternoon off. It was much easier to appreciate the environment of a busy bar when you weren't working at the busy bar. The job wasn't too stressful, most of the customers were friendly, and any that weren't always had Vander to deal with, but still, it always left you with sore ankles and a headache at the end of the night.

"You entered another science thing?", Mylo's voice brought you back to the moment, you were spending the afternoon with Vander's kids, well, all but Vi.

Powder quirked a brow and tilted her head, "Science thing? Do you even know what I do for a living?", her voice teased.

"Uhh... you know... science stuff with metal and tools and such forth", Mylo tried to recover with a snobby little hand wave to make up for the fact he did not use any actual terminology. You smiled behind your pint glass as the siblings began to bicker. Hanging out with these three always hurt your eyes, what with all the eye rolling and everything.

A flash of pink made your head swivel back to the bar, the conversation again becoming rough murmurs in the background as you spotted Vi taking advantage of Vander and Benzo having a heated debate about something probably as boring as what kind of glue is best to use on wood. The woman was sneaking out a whiskey bottle from behind the bar. Your eyebrows scrunched, scratch that, two bottles.

In her defence she was being rather sneaky, it seemed to be only you who had spotted her stealing from her own father and hurrying back down the basement stairs. Your feet moved before you could think, hesitating at the top of the staircase. It felt like a violation of sorts, your boss lived down there after all.

It wasn't as though you'd never been down there before, being close with the others, but heading down there of your own accord felt weird. But you shrugged and headed down two steps at a time, eyes taking in how messy the living area had gotten since you were last down there. Jackets were everywhere, empty glasses, cushions dumped on the floor. Either Vander was on a cleaning strike, or his eldest daughter had set a bomb off.

Your eyes darted to the clanking behind a closed door. You paused before slowly opening it, taking in the sight of Vi's head tipped back as she gulped down the brown liquid. She was beautiful, you couldn't deny that - in a rugged way. She was broad, large muscles, sharp features, you couldn't describe her as anything but beautiful.

Though you quickly schooled your gawking expression when her steely eyes bore into yours. Wasted, yet so focused. "The fuck are you doing here?".

Your lungs took in a deep breath, composing yourself as you gently clicked the door shut. "You know... when I do an inventory take and come up short two bottles I'll have to answer to Vander, right?", you moved forward slowly, almost innocently, trying to make sure she didn't pounce on you and toss you out of the door.

A giggle nearly escaped you when she looked at you suspiciously, the alcohol exaggerating every expression she made. You were sure that those giant hands wrapped around the bottle could do you some serious damage if she so wished, but right now? With those big eyes locked in a squint and her head tilted forward? She looked like a cat who hadn't been fed yet.

"Don't do an inventory check then", she grunted slightly and kicked her feet out into more of a manspread, taking another large gulp that had you sighing.

"Kinda my job".

She still looked pissed, "Look, I dunno what you want from me-", Vi stood finally, her stature looking intimidating as she stepped forward and sized you up. Your hands went up, a foot stepping back, "I just wanted to check in, with everything".

"Everything?".

"Yeah, you know... the changes and the people".

Vi scoffed, moving across the creaky floor to perch back down on the old bed, it seemed she didn't deem you a threat. Didn't mean she was any less pissed off, murmuring a few expletives at your expense as she slumped down, facing away from you. It really was sad, how quickly she conked out, her heavy breath evening out, spiky hair flattened against the pillow.

Someone so lost was always hard to see. Your head shook, exhaling a heavy breath whilst picking up the bottles. One was nearly empty, the other still full. Eyes bigger than her stomach you supposed, sighing again before heading upstairs, trying to figure out a way of not getting Vi into shit with her stealing stock.

Vi tried to throw herself into the happiness of being around her family again, she really did. Seven years of not seeing them, not knowing if they were okay. Every time Powder hugged her she just wanted to break down, her baby sister all grown up. She never got to see it.

She participated in the family gatherings, tried to keep up in the conversations her siblings had. 50% of the time her contributions were asking who they were talking about, what that inside joke meant, what the hell the activity was they were talking about, and the other 50% was her just sitting there silently, ears red as her fists clenched and unclenched. They all had things. Jobs, friends, love interests, hobbies, even just junk they decorated their house with. What she would give for some shitty trinkets she could pay for herself.

She needed coins, needed to escape living in this awkward shadow she'd been in the last couple of months since being free. Feeling trapped in a different way.

Your hums filled the bar during closing time again, the responsibility solely on your shoulders with Vander and Benzo out on some little trip for a few days. It was nice, the flicker of the candles, their lives running out shortly, marking the time for you to go, the jukebox playing in the corner, forcing your head to bop lightly as you worked at a stubborn patch of sticky juice on the countertop.

The serenity was shortly pummelled as blue and pink flew through the door. "The pits, Vi?", Powder's croaky voice overpowered the jukebox and made you jump out of your skin.

"I don't get what your problem is", the other, covered in bruises and somewhat tipsy stumbled in after her and slammed the door, eyes burning into you when she realised that your eyes were darting between the two.

"My problem is you're beaten to a pulp, and the pits are illegal now, Violet", Powder was exasperated, making swift work of moving behind the bar, grabbing cloths and vodka before forcing her much larger sister down onto a stool and dabbing her wounds clean. Through all of Powder's anguish, her chewed up lips revealed her worry. Vi had been on a downward spiral and none of the family knew how to help.

Your cheeks puffed out slightly, the awkwardness radiating off of you could warm a small cabin over winter. Shuffling awkwardly away, you reached the jukebox andturned the music off, collecting the coins earned through the course of the night.

Vi's eyes darted to you yet again, before her attention was dragged away. She winced as the cloth touched a particularly deep eyebrow gash, "I'm good at fighting and it's good money-".

"Not worth it", Powder punctuated with another cloth dab.

"I don't get this", her face scrunched up, "Me fighting is how we survived and how you aren't a little pulp on the ground! We fought and fought for everything-".

"We used to", Powder interrupts bluntly, deflating as she tossed the bloodied cloths over the bar and into the bin. The burning silence forced you to busy yourself even further away, sweeping a corner with no dust in as Powder told her sister to get some sleep, pecking her temple before vacating home.

"You can quit acting", Vi looked over at you, breathing in heavy through her nose before she moved over to the jukebox, staring down at it, fiddling with a coin.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, moving a little closer, broom in hand. "Don't know which song to play?".

"I know", Vi spoke simply, not elaborating. Her jaw was tense, the pace she was playing with the coin sped up, along with the rise and fall of her chest. A beat later, "This is my first properly earned coin", she breathed out and pushed it through the gap in the machine.

The familiar soft beat of "Our Love" thrummed through the bar after a click of a button. It was a late night favourite amongst the customers, and for some reason it always got Vander to be a little quiet.

"Good choice", you spoke quietly, trying not to anger the woman on edge, who swallowed thickly and nodded. "Was my mom's favourite", she choked out a little, steeling herself by gripping the edges of the jukebox.

You stayed silent, letting Vi have her moment, playing her mothers favourite song with her first legitimately earned cash. You'd all lost people one way or another down in the undercity before it became a place of prosperity. You missed your own mother too.

"My mom used to say music talks to us in a language we don't understand", you sat on a barstool, leaning against the broomstick slightly.

You watched her eyes glance at you from the side before settling on the jukebox again, talking only when the song finished, her voice a croaked whisper, "I think they hate me".

Your heart throbbed, "They don't, they hate seeing you hurt".

"I don't get why you keep... talking to me", her voice picked up again, her tone frustrated, gripping the jukebox harder. "Even Powder treats me like I'm one wrong word away from snapping", she finally looked directly at you, her cheek swollen with a purple tint, small gashed littered across her face.

Your teeth found your bottom lip, nibbling as you tried to think of what to say with Vi's expectant eyes on you. "I think... maybe you remind them of a time they'd rather forget? But I'm sure it'll level out at some point, they still love you. We're all just... still figuring this new world out, right?".

"Right", she deadpanned.

"I keep talking to you because I was angry too, when it all changed". For the first time since you met her, her eyes softened slightly, the powder blue eyes catching you by surprise, your lungs catching in your chest.

"None of it seemed fair", you continued, "How we all were expected to just... move on. Get along with everyone, find a place in a world that for hundreds of years didn't want us. I wanted my mom to live in a world that felt safe too but she never got to have that. I was still furious at Piltover, furious at all the little rebellion groups that went domestic and joined the enforcers. It took years before I could just... breathe", and as if to emphasise your point, your lungs exhaled deeply, your throat tight.

"I thought you were a Piltie when I first saw you", Vi tested the waters and moved to sit next to you at the bar. You swivelled to face her, an amused smile on your face that seemed to catch her off guard, her eyes blinking a few times rapidly. She looked almost terrified of you, like she was the one worried about scaring you off now.

"Why?".

She shrugged, "You just looked too perfect, I guess".

Vi frequented your little studio apartment quite frequently now. She avoided the place like the plague for a while, but when she 'broke the seal' and stopped by for a visit after one of your shifts, she was there non-stop. Might as well live there, especially when you handed her a spare key.

Quite often you'd find her sprawled on the tiny couch in your one-roomed place, her favourite place because it was in a corner. Vi loved corners. Your chest would soar when she stopped by unexpectedly; it was nice to see her relying on someone. Especially with her pit fights - that she still hadn't stopped, even with her family and you telling her to get another job. Vander relentlessly offered her shifts at the bar, but she was stubborn. Didn't want handouts.

So, more often than not, she snuck into your apartment late at night, knuckles bloody, face purple, and body sprawled out on the small chair. Even whilst drunk and injured she could get in without getting caught. It was when she fell asleep that was the problem.

Your eyes blinked open, arms still snuggled up to the corner of your duvet. It sounded like a thunderstorm raging outside in your sleep-addled brain, your fists rubbing your eyes open before peeking through the curtain gap. Clear skies?

You flinched when another bout of "thunder" started, eyes blinking at the mound in the corner of the apartment. A sigh, and another snore.

Vi.

Your eyes rolled whilst your feet planted onto the floor, lazily padding over to the lightswitch. Her snore turned into more of a gargled pig noise as she woke up and whined. Both adrenaline and alcohol were not in her system anymore, and frankly, she was in agony.

"It's the middle of the night", she grumbled and strained to sit herself up properly, rubbing her face before wincing.

She really was a sight for sore eyes. "Your snoring woke me up again", you spoke simply, once again moving to get some rubbing alcohol. "Why do you do this to yourself?".

She shrugged, face scrunching and staring at the floor, "Takes my mind off things".

"It worries me", you knelt between her legs, tilting her chin to look at you. Her eyes were droopy, sad. She looked guilty, her eyes not able to hold your stare for more than a few seconds.

"'M sorry, sweetheart", her words slurred, and your heart stopped, brain rebooting as you focused on the task at hand, teeth worrying at your bottom lip as you began to clean her up.

Your throat was tight every time she seemed in pain, like you could feel it too. It was stupid, she'd only been in your life for a few months, but she'd melted herself down and squeezed herself into every crack in your soul.

Next were her hands. With gently, practiced movements you unwrapped the bandages, fingers skimming over her swollen knuckles, fighting the urge to bring them up to your lips as you dabbed some ice on them.

"At least stop doing this every night?", your voice pleaded, looking up at her through your eyelashes. She was clearly conflicted, but at this point, she'd move the earth for you, so she nodded. Barely. But you could still see it. The corners of your lips twitched up, pressing your forehead to her knee before standing and packing up.

Vi swallowed harshly, shaking her head a few times when your back was turned to her before sprawling out on the small chair again.

"Nuh uh". She jumped at your voice as you walked quickly and smoothly over to your bed and patted it. "You can't expect for your limbs to feel all better and not-stiff if you crumple yourself up".

She watched in bewilderment when you curled up in your usual corner of the bed and opened the duvet up for her. Her eyebrows fluttered as she slowly moved herself to be upright. "What?".

"Get comfortable", you reiterated and patted the bed again before drooping your head down into the squishy pillow, knowing she'd do as you say and join you in a moment, even if she has to think it over first.

Lo and behold, behind your eyelids you saw the light go off, and felt her creeping into your bed like it was haunted. You opened yours to find hers wide and staring right at you. It scared the shit out of you, but you did a good job at hiding it, not wanting to spook her and have her sprint out of your apartment.

You hummed sleepily, "You okay?".

Vi exhaled deeply, smushing her face into the pillow, "I hung out with Vander and Claggor this evening".

"Before or after the pit?".

"Before".

"How'd that go?", you chewed your lip again, adjusting yourself on the mattress, the early hours of the morning getting to you, even with Vi being a distraction. Vi itched the shaved part of her head before tugging on the longer hairs on the base of her neck a little, pushing through her own drowsiness.

"It's going okay. I'm adjusting to Vander being different, Claggor's kinda the same. I'm just really struggling with Powder", she murmured, fingers twitching slightly and scooting closer to your position on the mattress.

You scanned her face, "What's different with Powder?".

Her nose scrunched, tongue running across her teeth before she just deflated. "She's everything I hoped she'd grow up into, I'd still fucking die for her, y'know? It's just... Pow likes to fix things, always has done. But ever since I got out, I dunno... just feels like she keeps trying to fix me".

"I don't think you need fixing", you muttered back, lips barely moving as you locked eye contact again. Fuck, she was really beautiful.

"Mm", she hummed, "I dunno about that".

"You're the reason we aren't living in the dirt anymore, think a few war wounds are valid for like, people to accept. You did time for all of us".

She sunk further into the pillowy mattress, her body getting limper and limper the more you made her feel better about herself. "You're sweet". Her voice could barely be heard as she finally passed out, no snoring to be heard thanks to her not being crumpled up on a small piece of furniture. You watched as her worry lines faded away, as peace took over her features. You hoped she was dreaming about nice things.

Just as she took over your apartment, she had taken over your bed after that night. Instead of sneaking in at 1am after a fight and curling up into a ball on the couch, she snuck under your duvet like a stray little poro. On multiple occasions, you woke up to her spooning you from behind, then grumbling and rolling away in the morning.

She relied on you for a lot now. She wouldn't admit it, and neither would you, but she had basically moved in. She rarely slept in the basement in the last drop anymore, only ate at either yours, or takeout from Jericho's, which was now a proper restaurant, and you always patched her up after her fights.

