#then him turning into just a silly kid looking at a softer glow

[sunnyknight-original]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[ssweeterthanfiction]

heyyy i’ve been recently going into a a sotr spiral and am obsessed with the idea of a haymitch x everdeen!reader (burdocks sibling) and was wondering if you could write a fic on that??

YES OFC OMG

Someday, One Day.

young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader content warnings: none!! (SLIGHT SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!) summary: a crush on your big brother’s best friend wc: 1.9k

masterlist.

For the longest time, you've had a crush on the one and only Haymitch Abernathy. From his olive skin, his dark curly hair, and gray eyes you've been hooked. He had you wrapped around his finger since you were thirteen. Maybe even earlier than that.

The only problem?

He was your big brother's best friend.

You’d grown up watching them together, the two of them inseparable in the way that only childhood friends could be. Haymitch was always there, laughing at Burdock’s dumb jokes, sharing stories that made you blush or roll your eyes. You were just the little sister who tagged along, always feeling like the third wheel.

Until you weren’t.

Until Haymitch started looking at you differently.

Every now and then, you’d catch him staring. His gaze would linger a little too long, his smile would falter. And when he spoke to you, it was never quite the same as how he talked to everyone else.

Especially when he called you “sweetheart."

It was dangerous, that nickname. It made your heart flutter in a way you could never explain. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him act affectionate before; he had a way with people, a teasing warmth that made everyone feel like they were his best friend. But when he said it to you, it felt different. It made you feel like maybe...just maybe he saw you as more than just Burdock’s little sister.

But that was just a fantasy, right? Haymitch couldn’t like you that way. You were the kid he looked after, the girl who tagged along to make sure he didn’t forget to laugh once in a while. He didn’t have time for someone like you.

“Someday, one day,” you’d whisper to yourself late at night, as you stared at the stars, convincing yourself that it was nothing more than a silly crush. You weren’t anything special, just another face in the crowd.

Still, those moments, those stolen looks, kept you wondering. Was there something there? Or was it just a product of your overactive imagination? You’d never know.

The woods were always your escape. Burdock had shown you a safe way to them, so when things got too loud at home, when the world felt too heavy, you’d wander out here, into the quiet stillness, where you could be alone with your thoughts. The sunset was just beginning to stain the sky a deep orange, casting a soft glow over the trees and the dirt path beneath your boots. You felt a sense of peace as you walked, the rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig beneath your feet the only sounds that accompanied you.

You had been walking for a while when you heard it, a soft crunch of leaves behind you, a familiar step. You froze. Then the voice you had been secretly hoping wouldn’t find you called out, low and teasing.

“You get lost, sweetheart?”

You turned to see Haymitch emerging from the tree line, his figure framed by the fading light of the sunset. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual cocky grin was replaced with something softer. Something almost hesitant. He always seemed to know where to find you, didn’t he?

“No,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you crossed your arms, the breeze ruffling your hair. “Just wanted to get away from the noise.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Haymitch said, taking a few slow steps toward you. He glanced around at the woods, his eyes narrowing a little. “But you do know it’s getting dark, right? You might want to head back before it gets too late.”

You smile faintly, your gaze lingering on the horizon where the sun was just starting to dip below the treeline. “Maybe I just like it out here. Feels...quieter. Like the world stops for a second.”

There was a pause. Haymitch didn’t speak right away, his gray eyes scanning you with a sort of intensity that made your heart skip. “One day, I’ll figure out why you always look at things like that,” he said, his voice soft, more serious than you’d ever heard it before.

You tilted your head, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

He took a few more steps toward you, his boots soft on the forest floor. The last rays of sunlight caught in his curls, and for a brief moment, he looked almost... like he belonged here, in the quiet of the woods, far away from the noise of the village.

“I mean,” Haymitch started, his voice quieter now, “you see the world differently than most people. You don’t just see the mess. You see the moments in between. The things most people miss. Even in people...Even in me."

You swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through your chest show. Was this just some Haymitch thing, where he’d tease and then leave you wondering what he meant?

"What are you talking about, Haymitch?" Haymitch stopped in his tracks, just a few feet away from you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt thick, full of something unsaid. Then, he stepped forward, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was warm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should be doing this.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, the nickname now feeling tender, almost like a confession, “you don’t get it, do you?”

You blinked up at him, confusion and hope swirling in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he continued, his voice now low and full of something raw, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Not since… well, not since I actually started to...see you...” he paused, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. Tried to ignore it, but you make it damn near impossible.”

Your heart raced in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “But…I thought you didn’t see me that way.”

“Been tryin’ not to. For a while now. Figured I’d be the worst kind of idiot, wantin’ my best friend’s little sister.”

You swallowed hard. “But you do?”

His laugh was soft. “Every damn day.”

You stared at him, your voice catching in your throat. “Then why haven’t you said anything?”

He looked away, up toward the woods where the deer were starting to step into the clearing, quiet and watchful. “Because if I let myself want you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

Silence fills the air as you look at him with a soft gaze...then...

“You drive me crazy,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re all I think about lately. When I’m out by the meadow, when I’m with Burdock, when I try to sleep- hell, even when I try not to think at all.”

You stared at him, speechless, your mind reeling. The boy you’d secretly hoped might feel the same way was standing here in front of you, his gray eyes filled with longing. Slowly, you took a step forward, your voice barely a whisper.

“So...you...you like me? Like that?”

Haymitch’s gaze softened, and his smile was gentle now, sincere. “More than you’ll ever know."

You stood there, frozen, heart pounding in your chest. His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, it felt like time had completely stopped. You’d spent so long wondering if this was just a fantasy, if you were just imagining something that wasn’t there. But now, standing in the dimming light of the woods, with Haymitch Abernathy looking at you like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had, it felt real. Too real.

Haymitch seemed to sense your hesitation, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His presence, so familiar and yet so different in this moment, made your breath catch. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you. How many times I’ve stopped myself because I didn’t want to make everything weird…but I can’t anymore. Not after everything I’ve been feeling. Not after how much I’ve missed this.”

Your stomach fluttered at his confession, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. You had dreamed about this. Dreamed about him confessing, about him seeing you, about him wanting you, but the reality of it was still overwhelming.

“Haymitch…” you started, your voice trembling with emotion. But before you could say anything more, he reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t even want to.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You barely breathed, your pulse rushing in your ears, but you nodded slightly, unable to put words together. It was all you could do.

Haymitch closed the gap then, his lips soft and hesitant at first, as if testing the waters, feeling his way through the moment. When you kissed him back, just the smallest motion of your lips against his, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. All the years of stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, it was all there in that kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way his hand cradled your face, the feeling of being held by someone who wanted you, needed you. It was overwhelming.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. His gray eyes were darker now, filled with something raw and unguarded. His thumb traced the line of your jaw gently, as if making sure this moment wasn’t just a dream.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ve spent so many nights just thinking about you, about us, but I didn’t know how to make it happen. I didn’t want to risk losing you, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t have to risk losing me, Haymitch. I...I feel the same way.”

His smile, a soft, sincere curve of his lips, made your heart flutter. “Yeah? Well, in that case…”

He kissed you again, this time deeper, more certain. The world seemed to fade away as you kissed him beneath the trees, the sounds of the forest around you fading into a distant hum. It was just the two of you now, and nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the complications, not the fears.

For once, there was no hesitation, no wondering what could be. There was only Haymitch and the way he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. And for the first time in years, you felt like the world had stopped spinning, just for the two of you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Haymitch rested his forehead against yours again, his hands gentle on your shoulders. “You’re something else, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “I’ve never wanted anything more than this.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you. “Me neither, Haymitch.”

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught in the quiet of the woods, where nothing could disturb you, not even the past. It was just you and him. And for once, that was enough.

[chanranghaeys]

☀️ the boy who was the sun

How fitting that you meet him once again under a sky that casts a million colors, the same way that your life turned into a million colors all at once from the moment you first met him?

pairing: lee seokmin x gn!reader word count: 1.6k+ genre: angst to comfort to fluff rating: g tags: exes to second-chance lovers, implied breakup off the page, dk is like the sun :(, sunsets are also beginnings warnings: mentions of family and career pressure

a/n: this is completely inspired by @svtreverie and her words, in turn inspired by hozier’s “shrike,” so in turn i have lifted some passages from you and your brain. i love you, c. please note that i started this in april 2024 because of you, and i finally have the chance to finish it now. i dedicate this to you. dedications also to fellow cuties g @tusswrites and @miniseokminnies bc i can hehe. happy dokyeom day! ☀️

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The sunset came upon you suddenly as you turned the corner, the sun coming out from behind the buildings that shielded its setting rays. You always thought that the sun shined brighter when it set, as sunrises were always softer. Besides, you never really caught the rising of the sun as a self-professed night owl, waking up when it was already high above the world at its peak.

It was the peak of the golden hour. Today, it was a hazy rose gold mixed with pinks and purples that were still warm with the glow of day. You preferred sunsets this way, calmer and less harsh than the torrid streaks of red, yellow, and orange. You wondered what was so special about the past few hours for your eyes to be blessed with this sight.

You didn’t frequent this city often, but that has changed recently. In past years, you used to come here as a young adult starting out in the corporate life. You would wait for your father to fetch you after work so you could come home to a house that lacked a certain warmth, a warmth that you have only felt in numbered moments—memories that were branded in your mind, with some that you’d rather forget.

But time has changed you, and you now shadow your father’s footsteps as next in line to his company. It took a while for you to—as your parents put it—“come to your senses,” but fate had you surrender to it. Your feet moved on impulse as you followed your father’s footsteps, denying that it was against your will.

Besides, did you really have a choice in the matter? In the end, nothing did, anyway.

Today you were alone, and the end of the work day allowed you to finally take a deep breath in this corner green of the bustling business district. Some voice in your head told you to take a walk rather than book a car to take you straight home to the solace of your room in the cover of night.

Maybe subconsciously, you were also looking for the motion of your feet in a place separated from the confines of your comfort zone. Just for today.

The park was busier than usual, with more people both strolling and rushing on opposite sides of intersecting paths. Thankfully, you found solace in the anonymity that the crowd provided you; The joggers in their pace, the kids blowing bubbles at their parents’ faces, the dog walkers and cat lovers, the cliques that perched on their picnic blankets—no one knew who you were, the heir to one of the country’s largest conglomerates. A title whose weight you wish was never hung on your shoulders.

You looked up at the sky once more, savoring the brief moment that nature’s canvas was showing everyone before it was swallowed by the inevitable dark. Phones were raised and camera lenses pointed at the stunning scene in an attempt to capture the fleeting phenomenon. You decide to do the same.

You snap the sky at every angle, finding the best one you can while turning around in place. You realize that you must’ve looked so silly doing so, but again, no one knew who you were anyway. Just when you thought you were satisfied, you raise your phone once more for one final photo. You look at the screen and through the lens of your phone camera, you see him.

Wait a minute. You shake your head and lower your phone to look at the person with your own eyes, making sure that they aren’t deceiving you. They weren’t.

He was in front of you, a few meters away. He was transfixed by the colors above him, doing the exact same thing you were doing just moments ago—but you knew even until now that he’d work harder for the photo. He wasn’t using a phone, but his trusty mirrorless camera snapping away at the sky. He lowers the camera to eye level, capturing the chaos through his lens of calm.

His lens traveled, looking for the next subject to immortalize in a photo. Before you knew it, the lens was aimed right at you.

He froze.

You could just imagine the thoughts going through his head as he lowered his camera. You didn’t care if you were standing in the way because you couldn’t see anyone but him.

Him. The boy who was the sun—your sun. The boy whose light was so bright that it was blinding that it always hurt, but in a good way.

The boy whose light was so bright and blinding, that in the end it just hurt.

Instinct took over. And while it hurt your heart to do it again, you looked down and turned around, away from the only source of light to ever grace your life.

Because you could not do it any longer.

You could not burden him with pressures that were beyond his control. You could not bring him back into a world where the only words for him were, "You don't belong." You could not let him back into the darkness you have made for yourself. You could not protect him from yourself if he reenters the tall walls you have built around you.

In the corner of your eye, you see him start to move, and you begin walking as quick as you can. Your mind started to fill with thoughts you worked so hard to push away—thoughts, memories, unspoken words, and everything else that was for him and no one else.

You refuse to believe the heavy footsteps growing louder as they neared you. You refuse to believe that he would actually still reach for you after the way you pushed him away all those years ago. And even when you felt the grip of a hand on yours, you still refused to believe that it was his fingers and his palms that caught your wrist, how naturally it fit, closing around it as if was a sheath to your sharp edges.

You hear it—your name from his voice, so indelible in your mind, for all its lilts and tones when he both spoke and sang. His voice, that you have not heard in five years, immediately brought you back to the day you first met and all the days since then.

His voice that, in one second, immediately broke down the walls that you put up around yourself since that last day.

You find your voice, surprising yourself that you did. “Seokmin. Hi.” You were breathless, and your voice showed it.

“Hi.” He replied, and he smiled, the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen, breaking out from his face, one that could not hide the pure emotion. “I’m so happy to see you here.”

Before you could register what happened, you found yourself replying involuntarily, “Me too.”

And with that simple statement, something shifted in you.

Five years have changed you, there’s no doubt about that. And in those five years, you’ve come to terms with the painful truth behind why you let him go, with the question of “Why?” still haunting your every moment of regret.

On the worst nights, you find yourself wrapped in the jacket he put around your shoulders for the last time, right before you parted. The one that granted you his faithfully unfailing warmth in the cold, grateful it was there to catch your tears.

On the best days, you absentmindedly hum the tune from the LUCY song he said was his favorite, the one that you came to love just as much as he did. Whether you knew it or not, he was still in everything you did.

Because one thing you knew and you were sure of—you loved him, with every piece and fiber within you. You loved him hard, too hard, so much so to the point that you had no choice but to let him go.

Yet here you are, with the life-shattering realization that you still love him, titles and labels and families and the whole world be damned, because the man standing in front of you was the same man who still had his heart on his sleeve. You could see it in his smile.

How fitting that you meet him once again under a sky that casts a million colors, the same way that your life turned into a million colors all at once from the moment you first met him?

In the midst of the crowd and the afterglow of the sunset, in a place where you could trust to remain unseen and unknown, you find once again the only person who was and is still the light in your darkest days. How could you have ever denied this plain and simple truth?

It was with his smile that you felt it again—it was so bright that it was blinding, and an ache in your heart spasmed at the warmth that spread from it. It hurt, as it always did these past years, but now…it was in a good way again.

The setting sun gave way to the dusk. Artificial light replaced the natural glow of the day to keep the surroundings lit. But underneath its canopy, you couldn’t help the light blooming again from within you, slowly making its way to the smile that formed on your lips.

With the glimmer of this newfound light, you resolve to fight every single instinct within you—to walk away, to move your feet in the opposite direction, to run from the feelings that you have always avoided.

You start small, with one, two steps towards him. You could whisper, and he would hear it because he knew that as long as it came from you, it didn’t need to be shouted. He knew that you’d fly like a bird to him now if you could.

Because nothing else but your truth can illuminate the path ahead of you. And your truth was standing right in front of you.

[rush-the-stars]

the beginning and end (and what binds them together)

part ii: locked out

✦—⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆—✦

18+ minors dni

pairing: vashwood x gender neutral afab!reader

wc: 1.8k my god this is getting silly

cw: omegaverse au, beta!vash that can switch sexes and is currently in Rut, alpha!wolfwood, omega!reader, reader referred to as "kid" and "kit" by wolfwood. masturbation. dub-conish voyeursim? reader has slight gender envy of secondary sex. not beta read.

a/n: well. here's this ig. if you enjoy this lmk.,.if you wanna talk ab this au pls let me know.,..its cooking me.

part i: gone, gone

✦—⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆—✦

In the dark, violet blue of night, you twist and turn in your sheets. Sleep is a far-fetched, fickle creature tonight. You know you won't be getting much of it. Not at the peak of your Heat—the worst of the fever bursting beneath your skin. The ache inside you growing so large that you think it'll overtake you entirely and all you'll be is this—empty, starving creature. Desperate. So desperate and hollow and furious and—

Vash and Wolfwood are next door, in the connected room at this motel. The door is locked between you. You had only agreed to return with them on this condition, if you could keep that door locked tight. Bolted shut. But you know they're still there, can barely smell them and—

The worst is that you can hear them. Better than you'd like, especially this late, when the world is quiet and your heart is pounding in your chest. You know that the wall your bed is on shares a wall with the bed in their room.

And Vash is still awake, no doubt dealing with his Rut.

Wolfwood is helping him, staying near him rather than you, so it doesn't also trigger his own Rut. He's being a good Alpha, ensuring that you're safe, and Vash is contained and sweating this out on his side of the door.

Vash is a docile Beta, though, even in Rut.

He just sounds—needy. His voice dampened by the wall, but you can tell it's wane and thin. You suspect that he must be spread out on the bed in their room, with how close his voice sounds. You think, only this wall separates us. Only this.

"Hah—" Vash makes a sound, muffled by the wall, but you can still hear him well. Well enough. "This hurts. It hurts so bad."

"You been through a Rut before?" Wolfwood's voice is low enough that you have to strain to hear him.

"Yeah—ah, it's been awhile, though. My last one was a Heat." You hear shifting, maybe, or maybe you're just imagining it, "but this feels—different. Worse."

"You got an Omega next door you can't get to." Wolfwood says simply and, if you're smelling right, you can tell he's smoking. The faint whiff of tobacco that seeps through their room into yours. It'd be a comfort if it didn't remind you so thoroughly of him—

If it didn't send your mind reeling with thoughts of him or Vash. You wonder how they look right now; are they shirtless and trying to sleep? Are they close to each other? Far? Is Vash flushed red down to his chest? Is Wolfwood affected?

“Yeah—“ Vash gets out, “Agh—I’m so—“ He’s almost whining, “Hot. I’m burning up. I don’t feel good.”

After a moment, Wolfwood curses. “You’re glowing, Spikey.”

"Ha—" Vash sounds pained, "yeah, I guess. My body is fighting it—fever's getting too hot. It thinks I'm—sick."

There's some shuffling. And then another curse from Wolfwood, this one worse.

"You're burning bad." He says and you imagine he's feeling Vash's forehead, his cheek. You wonder what Vash does. Does he lean in? Are his eyes fluttered shut? Or is he looking up at Wolfwood, eyes like wells of the brightest, most brilliant blue you've ever seen?

"We gotta get your temperature down."

"Cold shower?" Vash jokes weakly.

"Nah—bad to shock the system like that." Wolfwood's voice has gone softer. "With Ruts, the fever dips when—"

Your heart kicks up strangely.

“I know—“ You think Vash says.

It goes strangely silent for a while and you’re left to wonder about Vash; is he okay? Does he feel the way you do? Like there's all this pressure beneath your skin, like it's ballooning and pressing against the tender, pink parts of you? You're aching, down in your lower back, your hips—between your legs.

You twist, turn, and try and alleviate the pain. It does nothing to lessen it.

A hiccuping sound from beyond the wall.

"Easy, blondie." You think you hear Wolfwood say, but it's so much softer. A rumble of sound. It's also closer, though, just on the other side of your wall.

