#this story really stuck with me as a kid I was obsessed with it

[area51-escapee]

I am also fascinated by the stories we tell as local urban legends that turn out to seemingly exist in every community. Warning for mention of hypothetical child death here but when I was a kid, my dad told me about these train tracks in San Antonio. He said that a school bus got stuck on the tracks and hit by a train, and that the tracks were no longer in use, but you could go and park your car on them and if you put flour all on the back of your car, you’d feel the car move and when you got out to check you’d see handprints left in the flour. Which that story FUCKED ME UP as a kid I was obsessed with it, I told it to everyone I knew, I wanted to move here so badly just to see these haunted train tracks. As an adult now I’ve seen this same story attributed to train tracks in Houston texas, as well as many towns and states all across the country, likely outside of it as well. It’s likely rooted in a single instance that did really take place but probably not as near constant as how wide spread it is makes it seem. Unless we’ve had really really shitty bus and train track protocols and kept making the same fuck up for several decades all over the country. Which isn’t too hard to believe but y know

[casssmalefantasy]

meet me under the mistletoe - paige bueckers x reader!

s: your flight home for christmas gets canceled, leaving you stuck in connecticut over the holidays. paige bueckers isn’t about to let that happen.

w: tons of dialogue, soft emotional moments, flirty paige, suggestive tension, kissing, holiday fluff

word count: 4.3k

you’re halfway done packing your duffel when azzi starts telling a story about her brother throwing a snowball at their grandma once and blaming it on a neighbor kid. you’re only half-listening, distracted by the sound of your phone vibrating on the desk.

at first, you ignore it. probably just your airline confirming the itinerary.

but when you check the notification, your stomach drops.

flight canceled. rebooked for december 25th. earliest available.

“no, no, no…” you mutter, already refreshing the app.

azzi stops mid-sentence, voice soft with concern. “what’s wrong?”

you turn slowly, lips parted but struggling to form the words. “my flight… it’s canceled. they rebooked me for christmas day. i was supposed to fly out tomorrow.”

her face immediately shifts into a sympathetic frown. “wait, seriously? that’s so messed up. did they say why?”

“weather,” you say, trying to keep your voice even, though the lump in your throat is growing. “and everything’s booked. earliest they can get me out is the twenty-fifth.”

azzi moves to sit beside you on the bed, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “i’m so sorry… that sucks.”

you nod, swallowing. “it’s fine. i’ll call my parents.”

“if i wasn’t going to my grandparents’ house, i’d tell you to come with me. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you murmur. “thanks, az.”

you turn away slightly, clicking into your contacts and pressing mom. azzi stands, giving your arm a squeeze before quietly leaving the room.

your mom picks up on the second ring. “hey, sweetie! flight excitement?”

“uh… not exactly.” you explain, voice cracking halfway through. your mom immediately offers to look at other options, even talks about flying out to get you, but you shut it down.

“don’t spend the money,” you say softly. “it’s not worth it. i’ll be okay. it’s just… disappointing.”

you don’t know paige is standing outside the door until there’s a knock—gentle, hesitant.

you quickly wipe your face. “just a sec!”

you open it to find paige in sweats and socks, leaning against the frame like she hadn’t just accidentally overheard everything.

“i wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she says quickly. “but… are you really stuck here for christmas?”

you nod.

she hesitates for a second, then says, “come to minnesota with me.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’m serious,” she says, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “drew and my dad would love to see you again. you know they’re obsessed with you. it’s just a drive. we’ll leave in the morning.”

“paige…” you trail off. “i can’t just crash your family christmas.”

“it wouldn’t be crashing,” she insists. “i’m inviting you. actually, scratch that—we’ve been hoping you’d come. i just didn’t want to be annoying.”

you exhale slowly. “can i… think about it?”

her expression softens. “of course. let me know in the morning.”

—

you didn’t sleep much.

your suitcase stays half-packed. you scroll your camera roll at 2 a.m., stopping on an old photo of your parents in the stands at your first home game.

it hurts. but not in the way you expected. it hurts more to imagine spending christmas alone.

so when you hear paige moving around the hallway at 9 a.m., keys in hand and hair still wet from her shower, you grab your bag and meet her at the door.

“you still need a ride partner?” you ask.

she grins, taking your bag. “thought you’d never ask.”

—

the car is warm and smells like her cologne and vanilla air freshener. she’s playing something soft—sza, maybe—and when she pulls out of the parking lot, she does that thing where she puts one hand behind your seat to look over her shoulder.

your stomach flips.

“i could’ve driven half,” you offer.

“you could’ve” she smirks, glancing at you. “but i got this.”

you roll your eyes. “so humble.”

“only when i’m behind the wheel.”

hours pass with soft banter, shared snacks, and stolen glances. she catches you watching her once, her profile lit up by winter sunlight and she smirks.

at a gas station in illinois, you both get out to stretch and grab snacks. you try to pay.

she swipes her card before you even pull yours out. “too slow.”

“paige.”

“nah,” she says, holding the door for you. “consider it a christmas pre-game.”

—

minnesota is cold. colder than you remembered.

but when you pull into the bueckers’ driveway and see her dad on the porch with a huge smile and drew waving frantically from the window, your chest warms instantly.

“you made it!” her dad says, pulling you into a bear hug.

“barely,” you joke.

“we saved you a room—well, technically, you’re sharing paige’s. hope that’s okay.”

your heart skips. “totally fine. we’ve shared worse. like… bus seats.”

paige chokes on her spit beside you. you both laugh.

—

dinner is loud and warm and full of love. you sit beside paige, who keeps sneaking bits of her mashed potatoes onto your plate.

“you weren’t eating,” she whispers.

“you weren’t giving me a chance.”

—

that night, teeth brushed and flannel pajamas on, you both crawl into bed. the room is dimly lit by a lamp, and you’re lying shoulder to shoulder.

neither of you speaks at first.

then out of nowhere.

“you believe in soulmates?” paige asks.

you glance over. “damn. starting heavy, huh?”

she shrugs. “we’re having a moment.”

you think. “i think some people just… find each other. and they stick. maybe not soulmates, but something close.”

she hums. “i like that.”

you roll to face her. “you ever been in love?”

her brow arches. “asking the real questions now.”

you smile. “we’re having a moment, remember?”

she pauses. “i don’t think so. i’ve liked people. really liked them. but… it’s hard. with everything. sometimes i feel like people want the version of me they see online. or in games.”

your chest aches a little.

“you deserve someone who wants you,” you say.

she looks at you. really looks at you.

“what if i already know who i want?” she says, voice low.

you open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

so you lie there, heartbeat in your ears, and wonder if she can hear it too.

—

two days later, it’s christmas.

the bueckers’ house smells like cinnamon and pine. kids’ laughter echoes from the living room, where drew is showing off his new video games.

you’re curled up on the couch when paige appears with a small box and a larger gift bag.

“for you,” she says.

you blink. “what?”

“merry christmas.”

you open the box first. inside: a pair of jordan 4s in frozen moments gray.

your jaw drops.

“paige. how—?”

“you’ve been talking about them for weeks,” she says casually. “figured you deserved to stunt a little.”

“they’re sold out everywhere.”

she shrugs. “i got connections.”

you’re speechless.

and then you open the bag.

“no way.” you gasp.

an ipad.

“for facetime,” she says. “and also so we can be ipad kids together. mine’s already got a matching case.”

you bury your face in your hands. “i didn’t get you anything.”

she laughs softly. “you being here is the gift.”

you peek at her. “you’re unreal.”

“i know.”

—

after dinner, you’re both in the kitchen washing dishes.

her hands brush yours.

“you know,” she says casually, “i heard there’s mistletoe under that door.”

you glance up, then snort. “you’re so cliché.”

“maybe,” she grins, drying her hands. “but what if we were under it?”

“paige.”

“what?” she asks innocently, stepping closer.

you laugh, but it dies in your throat when you realize she’s moved right in front of you. her hands slide to your waist, slow and sure.

“do you?” she whispers.

you blink. “do i…?”

“want to be under the mistletoe. with me.”

your throat goes dry. your hands find her forearms without thinking.

you glance up.

mistletoe.

you look down.

she’s already looking at you.

and then she kisses you—soft and slow and sweet and everything you didn’t know you were waiting for. you melt into her, fingers curling in the hem of her sweatshirt. she deepens it, just a little, and it’s perfect.

when you finally break apart, breathless, you rest your forehead against hers.

“merry christmas,” she murmurs.

you smile. “best christmas ever.”

[playerprincess]

Why the Sol Soulmate Theory SUCKS

I‘m kidding (sorta), this is clickbait.

But let’s actually talk about it!

Disclaimer: This is no hate to the people that came up with the Soulmate theory, it is in fact a very good theory! The title is really just clickbait and I thought it was funny. English isn’t my first language, but I tried to explain everything well. If something is hard to understand just ask and I‘ll try to explain it differently. Contains spoilers for the tkatb game.

For those of you who don’t know the theory: It‘s kind of hard to pinpoint the exact post everybody is talking about since there’s more than one, but if you want to get a feeling for what it‘s about I‘d recommend reading this or this.

————————————————————————————

"Well, if the theory doesn’t suck, then what even is your problem??"

While the theory in itself doesn’t suck, I do have a few issues that I would like to go over just in case anybody feels the same way. There is a lot of indications that this theory is true (see the links above for more), and obviously if something is hinted at this much there will be some truth stuck to it.

I personally feel like the theory that MC and Sol are actually soulmate kind of defeats the purpose that Sol is supposed to be a delusional Yandere. It gives him an actual "reason" to obsess over MC, because in the grand scheme of the universe, MC is actually connected to him in a way. The soulmate troupe is generally used for romance after all, wich kind of goes against what the visual novel is supposed to be.

I enjoy Sol‘s character as much as the next person, but from what I‘ve gathered from fantasia-kitt and the information that were given, tkatb is not a dating sim, but rather a horror visual novel. At least that’s how Fantasia wants us to see the game as. And again, while I believe the theory in itself fits into the story perfectly fine, I think fantasia didn’t really intend for it to be taken the way that it is.

"My game is not a romance game, it's a thriller/horror game." - Fantasia

When I first played it, I only had the free version downloaded. After enjoying the story however, I decided to go back and pay for the additional nsfw version (for educational purposes of course ;) ), and I feel like the games’ horror aspect shines through so much more because of those few added scenes. Obviously part of me enjoyed the spice, I‘m not going to sit here and lie in your faces, but the information that was added with this specific version also helped me see Sol in the way fantasia initially intended us to; a fucking weirdo.

Take the highly controversial infamous 🍇 scene for example. Of course it’s already weird enough that he breaks into MCs house and drugs them in the sfw version, but to me it really conveyed the type of yandere Sol happens to be. The lengths he is willing to go to satiate his delusions, how deranged and mentally unwell this guy actually is. People tend to forget that yanderes aren’t only obsessed jealous people, and I think fantasia did a fine job at conveying that. Sol is in fact not a good person.

What does this have to do with the soulmate theory?

Like I said before, Sol is highly delusional. And not in a "I‘m so delulu I‘m just a guy" way, but he is actually delusional enough the believe that MC is in fact his soulmate.

You know how people for example take everything as a "sign" that something is supposed to happen? Like when you see your initials next to the person you like in a TikTok post and think "damn, this can’t be a coincidence", or when a horoscope gives you advice that perhaps fits your current situation perfectly well. Those are delusions. You’re being delusional.

Sol is obsessed with the MC to a degree he actually believes that they must’ve been together in every lifetime. That just has to be it, there’s no other possible way. But MC knows nothing about this guy. They didn’t even realize they shared a class together. Sol stalks MC probably every day, drugs them, and sneaks into their house to live out his weird ass fantasies for a reason we don’t yet know. He‘s deluded himself to a point that he actually thinks that it’s fate, that it must be destined by the universe.

Fantasia says themselves that Sol is narrow minded and deranged. We know he’s a virgin with no former experience in romance and dating. Perhaps he’s never even had a crush before. Maybe his first reaction to all these new feelings that he doesn’t understand is that this must be sent by the universe. The pull he feels towards MC must be something out of this world, it can’t just be normal romantic attraction. I mean, he asks Hyugo to kill him after MC dies in ending 1, this guy is absolutely fixated on the MC to a point where it’s just plain psychotic.

I‘d also argue that Sol‘s feelings towards MC can be described as "Love", but we won’t get into that now.

"The yandere is not in love with you, they lust after you, they are delusional enough to believe that what they feel is genuine love when in fact, love like that is never real nor to be accept in the first place. You should feel repulsed by their actions." - Fantasia

And while he does feel all these strong feelings, he can’t even explain why he views them as a savior/angel. He might be MC‘s stalker, but he doesn’t truly know them. He just idolizes them.

"[…] that I finally got to write down what he is capable of, that he is irredeemable and having Crowe as his source of hatred just because he is close to the MC shows his narow-mindedness, he is sick in the head. Sol is not mild, he is on the EXTREME level of yandere, he is DERANGED and I will keep writing him like that." -Fantasia

"The way Sol sees MC is special, he sees them no one else can, just like a lover would. A lover would see their significant other that other people don't understand." -Fantasia

The soulmate theory is good. But I feel like because it is so good it would be so much better if it wasn’t actually true (or if it had some sort of twist to it). Everything aligns perfectly. Sol used to be the executioner in a past life and couldn’t be with the MC, so naturally he’d try everything to get them to love him in this life right? Except there is no past life. Sometimes coincidences line up so perfectly that we actually believe that there’s value behind it, a greater meaning. The bruise on his neck, his tendency for violence, it just has to mean something right?! Maybe he can make MC see, make them realize that yes, Sol is absolutely right with his Soulmate theory, they’re meant to be!

"He says that you're the one even though you've only met him once." - Fantasia

It feels like such a perfect theory to make the MC believe that they’re really destined to be together by the universe. The perfect theory to manipulate a naive person into thinking that their hearts beat as one, that their Soulstrings are carefully tied together by fate‘s own hands. Except they’re not. It’s all made up. A well conducted story to lure MC in and make them believe they’re his.

It’s easy to slip into the "Oh, but we’re actually soulmates so he can’t really help it" in my opinion, so I‘m not really fond of this theory. MC is just a normal person. They’re not special, not tied to him in any way. He just let’s himself believe it. And he wants you to believe it too.

"[…] I don't want people to excuse Sol, I don't want people to develop an unhealthy relationship and idea with a yandere." - Fantasia

"You could already tell he's trying to charm you (and its working) to get you to trust him so he can do all the nasty stuff. […] Not only he got to fool the MC but YOU, the player, as well." - Fantasia

Maybe I‘m just biased since I don’t particularly enjoy the amnesia and/or reincarnation trope very much, I feel like it has a lot of potential that never gets fleshed out in a satisfying way. In the case of tkatb, I think I wouldn’t really enjoy the reveal of it if it were the case. But at the end of the day fantasia can do whatever they want with it (as they should), and if that’s the course they want to take then that’s perfectly fine.

What kind of stops me from having a strong opinion is that we don’t really know what Fantasia’s understanding of Soulmates is. Maybe they have a special way of viewing the trope, maybe they don’t even believe in it at all privately! Some people for example think soulmates are always romantic, while others think they can be platonic as well. How do they categorize its meaning? Does their personal opinion influence their story?

But that’s just my opinion. It’s totally fine if you have a different theory or if you don’t agree, it’s just a game after all!

I think the idea that they’re soulmates in itself isn’t bad. It could be a device to show the player that even tho there is a soul connection, it doesn’t justify Sol‘s behavior and he’s taking it way too far. And if the reincarnation theory is true, maybe Crowe could be our true soulmate. He serves as a direct counterpart to Sol after all, so why not? Sol says "It‘s always him", in regards to what he thinks about Crowe. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself that it’s not Crowe who is MC‘s soulmate, but him instead. Because in his mind, that makes much more sense.

Conclusion

I think that the theory in itself works in the world of tkatb, however I feel like the issue lies more in the way that people receive it. It gives the player a reason to sympathize with Sol, after all he "just wants to be with his Soulmate", right? But I think Fantasia wanted to implement this trope to empathize how selfish Sol is, and that he doesn’t actually care about what his Soulmate wants. Personally, I believe that if you’re someone‘s soulmate, you should want to see them happy. And Sol clearly isn’t happy with MC when they pick Crowe over him (wich results in Crowe‘s brutal death). It’s something that he‘s using as an excuse to justify his obsessive behavior and should perhaps be treated as such.

"You hate him? That's good! That's the whole point of his character! You're SUPPOSE to hate him!" - Fantasia

And again, we know way too little of the worldbuilding and plot to actually know for sure. I think it’s way more likely that I‘m proven wrong in the future than the others. I just wanted to share my thoughts hihi

Pryn out.

[hello-sweetheart]

Eddie and his False King- steddie ficlet

“Tell me something about you that Robin doesn’t know.”

They’re lying on the floor of Steve’s apartment staring up at the ceiling reeling from an over indulgence of Chinese take-out. Steve is chewing on the end of a wooden chopstick after trying to teach Eddie how to use them (and failing). Eddie can feel Steve turn to look at him and pretends to be invested in the fortune cookie he’s fidgeting with.

Truth is, Eddie loves Robin—of course he does, Eddie wouldn’t have Steve without Robin. His Steve. Bright, funny, carefree Steve. He’s heard from the group how Steve struggled before he found a friend in Robin. He never met the Steve before Robin, not officially, but he remembers the dark cloud that had followed him throughout his junior and senior year, followed him all the way across the stage at graduation.

And then one day, he stumbled across the guy once more looking softer in way he never had. A lack of ego that was replaced by something tender. Somber eyes alight once more, not with the cruelty of before, but a steady happiness.

“Why?”

Eddie shrugged, “I mean, there’s gotta be something.”

Eddie loves Robin, but sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to share Steve with her.

Each time Steve tells a story, confesses something buried deep, or shares a secret, he knows Robin heard it first.

Whenever he wonders where Steve is when he’s not with Eddie, he knows it’s with Robin.

When Steve gave him a spare key to his apartment, he knows Robin already had a copy.

Hell, Robin probably knows all about their sex life. It’s easy to imagine Steve, naive and new to men, red in the face stumbling through his story of their first time together. Robin at his side reassuring him and easing his insecurities, even though Eddie already had.

Her words probably soothed him easier than Eddie’s ever could.

It’s not that Robin has ever invaded their time together, not unless it was an emergency, but still. Eddie is selfish. And.

Eddie is jealous of how close they are, he’ll admit it. He just wants a part of Steve that he doesn’t have to share with Robin.

“There’s one thing, but..”

“But?”

“You can’t make fun of me for it.” Eddie’s lip curled. “Promise!”

“Alright, alright.” He turned to his side to properly give him his attention. Steve’s eyes were sleepy from their large meal, impending food coma underway.

Eddie loves him so much it hurt.

“You know how people called me King Steve in high school?”

“Yeah…”

“And you know how it was Tommy that started it?”

“Sure.”

“Well, Tommy only ever called me that because when we were kids and our parents would take us out to eat, each time it was my turn to chose where, I’d always pick Burger King.” He admitted this with a sheepish grin.

“King Steve?” Eddie repeated in disbelief. The nickname now held a different weight on his tongue.

Steve groaned, “Yeah, King Steve. It was Tommy’s nickname for me. I was like 6 and obsessed with the chicken fingers. I’d wear the paper crown and everything—cried if they forgot the crown. Well, sometime around freshman year I had scored a winning basket and Tommy started shouting “King Steve! King Steve!” Before I knew it, others started shouting it back. It caught on and never really went away.”

“Wow…”

“Mm, I doubt it ever would have stuck if they knew why Tommy called me that in the first place. That’s why after, well, after, I know that it hurt him so much when I left. Cuz he would look at me and call me King Steve, not to mock the fact that fell on the food chain, but to mock how I ended 10 years of friendship over a girl.”

“But it wasn’t really over a girl.”

“Nah, he was just a shit person. Dont think he ever realized that. I hope he has. Besides, I like who I found after.”

“Robin?” Steve’s eyes soften but his gaze was focused and intense.

“Yeah, her too.” Oh.

“Come on, sweetheart. We’ll clean up tomorrow, but I for one, would like to nap on the bed instead of your carpet. God knows when the last time this was properly cleaned.” Steve squawked.

“I clean this carpet weekly! Properly!”

He really does. Eddie knows this. Steve is his own brand of freak with how neat and tidy he keeps things.

Eddie falls asleep with his nose buried in Steve’s neck, belly full love and grease. In his mind there now exists a new image, one of Steve tiny and slightly chubby with baby fat, legs swinging in brightly colored booth as he chews happily on a chicken nugget, fingers sticky with ketchup. And a paper crown skewed on a bed of chestnut hair.

[dior-luxury]

Can you write about a reader who is an adopted child of Crowley/Divus/Lilia? Love the way you write, thanks for your work!

You Being Crowley/Divus/Lilia's Adopted Child

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . comedy/drama/fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] first years

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: This was such a fun prompt to do!! Also since the request had no character recommendations, I just did the first years! ♡

Ace Trappola

Ace never really liked Headmaster Crowley. The man was flaky, unpredictable, and always dumping his responsibilities onto other people—especially you. So, when he found out that you were actually Crowley’s adopted daughter, his brain short-circuited.

It all started when he and Deuce overheard a conversation between Crowley and Professor Trein.

“My dear, precious child is thriving in this school,” Crowley said dramatically. “I have provided them with the finest education and supervision!”

Trein scoffed. “Supervision? You mean you let them roam free while making them run your errands?”

“Details, details,” Crowley waved him off. “I raised them with my own two hands! They are my most beloved—”

Ace tuned out the rest of the conversation because he was stuck on that one part. Raised them?! His mind immediately turned to you.

There was no way. Right?

But when he confronted you later that day, you just sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m technically his kid. He adopted me a long time ago.”

Ace stood there, gaping like a fish. “What the hell do you mean technically? That’s like saying ‘I technically own a cat’ while holding it in your arms!”

“I mean, he kinda just declared it one day and that was that.”

“Oh my Seven, that explains so much,” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Your weird tolerance for his nonsense. The way you somehow get him to actually listen to you. The reason why he dumps everything on you.”

“You’re dating me, not my dad,” you deadpanned.

“Oh, I know.” Ace shuddered. “Trust me, if I had to ask Crowley for permission to date you, I’d rather fling myself into the ocean.”

From that day forward, Ace became twice as smug whenever Crowley asked you to do something. “Wow, Daddy Crowley making you do all his chores again? Should I call child services?”

You smacked his arm, and he just laughed.

But deep down, he liked knowing that you had someone—no matter how ridiculous—who would always look after you.

Deuce Spade

Deuce had always been a little bit intimidated by Professor Crewel. The man had a sharp tongue, a sharper glare, and an obsession with perfection that made even the toughest students break a sweat. So, when he found out that you were Crewel’s adopted daughter, he nearly passed out.

He discovered it purely by accident.

The two of you were in Crewel’s classroom after hours. You had convinced Deuce to help you clean up the potion ingredients, and he was just about to finish when the door swung open.

“I hope you’re not slacking, pup,” came Crewel’s voice.

Deuce jumped. He nearly knocked over an entire vial of powdered unicorn horn. “P-Professor Crewel! I was just—uh—helping—”

“You’re over-explaining.” Crewel walked past him and approached you instead. “And you—next time, ask before bringing a guest.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Don’t scare him too much, Dad.”

The word Dad didn’t register in Deuce’s brain right away. It was only when Crewel patted your head and actually smiled that he froze.

Wait.

Wait.

He turned to you, then to Crewel, then back to you. “D-Dad?! As in—Professor Crewel Dad?! Your Dad?!”

“Yes, Deuce,” you sighed. “He adopted me.”

Deuce suddenly stood up straighter than he ever had in his life. “S-Sir, it’s an honor! I mean—I didn’t know! I swear I’ve been treating Y/N well—”

Crewel raised an eyebrow. “I should hope so. Otherwise, you’d be expelled from this school in a heartbeat.”

Deuce gulped.

Later, when you two were alone, you nudged him playfully. “You don’t have to be that scared of him.”

“I literally do! That’s Professor Crewel! The scariest, strictest, most ruthless teacher in NRC!” Deuce grabbed your hands, looking panicked. “And he’s your Dad? How am I supposed to act around him?!”

“You could, I don’t know, relax?”

“That’s impossible.”

He ended up being painfully formal around Crewel for months. But over time, he realized that Crewel, despite his tough demeanor, truly cared about you. And that was enough for Deuce to respect him even more—even if he still got nervous every time Crewel glared at him.

Jack Howl

Jack didn’t expect Lilia Vanrouge—the chaotic, mischievous, eternally youthful fae—to be anyone’s father. So when you casually mentioned that he adopted you a long time ago, Jack just… stopped.

You were sitting together under a tree, enjoying the afternoon breeze, when you casually said, “Oh yeah, my dad’s coming to visit.”

Jack, ever the responsible boyfriend, asked, “Should I meet him?”

Before you could answer, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around your shoulders.

“Fufufu~ No need! I’m already here~”

Jack’s ears immediately perked up. His tail stiffened as he turned his head—only to see Lilia Vanrouge grinning down at him.

His brain short-circuited.

“W-Wait,” Jack muttered. “You’re Y/N’s dad?”

Lilia chuckled, releasing you and twirling in the air. “But of course! I raised them since they were young~”

Jack was so confused. “But you… you don’t even look old enough to be—”

“Looks can be deceiving, pup.” Lilia winked. “Now, tell me—how has my dear child’s boyfriend been treating them?”

Jack immediately straightened up. “I-I always treat them with respect!”

Lilia hummed, floating closer. “Are you strong? Brave? Devoted?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you defeat a whole battalion in battle?”

Jack faltered. “…What?”

Lilia cackled. “Just testing you~”

For the next hour, Lilia proceeded to tell Jack every single embarrassing story from your childhood. From you struggling to use magic as a kid to you getting stuck in a tree after climbing too high.

“Dad, stop,” you groaned.

Jack, meanwhile, was trying not to blush. He was never the type to get flustered easily, but hearing these stories from Lilia—who he highly respected—was making his head spin.

By the end of the day, Jack sighed. “I don’t get how you turned out so normal with him as your dad.”

You grinned. “He’s a great dad, though.”

Jack nodded. As much as Lilia’s antics overwhelmed him, he couldn’t deny that the fae clearly adored you. And honestly? Jack respected that.

Even if he had to endure Lilia’s relentless teasing for the rest of his life.

Here are detailed stories of Epel and Sebek reacting to their girlfriend being the adopted child of Crowley, Divus, or Lilia.

Epel Felmier

Epel had always thought the worst thing about Headmaster Crowley was how much he dumped responsibilities on you. It drove him crazy seeing you running around doing all of Crowley’s errands instead of getting to relax.

But nothing prepared him for the moment he found out that you were actually Crowley’s adopted daughter.

It happened one afternoon when he had gone to the Headmaster’s office, looking for you. He had been waiting outside when he overheard Crowley speaking dramatically.

“Oh, my dear, beloved child, how you have grown under my care! Why, I’ve been such a wonderful father figure to you, haven’t I?”

Epel nearly choked. Father?!

Before he could process what he just heard, he barged into the office. “Oi, what the heck do ya mean ‘father’?! Did I hear that right?!”

You turned around with an exhausted look. “Yeah… I was going to tell you eventually.”

Crowley beamed, opening his arms wide. “Indeed! I, the great and benevolent Headmage, have raised my child with the utmost care and wisdom!”

Epel’s eye twitched. “Wisdom?! You make ‘em do all your work! How’s that wisdom?!”

“Oh, details, details,” Crowley waved off.

Epel looked at you in disbelief. “Y/N, are ya serious? You’re Crowley’s kid?!”

You sighed. “I mean, technically. He took me in and raised me, so I guess that makes him my dad.”

Epel ran a hand down his face. “Oh, Seven, this explains so much…”

After that, Epel became ten times more protective over you whenever Crowley called for “small favors.”

Every time Crowley tried to get you to run another errand, Epel was right there to argue back.

“Oi, father-in-law, how ‘bout ya do some of yer own work for once?!”

“Epel, please—” you sighed.

“Nah! Yer his daughter, not his personal assistant!”

Epel might not have liked the idea of Crowley being your dad, but if there was one thing he did know, it was that you deserved better treatment. And if Crowley wasn’t going to act like a proper dad, Epel would just have to step in and be the one to look out for you himself.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek practically worshipped Lilia Vanrouge. The fae general was his idol—his ultimate example of strength and honor.

So when he found out that Lilia was your adoptive father, his brain nearly imploded.

It happened one day when the two of you were training together. Sebek had insisted that you improve your physical endurance, and as your ever-dedicated boyfriend, he was personally overseeing your regimen.

You were catching your breath when Lilia suddenly appeared, floating upside down.

“Fufufu~ My dear child, I see you’re working hard!”