It was no surprise that your little crush on her grew. You loved taking care of her, and having her protective instincts aimed on you in return. On her days off from the pit she would always walk you home, it didn't feel natural to her that the streets were pretty safe.

Her hand was on your lower back as you walked through your apartment door, happy to have Vi here so early, and not sneaking in with a busted face. Her hands were so soft as she helped you out of your jacket, her eyes taking in the familiar surroundings of what was basically her home.

Her own jackets hung up next to yours, space on the shoe rack, her bundled up bandage wraps poking out through the bedside cabinet. She'd well and truly wormed her way into the domestic life, ignoring her participation in an illegal fighting ring three nights a week - keeping to her promise of not doing it every day.

On her nights off, she hung out at the bar, keeping you company as you worked, glaring at any that showed interest in the pretty bartender. On nights you both had off, she'd come food shopping with you, or help you cook, catch up on some books she missed, even go on little hikes alone if she needed the space.

She huffed out a breath as she scanned the apartment. This is never where she thought she'd be. She didn't even know if this was sustainable for her. In her eyes you were perfect, kind, innocent in what had been a cruel world. She was holding her breath, biding her time before she inevitably blew it up.

"You good?".

She shuffled awkardly on the spot, hanging up her own jacket, leaving her in her grey tank top, muscles and tattoos on display that always caught your eye. "Yeah, let's just make dinner", she dismissed and moved past you.

Lips quirked to the side, you watched as she moved into the kitchen. Instead, you perched on the edge of the bed. Thanks to it being a studio, the kitchen was just in the opposite corner, Vi still in sight. "What are you doing?".

You shrugged every so slightly in response, ankles locking over each other. "You seem off, wondered if you wanted to talk".

"Not particularly?".

Another shrug, "You still seem off".

You could sense the frustration radiating off of her, she never liked being questioned. "It's nothing". You stayed quiet, unlocking your ankles to kick them back and forth slightly. It took a moment of a staring contest, but she eventually rolled hers and relented. "Life is quiet now".

"You don't like it?", you seemed a little put out, hurt.

"No I love it", she interjected quickly and shook her head as she sat next to you, "Which means it'll hurt more when it goes away".

"Who said it's going away?".

Vi looked at you like you were stupid, her eye twitching, "It will, it always does".

"Doesn't have to anymore", your eyes bore into hers, your breathing in synch. Both looking so vulnerable. Tentatively, you flexed your fingers before placing your hand over hers. Vi's throat bobbed, blue eyes slowly looking down at the connected skin.

"I'm not good at this... being gentle thing", she croaked out.

That didn't seem right. "You're always gentle with me", you pointed out, heart fluttering as she instead placed her hand on top of yours to interlock your fingers.

"I just- I think I really like you, and I don't know how to do this".

You couldn't help but smile, your soul had let out the biggest sigh of relief. She liked you back? She scoffed, "Don't look so happy about it, not exactly a good luck charm, sweetheart".

"Could you quit moping? We're having a moment", you teased, squeezing her hand.

"...Right", she mumbled, her other hand lifting up a little, trying to figure out where to put it. She settled for your cheek, relishing in how you leaned into it, thumb rubbing up and down your cheekbone.

"See? You're gentle".

"Still scared I'm gonna break you".

"You won't", you whispered as she got oh so close. Her breath touched yours, the bruising from previous fights were fading, she looked worn out, but so alive for you.

Her tongue wet her lips, taking her sweet time to move forward more, body trembling. Her eyes were even more beautiful up close, you thought to yourself as you looked back up, unable to think much else of it before she planted her lips on yours, scooting even closer. My god did you think you were going to just pass away as your eyes fluttered shut, soul leaving your body.

That was it now, Vi couldn't keep her hands off you. The last few weeks she had been stuck to you like a little leech, not just waking up with her spooning you, but going to sleep that way too. Sweet little touches, her lips on yours, murmurs into your ear when she gets home from the pit, mumbling about how she thinks you're beautiful, how you've saved her.

She was still terrfied of you though. When she was sober, she dreaded being too rough with you. 'Soft' had not been in her vocabulary for many years, but you were so precious to her, her worst fear was hurting you. And thus, you hadn't made the last step yet. Or more like, she hadn't made the last step yet.

She kept initiating it almost, hands moving to your belt mid-makeout, sneaking a hand into your jeans just moments later. Your breath would hitch as her fingers smoothed over the waistband of your underwear, before they were abruptly removed. She got scared, backing out.

It was okay of course. You didn't mind, and would never pressure. But if she really did want to do it you didn't want her to feel scared of doing it. Her name fell from your lips the next time her hand found its way to your belt, big eyes looking up to yours, teeth worrying on her bottom lip.

"I keep trying", she whispered, nose nudging under your jaw, lips pecking a mark she had already made.

Your hand carded its way through her hair, "What's stopping you?".

The smallest of grunts left her lips, "Only ever done quickies, wanna be able to treat you good".

"Whenever you're ready". Vi blinked, lifting her head up to stare down at you, analysing your expression. You could see her throat tightening, how she swallowed thickly, her eyes hardening as they stared at your belt buckle, softening again when your hand gripped onto her shoulder.

"It's okay", your breath hit her cheek, and she slowly leant down, capturing your lips with hers, slowly, softly, her fingers deftly dealing with your belt.

Your hips raised a little, helping her drag your clothing down. Her pupils blew, taking in your legs for the first time, making the tiniest little whine as her hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs. "You're so fucking beautiful".

Your chest rose and fell rapidly when she stood off of you, removing her own clothes, her boxers cupping her so well in the right places, the wraps she had around her chest looking oh so hot. Your teeth found your bottom lip, hands reaching out to grab at her muscular back when she lifted you up, peeling away your shirt before gently laying you back down.

Fuck, she was soft.

She kissed you again, one hand rubbing the side of your thigh, one hand coming up to your tits, fingers running up your sternum before she picked a side, both of you moaning when she finally smoothed a hand over your breast and squeezed lightly.

"Fucking hell", she croaked against you, moving to suckle against your throat, distracting you as she slotted one of her defined thighs against your centre.

Oh, the friction was so sweet, it took no time at all for you to be whimpering, hips chasing her leg. It didn't take long for her to feel the damp patch against her bare skin, her lips smirking against your throat before pulling back, laughing breathlessly as she looked down. "Oh baby... already?", she teased lightly, the hand on your thigh moving to rub up and down your clothed centre.

You were so fucking screwed, already seeing stars and she hadn't even got your underwear off yet, but when her thumb managed to rub over your clit and her mouth moved to your nipple, you couldn't help the needy whine you let out.

Violet was oh so smug, not even realising that she'd started to grind against the mattress until she let out her own noise, panting as her hand rubbing your centre got greedier and tugged at your underwear.

She took the chance when your hips bucked again, practically drooling as your wetness came into view. "Oh, fuck, sweetheart", she breathed out, enamoured, "You sure this is okay? I don't wanna- don't wanna do this wrong-".

You squirmed, trying to come back to your senses, desperate for her to touch you again. "I'm sure, I trust you". Her lips formed a soft smile, taking you in again when your hand reached for her bruised one.

"Gonna make you feel so good, I swear", she rushed out nervously, shifting herself lower, staring right at your most intimate place as she got herself comfortable, propping the back of your thighs over her shoulders.

Immediately, your hands went to her short hair, knowing you'd need something to cling to, and you were so right. Her nose nudged your clit before her lips wrapped around it. Your muscles went taut, mouth flying open simultaneously as your hands gripped her hair almost painfully.

She didn't mind. It felt angelic, and she was so lost in the taste of you. To make matters worse, two fingers were already prodding against your entrance, feeling no resistance. "God", she mumbled against you, tongue licking a stripe up your centre before looking up at you.

She took in how gone you looked, how overwhelmed with sensations. How beautiful you looked as she slowly fucked her fingers into you, creating a nice rhythm that made your heels dig into her back, your entire body attempting to swallow her whole.

"I-", you tried to talk, breath catching in your throat when Vi looked to the side and began sucking little marks into your thigh, smoothing her tongue over them after.

It was too much, the way her fingers scissored inside of you and rubbed against that spot that made you allergic to oxygen. Her forehead nestled into the side of your leg before she felt you clench down on her fingers like a vice.

She moved her head back down again, "You're looking real pretty, always looking real pretty", her mouth mumbled against your clit, vibrating through your entire core before she took you into her mouth again.

Your vision blurred hands tugging her hair even tighter somehow as she pushed you over the edge, the hand not working you through your climax rubbed over your hip, holding you down in place as she felt you calming.

"Holy fucking shit", you panted, hands leaving her hair to cover your face, breath hitching as she pulled out.

"You okay?", she sat up, gently moving your legs back down onto the bed, moving to lie next to you, eyes big, vulnerable, when you let out a tired chuckle and ran your hands down your face.

"Felt real good", you rolled over, fingers reaching up to fiddle with the edge of the wraps on her chest. One day she might feel comfortable taking them off, but it's okay that today was not that day.

She looped a thigh over your hip, curling you into her, "You promise? Didn't hurt or anything?", her hand smoothed over your ribs.

"Promise", you spoke softly but resolutely, taking in her flushed expression, and tasting yourself on her lips when she kissed you.

It was quite the celebration when Vi announced she was quitting the pits. Her hands moved animatedly, sitting on the edge of the bed as she told you about how someone was willing to take her on as an assistant at their engineering place.

It was exciting, you were beaming as you congratulated her, so happy to never have to see her all busted up again. Your sweet Vi didn't deserve any of that pain.

Her family was happy to hear the news too, the tension of wanting to keep Vi safe but not wanting to overwhelm her was all but gone, the group having some alone time with some soft drinks after the bar had closed.

It was concerning when she didn't come back home though, you instantly thought the worst. Maybe she'd gotten into a stash of whiskey and ended up at the pits again.

You got all hot and bothered as you hurried to the bar, heavily breathing and ignoring the stitch in your side, pushing the door of the empty bar open, expecting to see no one. Expecting to have to run halfway across town and drag Vi back home before she broke her jaw or something.

But no, your sweet girl was alone at the bar, sipping some fruit juice through a straw, and humming to her mother's favourite song on the jukebox.

She heard the hinges creak and she looked at you with a raised eyebrow, a slow smile forming when she saw it was you.

When your eyes met hers, and she tilted her head for you to come and join her, her expression glowing, you knew you'd both be okay. Your girl was home.

chain divider creds: cafekitsune

[retrowitchy]

ranking lucy gray's outfits in the tbosas movie as a costume design student ✶✧

quite possibly, everything rachel zegler wears is my favorite part of tbosas. trish summerville is a big personal hero of mine, and tbosas is my favorite hunger games film in terms of costume design!!! so as a disclaimer, i love every one of these looks with everything in me, this is just me ranking them.

8. swimsuit

this really shouldn't be in last place, because crochet swimwear? brilliant. and so beautiful. and so in-universe.

i love how all the covey swimwear feels like it was hand-made by the characters themselves. obviously, nobody in district 12 is swimming for pleasure much (we learn this from the first book, and haymitch and burdie just skinny dipped lol), so naturally the covey would have made their own things to wear by hand.

7. sejanus' execution

the details of the snakes on her belt and the hand stitching/embroidery on her sleeves are so wonderful. for an outfit that never really gets a full shot in the film (most of rachel's shots in this scene are closeups from the neck up), the dedication to detail is super admirable.

6. well i'm not made out of sugar

it's such a good detail how coriolanus' mother's shawl perfectly color compliments the rest of this outfit. it's like she picked it out to match on purpose, which makes the betrayal all the more devastating. i think this scene is also one of trish's stronger uses of color symbolism- the warm, sunshine-y colors of lucy gray contrasting the stark, bare palette of everything coriolanus wears in 12. she's a symbol of hope. he's trying to end that.

5. the covey lake

huge fan of the simplicity here. it's just a dress over the swimsuit. and yet everything about this screams lucy gray and screams covey. look at those mismatched little brass buttons!! the swimsuit peeking out from underneath!! the plum color suits rachel zegler so well- it's just generally so gorgeous.

4. pure as the driven snow

this outfit was one of the things about this movie that stuck in my head the most after walking out of the theater. there's this carefree, thrown-on essence to it, like the flowers in her hair are an afterthought, or maude ivory helped her put them in. i wish i could find better pictures of the vest, because the beading details are so beautiful. the reusing of her boots is a good detail too, because obviously she wouldn't have that many pairs of shoes.

3. the meadow

trish summerville did a great job at building a repeated silhouette for lucy gray. the cinched waist, blousy or sleeveless top, and a-line, flowing skirt is in almost every outfit, and i think this one is the most classic example of that look. i think she looks so beautiful in blue, and i like that she's dressed in such a wide variety of colors throughout the film- always something completely different than the last.

2. the rainbow dress

OBVIOUSLY. hand painted corset are you kidding me? i remember seeing this in the trailer and thinking truly, she could not have more perfectly recreated the dress from the book. it stays true to lucy gray's sillhouette, the ruffles feel bright enough to be a rainbow, but muted enough to still feel in-universe/accurate for 12. one of my favorite details is her boots ↓

they're old, and have a vintage feel, but something about how chunky they are also reminds us that despite the folksy charm, we are also in a dystopian future.

1. nothing you can take from me

my baby. my darling. possibly my favorite costume of any hunger games film. i am IN LOVE with this outfit.

the flower decal trimming and embroidery on her blouse, and the crushed navy velvet that feels like it was found at a 100 year old antique store. the boots are back. lacy top underneath, hand crocheted no doubt. purple in the skirt, but it's subtle- purple is her most repeated color element. it's rebellious, it's royal. the slight 1940s references in the silhouette.

DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE HAIR. ribbons and feathers threaded throughout her curls, giving her the impression of a bird in flight when she twirls??? REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING?????

this is her triumphant return moment, her defiant song against the oppression of the capitol. she's captivated the crowd....just like a certain someone will years and years later.

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, fluff

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: you need a job, and the miyas are hiring.

you applied on a monday. it was hot out—like, unbearable, swamp-ass hot. the kind of heat that made you question every life choice that had led to you walking around in knockoff slip-resistant shoes, filling out paper applications for family-owned businesses that probably didn’t even use email.

but you needed a job.

your last one, at that grimy-ass burger chain off the highway, ended in flames—literally.

someone had started a grease fire and blamed it on you and suna, even though you’d both been outside laughing about something stupid near the dumpster. but maybe that was the problem. you laughed too much. slacked off. took tips you technically weren’t allowed to. you fell asleep once in the mop closet. once. and just like that, fired.

but suna kept the job. of course he did. he smiled with his eyes and knew how to look pathetic enough for forgiveness. you, on the other hand?

yeah. you were the cautionary tale now.

so when he sent you the link to some random ass place called miya south third, with a blurry little picture of a chalkboard menu and mismatched stools, you clicked apply.