For some reason, you flush with even more heat.

"Wolfwood—" A strangled cry, "Nick—hah—"

A hushing. A low coo.

"You don't wanna wake them." Wolfwood murmurs, muffled. Belatedly, you realize he's talking about you.

There's some shifting. You can hear heaving breath, the creak of the bed, you think.

Oh.

A bolt of lightning through your body, a shock, a realization. Your ears burn. All of you burns. You suck in a sharp breath. You hold it, scared that they'll hear you if you let it out, hold it tight inside you. Everything so tight.

You go perfectly still, can hear the roar of your heartbeat. You wonder if they can hear it in the cavity of your chest, too, gushing and jumping—the pulse inside you that is like a live-wire.

You turn over in your own bed carefully, onto your stomach, and it creaks, too. You wonder if they can hear it. You wonder if they froze or if—

"You're a mess, blondie." Wolfwood murmurs, "so desperate—"

Vash moans.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You press your thighs together desperately. The ache inside you blossoms into something sharper, more painful. You bury your face in your arms and try to endure, try to fight through it.

"And sensitive." He continues lowly, far-away, and soft, "you always this sensitive?"

A little keen from Vash. "S-sorta—I guess. Do you get sensitive?"

"Nah—" Wolfwood says and Vash makes another soft sound, almost a mewl. You're trying to keep your breath from heaving.

(In a sudden, bending realization, you wonder if Wolfwood would've done this for you—whatever he's doing to Vash, if you really were his little Alpha. His kit. You wonder if he would've nursed you through a Rut the same way. You imagine him, over you, voice low and smoky, big hand curling around—

Something breaks inside of you at the thought.)

Your hand creeps beneath you, past your stomach, down between the blazing heat between your legs. Slick and slippery and—

Messy.

You're a mess, blondie.

It's so embarrassing. You hold your breath. You try to be as careful and quiet as possible. You're so slippery that your fingers, too small and too shaky, do little for you. They pass over your swollen clit desperately.

"—I just get pent up, I guess." Wolfwood says, "bet you're needy in Heat, too, if this is how your Ruts are."

"Wolfwood—"

"I'm right here." He soothes easily, almost with too much calm, compared to the broken pitch in Vash's voice, "I've got ya."

And then there's a strange sort of silence, where you can just hear yourself—the sound of your own arousal, of theirs, just beyond the wall. You wonder if they're kissing or how Wolfwood is touching him. You imagine Vash, flushed and desperately, hips rutting messily towards Wolfwood's fist. You imagine Wolfwood doing that for you, you imagine Vash needing you, whining underneath you—

Then, suddenly;

"You thinkin' about them?" Wolfwood's voice is dark.

Your heart spikes.

"Ah—" Vash sounds wrecked, "h-how can I not?"

Your face twists, your fingers push desperately inside yourself. You're so empty and so hollow and so—hungry. So desperate. The ache in you builds behind your eyes, all over. Like one, great, tender bruise. Tears prick your eyes.

A low, rumbling laugh from Wolfwood. "You look so guilty."

"I feel so bad—" Vash mourns, "Can't help it—keep thinking about them—keeping thinking about—"

"Knotting them?" Wolfwood's voice is quiet enough that you have to strain to hear it. And God, do you feel bad that you do. Desperately, you want to hear him, hear it all.

You think about it, too, Vash knotting you. Would he get as needy? As desperate and wild and whiny as he sounds? Worse? Would he pin you, or would he be a mess beneath you?

"Y-yeah—" Vash whimpers, "and how they'd taste—how they'd—sound and—"

"They're so stubborn." Wolfwood inhales. "Ornery little thing. Hard to imagine them needy like this but," he exhales, "bet they break pretty, you know? Not easily, but pretty."

Vash moans, shameless enough that Wolfwood hushes him again, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice. Almost hear that wolfish twinge he sometimes gets. Your fingers move faster, hips canting towards them, towards your open palm, now so slick and slippery.

"Probably on the other side of this wall, sleepin' like an angel." Wolfwood says softly, "and you're here, thinking about rutting into them like an animal."

"Hah—you're—you're talking about breaking them."

"Gently, you know?" Wolfwood says and your pleasure is mounting, building, swarming beneath your skin. All up the length of your spine. In the back of your head. "The way I am with you now, blondie."

A broken sound from Vash.

"That's it—" Wolfwood hushes, "just like that, Vash—atta boy."

Your vision whites out with your peak and, without thinking, you sink your teeth into your arm in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. You bite into your skin, hard, and pleasure erupts inside of you—explodes beneath your skin in a rush of heat. It sparkles, bursting, breaking.

You make the smallest of noises around the skin of your arm, teeth still lodged into it desperately. Chest heaving. Your jaw aches. Your head swims.

Silence, except breathing. Yours and theirs. Mingled together in the quiet, dingy motel on the edge of the world.

"Feeling better?" Wolfwood asks softly.

You finally detach your teeth from your own arm.

"Y-yeah—"

"Try and get some sleep. If you need me again, I'm right here." He says and you can tell he's moved away—further from the wall, and into the room. "I'll check in on our little Omega in the morning, too."

Our. It sings in your mind as sleep finally manages to take you, swift and easy.

And in the morning, when Wolfwood pokes his head in—just to make sure you have food and water, he claims, you can't meet his eyes. You can't even look at him, face overheating with prickly warmth. You snap at him, bare your teeth and tell him to get out.

But he just smiles, moon dark and knowing, as he slips back behind your door.

That door you keep locked so tight—bolted shut.

[sa1ntn3k0]

Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss ≽^•⩊•^≼ nsfw!

Warnings: Stepdad Gojo x Stepdaughter reader (of age)

Satoru didn’t know he’d be married, let alone settled down, or, scratch that, have a girlfriend. Life for him was simple: work, work, work some more, then finally sleep for three hours and do it again until he had the rare Sunday off. He loved teaching; his students, Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara, were his kids, he was practically their dad, though he’d never admit it aloud. Their chaotic energy mirrored his own, a confetti bomb of mischief and grit he’d grown fond of. But having said all that… he hasn’t a clue on how he ended up here: sat in a cozy, sunlit, dark wood home in Setagaya at 7 p.m., a time where he’d usually be balls-deep in exorcising curses or doing paperwork, not breathing in the comforting aroma of veggie gyoza and lemongrass-infused rice noodles wafting from the kitchen. The warmth of the room seeped into his bones, softer than any mission’s aftermath, and the faint hum of a jazz playlist playing Colette by Piero Piccioni wrapped around him like a hug.  

How? He takes a look to his right and sees a beautiful woman, all elegance and poise, her laughter like slightly weathered wind chimes as she adjusts the pearl clip in her chestnut hair. Just the way he likes them, confident, sharp, hot. Like… milf hot, cougar hot, not that he’d ever say it to her face (again). He looks ahead and sees you, a wisp of a girl, all tiny limbs and soft edges, nibbling shyly at your dinner. You look just like her, same cute nose, same cupid’s bow lips, but where your mother radiates bold magnetism, you’re… sparkling. Like a firefly in a glass jar, glowing even when you think no one’s watching.  

Ah, this was his life, of course. He should know who’s who! 

The girl being you, just a little thing, well, to him you’re little, being a mere child (19 years old), and he being all old and stuff (33 years old, yet he feels so much more). He’s seen a lot: he’s seen Sukuna carve him up like a holiday roast (survived, so, lol, Sukuna sucked majorrr balls), he’s seen curses gnarlier than a week-old sushi platter, and especially teenagers with more angst than a Shakespearean tragedy. So why does this little thing make him feel so… paternal? It was like the flicker he’d felt when he first met Megumi, a scrawny kid with a death glare and a family name heavier than a curse, but even then, he’d seen the little sea urchin as a little brother, not a son. Time had nudged that dynamic into something fatherly, sure, but Megumi was still his brat.  

All Satoru knew was- oh, he zoned out. The beautiful woman beside him, your mother, nudged his ribs with her elbow, her burgundy almond-shaped nails glinting under the pendant light, the rock of a diamond sat on her ring finger, glimmered too. “Earth to Satoru,” she teased, her voice syrup-smooth. “You’ve been staring at your gyoza like it’s a cursed object. Everything alright?”  

Satoru grinned, that trademark lopsided smirk that made your mother roll her eyes even as her red lips twitched upward. “Just wondering how I ended up here,” he said, gesturing grandly at the spread of home-cooked dishes. His voice softened, almost shy. “Feels like I stole someone else’s winning ticket.”  

You, ever the quiet observer, peeked up at him through your lashes, cheeks stuffed with gyoza like a chipmunk hoarding treasure (your greed sickens even you, lol). Your doe eyes, so pretty, wide and guileless, framed by those unfairly long, thick lashes, locked onto his, and he swore he felt Infinity stutter. Dare he say… dumb? Not dumb, no. Just… silly. Clumsy? Absolutely. The way you tripped over air, spilled chamomile tea on your textbooks, and somehow turned even misplacing your overly charm-filled keys into a five-minute comedy routine, it was nice. Refreshing, even. A life spent in the shadows of jujutsu and clan politics made him crave your kind of softness. Your innocence.

A flashback flickered before he could attempt to stop: the three of you in Shibuya, your mother tugging him toward a boutique while begging for a Chanel bag that matched her favorite red lipstick, the same shade he’d caught you swiping across your lips one evening, pouting at your reflection like it’d betrayed you. “Too grown-up,” you’d mumbled, wiping it off with a tissue until your rosebud lips were raw and puffy. Satoru had tossed a tube of gloss you left in his hoodie pocket (yes, you wore his clothes, yes, they were so comfy) your way the next day, all casual nonchalance. “Dark shades wash you out,” he’d lied (you looked ethereal, but his heart couldn’t handle the sight). “Stick to this. Matches your… uh… vibe.” You nodded, always so dumbly-no, cutely. Right.

Off topic again, pay attention, Satoru! Back in the memory, he’d been holding your mother’s hand, his other tucked in his pocket, but his azure eyes never strayed far from you, a few steps behind, wobbling in baby pink ballet flats as if they were stilts. You’d looked like a fawn navigating ice, all wobbly knees and nervous giggles. He knew the issue, the freshly rained cement with the shitty grip of the flats called for a disaster, and hell, you were the queen of disaster. He wasn’t a total dick, so he’d snagged your hand too, ignoring your squeak of surprise. And then, his chest did this thing. A squeeze, a flutter, a warmth that had nothing to do with his cursed energy. He’d glanced down, taking in your lacy dress fluttering in the breeze, your hair catching sunlight like spun honey, and your fingers, so small, tucked trustingly against his big, warm palm. Infinity was off, but he hadn’t even noticed until you’d squeezed back.  

The memory dissolved as you swallowed your gyoza, cheeks still dusted pink, and pointed at his buzzing phone. “Satoru,” you mumbled, voice feather-light, “your phone’s ringing.”  

He waved it off, not missing the way your nose scrunched at his casual dismissal. “Nah, it’s just Yuji asking how to defrost a microwave meal. Priorities, kiddo!” (not true, that boy was a chef, rivaling the best in his opinion). He winked, and your resulting giggle, a tiny, hiccuping sound, nearly made him drop his chopsticks. God, you were cute. Cuter than the cartoon pajamas you wore: Hello Kitty one night, Miffy the next, as if you’d raided a kindergarten’s lost-and-found. He’d bought you a Rilakkuma bathing suit last month, just to see you swim in it. (You’d hugged it to your chest, eyes shining, and he’d had to flee to the roof to recompose himself, and don't get him started on you trying it on for him.)  

The conversation drifted to your academics, top of your class, because, of course, you were, and your mother’s question about finals had Satoru puffing up like a cocky peacock. “She’s a genius!” he declared, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You ducked, but not fast enough, and he relished the way your pout rivaled Megumi’s. “Bet she’s got the whole psych department wrapped around her little finger. Right, kiddo?”  

You mumbled something about “research papers” and “case studies,” but Satoru was too busy plotting his next surprise, maybe those strawberry mochi you loved from Family Mart, or that kitten plushie from the crane game you’d eyed last week in Akihabara. The first time he’d brought you treats, you’d teared up, clutching the pastel packaging like it was a lifeline. Your mother had explained later in bed that night, her voice hushed over midnight tea, that your father had been a ghost long before Satoru arrived, and how he should be careful about you, not overwhelming you with something as new as a “daddy” so soon. After your mom was asleep, he’d crept into your room, perching at the foot of your bed like an overgrown guardian spirit. You’d been curled around a chubby Totoro plushie, breaths even, moonlight painting you in silver. He’d sat there for an hour, wondering how the universe had handed him this, domesticity, family, without him even noticing.  

Ah, spaced out again. Your mother slid the strawberry cake he’d bought onto the table, its sweetness mixing with the scent of your lavender body wash, a scent that clung to the couch cushions, his shirts that fit you like baggy dresses, everything. You lit up, clapping softly, and Satoru’s chest tightened as you scooped a bite. You ate like a storybook creature: nibbling at the frosting, eyes fluttering closed in bliss ever so slightly, a tiny smear of pink on your chin. He itched to wipe it away, but your mother beat him to it, tutting fondly. 

He’d do it next time, for sure.

“Satoru,” your mother sighed, though her smile betrayed her, “stop staring. You’ll make her even more shy.”  

“What? I’m appreciating the view!” he protested, leaning back with a grin. But his gaze lingered on the delicate lace of your nightgown, the way the sweetheart neckline fell just enough to highlight collarbones he’d once compared to “angel wings” (a comment that’d made you flee the living room, scarlet-faced). Appreciation, of course. The kind a father would have. Totally.  

As you launched into a story about your study group, hands animated as you sighed about people half-assing even a voluntary thing, Satoru let himself sink into the moment, the clink of porcelain plates, your mother’s melodic laughter, the way your socks had tiny bows perched near your baby pink painted toenails, a little visible under the sheer cotton fabric. He didn’t understand this luck, this grace, but he’d fight heaven and hell to keep it. 

He deserves this, all of it.

He deserves you.

Satoru wasn’t expecting the night to go the way it did. But before he could untangle the messy knot of feelings clawing at his chest, he took in the present: the quiet hum of the night, the faint glow of your strawberry-shaped nightlight casting blushing shadows across the room. He was lying in your bed, no, not next to his wife, but curled awkwardly under your baby-pink duvet, its frilly edges tickling his chin. He turned his head slightly, stealing a glance at you, cheeks still rosy from earlier, now warm with sleep, your nose adorably scrunched, and your hair a wild halo against the pillow. A strand clung to your parted lips, and he reached over instinctively to tuck it behind your ear, fingers brushing the delicate shell. Your lacy pajama collar had twisted sideways, revealing your pretty skin, so soft-looking. He adjusted it gently, careful not to wake you, then sighed up at the ceiling.  

Hating how the night went.  

Rewind to a few hours earlier: Satoru had returned home at 8 p.m., expecting the usual symphony of your mother’s jazz records and your muffled giggles as you scribbled notes for some impossible-sounding lecture. Instead, he’d been met with silence, then the crack of your mother’s voice, sharp as shattered glass, and your choked sobs. His blood had gone cold.  

He’d found you in the hallway, your Miffy tote still dangling from your shoulder, your daisy-patterned dress wrinkled from the day. You looked smaller somehow, like a doll dropped mid-play, your face slick with tears that caught the lamplight like diamond dust. Your mother stood rigid, arms crossed, her fury a storm contained.  

“What happened?” Satoru had asked, tone casual, though his fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to bundle you into his arms, tuck your head under his chin, and vanish into the night.  

Your mother gestured to your neck, her voice clipped. “She came home late. Smelled like cologne, cheap, at that.”  

Satoru’s gaze flicked to the marks, faint, pinkish imprints scattered like careless constellations across your skin. His Six Eyes cataloged every detail: the uneven pressure (clumsy), the placement (too high, too obvious), the way your fingers trembled as you tried to hide them. He crouched a little to your level, his voice dropping to a rumble. “Who’d you let paw at you, kiddo?”  

You’d hiccuped, doe eyes swimming, and his chest ached. “I-I didn’t let him-!”  

“Enough,” your mother snapped, storming off. “You’re old enough to know better.” The bedroom door slamming left you to flinch like a spooked bunny, and fall to your knees, obviously overwhelmed from everything, leaving him to feel all kinds of things… Some he would rather not acknowledge.

Satoru knew hypocrisy when he smelled it, hell, at your age, he’d been sneaking into hostess bars just to swipe champagne flutes, but the thought of you, his sweet, clueless bunny, tangled up with some greasy college kid who didn’t know how to treat a girl, how to pleasure one… Infinity flickered at his fingertips.  

He’d scooped you up, ignoring your squeak, and carried you to your room. “We’ll talk,” he’d said, depositing you on the bed. You’d curled into a ball, your sobs muffled by Totoro’s plush belly.  

The ice-cold shower that followed was less about cooling off and more about freezing the image out of his head, your bitten lips, the way your dress had ridden up when you’d crumpled to the floor, showing your pretty thighs… No. Not his business. Except it was, because you were his.  

When he returned, you were in your pajamas, pale pink, lace-trimmed, the collar crooked, and staring at your lap like it held the secrets of the universe. He sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

“Listen,” he began, voice softer than he intended. “It’s normal to… experiment. But you gotta be smart. Boys that age? They’re idiots. All hands, no heart.”  

In reality, he wanted to say much more. He wanted to say how you should find someone like him, someone who’d cherish you the way he did (though he doubted anyone else could), to be rational and not impulsive, and to just-no. Scrap everything. He wanted you to be with him, always his.

You’d sniffled, still avoiding his glued gaze. “You don’t understand.”  

“Oh, I understand.” He’d forced a laugh. “I was that idiot.”  

Your phone buzzed then, lighting up with a name he didn’t recognize. You reached for it, but Satoru snatched it first, his gut churning at the god awful texts. Disgusting. The kid’s vocabulary seemed limited to late-night nude demands (though you never sent, that's his baby) and more for “proof” you’d “missed him.”  

“This is the genius you’re starting fights over?” Satoru hissed, waving the phone, your charms jingling like high-pitched death bells. “He’s not worth the lint in your Miffy bag!”  

You’d argued, cheeks flushing, babbling nonsense about him being “sweet,” and something in him snapped. Before he knew it, you were over his lap, your tiny tummy rested against his thighs, his big hand coming down in a swift, measured spank. Not too hard, never hard, but enough to make you yelp and leave a little sting. “You’re better than this!” he’d growled, each word punctuated by a tap that left your pajama-clad bottom tingling. “You’re my good girl! Act like it!”  

By the tenth, you’d melted into hiccuping apologies, whispering “Sorry, Daddy” into his shirt as he cradled you. His anger dissolved, replaced by a guilt so thick he could taste it. He wished he had a beautiful platter of kikufuku infront of him, it’d drown the shitty feeling. 

Now, lying beside you, he traced the curve of your spine through the thin fabric, marveling at how fragile you felt, like blown glass. You stirred, nuzzling into his chest with a sleepy murmur, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering in the scent of your strawberry shampoo.  

“Love you, my girl,” he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear. “Daddy’s got you.”  