You groaned, still out of breath. “Dad, don’t sneak up on me like that…”

Sebek, who had been drinking water, choked.

“D-D-Dad?!” Sebek’s voice cracked as he stared at you and Lilia.

You blinked at him. “Yeah…?”

Sebek immediately dropped to one knee. “LORD LILIA! I-I had no idea that my beloved was your child! Please forgive my ignorance!”

Lilia just laughed, flipping himself right-side up. “Oh my, no need for such formalities, Sebek. But isn’t it wonderful? My child is as strong as they are charming!”

Sebek’s brain shut down.

He had been dating Lilia Vanrouge’s daughter this whole time?! How did he not know?!

You sighed, putting a hand on your hip. “Sebek, get up. You don’t have to treat me any differently just because my dad is Lilia.”

Sebek, however, was having a crisis. “I—I must reevaluate my approach! Have I been showing you enough respect?! Have I been treating you properly as the offspring of a great fae?!”

Lilia patted Sebek’s shoulder, grinning. “Fufufu~ Relax, Sebek. If anything, I trust you the most to take care of them.”

Sebek immediately puffed up with pride. “OF COURSE! I SHALL DEDICATE MY LIFE TO ENSURING THEIR SAFETY!”

From that day forward, Sebek became even more overprotective.

You tripped? Sebek caught you before you even hit the ground.

Someone so much as looked at you the wrong way? Sebek was already yelling at them.

Lilia found the whole thing hilarious.

“Ah, young love,” he sighed dramatically one day. “Sebek, you might as well start calling me ‘Father’ with how much you dote on my child.”

Sebek turned red. “I—I—THAT WOULD BE TOO SOON!”

You just laughed, watching your boyfriend fumble while Lilia grinned in amusement.

Sure, Sebek was over the top, but you had to admit—it was kind of sweet knowing how much he truly cared.

[softlypossessive]

I’m so glad I stumbled onto your blog! I was wondering if I could request a monster trio headcanon for one piece. I was wondering how would they react to having a s/o on the crew whose role was to be the scribe? She basically set out to sea in hopes of writing the greatest adventure story and she joined the straw hats and decided to write out all of their adventures and stories. How would they value the work she did to ensure the straw hats story would live on? Would they ask her to also write about their blossoming “love story?”

♡･ﾟ𓏸 Monster Trio x Scribe!Reader Headcanon𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, gn!reader (with romantic s/o dynamics) ♡ Warnings: Fluff, supportive bfs, romantic tension, praise for your writing, mentions of legacy/storytelling, love story references, emotional softness, no use of Y/N ♡ Notes: Thank you for the lovely request!! I had so much fun writing this—soft, dream-chasing Strawhat energy is my JAM. This is romantic-coded, but still soft and cozy! These boys adore you and want the world to remember it ~~

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🍖Luffy

Luffy is beyond excited that someone is literally writing down his story

He lit up the first time you told him your dream

At first, he thought “scribe” just meant you liked books

When you explained your dream—telling the greatest adventure story ever so people stuck in small lives could feel free—something clicked

That’s what Gold Roger’s story did for him

He immediately declared that you were going to make people want to be pirates

He constantly interrupts your writing like “HEY! Did you write about the Sea King punch? What about when I kicked Crocodile’s butt?!”

He doesn’t always understand the full weight of what you’re doing, but he respects your dream because it’s yours

He takes it seriously because everyone supports his dream the same way

He’s very into the idea of his rise to Pirate King being written as a legendary tale

He wants people to read it and feel inspired, just like he did as a kid

He’s obsessed with your writing now—brings you snacks, peeks over your shoulder, and grins when he sees his name

He absolutely wants the love story included

Not because he’s super romantic—but because he thinks it’s cool and funny

“Make sure you write the part where I asked you out and you said yes really fast”

You did not say yes fast—he asked twice, but he swears he heard a yes the first time

He gets kind of serious when it comes to your place in his story

“You can put that part in too, right? That I love you? That we sail together?”

It’s not about the mushy stuff—it’s about you being part of the journey

“When I’m Pirate King, I want them to know you were there. You wrote it. That’s important.”

He says it so proudly—like he’s always known your name would be written in history beside his

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You're sprawled on the deck one evening, a gentle breeze stirring your pages. Luffy plops down beside you, upside down like a gremlin, head hanging over the edge of the bench.

“Whatcha writing?”

You smirk. “You.”

“Oooh!” He rolls over eagerly. “Read it to me!”

You hesitate for a second—because this part’s soft. It’s not about battles or meat or dreams. It’s… this:

“He laughs at the sky like it’s an old friend. He loves with the same wild heart he sails with—loud, boundless, impossible to hold. But if you’re lucky enough to be his, truly his, he makes you feel like you’ve already touched the sun.”

When you look up, Luffy’s staring at you wide-eyed. Then he beams—beams—like he’s never heard anything cooler in his life.

“That’s SO COOL!!! Write more! Write the part where I kissed you! And the part where I said I’d never leave you behind! That’s important too!”

He grabs your hand like it’s the anchor holding him to the ship.

“I want people to read that and want to fall in love on the sea.”

⚔️ Zoro

Zoro was confused at first—thought “scribe” was just a fancy word for someone who sat around reading books

Then he saw you scribbling after battle, muttering about footwork and blade arcs, and it clicked

He doesn't ask about your work directly but will silently glance over your shoulder now and then

Especially curious when he spots his name in the margins

One night, you were half-asleep at your desk, and he dropped off a sake cup with a quiet, “Don’t forget to write the part where I saved your ass”

The idea of a love story written about him makes him grumble

“Tch. What’s there to say? You like me. I like you. End of story.”

But later, you find your notes moved slightly and a new entry about Loguetown added—with perfect detail about how he looked at you when you were hurt

You didn’t write it—he did

Zoro doesn’t care about fame or legacy, but he cares because you care

You’ve caught him rereading entries about battles when he thinks you’re asleep

When he reads your writing about him—his resolve, his strength—he gets quiet

“That what you really see when you look at me?” he asked once

When you nodded, he didn’t say more, just trained harder that night

He pretends not to care about the romance stuff, but when you suggest keeping it private, he actually frowns

“Why wouldn’t you write it? It’s real, isn’t it?”

It’s not about the world knowing he’s in love—it’s about the world knowing you’re his

“Put it in the book. Make it clear.”

He won’t say ‘I love you’ out loud a hundred times—but he wants it written. Inked into history. Quiet. Permanent. True.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You find Zoro in the crow’s nest, dozing shirtless with a bottle beside him. Classic. You don’t mean to wake him—you’re just scribbling quietly in the corner—but he cracks an eye open anyway.

“You stalking me?” he grumbles.

You don’t reply. Just keep writing.

“…What are you saying about me this time?”

You smirk faintly. “Want me to read it?”

He shrugs, but the way he leans in says yes.

“He walks like the world owes him nothing. Like pain is just something to cut through. But he’s the one who stands between you and the storm, every time. Even if it kills him. Especially if it kills him. He doesn’t say he loves you. He just stays.”

You glance up. His brows are drawn, mouth tight, jaw working like he’s chewing on glass.

“…Tch.” He looks away, then back at you. “You’re gonna make me sound like some damn tragic hero.”

You shrug. “You kind of are.”

He takes your hand wordlessly, callused fingers curling around your pen-stained ones. Doesn’t say anything else. But you catch him rereading the entry later when he thinks you’re asleep.

🍳Sanji

Sanji is your biggest supporter—like, aggressively supportive

Brings you snacks, checks your wrist when it cramps, makes you tea or coffee without even asking

Fawns over every line you write like you’re the author of his heart (which you kinda are)

“Mon amour, your words will immortalize us! Should I pose for the cover illustration? Shirtless, of course—unless you prefer mystery~”

He’s completely enchanted by your dream to tell stories—especially their story

It’s romantic, meaningful, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing in the world

Sometimes you catch him just… watching you while you write. Like the weight of it all hits him out of nowhere

“We’ll be gone someday,” he once said softly, cigarette glowing. “But your words won’t.”

He’s the most emotionally open about what your writing means

Will 100% beg you to read parts of it to him like a bedtime story

And when it comes to your love story? Oh he wants the whole thing

A novella-length subplot with kissing, longing glances, dramatic declarations—he’s all in

“Put in every moment,” he says one night, curled around you as you write

“Every glance, every word I said that made you blush, all of it.”

Not embarrassed at all—he wants the world to know how deeply he loved you

“I want people to read it and feel jealous,” he says with a crooked smile

“That they weren’t loved like I loved you.”

Flirty and ridiculous 80% of the time—“What are you saying about me now? Is it about my devastating charm? My noble soul?”

But that last 20%? Pure, sincere, overwhelming admiration

He knows you’re creating legacy—and he’s honored to be part of it

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

Sanji catches you writing at the galley table, nibbling the end of your pen. You don’t even notice he’s there until he’s sliding a plate beside you.

“For the brilliant mind behind our legend,” he purrs.

You roll your eyes. “You wanna hear the part I wrote about you?”

He leans in immediately, chin propped on one hand. “More than I want air.”

You clear your throat, a little bashful now.

“He’s fire, but not just the kind that burns. He’s warmth, too. He’s the hand that feeds, the eyes that linger, the voice that sings when he thinks no one hears. He loves like he’s starved for it—like he wants to feed it back to you in spoonfuls until you’re full. And you’ll never convince him he deserves the same in return.”

Silence.

When you glance up, Sanji looks like he’s been slapped by Cupid and set on fire.

“…Mon dieu.”

His voice is thick. He presses a kiss to your wrist. Then your knuckles. Then your palm.

“You better publish that. I want the whole world to know exactly how ruined I am for you.”

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[foreveia]

snow one like you ⤨ miya atsumu

⨭ genre; college!au, frat!au, enemies to lovers!trope (sort of)

⨭ pairing; miya atsumu x f!reader

⨭ word count; 16.4k

⨭ descriptions; you're convinced that miya atsumu is the world's biggest fuckboy asshole, and yet, when the iota nu alpha (ina)'s exec board and your sorority's exec board go on winter break together, you come to prove that there really is a thin line between hate and something else.

⨭ warnings; alcohol, profanity, sexual innuendos, LOTS of dick jokes

⨭ a/n; i have been FIENDING to write frat boy! & fuckboy!atsumu bro so here's the 'tsumu redemption story lmfao i am very proud of coming up w greek letter versions of the hq teams. hope u love seeing a fuckboy conversion story as much as i do mwah :)

song i listened to writing this: 'tsunami' by niki

one.

Winter break should have been perfect. 

Here’s what should have happened: (1) you, your sorority’s executive board, and an obsessive amount of luggage for a two week break all pile into Mao’s sexy black Jeep; (2) drive six and a half hours up to the cute, girly AirBnB you rented for this; (3) sleep in until 1 PM every day and wake up in the softest sheets ever; (4) spend the whole winter break snowboarding down black diamonds and drinking mimosas in the hot tub. You even treated yourself to a shopping spree in preparation for it; four sets of pink bikinis and matching silk pajamas for the girls had put a significant dent in your bank balance but who cares because it was meant for your perfect winter break.

It could’ve been perfect. It should’ve been perfect. 

But here you are instead, the day after finals on what could have been a lovely end to the first half of your junior year but instead is the start of an imminently torturous two weeks, standing at the curb of your university apartment building, shivering your absolute fucking ass off in just a hoodie because Aran’s rental car was delayed an hour for pick up. All your favorite winter wear is already packed into the massive duffel bag by your feet, stuffed to the absolute brim with just one of your new bikinis (since apparently, you had to do bonding activities now), plain pajama sets (the girls worried the others would feel left out), and everything you could ever need to commit a murder and get away with it. 

Your planned victim? Atsumu Miya, the official worst human being on Earth.

This belief is confirmed by the blue 2012 Hyundai you’ve been waiting on finally rolling up, and the back door popping open to reveal Atsumu, sprawled across the three seats as if he owns the place. He looks as if he plans on you feeding him grapes and massaging his feet during the ride there; you want to punch him in the jaw. His eyes flick up, lazily scanning you from head to toe with a smirk that could infuriate a saint.

“Awh, look who’s here to grace us with her presence,” he drawls, not bothering to move an inch. “So princess, ready to fall in love with me yet?”

You grit your teeth, forcing a smile that’s more a baring of teeth. Mentally, you scratch out human—because he’s actually closer to a demon. 

“In your fantasies,” you scoff, heaving your duffel bag into the trunk with more force than necessary. The trunk is a struggle to close because it’s already overflowing with way more baggage than is needed for a winter break trip.

He chuckles, an irritating sound that grates on your last nerve. “Oh, I have plenty of those, babe. You’re just usually not wearin’ clothes in ‘em.” 

Yep, it’s confirmed. You’re going to kill Atsumu. 

Unfortunately, Yui Michimiya, the sorority president and apparently shotgun, rolls down the window before you get the opportunity to strangle him right then and there. “Y/N, get in the car, we have to go! Mao and them are already on their way there.” 

You sputter. “I’m stuck in the back with him? Are you kidding?”

“Aran is driving the first three hours, and then I’m switching with him. We don’t have time for this.”

“What, so I not only have to share my winter break with the fucking foxes, but now I’m backseat? Why didn’t you just let me go with the other girls, Yui?” you whine. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t care. This is practically a matter of life or death (albeit not yours—for Atsumu). 

Yui’s eyes dart between you and Atsumu, her lips pressed into a thin line as she navigates the tension with the ease of a seasoned diplomat. “Look, I know you two have your... differences, but we’ve got a schedule to keep. It’s a long drive, and we can’t afford to start late. You two both need to just suck it up, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

You glance at Atsumu, who’s now sporting a grin that suggests he’s already won whatever game he thinks you’re playing. The prospect of spending hours confined in a car with him makes your skin crawl, but with a resigned sigh, you grab the rest of your gear and slide into the backseat. The door slams shut, sealing your fate. You’re already sad for your future self.

Atsumu shifts, making a show of spreading out even more, his smirk never faltering. “Are ya feelin’ cozy, sweetheart?” he teases, nudging you with his knees as his legs open so far he’s past the empty center console.

“Your tiny dick does not need that much room. Now get your legs away from mine before I chop them off and throw them in the woods behind our cabin.”

“Wow, princess, didn’t think 8 inches was tiny in your book. Or should I say size queen?”

This is officially the worst winter break of your life.

When Chizuru, the sorority secretary, had first proposed the idea of sharing your annual break retreat with a fraternity executive board, you thought she was joking. And then when Mao, the internal vice president, said it was a lovely plan so that both parties could have bigger facilities and more funds, you begged for it to be any other fraternity. And then finally, when Yui officially confirmed that your retreat would be a joint trip with Iota Nu Alpha (INA)’s five executive members, you actually lost your mind. 

Because Iota Nu Alpha, while being a generally very respectable fraternity with a decent national establishment and well-regarded chapter on your campus, contains a particular flaw: a certain external vice president who is the actual devil and goes by the earthling name of Atsumu Miya. 

The truth is that you’re not a very violent person—you don’t even knowingly kill bugs, much less go on mental tangents fantasizing about someone’s downfall. Before freshman year of college, you wouldn’t have ever believed that you’d be on the verge of homicidal rage just from the sound of someone’s voice. 

But Atsumu truly is a special case because he has an innate talent for bringing out the worst in you. Every smirk, every condescending comment, every casual brush of his arm against yours feels like a deliberate provocation, and it has ever since you first met him in a frat basement during your freshman year. Deciding he was nothing but bad news, you had tried to distance yourself from him, but somehow, he continues to be pulled back in everywhere: from being chemistry lab partners in your freshman spring to being paired during the Greek life matchups to being forced to take him to your sophomore sorority formal because your initial date ghosted last minute, for some reason, the universe hates you and you literally cannot escape him. 

Atsumu Miya spends half his time flirting with you and the other half pissing you off; he’s a thorn in your side that simply will not budge. He’s evidently already made it his mission to ruin your break before it’s even started, so that’s just reason #13092 of why he is in fact the bane of your existence.

The car pulls away from the curb, and Aran, INA’s secretary, adjusts the rearview mirror to glance back at the two of you. “Let’s try to keep it civil, alright? We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Atsumu snickers and you roll your eyes, keeping your gaze trained on what’s outside the window. The cityscape blurs past, a mix of buildings and holiday lights from tourist spots in the area.

If you had been in Mao’s car right now, accompanied by her and two tolerable members of the fraternity, you’d probably be excited, chattering on and on about all the fun you were going to have. But now, the only thing you can think about is how to survive the next few hours—and then the next two weeks—without throttling the blonde asshole sitting next to you. 

“Y’know, princess,” Atsumu says after a few minutes of blessed quiet, “Ain’t it funny how ya swore in freshman year you’re never speakin’ to me again? And yet here we are.”

You don’t bother looking at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, hilarious. It’s the comedy of the century how you’ve become an inescapable part of my college life. What’s next? Are you planning to haunt my dreams too?”

Atsumu’s grin widens, undeterred by your sarcasm. “Are ya sayin’ you wanna sleep with me? Awh, at least buy me dinner first.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, as ya wish. Or I can fuck you, I don’t mind changin’ up positions.”

You glare at him, but the intensity of your anger is somewhat mitigated by the fact that you’re squished in the backseat, your knees almost touching his. Yui and Aran exchange a glance in the front, clearly relieved that the bickering hasn’t escalated to physical violence—yet.

You think they shouldn’t be relieved yet. With the way Atsumu is currently simpering at you, it won’t be long before you act on your deep urge to punch him.

two.

The first few hours of the drive pass. You try to ignore Atsumu as much as possible, staring out the window and counting the trees as they whip by; still, he keeps saying stupid things and making you acknowledge them because they’re just that stupid. He just has the miraculous ability to pull you out of your head and whenever he speaks, he becomes all you can think about (because you’re so enraged by his audacity). Occasionally, you catch snippets of Yui and Aran’s conversation, but their voices are low, and you’re too wrapped up in your own thoughts and debates to pay much attention.

And then you notice the snow outside. You’re far enough outside of Tokyo now where the weather has begun to change; it is so incredibly beautiful to see the snowflakes flying down gently as the car flies past the snow-dusted neighborhoods and you can’t help but press your forehead against the cool glass, fascinated. You haven’t seen snowfall this hard in so long, and you are enthralled by it. It’s like the universe itself is trying to soften your mood, scattering diamonds across the landscape to distract you from the simmering tension inside the car. Even Atsumu seems momentarily quiet, his usual remarks on pause as he gazes out his own window.

The serene moment, however, is shattered when Aran suddenly pipes up, “We’re going to make a quick stop in Sendai. Need to stretch our legs and maybe grab some snacks. Anyone need anything specific?”

“Head from the princess.”

“A break from Atsumu.”

Yui snaps, evidently reaching her limit. “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out.”

The car pulls into a convenience store parking lot, and the group disbands for a brief respite from the confined space: Aran goes to refill the tank, Atsumu and Yui head inside the store, and you trail behind in the lot. You step out, taking in the crisp, cold air, feeling it sting your lungs—a welcome pain compared to the annoyance of dealing with Atsumu. Still, you’ve made it this far; you refuse to allow his presence to deter you from enjoying the snow. 

The break is brief, and soon everyone is piling back into the car, arms laden with snacks and drinks. Atsumu tosses you a pack of peach gummies with a smug look. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks?” you say, but it comes out more like a question; you’re struck by the gesture but even more so by the fact that he in fact had gotten your favorite candy. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Oh, I just got them ‘cause they’re peaches. And I like your ass.”

Ah, there he goes, opening his big mouth and ruining everything. 

His smirk widens, and he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Y’know, if yer cold, they say body heat is the best way to stay warm. Maybe we should try—”

You shove him away. “Keep your theories to yourself. I’m not interested.” You’re frowning again, staring outside the window with a refreshed intensity. 

It’s infuriating how he does nice things as if he cares about you when he’s really just the world’s biggest fuckboy. He is pretty and he knows it, so it’s not some random mistake that he spends half his time charming girls into dropping their panties. In a fraternity already known for being Man Sluts™, he really does stand out as the biggest one of all because everywhere Miya Atsumu goes, broken hearts inevitably follow.

He grins as if your hostility is just another game for him to win—because he’s an instigator, he doesn’t let up. “C’mon, we’re stuck together anyway. Might as well get close, babe.” His tone is mocking, and you can feel his eyes on you even with your gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? ‘Cause ya know ya like it?”

“Because I have a name, Atsumu,” you snap, plugging in your earbuds and turning up your music loud enough to drown out everything and everyone (and especially Atsumu) around you.

Yui and Aran sigh. They had been the only ones to agree to take you two, and even their patience is wearing thin. The rest of the drive to the AirBnB continues in a similarly miserable pattern—moments of near silence punctuated by Atsumu’s insufferable comments and your equally sharp retorts. By the time you arrive, everyone’s a little cranky except Atsumu, as obnoxiously cheery as ever.

The sole saving grace is that the cabin is just as charming as you’d hoped.

With the INA’s additional funds, the AirBnB is significantly nicer than any you’ve stayed at before. Nestled in a small clearing, it’s a picturesque retreat with smoke gently curling from the chimney and warm lights glowing from the windows: altogether, it’s a two-story, wood-paneled beauty that looks like it was plucked straight from a Christmas postcard. The surrounding forest is peaceful, there’s a gorgeously still lake just past the trees, and the snow-covered opening glistens under the setting sun as the car finally comes to a slow in the stone-lined parking space. 

You step out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath; the thin snow sinks under your sneakers as you retrieve your duffel bag from the trunk. Atsumu, of course, makes a show of grabbing his own luggage with exaggerated effort, smirking at you as he hefts a comically oversized yellow suitcase over his shoulder.

“Need any help, princess?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

“I got it, thanks,” you reply curtly, not bothering to mask your irritation. You start towards the cabin, eager to claim your room and escape the tension of the car ride.

Inside is even cozier than it looked from the outside. The living room has a large stone fireplace, plush leather couches, and a comforting red-brick aesthetic; the kitchen is spacious and modern, with a large island perfect for group meals. The centerpiece of the house is the tall Christmas tree in the center, already adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments; there are no gifts under the tree yet, however, because Chizuru has made one of the ongoing activities for the trip to sneakily buy or make everyone else a gift. They’ll show up, little by little, over the break, but you imagine by the time Christmas actually rolls around, it’ll be overflowing.

Mao and Kita, the two other drivers, have both arrived with their cohorts, so the cabin is officially full of life. Both the fraternity e-board and sorority e-board are exploring the amenities; you know from the listing that there’s a game room and hot tub somewhere, so you’re sure they’re seeking those out.

You, however, are focused on something else. You’re too busy looking for the room Chizuru has assigned you, praying to every god you know that you aren’t placed near the human embodiment of a rash. 

When you find your room, you drop your bag at your feet and sigh peacefully. It’s a single on the short end of the hallway, with a queen-sized bed and a lovely balcony that overlooks the snowy forest. There’s only one other room on this end, and what are the chances of that being—

“Oi, princess, I guess we’re neighbors!” Atsumu whoops, walking towards you from down the hall, waving dramatically and now lugging two suitcases, his obnoxious yellow one and an identical one in gray.

Apparently a hundred percent. The world does in fact hate you, and you’re sure now that this is definitely going to be the worst winter break you’ve ever had.

three.

It turns out that not only is Atsumu loud when you’re awake, but he’s loud when you’re trying to sleep too. 

The walls of the cabin are remarkably thin for the whole aesthetic being wood-planks and brick, so much of your first night is spent with your pillow pressed over your head, trying desperately to drown out the loud conversations echoing from next door. The Miya twins are sharing the double room next to you, and despite your best attempts to muffle them, apparently Atsumu speaks at the volume of a F9 fighter jet, because you can hear every time he laughs. 

When you see the clock tick past 1 AM and they still haven’t stopped talking, you are done.

You give up on the idea of them shutting up on their own, and you need sleep—you’re an absolute terror without it. So you do the only thing you can think to do: get up out of bed, march yourself over there, bang on the door and demand them to please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. 

You bang on the door with more force than you intended, each knock echoing down the hallway (you’re thankful the other rooms are on the opposite end). After a few seconds that feel like forever, the noise inside finally ceases, and the door swings open.

There stands Osamu, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxers with a simultaneously perplexed and annoyed expression on his face. He looks like he’s been pulled from the midst of the most intense discussion of his life—his hair disheveled, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he registers who’s on the other side of the door.

“What’s so important thatcha gotta bang down our door at one in the mornin’?” he asks, his tone more curious than irritated.

Despite the cold creeping in around your slippers, you feel a flush spread across your cheeks—and it’s unfortunately not from the chill. It’s hard not to notice his well-defined muscles and the way his boxers sit so nicely on his hips; all the INA boys are sculpted like art and it’s part of why they’re such a popular fraternity on campus. Still, regardless of how hot he may be, your exhaustion and frustration are quick to overshadow any hint of attraction.

“So you do know it’s one AM! In case you two didn’t know, most normal people are trying to sleep at this hour,” you snap, trying not to look at how the dim hallway light casts shadows across his abs. It’s honestly a shame that this is the bane of your existence and his grayscale clone you’re talking about. “Including me, and I can’t do that with the Miyas recreating a live studio audience next door.”

Osamu’s expression softens a bit, actually looking slightly apologetic, and he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Guess we got carried away.”

Behind him, you catch a glimpse of Atsumu, just as minimally clad, who has now paused in the midst of grabbing a snack from their cluttered table. He truly is cursed to be a demon trapped inside a beautiful body.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between you and his brother, licking his lips before he teases, “Ya know, princess, you could always join us. M’bed’s got room for two.”

Osamu glances back at his twin, rolling his eyes slightly before returning his attention to you. “Bro, seriously?” He sighs, but you can see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as well.

“No thanks,” you mutter, crossing your arms and standing your ground, determined not to let Atsumu’s pointed commentary distract you from your mission. “Don’t need your help cuddling me to sleep. Just shut up, please.”

Atsumu strides over to the door to stand next to his brother, grinning as he eyes you up and down. “C’mon, babe. We’re just havin’ a bit of fun. What’s a few more minutes, ey? Besides, you look cute in yer bunny slippers.”

“I hate you. And I told you to stop calling me stupid nicknames,” you huff. In your initial moment of rage, you forgot you’re standing there in just your fluffy slippers and polka-dot pajama set. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

Osamu chuckles, clearly amused, but still he takes a step back and drags Atsumu with him. “Alright, alright, we’ll keep it down, promise. Ain’t our intention to keep a pretty girl like you up all night—unless, of course, that’s what you’re aimin’ for.”

The joke sends a wave of heat across your face, but you manage a quick, “Shut up,” before turning on your heel and heading back to your room. As you walk away, you hear the soft thud of the door closing and the remnants of their now blessedly muffled voices.

Back in your own room, you climb back into bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to calm down. “Stupid Miyas,” you mutter to yourself, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next morning, Mao is the first to point out your dark circles. 

It had been a struggle to wake up this morning, given how you had hardly slept; when your phone, blasting a cheery Ohayo, Ohayo! alarm, obnoxiously alerted you to start the day, you almost threw it across the room. You are bleary-eyed and extremely grumpy, so when she gasps at your appearance over breakfast, you are quick to react.

“I look exhausted because I am, Mao,” you snark back, rubbing at your temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. It doesn’t work. “Thanks to the Miya twins and their late-night comedy show, I barely got any sleep.”

You feel bad for snapping at your best friend—after all, she had only been concerned. But thankfully, she doesn’t seem to take any offense to your tone; she just sympathetically nods and slides a steaming cup of coffee your way. “Well, hopefully, today will be less noisy. Maybe the activities will tire them out.” 

You doubt it, but you’ll take whatever peace you can get.

 ***

The morning actually passes relatively uneventfully because Aran and Chizuru, as the secretaries, have put together a tight itinerary that’s meant to keep you all moving. From a group hike to tubing to a stop at the holiday market to ending the night with board games, they have everything fleshed out.

But somehow, Atsumu still manages to find every opportunity to get under your skin. From bumping into you “accidentally” during the hike to stealing your pink tube right at the top of the slide to buying the stall’s last Mt. Iwate snow globe you had been eyeing, by the end of the day, you are practically stomping into the cabin. You are seething for an opportunity to execute revenge.

Said opportunity makes itself present when the group gathers around the large dining table for Pictionary after dinner. Chizuru draws names from a hat to decide teams, and you end up paired with Osamu—you can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at your partner. Osamu is focused and competitive, just like you, and despite his contribution to the teasing and noise last night, you know he’s just as enthusiastic about beating his brother as you are.

The game starts off lightheartedly, with everyone laughing and shouting guesses as each pair takes turns drawing. When it’s Osamu’s turn, he pulls a card and starts sketching quickly; he draws a round shape with spiky hair and you squint, confused.