“they need summer help,” he said. “real short-staffed. family-owned. kinda cute inside.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why does it look like someone took this photo on a toaster.”

“just go. trust me.”

…

you showed up in jean shorts and your best ‘please hire me, i am not a girl who steals food from the kitchen’ smile (you definitely are).

the building was small, with chipped blue trim around the windows and a porch swing out front for whatever reason. inside, it smelled like sugar and butter and smoked meat.

like heaven.

the guy at the register had a clean apron on, rolled sleeves, and a streak of flour across his forearm. black hair, grey at the tips, probably natural. he looked like he took his job a little too seriously.

“what can i get for ya?” he asked in a southern drawl, voice smooth and dry like cornbread.

you hesitated. “um, actually… i’m here with my application?”

his eyebrows lifted. “oh. ma—” he called back, without even turning around. “got another one.”

“be right there!” a woman’s voice shouted, from somewhere in the back.

she appeared a moment later, older, strong-featured, hair pulled back in a loose bun. the kind of lady who could command a kitchen and a church pew in the same breath.

“hi, sweetie,” she smiled. “i’m mayumi. come on back.”

you liked her. she talked fast, like she was already three thoughts ahead, but still made space to ask you things like how school was going, if you had any food allergies, whether or not you could count change without a calculator.

“you can start tomorrow,” she said finally, handing you a paper schedule. “we’re relaxed on dress code, but keep it neat. and no crop tops. this ain’t sonic.”

you winced. “actually, is it okay if i start the day after tomorrow? i have my cousin’s graduation—”

her smile faltered, just a little. “mm. sure. that’s fine.”

…

you met osamu officially on your first shift. same guy from the register. he handed you an apron and walked you through your duties: wipe tables, refill waters, keep the silverware stocked, run food when it’s ready, don’t ask stupid questions.

he wasn’t mean. just dry. meticulous. he had his own little rhythm behind the line and didn’t like being interrupted. but he made good food. real good.

cheesy onigiri that made your mouth water. fried pork belly skewers with peach glaze. buttered cornbread you swore he’d stolen from god’s personal recipe book.

“hey, do you make everything?” you asked, once, cautiously.

“most of it,” he shrugged, flipping a pan. “some of the prep’s ma. desserts are all hers.”

you started to like it there. the place felt like a secret, half cafe, half kitchen table. quiet but never empty.

old ladies came for their tea and gossip. high school kids rolled through sweaty from practice, crashing into booths and inhaling everything. a couple of cops came in like clockwork every thursday and flirted harmlessly with mayumi. regulars knew your name by week two.

but there was always one name you heard more than any other.

atsumu.

“that boy ain’t been in since sunday.”

“atsumu was supposed to close but left at eight.”

“atsumu’s good with customers, but he’s got a squirrel brain.”

you never saw him. never even glimpsed him. like a fucking myth. the golden child with a bad work ethic. a tornado with bleach-blond roots.

“is he real?” you asked osamu one day, half-joking.

he just scowled. “unfortunately.”

…

you met him in week four.

you’d been working by yourself all night. slow shift. only two tables, both polite. you were wiping down the counter when the bell above the door jingled and a voice called out—

“yo! sorry i’m late.”

you turned. blinked. stared.

shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, hair a tousled mess. taller than you expected. sharp jaw, easy grin, eyes gold like honey under the flickering track lights.

and obnoxiously, obviously confident.

“you’re the new girl?” he asked, eyes sweeping over your apron, your name tag, your lip gloss.

“yeah.”

he tilted his head, smirking like he already knew something you didn’t. “damn. if osamu told me we was hiring pretty girls, i would’ve stopped by way sooner.”

you raised a brow, tone dry. “maybe he didn’t want to scare us off.”

he laughed. “relax. i’m just sayin’ hey.”

you didn’t respond. just handed him the rag and pointed to the tables.

“if you’re here,” you said, “you’re working.”

he whistled, low and impressed. “feisty.”

you turned before he could see the corner of your mouth twitch.

…

working with him was chaos. he was all energy and bad ideas. put music on the speakers when he wasn’t supposed to. gave customers extra sauces just to piss off osamu. leaned against the counters telling stories that went nowhere.

but he was good with people. really good.

old ladies loved him. toddlers gave him high-fives. couples tipped more when he flirted with both of them.

he had that thing. the kind of charm you couldn’t fake.

and the worst part?

he could actually cook. really cook. when he tried. he made a grilled mackerel sandwich that left you speechless and a watermelon-mint slushie that saved your ass one day when you got overheated near the fryer.

“you could be, like, amazing,” you told him once.

he winked. “i am amazing.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i mean, here. if you tried.”

he leaned in a little too close. “you tryna make me a better man, sweetheart?”

you swatted at him with a menu. “i’m trying to get through one shift without a health code violation.”

…

then there was the suna thing.

you were restocking forks near the back, squatting by the shelves with one airpod in and your mind half on nothing, when the bell over the front door jingled.

then— “yo. smellin’ real good in here today.”

you blinked. froze. that voice.

you popped your head up so fast you smacked your elbow on the counter. “rintarou?”

he was already grinning, hands in his pockets like he owned the place. “sup.”

“what are you doing here?”

atsumu, drying his hands on a rag, leaned around from the kitchen with a raised brow. “you know him?”

“uh, yeah? this is my best friend.” you looked between them, still reeling. “you know him?”

atsumu and suna dapped each other up like they’ve been doing it since birth. casual. like it was normal.

“uh, yeah? we go to school together?” suna said, deadpan. “he’s literally in my homeroom.”

you whipped toward suna so fast your ponytail hit your cheek. “so you sent me to work with this asshole and didn’t say anything?”

he blinked. shrugged. “you needed a job did you not?”

you threw a paper napkin at his face with the force of someone who wanted it to be a brick.

he didn’t even flinch.

just caught it, tucked it in his pocket like it was a gift, and walked straight to the fridge in the lobby. “y’all got any more of that green tea?”

…

things changed after that.

you started getting shifts with atsumu more often. sometimes on accident. sometimes not. sometimes he’d text you, yo, need help tonight? and you’d say no, but he’d show up anyway.

he always found something to tease you about. your hair, your handwriting, the way you folded napkins like a little perfectionist. but he also brought you lemonade when you looked tired. kept your favorite station playing when it was just the two of you. helped you mop even when he technically didn’t have to.

you didn’t admit it, but you looked forward to seeing him.

you’d watch him out the corner of your eye, shirt untucked and dancing to a playlist he definitely wasn’t allowed to control, singing along under his breath. you’d pretend not to notice how he glanced at you in the reflection of the fridge glass. how he always brushed your arm when you passed behind him. how his smile changed when it was just you and him and the open hum of the kitchen at night.

…

the kiss came late. a tuesday. close to midnight.

you were both closing. a mess of dishes behind you. air thick with fryer heat and the distant smell of brown sugar. you were stacking chairs when he said, real quiet—

“you like it here?”

you looked at him. “yeah. i do.”

he nodded. shifted his weight. “good. ‘cause i was kinda hopin’ you’d stay.”

you smiled. “you trying to make sure you don’t have to cover more shifts?”

he stepped a little closer. “nah. i mean. that, too. but…”

his fingers brushed yours. warm. nervous.

“you ever wonder what we’d be like?”

you blinked. heartbeat stuttering. “what do you mean?”

he shrugged, leaned back on his elbows like the question wasn’t setting your whole world on fire.

“i mean… if i kissed you right now, would you tell me to fuck off or kiss me back?”

his voice was low. careful. almost teasing, but not quite.

that grin was there, yeah, but it didn’t touch his eyes. not the way it usually did when he was joking.

this wasn’t a joke. and he knew you knew that.

you didn’t answer. just tilted your head. stepped in.

and kissed him.

he kissed like he did everything. cocky, a little messy, but surprisingly sweet. his hands on your hips, yours in his hair. the fridge humming behind you. your apron still tied, the smell of powdered sugar in your hair.

when you pulled away, he whispered, “gonna make this night last real long, huh?”

you snorted. “you wish.”

he kissed you again anyway.

…

weeks passed. things got easier. funnier. warmer. he still flirted with customers, but now he always looked at you after, like he was waiting for your reaction.

you just rolled your eyes, threw wadded-up receipts at his head, laughed when he missed the trash bin three times in a row.

you were still the only non-miya working there. but it didn’t feel weird anymore. it felt like home.

especially with him.

on your birthday, he brought in pink cupcakes with “happy shift queen” written in terrible icing. you swore he paid some toddler to do it.

on his day off, he still came in. sat on the counter with his chin in his hand, watching you wipe tables.

“can’t stay away, huh?” you asked.

“nah,” he said. “my girl’s here.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re so annoying.”

“but cute, though.”

you didn’t disagree.

…

that night, when the last customer left, he locked the door behind them, flipped the sign, and leaned back against the glass.

“hey,” he said, tugging you gently by your apron.

you looked up. “yeah?”

he grinned. “kiss the cook?”

you kissed him slow, laughter in your chest. “only if the cook actually does his job tonight.”

“you wound me.”

but he was already moving toward the kitchen, grabbing a mop with one hand and your waist with the other.

and yeah. maybe you were still technically the only non-miya working at miya south third.

but they were starting to feel a little like family, too.

[eriace]

wrong room, right guy ; reo mikage

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which y/n’s evil stepsister drugs her drink—but instead of waking up in danger, she wakes up drooling on reo mikage’s designer sleeve. ↷ reo mikage ; blue lock

↳ an order of iced matcha latte from @sailorstar9 in the comeback cafe event !

REO MIKAGE WAS not expecting to find a girl passed out in his bed.

Especially not one wearing one shoe, mismatched earrings, and a suspicious amount of glitter.

But there she was—Y/n, slumped over the silk duvet of his five-star hotel suite, snoring softly with her hair tangled and her clutch bag halfway across the floor.

To be fair, she didn’t mean to be there.

The night had started at a charity gala. She was dressed to impress—classy, polite, sipping the drink her stepsister handed her while being very not interested in the greasy “CEO” who kept winking at her.

She remembered feeling dizzy.

She remembered the hallway swaying.

She remembered… room 714.

Which, in her blurry state, she read as 741.

Reo’s room.

When she stirred awake the next morning, the first thing she saw was a pair of concerned violet eyes.

And then the bed.

And then—panic.

“Wha—where am I?! What happened?! I swear I don’t sleep around—oh my God, did we?!”

Reo nearly choked on his iced coffee.

“NO.” He held up both hands. “Nothing happened. You literally collapsed on my bed, said ‘you smell rich,’ and passed out.”

Her face went scarlet, “I what?”

“‘You smell rich.’ Verbatim.”

She groaned, flopping back onto the pillow.

“Kill me.”

“You also called me your ‘pretty lilac prince.’ I didn’t hate that one.”

After a much-needed explanation, a glass of water, and a deep cleansing of the glittery mess that was her outfit, Y/n sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed.

“I swear, I thought I was going to a different room. My stepsister—she’s been trying to sabotage me ever since my dad remarried. She must’ve spiked my drink.”

Reo frowned.

“That’s messed up.”

“Tell me about it. I was supposed to meet a client for a project pitch. She probably wanted me to end up in that creep’s room.”

He leaned forward, serious now.

“Well, you dodged that bullet. You ended up here. With me.” He smiled. “Upgrade, honestly.”

She laughed despite herself.

“So... you're not mad I broke in and hijacked your bed?”

“You can hijack my bed any day.” He winked.

Y/n blinked. “…Wait, are you flirting with me right now?”

“I mean, you did drool on me. We’re basically married.”

“REO!”

Later, when she tried to leave and realized her stepsister had also taken her car keys, Reo offered the couch.

She refused.

He smirked.

“There’s only one bed.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“This is a setup.”

“Nope. Just fate.”

She eventually agreed.

And that night, with a respectful two-pillow gap between them, Y/n turned to see Reo already awake, looking at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being decent. And for not letting me wake up somewhere horrible.”

He smiled softly.

“Thank you for crashing into my life like a drunk glitter comet.”

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[l0cadef4nfock]

Some more of my Batfam appearance headcanons

Bruce: he 100% had salt n pepper hair; yknow, the black with lines of white in it, if not from his age then from the stress of being Batman for over two decades and being the father of like 7 feral children. But the cool part is that, his hair is jet black, and the white parts can probably reflect light. Also, I hc that when he adopted Dick he still went out in Gothic outfits with full face of goth makeup, but by the time he got Duke he just put on eyeliner everyday and wears black turtlenecks.

Dick: GIVE THAT MAN LONG HEALTHY LUSTROUS HAIR PLEASE. His hair reaches his hips when he showers, it’s almost as black as Bruce’s, and it’s straighter than him (pan Nightwing my beloved). He wears it in a man bun while he goes out as Nightwing, and either in a ponytail or wears it down when he’s with friends/family. He started growing it out when he moved out, and after one particularly bag fight with Bruce he got blue highlights that matched his suit, and gave his dad a heart attack because “secret identities dick!”.

Jason: I saw one artist that draws him half blind, like that the bomb that killed him got him in the eye and now he has an explosion shaped red scar on his face and a white soulless eye. When Roy really annoys him, Jason will come over to his house when he knows he’s on patrol and wait in the dark, and when Roy comes back he just see’s a green glowing eye in his kitchen and he almost shits his pants. Every. Single. Time.

Tim: TRANS TIM IS CANON IN MY OPINION. Let my dude be born a dudet. Let him be double queer. Also, he has piercing to match with his punk boyfriend that he loves very much. Like, it started with snakebites to annoy Bruce (he learned from Dick’s highlights phase), but then he really liked it, and got the regular ear piercing (little Robin earrings he had custom made), and after he started dating Kon they got matching earring together (I don’t know how they’re called, those long ones that sit on your lobe? You know what I mean?). And let my boy have a mullet, we all know he’s the biggest dick glazer and when he saw Nightwing with a mullet when he was 9 it changed his brain chemistry forever.