Tomorrow, he’d buy those cherries you loved, the fat, dark, glossy ones you’d suck on until they gleamed like jewels. He’d let you drag him to that absurd cat café downtown, even though the siamese there hated him (so what if he teased them, they should be able to handle it, they’re cats!). And if that sleazeball ever texted again? Well. Satoru knew a few curses that’d make him regret breathing the same air as his angel.  

For now, he let your steady breaths lull him, your warmth seeping into bones he hadn’t realized were so cold.  

As soon as the weather turned warm, the beach called to Satoru, but not as loudly as it did to you. You were a mess of a girl in the heat, complaining about the slightest rise in temperature, flopping around the house like a disgruntled kitten, and blowing up over trivial things like ice cubes melting too fast. What triggered the final straw was a calm Sunday evening. The windows were cracked open, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of blooming hydrangeas and distant barbecue. Satoru was sprawled on the couch, deep into Haruki Murakami’s Dance Dance Dance, a rare moment of peace after ducking out of a mission early. Your mother was out with friends, leaving the two of you alone, a fact that had you perched by the living room window, dressed in a baby-blue cami and cotton shorts so short they might as well be napkins, panting like you’d run a marathon.

“It’s boiling,” you whined, fanning yourself with a math textbook. “I’m melting, Satoru!”

He peered over his book, smirking at the way your hair stuck to your slightly damp neck. “Kiddo, it’s 75 degrees. You’d explode in July.”

You shot him a glare that could’ve curdled milk, cheeks puffing like an offended chipmunk. Satoru laughed, loud and unrepentant, before relenting. He shut the windows, cranked the AC to arctic levels, and flopped back down just as Clint Eastwood’s drawl filled the room. You hovered nearby, eyes darting between the TV and him, then the TV and him, until-

“Ugh,” you groaned, collapsing onto the couch like a deflated balloon. “I’m bored.”

“Read a book,” he suggested, knowing full well you’d rather eat chalk.

You responded by becoming a human worm, wriggling across the cushions with dramatic sighs until Satoru caved. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, snatching your hand. “But if you complain about the heat again, I’m leaving you in a snowbank.”

The walk to the park was a parade of your hyperactivity, skipping, humming, pausing to gawk at every butterfly like it was an alien. Satoru trailed behind, hands in his pockets, secretly cataloging the way your sundress fluttered (you changed, taking every opportunity to dress up), the way your sandals slapped the pavement in a rhythm only you understood. Life was absurd: one hour, he’s exorcising curses in a moldy warehouse; the next, he’s listening to you rant about how snow should be a year-round accessory.

At the park, you dragged him to a patch of sunlit grass, spreading his jacket like a picnic blanket. “For your old knees,” you declared, plopping down.

He joined you, stretching his legs as you babbled about your latest psych lecture. A fat cottontail hopped nearby, and you squealed, clutching his arm like it was a lifeline. “Look! It’s so fluffy-!”

Satoru didn’t see the bunny. He saw you, the way golden hour gilded your skin, the way your eyes sparkled brighter than the pond beside you. His phone buzzed, breaking the spell: your mother was staying out late. Drinks with the girls, her text read. Don’t wait up!

Dinner was all sugar. You tied on a bunny-print apron, he donned Shoko’s gag gift, a “Kiss the Cook” apron, and together you weaponized flour and syrup into a tower of pancakes that’d give a dentist nightmares. You were a disaster, blueberry compote smeared on your cheek, batter on your apron, but Satoru couldn’t stop grinning.

“You’re like a rabid bunny,” he said, flicking powdered sugar at your nose.

“You’re the one who added chocolate chips to the third batch!”

Post-feast, you curled up on the couch, a shared Hello Kitty blanket tented over your laps as some forgettable comedy played. Your tiny knee brushed his, and Satoru froze, hyperaware of the way your giggles vibrated through the cushions.

Then- the question.

“Satoru…” You fiddled with the blanket’s fringe, suddenly shy. “Is kissing really all… icky? Like, with too much spit?”

He nearly choked on his hot chocolate. “Uh. Depends?”

“My first kiss was gross,” you mumbled, nose scrunching. “But the show said it’s s’posed to be nice. Is that… true?”

Satoru’s brain short-circuited. Fatherly. This is fatherly. “It can be. If it’s… gentle. Like this.”

Before he could stop himself, he’d cupped your face, rough thumbs brushing the apples of your soft, warm cheeks. You leaned in, eyes wide and trusting, plush lips parted just so-

The first kiss was a featherlight press, strawberry gloss, and mint toothpaste. Innocent. Brief.

But then you whimpered, little fingers fisting his shirt, and Satoru’s resolve crumbled. The second kiss was deeper, sweeter, his big hand sliding to the nape of your neck as you melted against him. He told himself it was a lesson, a way to erase the memory of that sleazebag’s sloppy mouth. But the way you sighed his name-

“Daddy-”

-nearly undid him.

He pulled back, heart hammering, and found you flushed, lips glistening, doe eyes dazed. “See?” he rasped, voice uneven. “No ick.”

You nodded, forehead resting against his collarbone. “...Can we… practice more?”

Satoru swallowed a groan. Hell was a corporate office with fluorescent lighting, and he was already drafting his resignation letter.

Instead, he tucked your head under his chin, fingers carding through your hair. “Later, kiddo,” he lied. “Daddy’s feeling tired.”

You fell asleep like that, curled into his side, tummy full of pancakes and hot chocolate, while Satoru stared at the ceiling and wondered when exactly he’d signed up for this particular brand of torture.

But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t heavenly, feeling his lips on yours. It was angelic, a little angel’s kiss all for him.

End.

So uh… what's up? Disappeared for a hot sec (entire month) for good reason lol. UC decisions dropped for transfer students, and well, I got into my 2nd top school! Waitlisted from UCLA but into UCD for psych! Anyways, that being said and done, I can finally focus on writing more since April was me dying over checking my emails like a madwoman. Daddy Gojo supremacy, cause why not? I love this far too much so expect more soon. Obvi, put a warning up top, so do keep that in mind when I post, they are there for a reason!

[anonymous-dentist]

“What the fuck are you doing? Open your eyes, what the fuck?”

Cellbit’s lungs are actively trying to claw their ways out of his throat for air, and he’s starting to get lightheaded, but he forces his eyes open and tries to focus them on Roier’s face. Roier’s handsome, handsome face…

(Oxygen deprivation is a bitch, man.)

Of course, Roier is prettier in the water. His hair floats around him like a pillow, only being held in place by his seaweed headband. His eyes seem to glow in the dark- sirens are just anglerfish’s mythological counterparts, after all.

But Roier isn’t eating him, is the thing. He should be.

Cellbit’s eyes shut of their own accord as his body itself starts to shut down from lack of air. His limbs are getting heavy, so heavy that the only thing keeping him from sinking to the bottom of the sea is Roier holding him.

“You need to breathe,” Roier says.

Cellbit shakes his head weakly. He can’t breathe underwater, that’s silly.

With a sigh, Roier offers a brief muttered apology before swinging his fist right into Cellbit’s stomach hard.

Cellbit’s eyes and mouth open reflexively. He instinctively gasps for air, immediately choking on seawater and floundering in Roier’s arms.

“Calma, gatinho,” Roier warmly says. He really should be enjoying Cellbit’s death less even if Cellbit did volunteer himself to be Roier’s breakfast.

Roier’s gills on the sides of his neck flare. “Like this, see?”

Cellbit doesn’t see, but he’s so busy drowning that he forgets to hold his breath. He sucks in another lungful of water, but it doesn’t burn as much this time. The water almost feels cold, in a way, like a winter morning.

And then Cellbit is breathing.

And then, on a whim, Cellbit tears his eyes away from Roier’s face and looks down. And he screams and jerks backwards, pulling Roier with him.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, flapping uselessly about in the water as Roier cackles and holds onto him and tries not to cry.

Because where Cellbit remembers there being two very broken legs is a scaly, forest green tail. Raising a hand to the side of his neck reveals a set of gills, and inspecting his hands themselves reveals webbing between his fingers that wasn’t there ten minutes ago.

Roier grins. “There, I put you out of your misery.”

“I’m a fish,” Cellbit smartly replies.

He yelps as Roier smacks him with his tail.

“I saved your life, culero!” he snaps.

“Disculpa, disculpa,” Cellbit placates. “Just… how?”

Roier shrugs, suddenly bashful.

“When I was a kid, my dad told me that my other dad was a pirate captain he liked to follow around and flirt with. When my ended up drowning in a storm, Dad swooped in and kissed him, and that turned him into a mermaid. True love’s kiss, or something.”

Cellbit blinks. “That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

Roier smacks him again, with purpose. “Hey, I was desperate! Fuck you!”

He starts swimming away, but Cellbit quickly grabs him by the wrist and pulls him close again.

“But you wanted to eat me,” Cellbit says, practically begging for some kind of rational explanation to his sudden fishification.

“Yes, and then I wanted to kiss you.” Roier smacks him one last time, this time gently. “Because I don’t want you to die, okay?”

“Oh.” Cellbit swallows an embarrassing lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Roier smiles, then, softer, more unsure.

“It’s one-way,” he tells Cellbit. “I can’t kiss you human again. You’ll have to go to the Sea Witch for that, but your bones might still be all fucked if if you do that.”

Cellbit sucks in a harsh breath. Richarlyson…

“The Sea Witch…” he murmurs. His hands travel down the length of Roier’s arms until his fingers are tangled with Roier’s. “Okay. Later. When I’m better at swimming.”

Roier’s eyes widen slightly. “What, really?”

“You’ll come with me, of course,” Cellbit muses. “It’ll probably only be a temporary thing if the stories I’ve heard are correct, but Richarlyson would love you…”

“You’re taking this pretty well, actually, what the fuck?”

“Well, you’ve just given me hope of seeing my son again. So… thank you.”

As extra thanks, Cellbit leans in and kisses Roier once on the cheek before backing off with a heavy blush.

Instead of anything he actually wants to say, Cellbit croaks out an embarrassed, “Do mermaids kiss? Or is that a human thing?”

Roier shrugs happily. “They do now!”

His tail twists around Cellbit’s as he connects their lips once more.

Cellbit has so many more questions to ask, but those can be saved for later. For now, he has much more important things to take care of.

The End.

Thinking about Siren!Roier who tries luring this handsome sailor into the water to ocean to drown and stuff but nothing he's trying is working because, unfortunately for him, he's trying to tempt Cellbit, who's been alone on this desert island for months just waiting to die. Like, Roier would 100% have been able to eat this dude by now if he wasn't trying to lure him with like. Beauty, sex, money. Because Cellbit doesn't care about that, he's asexual and gay and stupid.

Poor Roier is so confused when this dude he's trying to kill starts flirting back. Like. What??

[ninebluehearts]

Hi can I request a agent whiskey/ jack Daniel x plus!size reader. So the reader is an agent and is working with everyone that is trying to take down the drug cartel the reader is an agent and is a badass at doing her work so maybe she is in love with jack maybe one day they introduce a new agent to the team she is a girl she is thin blond with pretty blue eyes let’s just say all the guy’s welcome her and so does the reader the reader notices jack flirting with the new agent so when they have to do a small mission to get more information about the drug cartel they have to go under cover at a club and the reader has to flirt with the target the rest they just pair up into 2 teams so they are gonna be in the club make sure nothing goes wrong because their target has back up maybe theres a little fighting when the reader wears a dress she gets insecure because she sees the new girl and her dress and how it fits perfectly on her so maybe the new agent and jack had to play as a fake couple for the mission but what the reader doesn’t know is that jack is in love with the reader so maybe when they are fighting the reader gets stabbed in the leg when they get back she gets checked out jack wouldn’t leave the reader side and the doctor said she should be fine while in the infirmary the reader confesses her love for jack maybe it could end with them dating.(this might be to long uhh you could write it if you want it’s fine will if you don’t)

Sure thing, my love!! I'm so sorry this took so long!!

Warnings: Violence, blood, etc. (no smut)

-------------------------------------------------------

"You've gotta be kidding me.." You mumbled, staring at the group of men that were all huddled around the newest agent of Statesmen: Agent Malibu.

Malibu had honey blonde hair that practically glowed in the sunlight; the thick, wavy locks looked softer than a feather.

Which paired well with her deep, ocean blue eyes, the kind that you could swim in for hours, not even knowing you were drowning.

Even better, she had a perfect figure- she was thick where it mattered, like her thighs and hips, but her thin waist and long legs really completed the look.

It all made your stomach turn.

What made everything worse was that Agent Whiskey was in that crowd of men, supposedly 'welcoming her.'

Though you saw the grin he had- it was the same one he had given you when you first began working for Statesmen. Regrettably, you were engaged at the time, so you never did act on the obvious spark between you two.

Even when you broke things off with your ex, you never could find the right time- or gather enough courage- to ask him out. And now you were terrified that it was too late.

"I know! Isn't she perfect?" Your coworker, Agent Vodka, said, taking a long sip from his mug. "I don't know if I wanna fuck her or be her bestfriend."

You rolled your eyes, angerly placing your hands on your hips. "Aren't you gay? And married?"

"Me-ow, somebody's jealous." Vodka mumbled into his mug as he took another sip, quickly heading back towards his office to avoid your salty mood.

You shook your head, huffing out a sigh as you looked back at group of Agents. You managed to make eye contact with Whiskey, feeling the familiar burn in your cheeks when he smiled at you.

You gave him a small smile back, giggling when he tipped his hat at you. He always did stuff like that to make you laugh. No matter where you were or what you were doing, Whiskey always found a way to either make a silly face or flirt with you.

That's what made this all so confusing- the other agents were usually professional while working with you, so what made Whiskey different?

"Agent Amaretto!" Your boss, Agent Champagne, called out, motioning for you to come over to the group.

You hated suddenly having all of those eyes on you; especially hers.

You set your mug next to the coffee maker behind you, before awkwardly walking over to him, trying not to look at Malibu. "Yes sir?"

He motioned for the crowd of agents to get back to work, though Whiskey and Malibu stayed besides him. "Well, I assume you've met Agent Malibu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful! Well, the two of you will be accompanying Agent Whiskey on tonight's mission. Everything is already set up; Whiskey and Malibu, you'll be portraying Mr. and Mrs. Williams, a wealthy married couple from Spain. Amaretto, you'll be Mrs. Culpeper, a Russian widow. Everyone got it?" Champ asked, glancing between the three of you.

"Don't Whiskey and I usually play the married couple?" You tried to keep the attitude out of your tone, though you didn't think you were very successful considering the look that crossed Champ's face.

"Yes, but don't these two look better together? Look," Champ slung his arm around your shoulder, making you look at the 'couple.'

Your teeth grinded together, your nails digging into the palms of your hands as the green-eyed monster began to slip out of his facade.

"Ain't they just perfect together?" He asked, obviously proud of himself.

"You really think so?" Malibu asked, hugging Whiskey's arm as she looked up at him through her eyelashes; Whiskey winked at her in return, a sly smirk tugging on his lips.

"Well, I certainly have a lot to do to get ready then!" You pulled away from Champ before he could even notice that you were shaking with rage, your lips locked in a tight smile. "But do send me the files for tonight's mission."

And without another word, you quickly walked away from the group, holding your breath to keep the hot, salty tears at bay.

-

You spent the better part of your afternoon practicing a Russian accent and going over Mrs. Veronica Culpeper's profile, preparing for tonight's mission.

You reminded yourself to practice your breathing exercises, deciding to be an adult about the situation. You didn't have the right to be so possessive over Whiskey; you had your chance, and you blew it.

That's on you.

As you slipped on your short, silk black dress, you couldn't help but feel a slight sense of confidence. You didn't get to dress up often, so seeing yourself with a full face of make-up, your hair held back in your favorite clip, and wearing a dress that hugged your curves perfectly? How could you not feel absolutely gorgeous.

You took separate cars and left at different times than Whiskey and Malibu, not wanting to cause any suspicion.

Veronica had never met the Williams before, so at least it wasn't like you had to look at them together all night.

You slipped in your earpiece as you pulled up to the club, checking to make sure you were connected. "Whiskey, do you copy?"

"Yeah." He responded a moment later, whispering with that deep, gruff Southern accent that made you shiver.

"I copy too!" You heard Malibu say, her voice echoing as though she were in an empty room, like a bathroom.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself before exiting the car, greeting the valet with a thick, Russian accent as you dropped your keys into the palm of his hand.

As you entered the building, you couldn't help but glance around the room, looking for a familiar face.

"Hello there, I don't think we've met. Who are you?" A man asked from behind you, slight suspicion in his tone.

You turned, only to be met with the man of the night; Lucifer White, the leader of the biggest cartel ring in South America. The man you were all here to kill.

"I am Veronica Culpeper. I believe you knew my husband?"

"Ahh, yes! James! Oh, I do apologize for your loss. I'm sure you understand though, no?''

You blinked, trying to remember how Veronica's husband died. "Business is business."

Lucifer barked out a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "A woman who understands how the business world works! I must have a drink with you!" He tried to pull you towards the bar, but you resisted.

Out of nowhere, five guards suddenly looked your way, not liking the disappointment look on their boss's face.

"I don't know.. Maybe I should walk around first? I just got here." You felt beads of sweat beginning to dampen your forehead, the panic burning in the pit of your belly.

"Are you kidding? That is the perfect time to get a drink! Come come!" He reached over and grabbed your hand, actually pulling you towards the bar now.

"Tell me, what is your choice of drink?" He shouted to you over the music, motioning for the bartender.

"I'll take your favorite." You said, throwing up your hands. "I feel adventurous tonight!" Your Russian accent was just as thick as his Spanish one.

Lucifer laughed, giving you a simple nod before speaking to the bartender in Spanish.

"So, what brings you here tonight? I figured you would be more than furious with me at the moment, no?"

And that's when it hit you; Lucifer killed Veronica's husband when an important deal went bad. James was supposedly working with the police, though there wasn't a lot of evidence to support that theory.

Even so, James was the first he killed when he discovered the undercover cops that were supposed to be buying his product.

Not even a minute later, the bartender gently set your drinks on the counter, giving you a nervous look as he prepared other customers. drinks.

"No. As I said. Business is business. My husband was weak." You said as you picked up your drink, raising it in the air. "To good business?"

Lucifer grinned, slamming his glass against yours. "To good business!" He began to chug his drink, watching you out of the corner of his eye to make sure you were drinking yours.

You raised the glass to your lips, preparing to take a sip, when suddenly it was ripped out of your hands. You looked up, watching as Whiskey tossed the glass back behind the bar, nearly missing the bartender's head.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Lucifer roared, standing to get in Whiskey's face. All of the guards in the surrounding area perked up, tightening their grips on their guns as they kept a very close eye on the situation.

"It was my mistake, really. I apologize. I thought she was someone else." Whiskey said, holding his hands in the air. You almost couldn't recognize him without his Southern accent.

You glanced around, catching a glimpse of Malibu, who was standing nearby to watch the situation unfold.

She wore a ruby red dress that hugged her waist perfectly, flaring out into a whirl of ruffles and glitter on the bottom. And even in a moment as tense as this, that familiar burn of insecurity began to creep into your mind.

"Who are you?" Lucifer demanded, gripping Whiskey's collar.

"Right! I'm David Miller, sir."