“Um… a pineapple… a sun?” you guess tentatively, but Osamu shakes his head and continues, his hand moving frantically to add more details—a few lines here, a few there. “A duck?”

Osamu keeps drawing and you keep futilely guessing, until finally, he adds two distinctive eyebrows and a stupid grin that you’d recognize anywhere. The lightbulb finally clicks on in your mind; really, you can’t believe it took you this long.

You blurt out, “An asshole!” 

The room falls silent for a beat before everyone (excluding Atsumu, of course) erupts into boisterous laughter. Even Kita is smiling—and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him express real emotion. Osamu’s face positively lights up, and he gives you an enthusiastic high five.

Atsumu, though momentarily stunned, quickly retorts, “Oi! I’m right here, ya know!”

Chizuru, being game coordinator, tries to maintain some semblance of order. She coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh, as she says, “Technically, she’s not wrong based on the drawing, but let’s stick to the actual prompts, please.”

Osamu all but wipes a tear from his eye. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up the little card that says in all caps, [ YELLOW ].

“The fuck? How’s me even relate to that?” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu shrugs mock-innocently, but the shit-eating grin on his face gives him away. “I dunno, jus’ came to mind. Maybe it’s yer hair.”

Yui giggles beside Atsumu, who is glaring daggers at his twin. “Well, at least you’re… memorable,” she says, patting her partner on the shoulder.

“Yeah, memorable for being an ass,” you retort, trying to suppress your own laughter.

The game moves on, even as the laughter continues; despite Atsumu’s ongoing and constant attempts to throw you off, you and Osamu manage to rack up a respectable number of points. And you do so again and again, even when Atsumu declares a team rematch in the form of Codenames and Uno; the camaraderie with Osamu comes shockingly naturally and by the time you have finished playing rematches with all the available games in the rec room, you are practically in sync. 

Osamu is easy to work with. You two work together to get on Atsumu’s nerves and you can tell the blonde is boiling. He competes with Osamu at an intensity you haven’t even seen before from him—you chalk it up to sibling rivalry, though you wouldn’t know for sure.

Then, when your team is declared as the official overall second place (after Kita and Aran—who would’ve guessed), Osamu scoops you up into a brief hug; your feet come six inches off the ground and you gasp at the unexpected embrace. A blush spreads across your cheeks when he settles you down because Yui and Chizuru are squealing so loud you think the rest of the sorority can probably hear it from Tokyo, 543.5 kilometers away. You don’t even have it in you to make eye contact with the bemused younger Miya twin, so you keep your eyes steadfast on the ground. His arm is residually slung around your shoulders; he leans much of his weight against you when he does.

You’re okay with it though. Osamu’s arms are just as toned and yummy as they look.

four.

Over the next week, you find yourself getting to know the gray-haired Miya more and more. He makes breakfast for everyone in the mornings without fail, and you’re an early bird, so more often than not, you two end up alone in the kitchen before the light has fully woken up the cabin.

Osamu is thoughtful, considerate—he’s so naturally comforting and sincere, down to his smallest movements. He listens more than he talks. He makes people feel heard. He takes care of the people around him. He doesn’t flirt with you or provoke you or leave you breathless. He is nice. 

You think that you like him. 

One morning, Osamu is telling you a story about learning to cook because at twelve years old Atsumu almost burnt down the kitchen while trying to make eggs, when Atsumu (further proof he really is a demon because he was summoned on cue, Beetlejuice-style) groggily stumbles into the room in the humble pursuit of coffee.

He blinks, registering what he’s seeing, his eyes flickering between you and his twin confusedly. “Why’re ya here?” he asks, sounding almost accusatory. “Why’re you canoodlin’ at seven in the mornin’?”

You snort. “We are not canoodling,” you mock, resting your head in your palm, leaning on the kitchen island. “Osamu’s just telling me about the time you almost burned down your house.”

Atsumu’s head snaps at an insane speed to look at his brother, a boyish look of embarrassment and betrayal all over his face. “‘Samu, what’re ya spillin’ that for?” he whines. This action makes you smile even more: the mental picture of little Atsumu setting off smoke alarms while Osamu calmly puts out the flames behind him only becomes more vivid when you imagine Atsumu pouting and in tears. It mitigates his irritating personality, even if just by a bit. 

Osamu, noticing his twin’s flustered state, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Just sharin’ some childhood memories,” he replies smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes that you don’t catch.

Atsumu narrows his eyes at his brother but doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention to the coffee pot. As Osamu adds more and more silly details and your conversation continues, Atsumu’s demeanor… shifts. The embarrassment fades, replaced by a subtle, tightening jawline, his eyes darting between you and his brother; he looks irritated. Is he really that mad at having his childhood mishaps dragged into the light? 

The thought of him as a kid is actually kinda cute, though you suspect that if you told him this, Atsumu’s ego would inflate so large he’d float into outer space.

“Really, ‘Tsumu, it was like you were tryna to summon a fire spirit with that stove,” Osamu teases, slicing fresh strawberries with a chef’s finesse. He shoots you a playful wink. “Had’ta save our house from becoming a pile of ash. Ma’ almost killed us both!”

Atsumu huffs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, the steam swirling between you. “Cut it out, ‘Samu. Don’t need ya makin’ her think I was a total menace as a kid,” he shoots back, his tone playful yet strained.

You laugh at their banter. “Well, you’re still one now, so I don’t know,” you smirk, leaning towards Atsumu. “Maybe Osamu’s just the better brother.”

Atsumu shoots a playful glare at his brother, but when his gaze falls back on you, it lingers just a bit longer than necessary. “Just in the kitchen,” he mutters, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. He grabs an extra mug from the cabinet, setting both it and a little container of cream cups and sugar packets down in front of you before pouring you a fresh cup. “The usual?”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly; it doesn’t quite click that Atsumu knows your coffee order by heart. “It’s nice you guys always had each other growing up, huh? I mean, you’re lucky you’ve got Osamu around to keep you out of trouble,” you tease. 

As Atsumu locates some cinnamon sticks and mixes your coffee, his expression hardens. “Yea, lucky me,” he says, his tone dry. He slides the cup toward you with a careful nudge. “‘Samu’s the saint and the hero, always has been.”

Osamu chuckles from his spot by the counter. “Oi, you ain’t gotta sell yerself short, ‘Tsumu. You got your moments... they’re just hidden very, very deep,” His voice is light, but you sense an underlying seriousness that suggests he’s proud of his twin more than he lets on.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, eyes trained on watching you stir yours. “Can’t ya ‘ave told some of those magical stories to her then? Had to keep it on ma failures?” 

You eye him over the mug, playful. “I mean… you tell me plenty about your moments. I like hearing about your weaknesses.”

A sly smirk creeps onto Osamu’s face. “Oh, don’t cha worry your pretty head. I’ve got lotsa stories ‘bout ‘Tsumu,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, the touch light but enough to make you aware of his presence.

Glancing up at Osamu in your surprise, you happen to miss the way Atsumu’s jaw clenches, his grip on his coffee cup tightening until his knuckles turn white. You happen to miss the way his frown settles deeper on his face. Above all, you happen to miss the way his glare at Osamu darkens with annoyance, with something that burns with more than just sibling rivalry, and the way Osamu grins right back. 

five.

“I think I like Osamu.”

Mao squints at you from her spot at the foot of your bed, peering up momentarily from her debate on which pair of pants to wear. “Girl what? Wrong Miya.”

“I knew you were gonna say that!” you groan into your hands. You had called your best friend over for the primary purpose of helping you pick out your outfit for the activities today (a walk through Morioka and hitting up a food market for dinner), but honestly, you’re starting to regret it. It really would’ve been easier to have just spun a wheel or something, because Mao has not been helpful in anything besides causing you more agony. “You watch too many k-dramas. I hate Atsumu!”

“Bitch, please,” Mao scoffs. Like a true friend, she does not tolerate any of your bullshit and says things as they are, blunt and completely honest. And like a truer fake friend, she’s been #TeamAtsumu since day one because she’s convinced that the Universe constantly bringing you together is the real life equivalent of Our Beloved Summer (but in college). “Hate is such a strong word. You don’t hate him. What you guys have is sexual tension.”

You want to let out a visceral scream. “That is not true. He’s just…”

“‘Stupidly pretty and gets on your nerves’, yeah yeah, I know,” Mao finishes your sentence with a shit-eating grin. “Have you ever considered just riding his dick to get the feelings out?”

Glaring at her does nothing besides make her smile grow even bigger. 

“I’m not going to ride his dick because even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to find it. Y’know he keeps saying he packs eight? As if he would have both an eight-pack and eight inches. The universe wouldn’t do that. Atsumu’s gotta be nerfed somehow, right?” you ramble, half annoyed and half trying to stop imagining him naked. 

“I can see the rated X thoughts in your head, lovebug.”

“Whatever. How did we even get to this? The point is that Osamu’s nice to me. Super respectful. Why wouldn’t I like him?” 

Mao shrugs. “Yeah, he’s a sweetie. But like… I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for you.”

“You suck. Who do you think you are?” you glower.

“I’m your fucking twin flame, give me my respect,” she snorts, not getting a reply because you both know she’s right. She then holds up two pairs of jeans—one dark-wash, one light-wash, but otherwise virtually identical—and stares them down like her life depends on it. “But anyway. Just don’t think you’re meant for a nice guy, y’know? In fact, I think Atsumu makes you better.”

You gape at her, in utter disbelief she could even say those words out loud. “Be so fuckin’ serious. Better? He, like, thrives off my rage.”

“Right, and you thrive off competition,” she replies boredly, tossing the light-wash pair over her shoulder and standing to wiggle the other on. “I’m telling you, Atsumu gets under your skin in a way no one else can–”

“You’re getting real close,” you interrupt, earning yourself a pointed look.

“Shut up. As I was saying, Atsumu gets under your skin, challenges you, and that lights a fire under your ass. Makes you wanna prove him wrong, prove yourself right. And that’s what makes you better. Makes you both better.”

“It’s like you want me to be miserable.”

She snorts. “Of course not. I’m just saying, for someone so hellbent on hating Atsumu, you sure spend a lot of time talking about him. I mean, really, do you even hear yourself?” She spins around, both to show you the fit and to mock you with little hand gestures. “‘I hate Atsumu, Atsumu this, Atsumu that, Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.’ It’s like you have a little shrine dedicated to him in your mind.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, even though you know her words have at least some truth in them. “I don’t care about him.”

What a lie. It’s a lie and both of you know it, because Mao squints at you, hands on her hips. “Look, all I’m saying is, you can try to sell me on Osamu all you want—he’s nice, he’s sweet, he respects you, blah blah blah. But are you sure it’s him you actually like?”

You freeze, her question slicing through your defenses like a knife. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to face you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised like she’s ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “I mean, are you into Osamu? Or do you just like the idea of him because it’s easier than dealing with whatever weird, messy thing you’ve got going on with his brother?”

You blink at her, completely thrown off balance. “That’s—that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she fires back, her tone casual but sharp. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re running from something.”

“I—” You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not sure what to say because, annoyingly, she’s not entirely wrong. She never really is.

You’re truly blessed in this world because you and Mao were random suitemates who coincidentally rushed the same sorority freshman year and have been inseparable ever since. She’s the IVP to your EVP, the peanut butter to your jelly, the Starfire to your Raven, and your real mothafuckin’ OG because she’s been there for you through literally everything. Right now, however, it means she has the ability to brutally call you out like she can read your mind with X-Ray vision, straight down to your thinly veiled thoughts about Atsumu’s abs.

Mao gives you a knowing look, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the time, a helpful reminder that you in fact do have things to do today besides sit around and mope.

She dusts off her outfit one last time, before heading towards the door. “Look, think about it. You clearly don’t not care about him. And c’mon, lovebug. All these ‘random’ run-ins since then? Not so random when you think about it. The Chem partners, maybe. But you two at formal? Matching during blind dating two years in a row? The universe isn’t subtle, babe.”

You are hating this call out. It’s such an accurate read that you feel annoyed that she’s able to just put it in the world like this when you have spent the last two years trying to choke it down. The truth in Mao’s words sting; you can’t even argue because every random encounter with Atsumu feels less like coincidence and more like the cosmos relishing in your anguish.

“Why did it have to be him?” you mutter, more to yourself than to Mao. “Why’d the universe pick him of all people?”

Mao snorts. “Because he’s an idiot, just like you. You’re probably the only two people in the world who could pull off two and a half years of weird, messed up pining.”

You roll your eyes, but finally, you allow yourself a small smile; Mao really is the only one who can simultaneously call you out for everything you’ve been trying to ignore but also make you feel seen in ways that no one else can. It’s the brutal honesty, the tough love that she delivers without sugarcoating it, that makes you value her words even when they sting.

“Fine, maybe you have a point,” you admit begrudgingly, much to her thrill—which you promptly kill by waggling your finger in her face. “I do care about him. But Osamu’s really sweet to me and… I dunno. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“And that’s all I’m asking for, babygirl. If you do actually like Osamu, I’ll support you—I mean, he’s hot and makes fire pancakes,” Mao shrugs nonchalantly. “But when you end up with Atsumu, I’m gonna tell you I told you so.”

You scowl at her. “I said I’d think about it. That does not mean I’m going to suddenly start confessing my undying love for Atsumu.”

“I don’t expect that!” Mao says, faux innocence dripping from her voice. “Because I already know you will next time you drunk make-out with him at a kickback.”

She’s instantly hit in the head with a pillow (the first thing throwable you could reach), cackling boisterously like she’s told the funniest joke in the world. That’s it. It’s official. As of this moment, you are officially confirming it: it’s time to find a new best friend. 

six.

It’s the perfect night to unwind.

It’s been a long enough day of playing tourist. The rest of the fraternity and sorority boards finished several cases of beer and a handle of Tito’s over dinner, so they’ve long retreated into their rooms; you’re the sole person still lingering awake. All things considered, you’ve been high-strung all week (worsened now—thanks Mao!), so even if you were to try, you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. So you opt for the best relaxation method you’ve got at the moment: breaking in the good ‘ol hot tub.

It’s a decent size and takes up almost all of the back veranda, sans a small patio space—under the open sky, the air is chilly and you can see the snow-covered landscape extending for what feels like miles. The setting is so calm, so beautiful and something right now feels so immaculately undisturbed, it really is the perfect night. You have donned your favorite bikini, turned on the jets, and set the water to the hottest setting; your eyes are fluttering shut in an attempt to find some peace. The sound of the water bubbles and cracks around you, and you can feel your muscles start to ease.

This is exactly what you wanted from your winter break: a chance to loosen up.

But good things aren’t meant to last, and especially not when the very premise of this vacation is to make sure you can never catch a break, because the tranquility is quickly disrupted by the sounds of footsteps crunching across the wood-paneled porch. You pry open your eyes to find Atsumu approaching the hot tub, a huge smirk spread across his face. He’s wearing dark blue board shorts and carries a towel slung casually over his shoulder; without waiting for an invitation, he dips a toe into the water, then with a satisfied nod, slips in across from you.

The universe hates you, clearly. 

“Fancy seein’ ya here, princess,” he teases, the warm water swirling around as he settles in.

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the flutter in your chest that starts up again seeing him. “Can’t you find someone else to bother?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Just thought it’d be nice to join ya. The night’s too pretty to spend alone,” he says, flashing a stunning grin that you suspect has melted many hearts before yours. A pompous, arrogant fuckboy to his core.

“Well, you’ve seen the night, you can leave now.”

Atsumu chuckles, unfazed. “Nah, I think I’ma stay. Matter-a-fact, why don’t I get reeeaaall close…” he trails off, inching closer to your side.

You splash him with your hand in prompt retaliation. He laughs, dodging the splash as if he’d anticipated it all along—probably because Atsumu thrives on your attention and revels in your irritation. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“One of my most charmin’ qualities, ey?” he smirks.

“No.” 

“Well you’re still here, so… at least a part of ya definitely likes it,” he says, his eyebrows doing an absurd dance that pulls an involuntary smile from you. “See? Yer even smilin’! I got the great and stoic princess to smile! I can die happy now.”

As much as Atsumu infuriates you, your lips truly do betray you: you suppose he can be funny… sometimes. “Then please, do us all a favor and die.”

“Awh, but then who’ll keep ya company?” he simpers, sickeningly sweet. 

“I’ll call Osamu down here to join me.”

Atsumu’s face falls. “Ya kiddin’? ‘Samu’ll bore ya half to death. He ain’t hold a candle to my glitterin’ personality.”

You snort. “We have plenty of conversations in the mornings when you’re not even awake.”

“Right, right. Ya mean your conversations ‘bout me?” Atsumu says challengingly. 

The argument you were about to make fades away as it hits you—he’s kind of right. Most of your chats with Osamu do end up circling back to him. This realization irks you because it suggests one of two things: your growing interest in Osamu is just a misplaced fixation on his brother, or you do think about Atsumu far more than you’d care to admit.

Either and both implications are terrible.

You scowl, “Shut up. I don’t need you to spice things up.”

His eyes light up, and you prepare yourself because he’s clearly just come up with a terrible idea. “Oi, wanna really make things interesting?”

“What?”

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Atsumu suggests, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Are you kidding? No.” 

“C’mon,” he pouts exaggeratedly, his lower lip comically jut out. “We’ll have fun. Unless you’re scared or somethin’.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to play your dumbass game.” 

“Scared, you’re definitely scared,” he taunts, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, clearly settling in for the long haul. “Afraid I’ll make ya fall for me? Afraid ya can’t handle it?”

You glare at him. He’s obviously provoking you, but God, is it frustratingly difficult not to rise to the bait when he’s giving you that smug, self-serving look. “Ugh, fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Atsumu’s grin widens; he looks so infuriatingly triumphant. “Great. So truth or dare, princess?”

Considering your choices, you pause for a moment before sighing. “Truth.”

You expect something insincere or flirty, maybe a dumb innuendo he’s definitely practiced before on countless other girls. You’re prepared to be pissed off by whatever he’s got to say, because Atsumu is a man of many talents, the best of which is making you mad.

Then he just asks, “What’s yer secret talent?”

“A secret talent?” you echo; you’re caught off-guard by the lack of underlying implications. 

“Yea, somethin’ you can do that ya haven’t told anyone ‘bout,” Atsumu clarifies, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

You contemplate momentarily, before you let out a slow, deep sigh. At the end of the day, it’s an innocent enough question; you suppose that since you know so many embarrassing stories about Atsumu (again, courtesy of Osamu), it’s only fair you tell him something embarrassing about you.

“If you make fun of me, I will actually kill you,” you mutter, though the threat carries no real weight when your face is as flushed as it is. “But um… I know a bunch of magic tricks. Like cards and stuff.”

“Honest?” Atsumu’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets—it seems a bit overdramatic, but he prods further, as if genuinely fascinated by this tidbit of information you’ve just shared with him. “Why’d ya learn? Will ya show me?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “I um… I wanted to be a magician when I was little. I even tried to convince my parents to get me a bunny, but they said it’d be cruel to just keep it in my hat,” you admit, your voice small under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. He bursts into laughter at this revelation, and you find yourself oddly proud of it. “And I dunno. Maybe? If you get me a deck of cards, I guess I could—but no one else can know, okay? You gotta keep it a secret just for us.”

Atsumu’s face widens until he positively beams. “Deal! I’ll get ya a deck of cards,” he declares, already plotting where to find one. “Neva woulda expected that from you, princess. That’s amazin’! Can’t wait to see what ya got.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t even fake annoyance when Atsumu’s excitement is so damn contagious. By no means had you expected him to react like that, but it does make the game more bearable and you more at ease. “Fine, but remember, not a word to anyone.”

“Cross ma heart,” he replies, drawing an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest with his finger. He leans back, his face alight with glee at his newfound secret. “Alright, alright, yer turn. Ask me.”

“Well, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Pouting, you think carefully about your question before shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t really know what to ask you. If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Pussy,” Atsumu says wistfully, his eyes dreamy. 

You shoot him a look. “You must like getting splashed.”

“Only if it’s by your pretty p–” His sentence cuts off because you in fact have begun to thrash around in the water, kicking wild waves in his direction. Atsumu raises his arms in mock surrender, laughing even as he wipes the water from his face. “Alright, alright, just messin’ with ya, swear! For real though. If I hadta pick just one thing, it’d just be ‘Samu’s onigiri. He’s got magic in ‘is hands, honest.”

Catching your breath, you can’t help but chuckle, your arms crossed as you float in the shallows of the tub. “That’s surprisingly wholesome of you, admitting Osamu’s the better cook. You're proud deep down, huh?”

He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yea, sadly gotta give ‘Samu that one. But don’t go spreadin’ that ‘round, don’t want him gettin’ a big head.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promise, mocking his same theatrical ‘X’, feeling the tension ease slightly between you two. Squaring your shoulders, you nod. “Alright, your turn. Dare.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before Atsumu’s expression brightens. He leans closer, his voice dropping to say conspiratorially, “Call me a nickname ‘til the game ends.”

You snort. “I already do, dumbass. I’m princess, you’re dumbass. That’s just the way it goes.”

“No!” Atsumu whines, scooting closer to your side of the tub. “Call me something cute. Like honey or pumpkin or–”

“I’ll call you babe and that’s the most you’ll get,” you interrupt warningly, and obediently, he stops talking, nodding away like an oversized bobble head with a stupidly cute smile on his face—honestly, his simplemindedness is impressive.

“So, babe–” you pause to wince at the nickname, unfamiliar and strange but not necessarily bad on your tongue. “–truth or dare?”

He licks his lips before he answers, which involuntarily draws your gaze to them; you shift your stare up to his warm brown eyes instead.

Under the sky, Atsumu’s eyes seem to collect the very stars above. And when he’s looking at you like that, you have a flash in your chest, and you think that either A) you’re having a heart attack, or the much worse option, B) you definitely don’t not care about him.

seven.

You and Atsumu have managed to play this stupid game for hours.

And you know this for two reasons: first because you two have already made it two-and-a-half times around the cycle of 1) getting out of the tub with pruney toes, 2) settling on the patio couches, and 3) complaining of cold and getting back in the tub.

Second: you’ve exhausted all small-talk options and resigned into the deep shit—deep shit being increasingly stupid stories and dumb dares. You’ve sprinted to the end of the yard and admitted your deep fear of squirrels, Atsumu has belted Perfect by One Direction and confessed that he once replaced Osamu’s protein powder with flour, and neither of you can remember the last time you’ve laughed so hard. It’s strange: by the time you’re asking Atsumu his next truth, your cheeks hurt from smiling and conversation comes more than easily.

“Okay, okay, what’s the dumbest thing that you’ve ever done to impress someone?” you ask, nudging his side a little with your foot.

You’re nestled into the opposite ends of the same couch, the firepit fully ablaze beside you (Atsumu struggled for twenty minutes to get it alight). The couch isn’t quite long enough for you both to extend fully even while sitting up, so your legs have ended up slotted between his and your heel is now resting comfortably on his thigh; he’s fiddling mindlessly with your anklet as he grumbles, “As if ‘Samu ain’t already told ya all my stories.” 

But he pauses momentarily to think anyway. When he’s apparently decided on what to tell you, he averts his gaze from yours with sheepish eyes. “One year, for my ma’s birthday, I wanted ta get this real pretty flower from the top of a tree cause ‘Samu made her a fancy schmancy breakfast. Ended up fallin’ and breakin’ my arm, didn’t even get the flower either. Ma told me it was okay, but I bawled the whole way home from the ER cause I wanted her to have a nice gift.”

“You’re joking! Over a flower?” you gasp out, even as Atsumu’s face scrunches up, halfway between embarrassment and amusement—your stomach hurts with every breath you take, but you can’t stop your laughter. 

“Oi, it was a real nice flower!” he defends, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the bashful story. “‘Nd ‘Samu was actin’ all high-n-mighty with his eggs benedict or whatever. I had to do something.”

The image of a young Atsumu, just as determined and headstrong even back then, a boy who would climb a tree for his mother, who would risk everything to make her smile, who cried because he wanted to do something nice for her, warms you more than the hot tub ever could. 

“Well, babe, if it makes you feel better, I think the effort was sweet,” you pause, savoring the pink on his cheeks at both the pet name and your response. “Stupid, but really sweet.”

“Shaddup, it’s yer turn. Truth or dare?” he asks, still pouting.

Midway through your consideration on what to pick, you get distracted by the way the firelight crackles and casts flickering shadows across Atsumu’s face. His eyes are always beautiful, but right now, they glow like pools of honey and amber. His hair is fluffy and tousled and damp from the tub and he’s wearing just his swimsuit, sans the towel thrown hazardously around his shoulders. You swear to yourself to never tell him, but you want to commit this image of him to memory forever, pretty and human and yours alone.

Atsumu smirks, the rosy tint on his cheeks deepening as he catches you staring. “What’s the matter? See somethin’ ya like?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful mischief as he leans in a little closer, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Yer gonna drool starin’ like that.”

“Fuck off, I was not staring,” you lie blatantly, flushed at his calling you out. “I was just thinking about what to say.”

“Cause I stole your breath away?”

You glare at him. “About whether to say truth or dare, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me dumbass! Call me babe,” he whines. “‘nd ya still ain’t picked.”

“Fine, truth.”

“Then admit the truth that you can’t resist me.”

“Oh my god,” you huff, crossing your arms across your chest; truly, he ruins his natural beauty by opening his mouth. “Ask me a question I can answer, please.”

Atsumu chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Fine, fine. I’ll letcha keep your pride,” he grins, his eyes twinkling in the firelight as he contemplates the perfect question to unravel you a bit more. “Fine. Why d’ya hate me so much anyway?”

You blink, caught completely off guard by Atsumu’s question. Of all the things he could have asked, this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Why do I hate you so much?” you echo, stalling for time, though your voice wavers ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in slightly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—something serious, something that makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “C’mon, princess, spill it. You’ve called me an idiot, a dumbass, and everythin’ in between. Gotta be somethin’ behind it, right?”

He’s teasing, but his voice is softer now, his usual bravado dimmed. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a game anymore.

Your first instinct is to brush him off, to joke, to deflect—because isn’t that what the two of you always do? But this time, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, you hesitate.

“I…” You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your towel, anything to avoid the weight of his gaze. “I mean… hate is a strong word.”

He leans back slightly, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Then what’s all the name-callin’ and eye-rollin’ about?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Because you’re annoying! You’re cocky, you’re loud, and you always find a way to get under my skin.” You pause, lowering your hands to glance at him, and there’s an odd mix of frustration and amusement in your tone as you continue. “But... somehow, you make everything fun. Even when I don’t want to have fun.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And I dunno…” You swallow, the words sticking in your throat. “It’s just that you’re... you’re so…” You trail off, waving your hands in a vague gesture, struggling to articulate what you mean without outright admitting that he’s charming, or handsome, or kind in ways you’re only just starting to notice.

Atsumu, of course, seizes the opportunity. “So irresistible?” he offers with a grin, though his voice is quiet, almost cautious.

You shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “So infuriating,” you snap, but the small, wobbly smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The fire crackles softly beside you, filling the silence, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. His usual cocky grin has softened into something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not think about. 

Atsumu tilts his head, watching you with an expression that feels far too tender for your liking, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Y’know, princess… I think you might like me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, and you force out a scoff, shaking your head as you pull your legs away from his and sit up straighter, putting some much-needed distance between you. “You’re delusional, babe,” you mutter, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself.

But as you turn your gaze to the fire and refuse to meet his eyes, you already know you’re lying—to him, and to yourself.

eight.

A year ago, on the night of your sophomore formal, your date ghosted you last-minute with only a “can’t make it” text to explain.

You freaked out, panic-scrolled through your contacts list for who still didn’t have a date, and, after a few additional minutes of hyperventilating and really talking yourself into it, spam-called Atsumu. You hadn’t expected him to actually say yes.

He showed up at your door just in time, dressed in his nicest suit and his blonde hair combed neatly, armed with your favorite flowers just-because. And you’d told him then that he didn’t have to do this for you, that this didn’t make you two friends, that this didn’t mean anything at all—neither the dance to him nor him to you. 

But he had just smiled, that crooked, heartbreaking smile of his, and said, “Sure, sure, princess. Ain’t like I had anythin’ better to do, right?” And when he took your hand to lead you out, his touch was gentle, careful, as if he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight. At the end of the night, you had kissed him on the cheek to say thank you, and when you pulled away, he had that softness in his eyes, a mix of bravery and hope and something else you couldn’t quite place. It’s a look that’s haunted you since last winter, something that lingers in every new guy you kiss in nasty frat houses or meet on Hinge, because no one else quite looks at you like that.

And that’s terrifying. Because last night, he looked at you the exact same way, fiddling with your anklet and admitting his most vulnerable secrets, undoing your own understanding of him and his character and upending all the reasons you hate him. 

***

The next day, you are actively avoiding thinking about Atsumu, and as the afternoon fades into a soft, early evening, you find yourself in the kitchen helping Osamu prepare for dinner. Everyone’s already returned from the day trip to Morioka and are now spread throughout the cabin, recovering before eating and the planned game night after. 

The quietude of the tasks are meditative, the rhythmic peeling of potatoes matching the gentle bubbling of the curry on the stove. Osamu moves around with an effortless grace, his movements methodical and precise and deliberate; he operates so seamlessly that his presence is both comforting and slightly unnerving. Despite only being here for a little over a week, it’s like he already knows the kitchen by heart, so much so that you find yourself wondering if perhaps he is too perfect, too polished.

The room is filled with the smells of cooking and the occasional clink of utensils against bowls, a domestic symphony that should be comforting.

But it’s just… not.

“Ya need any help with those?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts and you vehemently shake your head.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve got this,” you reply, though your hands continue their steady work and he ends up reaching over and taking one from the pile anyway. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way his brows furrow slightly as he focuses on his task.

The conversation flows easily enough. It meanders on safe topics, the kind that fill the air but leave little impact; you talk about college, the upcoming events for the week, and the movies Chizuru picked for the night. It’s not particularly energetic or enthusiastic, especially now that you’re acutely avoiding mentioning Atsumu (all while cursing the blonde for pointing out last night the uncomfortable fact that, yes, in fact your conversations with Osamu are always easier when Atsumu’s the topic), but it is continuous and ongoing and maybe that will do. 

“Ever thought about opening your own restaurant?” you ask, clinging to a thread of conversation that might spark more interest.

Osamu’s reaction is a simple mild chuckle, a sound that lacks any real depth.

“‘Tsumu thinks I should too,” he responds without looking up from his knifework. “Maybe one day, when things settle down a bit.”

You nod, but the response doesn’t satisfy you. It’s sensible, reasonable—just like everything about Osamu. But where’s the challenge, the playful banter that Atsumu always brought into even the simplest interactions? The thought of Atsumu’s teasing, his infectious laughter, and the way he could turn even a mundane moment into a playful challenge makes you ache with a sudden intensity. 

You miss him.

The realization comes unbidden, a silent whisper amid the clatter of the kitchen. It’s a missing piece that makes Osamu’s perfect attentiveness seem somehow incomplete. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air seeping through the slightly ajar kitchen window.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You help with cooking the rice, taste test with laughter and light conversation, but beneath it all is a current of dissonance. It’s not long before you’re wiping your hands on your apron and excusing yourself to get changed before dinner, and quietly slip upstairs.  

They say ignorance is bliss, and last night is proof. The conversation you just had with Osamu is nothing out of the ordinary, not at all different from the mornings you’ve spent together over the last week. And even now, it’s not that you don’t like Osamu, because you do. He’s good, he’s kind. He’s the kind of guy your parents would be proud of you for being with, a sort of stable and calm and reliable that’s everything you ever wanted. That’s everything you thought you ever wanted.

Somehow right now, it feels slightly hollow. 

As you step into your room, you let out a long sigh. Glancing at your phone, you briefly entertain the idea of texting Atsumu. You want to scream at him for ruining your developing feelings for his twin, blame him for destroying the tiny hint of stability you had for the week. But you don’t do that, mostly because that would be stupid to blame him for, but also because you think that if you see him right now, you might make a stupid decision you’ll end up regretting. 

nine.

Thanks to Chizuru’s insistence (it’s Christmas Eve, you have to!), you are convinced into joining tonight’s games of trivia and Jeopardy despite your misanthropy. Curse her and her supreme begging skills. You had been hoping to avoid the twins as much as humanly possible. 

Atsumu, sitting opposite you, kicks your foot. “Are ya good, princess?” he whispers when you look at him and raise your eyebrow. Aran, leading tonight, is saying something about Jeopardy rules, but it goes unheard, because the blonde in front of you continues, “Penny for your thoughts please.”

“You don’t have a penny,” you whisper back. “Pay me for my thoughts, dumbass.”

“What kinda guy d’ya take me for?” Atsumu mock-scoffs back. “A prostitute?”

Despite all the thoughts swirling in your mind, his stupid grin distracts you from them and you end up rolling your eyes, feeling the hint of a smile pull at your lips. “Maybe. You’re already kinda a fuckboy.”

“Don’tcha worry then, ‘cause you’re still ma favorite client,” he grins back. 

And you let yourself smile too.

***

The sorority ends up winning because Mao is a history major and there are no noticeable questions about agriculture or Sigmund Freud or business management or the average expenditure of calories (Kita, Suna, Osamu, and Atsumu respectively—the boys lowkey all study odd shit now that you think about it) that could allow the frat board to gain an upper hand. For the first time ever, you thank Mao for reciting her textbooks out loud to study, because now all of you are forced to have a comprehensive knowledge of war dates and Confucious.

The prize for winning, however, is a Certificate of Extraordinary Intelligence in Useless Facts, so Mao has officially launched herself into a very long declaration that history is not useless, so you don’t know if there was really a winner in the end.

It’s not in the itinerary for the night, but when Yui looks out the window and points out the clear sky, everyone is quick to agree to step outside for a “breath of fresh air.” Everyone meaning everyone but Kita, who is off to pack because he’s leaving at midnight to go stay with his family nearby. Though it would be Kita to have family in the little northern sector of Iwate: you could just see him living in a town of 50 one day, leading the calm, remote village life. You’ve never been close to the president of INA, but you guess he probably deserves to live a simple farm life because the foxes absolutely owe it to him for keeping the organization together.

The crisp night wind nips at your cheeks as you leave the cabin’s warmth, but after sitting around the table for so long you feel only invigorated by the chill; it really is the perfect night because the whole sky is just a tapestry of twinkling stars. The porch light casts a gentle glow, and the snow glistens under the moonlight, gorgeous and serene.

Without warning, Atsumu scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at Osamu, who dodges just in time, causing the snowball to hit the cabin door with a soft thud. The playful challenge is met with enthusiasm, and within moments, everyone is gathering ammunition.

You’re bending down to scoop up your own snow when suddenly the shock of the cold against your warm skin causes you to let out a yelp. You spin around, eyes blazing, to find Atsumu standing there with a triumphant smirk on his face; his hand still holds some of the evidence, though most of it has been so rudely shoved down your back. 

“You jerk!” you yell, shrieking and jumping up and down, trying to shake the ice from the back of your sweater. Your tone is of annoyance, but it’s hard to stay truly mad when the whole scene is so ridiculously fun.

Atsumu is already backing away, a wild, teasing grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the moonlit night. “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me ya can’t handle a lil’ snow!” he taunts, his laughter echoing around the snowy clearing.

As if you’d let Atsumu just get away with that. So naturally, you scoop up as much snow as you can in your cold, red hands and take off sprinting after him, screaming, “Oh, you’re dead!”

The thrill of the pursuit drives away any lingering annoyance from last night; you barely even register the way your heart pounds with adrenaline and cheeks flush from the cold. The laughter of the others fades into the background as your focus narrows down to the gleeful figure darting just ahead of you.

Atsumu is fast, sure, but your determination is faster, and the freshly fallen snow slows him down just enough for you to gain ground. With a determined yell, you launch your armful of snow at his back, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades; the impact makes him stumble forward with a playful groan. “Alright, alright, I give!” he laughs when he spins to face you, raising his hands in mock defeat.

Just as you think you’ve won, just as you start laughing triumphantly and let your guard down, he’s charging back at you. You try to sidestep, but the slippery ground betrays you, and you both end up tumbling into a soft snowdrift. The world whirls into a blur of white and laughter as you wrestle in the snow, trying to pin each other down. Atsumu manages to get the upper hand briefly, pinning your wrists gently above your head with a victorious grin. His breath comes in visible puffs in the cold air, his face inches from yours, eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer.

“You’re such a child!” you shout, breathless from both the cold and the exertion.

“You love it,” he retorts, a smug grin plastered across his face despite the snow sticking to his hair and clothes.

You roll and wrangle and as you do, Atsumu manages to push more snow down the back of your shirt, making you squeal and squirm. “Atsumu!” you shriek, half-annoyed, half-panting, mostly all laughing. Your hands are freezing, but you keep trying to shove snow into his face in retaliation until you finally manage to squish his face with a clump of snow. The rest of the group watches, cheering at your antics, thoroughly entertained by the display, but their voices go unregistered to both of you as you both fall back, exhausted and satisfied and covered in snow, looking up at the starry sky. 

As the laughter subsides and the rapid heartbeat begins to slow, you and Atsumu lie sprawled in the snow, the cold forgotten for a moment. The serene silence that falls over both of you is a rare kind of peace, something that feels close to perfect. You can see Atsumu’s chest rise and fall with each breath, his eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above, and there’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you—something that makes you feel softer, lighter, like you’re floating on air. 

You want to say something sarcastic. You want to throw more snow into his face and tell him he looks stupid. You want to be mean to him and you want him to flirt with you so you can tell him to fuck off. He’s the bane of your existence. He riles you up and makes you angrier than most other people ever could. It’s so much easier to argue with him. It’s so much easier to hate him. 

But you don’t. So you just lie there and take it in.

ten.

The moment gets stolen by a voice. 

“Oi, lovebirds, everyone’s headin’ in! You two plannin’ on makin’ snow angels all night, or do ya wanna join the rest of us by the fire?” Osamu calls out.

Atsumu glares in the voice’s direction, his brow creasing. The peaceful moment shatters like thin ice underfoot, and you can practically hear the crack because it’s visible in how his gaze shifts from the stars above to his brother and the tension in his grip that wasn’t there before. “Can’t ya see we’re havin’ a moment here?” he snaps back, the words almost biting through the frigid air.

Osamu, unbothered by the snap, just chuckles and strolls over, offering a hand to help you up. “Yeah, yeah, yer playin’ in the snow like a couple of kids. Let’s get inside, yer gonna catch cold.” His concern is sincere, his tone sweet. You accept the hand with a smile; when you stand fully up, Osamu wraps his arm around your shoulders and leans in close enough to mumble, “Yui told me that ya get sick easy. Got worried, hope ya ain’t too mad at me for snatchin’ ya away.”

His close presence is warmth cutting through your chill and you subconsciously lean into him. “Oh, thank you,” you say softly; he sounds so genuine. “You’re really considerate. It’s just At-”

You turn around to find Atsumu pushing himself up, brushing snow from his hair. He had been watching your quiet exchange with close eyes, and now that you really look at him again, his expression is briefly unfamiliar. It’s just for a brief second—a moment so quick it was gone in an instant—but you could have sworn it was a gaze tighter, darker, than you have ever seen from him before and it makes you shiver. It’s quick to be replaced by his usual grin when he notices your concerned expression, though, as if he’s trying to placate you. As if he doesn’t want you to know how he’s feeling. 

The snowball fight had been playful, a rare truce in your usual war of words with Atsumu, and now he seems reluctant to let that end. Still, his tone is light, or at least lighter than before, laced with a hint of forced cheerfulness, when he assures you, “S’okay, princess. Let’s get inside.”

But the sharpness in his eyes betrays his words. And as if to keep pushing him, to keep jamming his finger straight into the bruise, Osamu’s arm slips downwards to hover around your waist—it’s so delicate that you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in position if not for the way his hold ever so slightly tightens to pull you closer. 

Atsumu’s smile fades into something heavier and his hands clench into tight fists by his side and there’s a look that crosses his features, something filled with irritation; there’s a palpable tension between the two brothers that makes you nervous. Still, Osamu just smiles like he’s completely oblivious, cheerily saying, “Yeah, don’tcha worry, ‘Sumu. Just tryna keep our princess warm.”

Our princess. The words are loaded. Osamu isn’t just being kind; he’s provoking him. He’s pushing his brother, trying to see just how far Atsumu’ll let him go, trying to drive a reaction out of him. 

There’s an undeniable undercurrent of something more in the air. 

Atsumu, witnessing this, locks his jaw, his good-natured facade struggling to mask the surge of emotions that seem to whirl behind his eyes. And yet, he stops. He doesn’t say anything, even though it seemed as though he would, even though when you met his eyes there was that terrifying darkness from before. Atsumu just turns on his heel and starts marching back towards the cabin.

And for some reason you can’t quite comprehend, you feel your heart sink.

eleven.

It’s significantly quieter that night. 

Atsumu hadn’t shown up to dinner, nor did he join everyone to watch Elf in the living room. Chizuru and Aran had expressed concern, offering to go upstairs and check on him, but Osamu had assured them all that Atsumu was fine and just worn out from the day and that had seemed to placate them. You tried to trust his word too, but even as the film plays and Osamu drapes his arm onto the couch behind you and Yui nudges you and wiggles her brow at the closeness and you try to convince yourself that you’re fine, you can’t help the awful feeling of dread you have in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t go away even when the movie ends and you retreat upstairs to shower and get to bed; it doesn’t go away even when you settle into the softness of your sheets and turn out the lights; it doesn’t go away even when the only illumination in the room comes from your phone as you stalk your Instagram homepage trying to distract your mind. You almost want to hear Atsumu’s overwhelmingly loud and obnoxious laughter from the next room; you want to know that he’s okay, and you don’t really even understand why. You’ve spent the last two years being an Atsumu Hater™ and here you are anyway, your heart racing. 

But just as you’re about to surrender to the warmth of your blankets, your ears pick up the muffled but unmistakable timbre of raised voices from the room next door.

The Miya twins.

You sit up in bed, heart pounding. You can’t make out the words through the wall, but the low rumble of Osamu’s voice and the sharper, heated tone of Atsumu’s are unmistakable. You hesitate for a moment, caught between pressing your ear against the wall to catch more of the conversation or trying to ignore it altogether. But then Atsumu’s voice cuts through clearly, loud and raw with frustration:

“Why’re ya doin’ this, Samu? Seriously, what the hell?”

You freeze.

There’s a pause. Osamu’s voice comes next, calmer but with a sharp edge that makes the air in your room feel heavy. “Doin’ what, exactly? Bein’ nice? Spendin’ time with her? ‘Cause last I checked, you’re the one who’s been actin’ like she don’t exist unless it’s to get under her skin.”

You hear the sound of something—maybe a chair or a bed frame—scraping against the floor. Atsumu’s voice comes back, even louder. “Don’t gimme that crap! You know what I’m talkin’ about! You’ve been all over her this whole week, like you’re tryin’ to... to—”

“To what, Tsumu?” Osamu cuts in, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch even from the other side of the wall. “To do what you won’t? You’ve had two years to say somethin’, to do anythin’, but all you’ve done is act like a damn idiot around her. And now you’re mad at me ‘cause I actually treat her like a person?”

Your chest tightens. You press your hands against your mouth to stifle the sharp inhale that escapes you. Are they... talking about you?

There’s a heavy silence. For a moment, you think maybe it’s over, but then Atsumu speaks again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “It’s not like that...”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Osamu snaps. “If it’s not like that, then why are you so pissed off, huh? If you don’t care about her, why’s it eatin’ at ya every time I so much as look at her?”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now, though it’s tinged with something more serious. “Admit it, Tsumu. You like her. Hell, you’ve probably liked her for years, but you’re too chicken to do anything about it. So don’t come at me like I’m the bad guy when all I’m doin’ is fillin’ the space you left wide open.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re surprised they can’t hear it through the wall.

“I—” Atsumu starts, but his voice falters. He sounds... small. Defeated. “I don’t—”

“Yeah? Then prove it,” Osamu interrupts. “If you really don’t care, I’ll back off. But if you do? If you actually want a chance with her? Then grow up and ask her out before it’s too late.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them, so tense and thick it feels like the walls of your room might crack under the weight of it. Then there’s the sound of footsteps—heavy, frustrated—and the slam of a door.

Your mind is racing. You sit there frozen for what feels like hours, trying to piece together what you’ve just heard, what it all means, and why your heart feels like it might break free of your chest.

You glance at the door to your room, wondering if Atsumu’s stormed off to his, or if—

A knock. A soft, hesitant knock at your door.

Your breath catches.

twelve.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, but you don’t move. You press your face into the pillow, hold your breath, and will your heartbeat to calm down. He waits for a moment, long enough that you can almost picture him standing just outside your door, shifting on his feet and second-guessing himself.

Finally, there’s a sigh, barely audible through the door. The sound makes your chest ache.

But then the floor creaks softly as he steps away, and the silence that follows feels louder than anything he could have said.

You stay like that for a long time, staring into the darkness of your room as the words from the argument next door replay in your head on an endless loop. You don’t know how to feel, or even what to feel, but one thing is certain—you’re not going to get any sleep tonight.

***

The next morning, the sound of laughter and the warm scent of cinnamon pull you from your restless slumber. It’s Christmas morning.

You drag yourself out of bed, trying to shake the unease still settled in your chest, and join everyone downstairs. The living room is alive with energy—Chizuru and Yui are wearing matching pajamas and passing out mugs of hot cocoa, Aran is fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker to get a holiday playlist going, and Osamu is helping himself to the tray of cookies on the coffee table, ignoring Chizuru’s scolding about “ruining the aesthetic before everyone’s here.”

But even with all the warmth and chatter, the absence is glaring.

Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

You try not to let it bother you. He’s probably just sleeping in. Or avoiding you after last night. You’re not sure which thought twists your stomach more.

The morning rolls on, and soon everyone gathers for the gift exchange. Laughter fills the air as ribbons are untied, wrapping paper is torn apart, and heartfelt thank-yous are exchanged. Yui squeals over the skincare set Kita picked out for her, and Aran grins ear-to-ear at the custom jersey Chizuru ordered. Even Osamu looks pleased with the knife set you picked out for him, ruffling your hair as he thanks you.

But as the last gifts are unwrapped, you realize something’s missing.

Everyone else has given you something, no matter how small—a book from Chizuru, earrings from Yui, a scarf from Suna—but Atsumu’s name is noticeably absent.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the knot of disappointment settle in your chest. Maybe it’s silly to care so much. Maybe it’s selfish. But after the week you’ve had, after all the bickering, the teasing, and everything you heard last night, you thought...

You thought he’d at least try.

***

The rest of the day passes in a blur of food and laughter, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling that lingers in the back of your mind. That night, you retreat to your room early, needing the quiet to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not expecting the knock.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing whether you’ll even respond. You hesitate, wondering if you should ignore it again like last night. But then it comes again, more insistent.

“Hey,” Atsumu’s voice calls softly through the door. “You awake?”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t move.

A pause. Then: “I know you’re probably mad at me or somethin’, but... I wanna show ya somethin’. Come on, get up. Please.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your stomach flip—nervousness, maybe, or the slightest tinge of vulnerability.

When you still don’t reply, he tries again. “There’s... there’s somethin’ I wanna say, but it’ll be easier if ya just come with me. I’ll be out back. Meet me at the hot tub if you wanna.”

His footsteps retreat, leaving you alone in the quiet.

For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the door and debating whether to follow him or let the silence stay.

But curiosity—and maybe something else—wins out. You pull yourself from the bed, slide on your slippers, and head downstairs.

thirteen.

The night air is crisp, biting against your skin as you step out onto the pool deck. The stars above are sharp pinpricks in the deep velvet sky, their light barely competing with the soft glow of the string lights strung along the edge of the fence.

Your heart pounds as you glance around, unsure of what you’re expecting. And then you see him.

Atsumu is sitting by the edge of the hot tub, his legs dipped into the warm water, hands fidgeting in his lap. The tension in his shoulders eases the moment his eyes meet yours, and he lights up in a way that makes your chest ache. He stands quickly, his movements awkward but eager, like he’s been waiting for hours just for this moment.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice carrying over the gentle hum of the water.

You nod, stepping closer, unsure what to say. There’s a nervous energy between you now, not the usual teasing or bickering, but something fragile and unspoken. 

He gestures toward the edge of the hot tub. You hesitate for only a moment before moving to sit beside him, the warmth of the bubbling water chasing away the chill in the air. Neither of you speak at first, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.

When you glance at him, you notice his hands are no longer fidgeting. Instead, they rest on his knees, tense, like he’s holding himself back.

The quiet stretches on, and you don’t know whether it’s you or him who breaks it first. But then he moves—slowly, carefully—and cups your face with his hands.

You can’t breathe. You can’t even comprehend anything but his large, warm hands gentle around your face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you—steady and unguarded—says it all.

And in that moment, you’re reminded of everything.

The way he looked at you during truth or dare, his gaze flickering with something almost too heavy to hold. The way he showed up for you, always, even when you tried to convince you both that it didn’t mean anything. The way he looked at you that very first night you met him, in the dim, crowded, musty basement of the frat house, when your heart had betrayed you by skipping a beat the very moment his golden eyes landed on you. He has never looked more beautiful; he has never seemed more human. 

You love him. Oh god. 

You love him.

Atsumu hesitates, leaning in slightly but stopping just short, his breath warm against your skin. He pauses, like he’s waiting for your permission, or maybe just bracing himself for the possibility that you’ll pull away.

Against all odds, you kiss him first.

The moment your lips meet, he lets out a small, almost startled sound before kissing you back. His hands slide to the sides of your neck, steady and sure, while his lips move against yours like he’s been imagining this for years. He holds you like he’s terrified that this isn’t real, like if he lets go then you’ll disappear. Your fingers knot in his t-shirt, his hand gets lost in your hair, you are breathless in every way but you don’t care because if he wanted to steal the air straight from your lungs you would let him. 

When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, both of you quiet as the world seems to settle into a kind of peace. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression so tender and full of awe that you wonder if he’s committing this moment to memory. And then he grins—a smile so wide and full of boyish delight that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“So you do like me,” he teases, his voice warm, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You snort. “Nah, I change my mind. I hate you.”

He rolls his eyes because he knows you’re bluffing, and just kisses you again.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the quiet intimacy of the night. But then you remember something, a question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind all day.

“Atsumu?”

“Hmm?” he hums, still holding you close, his fingers absently tracing small circles against your skin.

“Why didn’t you get me a Christmas gift?”

He freezes for a moment, blinking at you like he’s just remembered something. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” you ask, laughing at the sudden panic in his face.

“That’s what I came here for,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, before quickly standing and rummaging through the pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small, folded cloth pouch, holding it carefully in his hands like it’s something precious.

“I’ve had this for years,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as he sits back down beside you. “And I didn’t know if I should give it to ya. Or if it was even the right time. But... I guess it is now.”

He opens the pouch and carefully empties its contents into his hand.

You stare, halting as you take in what’s inside:

A small square of paper with the element “Au” drawn on it, the edges worn like it’s been folded and unfolded a thousand times. “From freshman year chem,” he explains softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You were the only one who laughed when I joked that it stood for Atsumu instead of gold.”

A torn scrap of notebook paper with your name written on it in messy handwriting. “Greek match,” he says, chuckling quietly. “I wrote it down when they paired us up. Figured it’d be my one excuse to talk to ya.”

A dried, pressed petal from a rose. “Semi-formal,” he murmurs. “You were wearin’ that red dress, and I was an idiot who thought bringin’ roses was a good idea. You said they were beautiful, but you... you were somethin’ else entirely.”

There’s other little things, little bits and pieces from the two years you’ve known each other, little reminders that you can barely remember a time where he wasn’t in your life. Atsumu has been a part of your routine since the day he met you. You lived eighteen years without knowing him, but you can’t imagine living without him anymore. 

And then, as if you weren’t touched enough, he passes you another small wrapped item. You gently peel back the paper to find the Mt. Iwate snow globe he had bought before you could last week. 

As you cradle the snow globe in your hands, the memory of that day comes rushing back—Atsumu’s smug grin as he held up the very item you’d been planning to buy, the gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes when you’d glared at him. You’d been so furious, so determined to outmatch him for the rest of the trip, but now, holding the snow globe in your hands, all you can feel is an overwhelming warmth.

“You…” Your voice falters as you run your thumb over the cool glass, watching the tiny flakes swirl around the miniature Mt. Iwate. “You bought this for me?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Felt bad for bein’ an ass that day. But ya stormed off before I could give it to ya, and then… I guess I kept it, hopin’ one day it’d mean more.”

You blink at him, at the boy sitting beside you, nervously scratching the back of his neck. The boy who had spent two years teasing and frustrating you, yet somehow still managed to worm his way into your heart. The boy who’d quietly kept a snow globe and a collection of mementos, waiting for the right moment to share them with you.

“Atsumu…” Your voice is soft, almost fragile, as you set the snow globe down and turn to face him fully. “This is—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his gaze dropping to the water, then back to you. “But I wanted to. You’re… important to me, y’know? And I don’t always show it the right way, but—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you interrupt, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “I get it. I do.”

His eyes search yours, his expression caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. For a moment, the two of you just sit there, the night air heavy with unsaid things. Then you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and his breath catches audibly.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” you tease lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your voice wavers with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah?” His grin is lopsided, nervous, but the spark of playfulness in his eyes is unmistakable. “Don’t get used to me bein’ this sweet, though. Still gotta keep you on your toes.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers still tangled with his. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a while, you sit in companionable silence, the bubbling of the hot tub and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. You watch as the snow globe sits on the edge of the tub, the flakes settling gently at the base. Somehow, it feels like everything—your bickering, his teasing, the hesitant steps toward this moment—has led to this: an unspoken understanding that this, whatever it is between you, is real.

Finally, Atsumu breaks the silence. “So… was that the right gift?” He nudges your shoulder lightly, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You pretend to think, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Hmm… It’s alright, I guess.”

His jaw drops in mock offense, his free hand flying to his chest. “Alright? Do you know how much thought I put into that?”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “It’s perfect, Atsumu.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his golden eyes warm and steady. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Because you’re kinda perfect to me, too.”

And just like that, he has you all over again—breathless, flustered, and hopelessly in love. You lean up and kiss him, slow and soft, and when you pull back, his boyish grin is so bright it almost hurts to look at.

“Alright, enough mushy stuff,” you say, standing up and stretching, though your heart is still racing. “I’m freezing, and I need to head back inside before I turn into an icicle.”

Atsumu groans dramatically but follows your lead, climbing out of the hot tub and grabbing the snow globe for you. He drapes his hoodie around your shoulders as you head back toward the cabin, the warmth of it—and him—chasing away the cold.

As you walk, side by side, you realize something: revenge had been the last thing on your mind tonight. Because somehow, Atsumu had managed to do what he always did—get under your skin and make himself impossible to hate. And for once, you weren’t going to fight it.

Tomorrow, you might bicker again. He might steal your favorite mug, or you might prank him during breakfast. But tonight, under the glow of the stars and the string lights, you let yourself fall a little deeper, knowing he’d be there to catch you.

⨭ closing; i love this one sm honestly. i lowkey even drew out the room plan of the cabin in case ur curious, which looks like this:

btw all the sorority girls mentioned are actually the girls' karasuno team lol; i'm trying rly hard to keep these stories all in the same universe but there are so few girls in the hq universe and even less in high school </3 wld it be confusing if i started reusing kiyoko and yachi as y/n's besties it wld be so much easier on me :')

vote down below or maybe offer some suggestions for other ways to work around the lack of girl besties/roommates/etc (ie. maybe age change!older/younger sisters??)

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

one of the reasons why i love ToA so much is the little bits and pieces of the gods we get to see.

so i guess this is really more of a 'this is why i love the gods so much' rather than my usual 'this is why i love ToA' post lmao

but fr, the gods are just sooooo much more fleshed out in ToA. they're more complex, and have these layers to them that pjo and hoo just Did Not convey (and really, only conveyed those things post publication of ToA, which came with the tools on how to decode the gods and read between the lines).

and i'm not even talking about Apollo here. he is by far the most fleshed out god we have because he's the pov character, but i also mean all 12 of the other olympians - they're just so juicy!!

like okay, sure, in pjo and hoo we get glimpses that Dionysus may care more than he lets on, but ToA CONFIRMS this, but not in an 'in your face' way - but in the 'Dionysus picks at Apollo like a little brother would' way, and in that FIRST interaction between Apollo and Dionysus, we can SEE what their relationship was like!!

Hermes is another VERY layered god, ESPECIALLY with pjo's context. but that context ONLY gains its own importance BECAUSE of the story ToA gives us - we would NOT have 'resigned to fate' Hermes without it. or embittered at his favorite brother Hermes. we love this Hermes eheheheheheheh

Artemis also gains more character, and is no longer just the stoic cool badass #Girlboss she's largely presented as - she's scared, she fears for Apollo, so much so she SPLITS. she comes RUNNING to help him in TTT as soon as she could, giving her a softer side, while simultaneously expands on her previous appearances and allowing us to see how she is unconsciously enabling the abuse Apollo's experienced. LAYERS !! !! !!

DEMETER. OOOHHH DEMETER ILY, IN MYTHOLOGY AND THE RRVERSE. BUT FOR COMPLETELY DIFFERENT REASONS LMAO

we can infer Demeter has basically shot herself in the foot by obsessing so much over Persephone, where she NEGLETS her other kids (ex: Lityerses, Meg). myth Demeter would NEVER but rrverse Demeter is still a fav BECAUSE of how flawed she is.

ARESSSSS do i even need to say anything. we KNOW Ares and Apollo are bros because of how often Apollo takes pot-shots at him in his dialogue LMAO true brother behavior

Hades is a chill uncle with Apollo in particular. i mean. *gestures* he used to purposefully mess up Apollo's aim when shooting for no reason. need i say more?

looking back i'm also a little intrigued by how little Poseidon was mentioned - perhaps lending credence to the idea that he and Apollo grew apart over the centuries?

also Hestia's position as the goddess of the hearth and home calls into question how passive she is on olympus BECAUSE of the shitshow it's become!! she defends it!! what has caused the hearth and home, the FIRSTBORN OF KRONOS, of the ENTIRE PANTHEON to be so stagnant in the face of this toxic cycle? the people want to know and so do i.

Hephaestus is trickier to pin down for me because he has little mention, but there's one SPECIFIC one that has stuck in my brain and its the "apollo missed an entire decade watching Hephaestus's newton's cradle INSIDE HIS OFFICE"

what was apollo doing in his office. and why did hephaestus - notorious introvert - let him stay in there. these are the questions we are all dying to know.

ATHENAAAAAAA !! !! !! !! !! that nod she gives apollo at the end. her bet on his SUCCESS. need i say more? she's bros with him trust <3 add in the mythology and it gets SPICY

Aphrodite is arguably a tricky one to pin down too, and honestly we as a fandom have probably taken more from the mythos to pin down her character than with the others, but she's sooooo interesting too!! the eldest olympian. powerful goddess. extremely cunning and ruthless. and yet she's seen as airheaded and vain by practically everyone.

makes you wonder who else is like that. *quick glance at our favorite god* i dunno who that could be. *whistles innocently*

and do i need to say anything about Zeus? about the tragedy of him falling into the cycle he was meant to break? ABOUT THE TRAGEDY OF HOW HE DEF WANTED TO BE A FATHER BUT HIS PARANOIA GOT THE BETTER OF HIM UNTIL HE NO LONGER WAS ONE??

*seizes you by the shoulders* HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS. HOW.

and ofc. one of my FAVORITE gods...Hera. oh, ho ho Hera. you do NOT deserve the hate you get <3 okay maybe a bit of irritation is warranted because you do pull off risky things in hoo but we stan a goddess who takes charge in this house.

YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME SHE'S GONNA BE - well, nicer? is that the right word? - BETTER WITH APOLLO POST-TOA. AFTER SEEING EVERYTHING HE SUFFERED? AFTER SEEING HIM SHED THE MASK? AFTER JASON GRACE?

*pounds mercilessly on the table* I WILL NEVER NOT BE ANNOYING ABOUT THEM I LOVE THEM ALL INCLUDING THE BITS OF CHARACTER FROM THE MINOR GODS WE GET TOO!!

[mirisss]

Not So Little Anymore

Non-idol Nishimura Riki (Ni-ki) x 2 years older! female reader

Warnings: Niki is down bad for the reader, Niki is 2 years younger than reader (so reader is an 03-line), some jealousy, insecurities, Niki being angry, eating, food, reader is shorter than the guys, reader passing out, Niki injuring his arm (nothing serious), I think that’s it,  

Wordcount ≈ 14.5 k (I got carried away, as usual) Not proofread, also I wrote like 10 different versions of this so at this point, I'm not sure if everything is correct for this story but I think it is

Obsessed with Niki at the moment so I had to write this

Also featuring the other Enhypen members and some &team members, mostly Nicholas and K(Kei). 

Please reblog and like!

Third Person POV

From the beginning, (Y/n) had always thought of Niki as the “kid” of the group — younger, a little clumsy, full of endless energy and reckless smiles. Even now, when she looked at him, she still saw the boy who used to trip over his own feet trying to keep up with the older guys. To her, Niki had always been something sweet, something safe, someone who needed her to look out for him, not someone to fall for.

But Niki?

He had stopped being a boy a long time ago, at least in his own eyes.

At almost twenty, with a frame that stood tall and broad, with eyes that burned a little too intensely whenever she was near, Niki wasn’t that little kid anymore.

Not that (Y/n) seemed to notice.

She still ruffled his hair sometimes. Still smiled at him like he was made of something breakable. Still called him “little one” when she was teasing, something that made the rest of their friends either wince or fight the urge to laugh.

Because everyone knew.

Everyone but her.

Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jungwon had all picked up on it ages ago, the way Niki’s eyes would soften when he looked at her, the way he sat a little closer than he needed to, the way he’d stiffen with quiet jealousy if she laughed too brightly at one of them. It was written all over him, plain and painful.

But (Y/n) never saw it.

To Niki, the others were all men in her eyes: strong, confident, worthy of her admiration. But him? He was just… Niki. The little brother. The kid who followed her around and looked at her like she hung the stars herself.

It wasn’t fair, really, the way his heart ached every time she glanced past him.

But that didn’t stop him.

He would make her see.

Someday soon, he would show her he wasn’t just the “cute younger guy” anymore.

He was hers — if only she would realize it.

~~~

The living room of the shared house buzzed with low conversation and the sound of a movie playing half-forgotten in the background. It was a little cramped, eight people living together in a house meant for six, but somehow it worked. They fought, sure, over stupid things like dishes and bathroom schedules, but at the end of the day, they were family.

Even Heeseung, who had graduated last year, still lived with them.

He said he was “too emotionally attached” to move out, though everyone suspected it was more about the fear of missing out.

Tonight, they were all gathered around, Jake sprawled across the floor, Sunghoon and Jay sharing the bigger couch, Sunoo and Jungwon squished together on the other end, (Y/n) perched comfortably between them, and Niki sitting alone in the old armchair by the window.

He tried not to look too miserable.

He failed.

“So then,” (Y/n) was saying, waving her hands animatedly, “he shows up twenty minutes late, and when I asked if he got stuck in traffic, he just said, ‘Nah, I lost track of time playing video games.’”

The group groaned collectively.

“You’re kidding,” Sunoo said, making a face. “That’s so—ugh.”

“And!” (Y/n) continued, her voice rising with disbelief, “he spent the whole dinner talking about himself. I don’t think he asked me a single question. Not one!”

Jake whistled low. “Oof. Major red flag.”

Jay shook his head. “People have no game these days.”

Niki bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt, trying to keep the words locked inside. Of course he didn’t deserve you. No one does.

His hands tightened around the armrests of the chair, knuckles whitening.

He wished he could just say it, scream it if he had to, that she didn’t need to waste her time on idiots who didn’t even see her properly.

Because he saw her.

Every little thing.

Every smile, every sigh, every frustrated roll of her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

But he stayed quiet.

He always did.

“Honestly, (Y/n),” Sunghoon said with a teasing grin, “at this rate, you’re gonna have to lower your standards.”

“Or raise them,” Heeseung offered, smirking. “You deserve someone who actually pays attention to you.”

Niki’s chest twisted at Heeseung’s words, half wanting to hug him, half wanting to punch a wall. Yeah. Someone like me.

(Y/n) laughed, tossing her head back a little, unaware of the silent storm brewing just a few feet away. “Maybe I should just stay single forever. Less hassle.”

“Or,” Jungwon piped up, glancing meaningfully at Niki, “maybe someone closer than you think already likes you.”

The room went still for a split second.

(Y/n) laughed it off, thinking Jungwon was just being playful.

“Aww, Wonnie, if you’re volunteering, you’re a little too young for me,” she teased, ruffling his hair.

Niki felt like sinking into the floor.

“Hey!” Jungwon protested, slapping her hand away with a mock glare while everyone else chuckled.

Niki stared down at his hands, jaw clenched.

Too young.

That’s how she saw him. Always had. Always would.

The movie flickered across the screen, ignored.

The others fell back into easy chatter.

But Niki sat there in his chair, sulking quietly, heart pounding, wishing he could be brave enough to change her mind.

One day.

Just not yet.

~~~

The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, a golden haze slipping through the windows. (Y/n) stood in front of the cabinets, pajama pants hanging loose on her hips, hair still messy from sleep, and a deep frown creasing her features.

She hopped lightly on her toes, fingers stretching toward the highest shelf, where, cruelly, her favorite cereal had been stashed. She barely brushed the bottom of the box before it shifted farther out of reach.

“Ugh,” she groaned under her breath, glaring up as if the cereal had personally offended her.

Behind her, footsteps padded softly against the floorboards. Niki strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily, hair sticking up a little in the back. He caught sight of her struggle instantly and smirked, a slow, lazy smile that lit up his whole face.

Perfect.

Leaning casually against the counter for a second, arms crossed, he watched her jump again, completely ineffective but adorable.

Then, pushing off the counter, he stepped up behind her.

“Need some help, shorty?” he drawled, voice still husky from sleep.

(Y/n) turned, blinking up at him, clearly just noticing he was there. “Huh? Oh—” she started, but before she could finish, Niki reached effortlessly above her, muscles in his arms flexing slightly beneath the loose sleeves of his t-shirt as he grabbed the box in one smooth motion.

He handed it to her with a cocky little grin.

And for just a heartbeat, he lingered close, close enough for her to notice that he had gotten taller than her. Way taller. Close enough for her to see that the angles of his face weren’t those of a boy anymore but of someone growing into his own.

But if (Y/n) noticed, she didn’t show it.

She just grinned, taking the cereal from his hand. “Thanks, skyscraper,” she said teasingly, ruffling his hair before turning away to sit at the table.

Niki froze.

Hair ruffled. Again.

He stared after her, heart dropping straight into his stomach.

Skyscraper.

Thanks.

No second glance. No lingering look of surprise at how tall he’d gotten, how broad his shoulders were now. No blush, no flustered stammering. Nothing.

Just the same old (Y/n).

Niki dropped heavily into the chair across from her, sulking without even trying to hide it this time.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her pour her cereal, completely oblivious to the battle raging inside of him.

One day, he promised himself.

One day she would look at him and see.

But for now, he shoved his frustration down deep, focusing instead on memorizing the way her nose scrunched a little when she concentrated on pouring just the right amount of milk.

Still his girl.

She just didn’t know it yet.

~~~

(Y/n) scarfed down the last few bites of her cereal, totally oblivious to the stormy cloud hovering over Niki’s head. She checked the time on her phone and jumped up with a little gasp.

“Ah! I’m gonna be late!” she said, shoving her bowl into the sink with a loud clatter.

Niki stood up halfway from his chair, almost like he wanted to say something — anything — to make her stay just a little longer. But all he managed was a quiet, “Good luck,” as she hurried out of the kitchen, throwing him a distracted thumbs-up over her shoulder.

The second she disappeared down the hall, the kitchen door swung open again — and in strolled Jake and Sunoo, both looking far too energetic for this early in the morning.

Jake immediately caught sight of Niki’s face and snorted. “Man, you look like someone kicked your puppy.”

Sunoo dropped himself dramatically into the seat next to Niki, eyeing him with a knowing smirk. “Or like someone stole your girl.”

Niki scowled, slouching further down into his chair. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Jake laughed as he made his way to the fridge. “Bro, you’re so obvious it’s painful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna start crying into your cereal.”

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Seriously, what’s eating you this time? She just thanked you.”

Niki let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Yeah. She thanked me. Called me ‘skyscraper’ like I’m some little kid who just happened to get tall overnight.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You did get stupid tall overnight.”

“That’s not the point!” Niki groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He stared at the tabletop like it had personally betrayed him. “She still thinks of me as a kid. She doesn’t see me, not really.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “She’ll come around, Niki. It’s just gonna take a little time.”

Niki shook his head, bitterness rising in his throat. “No, you don’t get it,” he muttered. “The other day — when we were all in the living room — she said Jungwon was ‘too young’ for her.”

He looked up at them, voice tight. “Jungwon. He’s only a year older than me. If he’s too young for her, what the hell does that make me?”

Jake’s teasing grin faltered slightly, replaced by something softer.

Sunoo winced. “Damn. That’s rough.”

“I’m never gonna be anything more than the kid she grew up babysitting,” Niki mumbled, sinking lower into his seat.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. “You’re taller than half the guys she’s dated,” he said eventually. “You’re more mature than most of them too, even if you don’t always act like it.”

Sunoo smiled encouragingly. “And honestly, you grew into your face pretty nicely,” he teased, elbowing him lightly. “You’re not the same kid anymore.”

Niki didn’t look convinced.

He let out a sigh, propping his forehead against the table dramatically.

“One day,” Jake said with a small shrug, grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge, “she’s gonna look at you and realize you’ve been standing there the whole time. Waiting for her.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo chimed in, patting Niki’s back. “And until then, we’ll be here… making fun of you mercilessly.”

Niki groaned again into the wood. “Best friends ever.”

Jake laughed, ruffling his hair as he passed. “You’re welcome, skyscraper.”

And as the early morning light filled the kitchen, Niki stayed slumped over the table — stuck between wanting to grow up faster and desperately wishing (Y/n) would just finally see that he already had.

~~~

The final class of the day was always a drag, and today was no exception. The low hum of the lecture hall filled the air, students already half-zoned out before the professor even started speaking.

(Y/n) trudged in, dragging her backpack behind her like a defeated soldier. She slumped into her usual seat, rubbing her tired eyes.

A soft thud on the desk in front of her made her look up.

Niki stood there, holding out an iced tea and a small bag of snacks — her favorites.

No words, just a quiet offering.

Her whole face lit up in surprise, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking the drink eagerly. Without thinking, she reached up and ruffled his hair — again — like she always did. “Such a good little kid.”

Niki stiffened.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Little kid.

Good little kid.

He forced a strained smile as he dropped into the seat beside her, but inside he was burning. He stared straight ahead as the lecture began, arms crossed tightly over his chest, tapping his foot in a restless rhythm against the floor.

(Y/n) sipped her tea happily at first, then glanced sideways at him.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t joking around like he normally did.

He wasn’t even pretending to listen to the lecture, he was just sitting there, sulking, a storm cloud practically hanging over his head.

Frowning, she leaned over and whispered, “Hey… you okay?”

He opened his mouth, ready to brush it off, when another voice cut through the small space between them.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

They both turned.

Standing next to their row was Nicholas, tall, handsome, charming. He was friends with Jake and Heeseung, a familiar face around their house parties and study groups. He flashed (Y/n) a confident smile, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

“I was wondering,” Nicholas said casually, “if you’d wanna grab coffee with me sometime? Or, uh—tea,” he added quickly, glancing at the drink in her hand with an easy laugh.

Niki felt something ugly twist in his chest.

Before (Y/n) could even answer, Niki was already shoving his books into his bag with jerky movements.

She turned toward him, startled. “Niki—”

But he didn’t look at her. He didn’t say anything. He just stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder roughly.

And then he was walking away, his long strides carrying him toward the door without a single glance back.

(Y/n) watched him go, confusion knotting in her stomach.

Nicholas shifted awkwardly beside her. “Was it something I said?”

She shook her head slowly, forcing a small, distracted smile. “No. It’s not you. Sorry.”

But even as she turned back to face Nicholas, her thoughts lingered somewhere else — trailing after Niki’s retreating figure and the hurt he hadn’t even tried to hide.

~~~

(Y/n) shifted awkwardly in her seat after Niki left, still feeling the strange weight in the air he’d left behind.

Nicholas, seeming to pick up on the tension, scratched the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile.

“Uh — just to be clear,” he said, lowering his voice, “when I asked you out… I meant like, as friends. Not, like, a date date.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise before laughing softly. “Oh, thank God.”

Nicholas grinned. “No offense — you’re super hot and all. Just… not really my type, y’know?”

She snorted, taking a sip of her tea. “Right back at you.”

The easy banter melted the lingering awkwardness, and when the lecture ended, they decided to walk to a nearby café together. It was nice, casual, relaxed. Nicholas was easy to talk to, which was probably why he got along so well with the guys at the house.

But still, somewhere in the back of her mind, (Y/n) kept replaying Niki’s sudden exit over and over.

It bothered her.

More than she wanted to admit.

As they sat down at a small table with their drinks, hers a sweet tea, his a plain coffee, she hesitated for a moment before blurting out, “Hey… do you have any idea what’s going on with Niki?”

Nicholas lifted his cup, thinking for a second.

“I mean…” he shrugged, noncommittally. “He seemed fine earlier when I saw him. Maybe he’s just tired? It’s been a long week for everyone.”

(Y/n) frowned, swirling her straw in her cup distractedly. “Yeah, but… he usually doesn’t just storm out like that.”

Nicholas looked at her carefully, choosing his words.

He had his suspicions.

It wasn’t exactly hard to notice the way Niki’s eyes always followed her around the house, or how he lit up the second she smiled at him, or, conversely, how he visibly deflated when she joked about him being a kid.

But Nicholas also knew it wasn’t his place to say it out loud.

Not like this.

Not when it clearly wasn’t something (Y/n) had figured out for herself yet.

So he just smiled a little and said, “Maybe he’s just… dealing with stuff. You know how it is. Sometimes people have bad days.”

(Y/n) nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, but letting it go for now.

Still, the image of Niki’s face, the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes, the frustration written all over his shoulders, stayed with her.

And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if maybe there was something about Niki she hadn’t quite been seeing.

~~~

Later that evening, the house was filled with the delicious smell of dinner. (Y/n) and Jungwon were at the kitchen counter, working together to prepare a meal. The chatter between them was light and easy, with Jungwon laughing at something (Y/n) said.

Jake, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the couch, looking half-dead from an entire day spent immersed in math. His eyes were barely open, and his hand instinctively reached for the bag of chips beside him as he mumbled something incoherent, too tired to care about anything else.

When the boys came back from the gym, they didn’t say much. Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged a few words with Jungwon and (Y/n) as they grabbed snacks from the pantry, but there was something about Niki that stood out. He didn’t laugh along with the others. He didn’t joke. He just silently moved around, quietly trying to help clear the table after dinner, like he was trying to make himself useful to avoid being asked about the obvious injury on his arm.

It wasn’t until he pushed himself to the sink that (Y/n) noticed.

“Wait a second…”

She froze, eyes narrowing as she looked more closely.

Niki had a bandage wrapped around his bicep, and the way he was holding his arm — stiff, almost guarded — immediately caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, what happened to your arm?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with concern.

Niki didn’t immediately look up. He was pretending to focus on rinsing the dishes, his expression unreadable.

“It’s nothing.” His voice was flat, dismissive.

(Y/n) didn’t buy it. She was already moving closer, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as she guided him toward one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Niki.” Her voice softened, more insistent now. “Come sit down. Let me look at it.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when she gently urged him again, he sighed in defeat and sat down.

She knelt in front of him, her fingers gently peeling back the edge of the bandage to see the injury underneath. The muscle looked strained, and even just touching it caused him to wince slightly.

“You’re hurt,” (Y/n) said softly, frowning as she studied him closely. She felt a sharp pang of worry — for him, for how much he was clearly hiding.

Niki looked away, trying to pull his arm back, but she was insistent. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his tone stiff. “Just… strained it while lifting weights.”

“That’s not fine,” she said, looking up at him, her face now marked with genuine concern. She got up to grab some soothing ointment from the medicine cabinet. As she walked back toward him, she couldn’t help but lightly scold, “You’re so reckless sometimes, Niki. You should have known better than to push yourself like that.”

Niki clenched his jaw. He was starting to get frustrated, his shoulders tight with the tension he couldn’t seem to shake off. He’d been trying to just get over it — to bottle everything up — but the more (Y/n) hovered over him, the more it felt like he was going to snap.

She sat down beside him, gently applying the ointment to his strained muscle, her touch soft but firm.

But then he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled back, his voice sharp with frustration. “Stop!”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise, her fingers pausing. “Niki?”

“Stop treating me like a kid,” he snapped, his gaze fierce. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult.” His chest rose and fell with the intensity of his words. “I don’t need you to coddle me. I don’t need you to act like I can’t take care of myself.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. His words hung heavy in the air, the hurt and frustration in his voice undeniable. (Y/n) opened her mouth to say something, but he quickly stood up, his movements stiff as he threw his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not your little brother, (Y/n). I’m not… the kid you grew up with. I’m me.” His voice was raw, laced with an anger he hadn’t quite known how to release until now.

(Y/n) stood frozen, her heart pounding. She had no idea how to respond. This wasn’t the Niki she was used to.

She had never seen him like this — so angry, so frustrated. But more than that, it hit her hard: maybe she had been the one holding him back all along, treating him like someone he wasn’t anymore.

The room felt tense, the air thick between them. (Y/n) finally took a breath, her voice quieter but still filled with worry. “Niki… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

He didn’t answer, his back to her as he stood by the table, his jaw clenched tight.

It felt like the walls between them had gotten taller in just a few seconds. He had always been the younger one, the “little brother” to everyone. But now… the truth was clear. He had changed, grown, become someone different, someone who was no longer content to live in the shadows of others.

And (Y/n) wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

~~~

The sound of water running filled the otherwise quiet kitchen.

(Y/n) stood at the sink, mechanically washing dishes, her shoulders slightly hunched and her head bowed. She blinked hard a few times, willing away the stinging in her eyes — but it didn’t help much.

She didn’t even hear Jungwon approach until he was right beside her, towel in hand, quietly taking a plate she had just washed.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his voice low so that only she could hear.

(Y/n) startled slightly, then gave a weak smile. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t look fine.”

That was all it took.

(Y/n) let out a shaky breath and bit her lip, focusing a little too hard on scrubbing the next plate.

“I think I upset Niki,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just a little. “I… I didn’t mean to. I just… I’m worried about him. And he got mad. Really mad.”

Jungwon nodded, taking the plate from her hands and setting it aside to dry.

“What happened?”

She sniffled softly, drying her hands before leaning against the counter. “I saw he hurt his arm, and I got worried. I guess I was treating him like… like I always have. You know? Like a little kid who needed taking care of. And he just… snapped. Said he’s not a kid anymore. That he’s an adult now.”

Her voice cracked a little on the word adult, and Jungwon could see the genuine worry in her eyes.

She wasn’t upset because he yelled.

She was upset because she had hurt him, even without meaning to.

Jungwon sighed, resting the towel over his shoulder, thinking for a moment before he spoke.

“(Y/n)…” he started carefully, “we’ve all seen it happen. Niki growing up, changing. He’s not the same kid he was when we all first met.”

(Y/n) glanced up at him, her brows knit together tightly.

“You’re not wrong to care about him,” Jungwon continued. “But…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You’re the only one who still treats him like he’s stuck in time. Like he’s still that teenage boy who needed someone to tie his shoelaces for him.”

He gave a small, almost fond smile at the memory.

“But he’s different now. He’s taller than all of us, stronger. He’s been through stuff you haven’t seen. And… as one of the youngest in this house, I get it.”

He picked up another plate, drying it absentmindedly as he spoke.

“When people look at you like you’re still a kid, even when you’re trying your hardest to prove you’re not… it kinda feels like they don’t see you. Not really. It hurts.”

(Y/n) stared down at her hands, guilt blooming in her chest.

“I think,” Jungwon said softly, “he just wants you to see him for who he is now. Not who he used to be.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Jungwon gave her a little nudge with his elbow.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said gently. “You care about him. That’s the most important part.”

(Y/n) finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, blinking quickly to clear her eyes.

“Thanks, Wonnie,” she murmured.

He smiled warmly at her, grabbing another dish.

“Anytime. Now hurry up — if we leave these last dishes for Jake, they’re gonna be sitting here ‘til morning.”

Despite everything, (Y/n) laughed softly, and the heaviness in her chest lightened just a little.

But even as she scrubbed the next plate, she couldn’t help but wonder:

When did Niki grow up so much… and how had she missed it?

~~~

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the campus yard, where groups of students gathered between classes, laughing and talking. (Y/n) sat at a table outside the café, picking half-heartedly at her sandwich as her gaze wandered across the lawn.

And there he was.

Niki.

He was with a group of friends, laughing easily, tossing a soccer ball back and forth. His body moved with a natural grace, all long limbs and effortless strength.

She watched as he spun the ball on his finger, grinning proudly when his friends cheered, then danced around in a mock celebration, his familiar laugh floating through the air.

It was the same laugh she remembered from when he was younger — pure, loud, a little uncontrollable. But everything else…

Everything else had changed.

His face was sharper now, his jawline more defined. His features had matured, lost the roundness of youth. His hair was longer, messily styled in a way that somehow made him look even older, even more untouchable. His shoulders were broad, his posture confident without being cocky. Even the way he laughed felt different — freer, maybe, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore.

And his voice — when he called out to one of his friends — was deep, low, and rich with a maturity she hadn’t fully registered until now.

(Y/n) felt a tight knot form in her chest as she watched him, a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside her.

When did this happen?

When did he grow up so much… and how had I missed it?

The thought gnawed at her.

Maybe she hadn’t missed it.

Maybe… she just didn’t want to see it.

She rested her chin on her hand, her sandwich forgotten.

When he was younger, he’d clung to her side like a shadow — eager for attention, desperate for affection. He used to beam whenever she praised him, used to puff up with pride if she called him her “little man.”

She had been important to him back then.

Someone he needed.

But now…

Now he didn’t need her like that anymore.

He had friends, dreams, a life that didn’t orbit around her.

He had become someone independent, someone strong, someone who could stand on his own without needing her to hold his hand.

And that realization cut deeper than she expected.

Maybe she had kept seeing him as a boy because it was easier.

Because if he grew up…

If he didn’t need her anymore…

Where would that leave her?

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she watched Niki toss the ball high into the air, laughing when one of his friends missed it.

He was still her Niki.

But he wasn’t a boy anymore.

And if she didn’t figure out how to see him for who he was now…

She was going to lose him.

Not as a little brother.

Not as the boy who needed her.

But as the man who had been standing right in front of her all along — hoping she would finally see him.

~~~

Niki wasn’t in a hurry to go home.

He knew he should be — he knew he owed (Y/n) an apology for snapping at her.

It wasn’t her fault she saw him that way.

But even knowing that, the sting of her words, her touch — ruffling his hair like he was still a kid — made something heavy settle in his chest.

He wasn’t ready to see her yet.

Not if it meant standing there while she smiled that soft, maternal smile at him again.

Not if it meant feeling like nothing he did would ever make her look at him differently.

So he stayed out.

Played a few more rounds of basketball at the gym with some friends.

Grabbed late night food at a 24-hour diner.

Laughed at dumb jokes, scrolled mindlessly through his phone.

Anything to avoid going home to her.

It wasn’t until past midnight that Niki finally gave up.

His legs ached, and the exhaustion was catching up with him.

He trudged up the familiar walkway to the shared house, his bag slung loosely over his shoulder, hoodie pulled up to shield him from the chill in the air.

Pushing the door open quietly, he was greeted by the soft hum of the TV left on in the living room.

He paused in the doorway, his heart sinking at the sight before him.

There, curled up on the couch, was (Y/n).

She was fast asleep, still in her clothes from earlier, her head tucked against the armrest.

Even in sleep, her expression wasn’t peaceful — her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

And... tear stains on her cheeks?

Niki stood frozen for a second, guilt flooding his chest.

He swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair.

Idiot, he cursed himself.

Despite still feeling like he needed space, he couldn’t just leave her like that.

He crossed the room slowly, crouching down beside the couch.

“(Y/n),” he whispered softly, reaching out to gently shake her shoulder.

She stirred, blinking blearily at him, her body slow and sluggish from deep sleep.

“Niki?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and small.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant. “You should go to your room. It’s late.”

She sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes.

For a moment, she just looked at him, and in the haze of sleep, maybe in the haze of regret too, she whispered, so quietly he almost missed it:

“I’m sorry, Niki… for treating you like a kid.”

Niki’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He hadn’t expected her to say anything.

Not now.

Not like this.

For a second, he didn’t know what to do.

The part of him that was still angry, still hurt, wanted to retreat.

But the bigger part — the part that had been hopelessly, stupidly in love with her for as long as he could remember — just wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it was okay.

He exhaled slowly, standing up straight.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer than before, offering her his hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

(Y/n) gave a small, tired nod and took his hand without hesitation.

Her fingers curled trustingly around his, just like they used to when he was little and she was the only person he’d ever looked up to.

But this time…

This time, Niki didn’t feel like a little kid being led around.

This time, he was the one steadying her.

And maybe… just maybe…

things were starting to change.

~~~

The tension between Niki and (Y/n) lingered, a heavy thing that settled between them like an invisible wall.

They had talked, in a way, but it wasn’t enough to clear the air completely.

Not yet.

The others noticed, of course.

Shared glances across the dinner table, silent conversations with their eyes.

But no one said anything out loud.

And maybe that was why it was so easy for everyone to miss how exhausted (Y/n) was getting.

At first, it just seemed normal.

Exam season was brutal.

Everyone was running on fumes, pulling all-nighters, surviving off instant noodles and cold coffee.

But as the days wore on, Niki started to notice the little things.

The way (Y/n)’s head would droop during study sessions.

How she’d stare blankly at her notes, blinking slow and heavy.

The dark circles that had bloomed under her eyes like bruises.

The way her hands would tremble when she thought no one was looking.

Still, he convinced himself she’d be okay.

(Y/n) was strong.

She always pushed through.

But today…

Today was different.

Their shared class had a big presentation — the final one before exams.

The room was packed, students nervously shuffling papers, tapping their feet.

Niki sat toward the middle, restless, his knee bouncing under the desk.

When it was (Y/n)’s turn, she stepped up to the front of the room, clutching her notes in shaking hands.

Niki sat forward slightly, sensing something off immediately.

She looked… fragile.

Pale.

Her voice, usually steady and confident, was thin and wavering.

As she spoke, Niki’s eyes never left her.

He saw everything.

The slight sway of her stance.

The way she gripped the edge of the podium like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

The way her sentences started to blur together, her eyes unfocused.

His chest tightened.

Something wasn’t right.

Then, just as she wrapped up her last sentence, it happened.

Her knees buckled.

Her body tilted sideways.

And before anyone else in the room even processed what was happening, Niki was already moving.

He didn’t remember standing up.

Didn’t remember pushing his chair back so fast it screeched against the floor.

All he knew was that suddenly he was beside her, catching her just before she hit the ground.

“(Y/n)!” he gasped, panic surging through him.

He cradled her head carefully, easing her down as gently as he could.

Her face was deathly pale, her breathing shallow but steady.

The professor rushed over, the class erupting into murmurs and concerned whispers.

But Niki tuned it all out.

It was just him and her.

“Hey, wake up,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face with trembling fingers. “Come on, (Y/n)… please…”

She didn’t stir.

Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon appeared out of nowhere, pushing through the crowd.

Jay knelt beside him, his face tense.

“She needs to get to the nurse. Now.”

Niki didn’t hesitate.

Carefully, he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the sting in his strained bicep, ignoring the shocked gasps from their classmates.

(Y/n) was light — too light — and limp against him.

“Move!” he barked, voice rougher than he’d ever used in class, clearing a path as he carried her out the door.

His heart hammered against his ribs with every step.

All the tension, the anger, the awkwardness from the past few days melted away, replaced with one overwhelming thought:

I can’t lose her.

~~~

The sky outside had long since fallen into darkness, the faint glow of the campus lights filtering through the small window of the nurse’s office.

It had been four hours since (Y/n) first passed out, and finally, her lashes fluttered open.

The room swam before her eyes, the world moving sluggishly as her body struggled to fully wake up.

For a moment, panic clutched at her chest — unfamiliar ceiling, sterile smell of antiseptic — where was she?

But then… she felt it.

The solid, grounding weight in her hand.

Slowly, she turned her head, her vision clearing just enough to see a familiar messy head of hair resting on the edge of the bed, Niki’s fingers still loosely intertwined with hers.

Even in sleep, he held on.

Her heart ached, too full with something she couldn’t name.

Without thinking, she lifted her free hand and ran it through his hair, her fingers gently brushing against his scalp in a soft, affectionate touch.

Niki stirred almost immediately.

Blinking blearily, he sat up straight, his eyes finding hers with a sharpness that instantly shifted into frantic worry.

“(Y/n)!” he gasped, sitting up so fast he almost knocked his chair over. “Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt? You need water— wait, don’t sit up too fast!”

She blinked at him in stunned silence.

He was… yelling at her.

Half-scolding, half-panicking — but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

He wasn’t the kid she used to babysit anymore.

This was a young man, one who was terrified for her but standing steady, not running away from the fear.

“(Y/n),” he huffed, exasperated after seeing her still dazed expression. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His voice cracked just a little on the last word.

Her chest squeezed painfully.

“I…” she started, her voice hoarse. She had to swallow before she could speak properly. “I’m sorry, Niki.”

He shook his head immediately, squeezing her hand lightly.

“You should be apologizing to yourself, not me,” he muttered. “You push yourself way too hard.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, the tenderness of his scolding washing over her like warm water.

Then, slowly, she smiled — soft, tired, but genuine.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “For staying with me.”

Niki’s gaze softened at that.

He squeezed her hand again and shrugged like it was obvious.

“Of course I stayed,” he said. “You hate being alone when you’re sick.”

(Y/n) froze slightly at that.

Her smile faltered for half a second.

That was… something she had told him years ago.

Back when she first started babysitting him, when he was just a little boy clinging to her side, scared of thunderstorms and fevers.

She had never mentioned it again.

Not once.

And yet, he remembered.

All this time.

She blinked rapidly, forcing back the sudden sting of tears that weren’t from exhaustion this time.

Instead, she let herself smile wider, a soft, touched kind of smile that made Niki’s heart stutter.

“You remembered that?” she asked, voice cracking slightly.

He ducked his head shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I remember everything about you.”

The words hung between them, thick and heavy and unspoken.

For the first time, (Y/n) looked at him — really looked at him.

And for the first time, she didn’t see the boy who needed her.

She saw the man who had always, quietly, chosen her.

~~~

The moment (Y/n) stepped through the front door, she was ambushed.

Jake was the first to reach her, throwing his arms around her like a koala, nearly knocking the air out of her tired lungs.

“Don’t ever do that again!” he whined dramatically, pulling away to look at her face as if to double-check she was really standing.

Before she could even respond, Sunghoon was there, gently ruffling her hair and scolding her with a worried frown, while Sunoo hovered by her side, shoving a blanket into her hands.

Jay appeared from the kitchen, a proud smile on his face.

“I made your favorite,” he announced. “You’re eating everything, no arguments.”

Heeseung leaned over the couch with a soft grin. “And we got snacks. Like, a lot of snacks. Enough for a whole week of feeling sorry for yourself.”

(Y/n) felt her heart swell at the sight of all of them — her odd, chaotic little family — fussing over her like she was something precious.

She laughed, the sound a little hoarse but genuine, and let herself be guided to the couch where Jungwon had already made space for her.

The evening passed in a warm, happy blur.

The boys kept the conversation light, switching between ridiculous debates about movies, funny childhood stories, and bad impressions of each other.

(Y/n) found herself relaxing, her body still weak but her heart lighter.

The fatigue of the past week started to lift, replaced by the familiar comfort of being surrounded by people who loved her.

And yet, somewhere in the middle of Jay arguing passionately with Jake about whether cereal counted as soup, something flickered at the back of her mind.

A memory.

Or maybe… a dream?

The nurses office.

Niki’s voice, low and serious, saying:

“This is just what you do for the person you love. Being in love makes you stupid.”

(Y/n) stiffened slightly, the blanket slipping a little off her lap as the memory came into sharper focus.

Had she imagined it?

Had she been so out of it that her brain invented the words she had secretly wanted to hear?

Or had Niki actually said it?

She wasn’t sure.

But even the thought — even the possibility — made something stir deep inside her.

Something unfamiliar.

Something terrifying.

Something… exciting.

Almost as if pulled by a force she couldn’t control, her eyes drifted across the room.

And there he was.

Niki.

Leaning back in the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, laughing at something Heeseung had just said.

The golden light from the lamp softened his features, but it didn’t hide how sharp they had become — the strong jawline, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled, the way his entire body moved with a casual confidence he hadn’t had just a few years ago.

(Y/n) stared at him, really stared, and suddenly, her heart gave a small, traitorous skip.

It had never done that before.

And in that instant, she realized —

Maybe it wasn’t that Niki had changed.

Maybe it was her who was finally seeing him for who he truly was.

~~~

After two full days of being confined to the house — much to her frustration but to the boys’ immense relief — (Y/n) was finally feeling well enough to step back into the world of university life.

Wrapped in a cozy sweater and with a strict promise to “take it easy” weighing heavily on her shoulders, she headed onto campus, the spring morning air crisp and fresh.

Yet as she walked, her thoughts weren’t on classes or exams.

They were on Niki.

Specifically, on the words that had been haunting her ever since that night in the nurse’s office.

“This is what you do for the person you love. Being in love makes you stupid.”

Had he really said it?

Or had her feverish, delirious mind invented it because deep down, she wanted it to be true?

She needed answers.

And she needed someone to help her untangle the knot that had formed in her chest — someone outside of her chaotic household, someone she could trust to be honest with her without immediately running off to tell Niki.

There was only one person she could think of.

Nicholas.

Their last conversation had been easy, natural, and she had a feeling he could help her make sense of the whirlwind inside her.

So the second she arrived at campus, she started looking around, scanning the familiar courtyard until she spotted him sitting at one of the picnic tables under a tree, laughing with two other guys she vaguely recognized — EJ and Yuma.

Without much thought, she hurried over, slowing only when she got close enough to not look desperate.

“Nicholas,” she called softly.

His blood red dyed hair bounced as he turned at the sound of his name, his easy grin lighting up his face.

“Hey, (Y/n)! Feeling better?” he asked, his tone genuinely kind.

“Yeah, a lot better, thanks,” she said quickly, shooting an apologetic smile at EJ and Yuma before adding, “Would you mind if I steal him for a little bit?”

The two boys shared a look, then chuckled, waving her off like they already knew better than to get involved.

Nicholas stood up without question, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Of course. You okay?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.

“I… don’t know,” she admitted, fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater. “That’s kind of why I need to talk to you.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, following her toward a quieter corner of campus where they could sit under the shade of a tree away from the rush of students.

Once they sat down, Nicholas gave her his full attention, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something more serious and patient.

“Alright. What’s on your mind?”

(Y/n) hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip.

How was she even supposed to bring this up without sounding ridiculous?

But Nicholas waited, no judgment in his eyes.

“It’s about Niki…” she finally said in a small voice.

Nicholas leaned back, crossing his arms loosely.

“Figured.”

She gave him a half-hearted glare, but her heart wasn’t really in it.

“I… I think he might feel something for me. I mean— I don’t know for sure. And even if he did, it’s not like I ever… I mean, he’s younger and I always just…” She trailed off, frustrated with herself.

Nicholas chuckled softly.

“(Y/n), slow down. Breathe. Talk to me.”

She did, inhaling deeply before explaining everything — the words she thought she heard, the way Niki had taken care of her, the way he had yelled at her with worry in his voice, the way he had changed in her eyes seemingly overnight.

The way her heart had jumped for the first time.

When she finished, she sat there, staring at her hands in her lap, feeling vulnerable and stupid.

Nicholas was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice gentle.

“You know… sometimes the people we’re closest to change right in front of us, and we don’t notice because we’re so stuck on how they used to be.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly, nodding.

“And honestly?” Nicholas continued with a small, knowing smile, “If you’re feeling even a little bit like your heart’s skipping because of him… doesn’t that already tell you something?”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

Nicholas shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t look at someone like that unless you care about them a lot more than just a friend. Or a kid you used to babysit.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, a lump forming in her throat.

Nicholas laughed a little to lighten the mood.

“Besides, Niki’s not exactly subtle. If you even think he said something like that about love, I’m willing to bet he meant it.”

(Y/n) bit her lip, her heart pounding.

She still didn’t know exactly what to do — but for the first time, it felt like she was seeing the path ahead a little more clearly.

Nicholas nudged her with his elbow.

“You’ll figure it out. Just… don’t take too long. Some things are worth being a little brave for.”

And as she sat there, the sun shining through the leaves above them, she realized he was right.

Maybe it was time she stopped being afraid of seeing Niki for who he had become — and maybe… for who he had always been.

~~~

What (Y/n) didn’t see — too caught up in her whirlwind of emotions as she sat talking with Nicholas under the tree — was a figure standing across the campus yard.

Niki.

He had just been on his way back from grabbing some lunch, planning to maybe — just maybe — find a way to talk to her if he spotted her.

But now, there he was, frozen in place, a bag dangling from his fingers as he watched her sitting with Nicholas, their heads bent close together, deep in conversation.

The sight made something sharp twist in his chest.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance, but he didn’t need to.

It was the way she leaned in, the way Nicholas smiled at her — relaxed, easy, familiar.

He felt the jealousy and insecurity bubble up inside him like a volcano about to erupt.

Did she like him? Was that why she had gone looking for him?

Had he lost before he even had a chance?

The irrational urge to storm across the grass and pull her away was almost overwhelming.

His fists clenched at his sides, his heart thundering in his ears.

“No,” he told himself, trying to take a deep breath. “You can’t just… pull her away like that. You don’t even know what they’re talking about.”

But the ache didn’t lessen.

Until—

He saw it.

Nicholas reaching out, ruffling (Y/n)’s hair, laughing as he did — the same way (Y/n) always ruffled his hair when she was teasing or comforting him.

And just like that, something inside Niki deflated.

Nicholas didn’t like her — at least not in that way.

The gesture was too casual, too brotherly.

It wasn’t the way you touched someone you had romantic feelings for.

Relief flooded through him, enough that his tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

But even then, a small twinge of jealousy remained, stubborn and bitter.

It wasn’t just about romance.

Nicholas could talk to her easily.

Could make her laugh.

Could listen to her worries without the complicated mess of emotions weighing every word.

And Niki wanted to be that person for her.

More than anything.

He stayed there for a while longer, watching from afar, the bag of food forgotten in his hand, before finally turning away with a heavy heart.

He would give her time.

Time to figure things out.

Time to maybe… start seeing him the way he saw her.

He could only hope she would.

~~~

Before Nicholas left to rejoin his friends, he gave her a warm, brotherly smile and said,

“If you’re really thankful, do something for him. Something that shows you see him — not as a kid, but as Niki.”

(Y/n) tucked those words into her heart like a secret treasure.

It was a great idea.

Only… what exactly should she do?

She wanted it to be perfect — something that said thank you but also quietly whispered I see you now.

She thought about buying him movie tickets — he loved going to the theater after all — but almost immediately scrapped the idea.

Too basic.

Too safe.

Too impersonal.

Niki deserved more than a quick trip to the movies.

He deserved something that really showed she had been paying attention.

Her mind buzzed with possibilities as she walked to her exam room, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the test.

By the time she sat down and the papers were handed out, her brain was running in two different directions.

One half struggled to answer questions about history and theories and dates.

The other half — the bigger half — was tangled up in thoughts of Niki.

What was his favorite thing lately?

What made him light up the way she loved seeing?

What could she give him that no one else could?

Her pen tapped restlessly against the desk, her foot bouncing under her chair.

Every few minutes, she caught herself staring off into space, lips pursed, mind painting images of Niki laughing, Niki dancing, Niki pulling her into conversation with that bright-eyed eagerness that was all his own.

At this rate, she was going to fail her exam.

But honestly?

For once, it didn’t even matter.

(Y/n) knew one thing for sure.

She needed to find the perfect way to show him she saw him.

Not as the little boy she used to babysit.

Not as the younger guy who trailed behind her and the others.

But as Niki.

Someone who mattered.

Someone she maybe — just maybe — was starting to see in a whole new light.

~~~

Even as (Y/n) pushed open the front door of the house, her mind was still a messy swirl of half-formed plans and dead ends.

She dropped her bag by the stairs and slipped her shoes off, half listening for any signs of Niki — but the house was unusually quiet.

Good.

She wasn’t ready to face him yet — not until she figured this out.

Without even thinking, her feet carried her to Sunoo’s room.

If there was anyone she could trust with this — someone who wouldn’t judge her messy feelings and would actually help her — it was Sunoo.

They were the same age, they understood each other, and most importantly, Sunoo was amazing at stuff like this.

She knocked lightly before peeking in.

“Hey… can I steal you for a second?” she asked in a small voice.

Sunoo blinked up from his phone, immediately sensing her seriousness.

Without a word, he got up and followed her into her room, where she shut the door behind them.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

(Y/n) sat beside him, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

“I need your help. It’s about Niki.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened a little, curiosity sparking instantly.

“Go on,” he urged, like he was settling in for a juicy story.

“I want to… do something for him,” she said slowly. “To say thank you. And… to show him I don’t just see him as a kid anymore.”

Sunoo’s smile softened at that.

He could see it — she was trying so hard, her heart on full display, even if she hadn’t realized it herself yet.

He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

“Okay. It has to be personal. Thoughtful. Something only you would think to give him.”

(Y/n) nodded eagerly, hopeful.

“Exactly. But I don’t know what!”

They sat in silence for a moment, until suddenly Sunoo’s face lit up like a lightbulb.

He snapped his fingers.

“His dance shoes!”

(Y/n) blinked, confused.

“What about them?”

Sunoo laughed gently.

“You haven’t seen them up close lately, have you? They’re completely worn out. He keeps meaning to get new ones but keeps putting it off. Either because he’s too busy… or because he spends his money on other people instead of himself,” Sunoo said knowingly.

(Y/n)’s heart squeezed at that.

It sounded just like Niki.

Always giving. Always putting others first.

“Buy him a new pair,” Sunoo said, grinning. “Something he can actually use — and something that shows you see the real him. The dancer. The dreamer. The guy who’s grown up right in front of you.”

(Y/n) didn’t even hesitate.

She bolted upright, grabbing her bag from the floor.

“I’m going now before the stores close!” she said, excitement rushing through her veins.

Sunoo laughed as she nearly tripped over herself on the way out.

“Make sure you pick something stylish!” he called after her.

“You know he has standards!”

“I know!” she yelled back, already halfway out the door.

The sky was darkening fast as she raced down the street, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t dare name yet.

This wasn’t just about saying thank you anymore.

This was about showing Niki — really showing him — that she saw him for everything he was.

And maybe, just maybe, it was about showing herself too.

~~~

(Y/n) practically ran the last block to the store, the “20 minutes until closing” sign glaring at her from the window as she yanked the door open, setting off the little chime above. A tired employee looked up from behind the counter but said nothing, just offered a polite nod. She gave a breathless smile in return and bolted for the back, where the athletic shoes were lined up in neat, glossy rows.

Her eyes scanned the shelves in a panic. Too flashy. Too boring. Not the right cut. Not his vibe.

It was like the clock was taunting her — every tick slicing her focus thinner.

But then — there they were.

Black with subtle gold accents, breathable but durable, made specifically for movement. They weren’t flashy, but they had personality. Stylish without screaming for attention.

Just like Niki.

She grabbed the last pair in his size, hugging the box like it was a golden trophy and practically sprinted to the register.

“Cutting it close,” the cashier joked as she rang it up.

(Y/n) gave a sheepish laugh. “I needed something perfect.”

“For a boyfriend?” the cashier teased with a knowing grin.

She hesitated… and then smiled softly.

“Something like that.”

With one minute to spare, the receipt printed, the shoes were bagged, and she was back outside — the store lights flickering off behind her as the lock clicked shut.

Standing on the sidewalk, the evening breeze brushing her face, she looked down at the bag in her hand.

A small box. But filled with so much meaning.

Please like them, she thought. Please understand what I’m trying to say.

Because this wasn’t just a thank-you gift.

This was her first real step toward showing Niki that she saw him now — not as the little boy who clung to her side all those years ago, but as the man he was becoming.

As someone who mattered to her.

She took a deep breath.

Now she just had to give them to him.

~~~

Earlier that afternoon at the University Dance Studio

The sharp beat of the music echoed through the studio as Niki spun, landed, and slid across the floor with practiced ease. Sweat clung to his neck, his breath steady but strained, his eyes locked on the mirror in front of him. The competition was just days away — everything needed to be perfect.

“From the top,” he called, trying to push through the growing ache in his arms and legs. Jungwon looked at him worriedly from across the studio but didn’t protest. Everyone knew better than to argue when Niki was like this — focused, relentless, a little bit dangerous to himself.

As the music kicked in again, Niki launched into the choreography. Halfway through the set, he pushed off for a quick jump-spin combo, but as his foot hit the ground, a sickening rip echoed beneath the music.

His body faltered.

He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself. Looking down, he saw it — the sole of his right shoe had torn completely from the upper. It flapped uselessly as he stood there, frozen.

“Niki?” Jungwon rushed to his side. “You okay?”

Niki didn’t answer. He just stared down at the ruined shoe, his jaw tightening.

“Damn it…” he muttered, voice low but sharp, like he was trying to hold in something bigger.

“You’ve had those forever,” one of the other dancers commented carefully. “Guess it was time.”

“Yeah,” Niki bit out. “Just not now.”

He dropped the shoe on the bench with more force than necessary and grabbed his bag, ignoring the looks from the others. Jungwon scrambled to follow him.

Back at the house – Present time

The front door slammed hard enough to shake the entire living room.

Heeseung jerked upright from the couch, nearly dropping his phone. “What the hell?”

Jay peeked out from his room, brow furrowed. “Is that—?”

Before either could finish their thought, Niki stormed through the house, expression thunderous, one shoeless foot only in a sock, the other still in the ruined sneaker. His dance bag was slung aggressively over his shoulder, and he didn’t say a word as he stomped past them and slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.

Jungwon entered seconds later, breathless and clearly flustered. He dropped his own bag by the door and held up his hands like he was surrendering.

“He’s pissed,” Jungwon sighed. “His shoe gave out mid-practice. Ripped all the way open.”

Heeseung winced. “No wonder he looks like he wants to murder someone.”

Jay crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe. “Can he even get new ones in time?”

“Nope. He has a full day of classes tomorrow,” Jungwon explained. “No time to go out, and he doesn’t want to skip practice, so…”

“And if he doesn’t have shoes,” Heeseung finished, “he can’t perform.”

“He said he’s not dropping out,” Jungwon muttered. “But I honestly don’t know what he’s planning.”

The three of them exchanged looks — worried, helpless ones — unsure what to do. Niki was the kind of person who didn’t ask for help, who bottled things up until he burst. And now, with the competition looming and everything else boiling beneath the surface…

“He needs a win,” Heeseung said quietly.

None of them knew that one was already on its way — wrapped neatly in tissue paper, swinging from a black paper bag in (Y/n)’s hand as she rushed home with a gift that might be more perfect than even she realized.

~~~

When (Y/n) stepped through the front door, the familiar chaotic noise of the shared living room greeted her like always — the sound of her roommates yelling over each other about which team would win the soccer match currently blasting from the TV. Jay and Heeseung were standing, practically nose to nose, arguing over a replay, while Jungwon sat on the arm of the couch like a referee, munching popcorn and trying to keep the peace.

But one person was missing.

Niki.

Normally, he’d be sitting cross-legged on the carpet, eyes locked onto the screen, fists clenched as he yelled at the players like they could hear him. But now, the spot where he always sat was empty.

Before she could ask where he was, Sunoo appeared at the end of the hallway, spotting her. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately walked toward her, grabbing her wrist gently. “Come with me.”

Without a word, (Y/n) followed him into her room. He closed the door behind them and turned to face her, voice low and serious.

“He’s in his room,” Sunoo said. “And he’s in a bad mood.”

“What happened?” she asked, concerned.

“His shoes broke. During practice. Jungwon said it happened mid-routine, and it wasn’t just a tear — the sole ripped clean off.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened. “Oh no…”

“He was already kind of on edge,” Sunoo added. “And then when he found out he doesn’t have time to buy a new pair before practice tomorrow… He stormed in here, slammed every door in his path, and hasn’t come out since.”

(Y/n) let out a long breath, her heart racing now. She glanced down at the paper shopping bag still in her hand, the new shoes tucked safely inside. She had bought them just in time.

“Sunoo,” she whispered, her voice full of disbelief. “I didn’t even know… I just— I thought it would be a nice thank you. I didn’t know he needed them.”

Sunoo smiled faintly. “Well, lucky him then.”

She nodded slowly. “Do you think… he’ll talk to me?”

Sunoo paused for a second, thoughtful. “Maybe. He probably doesn’t want to talk. But you’re you.” He gave her a look. “If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Her grip tightened on the bag.

“Thanks, Sunoo,” she said softly, and then turned toward the hallway, her pulse thudding in her ears.

She had no idea how this would go — if he’d even open the door for her. But she knew she had to try.

Because for the first time, it wasn’t just about a thank you gift. It was about showing him that she saw him — truly saw him — and that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to stop seeing him as the boy he used to be… and finally acknowledge the man he was becoming.

~~~

(Y/n) stood in front of Niki’s door for a moment, her fingers clenched tightly around the shopping bag handles. Her heart was thudding like it might break free from her chest. Finally, she lifted her hand and knocked — once, twice, soft but firm.

“Go away,” came the muffled grumble from inside. His voice was flat, defeated.

She closed her eyes briefly, then pressed her forehead gently against the door. “Niki… it’s me.”

There was silence.

Then the faint creak of bedsheets shifting. Footsteps. A pause.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Come in.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she turned the knob. As she stepped in, she instinctively tried to hide the shopping bag behind her leg, but Niki’s eyes were already on her. He was sitting on the edge of his bed now, hair messy, one socked foot bouncing in frustration. His gaze flickered to the bag, but he didn’t say anything.

(Y/n) made her way over and sat beside him. The air between them felt thick, quiet but not cold.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently, keeping her voice soft.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Bad.”

There was no point in pretending otherwise.

“I thought you might say that,” she said, her voice a little brighter this time. “So I… might have something that could cheer you up.”

He turned to look at her, skeptical but curious. “What?”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “Close your eyes first.”

He gave her a look — one that clearly said Really? — but slowly, reluctantly, he closed his eyes with a huff.

(Y/n) reached down and placed the bag into his hands. “Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can open them now.”

He opened his eyes.

Pulled apart the tissue paper.

And then he froze.

There, nestled inside the bag, was a brand-new pair of dance shoes — sleek, clean, high-performance, perfectly his style. He stared at them for a long second, like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. His fingers ran along the fabric slowly, reverently.

He didn’t speak.

“…Do you like them?” she asked, almost timidly.

His head turned to her, eyes wide. “You… how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “I just wanted to get you something to say thank you. For helping me. For staying with me. I didn’t know your old ones broke until I came home.”

Niki blinked hard, still trying to take it all in.

“I know it’s not much,” she continued, suddenly nervous. “And it doesn’t fix everything I said before, or how I—how I made you feel like a kid. But… I don’t see you that way anymore. Not really. Not after everything.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Niki carefully set the shoes aside, his fingers lingering for a second before turning fully to her.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice deeper than she remembered. “But you did. And I… I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

His expression was soft now — no longer guarded, but honest.

And for the first time, she saw him not just as someone she used to care for, but someone who had grown into himself, piece by piece, day by day.

And maybe… someone her heart was slowly starting to beat for.

Niki moved before he could think.

In a heartbeat, he reached out and wrapped his arms around (Y/n), pulling her into a sudden, desperate hug that knocked the air from her lungs. The motion sent them both toppling gently backward onto the bed, her landing half on top of him, half against the mattress.

(Y/n)’s breath caught, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his beneath her palms — his chest, broader and firmer than she remembered, reminding her once again just how much he’d changed.

She blinked, stunned, her hands splayed against him as if unsure where to go.

“You’re… hugging me,” she mumbled, a little dazed.

He didn’t let go. If anything, his arms tightened around her, holding her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

“Just for a minute,” he murmured, his voice muffled in her shoulder. “Stay. Just for a minute.”

And she did.

How could she not?

The warmth of him, the quiet rise and fall of his breath, the weight of everything unsaid hanging gently in the silence — it made her chest ache in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. Her eyes fluttered shut, her cheek resting lightly against the side of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat too, and it felt just as fast as hers.

For the first time, there was no tension, no pretending, no need for words.

Just them.

Close.

Still.

Breathing.

Together.

~~~

After a few quiet minutes, Niki finally loosened his hold, though he did so reluctantly. He wished she could stay like that — in his arms, head on his chest, fitting so perfectly like she belonged there. He had imagined this moment a thousand times in the quiet of night, wondering what it would be like to hold her like this, to be close to her without pretending he didn’t want more.

And now that it had happened, it already felt too far away.

(Y/n) slowly sat up, smoothing her shirt, her eyes lingering on him with a softness he hadn’t seen before. She smiled — small, warm, meaningful — and then stood.

She reached out her hand to him. “Come on, let’s go eat dinner. The others are probably already halfway through it.”

He looked up at her, her hand extended in front of him, her eyes waiting. For a second, he just stared — not at her hand, but at her. The way the light hit her hair, the gentle curve of her smile, the way she didn’t treat him like a kid in that moment, but as someone she wanted to be around. Maybe even needed.

And just like that, his mood shifted.

How could it not?

It was her.

So, he took her hand — without hesitation, without a word — and stood up, their fingers briefly brushing as she turned to lead him out of the room.

Of course he would follow her.

He’d follow her anywhere, if she asked.

The sound of laughter and casual bickering floated from the kitchen as they approached, the warm aroma of Jay’s cooking still lingering in the air. Heeseung was seated with Sunoo and Jungwon at the table, chopsticks in hand, arguing over who had eaten the last piece of grilled chicken, while Jake, already on his second helping, was too invested in his food to contribute.

As soon as they stepped in, all eyes shifted to them — just for a second. A subtle glance. The quiet kind of acknowledgment that didn’t need words. Maybe it was the slight flush on (Y/n)’s face, or the way Niki walked a little closer than usual, or how their shoulders almost brushed as they sat down. Whatever it was, it was noticed — especially by Sunoo, who offered her a small smile and a very knowing look across the table.

(Y/n) passed Niki a bowl of rice before serving herself. “Eat,” she said gently, nudging him. “You’ve been sulking all day.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head but accepting the food. “Only because my shoes died a dramatic death.”

“You mean exploded mid-dance move,” Jungwon muttered with a grin.

The table burst into light laughter, and the tension that had been sitting on Niki’s shoulders all day began to ease.

(Y/n) looked over at him just then — really looked — and caught him smiling again, mouth full, eyes shining, the way they used to. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, something soft blooming quietly in her chest.

She didn’t know what would happen next.

But for the first time in a while, she wanted to find out.

~~~

The last few days leading up to the competition passed in a blur — a mix of early lectures, late-night practices, stress naps, caffeine, and mounting nerves. (Y/n) had only caught glimpses of Niki in passing, but he had always offered her a small smile or a wave, and somehow, that had been enough to make her entire day feel a little lighter.

Now it was Saturday. The auditorium was buzzing with excitement, teams filling the backstage areas while the stands quickly packed with students and supporters. (Y/n) sat in the middle of their group, surrounded by Sunoo, Jay, Jake, Heeseung, and — freshly returned from a trip to see his family — Sunghoon, who was currently leaning in as Sunoo gave him a very animated rundown of everything he had missed. His eyebrows rose higher with each sentence.

“Wait—she got him shoes?” Sunghoon whispered.

Sunoo nodded eagerly. “And they cuddled.”

“Cuddled?”

“Fully horizontal.”

Jay elbowed them both. “Shut up, they’ll hear you.”

(Y/n), sitting just a few seats down, was trying to focus on the stage setup and pretend like her ears weren’t burning.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, energy was high. Music blared from a portable speaker, sneakers squeaked against tile, and sequins glinted off a few team jackets under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Niki sat at the end of a bench, lacing up his brand new shoes — the shoes (Y/n) had given him. Just the thought made his fingers slow down. They fit perfectly. They were light, flexible, made for dancing. She had really paid attention. Every time he looked at them, he felt something warm settle in his chest, no matter how nervous he was.

Jungwon flopped onto the bench beside him, stretching his arms overhead.

“You good?”

Niki shrugged. “Just… usual nerves.”

Jungwon smirked. “Well, I’ve got a deal for you.”

Niki gave him a side glance. “What kind of deal?”

“If we win this thing,” Jungwon said, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “you ask (Y/n) out.”

Niki nearly choked on air. “What?!”

Jungwon just grinned. “You heard me.”

“Are you insane?”

“She’s clearly been looking at you differently lately,” Jungwon said, nudging him with an elbow. “You’ve grown up. She sees that. You’re not the kid from two years ago.”

Niki shook his head, voice low. “She’s just being nice.”

“No, she’s not,” Jungwon countered. “You carried her to the nurse’s office like some kind of romantic anime lead. She got you shoes, man. She cares.”

Niki sat there in silence, staring down at the laces in his hands.

“She’ll say no,” he muttered.

“She might,” Jungwon admitted. “But she also might say yes.”

For a moment, all Niki could hear was the thudding of bass outside the room, the muffled cheers of the crowd, and his own heartbeat. Then he let out a shaky breath and nodded once.

“Okay. If we win, I’ll do it.”

Jungwon clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my guy.”

Just then, one of the coaches poked his head into the room. “You’re up next. Line up.”

Niki stood, rolling his shoulders back, his nerves momentarily overtaken by adrenaline. He took one last glance down at his shoes before jogging after his team, Jungwon falling into step beside him.

And somewhere in the stands, (Y/n)’s eyes scanned the stage, waiting for him to appear — completely unaware of the quiet deal that could change everything.

~~~

(Y/n)’s eyes never left the stage.

As the music started, the crowd’s energy shifted — a hush falling over the audience as the beat dropped and the team began to move. But to her, it was like no one else existed. She was completely captivated by Niki.

His movements were sharp, powerful, yet impossibly fluid — like water sculpting through air. Every motion was precise, confident, with that same fire she’d only recently noticed in him. And somewhere between a spin and a leap, he locked eyes with her. Just for a second.

Then he winked.

Her breath caught in her throat. Heat rushed to her face as her heart skipped a beat. Did anyone else see that? Her hands went to her cheeks automatically, trying to calm the sudden flush rising beneath her skin.

Sunoo leaned closer. “He winked at you, right?” he whispered with a grin.

“I—I think so?” (Y/n) stammered, not taking her eyes off Niki as he moved with such control and confidence, as if he owned the stage.

After the final pose hit and the music cut out, the crowd erupted into cheers. The entire group on stage panted, sweaty and grinning as they bowed, and then jogged off backstage. (Y/n) stood with the rest of their friends, clapping and hollering with all their strength.

The waiting period before the results felt like an eternity. The announcer took their sweet time, calling out other teams for various smaller awards first, dragging out the suspense.

Niki, backstage, paced in the hallway with Jungwon and the rest of their team, still buzzing from the performance.

“You nailed it,” Jungwon said. “Seriously, that solo? People are gonna talk about that one for weeks.”

Niki didn’t answer, his mind already jumping ahead — to (Y/n), to the wink, to the ridiculous deal Jungwon had made with him.

And then the announcer’s voice boomed across the speakers:

“And the first place winners of this year’s University Dance Showcase… Team Zenith!”

A roar exploded through the auditorium. (Y/n) shot to her feet with the others, screaming as loud as the rest of them, clapping so hard her hands stung. She turned to Jay, who was hooting beside her, then to Sunoo, who was bouncing on his toes. Her eyes finally landed on Niki again as he and Jungwon returned to the stage for the winner’s photo — and he looked straight at her, smiling from ear to ear, like he couldn’t believe it either.

Somewhere between the nerves and the thrill of victory, Niki found it. The hope.

Maybe Jungwon had been right. Maybe she had seen him. Maybe, just maybe, she’d say yes.

~~~

Now, several courses and endless rounds of chatter later, Niki found himself deep in conversation with Kei, the captain of the university’s dance team and one of the most respected upperclassmen in their department. Kei wasn’t just a skilled dancer—he was a solid mentor, calm under pressure and always able to read people better than they read themselves. Over the last few months, he and Niki had grown close. Kei had seen the way Niki danced with a different kind of energy whenever (Y/n) was in the room, had caught the glances, the silent yearning in his eyes. Niki had even confessed to him once, in a moment of vulnerability after a grueling practice, that he was in love with her—had been for a long time.

So when Niki leaned in now, animated and passionate as he recounted the adrenaline of the competition and their team’s unity, Kei listened with an amused smile.

“You were on fire out there, you know?” Kei said, swirling the ice in his glass. “I haven’t seen you dance like that in months.”

Niki laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck, “It felt different this time. Like… I had something to prove.”

Kei raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Or someone to impress?”

Niki didn’t respond to that, only looked down with a shy smile and a shake of his head.

Just then, Kei’s eyes drifted past him and softened. “You’re not even noticing, are you?”

“What?” Niki asked, confused.

Kei gave a slight tilt of his head toward Niki’s shoulder. “Look.”

Turning his head slightly, Niki’s breath caught. (Y/n)’s head was resting gently against his shoulder, her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even. Somewhere between the shared bites of food and the conversations around them, she had grown quiet and slowly dozed off.

Niki froze. Completely and utterly froze. He didn’t even dare to move his arm.

She was sleeping… on him.

His heart skipped more than one beat, the sensation of her warmth against him, her presence this close, made everything else around him fade. She looked peaceful, and her hand was loosely curled in her lap, her body turned ever so slightly toward him—as if she had naturally gravitated to where she felt safe.

Kei leaned in again, voice low. “You’ve waited for so long, Niki. I know it’s scary, but… she doesn’t treat just anyone like this. She trusts you. She’s comfortable around you. That’s not nothing.”

Niki swallowed hard, unsure what to say. His free hand rested near hers, aching to reach out, to hold it, but he stayed still.

“You think…” he whispered, barely audible. “You think I have a chance?”

Kei smiled softly. “You already had one. You just have to be brave enough to take it.”

Niki looked down at (Y/n) again. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, her lashes fanned out across her cheeks, and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She looked like home. And for the first time in a long time, he felt something warm bloom in his chest that drowned out the doubt.

He didn’t know what would happen next. But in that moment—sitting there with the girl he’d loved for what felt like forever, her head on his shoulder and Kei’s words echoing in his mind—he finally began to believe that maybe, just maybe, this story wasn’t one-sided after all.

~~~

The cool night air wrapped around them as they walked side by side, the soft hum of laughter from their roommates fading ahead as the group slowly made their way back home. The streetlights cast a golden glow across the pavement, their shadows stretching behind them in rhythm with each step.

(Y/n) had just woken from her nap not long ago, still slightly groggy but smiling as she listened to Niki talk. Their conversation meandered from silly jokes to random memories—things they’d both long forgotten but now laughed about like it was yesterday. It was easy, it was natural. Like it always was with him.

But even as he joked with her, Niki’s mind was racing. His heart beat too fast. His palms felt clammy. Every step brought them closer to the house—and closer to him missing his chance.

Then, just a few minutes from their street, he reached out without thinking and gently grabbed her hand.

She stopped, her head tilting slightly as she looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Niki didn’t answer at first. He was looking at their hands, hers soft in his, fitting perfectly like they were always meant to be there. He forced himself to look up, into her eyes, the nerves threatening to choke his words before they could leave his mouth.

“I…” he started, then paused, inhaling deeply. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Something I’ve been holding back for a while.”

(Y/n)’s expression shifted—curious, attentive.

Niki’s voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “I know we’ve been… close for a long time. And I know I haven’t always acted like someone worth taking seriously. But these last few weeks, I’ve realized just how much you mean to me.”

He looked down again, then back at her with a determined softness in his eyes.

“So… if you’re not already seeing someone, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime. Like… a real date.”

The words hung between them in the silence, fragile and full of hope.

Niki waited, heart thundering in his chest, eyes locked on hers, afraid to breathe too loud and scare the moment away.

(Y/n) stood frozen for a heartbeat, eyes searching his. Her mind was still catching up with her heart—two weeks ago, this would’ve seemed ridiculous. Just two weeks ago, she still saw him as the eager, wide-eyed kid who used to follow her around, begging for more playtime, grinning whenever she ruffled his hair. She had clung to that version of him because it was familiar, safe… easy.

But now?

Now she saw him. The real him.

The one who had stayed by her side when she was sick. Who remembered the smallest details she hadn’t even realized she’d told him. Who held her with such gentleness and conviction that she felt safe in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The boy was gone. In his place stood someone who had grown up right in front of her, someone patient, kind, and quietly brave.

Her eyes drifted down to where he was still holding her hand. She brought her other hand to it, cupping his palm gently in both of hers. It was warm—larger than hers, strong, but still soft. Familiar and new all at once.

She could feel how tense he was, holding his breath like the world was hinging on what she’d say next.

And maybe… it was.

She looked up at him, her heart suddenly calm in the center of its storm.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Niki blinked. “Wait—yes?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, Niki. I’d love to go out with you.”

His breath finally released in a shaky laugh, his whole body relaxing like he’d just been told he could breathe again. The glow from the streetlights danced in his eyes as he grinned—wide and boyish but unmistakably different. Older. Real.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

(Y/n) chuckled softly. “Well… you finally got your answer.”

And hand in hand, they took the final steps home, hearts full and lighter than ever before.

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

@eupheme

⭒ Sugar Sugar

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

⭒ Trouble Will Find Me

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

@imaginedisish

⭒ Lover You Should've Come Over

You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

@not-neverland06

⭒ Kid?

You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

⭒ Nasty Dog

You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same

⭒ We're Dating?

You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn.

@thebestandworstdayofjune

⭒ The Refrigerator Light

you are somehow unprepared to run into Logan while on the quest for a midnight snack... in the house you both live in.

@superhoeva

⭒ On His Six

Six months. Six months ago you’d started as the new counselor. Six months, and Logan can’t get you out of his head. 

@little-miss-dilf-lover

⭒ Company

keeping LOGAN HOWLETT company when you notice him having a bad day

⭒ Cowgirl

LOGAN HOWLETT is the kind of guy that likes to fuck up into you during cowgirl.

⭒ Aftercare

thinking about sitting on logan’s lap after you’re done fucking.

@moonlight-prose

⭒ In Dreams We Rest

stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

@proxima-writes

⭒ Room For Rent

logan finds a new roommate.

@happy74827

⭒ Feels Like Home

You decide to take it upon yourself to become best friends with Wade’s new grumpy addition to the family (much to Logan’s dismay).

@ovaryacted

⭒ Logan + Overstimulation Drabble

@sunsburns

⭒ Guess

logan howlett loves to swear up and down that he’s too old to mess around with a pretty young thing like you. you’re out of his league in everything you do, from the way you can get up early in the morning and stay out late at night, stumbling back into your apartment in a fit of giggles, humming the last song that played at the club you were returning from.

@imaginedisish

⭒ Is It Casual Now?

I know baby nooo attachment, but we're...KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND YOU'RE EATING ME OUT IS IT CASUAL NOW?

⭒ Liquid Smooth

A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

⭒ Unchained Melody

You and Logan decide to go to Rogue and Remy's wedding together, but you don't know what together means. Logan helps to clarify...

@d1stalker

⭒ This is Ours

It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

@flowersforbucky

⭒ For Always and Ever Is Always For You

logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

[alohajix]

Marked by Midnight [1]

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight's Masterlist

Summary: in the fog-drenched town of Willowridge, [Y/N] has always felt the pull of the supernatural. She doesn’t know why—only that it thrums beneath her skin, whispers in her blood, and haunts her dreams. She’s spent her life searching for answers, for meaning in the symbols and shadows that call to her… and then she meets him.

Harry Styles is the last living heir of a bloodline the world believes to be extinct. A hybrid born of vampire and wolf, he’s lived in silence, hidden behind the iron gates of Styles Estate, a crumbling estate thick with history, power, and curse. He doesn’t take mates. He doesn’t fall in love. Not anymore.

But fate doesn’t care for rules.

When she stumbles into his world, a bond awakens between them—raw, ancient, irreversible. What begins as curiosity spirals into obsession. And as secrets unravel and darkness rises, one truth becomes terrifyingly clear: she was his long before they ever met, and now… she may never leave.

[Chapter One] Warnings: this chapter contains mild psychological unease, including feelings of being watched, supernatural elements like a mysterious sigil and unseen presence, implied tampering with personal belongings, a subtle fear of the unknown, and emotional isolation as [Y/N] navigates these events alone.

[Chapter One] Words: 4,519

***

Chapter One — The Sigil

The house was quiet. It usually was in the mornings, especially before my aunt woke up, but today it felt different—like the walls were holding something in, or maybe waiting for me to notice. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and maybe I wouldn’t have, if everything else hadn’t felt so normal.

I wrapped both hands around my coffee, the chipped mug warming my fingers. The glaze was cracked near the handle, but I couldn’t bring myself to use anything else. I made it when I was a kid—my aunt still had the matching one, though hers didn’t have the lopsided base or the faded blue streaks that never quite came out right. It was one of those things I held onto, like the books on the shelf or the music I played through the same half-broken earphones. Little things that didn’t matter to anyone else, but kept me steady.

I moved through the morning like I always did, careful not to make too much noise. My aunt liked to sleep in when she could, and I liked having the house to myself for a little while. I opened the window just a crack, letting the cold air curl in and wake me up more than the coffee did. It was colder than yesterday, with that edge of late-autumn that always made the mornings sharper. Familiar. Easy.

I sat where I always did, tucked into the corner near the bookshelf, legs curled under me, notebook in my lap. The pages were half-full of notes, scribbles, thoughts from class or things that stuck with me after reading too long at night. I studied what most people didn’t take seriously—occult sciences, old symbols, the kind of history no one talked about out loud. But it never felt strange to me. If anything, it made more sense than the rest of it.

I didn’t open the notebook right away. I just sat there, earphones resting in my lap, letting the morning settle. The house was still, no creaks from the floorboards or sounds from the street. Just quiet.

But it didn’t feel right.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, or maybe I was just listening harder. I glanced over at it, then to the small table by the window. The photo frame was still face down, exactly where I’d left it. I didn’t need to flip it over—I knew the picture by heart. My aunt, younger then, standing next to my mom. My parents. It’s the only photo I have of them together. I never met them, not really—just stories and that one image, frozen like they’re still here. Like the world hadn’t already taken them before I had the chance to know them.

Some days I wondered if they’d get it—the way I was drawn to things that didn’t make sense to anyone else. The symbols, the old texts, the strange pull I couldn’t explain. My aunt didn’t talk about them much, not more than she had to, but I always felt like there was more she wasn’t saying.

I shook the thought away and finally flipped open the notebook.

It wasn’t where I’d left off.

There, in the corner of the page, just beneath some half-finished notes from class, was a mark I didn’t remember making. Sharp lines, layered in a way that looked deliberate, too precise to be random. I stared at it for a long moment, thumb brushing lightly over the edge of the paper, like maybe it would feel familiar if I touched it.

It didn’t.

But still, there was something about it—something I couldn’t pull away from.

I stared at the mark, waiting for something to click. It wasn’t the first time it had shown up—this wasn’t new. I’d seen it before, tucked into the margins of my notes, half-formed in dreams I couldn’t fully remember when I woke up. Sometimes, I thought maybe I’d drawn it without realizing. A nervous habit, a strange piece of something I’d read that stuck. But it wasn’t just a doodle. It never had been.

This time, it felt sharper. Closer.

I ran my fingers over it, slower now, tracing the edges without meaning to, like I was trying to pull something out of the paper. It was still ink, still flat—but it didn’t feel like it. Something about the lines felt… deeper, like they weren’t just written. Like they’d been waiting.

Why now?

I didn’t remember putting it there, not today, not ever. And it wasn’t just the mark. It was the feeling that came with it—this low hum in the back of my mind, steady and constant, like a sound just out of reach. It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and I was only hearing it now.

The air shifted. Not cold, not sudden. Just… aware. Like the room wasn’t empty anymore, even though I hadn’t heard a sound.

I looked up, eyes flicking to the hallway, then the window. Nothing. Just the same soft light, the same stillness pressing in from all sides. But my skin prickled, and I held my breath without realizing it, waiting for something to move.

Nothing did.

I glanced back at the notebook, but the sigil didn’t change. It just sat there, dark against the page, like it was watching me. Like it had been waiting. Like it knew me.

A sharp pulse ran through me—not fear exactly, but something close. Recognition, maybe. Or the edge of it. Something about the mark stirred a memory—not a clear one, more like a feeling. Like I’d seen it somewhere else, maybe before I ever picked up a pen, maybe in one of those half-formed dreams that slipped away the second I opened my eyes. A place I’d never really been. A voice I couldn’t quite remember. I didn’t know what it meant, but I felt it. Deep. Heavy. Like a name I’d forgotten but was still mine.

Maybe I was overthinking. I did that sometimes—let my mind get ahead of me, especially when things didn’t add up. I wasn’t one of those people who believed in fate or signs, not really. But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to believe this was just… nothing.

The air felt heavier now, pressing against my skin like humidity, though it wasn’t hot. A tightness coiled at the base of my neck, the kind that came just before a storm. The light through the window seemed duller, like the house itself was holding its breath.

My aunt used to say that some things don’t make sense until they already matter. That by the time you ask why, it’s already too late. I’d always thought she meant people, choices. But now I wasn’t so sure.

I shook my head, trying to break the weird weight that had settled over me. This wasn’t anything. It couldn’t be. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I needed to get out, get some air, shake it off before I lost the whole day to whatever this was.

But part of me didn’t believe that. Not really.

I told myself I could leave it here, forget it, just walk away like it didn’t matter. But the thought sat wrong, like a stone in my chest, too heavy to ignore.

I closed the notebook, slower than I meant to, and stood. The floor creaked under my feet—normal, expected—but the sound still made me jump. I told myself it was fine. Just nerves. Just the quiet getting to me.

Still, I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door, the old denim one I always wore when I didn’t want to think too hard about what I looked like. The notebook went into my bag without a second thought, the page still burning in the back of my mind, even with it closed.

I lingered by the door longer than I meant to, hand tight on the knob. If I left now, it would be easy to forget. Pretend it didn’t mean anything. But part of me knew, as soon as I stepped out, that nothing was going to be the same when I came back.

I tightened my grip on the doorknob, heart knocking louder now, as if leaving would answer something I wasn’t ready to ask. One step, just one, and I could forget the way the mark still pulled at me from inside the bag. But as I stood there, the house seemed to shift again—not loud, not obvious, just a faint creak behind me, like it had exhaled.

Or like something in it had finally let go.

I stepped outside before I could change my mind.

The air hit me differently than I expected. It wasn’t colder, not exactly, but it bit sharper against my skin, curling down my spine like it was looking for a place to settle. I paused at the edge of the porch, pulling my jacket tighter around me, the weight of the notebook pressing against my hip through the canvas of my bag. It didn’t feel distant now—it felt like it was still open, still pulling.

I hadn’t meant to go anywhere. I told myself that as I took another step, and another. I just needed air. Just a little space. But the pull didn’t ease up. If anything, it got stronger the further I moved away from the house.

I followed the narrow path that curved around the back, past the old fence that never stayed upright for long, and into the edge of the woods. My feet knew the way, but nothing about it felt familiar now. The trees seemed taller, like they’d grown overnight, their branches heavy and close enough to scrape against each other with every shift of the wind. Only… the wind didn’t follow me here. It stopped somewhere behind me, like it wasn’t allowed past the line I’d just crossed.

I glanced back, half-expecting to see something, but the yard was still. The house stood quiet, exactly as I left it, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.

I turned back toward the woods and kept walking.

The sound changed first. My footsteps didn’t crunch like they should have—not on the leaves, not on the soft dirt that had always marked this trail. Everything dulled, like the world was closing in around me, muffling every step, every breath, every reason I had to turn back.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The path wasn’t clear anymore, but my feet still found it, like it had always been there, waiting for me to follow.

I passed trees I should have known, the ones I used to see every time I came this way, but now they looked older. Worn in a way I couldn’t explain, like they’d been watching for a long time. The air thickened as I moved deeper, the kind of weight that didn’t press from outside but from within, settling into my chest with every step.

I tried to tell myself this was nothing. That it was just a walk, just a way to clear my head. But I didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

A memory flickered—something I’d read once, a line from one of the old texts I kept meaning to return to. “Paths chosen by the heart, not the eyes.” I didn’t remember where I’d seen it, but it stuck now, sharper than before, like it belonged here.

The deeper I went, the quieter it became.

No birds, no wind, not even the rustle of leaves beneath my feet. Just the steady beat of my pulse in my ears and the low hum that hadn’t left me since I’d seen the mark. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate, like something had made it so.

I stopped, hand resting on the rough bark of a tree, trying to catch my breath. I could turn back. Right now, before I went any further. Nothing was stopping me. But even as I stood there, the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Like I’d be missing something. Like I’d already gone too far to pretend I hadn’t.

The trees ahead shifted, pulling back just enough for the path to open wider, and there—just beyond the line where the light didn’t quite reach—I saw it.

The gate.

It wasn’t grand, or new, or even fully intact, but it rose from the ground like it had grown there. Twisted iron, dark and worn, wrapped in ivy and shadow. My breath caught, not from fear, but from recognition. I didn’t need to see the center to know what was there. I could feel it already, humming through the air the same way it had in my notebook.

Still, I stepped closer.

The vines tried to hide it, curling tight through the bars, but the sigil was there. Carved into the metal, sharp and perfect, like it had been waiting for someone to see it. For me to see it.

I reached out, not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t have a choice. My fingers brushed the iron—cool, rough, alive—and the hum deepened, wrapping around me like a second skin. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t comfort, either. It was knowing. The kind that didn’t need words.

Something was waiting on the other side.

I stopped again, this time longer, my breath catching in my throat like something wanted to push its way out. The air around me was thick, the kind of thick that made it hard to move, like I was wading through something invisible, heavy. I pressed my hand against the nearest tree, grounding myself, trying to shake the feeling that I was being drawn forward—not by choice, but by something older than thought.

The path ahead darkened slightly, not with shadow, but with stillness. Like light didn’t want to go there. Like sound had already given up.

I could still turn back. My feet hadn’t crossed yet. I could leave this—all of it—pretend it was a mistake, a strange dream I hadn’t fully woken from.

But I didn’t. Because even though I didn’t know what was ahead, part of me already knew it was meant for me.

And that scared me more than anything.

The gate opened without a sound.

No creak of iron, no rust flaking off the hinges—just a slow, smooth shift, like it had never really been closed to begin with. The vines pulled back as if by their own will, loosening their grip just enough to let me pass, then settling again, wrapping tight around the bars like they hadn’t moved at all.

The air on the other side was different. Heavier, but not oppressive. Warmer, like the sun had reached here even when it hadn’t touched the rest of the forest. I stepped through before I could think too hard about it, and the moment my foot crossed the threshold, the quiet deepened. Not empty, not hollow, but full. Like I’d entered into something alive.

Ahead, through a thin mist that clung low to the ground, the manor came into view.

It wasn’t ruined, not like I expected from something buried in the woods. The stone was dark, but whole. Vines crawled along the outer walls, creeping up the sides as if the house had grown up through them, not the other way around. The roof was steep, shingled in black slate that shimmered faintly even in the muted light, and the windows—tall and narrow—were intact, though most were clouded over by dust and time.

It stood waiting.

Not abandoned, not forgotten. Just… paused.

I took another step, my boots sinking slightly into the softened path, no longer gravel or dirt, but something in between—stone worn smooth by years, maybe centuries, of footsteps just like mine. The trees here were set back, their trunks arching like ribs over the path, and the air didn’t move. Even the mist seemed to hold still, wrapping the ground in quiet.

Every instinct I had told me to be cautious. But something else—something older, something deeper—told me to keep going.

The front steps were worn, but solid, leading up to a heavy wooden door framed by black iron hinges that spiraled outward like roots. I paused at the bottom, eyes tracing the carvings along the edge of the doorframe—symbols, almost like the one I’d seen, but different. Older. More complex.

I didn’t touch them.

Not yet.

Instead, I stepped off the path, moving slowly along the side of the manor, my fingers brushing against the stone wall, cool beneath the ivy. The silence followed me, but it wasn’t empty. It was expectant. Like something was waiting for me to reach a place I hadn’t yet found.

The windows here were lower, some of them open just a crack, as if someone had left them that way on purpose. I leaned in closer to one, trying to peer inside, but the glass was too warped to see through, just shapes and shadows behind the smear of age. Still, I felt something stir beyond it—a shift, faint, like breath.

I pulled back, heart thudding harder now, but not in fear. Not exactly.

It felt like I was supposed to be here. Like every step I’d taken had led to this, even if I hadn’t known it until now.

A faint sound caught my ear—a rustle, soft, like fabric brushing against stone, just beyond the corner of the house. I didn’t move at first, listening, holding still as the air seemed to pull tight around me. The sound came again, a little closer, a little more deliberate.

I rounded the corner, careful, eyes scanning the garden that opened behind the manor. Overgrown, but not wild—flowers still bloomed here, though faded, their colors muted beneath a layer of dust and time. Stone benches sat in a half-circle around what must’ve once been a fountain, now dry, its basin cracked but not broken.

The air thickened again, almost humming. The sound came again. I turned toward it, breath caught, and froze.

A figure—just for a second—half-seen through the mist near the edge of the garden. Tall, still, watching.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The figure didn’t move.

Then, like smoke in the light, it was gone.

I stood frozen, the silence roaring back around me, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It pressed in, full of something I couldn’t name.

I stepped forward, slowly, into the garden’s center. My hand brushed the edge of the fountain’s stone lip—it was cold, rough, but whole. The moss that clung to its sides felt damp, alive, as if time had passed differently here. As if this place had never truly been abandoned.

A breeze lifted, soft but insistent, carrying a weight with it, curling around my shoulders like it meant to turn me back. And then—the voice. Not loud. Not whispered. Just there.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The words hit like stone, dropping into the silence between my ribs, heavy and sure, like they belonged to this place more than I did.

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t fear. It was something older, deeper—inevitable. A truth I hadn’t known I was walking toward, but now that I’d heard it, I couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t step away from it.

I turned, breath tight, searching the garden’s stillness—but there was no one. No shadow. No shape. Just the weight of knowing I’d crossed into something I wasn’t meant to touch. But it had touched me now.

The silence stretched, thick and full, long after the voice faded.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every part of me felt like it had been caught in something unseen, held tight not by force, but by the weight of knowing—something old, something certain.

The air shifted again. It wasn’t just around me now. It was behind me. I turned slowly, every breath sharp in my throat, eyes scanning the space I knew was no longer empty.

He was there. Not in the shadows this time. Not half-hidden by mist or distance. Just… there. Standing at the edge of the garden, where the stone met the trees, his frame still, his gaze fixed—on me. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. It was him. I knew it, somehow, the same way I’d known the mark, the same way the gate had opened for me like it was always meant to.

He stepped closer, not fast, not threatening, just enough to pull the space tighter between us.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said again, softer this time, but no less heavy.

I swallowed, breath catching. “I didn’t mean to.”

A flicker of something—pain, regret, I couldn’t tell—crossed his face before it settled into something harder.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

The wind stirred behind him, catching the edge of his coat, pulling at the leaves that lay scattered across the stone path. But he didn’t move. His eyes never left mine.

“Who are you?” I asked, the question barely more than a whisper.

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what you need to know.”

“Then tell me what’s happening. Why I’m here. Why—why this keeps pulling me back.”

He looked past me then, toward the manor, toward the trees that held the garden in their grasp. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, threaded with something almost like sorrow.

“You were supposed to stay away. You were supposed to stay safe.”

I took a step forward, heart pounding, the cold of the air forgotten now beneath the heat rising in my chest. “Safe from what?”

He didn’t answer—not right away. He only watched me, as if searching for something in my face, some reason to turn away. But he didn’t.

“They’ll know you’re here soon,” he said, quieter now, as if the trees might listen. “And when they do, I can’t stop them.”

I stared at him, heart racing, every nerve screaming for me to move—to run, to speak, to do anything but stand here waiting for the rest of a warning that didn’t make sense. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

“You keep saying I shouldn’t be here,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “But I am. I didn’t plan this—I didn’t even know this place existed. So stop talking in circles and tell me why it’s pulling me. Why you are.”

His eyes flickered, something behind them sharp and sudden, but it wasn’t anger. It was something heavier.

“I don’t want this for you,” he said, the words barely more than breath, but I felt them, like they landed beneath my skin.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

I took another step toward him, the space between us narrowing. The closer I got, the more real he became—not just a figure in the mist, not a voice out of nowhere. Flesh. Breath. And something more.

“Then tell me,” I pushed, desperate now, the weight of everything pressing in. “What is this?”

His gaze dropped for a moment, his hand flexing at his side like he might reach for me, but didn’t.

“It’s already started,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The mark wouldn’t have called to you if it hadn’t.”

My throat tightened. “The mark… you know what it is?”

He nodded once, slow, reluctant. “It’s not just ink. Not just something you dreamed up. It’s a bond—an old one. One that shouldn’t have touched you.”

“But it did.”

“Yes.” His voice hardened, like it hurt to admit it. “And now, you’re part of something you can’t walk away from.”

The silence stretched again, thicker now, not just between us, but around us—as if the air itself was listening, waiting for me to understand something I hadn’t yet seen.

“I might not have a choice,” I echoed, voice lower now, steadier. “But neither do you.”

His jaw tightened again, the muscles working like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to deny it—but something in his eyes shifted. A flicker of something raw. Familiar.

For a breath, we just stood there, caught in the tension that wasn’t fear, wasn’t curiosity. It was something else. Something deeper. Something that felt like it had always been there. I didn’t know him. But I knew him. And he felt it, too.

I stepped closer, the space between us barely there now. The air pulsed once, low and strange, like it recognized us before we did. He didn’t step back. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me—but still, he didn’t. His eyes never left mine.

“Why does it feel like this?” I asked, the question no longer about the manor or the mark or the warnings. Just this. Us.

His breath hitched, barely.

“Because it’s not just starting now,” he said, voice rough, like the truth cost him. “It’s been happening longer than you know.”

A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from something deeper, something I couldn’t name yet. I could feel it in my chest, in my hands, in the air between us, like a string pulled tight. Like I’d waited a lifetime to find him. And maybe… he’d been waiting, too.

The space between us felt fragile, like one more word, one more breath, might tip it into something we couldn’t take back. I could feel him, not just near me—but in the pull that hummed low under my skin, in the way the air seemed to bend around us, waiting. His eyes darkened, like he felt it too. Like he didn’t want to.

“I don’t know what this is,” I whispered, the words falling between us, unsteady but true.

He did. I saw it in the way his hand finally lifted, hesitating, hovering just near mine—but not touching. Not yet.

“You’re not ready to know,” he said, voice barely there.

But just as the air tightened, just as the moment stretched too full—the ground shifted. A sound cracked through the trees—sharp, wrong. Like something tearing through the quiet that had held us.

His head snapped toward it, eyes narrowing, body coiled.

“They’ve found you.” And just like that, the pull between us snapped. “Run.”

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk199o @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

[lilolilyr]

~ Lilo's 2024 Star Wars recs ~ (another Ao3 year in review)

This is specifically the star wars edition of my reader year in review, the rest & more info can be found here!

Descriptions/summaries by me, click the links for the ones from the authors.

The Good Sith by sonnyrain - Obi-Wan Kenobi and all of the Vod'e time travel and end up on a Sith planet. Obi-Wan, now 'Aranar', turns to the dark side, swearing to protect his men no matter the cost. Over a million words, lots of plot and character developments, fix-everything, still ongoing as of mid last year but you can read the first part(s) on their own.

I love this fic a ridiculous amount, I read several parts at least twice, and I'm thinking about it constantly. Like, when I think up my plotless little fluff piece fix everything bedtime stories I think up to fall asleep (and sometimes when something's good have to forego sleep to write down immediately because I know I won't remember fuckall come morning), I think of the versions of the characters from that 'verse just as often as I think of canon star wars characters or ones from any other fics. It fits into my headcanon 'verse really well because I always work with multiverse settings, and I love the kid characters especially little Sithling Aurek and his twin Soul.

Knives and Spices by argentee, mikaiyawa and others: A whole group of humans from earth is kidnapped into the Star Wars world, and separate fics follow separate characters. One becomes Mandalorian, one a pop star, yet another befriends some pirates and travels to lands we've never seen in canon. 280k, ratings and warnings vary, series still ongoing, parts can be read separately

I love and adore all kinds of self insert stories but this one is just extra levels of amazing - it's basically humans are space orcs meets Star Wars, and humans are all a bit force sensitive - the ending of the series summary describes it perfectly: "how much trouble can a few humans cause? All of it. All the trouble." and I love it all to bits!

Like a Tree by the River by @bairnsidhe - at Galidraan, Komari has a vision of the canon future and decides that she'd rather leave the Jedi behind than be a part of that massacre. Somehow, this ends with her and Dooku being adopted by mandalorians, and her in turn kind of adopting teenaged Obi-Wan at Melida/Daan? 20k T

Idk, this isn't even such a long one and I mean all of BairnSidhe's works I've read are great but somehow specifically this one with Dooku being the 'a bit old' ad and Komari therefore the bu'ad of a random coruscanti Mandalorian just stuck with me and I sometimes randomly think of Dooku being all confused and have to smile xD the plot&writing is also really good!

How a Romance Novel Saved the Galaxy by @arianaderalte: The mandos get their hands on a novel that describes a romance between mandalorians and jedi, and just how perfect jedi really are as partners for mandalorians... This changes things when both groups interact irl. 200k, rated T, Violence

This series has Everything. Jedi, Mandalorians, action, relationships, all kinds of queerness, and excerpts from a romance novel about the ancient Sith wars. Honestly, this fic just couldn't be better! I binge-read through it in one go even though I should have done a million other things at the time and I didn't regret it one bit xD

All the Amavikka stories: the slaves on Tatooine have a separate secret culture with language, myths and names, and Anakin, coming from this culture, reacts to Palpatine being his newest slave master

I think this idea of Tatooine slave culture and of Anakin's characterization is so interesting and I love reading it, from long Double Agent Vader by @fialleril, which I think is the original fic creating the Ekkreth lore, over the ongoing series Biting His Own Tale by @adragonsfriend, to the short story I can't find anymore about depur erecting a tower, a song-fic to Babylon by Dirt Poor Robin and the reason for my obsession with that band - please, if anyone has a link, send it my way! - and all other fics, I love this trope so much!

I think Ekkreth Skywalker was one of the first trope rabbit holes I stumbled into when I got really into Star Wars longfics in the middle of 2024, and I'm always excited to see references to it in fics mainly about other characters as well, like Breaking Chains by @jehanneargentee, and I went back to (re)reading fics about the trope on purpose several times as well :)

The last fic leads neatly into the next trope I really loved this year, Time Travel stories, more specifically Obi-Wan Kenobi time travelling and meeting mandalorians :D

I don't really have more specific stories for this one, I read so so so many of them that they just blur together in my mind. I marked a couple with the Ao3 rec function so I assume I liked those especially much, but going through them now I still don't really remember much, but I do recognize a couple fic author names as authors I read many good fics from, Ariel_Sojourner AppoApples @batshieroglyphics @roosjem LeeTheHobbit @triscribe cjwritesfanficnow @laurabwrites y'all's are awesome! Everyone, go check out all their fics!

I do also read and enjoy stories where people other than Obi-Wan travel through time, one that really stuck with me is In Good Time by morwen_of_gondor, about the Mandalorian trainers Kal Skirata and Walon Vau time travelling back to their time on Kamino.

All the fluffy h/c, fix-it, everyone lives, no order 66 Clone Wars fics! Pro-jedi, pro-clones, anti-sith (which sometimes includes Anakin, sometimes not), usually focusing on the 212th.

I never watched the series and it's been ages since I watched Attack of the Clones, but somehow, probably on the time travel -> Obi-Wan fics -> General Kenobi pipeline, I ended up reading a loooot of clone wars (fix it) fic, specifically lots and lots of Codywan!

You know that lovely feeling of getting into a new fandom without having any preconceived notions or otps or anything, so you can read All The Fic without any ships or bashing squicking you out? Yeah, that was me in Star Wars several months ago, cursed be the Codywan that got to me xD I can barely read time travel fics anymore without mourning the existence of the Vod'e because changing the past usually means they won't be created (unless they're the ones time travelling of course. Love those fics) and where I used to read just about anyone x Obi-Wan (and also anyone x anybody else lmao), I'm not pretty exclusively into Codywan... That being said, there's a reason for that, and that's the amount of amazing fics for that ship that I came across!

Again, I don't have specific fics that I remember because I just read so many one after the other... I guess I'll have to re-read them all. Which is great actually because me not remembering them much means I can reread them basically for the first time! I did mark some as rec but looking through them now I think they're not mainly recced for the codywan... My shippy bookmark tag might give a better overview.

Another ship I got into was clone troopers Waxer x Boil, I like the thought of the Vod'e being a society of to outsiders identical looking but to each other separate people who only see their immediate batchmates as siblings (which would also psychologically make a lot more sense), and these two are just super cute.

One of the first Waxer/Boil fics I read is also Codywan and it's one of these clones&Obi-Wan time travel fics I like so much :D The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident by @antigrav-vector and @quarra, it also has some Dooku/Sifo-Dyas which is another ship I really like.

Another one I still want to continue reading is RCAU: Open Skies mainly by @cacodaemonia, what I've seen of it so far is great and the story is So Long (almost 900k, a honestly daunting wordcount and probably what made me procrastinate continuing it, but also Awesome because So Much Fic), it's cute and shippy and no order 66 but also has plot and interesting characters and ocs and I just love it <3

Also similar but less ship centric, I absolutely love all the fics where Fox gets to kill Palpatine. Just, best trope ever. The Corrie Guard deserves a little Sith Murder. As a treat.

Jaster Mereel and his haat'ade (True Mandalorians), there are a bunch of really good ones where they rescue Obi-Wan and the Young from Melidaan, but also in general all the Jaster fics are great!

While I'm very anti guns irl I just love the fictional Mandalorian culture xD with their cool armor and their codex and the language (per my last count I know 90 words of Mando'a just from fic reading osmosis, send me an ask if you want a list lmao), the vibrant culture created by it being a creed, not one species... and Jaster is just my favorite Mando'ad ever, maybe because he doesn't have much canon attached so fanon just went wild? xD there are also a bunch of jedi shippy fics with him and Dooku sometimes in ot3 with Sifo-Dyas, or him and Jon Antilles like the wonderful 100k wip trade your heart for bones to know by @blackkatmagic, and I think there was one with time travelling adult Obi-Wan as well - edit: yes several, by @roosjem @cjwritesfanficnow @batshieroglyphics <3

Skywalker Family Values by Ariel_Sojourner: Sith-son Luke and senator daughter Leia end up in the same summer camp, it ends in a destruction of the speciist camp, a rebellious theatre performance and the reintroduction of their parents... Aka the parent trap/ Doppelte Lottchen AU that is still somehow perfectly in tune with the Star Wars world! 55k, T for violence.

Can't forget the fic that actually got me into Star Wars! At least I'm pretty sure this is the one? I think there was a tumblr post talking about crackfic ideas for a parent trap AU, and I went looking and found this one, which is actually 100% serious and such a good read. I actually made my mom read it as well xD Das Doppelte Lottchen (German original parent trap book from 1949) was one of our favs for her to read to me when I was a kid, and my mom is always looking for new reading material and as I'm mainly reading fanfic, I'm always happy to find fic she'll also like.

And, because I turn everything into a tag meme, maybe some of you also want to show your appreciation for the writers who got us through the last year - everyone who sees this, feel free to make your own post (if it's just Star wars fic I guess you can reblog-add to this one, but otherwise seriously make your own post)! and remember to leave your authors some comments especially if they can't be @-ed on tumblr :) tagging all the authors already tagged above and everyone else who sees this!

here's my 2024 rec list for other fandoms

more of my fic recs • my writing • my Star Wars • Star Wars fic recs

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hi,

I just stumbled upon your blog and I am already obsessed with your stories.🥰 Your writing style and the way you describe the characters is simply amazing.

Anyways, I‘ve got an idea for a one-shot, could you please write one, where the reader is Dr.Lecters patient and they bump into a very distraught Will after his session and start talking to him. Hannibal get‘s jealous, because he thinks Will is interested in the reader,after the conversation ended, tension is really high during her sessions and it get‘s steamy in the end.(nsfw?)

Hannibal x Reader: What's mine is mine

Warning: smut, oral ( f receiving), no use of y/n, penetration ( p in v), possessive behavior, jealous Hannibal, anger, not proofread, gn reader, female anatomy.

Word count: 1,2 K

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I've told you a thousand times that that door is for exiting clients only and you continue to use it.”

“Oh come on Hannibal you know how i hate using the other door. That empty waiting room always puts me on edge.”

“And talking with another patient is prohibited, you know that.”

You spin on your heels, angrily looking at your therapist.

“For the love of god hannibal! Did you see what he looked like? He was shaking so much I thought he was having some sort of seizure!”

You’d stumbled onto a very distressed will on your way into your appointment and simply couldn’t feel like you needed to help him.

“I'm surprised you let him leave at all. That man was a complete wreck.”

“It is my job to know what my clients need.”

“Clearly you're not doing it very well.”

You could tell you’d hit a nerve because instead of debating you Hannibal simply closed the door and stomped over to his chair. You shook your head. You didn’t understand why Hannibal was so worked up about you talking to Will. It’s not like you’d done anything wrong.

And the truth was you hadn't done anything wrong. If anything you’d shown you were an empathetic person. You weren’t the issue. Will was. Or more accurately, Hannibal's jealousy of Will was. Seeing you talk to Will had sent Hannibal into a sort of spiral. In his mind you belong to him but in reality you don't.

“Okay what the hell is up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh so is your face just stuck like that now? You gonna give me the stink eye for the rest of the session? I mean come on! You’re acting like you caught me kissing him.”

Hannibal's body tensed at your words. He forced himself to open his mouth.

“Did you want to?”

“What?”

“Did you want to kiss him?”

“Oh for fucks sake what does that have to-”

“Answer the question.”

Hannibal had risen from his seat. He walked over to you boxing you against him and the wall behind you. You looked up at him staring into his eyes. Hannibal was so close to you that you could smell his perfume. You took a shaky breath in.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I didn't want to kiss him. I’m not interested in him.”

No in him but in someone. That's what your words sounded like to Hannibal. He desperately needed to find out who you were interested in. Even if it meant having to get them out of his way. 

“Who then?”

“You’re kidding right?”

Hannibal continued to stare at you as he awaited you to answer his question. You shook your head at him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

You pushed forward, hitting Hannibal's shoulder with yours as you moved away from him. Hannibal grabbed your wrist, stopping you from getting too far.

“Who?”

You tugged your arm out of his grip, turning to face him. You looked pissed, it caught Hannibal off guard.

“You! It’s you, you ass!” 

Hannibal stared at you. You’d never yelled at him before. He felt rooted to his spot. He barely noticed you moving forward before you were tugging his tie. You gave him a bruising kiss. He moved to wind his hand around your waist but before he could you pushed off him.

“There. Satisfied?”

No. He would never be satisfied. He could still taste you on his tongue. And the taste was addicting. He surged forward grabbing your head with his hand. He shoved his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly. You let him, your hands moving to grip his suit jacket. The two of you stumbled across the room, hands wildly pulling at each other's clothes. Somewhere in the middle of the process you’d managed to unbutton Hannibal's shirt and he’d managed to remove your pants. Your body fell onto the loveseat, hand moving to tug Hannibal on top of you. He kissed at your skin, his hand moving to shove your shirt up. You gasped as his hands cupped your breast, kneading them in his hand. 

“Oh Hannibal!”

God he loved the way you sounded, gasping his name. He placed a kiss to the valley of your breasts before insching himself lower. He placed small kisses all over your stomach. You watched him with glazed eyes, observing him until he was on his knees before you. He tugs your underwear off your body, moving to place it in his back pocket. You raise your eyebrows to him and all he does is shrug. You squeal as Hannibal tugs you closer to him. He leaned his head down until he’s inches from your pussy. You bite your lip in anticipation. As soon as Hannibal's tongue makes its way to your fold you can’t help but throw your head back. Hannibal grips onto your thighs as you squirm against the loveseat. 

“Oh fuck. There! Hannibal there- shit!”

Hannibal grinned against your pussy, reveling in the way your hand grabs onto his hair in desperation. His fingers moved inside you, helping his tongue in his task to make you cum. You could feel yourself clenching around Hannibal's fingers, silently telling him you were close. If that wasn’t enough the high pitched moans you kept letting out should have been a sign. Hannibal sucked at your clit and you were a goner. Your hand gripped onto the love seat as you came. Hannibal watched you breath for a moment before beginning to climb over you. You tugged him down for a kiss, tugging at his hair. He bit your lip in return. 

Hannibal's dick nudged against your thigh, his pre cum mixing with your own juices. You smiled up at him, wrapping your legs around him. Hannibal took the hint, moving to align his dick with your entrance. He glanced at you for a moment, awaiting your approval. You gave him a small nod. He moved slowly into you. Once he’d bottomed out Hannibal stopped moving, giving you time to adjust. You opened your mouth in a silent moan, brows furrowing as you felt Hannibal twitch inside you. He desperately wanted to move but he would wait for you okay.

“Jesus Hannibal, what are you waiting for? Move!”

Well that was one way to put it. 

Hannibal began to thrust into you, his movements growing more rapid as your pleasure increased. He placed one of his feet on the ground, attempting to give himself more strength. You drew a breath in as he rocked into you rapidly. Hannibal leaned down tugging one of your breasts into his mouth. He sucked at your nipple, making sure to leave a mark. From the way you clenched around him he could tell you enjoyed it so he continued his ministrations. 

“Are you almost there?”

“Uhum please don’t stop-fuck-please i’m…”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, fingers digging into Hannibal's shoulder as you came. Hannibal felt you sag beneath him, taking it as his chance to guide your movements. His hands found your hips gripping them tightly as his thrusts began to flatter. Pretty soon Hannibal seed spilled into your walls. He laid down beside you, pulling your body closer into his.

“Remind me to make you angry more often.”

“Careful dear. That's a dangerous game.”

“Maybe that's how I like it.”

[shysublimecoffee]

Marinette receiving the Ladybug mantle was an absolute mistake. I watched the special, and honestly, gurl is doing the most—and for what? A guy? One dude, and she’s ready to throw her common sense out the window. Like, how has Hawkmoth/Gabriel not used his own son more often as leverage against her by now? That’s villainy 101, and he’s just sitting on it. Like for the amount of times I've seen this show rag on ChatNoir because of his weakness in romance when that Ladybug biggest weakness not CN lol.

At this point, I don’t even care about what Marinette’s going through. Whatever emotional investment I had in her? Long gone. She’s out here spinning lies on top of lies, desperately trying to hold together her crumbling Adrien-obsessed empire, and for what? She lost. Game over.

Now, if this were a story about a girl slowly getting corrupted, spiraling into villainy, and intentionally written as a downfall arc? No problem. That would’ve been a compelling narrative with a real lesson for kids about the consequences of obsession and dishonesty. But nope, instead we’re stuck with this mess where her choices make it harder and harder to root for her.

Marinette's speech at the press conference—“Ladybug holds the truth, she holds the truth” —had me scratching my head cause it sound more like a villain then a hero. Like, did the writers forget she’s supposed to have hero-like qualities? She’s meant to be the messenger, the symbol of hope, the hero. But how often does she actually display that in her own show?

Lately, it feels like being Ladybug is more of an obligatory chore for her than something that brings her real joy or fulfillment. Isn’t the whole point of magical girls to inspire, to help others, and to grow through their journey? Where’s the sense of accomplishment, the spark, the joy of making a difference? It’s like they’ve stripped her of everything that should make her role uplifting and meaningful.

I've seen here and there about how MC was never meant to come off that way or the writers are trying to make her more complex or how dare you do you dislike complex female characters or the most used it was never her intention to come off that way it was a mistake.

I want you to picture this without the music just dialogue cause i'm going to be clearcut about this.

Ladybug went to an orphaned, grieving child—one who had been locked away in solitary confinement, surrounded by nothing but white walls and being sensory deprived—and lied to him about his father being a hero. Let that sink in. Gabriel, who systematically abused his own son, was painted as a noble martyr by Ladybug.

Adrien, a kid who was finally starting to question his father’s authority, even beginning to tear down the oppressive image of the man who controlled and hurt him, is now trapped in an even tighter mental cage. After all, if Paris sees his father as a hero, a savior, how could he possibly feel justified in blaming or resenting the man? Gabriel is now a martyr in the eyes of the world, and Adrien is left to wrestle with guilt and shame for ever having cruel thoughts about someone everyone else idolizes.

Ladybug’s decision to perpetuate this lie doesn’t just protect Gabriel’s image—it messes with Adrien’s already fragile mind. Instead of helping him heal or giving him the freedom to process the truth, she’s reinforced the very chains Gabriel used to control him. It’s not heroic; it’s delusional and harmful, all in the name of preserving some twisted version of peace in her head.

You want me to feel pity for a girl who I'm sorry if I sound harsh to yall at the end of the day just want to keep the peace to fill her delusions that everything is going to work out in her part at the end when really she's just the worst type of coward there is when it comes to confrontations lmao. Accountability? She avoids them like they’re some kind of plague. It’s almost impressive how someone can masquerade as a hero while being utterly incapable of facing the hard truths. Lmao, sure, let’s all pity her.

Honestly, in the earlier seasons, at least Marinette seemed to feel bad about her mistakes. Now? She’s only gotten worse. I headcanon that receiving the Ladybug mantle or becoming the Guardian inflated her ego, giving her a power trip. With no proper mentor to hold her accountable and everyone automatically deferring to her leadership, who’s left to challenge her? Well maybe CN if he has the guts to do so but he'd rather cower into his shell lol.

In hindsight, I don’t think Marinette should’ve become Ladybug—not because she lacks the capability, but because the role itself seems to have worsened her as a person. Instead of growing into the hero I though she was meant to be, she’s devolved, losing some of the humility and self-awareness she had at the start of the series.

Let’s be real—we’re in Season 6 now, and we all know the writers aren’t going to make Marinette face any real consequences. The whole universe bends over backward to accommodate her. If you’ve seen Season 5, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

That said, I’ll give credit where it’s due: the special was fun. Yes, despite all my ranting, I actually enjoyed it because it was funny in its own way.

At this point, though, I’m only sticking around for Adrien and Lila. Honestly? I’m rooting for Lila to be the one to drop the truth bomb and expose everything. It would be chef’s kiss poetic if she ended up being the one to set things straight. Lmao.

P.s For anyone who thinks there is a dilemma to be had about the whole thing its really not lol rip the bandaid off.

It reeks of a megalomaniac in the making, making her come off like a gaslighting psychopath. Ironically, it reminds me of Gabriel—especially with the way he used similar wording. Honestly, are we sure Marinette isn’t Gabriel’s true daughter? Because the parallels are man.

I’m genuinely angry that she is the one everyone feels sorry for, and it’s only because the show is stuck in her perspective. If we spent even a fraction of the screen time on Adrien’s pain, it would make for a far more compelling story. It’s infuriating. Marinette isn’t some helpless sheep/damsel victim here—no one forced her into this role at gunpoint. She made her choices, knowingly and willingly. How dare she act like the weight of the world was thrust upon her without her consent? When she very much messed with a grieving kid here?

And yet, Adrien’s pain—real, tangible, and far more tragic—is constantly sidelined. He’s an orphan, being lied to by nearly everyone around him, adults and teens alike, and his suffering is treated as a subplot to Marinette’s endless drama. Why should the audience feel more for her than for the boy who’s lost everything? Why is his pain has to be centered to her??

This isn't a small mistake this has far reaching consequences if the show had the balls to do it to lie to the entire world over a man who terrorized on people fear.

If Adrien ever became a villain, I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, I’d understand and give him the free ticket to go ahead and cataclysm and burned the world .

[railroadlion]

i love TOL so much its actually gimving me brain worms im a huge comic nerd and it gives off the same vibe as some of my fav comics ever like serenity rose or lost at sea or the gulf it feels like an old alt 'classic' i wouldv read when younger and changed my brain chemistry (it still is)... so so good and your paneling and page layout and characterisation all make it flow so well and its so easy to get invested in the characters.. jamie and santiago are real and They are my Friends... their dynamic and world feel so lively and real.... i love how you play with comic conventions in using the thought/narrative bubble and turning it into voiced speech its so clever and awesome... your inking is so alive and dynamic... i havent been this ThinkingAbout a comic in ages. would buy in print. ps do u have any comic reccomendations/what comics inspires you?

Thank you so much!! This kind of manic obsession is what all true comic creators dream of, so it touches my heart <3

My main inspirations for making TOL were black and white comics I read as a kid but didn't fully understand at the time, like Bone, This One Summer, and (like you mentioned) Lost at Sea!

Lost at Sea in particular was a huge emotional cornerstone for me when I was younger, and was one of the main reasons I kept TOL in black and white. I read it when I was too young to really understand what the characters were going through, but I could tell there was something really emotionally powerful going on below the surface, and it stuck with me into adulthood. The fact that the world in that story had been abstracted by only existing in black and white only made it more mysterious and fascinating to me.

I have such an affinity for B&W comics. It simultaneously makes a piece feel more obtuse and obscured without the specificity of color, but it also makes it all the more personal and unique to each reader who fills in the gaps with their imagination. That's what I'm going for with TOL anyway.

I know some people have only read comics like Bone and Scott Pilgrim in color because it adds a whole new level of artistic expression to enjoy in a story, but I encourage people to revisit their favorite comics if they were originally printed in b&w to see how different they feel without color.

As for other comics I recommend, I really love Blankets, Keeping Two, Ducks, and The Sculptor.

These are all sophisticated creme de la creme novels that really touch on some intensely beautiful themes, and I can't recommend them enough to people who want to read a comic with some real maturity.

But what if you like comics with action and fantasy and cool shit that are also top of the line? Then I recommend Kaya, Ultramega, Do A Powerbomb, and most importantly: Coda.

These comics are so amazingly well drawn and are told incredibly well, but Coda, drawn by Matias Bergara and written by Si Spurrier is probably my favorite comic ever and I recommend it to literally everyone. It's the comic that pulled me out of my era of reading shonen manga slop and made me start reading western comics obsessively.

The duo also made Step By Bloody Step, a comic told without any words- only pictures. This is the kind of thing you have to read if you want to really understand what the comics medium is capable of.

ANYWAY. That's my reading list. Creators like Hayao Miyazaki, Cliff Chiang, Moebius, Frank Pe, Kei Urana, and Ryoko Kui are also amazing and you should check out their works as well.

I'm making physical copies of TOL chapter 1, and at the end I'm also gonna include a reading list of comics made by indie creators who I'm lucky enough to call my friends for people to check out, but that's a post for a different time.

I hope people will read at least one book from this list. Thanks for reading my ramblings!