Damian: give that child some melatonin before I lowk commit. Also, very important, he is Arabic AND CHINESE. He has Chinese blood in him and you are definitely able to see that. In my mind, he’s a few shades lighter than Talia, and his hair is exactly Bruce’s color, he got his mother’s eyes and eyebrows, and his father lips and nose. Also that bitch is GAY and he dresses the part in the best way possible. Like yes he’s still emo as fuck but he 100% fits the gay stereotype of thinking about what to wear for hours and stressing about his looks. OH and he’s the biggest eyeliner abuser in the goddamn family (Bruce is very close behind him and dick is in 3rd and is very unhappy about that).

Cass: she is the proudest lesbian you have ever met, and I mean it. She has a lesbian flag keychain that she keeps on a scissor shaped carabiner that she puts on her jeans with a lesbian star pattern embroidered on it, she rocks scissor shaped earrings right next to her masc lesbian mullet with purple highlights that she gets so very excited every time someone asks about because that means she can info dump about her amazing girlfriend for the next three hours. She has 300 bracelets, earrings and necklaces to match with Steph, and the only shoes she ever wears are mismatched converse, one black and one purple, that she’s sharing with Steph. She has black mini vampire nails, she has countless queer pins on her bag (ahem ahem she uses she they pronouns) and will gladly give you one if you want it.

Steph: pretty much the same as Cass, but she has black highlights instead of purple and she is WAY less extreme than her. She was a bit hesitant about the highlights at first, because she wasn’t sure how that would go with her curly hair, but Cass argued that she always straightens it anyways and Steph is like. “Oh right. Okay babe.” After that talk in which Cass found out Steph has curly hair (she ment it when she said she always straightens it) she starts every morning by begging for Steph to style it curly, and that’s the primary reason why you might spot spoiler with curly hair and a very happy (and a way less brutal) Black Bat.

Alfred: just wanted to remind you all that he canonically sleeps in a suit.

[fear-less]

anyone of your choice x a reader who is like luna lovegood.... hear me out

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 butterfly wings

paring: sirius black x f!reader

➥ In which Sirius Black, seeking solitude on a quiet Friday night, unexpectedly meets a quirky girl who hums Muggle songs, has silly looking hair and clothes, and sees the world through a completely different lens, making him question everything he thought he knew about life and himself.

warnings: written in 2nd pov, she/her pronouns used, flufffff, sirius experiences love at first sight lowkey, ditzy reader, hair described as wavy, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: enjoy this short & sweet fic 😋 feel free to request more pics like this.. lowkey had a blast writing this fic ngl, also how are we loving this alive era !!?? finals are gonna end me tho, hoping to post more when im on break <3

1.1k words

The sun was just starting to dip behind the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Hogwarts grounds. Sirius Black was leaning lazily against a tree near the edge of the black lake, watching the evening sky. His thoughts were far from the upcoming Potions exam, or even from the constant tension with his family. No, tonight he was simply enjoying the stillness of the moment—until the sound of a soft humming reached his ears.

He turned to see a girl wearing clothes nowhere near their dress robes, skipping through the tall grass, a pair of oversized, mismatched socks peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. In one hand, you clutched a jar that looked suspiciously like it was filled with glitter, and in the other, a half-eaten pumpkin pastie. The evening breeze tugged at your hair, but it only seemed to make you twirl in delight, as though you were dancing with the wind itself.

​​Sirius couldn’t help but smile despite himself. There was something about the way she seemed entirely out of sync with reality, like you were living in a world all your own. It was... fascinating. Most people would’ve been inside on a Friday night, but not you. No, you were humming a song Sirius couldn’t quite place, looking up at the sky as if you expected to find something wonderful there.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as you continued humming, a soft, dreamy melody he now realized was some Muggle song. He considered whether or not to interrupt your song with a conversation. He had come down to the lake to escape the raucous laughter of his friends—he hadn’t planned on talking to anyone, least of all you. But there was something about your carefree presence that pulled him in, something he couldn’t quite explain.

As he watched you, he suddenly felt a strange urge to approach. What am I doing? he thought, before shrugging off the hesitation. Usually, he had no trouble talking to girls. But you were different. There was no rush to impress you or prove something, no game to be played. You were in your own world, so completely other that he felt like he had to break through that bubble of yours, even if it meant making a fool of himself.

He decided, somewhat impulsively, to walk toward you as if he was leaving, hoping you'd say something to stop him—maybe comment on the sunset, or ask if he had seen any magical creatures lately. Something to start a conversation.

As he got closer, a familiar thought crossed his mind. Wait a second… He remembered you now. You were the girl with the wild ideas and strange ways of looking at the world. The one who always seemed to have her mind in the clouds, lost in thoughts others couldn’t seem to follow. You wore mismatched socks, and your shoes were always a little too unconventional for anyone else’s taste. Your hair—today it was streaked with a few colorful hints of pink and blue, strands loosely braided here and there on your wavy hair—was the subject of endless teasing. But you never seemed to care. Whenever the others made fun of you, you'd just smile and continue on as if you hadn’t heard a word. The kind of carefree confidence Sirius had always envied, yet never fully understood.

As Sirius approached, lost in this memory, you suddenly broke the silence, your voice light and dreamy. "If you walk any closer and choose not to move, you might just bump into me," you said, still gazing up at the sky as though you were watching constellations rearrange themselves.

Sirius froze, taken aback, his steps stuttering to a stop. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips, part embarrassed, part amused. "Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I wasn't really paying attention."

He had been so distracted by the way your hair caught the fading light that he hadn't even realized how close he’d gotten. It was wild, yet soft, a tangled mess of waves and braids, with hints of color streaking through like a sunset painted in your locks. It was almost… magical.

You gave a simple nod in response, finally pulling your gaze away from the sky to look at him. The moment your eyes locked, Sirius felt an unexpected jolt of warmth spread across his chest. You weren't fazed, but there was something in the way you looked at him—as if he were just another curious face in the crowd. It was strange. Everyone knew who Sirius Black was. But to you? He might as well have been a stranger.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just studied each other.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, feeling the familiar prickle of self-consciousness creeping up his neck. Why was it so easy to talk to people who were busy trying to impress him, but with you? It was like he’d been dropped into a world where none of his usual tricks or charm worked.

You squinted at him, your gaze flickering as if you were trying to place him, but the recognition didn’t come. You looked at him like he was someone new, someone you had never seen before.

And, strangely, that made him feel more vulnerable than anything else.

When you finally looked away, returning your attention to the horizon, Sirius took a breath, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being seen in a way he wasn’t used to. He was about to say something when you broke the silence once more.

"Did you know," you said, your voice soft and faraway, "that sometimes the stars make shapes in the sky that are only visible to certain people? Some call it a ‘soul alignment,’ but I think it’s more about... perspective." You looked back at him, your eyes sparkling with a quiet certainty. "Maybe we’ll see something special tonight. Something we weren’t supposed to."

Sirius blinked, his confusion evident. "Soul alignment? What do you mean?"

You smiled gently, not offering an explanation, but instead turning back to the sky. "You wouldn’t understand it yet. But it’s something that will make sense eventually."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason, his usual quick-wit failed him. The bizarre serenity in your voice, the way you looked at the sky like it held secrets only you knew, left him momentarily speechless.

He watched as you turned the jar of stardust in your hands, staring at the sparkles inside. It wasn’t real, was it? But somehow, in your hands, it felt like it might be.

"So," he began, slowly, unsure of where this conversation was headed but unable to resist it, "how do you see the world, then? Different from everyone else?"

You paused, considering the question. Then, with a soft laugh, you turned to him. "Not different. Just... more patient."

And for the first time in his life, Sirius Black felt the weight of the stars overhead. Maybe it was the stardust in the jar, or maybe it was the quiet, patient way you saw the world—but whatever it was, he realized that he wanted to see it, too.

[meadowfics]

rainbow road

kim young-mi x cho hyun ju x f!reader

this is chapter five for my BLOOMING FLOWER SERIES

synopsis: your jealousy comes alive when another player comforts young-mi, when you were too anxious about the pentathlon.

warnings: death, violence, angst, jealousy, brief mentions of homophobia

in the morning, that annoying music comes alive as you and young-mi rise from your shared mattress.

you feel heavier today, the lack of comfortable sleep and not enough food ia taking the energy away from you.

something inside of you tells you that its intentional.

as you step over the bed, your feet hitting the ground... young-mi’s hand slips into yours, her fingers trembling as she grips you tightly.

you know the next game looms ahead, and its another chance to di. the thought tightens your chest. as the number of players gets lower, you feel like the games might get harder.

inside of your mind, you hope the next game doesn’t demand too much...not with your broken shoe, its sole flapping uselessly, or young-mi’s fragile nerves.

“we’ve got to climb those stairs again,” you murmur, glancing at the colorful spiral staircase that is out of the dorms.

young-mi nods, her eyes wide, and you start the ascent together, her hand a lifeline in your grip.

the metal steps are cold under your mismatched shoes... one intact, and one a flapping hazard.

you move slowly, careful not to trip. the climb feels endless, your legs aching from yesterday’s run, your mind replaying the gunshots, the bodies on the gravel.

young-mi stumbles once, and you catch her, your arm around her waist, your heart pounding with a fierce need to protect her.

she leans into you, her breath shaky, and you both reach the top, stepping into the arena.

the sight stops you cold.

the arena is a vast, open space, its floor a sandy expanse that mirrors the gravel field but feels smoother, almost artificial. two wide, curving rainbow paths dominate the ground, painted in vibrant stripes of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple, arcing gracefully like a child’s dream turned surreal.

the colors are bright, almost blinding under the sunlight streaming through the high windows, but the atmosphere is anything but joyful.

pink-suited guards line the edges while a crowd of green-tracksuited players mills about, their numbers glowing under the bright cold lights.

this feels like an abandoned school turned prison.

you and young-mi exchange a confused glance, the rainbow setting at odds with the dread coiling in your stomach.

the robotic feminine voice crackles over the intercom, shattering the silence.

“welcome to the second game: the six-legged pentathlon. the next games to be played are ddakji, biseokchigi, gonggi, paengi chigi, and jegi. this is a race, and all games must be completed within a five-minute time limit.”

your eyebrows flare.

five games, five minutes.

that’s insane.

suddenly, it hits you. you need five players in a group.

the voice confirms it, “you have ten minutes to form a group of five and assemble inside of the circle.”

young-mi clings to you, her hand shaking in yours, and you glare at a group of men nearby, their sneers and muttered comments.

“look at them, holding hands like that,” one whispers to another.

your mind would've been enraged if you weren't so anxious.

fucking homophobes.

anyways, the timer starts with a sharp beep, and the arena erupts into chaos as players scramble to form groups. young-mi holds onto you, her grip tight, both of you too anxious to approach anyone.

you scan the crowd, your heart pounding, your broken shoe dragging slightly with each step.

the rainbow paths swirl underfoot, their colors mocking the tension in the air.

eventually, your eyes land on a tall player weaving through the crowd.

it is number 120, her green tracksuit clinging to a lean, athletic frame.

the woman's hair falls just past her shoulders, dark and sleek, framing a face that’s striking, almost beautiful in its intensity.

she moves with a nervous energy, her hands clasped together, her steps quick but uncertain. 120 glances up from her hands, her gaze meeting yours and young-mi’s.

she notices your intertwined hands, and a small, relieved smile tugs at her lips before she starts to walk past.

“wait,” young-mi calls out, her voice trembling.

she lets go of your hand, turning toward the woman, and you watch, confused, as young-mi’s words spill out in a rush.

“would you like to… be on a team with us?”

young-mi's cheeks flush, her anxiety palpable.

player 120 pauses, her eyes shifting to you.

you offer a light smile, nodding. you do it for young-mi.

120 looks relieved, her shoulders relaxing.

“yeah, i’d like that,” she says, her voice deep but soft.

you notice her hands, held up like a meerkat’s, a cute quirk that softens her in your mind.

the three of you start walking together, young-mi sticking close to you, her hand brushing yours again.

you scan the crowd, the timer ticking down, and spot a mother and son duo near the edge of the rainbow path...number 007 for the son, a lanky guy with glasses, and 149 for the mother, her face etched with worry but kindness.

you don’t ask, just gesture them over.

“join us,” you say firmly, “we need two more.”

they nod, the mother murmuring a quiet “thank you,” her son clinging to her side.

as you talk to 149, explaining the group setup as she sends you gratitude for letting both of them join your group... young-mi shakes beside you, her anxiety a visible tremor.

player 120...hyun-ju, you’ll learn her name soon...notices.

“are you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, stepping closer to young-mi.

“no,” young-mi admits, her voice breaking.

hyun-ju reaches out, taking young-mi’s hands in hers.

as you laugh with 149, who makes a joke about her unathletic son, you turn around to see if young-mi heard.

however, you see 120 holding your girlfriend's hands.

an unfamiliar jolt runs down your spine, a mix of unease and something sharper.

you frown, your stomach twisting as you stop your laughter.

“i’m hyun-ju, cho hyun-ju,” she says, her eyes warm on young-mi, “what’s your name?”

“kim… kim young-mi,” young-mi replies, her voice shaky, her hands still in hyun-ju’s grasp.

you turn away, your frown deepening.

you should be the one comforting young-mi, not this stranger, but your feet feel rooted, your courage faltering.

the pit in your throat feels too deep to even speak with the possibility of death looming.

007, the son, looks at you with a flicker of sympathy, his face unreadable, and you avoid his gaze, focusing on the rainbow path instead.

the ten minutes pass in a blur, and your group of five assembles in the circle, the air thick with anticipation.

twenty minutes later, after one group already fell to their death, your group is called to race.

you’re terrified, your feet numb despite the broken shoe’s drag.

your palms are sweaty and you’re set for biseokchigi or flying stones.

the memory of tossing rocks and baseballs as a kid, your accuracy decent from playground games, gives you a sliver of confidence.

young-mi goes first with ddakji, her hands fumbling as she tries to flip the card.

it lands flat, and she gasps, nearly panicking as you struggles to pick back up her blue card.

you open your mouth to encourage her, but hyun-ju speaks first.