"Oh really? That's funny, because the David Miller I invited is currently in New Mexico. You see where I'm a little confused, no?"

"Jesus Chirst." Whiskey muttered, not even trying to hide his Southern accent anymore. He punched Lucifer in his jaw, sending both men to the ground.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Everything began to playout in slow motion- what seemed like dozens of men ran up from the first floor at the sight of a fight, trying to take on both Malibu and Whiskey.

You reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle full of vodka. Storming over to one of the bigger guards who had his back turned, you tapped the back of his knee with your foot, smashing the bottle over his head once he dropped to his knees.

Holding onto the top of the shattered glass bottle, you stabbed an oncoming guard in the stomach with the broken glass, twisting the handle so the glass dug in deeper.

You felt someone grab you from behind, pressing a gun against the side of your head. "And to think I actually trusted you! I was going to make you mine." Lucifer snarled, the metallic smell of blood and alcohol wafting from his mouth.

"Awe, what a shame." You said, before slamming your head back into his face, causing him to stumble back as blood poured from the bridge of his nose.

"You bitch!" He cried out, holding his hand over his nose.

You turned, kicking your foot into his stomach so hard that he flew back into another guard, both of them falling to the ground.

Feeling something break on your shoe, you sucked in a breath, propping your foot up on a nearby barstool to see if you broke the heel.

In doing so, a guard took that as an opportunity, proceeding to jab his knife into the side of your thigh while you weren't paying attention.

You ripped your leg off of the chair, clenching your teeth together in agony as you ripped the knife from your thigh. "You fucker!" You screamed, hurling yourself at the man as though you were some kind of predator.

You all fought like hell for the next ten minutes, the war ending with a single gunshot to Lucifer's forehead.

You stood there panting, holding the gun in a vice-like grip. The familiar feeling of guilt swirled around in your stomach, making you lightheaded. You'd think that after eleven years of killing people, you'd be used to it by now.

Well, you'd be very wrong.

Whiskey and Malibu were by your side a moment later, Whiskey letting out a long whistle when he saw what you had done. "Bit of a hiccup, but I'd say that was a hell of a mission, huh?"

Malibu gave him a are you serious right now? look, gesturing to her torn, blood covered dress.

"Ah well, ya win some, ya loose some." Whiskey patted her on the back, suddenly going quiet when he saw the blood that rushed down the side of your leg, now pooling at your feet. "Please tell me that's someone else's."

You furrowed your brows together, glancing down to see the mess you unintentionally created. "Oh! Huh, I honestly forgot about that.."

Whiskey hurried to your side, looking up at you for permission when he grabbed the edge of your dress. Once you gave him the okay, he took one look at your stab wound and decided that you needed to go to the hospital.

"What? No, Jack, I'm fine! I'll just have Ginger look at it when we get back."

"Ginger is currently at home sleeping. Ya know who isn't? The doctors at the ER down the road. Now go get in the truck."

"I can drive myself-"

"Give Stacy your keys. She'll bring it back to the office for ya."

So now they were on first name basis?

The thought made you cringe, a sour look beginning to spread across your face. "I gave my keys to the valet."

"Got that?" Whiskey asked Malibu, nodding when she agreed. "Now, let's get you taken care of." He gently grabbed your arm, guiding you outside towards the parking lot.

-

"Let me get this straight," The doctor said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You just fell on a knife?"

"Yup." You and Whiskey said in union, glancing at one another.

"And how exactly did you fall on a knife?"

You simply shrugged, tossing your hands up.

The doctor eyed you suspiciously, staring at Whiskey as though he did it. "Right.. Well, thankfully it's not very deep. You're going to need stiches and maybe some antibiotics, but you'll be fine. I'll be back in a moment to stitch you up, okay?"

"Thank you, doctor." Whiskey said, giving him a curt nod.

Once the doctor left, you let out a long sigh, beginning to pick at your nails. The only thing you could seem to think about was how Whiskey said Malibu's real name, no hesitation, no warning- he used it as though he'd known her for years.

Tears began to swell in your eyes, making you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to counteract them.

"Is the pain gettin' worse?" Whiskey asked, staring at your clenched fists.

Shit.

"I'm fine." You mumbled rather rudely, you'll admit.

Whiskey raised his brows, swaying his hip to the side. "Well what did I do?"

You rolled your eyes as you huffed out a sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"That! That right there. What's with the attitude?"

"I don't have an attitude, Jack."

"Bullshit. Are you still salty you ain't get to be my wife this time around?"

The lump in your throat began to swell, making it hard to swallow. "I was never salty in the first place. For fucks sake, can't you just wait in the waiting room? I'm a big girl, I can get a few stitches by myself."

Whiskey stared at you in awe. "Oh my god, you are!"

You turned your head so he couldn't see the heat that began to burn through your cheeks. "I'm not!"

"Listen Sugar, I'll make it clear to Champ that you're my number one girl from here on out, alright? I'm not sure how Stacy's gonna feel 'bout-"

"God, do you ever shut up?!" You cried out, finally looking at him with your tear-stained cheeks and wobbling lip. You couldn't hold back your jealousy any longer, hearing her name on his tongue for a second time making your body burn with pure rage.

Whiskey's smile quickly faded. He continued to stare at you as though he solved the worlds hardest puzzle. "Holy shit, you're jealous."

Your eyes went wide, your body suddenly dropping into fight or flight mode. "I don't need this." You jumped to your feet, ripping the curtain back before storming away from him.

"The hell you do!" Whiskey was hot on your tracks, grabbing your wrist once you were in arm's length.

Other patients that didn't have their curtains drawn began to stare at the scene; doctors looked at you both with suspicion.

"People are looking. Will you please just get back in there?"

"Are you going to shut up?"

Whiskey acted as though he locked his lips and threw away the key.

"Fine." You pulled your arm out of his grasp, walking back to the corner yourself.

Whiskey pulled the curtains back once you were both inside the makeshift room, stayed quiet like he promised. Though by the looks of it, his head was racing with thoughts.

You tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but the skin around your wound felt tight- as though your skin would rip if you moved too much. You sucked in a sharp breath, obviously struggling.

"Let me help-"

"Aren't you supposed to be staying quiet?"

Whiskey rolled his eyes. "Don't be a child. Seriously, let me-"

"I'm fine-"

Whiskey sighed, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the bed.

You sat there with a scowl, rubbing your sides. You hated being picked up. "Don't you ever do that again."

Whiskey stared at you for a while, his mouth agape. Not a moment later, he began to laugh- the kind of laugh that had him doubled over, holding his stomach.

"What?" You crossed your arms over your chest, wanting to know what was so funny.

"Ya know you're cute when you're mad?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

You scoffed, turning your head away from him once again.

"it's true! You may be stubborn, but god damnit, you make up for it by bein' so adorable."

You turned to face him, your brows still furrowed together. "Why are you being so mean to me, Jack?"

"How am I being mean to you, sugar?" Whiskey cooed, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"By acting so nice to me all of the time! None of the other agent's treat me like this. They're usually professional- wanting to get a mission done as soon as possible. But you? You do stuff like this; taking me to the hospital yourself, buying me dinner, flirting with me.. Why?"

Whiskey shook his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "You really wanna know?"

"I wouldn't've asked if I didn't."

"True." Whiskey mumbled. He placed his hand on your cheek, guiding your face to his as he gently pressed your lips together.

You sat there frozen for the better part of the kiss, shocked that it was finally happening. Years of tension- of longing, hoping that he would someday feel the same finally poured out into one, single kiss.

And once you finally did kiss him back, your lips pressed against his with urgency, as though you were starving for his touch alone.

"Okay!" The doctor said, yanking back the curtain right as the two of you pulled away. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but are you ready to get started?"

"Not at all! Come on in."

"Great." The doctor and a nurse came in to set everything up for your stitches, not even realizing that they walked in on the best moment of your life.

You laid your head on Whiskey's shoulder, holding the edge of your dress back so the nurse could disinfect the area. "Can I spend the night at your place?" You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Sure thing, sugar." Whiskey said with a laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, you were gonna be alright.

-

Hello! Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

Taglist: @dino-fart

[sacredsorceress]

Whatever || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: you catch your best friend bucky matching with another woman online and you can’t help but feel protective over your favorite super soldier

a/n: i've been going through writer’s block recently, but i'm slowly getting back into it so please be patient with me and i hope you enjoy!

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, insecurities, jealousy, a lot of dialogue

masterlist || taglist

“Y/n!” You heard as Sam called your name from the kitchen of the Compound.

Making your way around the corner and into the room, your eyes caught Bucky’s as you noticed him and Sam sitting side by side at the island, hovering over Bucky’s phone.

“Yeah?”

“You have to look at this.” Sam said pointing at the device in Bucky’s hand.

Coming up behind the two of them, you glanced at Bucky’s phone and saw the photo of a woman displayed on his screen, the words “It’s a Match!” glowing tauntingly above her picture.

Biting back the feeling of your heart sinking into your stomach, you cleared your throat and turned to Sam.

“Yeah?” You said, attempting to mask the hurt in your voice. “What about it?”

At your response, Sam threw his arms up in the air and laughed in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” He shouted. “How does a woman like that match with a guy like this?”

Glancing back over Bucky’s shoulders at the photo you shrugged.

You had to admit that the woman was gorgeous- anyone with eyes would be able to see it- just the sight of her made you shrink back into yourself, seeing none of yourself in the unnamed woman and knowing that you weren’t her- the one Bucky did want.

However, you knew that no matter utterly stunning she may be- she couldn’t compare to Bucky.

You could barely believe the way Bucky and Sam were talking about the two of them- as if the woman Bucky hadn't even said one word to had hung the stars in the sky and that Bucky would be lucky to have her.

You knew better though.

You knew Bucky better.

Any woman- especially the one he had just matched with- would be lucky to have him. Although the woman was no doubt beautiful- you could feel your breath catch in your throat anytime his eyes met yours- he was breathtaking. Although the woman’s short bio made her seem like fun- Bucky could make you laugh in a way another person hadn’t done in years.

He was skilled, intelligent, kind-

you could go on all day.

“She’s completely out of his league!”

Snapping out of your own thoughts, you shoved at Sam, nearly knocking him off of his stool.

“She’s not ‘out of his league’.” You defended Buck.

“She kind of is.” Bucky finally interjected, looking over his shoulder at you.

A thick silence settled around the two of you as your eyes met Bucky’s- not missing the hint of defeat in his gaze.

Turning away you shook your head.

“She really isn’t though, Buck.” You said unable to look at him.

“Am I the only one not in on some joke right now?” Sam asked, looking around the room. “Are there hidden cameras or something? Y/n, she’s a model.”

Quickly growing frustrated by the conversation, you crossed your arms.

“So?” You asked. “What about it?”

“He's one hundred and six!” Sam exclaimed. “He doesn’t know how to take a picture on his phone! It’s just unbelievable. I mean really, man, I’m happy for you.”

Watching the smirk on Bucky’s face grow at Sam’s words, chuckling along with his best friend, you couldn’t help but let out an involuntary huff before throwing your hands in the air and making your way out of the room.

Hearing the sound of your footsteps padding out of the kitchen, Bucky broke away from his conversation with Sam, instead turning his head only to catch you storming out of the doorway of the kitchen he and his friend were sat in.

Watching you leave, Bucky felt a tinge of guilt, shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket before pushing himself out of his chair.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, taking a swig of the beer in his hand.

“I don't know.” Bucky admitted, fidgeting with the band of his watch that was fastened around his wrist. “I just um... I’m just gonna go check on Y/n.”

Rushing down the hallway, you almost felt silly for feeling the way you did.

You and Bucky were friends.

You and Bucky were friends and nothing more.

You complimented him because you admired him and believed he deserved the world. You wanted to spend every free moment with him because the two of you clicked like you had with no one else. You smiled with him because he was your good friend who had been with you through thick and thin...

Not because every time he smiled back at you, you swore you felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Not because you secretly felt your heart skip a beat every time his hand touched yours or that if you thought about the future for too long you would always find him beside you.

It wasn't because of that.

You loved him as a friend.

You’re friends. You told yourself.

But all that did was make you ask yourself why you were so upset over the thought of him being happy with someone else?

You wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy.

Why couldn’t he just do that with you?

“Y/n.” Bucky called before you felt his vibranium hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back.

Turning to face him, you couldn’t help the biting tone in your voice.

“What?”

Taken back by your tone, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Did I do something wrong?” Bucky asked. “Why are you so pissed off at me?”

Attempting to pull your wrist from his grasp, you felt his grip only grow stronger.

“I’m not pissed off at you, Buck.” You huffed.

“Yeah? Then why are you trying to pull away, huh?”

At his comment, you stopped struggling in his grasp, instead turning to look up at him with your eyebrows raised. Sensing you relaxing, he slowly pulled his hand away from your arm, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” He asked, voice growing softer.

“Nothing’s wrong, Buck.” You sighed.

Staring at the man in front of you, a part of you just wanted to tell him- to confess to him that your feelings had crossed the line of friendship that the two of you had been wordlessly sworn to for so long.

You almost told him- the words nearly finding a way to escape from your lips as they opened.

You almost did.

Almost.

Just as you leaned into his presence, you heard another notification alert him on his phone. 

Your eyes locked and you wanted to beg him not to grab it- to plead with him to stay in the moment with you.

But as you gazed up at him, you swore you could feel your heart shatter in your chest when you watched as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, eyes leaving yours to train them on the screen once more.

Watching as he pulled his other hand out of his pocket to type on the phone in his hand, almost as if you were invisible in front of him, you bit your lip and shook your head.

“You know what, James?”

Glancing up from his device, you watched as his mouth opened, but before even a word could fumble out of his mouth, you shoved the phone back into his chest.

“I hope you're happy.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Happiness is Everything (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This wasn’t requested; I needed to give my boy some love, and a strong bond with Hvitserk. It’s nothing but a silly comfort fic.

@geekandbooknerd​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖

@zuxiezendler​ - Thank you 😉🌸 (and you know why)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar doesn't want any more set-ups. Hvitserk’s stubborn girlfriend disagrees.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst due to Ivar’s temper and insecurities; an obvious lack of plot; lack of creativity; fluff+++.

Words: 2575

Stifling a hiss of pain, Ivar flops down on the couch, leaning his crutch against its armrest. 

 "Here." Hvitserk joins him, handing him a beer before gulping a long sip of his. "So, brother," Hvitserk's face is slightly crumpled as he looks at him, "There's a last-minute change." 

 With a tight-lipped expression on his face, Ivar frowns. He hates last-minute changes with a passion. "What are you talking about, Hvitserk?" He asks curtly while massaging his right thigh absently. 

 "Thora will be with us tonight." Hvitserk shrugs, his discomfort obvious. 

 "Okay." Ivar tilts his head, confused. Every Thursday night, he and his brother spend the night together. Usually at Hvitserk’s place, eating frozen pizzas – a lot of them, Hvitserk being Hvitserk. Most of the time, Thora, who enjoys spending time with her friends, leaves them alone. Sometimes she stays home though, and honestly, it's fine. The truth is, he likes Thora. She's smart and funny, and uncomplicated. Sure, he didn't warm to her right away. It took time. But now, it's okay. He probably won't say it out loud, but yeah, he likes her.

 "So…" Raising a brow, Ivar takes a sip of his beer, "It's no big deal." As Hvitserk keeps silent, Ivar scrutinizes him. His brother is clearly nervous and not at ease at all. Ivar slowly licks his lips. "What are you not telling me, brother?" He knows he's right when Hvitserk lowers his gaze.

 "Well…" Hvitserk clears his throat, "She won't be alone."

A wide-eyed look on his face, Ivar snarls, pursing his lips. "What does that mean, Hvitserk?" The icy cold tone of his voice matches his hard stare, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands into fists. 

 Hvitserk winces, "You know what it means, brother," before taking a seat in the armchair across from Ivar, the small coffee table between them suddenly highly appreciated. One can never be too careful when facing Ivar's anger. 

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Clenching his jaw, Ivar bangs his fist on the table, and Hvitserk immediately leans forward, catching his brother's beer just before it falls down. 

 "I'm not, Ivar. Listen, I'm sorry but Tho–"

 Ivar cuts him off, running nervously his hands through his hair. "I can't believe it! Remember the fiasco with Thora's cousin? And then with her colleague? What was her name? Livia? Lisa? See, she didn’t even stay long enough for me to remember. Anyway, I thought I was pretty clear after that, wasn't I? Maybe you and your girlfriend should go and check your hearing, what do you think, hm, brother?" His voice dripping with sarcasm, Ivar gives Hvitserk dagger eyes, his pointer finger tapping the side of his head. "No more set-ups. That's what I said, right? Sounds pretty clear, huh? Do I need to tell it again, brother? Look at my mouth, I wouldn't want you to miss it this time,” He points to his lips then in a sarcastic manner, “No. More. Set-ups. No. More. Blind. Dates." Bottom lip quivering, Ivar, who's boiling mad, struggles to hold back his anger.

 "I know, brother…" Hvitserk swallows, rubbing his hand over his face, "but you know Thora means well, don't you? I briefly met Y/N once and honestly, she seemed nice enough. Plus, Thora's not really setting you up. We'll be together, the four of us, here, just eating pizza, it hardly counts as a date, don't you think?"

 Disgruntled, Ivar heaves an exasperated sigh, his nostrils flaring. "Stop playing dumb, Hvit, and don't tell me you've never heard of double dates!" He stares at his brother, his pupils dilated, shading his eyes darker blue. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." As he reaches for his crutch, a scowl on his face, Hvitserk stands up, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

 "Isn't that obvious?" Ivar mocks him while adjusting his legs in front of him. "I'm leaving!" Shifting his butt forward, he laces his left arm through the metal loop of his crutch, places his right hand on the coffee table, and then slowly hauls himself to his feet, grunting and swearing under his breath. He has a false start, where it seems he's going to fall right back onto the couch, but Hvitserk catches him skilfully, gripping his upper right arm. As soon as he's sure his baby brother has found his balance, Hvitserk releases his arm and Ivar gives him a tight, thank-you smile. 

 Hvitserk barely nods, as if nothing happened. And gosh, Ivar may be mad at him about this stupid set-up-non-set-up thing, but right now he's feeling mostly grateful. His brother not making a big deal out of his struggles never fails to amaze him.

With any other of his brothers, it wouldn't have been the same. 

Bjorn would have looked at him as if he were an utter failure, and then maybe helped him – out of pity, Ivar is sure of that – but not without paternally patting him on the shoulder; or even worse, on the head. The thought makes him cringe and he shakes his head, chasing it away. Bjorn is no longer around anyway, busy traveling around the world with his fourth wife. Or maybe it's the fifth? Ivar lost count a long time ago. 

 Sigurd would have kicked his crutch out from under him while Ubbe would have forced him to sit down, hovering beside him for far too long, afraid he would slip or stumble, or break a bone. Between Ubbe and Sigurd, between plague and cholera, Ivar is honestly not sure which one is better. Or worse. After all, it's all a matter of perspective. 

 Fortunately, Hvitserk – his favourite brother, and it is no coincidence – never treats him differently; never belittles him; never mothers nor smothers him. With him, Ivar feels like he's normal.