“hey hey, listen! here, flip the card on the other side… you should flip it over that way,” she says, demonstrating with a gentle motion.

hyun ju glances at you with a soft look, and you frown, irritation flaring.

she’s right, though...young-mi flips it on the next try, a shaky smile breaking through as everyone in the room screams in joy.

your turn comes, and you step up, the stone heavy in your hand.

you focus, your arm steady, and hurl it with precision, hitting the target on the first try.

cheers erupt...not just from your group, but from the crowd still waiting, their voices a surprising wave of support.

149 claps, 007 grins, 120 holds your arm in support, and young-mi’s eyes shine with pride.

the next games...gonggi, paengi chigi, jegi...unfold in a frantic blur, your group moving as a unit.

hyun-ju’s agility shines, 149’s calm guidance steadies 007, and you and young-mi push through, your broken shoe slowing the group but not stopping you.

the timer has five seconds left as you cross the finish line with your group. all of you are holding hands still as a collective cheer rises from your group and beyond.

"baby, we made it!!" you hear a squeal from young-mi as she throws her arms around you, her hug tight and trembling.

you smile, tears prickling your eyes.

you survived.

"i'm so proud of you!" you say into young-mi's ear.

you turn, catching hyun-ju’s smile, and when young-mi moves to hug her, a lump forms in your chest.

that feeling is jealousy, unexpected and rare since young-mi has never once giving you that feeling in this relationship.

you know you are being ridiculous.

hyun-ju steps toward you, her arms open, but you pivot, wrapping 149 in a quick hug instead, hoping the feeling fades.

you can’t afford jealousy here, not with death lurking around every corner.

120 frowns, knowing that you don't like her for a reason she can't explain.

she hopes it not the reason why everyone else here is uncomfortable with her.

chapter six linked here

full masterlist linked here

authors note: geum-ja and her three gay daughters LMAO

[butterli5]

Regulus had been suspicious from the start.

Remus was usually the reasonable one between them when it came to packing, the one who calmly reorganized Regulus' last-minute chaos and always surrendered a corner of his carry-on for whatever excessive luxury his boyfriend insisted he needed for the trip, his silk scarf, extra shoes, a hair mask he swore he couldn’t live without. But this time?

“No,” Remus had said firmly, zipping up his sleek black carry-on with finality, standing guard like a dragon before its hoard. “Mine’s full.”

Regulus had blinked. “You always have space.”

“Not this time. Sweaters. Coats. You’ll thank me.”

It was the way he said it, with a nervous sort of edge, as if he’d rehearsed the excuse. And Regulus, ever the bloodhound for secrets, narrowed his eyes.

But the mystery didn’t last much longer. Not after the airport. Not after the gate sign that read OSL - Oslo.

And certainly not after they landed in Tromsø and Regulus looked out at the snow-glazed city stretching beneath them, the air so sharp it nearly sliced into his lungs, and realized where they were.

“You absolute bastard,” Regulus whispered, stunned, blinking into the white. “You brought me to Norway.”

Remus only grinned, a dimple forming under his flushed cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

They slept in the next morning, tangled under thick covers with the early winter light trying its best to coax them awake through the blackout curtains. Regulus stirred first, his breath fogging the cold air from the cracked window Remus insisted on keeping ajar for “freshness.” They ate lunch wrapped in matching wool scarves, wandering into a tucked-away café where the tea came in mismatched cups and the salmon was the kind that melted on the tongue.

Then, just as the sky began to tip from soft grey to the inky blue of oncoming night, Remus turned to him with a strange glint in his eye.

“I booked us something tonight.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being very cryptic lately.”

They get there and it’s the prettiest thing he has ever seen, a glass globe glowing softly against the snowy dark, inside a constellation of flickering candlelight. Fuzzy cushions and thick blankets were spread out with care, the interior warm and scented faintly of lavender and cinnamon. Regulus lets out a small breath, already half in awe, half in disbelief that this is real.

They sit, knees brushing, and Remus pulls a thermos of warm tea from the mystery backpack, pouring it into the waiting glasses. Regulus takes his gratefully, warming his fingers around it.

And then, when he turns to say something—thank you, I love you, I can’t believe you—he notices them. So many boxes, all different shapes and sizes, arranged in the space between them. Each is carefully wrapped and numbered from 1 to 25.

Remus gives him a sheepish, almost shy smile.

“Twenty-five gifts for your twenty-five years, my love.”

His breath catches.

He opens the first box with trembling fingers. Inside lies a tiny silver rattle pendant on a chain. His eyes dart up to Remus.

“Your birth year,” Remus says gently. “Engraved inside with the date and hour. Just… the start of everything.”

Box four makes him pause. He runs his thumb over the smooth plastic of the cassette and the clunky buttons of the old player before picking up the labeled mixtape.

“You made this?”

“I found all the songs Sirius said your mum played when you were little,” Remus replies, a little grin playing on his lips. “Some French lullabies too. You said she used to sing you to sleep with them.”

Box five is a breathless moment. Regulus unwraps it slowly, reverently, and reveals an original edition of Le Petit Prince, worn but clearly cared for.

His lips part. “This is... this is the exact edition I had.”

“I know,” Remus says softly. “It took forever to find one in that condition. I added a few notes. Just thoughts. I always imagined you underlining bits when you were little.”

He opens box eight and finds a delicate little book filled with pressed wildflowers, each page labeled in Remus’ writing.

“Those are the ones that grew the year you turned eight,” he says. “Sirius told me you used to pick them and hide them in old dictionaries. Said you liked flowers more than football.”

Regulus chokes out a laugh, already blinking back tears.

Box twelve is unexpected, a badge made of ribbon, stitched by hand, reading Spelling Bee Champion.

“You didn’t…”

“I did,” Remus teases, eyes warm. “Because even if the win wasn’t real, the effort was. You told me once you got so close, and then tripped on ‘chevaux’. You’ve never forgotten it.”

Box twenty makes his hands still completely. It’s heavier, and when he opens it, it’s a notebook, one of Remus’, clearly. He recognizes the handwriting instantly. Inside are letters, all dated, all unsent.

“They’re from the year we met,” Remus murmurs, watching him closely. “I wrote them when I was falling in love with you, and too scared to tell you.”

Regulus can’t speak. He just presses his hand over his heart and tries to breathe past the overwhelming feeling cracking open inside him.

Then box twenty-two: a velvet pouch. Inside it, a single smooth gray stone, cool against his palm.

“I picked it up that day we went to the sea, remember?” Remus says. “You skipped it across the waves like it meant nothing. I kept this one.”

Regulus presses his lips together and lets out a shaky breath, the tears now spilling freely down his cheeks. He looks at the final box. Number 25. The last.

He opens it to reveal a wooden box, simple and carefully made, and when he lifts the lid, a ring glints against soft velvet.

Remus reaches for his hand.

“I had my dad help me make it. Because I wanted something that would last, just like this.”

He swallows, his voice rough but steady.

“I want your 25th and your 98th. Will you marry me?”

Regulus cries as he nods, the only answer his heart has ever known.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, you ridiculous, perfect man.”

Above them, the sky flared into greens and violets. Inside, they held each other like a promise made solid, two bodies warm against the glass, wrapped in candlelight and the oldest kind of magic.

[stitch-away]

yes sir

pairing: clint flood x harry castillo

summary: harry gets matched on a blind date by lucy from adore. he assumed it was going to be with her but his date is nothing close

tags: MDNI, smut, little bit of angst, harry thinks he's straight (he's not), clint is old and wants love, drunk sex, first time bottoming for harry, light dom/sub dynamics, sir kink, biting, clint is a big boy, harry is a little ashamed of his wealth

word count: 3.8k

a/n: at first i thought this pairing wouldn't work bc of the class dynamics but after watching materialists, i do think they would be able to get along. anyways enjoys some old man yoai

pride month masterlist

she was beautiful. she had high cheekbones that made her face look like a love heart. she had ocean blue eyes that were framed by thick mascara. the way her soft bangs brushed across her eyebrows made harry fall in love immediately. harry knows he’s a hopeless romantic, falling over his feet at the first sight of a charming woman. he hoped this time, she’d return his affections. he’s been ghosted before, left at the altar, his heart broken irreparably, but this was new.

♡♡♡♡

last week, harry had been at his brother’s wedding. that’s where he met this woman– lucy. she was the matchmaker that had set up his friends. seeing their relationship bloom and culminate in marriage had harry hooked. he had to know this magnetic woman. 

“so, you’re this magic matchmaker i’ve been hearing so much about,” he had said, slipping down next to her at the table. she gave him a look that pulled him in. a look that told him that he was getting laid– to put it bluntly. if only he knew that was true, just not in the way he thought. 

“i am,” she said, lips pursed with a polite smile that only a man could interpret as flirtatious. 

“i’d like to employ your services,” he smirked, leaning forwards, “could i get your name?” 

“lucy.” her tongue tapped the behind of her straight teeth as her painted red lips circled her name. harry dove inside and took nest in that one word, dark eyes lost down the tunnel of her throat. 

“give me your number.” her red painted nails pulled harry from her throat to a napkin and pen. “i think i’ve already got the perfect match for you.” 

harry’s chest clenched as he practically scribbled his heart down on the napkin. he was certain she meant herself. she took it, placing it neatly in her handbag. he stole drinks from a waiter and talked with lucy like she was the last person alive. so when she called, harry picked up the phone before the first ring was finished.

“your match is here,” she sang down the line, “meet them at the diner a block from the wedding venue. tomorrow. 5pm sharp.” with that she hung up, leaving harry with a lazy smile and weak knees. 

by 5pm the next day, harry’s entire closet was on the floor. he’d cycled through every outfit he has. too fancy. too lazy. completely mismatched. he was on the verge of tearing his hair out when he decided on a brown zip neck jumper and light coloured khakis. a simple outfit that took him hours to decide on. 

♡♡♡♡

as he reaches the diner, he realises how overdressed he is. it’s not run down by any means, it’s well kept, but it’s clearly a mom and pop’s diner. you can feel the raw authenticity, the blood, sweat and tears that went into every inch of the place. he feels like an outsider. 

he’s rarely ashamed of his wealth, but arriving here has made his ears tinge pink. each item of clothing he’s donned likely amounts to the cost of the entire diner. he had assumed that lucy was rich as well. he feels foolish for assuming as much– she’ll probably think he’s a snob. 

adjusting his hair in the glass of the door, he takes a deep breath and steps inside. 

“furthest table from door,” he mutters to himself, remembering what lucy had texted him. his eyes lock on the end table, his legs making quick strides, his far too expensive shoes tapping on the linoleum like a taunt. the taunting taps halt in one loud click as harry freezes in front of the booth. 

lucy isn’t there. but that’s not the part that pulls harry’s stomach into his throat. 

a broad man with slicked back hair and a plaid shirt, that wouldn’t have cost him more than 20 dollars, looks up at harry from the booth. he has a scar on the right side of his face, from his nose to his cheek, a scruffy greying beard, and soft brown eyes filled with a small sense of hope. his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are tight and downturned.

“i’m sorry,” harry chuckles nervously, pulling a forced smile, “i’m supposed to be meeting a date here.” 

“uh, yeah,” the man nods, his voice clipped and firm, “so am i.” harry’s face falls as it hits him. lucy had set him up with this man. but he’s not gay. he’s not even bisexual. he’s never thought about another man that way.

“oh,” harry says, “i– i think there’s been a mistake here– i’m not… i don’t swing that way.” he watches in pain as the older man’s face droops, his eyes pushed down by the weight of his eyebrows as the tentative hope in them dissipates into one of heartbreak and shame. 

“fuck,” the man mutters, looking away from harry, too ashamed to let harry see his face. he pulls out a crumbled bill and chucks it on the table as he shuffles out of the booth. the man is big, making it difficult for him to maneuver out of the booth and past harry quickly, but he tries his hardest.

“wait,” harry stops the man, grabbing his arm as he tries to move past him, “what’re you doing?”

“leaving,” the man says quietly, trying to pull himself from harry’s grip but failing. 

“stay, please.” the man looks at harry once again, a pained scowl on his face. harry winces. he’s usually so good at talking to people but he feels like he’s only making things worse. “i know what i said and i’m sorry to disappoint you. but let me make it up to you. sit, we’ll talk, yeah? i’ll get you dinner, on me.” he can see the man’s hesitation, the sheer embarrassment of the situation still weighing on him.

“fine,” he mutters, “not like i got much else to do.” he sighs, bending slowly as he sits back down in the booth. he doesn’t have the energy for this kind of thing anymore. harry slips into the booth, sitting across from the man, his hands clasped nervously in his lap. 

“so,” harry says, trying to break the awkward silence, “what’s your name? i’m harry.”

“clint,” the man replies curtly, avoiding harry’s eyes as he beckons a waitress over, “you want something?” 

“what are you getting?” clint shoots harry a look of confusion.

“a beer.”

“oh, yeah, i’ll get one too.” the waitress takes their orders, two pints, with a smile. her smile is soft, her lips a dark pink and her uniform open enough for harry to catch a glimpse of her breasts as she leans over to take clint’s empty coffee cup. a sight that’d usually excite harry just makes him feel sick. he can feel clint’s gaze on him as his eyes flick from the waitress’ breasts to the table. as she leaves, the awkward silence falls over the pair again. 

“i’m sorry,” harry sighs, rubbing his face, “i don’t know why lucy did this. if i knew she got that vibe from me i would’ve told her i’m straight.” 

“i knew this was a bad idea,” clint groans, slumping back in the booth, “had a bad feeling. but my girl said i was being stupid.” 

“your girl?” harry asks. a part of him is curious but a larger part is just glad clint’s talking. 

“my daughter,” he says, watching his fingers tap the table, “she’s 10 years old and she’s my whole world.” clint’s face lightens, a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks of his daughter. “my wife, she died when our daughter was born. she never got to meet her. i haven’t been on a date in– shit– over a decade, nearly two. my little girl told me i should try it out again. i didn’t want to but she seemed so happy with the idea of her old man finding love.” clint shrugs. 

“shit,” harry mutters. he feels even worse about ruining clint’s date now. “i’m so sorry i ruined this for you. fuck– i feel so bad. i’ll talk to lucy about this, i’ll make sure you get your money back or– or another date for free.” 

“it’s fine, harry,” clint sighs, “it’s not your fault. you don’t have to do none of that shit–” 

“but i want to,” harry interrupts, leaning forwards in his seat, “this isn’t fair on you. i wanna fix it.” clint frowns, looking a the hard set of harry’s jaw and the determined look in his eyes. this man isn’t gonna drop this. 

“fine,” clint says as the waitress returns with their pints. this time, harry doesn’t look at the waitress, letting clint do the pleasantries as he sits there staring at him. his eyes follow the scar on clint’s face, from the soft curve of his cheek to the sharp hook of his nose. it’s clearly very old, reminiscent of rougher times for clint, times long before his daughter or this failure of a date with harry. it’s intriguing, almost beautiful, to harry. 

harry shakes the thought from his head. he literally just told this man he was straight. and he meant it. 

“you can fix it by humouring this old man with a chat,” clint says, taking a swig of his pint, “so, why didn’t you tell lucy your sexuality? did she not ask you or something? ‘cause that’s one of the first things she asked when i came to her.” harry flushes a little, embarrassed to remember the fact that he thought lucy was hitting on him.

“well, you see, i kinda thought she was matching me with herself,” harry mutters, staring down his pint. clint tries to stifle a laugh but fails, almost spitting out his beer. 

“goddamn,” clint chuckles, “ain’t you mister hopeful. you’re the kinda guy that thinks the stripper actually wants to fuck him, aren’t you?” harry snaps his head up, insulted. 

“no, i’m not,” he mutters, “i–i’m just a bit of a romantic, y’know? i have one good conversation with someone and i feel like we’re fated or some shit. i can’t help it.” he shrugs meekly, a small smile gracing his lips as he thinks about his past loves and all the big romantic gestures he did for them. 

“that’s alright, kid,” clint smiles, “i was like that with my wife. i understand.” harry gives clint a look of sympathy but clint doesn’t seem upset by the memory of his wife. he looks happy. the memories of his wife are no longer simply painful wounds but an ode to the love they shared and it’s place forever in clint’s heart. 

“i mean, you can’t blame me for thinking that way,” harry says, trying to lessen his embarrassment, “as soon as she saw me, she told me she had the perfect match for me. so, naturally i assumed it was her.” clint’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“the perfect match?” he says, his interest peaked, “here i was thinking i was a difficult match. what about you makes you my perfect match? right now, i can only see how different we are.” 

“same,” harry mutters, his voice distant as he tries to process clint’s words. harry is ungodly rich and clint, by the looks of things, is very much not. harry is straight and clint is…. not. “are you gay or bisexual?”

“changing the subject, harry,” clint tuts, “i guess, bisexual would be accurate but i don’t care much for labels. i like whatever i like.” he shrugs. 

“i’m just trying to get to know you,” harry says, “you can ask me whatever you want in return.” 

“alright, but they’re gonna be hard hitters,” clint smirks, “what is your favourite movie?” 

“that’s your hard hitter?” harry laughs. clint frowns at him. “alright, alright. pretty woman.” 

“of course it is,” clint chuckles, shaking his head, “lemme guess, you see yourself in edward and you’re waiting on a woman, unlike yourself, to waltz into your life and change you… and you change her. then you live happily ever after or something. sound right?” 

harry smile falters. clint’s correct. not that he’s surprised, harry has never been the kind of man easy at hiding his heart. but for a complete stranger to pick him apart like that, almost callously, is unnerving. 

“uh, yeah,” he nods, taking a deep sip of his beer. clint chuckles, placing a hand on harry’s shoulder. 

“ease up, kid,” he smiles, “i’m just teasing you. fun trick i like to do with people when they tell me their favourite movie.” harry sighs, looking at clint over his beer.

“you keep calling me kid,” he says, “we’re like the same age.”

“how old are you?”

“45.”

“60,” clint says proudly, “so i can call you kid.” 

“you’ve aged well,” harry says, “i hope i can look that good at your age.” 

“that your attempt at flirting?” clint chuckles, “‘cause i’ll have you know i’m not that easy.” 

harry rolls his eyes as clint smirks through a sip of beer. he has to admit, the old man is charming. the thoughts from before, the thoughts of the rough lines of clint’s face, how beautiful they are next to the gentle softness of his eyes, come back to harry. this time he doesn’t push them away. he lets them stew as he lets his eyes trace ever inch of clint’s face. 

before he can stop himself, he’s opening his mouth. 

“you wanna come back to my place?” harry blurts, “i–it’s not that far from here. we could drink something stronger than this for free there.” he has a tentative smile on his lips, trying not to retract his words and tell clint to forget about it. 

“sure,” clint shrugs, a look of confusion on his face, “as long as i choose what we’re drinking.”

“deal,” harry says, unable to stop a smile breaking out on his face, “i’ll drive.”

♡♡♡♡

“this is my humble abode,” harry smiles, opening the door and leading clint into his apartment. clint is silent, taking in the opulence of the aforementioned “humble abode.” the apartment is massive, harry’s kitchen alone is the size of clint’s living room. 

“humble?” he chuckles nervously, “i’d hate to see what you think is over the top.” harry’s smile falters as he is once again reminded of the stark class difference between the pair. 

“yeah– sorry, it’s a bit excessive, i know,” harry mutters, a lilt of shame in his voice, “we should’ve gone to your place instead.” clint shakes his head, wandering into the lounge and slumping down on the couch. 

“nah,” he says casually, turning his head to face harry, “i wanna drink your booze.” there’s a small smirk on his lips at the strange but intentional innuendo that makes harry’s heart skip a beat. he’s so used to being the one in control, naturally assuming that position as the man in the relationship. but with clint here he feels himself slipping into a soft submissiveness. 

with his bottom lip between his teeth, he hurries into the kitchen, grabbing his finest tequila bottle. he doesn’t bother with glasses, simply heading back over to join clint on the couch. 

“we don’t need glasses right?” harry smiles sheepishly, “we’re both men.” clint chuckles, nodding and taking the bottle from harry. he unscrews the cap and takes a deep swig, keeping eye contact with harry. 

“nah,” he smirks, his eyes flicking down to harry’s lips, “open up.” without thinking, harry’s jaw goes slack. clint brings his calloused hand up, placing his thumb on harry’s lip, hooking his pointer under his chin. he tilts harry’s head back and opens his mouth up wider. he pours the tequila down harry’s throat, smiling as he watches harry’s eyes water from the burn. “good boy.”

harry chokes on the tequila and clint finally stops pouring it down his throat. he leans over the couch as drops of tequila hit his pristine carpet. clint laughs, giving harry a firm pat on the back.

“you just made me spit tequila on my rug,” harry croaks, rubbing his throat, “you know how much that cost?” clint raises an eyebrow and that says all harry needs to know. “right.” 

he sits back on the couch, melting into the plush cushions. he glances over at clint, who’s chugging back more alcohol, and grimaces. 

“how can you drink so much of that stuff?” he groans, “that shit burns.” 

“used to it,” clint shrugs, finally putting the cap back on the tequila. 

“i would be more upset about you using me for my booze, if…” harry mutters, trailing off as he drops his head onto the back of the couch. 

“if what?” clint asks, leaning back to mirror harry, “spit it out, rich boy.” harry lets out a breathy chuckle. the tequila is starting to hit him. his mind is feeling fuzzy, any distractions that usually linger in his mind disappearing completely as it singles in on one feeling. 

desire. 

“if i didn’t really wanna fuck you, right now,” harry whispers. 

“what happened to being straight?” clint smirks, sitting up. harry shrugs, his eyes following clint. 

“you, i guess.” clint looks at the glazed over look in harry’s eyes. it’s not just a look of drunkenness but a look of lust. 

“you sure you’re sober enough to be saying that, kid?” clint’s a lot of things but he swears on his wife’s grave he’d never take advantage of another person, not like that. 

“i don’t know,” harry shrugs, “kiss me and we’ll find out.” tentatively, clint leans in, pressing a soft closed kiss to harry’s lips. his lips taste like tequila and lip balm. 

clint pulls back to look harry in the eyes, checking on harry. “what’s the answer?”

harry doesn’t respond, simply curling his arms round clint’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. it’s sloppy this time, lips ajar, tongues slip past one another through panted breaths. 

they move, harry laying back, clint’s weight bearing down. stomachs rub as teeth gnash, as beards scratch and cocks ache. one buck of harry’s hips has clint moaning. 

“i want to be inside you,” clint pants against harry’s lips, “please?” harry’s pupils are blown wide and his eyebrows are tented. he can hardly utter a word, only a needy whimper slipping past his lips.

“fuck.” 

clint’s hands hurry to unbuckle his jeans and then harry’s. with quick pulls, clint’s cock is out and harry’s ass is bare on display. he rubs the head of his cock against harry’s hole, letting out deep groans of pleasure as the tip notches on it.

“fuck, harry,” clint pants, trying his hardest not to thrust in, “i’ll take it slow for ya.” harry nods, his hands scrambling to hold onto clint’s broad shoulders. clint slowly pushes in, keeping an eye on harry’s face the whole time. as harry winces, clint stops still.

“you okay?” he asks, softly caressing harry’s thighs. harry nods.

“ngh– keep going,” he whines, “it only hurts a little.”

“are you sure, we can st–”

“don’t you dare,” harry grunts, bucking his hips to coax clint’s cock deeper inside him. clint moans, nearly collapsing onto harry from the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

he hasn’t had sex in a very long time, grieving his wife and looking after his daughter never left him much time for himself. so being inside harry now, is like heaven. 

he leans down, taking harry in his arms as he starts to thrust into harry slowly. each roll of his hips has both of the moaning like pornstars. clint would feel embarrassed if it wasn’t clear how badly harry needs him. 

“fuck– ngh,” harry whimpers, rolling his hips up to meet clint’s, “n–need you…t–touch me.” his nails dig into clint’s back as he pulls clint’s face into his neck. his hard cock pressing up against clint’s chubby belly, begging to be touched. 

“yes sir,” clint groans, attaching his lips to harry’s neck as he slips one hand down to harry’s cock. hearing the breathy moan that harry lets out as clint strokes his cock spurs clint on. he nips at harry’s neck as he jerks him off in time with his thrusts. 

“shit– call me sir again,” harry mumbles, gripping at clint’s hair. clint moans, fucking into harry harder. 

“of course, sir,” clint whimpers, “i want you to cum for me, sir.” 

“oh– fuck,” harry moans, his hips bucking. he clutches to harry harder, his nails breaking skin as he cums hard in clint’s hand. “nghh– fuck.”

harry clenches round clint’s cock, making him moan into his neck. clint bites into harry’s neck as he thrusts harder into harry’s tight hole. he can feel his orgasm approaching as he fucks harry’s blissed out body. 

“so good, sir,” clint whines, “c–can i cum inside you?” harry’s eyes roll back and he swears he sees god when clint whines for his permission. 

“yes! fuck, yes!” harry moans, “please!” 

that’s all clint needs before he’s snapping his hips forwards for the last time, filling harry’s hole up with his seed. clint groans and collapses on top of harry, a sweaty satisfied mess. the pair lay there panting for a moment before clint pulls out and rolls off of harry. 

“sorry for crushing you like that,” clint mutters, “i…haven’t done this in awhile.” 

“you could’ve fooled me,” harry chuckles, “that was…really fucking good.” 

“really?” clint asks, sitting up to tuck himself back into his pants. 

“really,” harry smiles, moving his hand down to scoop up clint’s cum that’s leaking out his ass, “could you pass me a tissue?” clint nods, grabbing tissues of the coffee table and gently wiping up the mess him and harry left. 

“for such a gruff looking man, you’re so gentle,” harry says softly, watching with adoration as clint wipes him clean.

“it took a lot hurt to get this gentle,” clint sighs, standing up to put the tissues in the him, “but i wouldn’t change anything. i prefer being gentle.” he walks back over to the couch, sitting down and pulling harry into his arms.

“you good?” clint mutters, pressing a kiss to harry’s temple. 

“yeah,” harry whispers, nodding as he snuggles closer into clint’s body, “i enjoyed that. maybe i’m not as straight as i thought.” clint chuckles, hugging harry tighter.

“you don’t have to have things figured out,” he says, combing a hand through harry’s hair, “just be you, harry.” 

“you’re too sweet, clint, like a big teddy bear,” harry chuckles, squeezing clint’s soft stomach, “shit– i have to tell lucy she was right– you are the perfect match.” clint’s heart swells as his cheeks warm. 

“you…harry,” clint mutters, “fuck– you’re adorable, kid.” harry chuckles, leaning up to kiss clint’s lips, flustering the older man further. 

“and you’re fucking beautiful,” harry whispers against clint’s lips, nuzzling his nose against clint’s, “now shut up and kiss me.” clint smirks. 

“yes sir.”

♡♡♡♡

tags: @perezososstuff @alfiestreacle @mandaloriankait

[brights-place]

So twst x murder drones

A cyn yuu that mellowed down yet is Still a goofball but when a overbolt happened they go feral on it a few zombie and disassembly drones here and there. 

[TWST] TWST x Cyn!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Fights, Swearing, Gore

Pt. 1 (Here) , Pt. 2 A/N: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THSI CAUSE ITS MY FIRST TWST REQUETS OMG OMG!! anyways I LOVED THE IDEA OF CYN! YUU SO MUCHHHHH anyways this will be placed in Book 6 and again I was kind of struggling since I haven't watched murder drones in awhile which sucksss plus I've been struggling with writing fight scenes so I hope this was alright in some sorts..?