 Gratefulness flooding his mind, a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He knows that if he leaves, he will put his brother in a difficult position. Though his resolve remains unshaken, Ivar puts a hand on his brother's shoulder, and when he speaks again, it's in a softer voice. "Listen, brother, just tell them I cancelled because I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

 Technically speaking, it's not even a lie. Today has been what his beloved mother would have called a 'bad leg day'. The pain coursing through his lower limbs worse and the muscles stiffer than usual, his right leg barely moving due to its swollen joints, he had taken a double dose of painkillers earlier, regrettably with little to no effect.

 "Well, brother," Looking out of the window, Hvitserk grimaces, an uneasy grin on the corner of his lips, "I'm afraid it's too late." 

 As if on cue, the door busts open and a girly chuckle can be heard. Ivar clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the handle of his crutch. As you and Thora take off your coats and shoes in the doorway, Hvitserk mutters, his mouth on his brother's ear, "Behave Ivar, please. For my sake." 

 Ivar snorts, exhaling deeply. "I'll try." He closes his eyes and, shaking his head, he mumbles, fighting a lump in his throat. "It's… It's not that easy. Fuck Hvitserk, you don't even know…I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time. I… I might have been happy." His voice, barely a whisper at this point, cracks at the end, and he hates himself for that.  

 Astounded, Hvitserk isn't even sure he heard right. There's no time left to ask Ivar to repeat himself though, so he somewhat haphazardly decides to comfort him, nevertheless. "You'll get there, brother." He eventually breathes, still stunned by his brother's unexpected admission.

  "We're coming!!" Unaware of the tension in the room, Thora shouts enthusiastically before crossing it in two long strides. All smiles, she joins the brothers, winking at her lover and squeezing his hand, and gives Ivar a peck on the cheek followed by a wholehearted hug. She then steps away, gesturing toward you as Hvitserk wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Ivar, this is Y/N."

 Reluctantly, Ivar looks in your direction and the moment he sets his eyes on you, his breath catches in his throat and he knows he's screwed. Already smitten. Gods, you're glowing and insanely beautiful. He barely hears Thora's next words. "And Y/N, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's little brother."

 A beaming smile on your face, you wave at him before taking two shy steps forward. "Hello, Ivar." Even your voice is wonderful, sweet, and silky, and he can't help but smile back at you, annoyed with himself for being so weak. 

 Even if he can see the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him, even if your smile is devastating, he knows better. 

 It won't last. It can't.

 For now, standing tall in his brother's living room, he's aware you surely find him attractive. With no false modesty, Ivar knows about his good looks, his huge blue eyes his greatest asset. Of course, you must have noticed the crutch, but the crutch per se is barely a turn-off. You can't see his titanium leg braces, which he stubbornly wears under his pants, even if they often bruise the thin and delicate skin of his calves. You can't see his crippling pain, his struggles. You can't see his distorted bones and his hideous legs. You can't see how disabled, how crippled he really is. But he knows that as soon as he takes a step, you'll get a small glimpse, and then the sparkle will leave your eyes, replaced at best by polite indifference, at worst by pity and disgust. 

 Yet, there's nowhere to hide from the inevitable. So, he decisively closes the gap between you and him, leaning heavily on his crutch, dragging his useless right leg behind him, and eventually standing right in front of you, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you." His gaze never leaves your face, Ivar awaiting for you to avert your eyes, but you surprisingly don't. And as you reach out and offer him a firm handshake, your smile never falters, the sparkle still dancing in your eyes. 

 *** One year later ***

 You stir and turn toward him, your hand searching and finding his chest, and then lay your head on his shoulder. Groggy with sleep, you just mumble his name, eyes still closed, before letting out a content sigh and Ivar can't help but smile; you're so adorable.  

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, he draws you closer, running his fingers along your back and pressing his lips to your head. Rewarded by kisses in the crook of his neck, his free hand settles on your hip, your skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. "Hi," he greets you and buries his nose in your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

 "Hi." You eventually mumble with a raspy voice, now peppering light kisses all over his broad torso. "What were you doing, my love?" Your eyes flutter open and, propping yourself up on your elbow, your other hand flat on his chest, you offer him a warm smile. There's so much love in your eyes, it takes his breath away. 

 "I was remembering." Ivar smiles fondly at you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Do you know what day it is?" He asks, gently kissing your knuckles one after the other. 

 "How could I have forgotten?" You scoot even closer, your breast against his chest, your mouth barely an inch from his. "Today is the anniversary of the day we met, my love. That's what you were thinking about?"

 Ivar nods before laying you down on the bed tenderly. He then sits up, running his hands through his hair. "I remember as though it were yesterday, you know? I still can't believe you didn't run away." Sitting behind him, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trapping him in your embrace, in your love. "You stayed…", his voice trembles as he gestures to his legs, hidden under the sheets, "… you stayed in spite of… of them…" He swallows loudly and your heart aches.

 Resting your head on his left shoulder, you shake your head. "No, my love, I didn’t stay in spite of your legs, but because of them." 

 Ivar is looking downward but as soon as the words escape your lips, he snaps his head to the side, a frown flitting across his face, and gives you a confused and slightly upset look. "What do you… What do you mean?" He stammers, suddenly tense.

 Shifting in the bed, you carefully straddle him, tilting his chin with a curled finger and forcing him to meet your gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Ivar. I'm not especially attracted to your legs. It's not some kind of weird fetish. I stayed because of what is in here." You put your finger on his forehead, and then over his heart. "And here. But your legs made you who you are. And you're different. A good kind of different. You don't think like other men. That's what I love the most about you. You're unpredictable; you always surprise me. You wouldn't have been who you are without your legs." A gentle hand sliding under the sheets, your fingers graze his scarred skin. "With two working legs, who knows what you would have been. You probably would have been a presumptuous womanizer like Bjorn. Or you might have been as boring as Ubbe; as careless as Hvitserk; as annoying as Sigurd. You are who you are, infuriating, smart, and stubborn, and, I must say, breathtakingly handsome, and I love you exactly the way you are." 

 Ivar just looks at you for a long time, a small smile playing on his lips. Raising his right hand, he cups your face. "Never stop telling me you love me, Y/N. Please..." You never saw him so willingly vulnerable before, and it breaks your heart – you never want him to doubt himself – as much as it fills you with joy – he trusts you enough to share his insecurities with you. 

 You answer him without missing a beat. "I won't. I love you more than my own life. I love you bigger than the sky and its stars, I love you to the moon and back. I love you like I never thought I could. Loving you is a blessing, a precious gift, the meaning of my life. I love you and only you, Ivar Lothbrok."

 Blinking a few times, Ivar heaves a shuddering breath. Tears come to his bright blue eyes and the expression on his face is unreadable; fragile and strong all at once. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Staring into space, he seems lost.

 Stroking his cheek, you bring him back to the here and now, back to you, kissing his earlobe, his jaw, his neck, before returning briefly to his mouth. "What is it, Ivar?"

 Your lover shrugs, "Nothing, really," and pulls you closer, his hands on your back, his breath on your face, his manly scent enticing you. "Or more accurately…", he whispers in your ear, "… Nothing, yet everything." 

 Not understanding what he's getting at, you keep quiet, just staring at him, confusion obvious in your eyes. He then offers you a mind-blowing smile, and your heart nearly jumps out through your mouth at his next words. 

 "I may be happy. Actually, I think I am."

 🛡⚔️🛡

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[prose-for-hire]

Love is all around

Pairing: Spangel x reader [Poly Spike x Angel x reader]

Request: I can’t find it but it was like one of the first requests I had on here and I never finished it because i was struggling for plot. It’s very fluffy, just a few moments of your relationship with them both !! 💖🖤

You were in love. With two people. Well, vampires. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling any time you were around them. Your relationship just worked.

Ever since Spike had returned and been subsequently corporeal again you had all felt it. Something calling within. You and Angel had already been dancing around your feelings.

You and Angel were sat watching Passions with Spike. You humoured him because you both adored the way he got so enthusiastic about it. Discussing his theories and gossiping about the characters.

He practically glowed and so you sat in on it (despite neither of you particularly enjoying it the way he did). Because you loved being with him. All three of you.

You were all sat closely on the sofa together, with you in the middle. Everyone’s eyes were cast towards the soap opera although only one of you was truly engrossed. You just enjoyed the intimacy of it. Being beside them both.

You were sat between them, their hands were interlaced and were resting on your lap. They wanted contact with you. Sometimes you slid your own hand to rest over their entwined hands. Other times you just enjoyed watching the way they clasped their hands together and rested there.

After a moment, after you heard both of their stomachs grumble but neither of them wanted move from this comfortable position you peeled yourself away from them. You offered them some blood. They nodded, grateful. You knew them as well as they knew themselves. You all did.

When you returned after bustling in the kitchen for a while, you had a tray with three mugs in your hand. Two with steaming blood and the other had your beverage of choice. You liked to join them with your own drink.

“I like mine with a bit of texture, love-” Spike reminded you as Angel started to open his mouth to remind you of what he usually drank and you rolled your eyes at them both.

“I know, Weetabix for you, cinnamon for you - it’s as if we’re not together or something” You teased as you set down their respective mugs in front of where they were sat.

You set the mugs down on the coffee table and shook your head with a smile. Angel moved to scoop you up and pull you into them, back onto the sofa. They completely adored you. They both pressed kisses against your skin as you laughed and settled back in between them. Spike then went back to being engrossed with the show.

After a while, you yawned softly and Angel set his mug down. A hand caressing you softly, encouraging you to lean into him. After a while of resting softly against him, you slid into Angel’s lap. He pulled you into his chest and you curled up as the buzzing continued.

You nestled into the crook of his neck as his strong hand held you into him. Allowing you to get comfortable and melt into his chest.

Neither of you had realised, but his whispered encouragement and your shifting was distracting from the show. Spike had began to huff because neither of you are paying enough attention to the show. He had sulkily sat on the far edge of the sofa from the both of you.

You nestle further into Angel’s chest and close your eyes. You had become really sleepy. Spike glanced sideways at you, pausing to appreciate how sweet the picture was. How much he loved you both.

But he was stubborn. And so he exhaled audibly through his nose. Angel looked over to him, realising what was happening. You hadn’t been paying the show, and by extension him, enough attention.

Angel gestures his head as if to say come here to him. With a small smile tugging at his lips at your boyfriend’s nature. Spike turned back to the screen, his stubborn nature shining through. Of course he wanted to cuddle into you but you had dared speak during his show so he had to make his point.

You open your eyes sensing that you were missing something. You saw Spike’s slight pout and the way he was glancing sideways to check that you were both paying attention.

You join Angel in the “come here” look. Knowing that only the two of you could make him break from his stubborn nature. You knew how much the show meant to him, you hadn’t interrupted on purpose. And he knew this.

Spike rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and shifted back over to sit closer to you both again. Angel caught him in a kiss, his hand snaking around the base of his skull and pulling him close. Spike moved, his hand moving up your thigh for further purchase against Angel’s lips. You smiled sleepily. You couldn’t help be anything except content when you

You shared clothing a lot. You often loaned each other their stuff so much that nobody knows who has what at any given time. Sometimes when one of you ‘borrowed’ the others stuff you forgot to tell the owner of the item.

There was this red shirt. One that was Angel’s but Spike frequently insisted was his. In fact, you tended to steal it the most which is why you were often suspect number one.

Angel emerged from the bedroom topless, a light frown on his face. He swore he had set that shirt down in his drawer.

Both you and Spike shared a smug look and completely forgot what you had been watching. Your eyes followed his athletic form approvingly as he looked around the room for what he was missing. Your eyes managed to break away from his chest when you heard his audible irritation. He was now checking under the couch cushions and sighing.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You cooed contently as Spike ran a hand through your hair, eventually resting on your shoulder, hugging you against him. Angel looked back at you both, his eyes narrowing on you both.

“Yeah, Peaches, your face looks like a slapped-”

“My shirt – the red one. Where is it, huh?” He asked, tone accusatory. He knew one of you had it. Hidden away so you could wear it later.

“You have lots of shirts, we can’t keep track of them all…”

“You know the one”

You and Spike had to try and hide your smiles as he stared hard between you. But neither of you budged.

“Maybe you could wear a different one? Do you really need it?” You asked softly. He rolled his eyes, knowing what was going to come along with his next admittance.

“It’s lucky”

“You’re bloody kidding!” Spike sniggered at his admittance which earned him a warning look.

“You have a lucky shirt?” You asked at the same time, which earned you the same look.

“Yeah, so hand it over” He said, his tone was softer than he intended. He wasn’t angry though, he just wanted the shirt. Neither you or Spike moved he groaned and went to find some alternative to wear.

This carried on for a week. He almost upturned the entire apartment looking for it. You and Spike kept hiding it in each other’s stuff in case Angel found it and so he would blame the other. It turned into a bit of a game, which made you and Spike become giddy and silly with it.

Angel loved seeing you both wearing his clothes. In fact he encouraged it. But he really did want the shirt back – just for this meeting he had to hold next Friday.

You walked through the door one morning to find Spike and Angel sat at the kitchen table, with a plastic box between them.

You gave them a confused look as they both looked up, offering you a smile. They were pleased you were home. Their faces always lit up when you came through the door. They just couldn’t help it.

At your confused look, Angel explained. Spike rolled his eyes playfully as he had already heard Angel’s proposition.

“Amnesty box, Fred’s idea. Whoever took it, just leave it in the box and we won’t mention it” Angel looked between you both with a little squint before he tapped the box again.

You and Spike shared a mischievous look. Angel sighed, he was never getting that shirt back. He walked away, shaking his head with you and Spike trailing after him trying to entice him into bed with the promise of lots of love to put him in a better mood.

In fact, the next morning when he checked in the box he was surprised. There was the red shirt waiting for him. Along with several pairs of pants, some t-shirts and a leather jacket that he thought he had lost a really long time ago.

Often, one of you was out while the others slipped into bed. Tonight, you and Spike had been snuggling up under the covers while your love had left briefly for the evening.

Angel went out on a quick run to the butcher’s to re-stock the blood fridge. Angel and his newfound money had invested in a separate fridge for blood and human food. So nobody got mixed up with unlabelled jars (it had happened before).

He landed a few soft kisses against your neck before he lay back, flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers entwining, the way you usually would.

He furrowed his brow though, trying to hide the way he worried when one of you left the house alone after dark. There was always a threat there. Waiting around the corner for one of you. You propped yourself up on your side. Your hand cupping his face soothingly which made him glance towards you.

“Love?” He asked, eyebrow raised at your little look of concern for him. Your mood was affected by his, just like it was by Angel’s.

“He’ll be back soon” You assured him and he glanced away from your face for a moment. He struggled to express his emotions often. He preferred to write it down, which he had began doing again since you all found each other again.

He cared so deeply and worried about Angel despite both of you knowing how strong and how much of a good fighter he was. When one was away you always worried. People targeted you all the time and you being human, they had to protect you the most. Those that wanted to take over the world wanted to break you up. Tear you from each other.

But that would never happen. You swore it.

Neither of you would be able to sleep until he returned home. He had insisted for you not to wait up, but you couldn’t help it. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his furrowed brow. Your kiss soothing him. He ran his hand up your back, pulling you closer. His firm grip making sure you weren’t leaving too. His furrow lessened with those sweet kisses that made a little smile quirk on your lips.

You both nestled together, wrapping your arms around each other and holding the other close. You whispered to each other, discussing your days. Keeping your mind off your concern about Angel. You knew he would be back. You knew he would always come home to you both, but you couldn’t help missing him.

When Angel came back home and slid into bed and both you and Spike released a breath of relief. Spike’s unneeded, but wholly necessary. You all just felt so complete when you were together. His body pressing flush against your back as if he needed to feel you both against him.

His hand reached for Spike through the dark. The blonde vampire slid his hand along your side before reaching to move up Angel’s arm. Resting against his bicep, his thumb caressing his skin.

You were sandwiched between them. Happily pressed between your favourite people in the entire world. You snuggled into them both, all of you settling into a comfortable position.

None of you could hide your smiles. The way you vibrated with such love. Care. When you were together. There was just something about lying here this way. Being together, no matter any petty squabbling your relationship was everything.

[sungodlywriting]

snow sight

1.5k words

SFW, minors can interact

philza fluff

self hate, reader feeling like/describing themselves as a burden, description of eye pain (in the form of snow blindness)

A voice called your name. You barely heard, continuing to build the wall along your automatic farm project. You’d been out in the tundra all day, waking up extra early with the new build lighting up your mind from the moment you opened your eyes.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your muscles, the cold from the snow and the heat from your heavy winter clothes mixing in a horrific clash of senses. You’d had a headache for Gods knew how long, your vision had begun to blur as the sun’s glare off the snow reflected into your eyes.

A voice called your name, accompanied this time by a hand on your shoulder. You startled from the sudden contact, looking up into the eyes of your boyfriend. He was blurry at first, the stinging pain in your eyes coming into your consciousness full force as Phil pulled you from your hyperfixation.

“Hey babe..” You smiled, putting the spruce planks you’d been using back into your inventory. Your grip shook as you tried to unblur your sight, finally sliding the stack of planks into an empty spot. You saw Phil frown, knowing he was taking in your lack of goggles or your regular winter gloves.

“You didn’t come in for lunch, it’s almost sunset.” Phil gently fit your goggles over your head, placing the item over your eyes. Almost immediately, the stinging sensation from the snow’s reflection died down, becoming an annoying memory as Phil pulled you to stand.

Almost sunset? You had no idea you’d been out so long, your farm project stealing your sense of time right out from under your feet. You gave him a shrug and a lopsided smile.

“I didn’t have breakfast either, so..” Your joking tone died at the sight of his disapproving frown only getting worse, his gloved hand finding your freezing fingers and locking them with his own, turning back towards his cabin.

“Alright, that’s it, inside time,” You whined and made no move to pull your hand away from his, kicking through the snow like it had personally wronged you. 

“Phiiiilll…. I was almost done!”

“Nope, inside time.” You knew he would probably just carry you if you resisted, and a bit of rest for your eyes did actually sound great.

Once inside the cabin he sat you down on his crafting table, rolling his eyes at the playful grin you gave him at his choice of resting spot.

You didn’t remove your goggles, enjoying the shaded view they cast over your vision. Phil returned a few moments later with a water flask, a swirling pink potion, and a plate of still warm food. Your stomach let out a fierce grumble, heat rising to your cheeks as Phil gave you another of his disapproving frowns. He was good at that, speaking entire conversations with a single expression.

He set the food and water aside, fitting himself between your legs and reaching to remove your goggles. 

As he pulled the item off your face, you noted that your vision had cleared up a little already, and that most of the cabin’s windows had been shut, leaving the slivers of dying sun that slipped through the gaps in the shades and the warm glowing light of nearby lanterns.

Phil gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head side to side as he inspected your face.

“Snow blindness.” His tone dripped with worry and the ever present tinge of dismay he held when you weren’t taking care of yourself. You gave him a soft shrug, unable to tear your eyes away from the glittering lapis blue your boyfriend held in his gaze.

“I didn’t even think about bringing these..” You gently flicked your goggles from where they sat. “I was too excited.”