Summary: Cyn! Yuu was something there was no acutal way if everybody knew her real personality and actual mannerisms, as little is known of her from before her disposal, and after rebooting she has no control over herself due to the Solver possessing her. So when given the chance to be in a different world she used it to her advantaged yet she would do these things that others couldn't question but the moment it came when Idia overblotted and Taking Grim. They all couldn't help but witness the more... destructive side of her

Footsteps echoed as each and every group finally ended up in their final destination. Your eyes staring ahead as you already were the first one there your hands were close to your chest head lodged to the side. Your digital pupils staring at the group that came down from different parts of stairs and back to the figure hovering over them from afar Idia’s overblotted form hovering body is dominated by black and glowing blue tones. Blue flames crown his head and twist around his figure. His sleek angular armor is adorned with glowing blue accents and a central heart-like emblem on his chest. His lower body dissolves into flowing, tattered flames, giving him a ghostly, unbound appearance. A jagged-toothed mask obscures his face, while his glowing mismatched eyes. One burning intensely with blue fire reflect his despair and rage. A overblotted monster behind him hovering roaring as your eyes darted around as you scanned Idia and the overblot monster. You smiled trudging forward to the others "Hello everybody" "Hi Epel" you smiled waving as Epel waved back witha soft smile before you were standing with everybody snapping your head over back to Idia while others were belittling him and talking/shouting at him while the firey blue haired male was monologuing you couldn't help but be bored. Raising one of your hands to lift up your head while your shoes started dragging on the floor before stopping as you scanned Idia and the blot creature from behind him Leon couldn't help but stare at you when you were moving and stating your next action "Lick" your metallic tongue sticking out licking one of your digital eyes that were glitching slightly. "(Your Name) What are you doing?" Epel shouted as he noticed you were walking closer to Idia who stared down at you with eyebrows furrowed blue smoke coming from his mask "What are you-" "Giggle" Leona eyes widened as he stepped back smelling something coming from you not the usual one of a robot like Ortho but of something coming from a rotting corpse while Epel went to go towards you he reached his hand out towards the lavendar haired male grabbing him back instantly handing him off to Vil "GET DOWN" That one singular word had everybody quickly move away as you snapped your head up to Idia "Oh Y-Yes" voice glitching "Get snuck upon" everybody froze seeing how your digital pupils turned into yellow X's giving a fangy grin darting forward to Idia. The males eyes widened when you vanished from infront of him before snapping his head to the side when you past him landing back onto the floor below grinning while the others saw your change of appearance that changed instantly that resembles a rotting human-child corpse wearing black heels and a black tattered dress.

The way you moved on all fours with eyes sockets staring right at Idia that were dark showing signs they were ripped open with your X-shapes glowing a neon yellow-orange color that darted around each time deflecting Idia is throws and magic with the overblot monster. "Stab" You stated while fleshy like large tendrils came out poking out on your back, three intestine like tentacles protrude out of this form of yours is back as you used it to climb around walls and digging into the floor when skidding back neck snapping to the side as you stared at Idia who was heaving heavily as another spare of black tendrils shot out. Epel was frozen seeing how you were laughing and throwing Idia around as you continued to play around with him before Vil was shouting at you to get the overblot monster before you appeared behind Vil a large tendril appeared from you shooting out to stab Vil who was grabbed away by Rook "Angry." you said grinning while your X eyes staring at them. You were mentally cussing every human in here they were getting annoying to deal with these humans in this other world but you needed them for now and you wanted this done with as long as Grim didn't see this you were fine. It was annoying you on how when they tried to shoot magic at Idia they were close to hurting you in the trial so it made your job extra hard. Vil though being held by Rook before placing down was staring at your body and at a ripped part of your corpse like body reveals a drone identification number on her chest to be 1001 wearing a yellow "MARKED FOR DISASSEMBLY" armband wrapped around your left shoulder. Snapping your head back over to the overblot monster you grinned sprouting wings from your back that was slightly ripped on the bottom with camera-eyes appearing staring and zooming into Idia who's eyes widened when you lunged forward at him once again fangs showing with your smile, voice glitching "Let's eat." Riddle was petrified by how you were standing there unhinged and giggling how your body shifted into something else how you made the blot monster become into nothing toying with Idia. He wondered in his overblot form if you did anything like that but he didn't hear anything from any heartslabyul members so this situation with you was something he wouldn't have expect. Leona could smell the oil from your body the way your body and joints were snapping. The group even though trying to help you fight kept getting in your way especially when you in moments slammed them away to continue to torment Idia. Even though Idia deserved it he noticed how your mouth was drooling a black substance of oil. Azul was beside Riddle jaw slacking at how you laughed showing off numerous jagged sharp teeth with a dark gray metallic tongue that made him feel as if you were on par with the leech twins... He may or may not be considering on hiring you with how he saw you were handling the situation against Idia. Jamil felt useless in this entire situation not only with the time with Leona he was struggling with keeping up with you. Trying to shoot out large sums of magic but when he noticed how one of your tendrils shot out to him throwing him to the side he skidded to a stop.

Vil was beside Epel, and Rook staring at the scene. Epel looking horrified to see his so called friend having spike like tendrils throwing idia and impaling the overblot monster seeing you actually laughing without saying the word giggle or a word to describe your actions like usual. Rook though he would be complimenting your beauty or whatever someone was doing was holding a serious expression beside Vil nodding to eachother.

The after math with Vil saving Idia, Ortho also with Vil becoming old and everything though you were staring down at Idia who blinked letting out an 'eep' when you made a chomping motion to him "Bite" the moment you stepped on the ship with Grim going on first the air was tense the group staring at you while you used one of your hands to hold your head up properly "Blink" You continued to head over to a seat on the ship sitting down finally.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[shojizbae]

Wellness Checks

Spencer Reid x Reader

It was 11:37 when you checked your wristwatch. A knock sounded at your door, and you reached for your glasses on your nightstand blindly. Both your dogs sprang up and barked at the sound of the knocks.

"Nike, Artemis, Heel!" you shush them and rub your eyes to get them to focus. The two fluffy German shepherds follow your calves as you get to the front door, clicking the two deadbolts open. They sit as you open the door and reveal Dr. Reid. Only having been on the team for five months, you view Spencer as not just your senior but your superior. And not just the lanky piece of ass that he is.

"Uh, Spencer!" You attempted to smile, and he greeted you back. "Err, come on in." You stepped out of the way and widened the door. "Is there anything I can do for you?" You led him to the couch, where both your dogs sat and stared at him.

"Can I help you with something? Tea, maybe?" you start to walk away

"You were supposed to be at work almost two hours ago (Y/n)."

"I must have overslept, I'm gonna get some coffee would you like a cup."

"As long as it gets you to stop dodging my questions."

"Yes, Sir. How do two cups of sugar sound?" He's trying to be stern and show how cross he is with you, but it's hard to make a serious face when you're not wearing pants. You strut off the kitchen, and he can hear your faucet as you fill the coffee pot. He takes a moment to take you into your apartment. The walls were an olive shade, and there were giant purple curtains. It looked lived-in.

Organized chaos, as people liked to call this.

Your bag and shoes were tossed into oblivion. Your couch had just about a million throw pillows and a basket of blankets. It was cozy. You returned with two large mismatched mugs, handed one to him, and knelt on the couch. At the touch of your bare legs against each other, you realized that you had forgone pajama bottoms the night before. Instead, you had on an old gray UCLA raglan and some red underwear. Thank God you didn't wear a thong yesterday.

"Uh, I'm so sorry I didn't realize." You begin to stand, but a tentative grip on your wrist pulls you down.

"It's fine. You weren't expecting guests." you laugh but pull a nearby knit blanket over your lap

"Why were you sleeping so late? Normally, you are fifteen minutes early. What happened?" You take a sip from a mug that says '30 and flirty.' "(Y/n)." His voice is back to demanding.

"I'm sorry," you rub your eyes. I stayed in the office late to finish up my reports and help JJ with the debriefing.

"Bullshit, JJ was the second out; she had to get back to her son." He takes a long swig of his coffee and sits it on the table. "I've been profiling for over seven years. You're not going to get past me. Was it something on the trip?"

At the mention, you hang your head and whimper.

Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes, and you hear them tap against your lenses. His mug clicks against your vinyl coffee table, and he pulls you into his chest by your shoulder.

"Shh sh, it's okay." His other hand rubs at your hair. "I know this job takes it out of you. It's important to focus on the fact that you're inciting real change."

"how could someone do that to a child? To ten children and keep going!" You pull up from your hands and look him deep in his eyes.

"I know it's not right." he holds the back of your neck as your forehead presses into his breast.

"How could- how could you do that to a poor sweet child." you begin to let out a mirage of sobs. Incoherent pleas. He pets your hair as you dampen his nice gray sweater. When you've finally calmed down you sniffle and wipe your eyes.

"You should get some water. Gets up and rummages through your cupboard and fills it with tap water. You throw back the last coffee and pull your knees up to your chest. You look up as he hands you a clear blue plastic cup.

"Thank you." you push your glasses up your nose. "You're free to grab anything in the kitchen. Although my groceries are quite lackluster."

"That's alright. I ate before I got here. I never knew you needed glasses."

"Oh, well, I try not to be public without my contacts. I was called four eyes more than I could count."

"Yeah, middle school is the worst."

"This was actually grad school." Your laugh is finally genuine, but you punctuate it with another sniffle.

"Well, I'm just going to text Hotch that you're going to stay home today." He reaches into his pocket

"No, no, I'll come in today. I just needed to rest a little." You push his phone to his chest and stand up. "I'll be right back."

You are ushered to your bedroom, which is basically a big closet separated from the rest of the space by three wide steps and two industrial barn doors. The two dogs follow you to your room and stand at the doors, scrutinizing Reid. You're halfway through buttoning your pants when you realize you're missing your good bra.

"fuck," you whisper to yourself "Reid!" You yell into your apartment

"Yeah!" As he responds, his voice gets louder

"Uh," you turn around quickly and cross your arms over your bare chest

"Oh, sorry,"

"I'm sorry, but could you get my bra from my purse?"

"Sure thing."

"Sorry, it's probably somewhere near the door." your forehead connects with your dresser briefly until you hear him knock on your door jam.

"Here." He taps your shoulder, and you turn slowly, but he squeezes his eyes shut like a 12-year-old boy.

"Oh, come on, Reid, it's not like you've never seen a topless girl before," You tease and spin around to put on your bra. "I'm decent now." You tap on his shoulder. A new method of communication for the two of you. He opens his eyes but looks away when he sees you're only halfway through buttoning your light blue blouse.

"Seriously? I know you didn't have a chance to have fun in high school, but this is ridiculous."

"Well, this is also unprofessional. You're my colleague." He put his hands in his pockets.

"I'm also ready to go. My shoes are by the door." You point to the exit, gather your belongings, put out food for the dogs, and make sure the dog door is unlocked. Reid insists that you take his car and that he'll drive you home at the end of the day.

His car is nice and clean, with only one of those clip-in air fresheners. He takes some sort of secret route to evade the Virginia traffic. You arrive at Quantico and log in to the relief of your coworkers.

"What took you so long?"

"Reid couldn't find my bra." You snort as you fill up another mug with coffee

"Heyo!" Morgan cheers

"That's not completely true." He interjects

"No, it's not. I was having a rough time processing our Alabama case. I guess I slept through some of the trauma."

"You should have stayed home (L/n)," Hotchner says

"No, I need to do at least three hours of work to feel like I've been productive. I'll be fine if I can stay behind my computer and file reports."

"Ok, but you'll be going home at five at the latest." He orders

"Yes, sir." You type in the government password and tie up some loose ends. Many of your reports were halted, and new cases sprung up. Your computer read 4:57 when your to-do list was empty.

"Hotch?" you knock on his door frame and poke your head around the corner. He politely hangs up the phone and rubs his temples. "I'm gonna head out now?"

"Good. And fantastic job finishing your reports. Go get some rest."

"You too," you meander to Spencer's desk and pat his shoulder. "Can you drive me home now?"

"Of course,"

"Hey, don't get too rowdy lovebirds. We need y'all tomorrow!" Morgn calls from his desk, but you're already speeding for the door when he finishes his sentence. Reid makes a sojourn at a nearby Chinese food place and returns with a doggy bag. He takes you and the food up to your apartment and watches you deadbolt him in with you.

"You understand, right?"

"Of course, I also noticed you don't have a ground or top-floor apartment."

"Yeah," Today, you drop your purse on the bench by your door and line your black heels up nicely on a rack. "Well, ground-floor apartments are easier to break into. And if I'm thrown off my balcony, it's low enough that I probably won't die—unless I land on my neck."

"Lovely."

"Feel free to make yourself at home. I'm going to put on some pj's." you start taking off your blouse as you walk to your bedroom. His worm-like reaction only entices you to embolden yourself. You shed your business attire, toss it in the hamper, and put on the same shirt from earlier and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt.

You grab a pair of grey sweats from your drawer and bring them to Reid. He's pulling small white boxes out of the brown bag. You tap his shoulder to avoid startle. He jumps slightly, though.

"Here, those slacks don't look couch-worthy." You hold them out, and he looks hesitant to. "Please, you're a guest who bought me dinner." He pressed his lips in a thin line. He got up with a sigh and put the pants on in your bedroom.

You flip through the channels until you get to BBC and play Dr Who. Reid joins you, wearing an undershirt and your sweats, and is shocked to see his favorite show on the TV.

"Those fit you better than me. You should keep them."

"You watch Dr. Who?"

"Of course," you open a box of Peking ravioli, "Come, take a seat." you open the blanket on your lap for him. "Oh, actually, I have to feed the dogs." You spring upright when he sits down, so he gets a view of your perky butt as he tries to take in the fictional storyline. You scuttle off while he struggles with chopsticks with some lo mein.

You rejoin him, pull the blanket over your lap, overlapping your legs on his. You laugh along with the absurdity of the episode, and as breakfast at Tiffany's comes on, you tell Reid that you're getting drowsy. It's not much later that your glasses are pinching on his arm, and he can feel your lips distorted against him. He pulls you into his chest.

As your snores overlap the sounds of the movie he slides his arm under your knees and by your neck to carry you off to bed. The dogs immediately start barking and leap toward him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Artemis Nike Down! Safe." You assure the dogs. Immediately, they lay down and whimper at you. Reid opens your blankets and tucks you in. Before he leaves he places a succulent kiss on your forehead.

"Spence, stay."

"Ok,"

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️

[plain text: cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️ cloud emoji]

[id: pastel fem looking person in pastel manual wheelchair looking down to slug in lap. there also slug on head n slug slide down skirt (don’t ask how). (all color pastel). person hair pink bangs, purple side hair, & blue low loose pigtails go below hips. purple eyes & medium-light ish skin. wearing bright turquoise ish color shirt collar with pink ruffles, & white shirt body with blue ruffles decorate, n green long sleeve cardigan over it also with ruffles. rainbow midi above knee skirt with white ruffles overflow from side of wheelchair. wear mismatch stockings, person’s left side rainbow stripes, n person right side turquoise blue with clouds on it. person not wearing shoes.

their wheelchair has yellow headrest, teal stroller push handle, green contoured backrest with supportive panels on two side lateral, teal to blue transition arm rest, orange big wheels with rainbow windmill candy swirl as cover & red push rim. frame is turquoise blue gradient to pink, has dump/slant, with yellow slug on one side’s turning point. purple fat caster wheels. attach to backrest is big white angel wings, & above arm rest has glowing yellow halo. their AAC device floating by them, has turquoise blue case with white cloud patterns. is saying “slug” icon. border of art lined with rainbow gradient lace. end id]

☁️.

(otherwise known as hate names terrible at decision)

VERY pastel n rainbow overload >:)

they level 3 autistic (“requiring very substantial support”) with high support needs—meaning they cannot independently do most adaptive functioning skills, needing other people physical help to do/do for them. they also need 24/7 supervision & physical help for all iADLs & bADLs.

they nonverbal & use AAC full time. their AAC is symbol based speech generating device.

their (most likely [<haven’t decided] partner who act as their) disability caretaker is hyacinthos shinya🪻🌌.

they also full time non-ambulatory wheelchair user with very specific posture & seating positioning needs so not out of it for long or really much at all.

angel wing on back of wheelchair is power assist! is magically powered by hyacinthos (who angel) & can be powered even remotely / far away. way control wheelchair & power assist part by intuitive / hand motions & gestures / etc, part by halo hover above armrest that act as joystick. can use it like traditional joystick or wear as bracelet n control that way! (gimme it i want one) (if you recognize this setting it may be because previous version)

they do mix of self propel, power assist, & caregiver push. their wheelchair have stroller style push handle instead traditional push handle for easier caregiver push, especially one handed.

is set in magical world & they do some magic (< haven’t decided]!

character not slug obsessed, artist the slug obsessed one

character sheet below cut!!

artfight character profile (VERY wip)

please do feel free draw them (with credit) n tag me!!!!!!

reblog welcome but please don’t repost

will fight you if debate about autism levels & support needs

.

hi under cut

[character sheet. functionally described below]

top left is full character clothing (with wheelchair translucent in background) because in original there some key parts blocked by wheelchair especially arm rest.

skirt around waist have purple band with blue small ruffles. center have rainbow bow with rainbow star on top.

n also have front n back of AAC device. what drawn here is 5x7 grid with various colored squares showing different parts of speech but grid size more so because like. is how much could fit comfortably. so even when redraw n isn’t exact 5x7 with colors exactly right where is right now, is okay. colors & where they are based on own AAC device >:) because of course

design of aac device case basically same as above. back side just have bigger clouds. oh also device has handles. tho it float around so handles get used less. float around so don’t have worry about how to carry it how to mount on wheelchair etc etc etc it follows you it automatic come to your hand when you wanna say something (kinda also acting as prompting bc sometimes think about say something but don’t actually say in device) it get out way when you don’t want it. if only like this irl lol

bottom left is info about character already said

bottom right is wheelchair design

parts covered up by person: rainbow gradient side guard, blue contoured cushion.

n also drawing of back of backrest: when not in use, wings power assist shrink to small decoration on back. not big there all time.

also have stickers! sticker of nessie, banana slug, sheep, cloud, star, rainbow, & an AAC symbol of “AAC”

wheelchair may also have magical tilt & recline & elevate. how? don’t know!!! why not just make full powerchair? uhhhh like manual chair look better

n picture of irl windmill candy

border of art also rainbow gradient lace.

yea that all please draw them 🥲

praise me put lots work into them

pls be nice to them

[fawnme1]

Request: You have to choose between Arthur and Chris, who both have gone out with you a couple of times. Arthur wins and asks to become exclusive.

YOU HAVE ME arthurtv .˚꩜ .ᐟ

summary; the request.

an; thank you for the requests, i loved writing this one.

You didn’t mean for it to get messy.

You were just saying yes to two different boys, on two separate timelines. It wasn’t your fault that their names started showing up in your texts with equal amounts of heart emojis and cheeky banter. You had rules. Casual. No pressure. Just hanging out.

Except… it stopped feeling casual a while ago.

Arthur notices it first. Of course he does. He’s always been good at reading you — the twitch of your lip when you’re unsure, the way you look down when you’re lying, the way your voice gets quieter when you’re avoiding the truth.

So when you show up at his flat, oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, and a hesitant look in your eyes, he knows something’s changed.

“Y’alright?” he asks, stepping aside to let you in.

You nod, brushing past him, slipping off your shoes in that way that’s already too comfortable. “Yeah. Just needed a bit of quiet.”

He doesn’t press you, just tosses you a blanket and plops down next to you on the sofa, a steaming mug of tea already waiting for you on the coffee table like he’d expected you.

You slip it slowly, grateful.

Arthur nudges your leg with his. “You saw Chris today?”

It’s not a question.

You pause, setting the mug down. “Yeah.”

His face gives nothing away. At first. Just a tiny clench of his jaw. “You kissed him?”

You blink. “Arthur—”

“It’s alright,” he cuts in quickly, eyes fixed on the telly. Some football match neither of you are watching. “You don’t owe me anything. I just… I’d rather not be the idiot in this story, y’know?”

The words sit heavy between you.

You’ve gone out with Chris maybe three times. It was always light, flirtatious, no strings. But with Arthur… it’s different. Even your silences with him feel full. The kind of full that makes your chest ache in a good way.

“Arthur,” you whisper, your voice suddenly small. “I haven’t kissed him.”

He looks at you, finally. Really looks. “But you want to.”

You shake your head. “That’s the thing. I don’t know what I want.”

That’s a lie.

You know exactly what you want. It’s the boy beside you, hair messy from running his hands through it, hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched, heart wide open and stupidly, stupidly brave.

But Chris is easy. He flirts like it’s breathing. He makes you laugh. And he doesn’t make your stomach tie itself in knots with one look.

Arthur leans back, arms crosed. “You’ve gotta figure it out.”

You nod slowly. “I know.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t want to be one of your options,” he says softly. Not accusing. Just honest.

Your throat tightens. “You’re not.”

“Feels like it.”

You close your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The next few days are a blur of avoidance. You cancel plans with both of them. Turn off notifications. Pretend you’re suddenly obsessed with cleaning your flat. It’s cowardly, and you know it, but it feels easier than facing the truth:

You’re going to hurt someone.

Chris texts you the next night.

chris: miss your face. come over?

You stare at the message.

And then, without even realising it, you’re calling Arthur.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey.”

You swallow. “Can I come over?”

No questions. Just a quiet, “Yeah. Always.”

This time, your bring snacks. Peace offering.

Arthur answers the door in joggers and a soft blue hoodie. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and your brain short circuits a little.

“You clean up nice,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t smile. Just steps aside again.

Okay. Fair.

You sit beside him, this time leaving some space. He doesn’t close it.

“I got a text from Chris,” you start, unwrapping a chocolate bar.

Arthur doesn’t say anything.

You keep going. “He asked me to come over.”

Still nothing.

“But I called you instead.”

That makes him look at you.

Your voice is quieter now. “I keep comparing ever conversation I have with him to the ones I have with you. And it’s not fair, to him or to you, but it’s the truth. I laugh with Chris, but I feel with you. I’m myself with you.”

Arthur’s eyes don’t leave yours.

“I think I was scared,” you admit. “Because with you, it’s real. And that means it could actually go wrong.”

He’s still not talking.

You bite your lip. “Say something.”

Arthur’s face softens. “I thought you were gonna pick him.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “You smile when you talk about him.”

“I grin when I talk about you.”

He blinks.

Your voice drops. “I’m picking you. I always was. Even when I pretended not to.”

Something cracks in his expression — relief, affection, a touch of disbelief. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Good. Because I was about to do something really dramatic if you didn’t.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Confess my love in the rain. Stand outside your window with a speaker. Fly to a different country and leave a letter like I’m in a rom-com.”

You giggle, leaning into him. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins, that boyish smirk returning. “You love it.”

You look up at him, suddenly serious again. “So… what now?”

Arthur shifts a little, his hand finding yours between the cushions. “Now,” he says gently, “I ask if you want to be mine. Properly. No more in-between. No more mixed signals. Just you and me.”

Your heart flutters.

“Yes.”

His fingers tighten around yours.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m all in.”

He leans forward slowly, giving you time to pull away — but you don’t. You meet him halfway, lips brushing his in a kiss that feels like everything you’ve been trying to say and everything you’re still too scared to.

When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours.

“No more Chris?” he asks, teasing.

You chuckle. “No more anyone but you.”

Arthur grins, and for the first time in weeks, the knot in your chest finally untangles.

You didn’t mean for it to get messy.

But you’re so, so glad you found your way back to him.

[nizhspo]

saltwater secrets

chapter twelve: red lights

genre: haikyuu fic, slow burn

pairing: tooru oikawa x reader

links: m.list, next

you’re curled up sideways on the couch, remote in hand, flipping between old reruns when your phone buzzes on the armrest beside you.

[bokuto: party 2nite @ beach. you in???]

[you: what kind of party?]

he calls you instead of texting.

“okay, okay,” he says as soon as you pick up. “you know that underclassman from aoba johsai? the one with the blonde streaks who’s always trying to break his ankle on a skateboard?”

you blink. “yeah?”

“him. he’s throwing another beach party. his friends brought slip ‘n slides. they’ve got like actual speakers this time. and firecrackers. every single party he throws gets shut down by the cops, but—and this is important—before that? it’s insane.”

“kou…”

“you’ve never been to one,” he says. “i’ve been to two. i know how to survive, i’m practically a veteran.”

you roll your eyes but you’re already standing.

yachi’s gone, off on a spring break trip with her mom, something work-related she decided to tag along for. she’s been emailing you every day with low-res pics from her digital camera and texts about every breakfast buffet she raids. you miss her.

but tonight?

tonight, you don’t need sweet. you need wild.

you don’t have work. you have time. you have gold jewelry.

you have intent.

your red bikini is already out. you pull on white shorts, snug and a little too high. your white tube top hugs your ribs and says playboy in cherry-red letters right across the front. your hair’s down tonight, soft and voluminous, and your gold hoops glint every time you turn your head toward the light.

bokuto whistles when he sees you.

“somebody’s tryna cause problems,” he says.

“i’m trying to party,” you grin.

“same thing.”

neither of you drive. bokuto wants to drink, and you don’t feel like dealing with parking, so you walk. down the boardwalk, past neon tourist signs and a shop that sells sunglasses and airbrushed trucker hats, the smell of funnel cake thick in the breeze.

you hear the music before you even see the beach.

by the time you reach the sand, it’s pure chaos.

there’s a fold-out table covered in solo cups and mismatched bottles. shoes are everywhere. teens are dancing barefoot, tipsy, loud, faces lit by string lights and flashes from disposable cameras. there’s a girl falling into the water fully clothed, two guys attempting flips off a sandbank, someone trying to light a roman candle with a sparkler.

and the beat is pounding.

you lose bokuto within fifteen minutes—which is slightly concerning because you handed him your phone, but it’s fine. you’re drunk. warm all over. spinning a little. dancing a lot.

you’re halfway through your drink when you spot him.

oikawa.

white t-shirt, soft and simple. shorts. a slight flush on his cheeks. he’s tipsy, you can see it in the lazy tilt of his smile—but not sloppy. never sloppy.

he sidles up beside you near the drinks table, brushing your arm lightly with his as he reaches for a cup.

“i see you recovered from your shift,” he says, voice low, half-laughing.

“barely.”

“i had work earlier,” he adds. “packed.”

“that explains the hair,” you tease, flicking a stray curl at his temple.

he leans in a little. “does it explain why you’re staring?”

you raise an eyebrow. “i’m drunk.”

“i noticed.”

you clink your cup against his. everything’s loud. the sand’s hot. you’re glowing from sweat and moonlight and liquor.

and then— it starts with the lights.

not the string lights overhead or the flash of cheap cameras. not the cigarette sparks or firecrackers bursting behind the dunes.

no. blue and red. spinning. flashing. crawling along the far end of the beach.

someone yells—“cops!”

and that’s it. it erupts.

screams. people tripping over sandbags, slipping on beer, grabbing whatever shoes they can find. a cup shatters near your foot. someone shoulder checks you on their way past, and you stumble backward, dazed.

oikawa’s fingers wrap around yours fast, firm, instinctive. “come on.”

you don’t ask, you don’t hesitate. you just run.

the sand is deep and heavy. your lungs are burning by step ten, but the rush is exhilarating. people are everywhere, sprinting past, diving behind coolers, jumping fences, ditching anything they can’t carry.

someone trips right in front of you and oikawa pulls you, sharp and hard, tugging you out of the way before you can fall with them.

“go,” he breathes. “come on, keep going—”

sirens wail closer now. red and blue light bathes your skin in pulses, flashlights beaming from the distance.

you veer right, sprinting behind a lifeguard stand. oikawa doesn’t let go. you both duck under the wooden stairs and slide out the other side. a flashlight beam sweeps past your head.

“fuck,” he hisses. “faster.”

you lose a sandal. don’t even stop.

he leads you up the boardwalk, hand clamped to yours like he’s afraid to lose you in the chaos. you dart past a closed ice cream shack, then behind a trash can, then he tugs you left.

“shortcut.”

“oikawa—”

but it’s too late. you follow him over the guardrail, down a back path between two houses, past an open gate, through someone’s garden. the bushes scratch your thighs. your chest aches. there’s sweat on your lip and the taste of liquor in your mouth and his hand in yours and you’re so fucking dizzy from all of it.

you hop a fence. he boosts you, his hands on your waist for half a second too long. you land hard, almost fall. he catches your elbow. “you good?”

you nod. breathless. eyes wide.

you can still hear the cops yelling back on the beach. you can still feel the press of his fingers from earlier.

you don’t stop walking until it’s dead quiet. no lights. no voices. just the hum of distant wind chimes and the static in your own chest.

you land in someone’s side yard, both of you crouched behind a hedgerow.

your legs shake.

you giggle. then laugh. then press a hand over your mouth, trying to breathe.

he leans back, arm draped across his knee, hair stuck to his forehead.

“you’re gonna wake someone up,” he says between gasps. “stop laughing.”

you can’t.

“you’re drunk,” he adds.

you nod. “and you grabbed my hand.”

he glances at you. “you were just standing there.”

“so you saved me?”

he shrugs. “or maybe i panicked.”

you smile at him, breath still jagged. your heart won’t slow down.

“you wanna go home?” he asks finally.

you shake your head, eyes glittering.

”no, the night’s still young,” you say, voice soft and breathy. “that’s what bokuto always says.”

he licks his lips. stares at you for a beat too long.

“…i’ve got somewhere we can go.”