“I know.” His tone shifted into something softer, gentle and loving as he offered you the regen pot. You took it, shaking it gently in your hand and watching the contents swirl faster as you avoided the bitter taste you knew filled the bottle.

Phil watched with a playful smile, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “It’s not going to fix you up if all you do is stare at it.” You pouted at him, leaning into his gentle hold on your face.

“It tastes so bad, babe. Don’t make me..” You gave him your best puppy eyes, stopping after only a few moments at the still persistent sting. Annoyed at the pain, you took a deep breath and took a swig out of the bottle, your face twisting as the bitter liquid slid down your throat.

You made a noise of distaste, handing the bottle back to Phil with another pout. “There, tyrant, are you happy?”

Phil shook his head and set the bottle aside, chuckling softly at your antics as he offered you the water flask.

“I’m going to put the rest of this away,” He picked up the half empty potion bottle. “And that is half full. I want it empty by the time I get back.” He stepped away, walking through the door onto the shared bridge of you and Techno’s homes.

You stared balefully at the water flask, feeling your mood sink. You weren’t upset with Phil, not by any stretch of the imagination, more so that you’d gotten to the point where you were making him care for you, burdening him with your lack of self care.

You unscrewed the lid of Phil’s flask, taking a drink of water tainted bittersweet by your emotions.

By the time Phil returned you’d drained the water, flask set to the side while you pitifully picked at the plate of food he had given you several minutes ago. Your emotions had only continued to spiral in his absence, a dark pit filling up your stomach

“What’s wrong?” He was always so attuned to how you felt.

“Nothing..” You stuffed your mouth with a large bite, head drooped as if you could avoid the way Phil turned to face you. He spoke your name quietly, resting his hands on your thighs when he was close enough to touch you.

“I’m sorry.. I feel like such a burden on you.” You spoke truthfully, feeling a tingling in your eyes that had nothing to do with the regen potion’s effects. “You’re here, taking care of me because I was too useless to do it myself, and I pushed away my health and got too excited about my project and I-” You felt guilt and self hate overwhelm you, tears starting to drip from your eyes as you dropped your chin against your chest, not wanting Phil to see you cry.

“I don’t even know why I feel like this all of a sudden. It’s so stupid.” You felt ridiculous, whimpering like a little kid over your ridiculous emotions.

“Oh, songbird..” Phil cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. With gentle thumbs he wiped your tears away, unbothered by the fresh flood that came dripping onto his hands. “You’re not a burden, sweet thing. I’m taking care of you because I want to. I like looking after you, it makes me feel good to know I can help you. Knowing you trust me enough to let your guard down and let me take care of you is one of the best feelings in the world, love.” You sniffled and closed your eyes, your head leaning into one of his palms. “And you might feel like this because you’ve been pushing yourself to the bone all day, with no food or water, and probably not a lot of sleep last night.” He was right, as always. You’d spent most of the night thinking about fun ways to upgrade the efficiency of your farm, and once you’d finally gone to sleep you’d woken up early anyway to get to work. You nodded against his touch, pressing a teary kiss against his wrist and muttering a quiet apology. You felt silly now, having let your emotions get the better of you and make you make a fool of yourself in front of your boyfriend.

Phil gently shushed your apology and put your picked-at plate aside, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms. You tucked yourself closer against his chest and felt plenty of the stress you were weighing on yourself disappear as Phil walked the two of you towards the bedroom. He set you on the bed, disappearing for only a few seconds to grab your plate and set it on the nightstand. You kicked off your shoes as Phil stoked the fire in your bedroom, tossing your pajamas on the bed next to you. 

Less than five minutes later you were both tucked into bed, Phil’s arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders as you finished up the food he’d made for you.

When your plate was clean Phil kissed your forehead, keeping you close as you both laid down and extinguished the lanterns. The crackling fire across the room was still giving some light, the heat it was providing kept the two of you comfortable as you dozed off in each other’s embrace. After the day you had, you could really use some rest.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Arcade - Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆  Just a silly thing I wrote about an arcade employee being baffled while Komaeda clears out all the machines lol ミ☆ I’ve been feeling kind of down about my writing so i just wanted to do something fun. It’s not very good haha. I’m tired and i can’t write good asjfkakd

Night shift at the arcade is usually pretty quiet. Most people start leaving around dinner time and while there are usually still some hardcore gamers lurking around until the AM, most of them only come in on Friday’s or weekends. So the job is usually easy breezy, most nights you lean up on the counter and browse the internet on your phone until your shift ends.

Tonight though, you have been acutely watching as this guy moves from machine to machine. Absolutely clearing them out. You’ve never seen anything like it. Presently, you are crouched behind a claw machine filled with Hello Kitty plushies as this guy slips two bucks into the Big Bass Wheel cabinet. Your eyes drift over to the last cabinet he used, the Wizard of Oz coin pusher. It is empty , you have never seen that happen in the whole time you’ve worked here. You weren’t even sure it could happen.

The guy spins the wheel, it spins and spins and spins. Jackpot. Your eyes narrow, a jackpot isn’t too uncommon, it honestly isn’t even worth that many tickets, but then he nonchalantly slides in another two dollars and hits jackpot again . This is starting to get suspicious.

The machine is spitting out tickets now, so many tickets. Even the guy looks surprised, you are definitely surprised. Two jackpots is not worth that many tickets, but they just keep coming and coming. Machine fault? Must be. The guy looks almost resigned at this point, sighing unhappily as the tickets keep spewing out, like they’re wasting his time and not like this was a superhuman feat of luck. Then, the machine starts smoking.

“Shit!” You hiss, jumping up from your hiding place behind the claw machine and dashing over to the guy before anything catches on fire. You’ve caught him by surprise, he probably didn’t realise you were following him around, “out of the way, please!”

He ducks out of the way, pulling his armfuls worth of tickets along with him as you switch the arcade cabinet off at the wall. The machinery inside stops whirring and the smoke calms down. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, you’ve never seen a machine fault this badly before, you were probably going to need to file an indecent report. What a pain.

“You okay?” You ask the guy. He is a lot taller up close, and the shock of messy white hair on his head only makes him seem taller. He sways like a palm tree in the breeze, clutching onto his massive wad of tickets for dear life.

“I’m sorry. I broke your machine.”

Oh...his voice is softer than you had expected it would be. The lights from a nearby Daytona cabinet are reflecting in his green eyes. You swallow, “You didn't break anything, machine fault, it happens sometimes.”

His eyes drift away from you and over to the cabinet, the smoke has stopped now, it doesn't look like there was too much damage, but he looks very upset about it anyway.

“Hey, seriously, dont worry about it.” You give him an awkward pat on his forearm, “The machines in here are really old, stuff like this happens all the time.”

“Oh...ah…” He bites his lip, “If you’re sure…”

You smile, “Yeah, don't even sweat it. You can keep the tickets by the way, once they're out of the machine it's a nightmare to get them back in again, so consider it an apology for almost setting you on fire.”

He laughs weakly, “Thank you.”

“Hey, uh…” You start, not so subtle eyeing his ticket collection. A decent chunk of it was from that Big Bass Wheel malfunction, an already exorbitant number was won legit. More than you had ever seen anyone win before, “are you a cabinet master?”

“A...what?”

“Like, you know all the sweet spots on the machines. Technically not cheating, but not entirely legal either.”

His eyes widen, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You shake your head at him, “You just won a lot of tickets is all. I’ve never seen someone win that many tickets.”

“I’m just really lucky. It’s all i'm good at, honestly.” He’s fiddling with the tickets in his arms, “My friend’s birthday is coming up and i'm trying to win her that Sailor Moon statue.”

It is true that there is a coveted Sailor Moon statue amongst the arcade’s prize collection. It’s huge, beautifully painted and according to your boss, incredibly rare . It’s been sitting there on the shelf for god knows how long, still tight in it’s shrinkwrap. Generally the most any player is able to afford is three or four sticky hands and a glow in the dark spider ring, but this guy is getting tantalisingly close.

You cross your arms and smirk at him, “You’re really that lucky?”

“Most of the time.”

“Okay then. You’re going to play Monster Drop next, it's the hardest cabinet we have.” You start heading over to the machine in the back of the arcade, it’s huge, you always forget how huge it is. The guy is diligently following behind you, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. The pile of tickets in his arms rustling as he walks, “I’ve never seen anyone get a monster jackpot on this thing. Also my boss filled it with a bunch of different sized balls, so it's basically impossible to get a standard jackpot too, even after practicing at other arcades.”

“Hm. Is that really fair?”

You shrug a shoulder, “Nope. It’s big and loud, so lots of people want to play it and Boss doesn't want too many people winning. there's a catch though, raise the difficulty and you also raise the ticket payout. So if you manage to beat it, you'll be able to afford Sailor Moon.”

The current ticket payout is displayed in flashing red lights, 72,483 . With every failed attempt at hitting the monster jackpot the payout just gets higher and higher, those tantalising numbers draw in more kids hoping to be the one who gets lucky. A number that big means the cabinet has never been won, a smart arcade goer knows that a number like that means stay away.

“How do I play?” He asks, dropping his ticket collection on the ground at his feet.

“Ah, it’s deceptively simple.” You grab his hand and tug him over to the machine, gesturing up at where the balls drop down from, “You just need to press the button to let out a ball, and that’s literally it. The base of the machine spins around to make it harder to get the balls in. Monster jackpot is in the middle, so you would think a straight drop down would jackpot you every time but-”

He smirks wryly, “it’s never that easy is it?”

“Of course not! We’d never make any money if it was.”

He laughs to himself, pulling another coin out of his pocket and clinking it into the machine, “Ah, only one turn?”

You hold up a finger, “Just the one.”

He laughs again, “Brutal.”

“Very.” You take a step back to give him room to familiarise himself with the machine. Most people like to observe it from a few angles, take some time, watch at least one cycle before using up their one shot, “Good luck.”

He turns to you and smiles, “Thanks, but like i said, this is the one thing i'm good at.” He pushes the button, he isn't even looking at the machine, the rotating base hasn't even finished half a cycle. This guy is ballsy.

Despite his gumption, the ball falls a little short of the monster jackpot, “Aw, bad luck-” you start saying, but then it starts bouncing. Once off the base, three times off the sides, up high into the air and then plonk . Straight into the monster jackpot. All you can do is stare. Not only did he get the jackpot, he got it in a rigged machine while he wasn't even looking .

He laughs politely, the sound barely audible of the cabinet’s furious ringing bells and sirens signalling an impossible feat just happened here, everyone look! The tickets have started dispensing, with over 70k to print, it's going to be a long wait, “Jeez, that was scary. I almost thought my luck had run out there!”

He looks completely relaxed as he starts folding the fresh tickets into the neatest pile he can manage, “Are you a god or something?”

“Huh?” He says, blinking down at you, “That’s such a strange thing to ask me.”

“You just beat Monster Drop without looking . I’ve seen professional cabinet masters come in here and still lose after examining the machine for a good two hours!”

“Oh, no need to be impressed. I didn't actually do anything.” He smiles sadly and continues collecting his tickets, “It’s not really much of a talent, but i suppose it comes in handy sometimes.”

You clap a palm to your forehead, unable to believe what you are hearing, “You’re going to have enough tickets for the Sailor Moon statue and enough leftover for like...unlimited sticky hands.”

He taps a finger to his lips, “Oh! I would like some sticky hands.”

“How many?”

His brow creases as he considers it, “Three or four, i guess.”

“Three or-” you start laughing, “Buddy, i could pour the whole box into your bag if you wanted.”

“I don't think i need that many sticky hands, but it's very kind of you to offer.”

“We also have glow in the dark spider rings, and a robust selection of slinkies. Oh! If you really want to splurge we have a pair of slippers that resemble a character from Rick and Morty.”

He grimaces, “I would prefer the slinkies.”

You hear the arcade cabinet’s ticket dispenser finally come to a stop, and despite his good natured effort to collect the tickets in a neat pile, they are still all bunched up around his ankles. You are about to ask him another question when you quickly realise that the Monster Drop machine is now also smoking.

He sighs, “I should have known.”

You don't have time to look into that comment, you are too busy scrambling around to the back of the machine so you can turn the power off at the wall. Much like last time, you catch it before anything actually catches on fire. This has been a very eventful day.

“Hey, uh-” you start awkwardly, pulling yourself up from the ground and moving to help the guy contend with his ticket pile, “I finish in like half an hour...if you need help carrying your miscellaneous arcade prizes back to your car or whatever…”

He blinks at you as you both reach the prize counter and deposit the monstrous ticket collection onto the bench, “I should be okay on my own...but if you want to come I wouldn't mind, though I can’t guarantee I won’t set anything else on fire…” he chuckles nervously and you give him a quizzical look.

You do want to go with him, you aren't sure if it’s just a morbid curiosity about his luck with the arcade machines, or a fascination with the soft halo of white hair falling into his eyes, but you want to get to know him better, “I’ll come with you. You don’t have anywhere near enough fingers for all the glow in the dark spider rings I’m about to give you.” You say as you round the counter and start organising his tickets into more manageable piles.

He smiles, “that does sound like a good idea. I don’t want to drop any of my brand new sticky hands, after all.” He leans forward on the counter, blinking up at you. He’s got really pretty eyelashes, “I’m Nagito Komaeda, in case you were wondering.”

You laugh, “Nice to meet you, Nagito. Now give me 20 minutes to count all your damn tickets.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Levi Ackerman x Reader hcs. [COMM]

a/n: i haven’t written for levi in many years!! some lock lore is that i used to write for him the most, it’s actually what got me into fanfiction/anime in the first place back in 2012... so it feels very nice to write for him again. i had a lot of fun with this! :’) word count: 2k. warnings: non explicit mentions of death (not involving reader), just canon typical stuff.

Love has been a concept that remains closed off in Levi’s mind. Getting close to others is already a risk too great in the world he’s come to know, a factor that’s proven unfortunately true time and time again. When you’re close to others, it means the possibility of being hurt by them all the same when they inevitably leave. The pain of losing another he’s grown attached to outweighs the possible benefits that could come with a closer connection. This philosophy has ensnared his heart, creating a barrier that no one dared slipping past for many years.

Even though Levi makes the choice to be wary of growing closer than necessary to people, he also understands the importance of trusting in his comrades. He has his own way of mentally assessing new recruits, and didn’t think much of you initially. You were a fresh face, who hoped that your efforts would cultivate humanity’s future. He’d seen many with that spark too many times to count. All of them ending up killed in gruesome ways, or losing the shine in their eyes should they live past another expedition. Though he still has an inherent respect for anyone willing to put their lives on the line for the Survey Corps, this extending to you as well.

His initial assessment of you was proven incorrect. While no longer as naive to the horrors of the outside world, the spark inside of you remains ever bright. There’s determination, that has only grown in strength as time goes on, rather than fading away. It catches his eye, to say the least. He looks after you from afar, without even realizing it. Levi tells himself that it’d just be a shame if something happened to you. He doesn’t think anything beyond that for some time, for his own mental well being.

Your relationship starts off with no romantic intentions. Levi spots you training on your own one day, even after a grueling day of menial work that comes with being a member of the Survey Corps. He’s captivated, unable to look away from your form. It’s sloppy, he thinks, but not hopeless. You’re not hopeless. It doesn’t sound like a high compliment, but coming from him, it’s meaningful.

It’s startling when he approaches you for the first time. He’s pointing out the numerous errors in your stance and what to do to correct them, never mincing his words. Levi’s standing there, arms crossed, willing you to continue with his input. While being under the scrutiny of humanity’s strongest soldier is anxiety inducing, his advice works perfectly. He doesn’t comment further than that, turning on his heels and leaving you to your thoughts and confusion.

Keeping your body in the best possible condition is vital to staying alive. His advice, though delivered in sharp as knives critiques, serves you well. Even just the bare minimum has your technique rapidly improving. This motivation to keep growing and learning is what drives you. Levi continues to watch from a safe distance as you spend hours doing different exercises, developing your abilities. From this point on it becomes something of a tradition, as much as he tries not to think of it that way. There’s a level of subconscious attachment that comes with looking forward to seeing you improve every evening. He’s acknowledged you. 

You start training together. It’s not everyday an opportunity to learn under Levi is offered, so when the hand was extended to you, you accepted it. He’s a tough yet fair teacher, offering praise only when he believes it’s deserved. Unfortunately, he can’t devote that much time to your little evenings due to his other obligations. That makes the time you shared all the more special. Despite himself, he’s looking out for you, and you him. A solid relationship begins to form.

Levi isn’t the easiest person to be around. He’s surprisingly talkative if you get him speaking on subjects that interest him, but his language remains coarse. Once you get used to this side of him, it’s for the better, hours flying by and the night sky appearing before you know it. Unlike others that tend to get offended or avoid alone time with Levi due to his reputation, you remain constant. He never brings it up, though he does wonder why you’re hellbent on seeking him out.

There are still times where Levi holds an internal battle over the unfolding events. He’s starting to like spending time with you, more than just offering wisdom on various subjects he’s knowledge about. He genuinely enjoys listening when you speak, an honor exclusive to you. Through the snark and monotonous comments, there’s clear attachment. 

It gets to the point that his closer comrades even pick up on the unusual behavior, this level of respect typically reserved for no one other than Commander Erwin. Though Hanji is the only one to point this behavior out. Everyone else is too frightened at the prospect of teasing Levi over his not so subtle fondness for you. He really didn’t think he was being so obvious... 

You’re on his mind more than he cares to admits. His mind wonders to you at night, when he’s in town, or even when he sees something silly that reminds him of you. Eventually, Levi’s thoughts almost always connect to you to some degree. He’ll spot something in the windows of a shop and recall how you mentioned wanting something similar, or subconsciously look for your favorite food when walking through market stalls. The thought of giving you gifts is off putting for a while since it’s a clear sign of of tenderness. And dammit, he’s trying so hard not to become attached -- but who is he kidding -- it’s far too late for that.

What Levi is good at is making swift decisions in the heat of the moment, and combat. So he has literally no idea how to approach his developing feelings for you. There are a lot of impulses, such as complimenting you, but it comes out more like an insult than anything. God bless your soul, because you’re going to be putting up with lots of uncomfortable interactions. He’s trying, okay, but he doesn’t know the first thing about romance. 

How he best shows his care for you is helping around in various ways. It isn’t as embarrassing as having to offer compliments, or the other traditional ways of romancing the person you’re interested in. Levi commits to making your life easier in anyway he can. These things range from making sure your horse is in top condition, setting aside rations if he knows you’re too busy to get them yourself, and checking over your equipment personally. He presents all this by saying “You’re prone to making mistakes, so let me do it instead.” In reality he just wants to make life easier for you, don’t be fooled by the prickly comment. 

He isn’t blind to the other elements of his attraction to you. You’re always glowing, an angel incarnate, beauty enough to draw in practically anyone with eyes. It was enough to draw him in after all. The first attempts at physical affection are subtle, yet heartfelt. Sitting closer to you, thighs almost touching. Leaning in closer whenever you speak. Lightly brushing his fingers against his face, claiming he saw a spec of dirt on it. All these things to gauge your reaction and build up his own confidence in pursuing you further.

The first time you kiss would be the night before an expedition. It’s always the most gut wrenching experience, anxiety ailing you so badly that sleep refuses to come. The stars are out, not a cloud in the sky. Levi comes to sit by you, chastising you for not being asleep, and offering no rebuttal when you point out that he’s also awake. It’s a serene moment, neither of you exchanging words for some time, finding comfort in each others presence. You don’t even realize how close he is to you. He speaks, the words insignificant, you’ve already long forgot what they were. 

When your head turns to offer him your full attention, that’s when he leans in. A chaste kiss is pressed against your parted lips. It’s shocking to say the least, adrenaline pumping through your veins at the intimate moment. His lips are softer than you expected. He treats you with unprecedented delicacy, moving back to assess your expression through lidded eyes. When you’re willing to reciprocate he’s more than happy to let you have your way. 

Levi isn’t the best with expressing himself fully through words. His actions more than compensate for this, you’ll never doubt his dedication to you. There’s no need for flowery prose, not when he has proven the lengths he’d go through to keep you safe, bearing all of himself to you. Your relationship isn’t defined by strict terminology, as he admitted to finding stuff like that “a waste of breath”. You both wordlessly acknowledge one another as partners. Any keen onlooker might be able to pick up on this, you don’t hide or put your relationship on display.

It’ll take some time for him to grow more amiable to physically expressing himself. He’s aware of his own strength and intimidating disposition, and doesn’t want to mess what’s possibly the best thing in his life up. So you’ll need to lead in most of those areas. All physical affection is reserved for private moments. Aside from maybe him whispering a sly remark or two in passing. 

The affection he likes receiving from you the most would be: Complimenting his actions, when you lay your head on his shoulder, whenever you do little things to help him out without him mentioning it, and when you hug him. He’s never experienced being held by another human being. So when you do it for the first time, he’s taken aback by how pleasant it is. Your comforting scent, how your warmth envelopes him, and how he can feel your heart beating. It’s one of his favorite things in the world, other than you of course.

The type of affection that he gives you the most would be: Acknowledging your growth in different areas (especially if he knows you’re insecure in one of them), putting his hand over yours, reminding you to take care of yourself, and kissing you on the forehead. Levi is a very proactive lover. He’s got a keen eye, picking up on things about yourself before you even notice them. While he might not always have the most tact, everything he does for you comes from a wholesome place.

Levi remains serious in the public eye. But when it’s just the two of you, or the company is people he’s close with, he loosens up considerably. Most of his jokes go over your head, since he always delivers them with such a deadpan. When he gets you to laugh with his dry wit though, by god does it feel good, he could listen to your laughter forever. It might even make his face heat up. 

You’re capable of making him smile more than anyone else! Though it’s still rare, that just means that when he does, you treasure it all the more. He smiles the most when you lose yourself in conversation. Rambling about your dreams, stories from your childhood, frustrating encounters that you had that day... all of it warms his heart in a way he never thought possible. You’re an addicting ray of sunshine, that he’s hellbent on protecting. 

Levi knows, now more than ever, what he wants from the future. Alongside protecting and expanding humanity’s territory, it’s you that he wants by him, and no cost is too great to achieve it. He won’t lose you -- he’s already lost so much -- so expect him to be protective. There may be limits to what he can do, but they’re all arbitrary to him. Rules and morality mean nothing in the face of ensuring your safety, and he’s vowed this to you. That one day, you’ll have a secure future, forever tied to each other. He might not mention the last part as it’s embarrassing, but the general sentiment is understood. 

[pregnant-piggy]

One coffee please (1/2)

Blaise Zabini x reader

This is part of all I want for Christmas is fanfiction

This is written for @kalimagik‘s writing challenge

Words: 2.9k

A/N: this was my first time properly writing for Blaise and it will definitely not be the last. With this fic he has grown to be a character close to my heart and I am already excited to write more for him!

Prompts: 'what are you talking about? This is brilliant!' and 'you're cute when you're mad'

It was definitely winter. The wind was blazing around in the streets, howling around the corners of high buildings. It was blowing against the windows of houses and apartments, creating loud thrums in the ears of the people inside. The skies were dark grey in the night and icy blue in the morning. The sun was shining but it was cold. Streets froze overnight, but thawed before anyone woke up.

Even the thickest sheets and blankets couldn’t keep you warm as you lied in bed. At night you curled up to a ball to keep all the heat close to your body, but in the morning you woke with cold toes and fingertips. The sheets didn’t reach far enough to your neck and even your woollen jumper couldn’t protect you from the freeze. It was now more than ever that you longed for someone to cling onto in the night, to have their body heat against your skin. You wanted to feel the warmth that came from someone’s arms around your waist and the heat of someone’s fingertips on the skin under your jumper.

Instead you woke up alone in your apartment, the wind pounding against the tall windows. A moan escaped your mouth as you stretched out and the little bones in your back cracked. The cold air of your room flew over your arms and goose bumps formed all from your wrists to your armpits. A shiver ran over your spine, sliding from your neck to the dip of your back. A cold spread through your entire body from only putting your arms above the sheets.

Resting your arms atop of the blankets over your duvet, you sighed and opened your eyes, greeting the darkness that came with the winter's mornings. The sun that woke you in the summer was now still hidden behind the horizon and the tall buildings in the city. The skies were dark blue with clouds that coloured orange from the street lights. Maybe if it had been clear you could have seen the stars.

You had to get out of bed eventually. The longer you stayed in, the more you would have to hurry and the thought of that was almost enough to get you out of bed. But instead you rubbed your face and stared at the ceiling until the alarm from your phone sounded through your room. You lifted your body half in your bed and reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your cold fingers had turned off the alarm before you could even see the screen of your phone; waking up like this had become a habit lately.

After five minutes even your social media couldn’t keep your mind from the fact that useful time was passing and you tossed your phone somewhere on your bed. After a deep breath you threw the blankets and sheets off your yet warm body and swung your feet over the edge of your bed. If it wasn’t for the rug under your feet you would have crawled back into your bed. But instead you got up from your bed and walked to your closet, contemplating just wearing sweats.

You settled on a black pair of jeans and a dark green jumper with a turtle neck, so that you would still be warm. After freshening up and making yourself look acceptable to the outside public, you put on your shoes and stole an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on your way to the door. Breakfast would come later. Right now you had to make sure you were on time.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Blaise wished he hadn’t worn his hoodie to bed last night. He woke with a sweaty back and quickly threw off the sheets. He welcomed the coldness with open arms, feeling the air wrapping around his hot body and calming down his skin.

It took him fifteen minutes to take a short shower, brush his teeth and put on some clothes. Much different from what anyone would wear on such a cold day, Blaise chose for a simple button up and rolled up the sleeves up his arms, his tattoos peeking out.

He took his keys and wallet from the table next to the front door and closed the door behind him, while he put on the leather jacket and checked his phone for any messages. The door locked with a soft click and Blaise put his other arm in his jacket, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. He reached into his pocket, fishing out his earphones and plugging them into his phone. The tones of his favourite song soon started to play and he relaxed as he walked out of his apartment building.

The streets under his feet were more slippery than they had been all week and it took Blaise a woman who nearly fell to realise. While the woman was helped by a passer-by, Blaise quickly turned around the corner and quickened his pace.

His hands were in his pockets, playing with the keys in his right one. The beat of the music synced with his steps and for a moment he forgot it was early in the morning and he wasn’t a morning person. He even arrived with a smile at the coffee shop he was headed for.

The bell of The Old Coffee House tingled when Blaise pushed open the door. The coffee shop originally was started by his grandfather, who had thought it would be a good thing to do with his retirement. The coffee shop was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary next year. It was the oldest company in the whole block and by tourists it was seen as a mark for the city. Blaise didn’t know if it was really that, but he was glad there were enough costumers.

His mother was managing the place from her home and she would come in once a week, to make sure everything went well. But it was mostly Blaise who had the control in the shop.

Well, Blaise and you.

You were Blaise's best friend. Your mothers were best friends and being forced to spend time together when you were kids had let to a connection to build. You had spent your whole lives together and when Blaise's mother was looking for someone to help her son in the coffee shop, you had been the first to volunteer. He had now been working with you for a year and it had only made that you were even closer now.

Blaise knew everything about you, from your morning routine to your favourite song and the dance you'd do to it. He knew what to do when you were down in the dump and what to give you when you were, as he called, ‘hangry’. He knew how to cheer you up and when to leave you alone when you were angry.

He had seen you at your best and at your worst. He was the first one to hear about your first date with your boyfriend and the one who was there when said boyfriend suddenly left you alone. He had seen you dancing on tabletops and crying in your bed.

Blaise was always there for you, because you had been there for him his entire life.

‘Well aren’t you happy for a Monday morning?’ you asked as you made your way into the space from the backroom, tying an apron at your back. Blaise rolled his eyes at you and took off his jacket. He hung it next to your coat behind the counter and took the apron from the hook, tying it the same way you had done. ‘What got you so cheerful?’

Blaise shrugged and leaned on the counter with his right forearm, watching you as you filled the coffee machine with coffee beans. You were humming along to a song that was playing over the radio while you turned on the machine and made two cups of coffee.

The grinding of the coffee beans sounded over the radio and your humming got softer as you lost track of where the song was. Instead you nodded along to the beat that was still vaguely audible over the low buzzing.

Blaise snickered when you tried to hit the high note and your hum failed to reach it. You shot him an annoyed look and he only shrugged at you, grinning as he turned around and he heard the huff from your lips.

Soon you fell into the routine that had developed over time. Since neither you nor Blaise were morning people, it was soon found that it was best if it was just silent. The only sounds were the radio and the occasional talk with a customer. It was a serene scene for anyone to walk into, seeing two people work in silence in a place that could be such a buzz in the afternoon.

While you helped a costumer to their coffee and muffin, Blaise leaned against the counter and watched you. The sunlight came in from the window behind you and the silhouette of your face was painted against a canvas of golden light. The edges of your figure were outlined by a golden thread. Your cheeks glowed up and your eyes seemed like the brightest gemstones Blaise had ever seen.

Blaise would be the last one to deny that you were pretty. Over the years he had seen you grow into the wonderful person you were now, inside and outside. There was something about your appearance that told the world how you were. With just one glance someone could see you as the passionate person you were, but Blaise knew that there was so much more to it than just passion.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked and Blaise was pulled from his thoughts. He flashed you his smirk and nodded before he took his own coffee mug. You raised your eyebrow at him as you noticed that what was in his mug was not coffee.

‘What’s in there?’ you asked, stepping closer to Blaise, ordering him to show his mug with your finger. ‘It smells like cinnamon.’

‘That’s because it has cinnamon in it,’ Blaise shrugged and he took a sip.

‘Well, of course,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘I figured that.’

Blaise lifted the mug to drink again, but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist and taking the mug from him. You eyed it suspiciously and smelled it. Over the cup you made eye contact with Blaise and with your eyes you pleaded him to tell you what it was.

‘I made it,’ he said, suddenly feeling insecure. He had never told anyone about it. He knew it was silly, but he was afraid someone would judge him over his coffee.  ‘I was messing around at home once and this kind of came out of it… It’s not much, but it does help keep you awake.’

You squeezed your eyes before you carefully took a sip and Blaise watched you, biting the inside of his mouth anxiously. You swallowed and held your eyes closed a little longer. Blaise shook his head and turned away from you.

‘I know it’s rubbish-’

‘What are you talking about?’ you cried out, turned Blaise back to you. ‘This is brilliant! You made this?’

The look of adoration on your face was enough for Blaise to start smiling and the blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded and chuckled when he saw the stun on your face.

‘Why would you hide this from me?’ you asked, tilting your head. ‘What more have you been hiding?’ you added playfully, meaning nothing but still making Blaise fear for his secrets.

‘Nothing you should know about,’ he joked, yet there was a hint of nervousness in his voice that went unnoticed by you. You laughed and pushed Blaise away as you welcomed the next costumer and went back to work.

_-_-_-_-_-_

It had frozen overnight. Or better said, it was freezing at night. It was still dark outside and the sun was hours from rising. Only very few people were awake at this time.

You were sunken deep into your dreams, under layers of blankets to keep the cold from numbing your toes. The cold didn’t bother you yet, but it sure would when you would have to get out of bed in the morning. Luckily, it was Sunday what meant that the coffee shop was closed today and you could stay in bed for as long as you liked. Plans for today had been cast aside and you had nothing to do but sit on the couch in three jumpers and binge your favourite series.

However, fate seemed to have a different thought.

It was narrowing three when the ringtone of your phone started to sound clear and disrupting in your room, waking you from your sleep. In the dark you patted down your nightstand to find the thing that was making the sound and when you found your phone, your thumb automatically went to turn off the alarm. You dropped your phone back next to your pillow, but the sound kept going and you realised it wasn’t your alarm, but someone was calling you.

A loud groan passed your lips as you turned on your back. Squeezing your eyes against the light from the screen and an even louder groan escaped your mouth when you noticed who was calling you.

‘What do you want, Blaise?’ you said, your voice groggy with sleep and annoyance.

It wasn’t unlike Blaise to call you in the middle of the night when he knew you would be asleep just to mess with you, but yet every time he called you worried something had happened to him. However, when you heard his chuckle at your sleepy voice you knew that there couldn’t be something too wrong.

‘Nice talking to you too,’ Blaise said and you could hear the slight double tongue. Of course.

‘Blaise it is two in the morning, what do you want from me?’ you groaned, rubbing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you heard Blaise laugh again.

‘I might have accidentally locked myself out of my apartment as I left earlier this night,’ he said. ‘And the janitor won’t answer my calls.’

‘I wonder why,’ you mumbled.

‘Can I come over?’

You sighed and shook your head. Of course you were friends with the guy that forgot his keys in the middle of the night. ‘Sure, come over.’

‘Great, because I am already at your door.’

Without even reacting to that you hung up and put your phone back on your nightstand. You looked in the dark at the pile of blankets on top of you and cursed Blaise under your breath. In the freezing cold you left your bed and patted over to the front door of your apartment. Looking through the peephole in the door you watched Blaise for a minute. His broad shoulders covered with the leather jacket that he never left without were the first thing that caught your eye and you swallowed before you took a step back.

You unlocked the door and opened it. The cold air from the corridor seeped inside the hall of your apartment and you knew that it was over with the heat that you had been trying to create the whole night. You shivered as the coldness reached your bare legs; despite freezing to death, you still couldn’t sleep with long pants.

‘Get inside, idiot,’ you hissed and pulled Blaise inside before he could say anything. He chuckled and ruffled your hair with his cold hand. Taking of his jacket and hanging it next to your other coats, Blaise eyed the distance between the living room and your bedroom curiously.

‘If you wait a minute, I’ll get the couch ready for you,’ you said and you walked to your bedroom, looking at the blankets and deciding which ones you could miss. However, you hadn’t even taken one blanket before Blaise had crawled into your bed, waiting to see what you would do.

Defeated you stood at the foot end of you bed, the end of a blanket in your hands. As much as you tried not to look, you couldn’t help notice Blaise’s bare chest. Your eyes scanned his torso and lingered at his tattoos. It wasn’t like you had never seen Blaise without a shirt, but it just had never happened that he was sitting in your bed without a shirt.

You swallowed down the sudden nervous tingle in your chest and tried to act nonchalant as you shrugged and put the blanket back in its place. You walked around the bed and settled next to Blaise, leaving enough space so it would be appropriate, but still getting a little closer hoping he’d bring you any warmth.

‘Alright, then we’ll do it like this,’ you muttered as you turned down the light and lay down.

And indeed as you had thought, you felt the heat radiating off of Blaise, engulfing you in a warm embrace. The cold that had been pestering you all night was now suddenly gone and you felt you fingers and toes get back some feeling.

‘You owe me breakfast,’ you mumbled as you closed your eyes and your head turned to the side, Blaise’s hot breath stroking over your face as you fell asleep.

- - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter @hahee154hq @chloer1275​

[hecksee]

3 Times The Cubs Struggled Alone, And 1 Time They Had Each Other

This is ficlet number two for the wonderful @kielemarie, means the fucking world to me, and I love her so much. She is the older sister I always wanted. Thank you Marie for always being there, and Happy Birthday! 

The characters, are, as always, from the amazing @lumosinlove. Go give Haz a follow! 

This ficlet is meant to show how mental shit can impact someone’s life and that is okay. People can still thrive with mental shit, and they can still be amazing people.  

Finn 

For the first time since he met Logan, Finn knew he wasn't going to see Logan anytime in the near future. And god he was worried. Worried about Logan, worried about Logan getting hurt, worried about what will happen when he stops repressing his feelings, just worried about Logan in general. And god, that's when he wasn't even thinking about his current season; rookie on Gryffindor Lions, his dream team. 

Finn was playing with some of the greats, Pascal Dumais, Kasey Winters, Sirius Black, and James Potter; to name a few. But the stress could be too much sometimes; the pressure on his shoulders during every game was never lifted. All Finn could think about was how he was some little kid's idol; how they were rooting for him. 

Normally, that was enough for him to get through the day without worrying about Tremz, but today was different; it was one of the days were he woke up on edge, where he was missing Lo so much that it hurt, where the only thing that was keeping him from calling was what had happened before he'd left. 

Practice had ended up making him miss Logan even more; the sound of pucks slapping on sticks reminded him of doing drills with Lo, doing their handshake before they went out onto the ice, all of their memories together came flooding back. 

And god he was even more worried about Lo than he was before. It all was too much, his chest was crushed underneath the weight of his worry; what if Logan slipped on the ice and fell, what if he got into a fight, what if something happened and Finn wasn’t there to stop it. What if he never spoke to Logan again and they ended on bad terms? Logan meant too much to lose him that way. And what if Logan got drafted, but to another team? He’d lose all contact.

 Finn’s head was filled with static, his thoughts were getting louder and faster, his heart was pounding, and his breaths were coming in short pants. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered Dumo skating over, but his mind was in too much distress to care. 

But then, as suddenly as it started,  everything stopped. His mind seemed as though it had been covered in a fog, his thoughts were still there but they were quiet and muted. Everything seemed fake, as if he was in a dream. The world was softer. He was gripping the side of the arena, with no recollection on how he had gotten there. 

Dumo was gripping his arm, waiting for a response to something. When it became evident that Finn didn’t know what was going on he repeated the question. “Harzy are you okay?” Finn knew he wasn’t going to leave without a response so he waved Dumo off with a mumbled ‘I’m fine’. 

Remus was waiting at the side door, opening it when Finn skated closer. “Come on, that looked nasty, let’s check you out.” Finn nodded and Remus ushered him into the PT room. Things were - for Finn at least, still moving slowly, as if he had just woken up but felt like he didn’t sleep at all. “That looked like a nasty panic attack you just had there. You feel fine now yeah?” Remus’ voice jolted Finn out of the slow reality, everything still looked like a dream, but he was less disoriented. 

“Yeah Loops, I’m just tired. Want to go home and take a nap” Finn sat down on a chair near Remus’ desk, waiting to be examined.

Remus nodded. “That’s understandable, panic attacks take a lot out of someone. How about you head home, eat and drink something, and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

After a quick thank you and an even quicker cool down, Finn was driving home. On the drive he debated calling Logan, but decided against it. He didn’t even know if Logan wanted to speak with him. Finn knew talking to Lo would make him feel better, but he didn’t want to be a bother. Plus, they had left on bad terms, he didn’t want to make anything worse.

As soon Finn got home he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed  towards the living room. Since calling Logan was out of the question he’d settle down and read. And there was only one book that would help him out of this disconnected state. 

Finn pulled a glossy new copy of The Song of Achilles from the shelf. His battered, annotated copy must have been forgotten at Harvard, even though he distinctly remembers putting it in a box. A part of him wishes that Lo took it out and kept it, to always have a part of Finn with him even when they were apart; like he did with Logan’s favorite snapback, but he knows that’s just wistful thinking. 

Finn quickly grabs a blanket and settles down on the couch, ready to lose himself to the familiar story of Achilles and Patroclus. 

Logan

Logan woke up to the harsh beeping of his morning alarm. It reminded him of Finn - which, to be fair, wasn’t difficult because Logan’s head was always filled with thoughts of the older boy. But the alarm was always a harsh call to reality. If Fish was there, Logan would be awoken by Finn’s soft shuffling as he tried to get ready for practice.

But Finn wasn’t there. He was off in Gryffindor, hundreds of miles away. Finn was off playing for the Lions, probably not thinking about Logan at all. It wouldn’t be fair to distract him from his dream.

Logan missed him so much. It physically hurt to be away from him. Oh how he wished he could just cover Finn in kisses. How he wanted to hold hands. Logan just wanted Finn to hold him and tell him that he was loved.

But Finn didn’t feel the same way; he couldn’t. Logan didn’t know what he would do if Finn felt the same. They’d have to hide their love, and that surely would end in disaster. They’d be kicked off the team, out of the league.

And hell, why would Finn even feel the same. Finn was a golden boy, perfect grades, tall, good at hockey, recruited by the best team in the league. Why would someone that perfect want him. Him, with average grades, who half the time can’t read the words on a page because the letters spun, who represses his feelings, who won’t let himself be happy. Why would Finn ever want someone as flawed as Logan. And even if Finn did want him Logan wouldn’t let him, he wouldn’t let Finn ruin his career over someone as insignificant as himself.

Logan knew he had practice, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He didn’t have the energy to move from the warmth underneath his covers, let alone go to practice. He heard John rap on his door, yelling at him to get up for practice, but he didn’t have the strength to respond. He’ll tell the coach he didn’t feel well.

Logan knew that Finn was one of the few things that caused him happiness in this world, and with him gone, nothing seemed to matter. The days all bled together in a pattern of practice, eat, cry, sleep. Occasionally, when it hurt to even think about Finn, Logan would take a bottle of vodka to his room and drink himself silly before crying himself to sleep. He knew that Finn would hate what he’s doing to himself, but it doesn’t matter. Finn wasn’t there with him.

Tears were starting to fog Logan’s eyes as he reached for Finn’s battered copy of The Song of Achilles. He’d taken it to remember Finn by, knowing full well he may never seen Finn again. He opened it up just to see Finn’s handwriting, to remember the late nights they had shared where Finn would read this story aloud.

Logan’s face was wet with tears now, they were flowing freely down his cheeks. Regardless to that fact, Logan pressed his face into the pages of the book. He knew it wouldn’t smell like Finn anymore - it hadn’t in months, but it was worth looking for anyways. When it inevitably didn’t the sobs came. The heart wrenching, aching sobs that came from the bottom of his chest. The sobs that were making his grief known to the world. The sobs that showed just how much pain he was in. He didn’t know when they stopped, or how long they went on for, but after time they turned into small sniffles; and Logan fell into a restless sleep, still curled around Finn’s book.

Leo

There was nothing to do and that was gnawing at his senses. Normally it’s enough to re-tie his skates, tighten his gear, repeatedly drink his water, and turn his gloves in his hands, but today that didn’t seem like enough. The fact that he had nothing to do was making him want to rip his hair out. There was nothing to do and that was bringing his mood down to zero. Everything was not enough but simultaneously was too much.

The lights of the arena were too bright; the sound of the crowd seemed to be grating at his brain. Leo’s foot was moving without control, flicking up and down at high speed, seemingly unaware of the fact he had what essentially was a knife strapped onto his foot.

Leo’s mind was going into overdrive, his thoughts were going too fast for him to comprehend. He needed to get out, but he couldn’t, he had to be there, even if it pained him. He looked up at the scoreboard, but the glowing red numbers hurt his eyes and made the migraine that was already approaching intensify.

Leo closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms, attempting to make all the light disappear and make the sound a little more bearable. But the noise was still grating at his senses, making his brain feel as though it was melting. The crowd cheering, the announcers commentating, the skates scraping against the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the sticks, and the chatter of his teammates on the bench was becoming too much for him to handle, if another sound was added to the mix he’d have to leave, consequences be damned. Leo squirted some water into his mouth, things always felt worse when he was dehydrated and the odds were he probably was.

But then Coach was calling him in, something about Kasey’s leg acting up again, and Leo knew he’d just have to put up with his senses being in overdrive for the rest of the game.

Together

Things get better after they get together. The bad days don’t disappear, they just become less frequent. Not by much; but by a little. When Finn got stressed about something Leo and Logan were there with words of encouragement and reassurance. How they’d always stay with him, they were going to be okay. When Logan had days where everything seemed hopeless and he didn’t want to get out of bed or when the letters on the page refused to stay still, Finn and Leo were there by his side; whether whispering sweet nothings, giving soft kisses, or just staying by him, reassuring him of their presence. When Leo’s senses were in overdrive and everything was too much Logan and Finn were there, keeping him company and trying to make everything more bearable. The bad days were still there, but now they had each other to lean on. 

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles - The Longest Night

Find the prompt list here! 

 Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Luka played assistant while Marinette got the kids all garbed in their costumes, making little final adjustments and snipping hanging threads and acting for all the world as if this was just as serious as any fashion show she’d ever worked, instead of the dress rehearsal for a small town library Christmas pageant. He followed her around, holding things, handing her what she needed, and trying not to get caught mooning over her like the lovesick sap he was. The kids already had plenty of ammo to use against him, so he tried to keep a professional demeanor—but that really probably only made them snicker harder. 

Mostly, though, they were too excited about their outfits to care. Marinette had found a way to interpret the costumes that felt true to who these kids were, and that was probably rarer than it should be. 

The angels in particular were a masterpiece, especially given how little white there was in his rock star wardrobe. They glittered and shimmered with all of the hardware and rhinestones, and their wings were dangerous-looking concoctions made of wire and trailing fabric and dangling crystals and beads. They looked like the kinds of beings who would have to announce their presence with “Fear not!” and it was awesome. 

The angels weren’t actually his favorite part, though. Marinette had gotten quickly flustered in the face of Rose’s eager excitement, and started making excuses to leave. She’d snatched his notebook out of his pocket, pulled the pen out of the coil and scribbled her phone number on the back, babbling only semi-coherently as she did so. Then she’d snatched up the lighted jacket, kissed him quickly, and fled. Luka had been too busy fending off Rose’s interrogation to even think to question why she had taken the jacket, until she brought out the costumes for Mary and Joseph. The holy family were now softly illuminated with cleverly concealed fiber optic lights in their hoods. Somehow Marinette had managed to turn off the flashing and camouflage the lights enough to give the children a soft glow, like a renaissance painting come to life (if renaissance madonnas had punk haircuts). 

That wasn’t really why he liked it, though. Marinette had removed the lights so carefully, and repaired the jacket so cleverly, that it was now as good as new, if a bit smaller than it had been, and she had taken to wearing it all the time. Catching a glimpse of his jacket under her big pink puffy winter coat made him grin like a fool every time.

She was wearing it even now, and he felt his grin turn dopey and soft again as he watched Marinette get down on the floor without a second thought to fix a hem that had come loose. She was so amazing, and the last few days had been wonderful, whether they were just driving aimlessly around town and chatting while they admired the lights, or lost in tender looks and touches, or just sharing space while they worked on their own projects. Luka knew without doubt that he was utterly in love with her. It might shatter him when she left, but they had four precious days left and Luka planned to make the most of them. Besides, who knew what could happen? It was the modern age, and long distance relationships were a thing, and surely there was something they could work out— 

Luka quashed those thoughts as quickly as he could. It wasn’t a good idea to be thinking that way, and he didn’t even know if Marinette would welcome anything of the kind from him. Better to stay in the moment. Something would work out; if she felt anything close to what he felt for her, she couldn’t leave him totally behind...and if she didn’t, then it was just as well for things to end now. He’d get over it. Somehow.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy every conversation, every soft look, every touch and kiss and sigh of his name from her lips.

Yep, he was absolutely basking in the knowledge of how completely hopeless he was.

Marinette stood up and backed away, looking at her handiwork with satisfaction as Rose began rounding up the kids to start the actual rehearsal. Luka sidled casually to Marinette’s side, letting his hand brush against hers. She wiggled her fingers in between his absently, and Luka grinned that stupid grin again, aiming it at the floor. 

Teenage giggling suggested that he wasn’t at all successful in hiding it. He rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. Beat it , he mouthed at the kid who was snickering, raising his eyebrows threateningly, but instead the kid burst into outright laughter and a chorus of juvenile “ooooohs,” suddenly filled the air. Confused, they followed the pointing fingers and looked up to find one of the youngsters sitting on the bookshelf behind them, holding a piece of mistletoe out over their heads. 

Luka rolled his eyes. “Oh, very funny, Rowan,” he scoffed, but then he turned and caught Marinette’s face in his hands and kissed her. Without lifting his lips from hers, he hooked one arm around her neck and the other around her waist and bent her backwards. The liplock itself wasn’t anything special—he wasn’t about to ravish her in front of a bunch of schoolkids, particularly since he knew all of their parents personally and did not need the earful they would give him—but it didn’t matter; the utterly cliche dip was as gross to them as a real kiss would have been. 

“EW!” screamed the younger children, while the older ones either whooped or groaned, and Luka sent them a wicked grin as he set Marinette back up on her feet.  

“Never bluff a Couffaine,” he told them, reaching out to ruffle Rowan’s multicolored head as he dropped down frm the bookshelf.  Rose gave him a smug look as she came to retrieve the delinquents, and Luka couldn’t even make himself glare at her. 

Marinette smacked his chest and he just winked at her, catching her hand and holding it to his heart. He got a little charge from the way her stern face twitched and then melted into a smile almost as silly as his own. He bent down as if drawn by a magnet and their lips met for a softer, more genuine kiss, and then she shoved his face away and turned back to watch the wise men start their parade to Bethlehem from the back of the library. 

Luka looped his arms around Marinette’s waist and shook his head slightly as he watched the shepherds, decked in shredded leather and ripped denim and artistically mussed as though they really had been lounging around a field, cower before the rhinestone-studded angel glittering brilliantly in the light of the old spot Rose had bullied or begged from somewhere. “You’re a genius,” he murmured in her ear. 

She tensed a little, but snuggled back in his arms. Luka sighed softly and nuzzled her temple, wishing he could help her, but whatever she was going through in her creative life, she was going to have to figure out for herself. He found her hand with his again and laced her slender, hard-working fingers through his own. 

They both jumped when the library doors flew open with a bang. Everyone jumped or stiffened, and a room full of wide eyes turned to look at the tall, blond woman wearing an absurdly large hat and a fur stole stomp into the library like it was a fashion runway.

Luka felt Marinette gasp, and tightened his hold on her. 

The woman looked around, and demanded in a voice that echoed off the walls. “Well, where is she? Marinette Dupain-Cheng, get out here this instant or you’re fired .”

Marinette pushed him away, and walked toward the tall woman, who spun on her heels to face her. “A-Audrey,” Marinette stammered. “What are you doing here?” 

“My dear, the question is, what are you doing here?” Audrey replied with a sniff, looking around the little library. “No wonder you haven’t been able to get any work done in this dismal place.” 

“Audrey, I’m on leave,” Marinette began, and Audrey flapped a hand dismissively. 

“Leave, schmeave. We have deadlines , Marinette. Deadlines you are appallingly behind on.” 

“B-behind?” Marinette stuttered, looking taken aback. “We were on schedule! I left very specific instructions!” Luka came up behind her and put a hand on her back in silent support.

“Those instructions were ridiculous ,” Audrey sneered. “The products were completely unacceptable. And since you didn’t deign to answer my calls, I came to fetch you myself. If you weren’t so talented I would have just fired you on the spot for abandoning things in such a state.” 

He felt Marinette tense under his hand, and her fists clenched. “Unacceptable—Audrey, you approved those designs! If the production team—” 

“ You are the designer,” Audrey accused, pointing an immaculately manicured finger in Marinette’s face. She flinched, and Luka had to fight every instinct in his body to keep still. “This is your failure. Now come along. You have a lot to make up for. Get in the car, we’ll stop and pick up your things on the way.” She turned and stalked to the door, clearly expecting Marinette to follow. 

Marinette stared after her with her mouth open. Then she closed it, swallowed, and straightened her shoulders—and moved to follow Audrey. 

Luka caught her hand without meaning to. “Marinette,” he said, and she turned her face to look up at him. For a moment they just stared at each other, and cold dread coiled in the pit of Luka’s stomach. 

“I guess this is it,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Luka. Goodbye.” 

Luka stared at her as her hand slipped out of his. She picked up her pink coat as she passed the chair where he had placed it earlier. She dug in the pocket a moment, and took out a box, putting it on the table. She took one look back at him, and then followed Audrey out, catching the door so that it closed with a quiet click instead of a slam. 

“Luka,” Rose whispered at his side, and he barely even felt her touch on his arm. He watched through the windows of the library door as Marinette, head down, shoulders bowed, got into Audrey’s limo. 

Only when the car pulled away down the street could he move. He closed his mouth, and swallowed. Then he went quietly to his own coat, and put it on slowly, aware of the eyes on him the entire time. 

He emerged into the sun and cold, fresh air, and looked around. The street was as it always was this time of year, with families and couples and individuals meandering through. Tinsel decorations sparkled on the streetlights, and the storefronts all had fake snow frosting the corners of their windows.

Luka blinked against the glare, so bright it brought tears to his eyes, put his hands in his pockets, and turned for home. 

***

Marinette didn’t even hear most of Audrey’s chatter on the ride back to the city. She couldn’t stop thinking about that look on Luka’s face. 

I should never have kissed him , she thought, staring out of the window. I knew better, and I let him make me believe . 

She sighed—silently, so as not to draw Audrey’s notice. She wasn’t being fair. Of course it was a shock, what happened. Neither of them had been expecting it. There had been no bittersweet farewell, no moment of closure. No last kiss goodbye, no one last diamond moment to hold on to as the sands began to flow again. 

He would get over it, once the shock passed, she thought mournfully, running an absent finger over the leather wrap on the door handle. He’d send her a text later, she was sure, something sweet and thoughtful, to let her know he was alright and that he was sorry things happened the way they had, but good luck and have a good life and oh, thanks for the present, that was really sweet.

And then he’d go back to his cozy life and forget her like he intended to all along. 

She was so stupid , letting him talk her into living that little fantasy for even a day, let alone— 

She shook her head slightly. This was better. It only would have been worse if she’d stayed longer. 

...at least she had the memories to hold in her heart, though. He’d been right about that. She could remember what it was like to feel like he loved her, his affection and pride and unwavering support, his warm, sweet kisses, and the way that he looked at her…the way everyone giggled at them in the cafe. The quiet, private times when she’d curled in the hollow of his body as he held his guitar around her and played just for her, and she hadn’t had to do anything or be anything. The time he’d taken her up on the hill and they’d stood amongst the young trees, cuddled close against the chill as they looked up at the stars and for once she felt like the universe was big enough to let her breathe...

She fingered the lapel of his jacket beneath her own. Okay, maybe he’d been right too. Maybe the memories were worth having. 

If only she could have stayed. 

She gave another small shake of her head, blinking back tears, keeping her face averted from Audrey slightly. 

“And the colors were atrocious —”

“I told you the color scheme was wrong,” Marinette said before she could think the better of it. 

“It’s your job to make it work,” Audrey snapped. “ You sourced those fabrics.”  

“According to your specifications,” Marinette shot back, her tone even but unyielding. “If you want to overrule me, that’s your prerogative, but don’t blame me for the outcome.” 

Audrey pulled off her ever-present sunglasses and looked at Marinette with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t want this opportunity,” she said coldly, “then say so and stop wasting my time.” 

Marinette shrank slightly. “Of course I do,” she sighed miserably, looking back out of the window. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” 

“And don’t you forget it,” Audrey sneered, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Or I’ll find someone else to clean up your mess.”

Marinette gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in her lap, willing herself to stay silent.

Speaking up wouldn’t do any good anyway. 

***

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space, when Rose got home. Luka didn’t even hear the door open, but he did hear Rose’s footsteps approaching over the wood floor. 

“Luka,” Rose said softly, but he didn’t look at her. She set a small box on the table in front of him. “I’m pretty sure this was meant for you.” When he didn’t move, she slid it over until it touched his fingers. “You should open it.”

She waited a moment longer, and when he didn’t move, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Luka.” He listened to her retreat, leaving him alone again. 

Sometime later he felt fingers slide through his hair, and the familiar song of his mother’s jangling jewelry was quickly followed by her scent surrounding him as she bent and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m proud of ye, son,” she told him. “Take as long as ye need.” 

He sat there until it was dark outside, without really thinking about anything in particular. He just felt...numb. 

Finally he looked at the box Rose had left him. He contemplated it for a moment, and then drew himself up with a sigh, and picked up the box. It was a nice box, lined in silver ribbon. Trust Marinette to pay attention to every detail. He fumbled it a little before he managed to slide the top off. 

There was a pair of black leather gloves inside. Luka frowned slightly, picking them up. The leather was buttery soft, like it was already broken in, and...he slid one on his hand and flexed his fingers.

It fit perfectly, with none of the tightness or resistance that had always bothered him in the past. “You little sneak,” he murmured, tears stinging his eyes even as he smiled. “How’d you pull this off, hmm?” 

Luka remembered suddenly how they’d been talking at Sally’s, and she had walked her little fingers over each finger of his hand, like it was something completely idle. He’d thought it was cute at the time. He’d thought she was just teasing him, since she pulled her hand away every time he tried to take it, but…

He’d be willing to put money on it that she had used some of the leather from his wardrobe to make these, and she’d chosen something he’d worn enough to take the stiffness out of the leather. And the accents around the cuffs and along the darts at the back of the hands...those were from the jacket she’d kept. The one she’d had to cut down when she took the lights out.The one she’d still been wearing, when she walked out today.

Luka swallowed a lump in his throat. All that work that she’d done, on the children’s costumes, and she’d found time to do this for him as well. Because she cared about him, and she loved his music, and she wanted him to take care of his hands. 

“Marinette,” he sighed, letting his head fall on the table. “You’re killing me here.” 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there after that before Juleka’s hand rested lightly on his back. She didn’t say anything, just stayed there, and after a minute, he lifted his head and leaned it back on her. She stroked his hair just like his mother had. 

“You need a ride to the bus station in the morning?” Juleka asked. 

Luka closed his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles