#which means they’re almost FIVE YEARS OLD

[eddiesghxst]

hellow, i’m officially done with school for the next year or so which means (if u haven’t already noticed) i’ve started to write 50 wips <3

so anyway, here’s a snippet of something im writing about dom!eddie who’s also a tattoo artist who just so happens to own a tattoo parlor that’s right next to a ballet studio which just so happens to be owned by ballet instructor!reader

18+ — MINORS DNI

It was a series of unfortunate events.

You had spent the last five years of your life building your ballet school from the ground up, but when your old studio was sold out from under you, you were forced to find a new home for your students.

It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many options for you to choose from and most buildings either needed an immense amount of work that your pockets couldn’t afford or were too far away and would inevitably cause you to lose students.

But then you stumbled on a dream. The new studio was perfect— freshly installed tiling, beautiful acoustics, and the fee to install the mirrors wasn’t all that bad— except for one small detail: the tattoo parlor next door.

For the months that you spent preparing the studio for your students, you were tormented with the constant buzz of needles and the faint scent of ink lingers in the air all day, mixing with the sharp fragrance of floor polish and irritation that comes with summer heat. It nearly drove you insane.

But what started as a nuisance soon flourished into something else entirely. The tattoo shop’s owner, a tall, inked-up man named Eddie, was there every morning, the storefront always open to the bustling world outside. Your first conversation had been brief— you introduced yourself, explained how you ended up here and he wished you a good start to your new building.

It wasn’t until a few months down the line that you finally caved and complained about the noise, telling him it was difficult to focus with the loud sounds from his shop and Eddie— surprisingly, since you had somewhat painted him a villain in your mind— apologized and said he’d try to keep the noise down— “I can’t promise the same on the days I don’t work, though. My team tends to never listen to me.”

And so then you and Eddie formed a very nice, casual, and polite relationship. Something like a work relationship. A nice smile and wave in the morning, small and quick conversations about the week— and sometimes, he would get you a coffee and slide it on your desk while you’re busy with your morning class.

But as weeks passed, your casual exchanges became… something more— quick morning greetings turned into full blown conversations and free coffees turned into free lunches— “The deli down the street always gives me an extra sandwich.” And you almost think he’s lying about that, but he never really leaves you room to further pry about it. Lingering looks, shared laughs, and an unspoken connection grew deeper with each passing day.

But it started and ended at work— there on Blackburn Avenue where your ballet studio and his tattoo parlor share a sidewalk— and it never left. And you never expected it to be more— Eddie is more of a work crush anyway. You talk and flirt for the few hours that you share a wall, and when you go home you watch your reality TV shows, eat dinner, and think nothing of it.

But what the hell do you do when you walk into a BDSM club and see your work crush on a stage, knuckle’s deep in a pretty girl, with a bunch of strangers watching— including yourself?

What do you do when the pretty boy that owns the shop next to your studio is on a stage, whispering dirty praises in a girls ear and finger fucking her until her thighs shake? What do you do when you realize— oh fuck, I should probably leave since I actually know this guy and we’re kind of coworkers, but you stay like the idiot you are?

And what do you do when his pretty brown eyes (which look even dreamier when they’re blown out and dark with lust) glance up from the woman below him and just happen to immediately land on you?

What the fuck do you do?

[roguestorm]

I opened my playlist titled “Happy Scemma,” expecting to find happy songs, as it is indicated by the title of the playlist. Instead, the first song was “i love you” by Billie Eilish.

[rmayuscula]

age gap autumn girl fuck you

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten. 

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close. 

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back. 

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear. 

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide. 

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

 But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show  up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore? 

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf. 

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

[maniculum]

One of the things I’ve noticed working in a bookstore is that a surprising number of people are completely unfamiliar with the normal way books are organized.

(I mean, in the part of the store where we keep the used books, I frequently have to assure people that the books are organized at all, but that’s because we have way more books than we have shelf space and there’s no way to handle that without it looking a bit of a mess.)

On one hand, we get customers who are apparently a completely blank slate in this area. I frequently have to walk people through, like, “Okay, it’s organized by subject / genre, then by author. Oh, ‘by author’ means in alphabetical order by the name of the author. No, their last name.” (Most of the people I give this talk to are, I think, college kids — it’s a bit strange to me that you can reach that age without knowing how bookstores work, but then again, I can kind of see how these days it’s possible to mostly get your books online where you just use a search function.)

One customer responded to the above explanation with “oh, it’s the Dewey Decimal System!” and I had to be like… no. Similar in broad concept, yes, but the Dewey Decimal System is a very specific thing (involving… decimals) and it’s really only used in libraries, not bookstores, because it kind of requires you to label the spines of your books, which bookstores generally don’t like to do for obvious reasons.

On the other hand, we also get customers with pre-existing incorrect assumptions, which are so often similar that I think they’re being imported from other media (though I’m not sure what).

People seem to expect the organization of Fiction to be much more granular — e.g., “where’s historical fiction?” “oh, that’s just in with general fiction.” I think some of that comes from movies (people ask where the “rom-com” section is, and that’s definitely a movie thing), but I’m not sure that’s always the reason.

(Admittedly the fiction organization is a bit more granular in the Used Books area than it is in the New Books, but that’s because there are certain genres that we get tons of from people selling us their old books, but we don’t buy enough of on purpose to justify giving them their own section in New Books.)

At the same time, people have the opposite assumption about Non-Fiction — i.e., they expect there to be one singular section labeled “Non-Fiction”, which is not the case. I’ve had multiple conversations that go like:

Customer: Where can I find non-fiction books?

Me: You’ll have to be more specific.

Customer: You know, non-fiction.

Me: [gesturing at the signs hanging from the ceiling that say things like “science”, “philosophy”, “art”, “history”, etc.] All of these are non-fiction in their own special way.

I try to be nice about it, but I don’t think I always succeed, just because I’m so often legitimately surprised and confused when someone just doesn’t know How Do You Books. I’m getting used to it now, but I’ve been working there for almost five years, so there’s been quite a long adjustment period in between.

Anyway. Just some observations.

[revelboo]

Hello. I hope you're doing well. May I ask you to write something featuring Transformers Animated Ratchet? I haven't seen many stories with that version of Ratchet, and I really like his personality and your writing style. If it's not too much trouble, could you please write something with him?

Sure! He’s so grumpy, but soft underneath it

Heads Up, Hearts Down

TFA Ratchet

• Rain pattering against him, he tips his head toward the gray sky. Enjoying the quiet only broken by the distant roll of thunder. Because their current, temporary home is under invasion. Optimus and Bulkhead both bringing home humans. And their constant chatter. Sari was bad enough, but the two new ones never shut up except when he or another Autobot enter a room, making him certain they’re gossiping about them. Doesn’t have the patience to deal with them and Sari. So he’s outside, avoiding all of it. Misses Cybertron, home. But more than anything, misses a time before the war. Wonders about the other medics he’d worked with before lines were drawn. If anyone else survived the war, because he’d never bothered to reach out. Too afraid of that answer. Back scraping the wall of the alley he’d slipped into to avoid prying human eyes, he runs his hand over his face. Too old, too tired.

• Don’t run. Skin crawling at the sound of them following you, their laughter and too loud whispers scare you. Trying to convince yourself that they’re only going the same way, that they’re not following you even though they’ve been back there for the last couple of blocks. You’d glanced back only once, quickly to figure out there’s five of them. Maybe early twenties. Knowing that the area you live in isn’t the safest, you keep looking for other people, but no one’s out in the rain except you. And them. Most of the factories closed up shop years ago, heading for cheaper labor overseas. But it’s the middle of the day, not night and you want to believe daylight means safety. Clinging to that up until a hand grabs your arm, another curling around you to clumsily cover your mouth and nose and you can smell the sour, whiskey stink of them as they drag you into an alley and you go ballistic, kicking and biting. Just knowing that if they get you off the street, you’re not coming back out of that alley. Getting smacked by the one you bit so hard you bite your own lip and then smacked even harder when you scream. And then one of your attackers is seized and pitched out of the alley into the street.

• “What do you brats think you’re doing?” Growling at them when he’d initially frozen in surprise seeing a group of younger humans dragging you into the alley he was hiding in. Becoming furious the second one had hit you and you’d cried out. Has no idea what’s going on, for all he knows, this is normal human behavior, but seeing you bleeding, it didn’t matter. And those young males scream louder than you had when they see him, shoving you down at his peds and running away in terror. Squalling about monsters as he almost laughs. Servos flexing with the urge to really put the fear of Primus in them, before he can go after them you make a soft, terrified sound. Cringing into yourself when he looks down at you. Venting tiredly, he crouches and offers you a servo. “I’m not going to hurt you, so stop that,” he grumbles and terrified eyes look up at him. Why are you all so small?

• That rough, grouchy voice pulls you taut as you stare at the huge hand he’s holding out. A robot? Much bigger than any you’ve ever seen and your eyes dart to the medical badging, some of your tension easing. Some kind of new medical unit? Reaching out, you grip his huge servo and allow him to easily pull you to your feet. Seeing that expressive face crease into a frown, jangles through you. He’s much more advanced than what you’re used to and sure, robots are everywhere here, owned by the rich, which definitely isn’t you, but something’s off about him. “Thank you,” you whisper as those too intelligent optics study you, a servo lifting to almost touch your cheek, but stopping short.

• “You know those brats?” Not sure why he’s asking, but the fear still making you tremble isn’t sitting well with him, especially when you just shake your head before reaching up to touch your bleeding lip, seeming almost surprised by the blood. Just staring at your fingertips and then you’re crying and it’s just as bad as when he’d seen Sari do it, twisting uncomfortably through him. “Come on,” he says tiredly, gently cupping his hand and nudging you out of the alley and around to the door. Because he can’t just leave you there shaking like that and sobbing brokenly. “Let’s get you dry.” Much too old for this and too soft for his own good. What’s one more human, though?

[alisonsfics]

back in chicago - part 2

pairing: ex-boyfriend!carmy berzatto x reader

summary: after years in germany, you return to chicago and immediately run into your ex-boyfriend. if you thought it’d be easy jumping back into your old life, you were wrong. new people had entered carmy’s life, including a new woman, but you were still everything to him.

word count: 3.2k

part 1 / part 3 / part 4

After giving everybody at the Bear a chance to change out of their dirty clothes, you all headed out to the parking lot since Richie had suggested a night at the club.

“Alright, how you wanna carpool?” Marcus asked Richie, since they were the only two with cars.

“My backseat is full of shit, so I only got room for one.” Richie said, scanning the group for volunteers. In true matchmaker fashion, you pushed Maria towards Richie.

“Alright, cool. Maria’s with me, you got everybody else?” Richie asked Marcus as he slid his arm around Maria’s shoulders. You and Maria made eye contact, and she rolled her eyes at the giddy look on your face.

“Sounds good. Tina, shotgun?” Marcus asked, opening the passenger door for her. Tina was the mother of the group, which meant she got the best treatment and none of the teasing.

Tina thanked Marcus and got in the car. That left you, Carmy, Nat, and Sydney in the back seat. Nat and Sydney went to the left side to get in.

Carmy headed towards the back right door and got in, so you wouldn’t have to sit in the middle. Nat was on the far left, then Sydney, and then Carmy.

Carmy scooted as far over as he could, allowing you to get in. You squished next to him, but couldn’t close the door. “Here you go,” he said, moving his arm to rest on the seat behind you. You readjusted and scooted closer to him.

“You all good back there?” Marcus asked.

“Marcus, your car is too damn small to squeeze four people back here.” Sydney said, causing you all to laugh. You successfully got the door to close, but you were almost in Carmy’s lap.

You made eye contact with Nat, who was smirking at the both of you. The entire side of your body was pressed up against his. “This remind you of anything?” You whispered quietly to Carmy.

His cheeks turned bright red as you referenced your first date. Carmy had taken you to a concert in his small beat-up car. The date ended with you both hooking up in the tiny backseat and then getting kicked out by security.

Your phone lit up in your lap with a text from Maria. It read: “Sticking me in a car with Richie? You’re never gonna give up are you?”

“I wasn’t the only one who saw that between them? Richie was checking her out in the parking lot.” Carmy said, softly, almost making you jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop,” he mumbled after seeing your reaction. You shook your head. “You’re like five inches away, so I don’t think it counts as snooping.” You joked, making him chuckle.

“Yeah, I saw you nudge her in the parking lot. Good thinking,” he complimented. Giggling in the backseat with Carmy and trying to set up your friends felt so familiar and made you feel back at home.

“I swear, something’s there. They just haven’t admitted it yet. I mean, they’re both single. And you should’ve seen Maria’s face when she saw Richie for the first time tonight. It was like she was a teenager again, and she was blushing like crazy.” You told him, not realizing how closely Richie and Maria’s situation mirrored yours and Carmy’s.

As you both chatted, you and Carmy naturally gravitated closer to each other. One of your legs was now resting on top of his, and his arm was now casually wrapped around your shoulders.

Neither of you noticed Nat take a picture of you both and send it to Maria and Richie with the caption: “I think something’s happening👀”

You all pulled into the club parking lot and poured out of the squished car. You noticed the buckle on your shoe had come undone when you got out of the small car.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, picking your leg up and trying to fasten the buckle. Balancing on one leg while wearing heels was more difficult than you thought it would be.

You wobbled and almost fell. Carmy quickly reached out and grabbed your arms, steadying you. Watching out for you was an instinct for Carmy. “Thank you,” you bashfully thanked him as you held on to his arm for balance and fixed your shoe.

Richie and Maria got out of Richie’s car with giant smiles on their faces. “Looks like they had a good time reconnecting,” Carmy leaned in towards you and whispered.

“I always told you that they were perfect for each other,” you told him, smiling as you watched your friends. Carmy faked a shocked face. “Don’t pretend like I ever doubted you. I always knew you were right. You were right about most things.” He told you, chuckling to himself.

“I was always right,” you teased, pretending to be offended. Carmy held his hands up in surrender. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He apologized, with a smirk on his face.

Maria nudged Richie, gesturing towards you and Carmy. They both shared a knowing glance after seeing the giddy smiles on your faces.

You all went into the club and ordered some drinks. You walked over to where Maria and Sydney were chatting. “How was your car ride with Richie?” You asked, smirking at her. Maria huffed and jokingly rolled her eyes.

“Wait…are you and Richie like…?” Sydney asked, not knowing how to finish the question. Maria quickly shook her head no. “Don’t listen to her. They had a little fling back when me and Carmy were together, went their separate ways, and now they’re both single again.” You corrected Maria.

“You know what? You get you some. Go for it. You guys would be cute.” Sydney said, jumping on the bandwagon.

“Oh, and you. We have to get you to come out with us more often. We can never get Carmy to come out drinking with us, but apparently if you’re here, he’s down for anything.” Sydney said, smirking at you. You felt your cheeks heat up as you thought about what she was implying.

The three of you girls kept talking for a while. You told Sydney about Germany. Sydney filled you both in on some of the restaurant drama. You all got along really well.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back.” You told them before heading towards the lobby. You knew that while you were gone, Maria would definitely let Sydney know about all the details about yours and Carmy’s relationship. You quickly went to the bathroom, thankful there was no line.

Meanwhile, Carmy had snuck out into lobby after getting a call from Claire. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” Carmy asked, cluelessly.

“I just got your text. You guys are at a club? I thought we were seeing a movie tonight. Your old girlfriend comes back to town, so now you have to go drinking?” Claire asked, infuriated.

“Oh, shit. I completely forgot about the movie. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He apologized quickly, but Claire wasn’t impressed. “That’s bullshit, Carm. Are you still fucking hung up on her?” She asked.

Carmy hesitated.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He argued. He wasn’t necessarily lying. He truly was too in denial to believe that he still had feelings for you.

“Fuck you, Carm. Why can’t you just tell me the truth? You wouldn’t have hesitated if the answer was actually no.” Claire screamed at him.

When you came out the bathroom door, your ears were met with screaming. You recognized the voice as Carmy’s.

You froze when you saw him standing alone in the lobby on the phone. His face was bright red, and his hair was messy, like it always was when he got upset.

Your presence in the room caught his attention as his eyes quickly met yours. “Sorry,” you mouthed, trying to quickly sneak past him and back into the club. He quickly shook his head, trying to assure you that had nothing to be sorry for.

“Yeah, you know what? Fuck you too.” Carmy yelled into the phone before hanging up.

“Wait up,” Carmy called after you, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I’m sorry that you had to hear that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologized, sweetly. You just nodded your head, all too aware of the fact that he was still holding onto your wrist.

“You okay? That sounded pretty intense.” You asked him. He shrugged like it was nothing. He didn’t want you to worry. “It’s fine. Just some life stuff. I could use a smoke though, if you wanna join.” He offered.

You nodded and accepted his offer. It felt like old times.

He let his hand rest on the small of your back as you both walked towards the front door. You stepped out into the cold Chicago air.

“It’s still crazy being back here.” You said, scanning the city skyline.

“It felt like a big part of Chicago was missing when you left.” Carmy told you as he lit his cigarette. You admired him as he stood under the streetlight.

“So, are you back for good?” Carmy asked, trying to not sound desperate like he was begging you to stay. You nodded. “This feels like where I’m supposed to be. Germany was good, but it was not meant to be forever.” You said, reflecting on your terrible last few weeks in Germany.

“Did something happen?” He asked you, concerned. You hesitated before answering. “I got fired and dumped by my ass of a boyfriend in the same day, so it could’ve been better.” You replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the ground.

Carmy didn’t know what to do. He wanted to comfort you, but he was still so unsure of how to act around you.

He settled for a middle ground and held his cigarette out to you. You giggled at the gesture, before taking it between your fingers.

After blowing a small cloud of smoke, you handed it back to him. He stuck the cigarette back between his lips and realized he could taste your strawberry chapstick on it.

He wanted to kick himself. It was like he was suddenly a teenager again and remembering kissing you under the bleachers.

“I’m sorry about the job and the guy. He sounds like an asshole.” he apologized, distracting himself from how much he wanted to kiss you, even though he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that.

“You don’t know anything about him,” you said, giggling to yourself. Carmy paused, realizing you were right and shrugged. “Yeah, but I trust your judgement.” He said, looking over at you.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “You wanna head back inside?” He asked, earning a quick nod from you as you had started getting chilly.

As you walked back inside, you both saw Richie standing by a table with beer pong set up. “Yo, cousin, come play,” Richie caught your attention and called Carmy over.

You returned back to where everyone else was standing around a table. After a while, your conversation was interrupted when you heard someone call your name. You turned around and saw Carmy gesturing for you to come over.

“What’s up?” You asked, curiously. He grabbed your hand and slid the ping pong ball into it. “I have one shot. If it goes in, Richie loses. You’ve always been better at beer pong than me.” He said, letting his other hand rest on your back. The few drinks he’d had were definitely making him a little more affectionate.

“I still think this is against the rules, cousin.” Richie complained, remembering all the times you’d beaten both of them at beer pong.

You tossed the ball, and it sunk right into the cup. Your hands shot up in the air in victory. Carmy quickly picked you up and spun you around in a circle. You rested your arms on his shoulders, so you wouldn’t fall down.

“Carmy. I want to talk to you.” You both heard from behind Carmy.

Carmy quickly put you back down on your feet. You looked over his shoulder and saw Claire, who you vaguely remembered from high school. You walked over to Richie’s side of the table, sensing a tension that you didn’t want to be apart of.

“Is that Claire from school?” You whispered to Richie. He looked down at you and nodded. You watched as Carmy pulled Claire off to the side to talk to her.

“Shit, Richie. Are they together?” You asked, feeling a pit in your stomach.

Richie froze after hearing the words leave your mouth. “Oh, fuck. Yeah, I thought you knew.” Richie said, empathizing with how you were feeling. He rubbed his hand on your back, trying to comfort you.

You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling sick to your stomach. Then, all of a sudden, Claire was yelling again.

“What? I can’t hang out with you and your friends? Do you not want to be seen with me? Or is it because she’s here?” Claire asked, pointing at you.

“Richie, I can’t do this.” You said, pulling away from him and walking past the whole group, who was now staring at you. You bit down on your lip, trying to keep the tears from forming.

You snuck up to the second floor loft level of the club that overlooked the dance floor below. It was quieter upstairs, and you needed quiet.

You sat down on one of the couches as a few rogue tears rolled down your cheeks. You felt so stupid for thinking you could pick up where you left off with Carmy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone walk up to you. You looked up and saw one of Carmy’s coworkers.

“Can I sit?” He politely asked you. You quickly nodded. “Yeah, of course. You’re Marcus, right?” You asked. He nodded and shook your hand.

“I don’t want to intrude, and I know all this history with Carmy is from before I even knew him, but I wanted to see if you wanted to talk about anything.” He offered, giving you a soft smile.

“Thank you. That’s a really sweet offer, but I don’t even think I’d know where to start.” You said, laughing at how pathetic you must have seemed.

Marcus stayed by your side. He didn’t say a word, but he waited until you wanted to talk.

“I think I just feel lost. I got the job offer in Germany, and I almost didn’t take it because I didn’t want to leave Carmy. But he told me I couldn’t turn it down, so I lived in Germany for five years. I had a great job. I met a guy. Then, I lost it all in a day, and so I thought maybe I was never supposed to leave Chicago.” You started explaining.

“I came back to Chicago, and it felt right. Like this was where I was supposed to be all along. Then, completely by Maria’s planning, I ran into Carmy again. It felt natural. It didn’t feel like he hadn’t seen each other in five years. Then, I find out he’s with Claire, and now she’s pissed at me when I had no idea in the first place. I just feel so stuck, like everywhere I go, I’m fucking cursed or something.” You said, wiping away a few tears.

“Well, I promise, you’re not cursed. It’ll all be alright. I think you coming back just threw Carmy for a spin. He wasn’t expecting it at all. But you shouldn’t feel guilty because none of that is your fault. That’s between Claire and Carmy to figure out.” Marcus comforted you.

“Thank you. That makes me feel a lot better. All I have to do now is get over my ex-boyfriend for the second time. But I’ve done it before, so I can do it again, right?” You joked, trying to make the best of the situation.

“There you go,” Marcus said, chuckling, “I’ll leave you alone now. You know where to find me.”

You sat up there for a few minutes in silence. You stood up and looked over the railing at your friends below you.

You didn’t see Carmy anywhere and assumed he was somewhere with Claire.

That was until you saw him walk up beside you. He gave you a soft smile, not knowing what to say yet.

“I’m sorry about all of that. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into that.” He told you, sincerely. You smiled back at him. “It’s alright. I understand.” You told him.

There was silence between the two of you for a few minutes. Neither of you knew what to say to fill the silence. You both were also worried that you’d somehow make it worse by saying the wrong thing.

Even if it was just in a friendly capacity, you were glad to have Carmy back in your life.

Down below you both, you saw Richie run towards the dance floor and start dancing as Love Story by Taylor Swift played.

A small giggle escaped from your lips watching the pure joy on his face. “I have fucking missed Chicago.” You said. It felt like a scene out of a movie, reunited with your best friends in your favorite city.

“Chicago has missed you,” you heard Carmy mumble beside you.

In a split second, he was grabbing your waist and kissing you. You instinctually kissed him back, while your arms snaked around his neck. You twirled his hair around your fingers as he kissed you.

You felt like you were on another planet. You couldn’t hear the club music anymore and could only hear your heart racing in your ears.

Carmy tightened his grip around your waist, so you both were pressed up against each other. There wasn’t an inch of space between you, and you didn’t want there to be.

One of Carmy’s hands crept lower down your back, cupping your ass. You gasped against the kiss, shocked by his hand placement. You could feel him smirk. Nothing made Carmy cockier than watching the effect he had on you.

Moving his arms back to your waist, Carmy started to nudge you backwards towards the wall. Your back leaned against the cold concrete wall.

It brought you back to reality, and you realized what you were doing.

You quickly put your hands on Carmy’s chest and pushed him away. “We can’t…Claire,” you reminded him.

“Oh, shit,” Carmy mumbled, running his hand through his hair. You tried to catch your breath. You could feel your heart rate rising as the panic set in.

“I’m so sorry…I shouldn’t have,” you rambled, trying to quickly walk past Carmy. He quickly grabbed your wrist to stop you. “It’s not your fault. I kissed you, and I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He apologized.

“We can’t tell anybody.” You told him, frantically. He quickly nodded, experiencing a similar panic to your own.

You raced back downstairs. Once you got out the front doors, you started sprinting towards your apartment. You needed to get away from there as fast as possible.

You finally arrived at your apartment. You checked your phone and saw a text from Maria that she’d be spending the night at Richie’s. You wanted to be happy for your friend, but your own love life was spiraling

You laid down on the couch and burst into tears. It felt like you laid there for hours, until you heard a knock at your door.

You opened it to find Carmy standing in front of your door.

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[ghastlyfilters]

Hi! Saw you were taking Lost Boys requests...

I have a lot of silly concepts or ideas but my favorite is poly!Lost boys with a partner (I usually prefer fem reader but whatever ur comfy with is all good) who loves stealing some of their older clothes. Like, reader is smaller than them so the clothes are really comfy. Especially the older stuff cus decade+ old fabric is so soft.

reader stealing the lost boys’ clothes!!

pairing(s): implied poly!lost boys x fem!reader

warning(s): aside from paul and marko definitely paying attention to your curves, none!!

(now if i was the reader here i know damn WELL i would be stealing their clothes too. each one of their styles is literally perfection and to see that shit on vampires? HELLO? also i may have gotten a bit too carried away with thinking about all their clothing designs.. but thanks for this cute request<3)

gifs not mine! (if you know the original owner please tag them!)

HEADCANONS

• Stealing your boys’ clothes is by far the EASIEST thing anyone could do. The reason being? They quite literally never change out of the fits they’ve had on since 1987.

• The boys don’t have much of a scent, seeing as they’re all undead. So a washing machine doesn’t exist in their little world anymore. Which means they will now forever be outfit repeaters.

More fun for you. 

• All of the boys have the most random shit scattered around the cave. They’re the worst hoarders you have ever encountered. Cough cough.. Paul.. cough cough..

• But the amount of clothes they have laying around is shocking. Boots, band tees, jackets, jeans, leather trousers, gloves, shirts, man you name it. They have it. Every fucking decade.

• The band tees are by far your favourite thing to run around with. Paul has a shit ton of Môtley Crüe tees, and Dwayne has so many shirts with The Doors on them. (Jim’s face is literally everywhere in the cave now. They sure as hell ain’t Christians, so if they’re selling their souls to anyone it’s the horned god below or their icon Jim Morrison.)

• They did let you away with wearing their old band tees until Marko told the boys about EBay.

When Paul found out a vintage Mötley Crüe tour shirt was going for over a grand, the mf was ecstatic..

So much so, he decided to put his own vintage Mötley tees up for bidding.

“Two thousand… three thousand.. FOUR THOUSAND… FIVE THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS!!!”

Poor Paul’s bubble was burst however when David told him there was absolutely nothing they could do with the money aside from unlimited Chinese food for the next few months.

• David’s old clothes are much different from what the others have. He was the first to be turned, therefore he’s lived throughout the most eras.

• He’s got a LOT of leather jackets and trenchcoats. Paul and Marko always joke about him being Jack the Ripper, but you see a different side to his style. There’s been many nights you actually sat down with him and asked where he’d gotten the majority of his old items. Some were by Spanish designers that had been gifts from Max whenever he’d provided David with different clothing, others were from when David had fed off multiple store owners and casually picked out what he fancied afterwards.

• It saddens you that he doesn’t wear any of these anymore. The only reminder he ever gets of them is when you put on the soft wool Trenchcoats that go right down to your ankles, almost looking like a cape. Marko makes mini conspiracy theories that maybe you’re the real Dracula.

• Dwayne’s load of clothes is FILLED with leopard print designs. He’s been a 70s boy even all these years later, and he misses that era so dearly.

• There’s this one satin leopard print shirt that actually fits you quite well in his eyes. It’s still a little baggy.. yet oddly attractive to him. You’ve claimed it as your own now, wearing it like a pj set.

• Aside from the satin shirt, literally nothing else Dwayne has fits you. He’s a muscular guy.. and a vampire. So trying to get his baggy ass clothes to even have a slight loose fit is not for the weak 😭

• Marko however, this is where the real fun begins. You can borrow anything from Marko.. ANYTHING.. and it’s guaranteed to fit.

• He was a big crop top collector. When he used to find a good shirt that wasn’t cropped however, he’d cut it up and make it into a crop top himself. And these are what he adores you wearing. They cling nicely to your curved body, and whenever you wear them you can never get both Paul and Marko to stop staring at your breasts. Assholes.

• Marko’s clothes are by far your favourite pieces out all the boys. Much like the crop tops, he really enjoyed designing all his other outfits when he wore them. And he was pretty damn good at it too. Marko can be a crafty little thing when he wants to be. He’ll even help you design your own outfits too! He’ll cut, sew, stitch, glue, draw, paint, anything you want Marko to design, he’s down. He took so much pride in his unique outfits back in the day. And if you want yours spiced up, Marko’s your man.

• You wear his old belts a lot. One time, you were rummaging through the boys’ old stuff again, and immediately fell in love with this black latex belt Marko had. He’d drawn on perfectly shaped skulls with a white acrylic pen, and added different studs around the buckle. Ever since that day, Marko pretty much customises everything you own now.

FIRST TIME WRITING FOR THE LOST BOYS!! hope you all enjoyed these headcanons and my requests are open for any lost boys related ideas you may have!! <33

[mrspasser]

I'll lay my head down here

Sterek fanfiction Stiles needs a place to sleep. He chooses Derek.

Also available on A03.

image source

“I’m not sleeping on the floor again, you assholes!” Stiles throws a balled up burger wrapper at the infuriating werewolves who took over his intended sleeping space. 

Isaac bats the greasy paper ball away with a quick flick of his hand, hardly having to look at it. “You snooze, you lose, Stilinski,” he says meanly, as he snuggles deeper inside the couch pillows to drive his point home. “Besides, I gave up my bed, I shouldn’t be the one to sleep on the floor.”

Stiles perks up when an idea crosses his mind. Upstairs, in Isaac’s room, are Lydia and Cora. Maybe he could -

“Don’t even think about it, Stilinski!” Jackson cuts his unspoken thought off with one sharp remark. He glares at him from his spot on the couch he’s sharing with Isaac: one asshole werewolf on each side. The guy is extra touchy because Lydia picked Cora as a sleeping partner over him - which is more than fair, if you ask Stiles, both Lydia picking Cora over Jackson and Jackson being sour over getting the cold shoulder from his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I don’t think you’ll fit,” Allison offers apologetically from his right. She’s squeezed in the large armchair with Scott, who’s already fast asleep and snoring softly. 

He waves her offer away. If he’d try to squish himself in the chair with them, neither one of them would sleep a wink all night. Same goes for the couple in the other available chair, although Stiles is more sure to survive the night with Scott and Allison than with Boyd and Erica. That only leaves - 

“You could try Derek?” Allison blinks innocently at him. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, letting the sarcasm bleed through in generous helpings. “Yeah, right.” He leaves it at that, too tired to hope to put up the proper facade of pretending to dislike the Alpha werewolf. Hey, we all deal with our crushes in our own way! Stiles has to do what he can when literally living with a pack of wolves, who can smell pheromones and who knows what else.

Eventually, he settles for stretching out on the rug that Lydia made Derek buy a while back. It’s not overly cushiony, but it’ll do the job. It’ll have to. Besides, he hasn’t had a proper night of sleep in four or maybe even five days, staying up researching and worrying most of the night. The Big Bad is dead, the worrying is over and his research paid off: he should be able to sleep now, right?!

At first, Stiles uses his hoodie for a pillow, yet after about twenty minutes he gives up and pulls it back on because he won’t be able to sleep if he’s cold. Derek patched up most of the holes in his loft and it’s actually resembling a nice apartment these days, but it’s still the middle of the night in February and Stiles is lying on the floor without a blanket or a pillow. He misses his own bed. His comforter. His pillow. His other pillow, the one that’s older than him and oddly lumpy, but it was the one that was in his mother’s bed until the day she died. It hasn’t smelled like her in a long, long time. Stiles has also washed it a couple of times during the years, he’s not that much of a pig, despite popular opinion. But it’s familiar and comforting and he still takes it with him for sleepovers with Scott. 

He considers whether or not he would’ve brought his pillow if this impromptu sleepover had been planned in any way. He’s known Scott since kindergarten, he’s his best friend. He wouldn’t say or even think anything bad about Stiles still needing a special pillow to sleep even when he’s almost twenty one years old. And while he knows most of the people in this room for five years or even longer and trusts them with his life, that doesn’t mean that they’re not a bunch of dickheads who will tease him every chance they get.

It’s a pointless thought exercise, because nothing about this sleepover was planned. They were supposed to kill that wyvern during the day, when it slept in his creepy little cave. That's what all Stiles’ research was for! He even found a way to kill the beast without having to hack it to pieces, which was nice because in the end he was against animal cruelty, you know? But then there were witches, two of them. They weren’t planned, neither was the ensuing fight in the woods. The unexpectedness of it all had left everybody antsy, especially the werewolves. And even though they recouped with a movie night and a nice pack pile, nobody wanted to be very far away from the others. Hence the impromptu sleepover that had Stiles sleeping on a rug, between the coffee table and the couch. Which wasn’t fair, because he totally knocked a witch out with his bat! He did his fair share and pulled his weight and what not. The least he deserves is a nice night of sleep.

Another hour later, Stiles is sore all over and chilled to the bone. There’s no way he can sleep like this. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he whispers to the leg of the coffee table that he knows has Isaac’s claw marks on it. 

As quietly as he can he makes his way upstairs on the rounding stairs. On the landing there’s three doors to choose from: the one on his left leads to Isaac’s bedroom, where Lydia and Cora are sleeping. The one in the middle is the bathroom - with a bath, for heaven’s sake, Derek has a tub! - and that leaves the master bedroom on his right. The Alpha’s den. Stiles has never been inside it. He even doubts if Isaac has set foot in the room very often, besides for cleaning purposes.

Stiles never really intended to go into Derek’s room, because despite what the others seem to think, he actually values his life. And his dignity. He thought it better to take a chance with the girls, take on the risk of Jackson wanting to kill him the next morning when he discovered Stiles had slept in the same bed as his girlfriend.

But…

The door to Derek’s bedroom is cracked.

Stiles can see inside. 

He can’t see that much, with it being the middle of the night and the only light coming from a gap between the curtains in front of Derek’s window. But the moonlight is just right, illuminating the sleeping form of the Alpha in the bed. A bed that is more than large enough for two people and Derek is neatly sleeping on one side of the bed. If Stiles is quiet enough he might even be able to slip into the bed without waking Derek. The werewolf got hurt pretty badly today and healing always takes a lot out of him. There’s a pretty good chance the guy is sleeping like a log.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He’s gonna risk it.

***

He didn’t think he’d actually do it, but after a few minutes of indecisiveness on the landing, Stiles quietly tiptoes into Derek’s bedroom. He rounds the bed to the unoccupied side of the mattress and gingerly lifts the tip of the blanket.

“You’re not getting in with your jeans on,” Derek says, without opening his eyes.

Stiles yelps and he’s already stammering halfway through an apology when he suddenly shuts his mouth. His back teeth actually click together. There’s a few seconds of silence and then: “You’d let me into your bed?”

“Not with your jeans on,” Derek repeats. Usually he wouldn’t do this, but he’s been listening to Stiles toss and turn downstairs for a while now and with all of his pack members sleeping peacefully, he’d like the last one to get some rest too. Besides, Stiles would continue to keep him up with his restless behaviour otherwise; Derek just can’t seem to tune him out. It’s been that way for years already, maybe even from the beginning.

“O-kay.” He can feel Stiles staring at him in the dark and he patiently waits for the decision he knows the boy is gonna make. No, not a boy. Stiles will be 21 this Spring. Derek has seen him grow up, literally and figuratively, along with the rest of his ragtag pack of teenagers. Stiles still wears jeans and plaid most of the time, but the garments don’t hang as loose on him as they did when he was 16. He’s grown into a handsome young man, with a good head on his broad shoulders. Derek counts himself lucky to have Stiles as part of his pack, to have him close. Not as close as he sometimes might wish, yet Derek is always conscious of not playing favourites. So he usually keeps Stiles at an arm length and takes care to treat him just like everyone else. It helps that the two of them elevated snark and banter to an effective communication style. Despite all the sarcasm and barbs, Derek is pretty sure there is no-one in his pack who sees through him like Stiles does. It was scary at first and it made him lash out, but Stiles stood firm. Derek is immensely grateful that he did.

There’s the rustling of clothing hitting the floor, jeans and a shirt, then the blanket lifts and Stiles scoots underneath. Derek feels him settle in behind his back, a foot or so away. “Thanks,” Stiles whispers in the dark.

“Go to sleep,” Derek grunts, eager to go to sleep and not think about the young man who is sharing his bed.

***

Derek’s bed is pretty comfortable, Stiles thinks to himself as he digs himself in. Oh, who is he kidding?! Derek’s bed is amazing. The mattress is just the right combination of firm and soft, the pillow hugs his head and shoulders just right and the comforter is warm but still light to the touch. It’s a million times better than his bed at home, even when he’s not counting the fact that he’s sharing the bed with a hot werewolf.

Yet Stiles can’t sleep. 

Yes, the pillow is heavenly. Yes, the mattress allows his tired body to finally relax. Yes, the comforter hugs him nicely. But there’s something missing and Stiles knows exactly what it is. His pillow.

He needs to hold something. He needs to be able to curl around something. Or someone, his traitorous brain suggests as he feels Derek move across from him.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Stiles?” Derek asks in that long-suffering tone he uses when Stiles is doing something to annoy him. Which is pretty often, although Stiles knows the annoyance is mostly for show these days. He has turned onto his back, his eyes glinting in the moonlight where they are looking over at Stiles.

“Can’t,” Stiles laments, trying to catch the comforter between his arms in lieu of his dearly missed pillow. It doesn’t really work, because the comforter also has to cover Derek’s bulk and there’s little left to use. Little to none, especially when Derek snatches the comforter back from where it was probably leaving a cold gap on Derek’s other side. The sudden move has Stiles sort of falling over from where he was laying on his side. He’s more on his front now, filling up the space that was between them at first. He can feel the warmth of Derek’s body from just a few inches away. It’s actually kind of comforting.

“Try harder,” Derek commands and he closes his eyes again.

Stiles thinks of answering ‘Yes, Alpha’, but thinks better of it. It might make Derek move again, to push Stiles out of bed instead of pulling him in to have a cuddle. So he stays quiet and closes his eyes, focussing his mind on the almost tangible presence of Derek’s bare shoulder mere inches away. Derek is warm and smells nice and if Stiles was a werewolf, he’s sure he’d feel even better about having his Alpha so close. Yet even though he’s not a werewolf, he still enjoys it. A lot.

He falls asleep.

He knows that, because he wakes up at some point, at an unknown hour of the night. He’s warm, so warm. And comfortable, even though his pillow is a lot firmer than he remembers it being. It also moves a little, because his pillow is Derek and the Alpha werewolf gently moves his arm in what Stiles suspects is a more comfortable position. He would panic about sleeping half on top of Derek if he were not so damn comfortable. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. Surely if Derek wouldn’t want him sleeping on him, he’d push Stiles off. Instead, Stiles feels Derek’s arm wrap around his back, accompanied by a soft sigh from the Alpha.

Stiles sleeps.

***

Derek is not the first to wake up, although he is certainly not the last. He becomes aware of the world with Stiles wrapped around his torso, his head pillowed on Derek’s chest. He’s only a little surprised by how good it feels to wake up like this and it takes a while before he brings himself to carefully move out of Stiles’ embrace. The boy mumbles a little, but doesn’t wake up. Derek watches him for a moment, standing beside his bed. He’s not sure how to feel about this, except for some embarrassment about wanting to crawl back into bed and slot himself back into Stiles’ arms.

Downstairs, most of the pack is still asleep. Isaac has his arms wrapped around Jackson’s lower legs, as if he’s cuddling a particularly bony teddy bear. Jackson is still asleep, even snoring softly. Scott snores too, curled around his girlfriend in the large armchair. In the other armchair, Boyd is watching him carefully, his arms wrapped around his sleeping girlfriend. 

“Morning,” the dark man rumbles quietly, not to wake Erica.

“Morning,” Derek answers, keeping his voice down as well. “Coffee?”

Boyd inclines his head in thanks and Derek ambles on to the kitchen, where he finds Lydia, immersed in a science journal. She has a cappuccino sitting in front of her, the cup half empty. “Good morning, Derek,” she says, briefly glancing up from her reading material.

“Morning,” he repeats, busying himself with the coffee maker. He brings a cup to Boyd when he’s done and returns to join Lydia at the table. He sits back in his chair, his coffee in front of him, to catch the rays of pale sunlight that slant through the high windows. It’s quiet in the loft, with most of the people still sleeping and the ones that are awake quietly starting up their day.

He sips from his coffee, listening to the sounds of Cora waking up and going into the bathroom. She comes downstairs not long after, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt - same as her brother, her bare feet hardly making a sound. He points to the mostly full pot of coffee on the counter when she enters the kitchen and he gets a hair ruffle as thanks from his little sister. She pours herself a cup and leans against the counter, enjoying the sunlight on her face just like he is. 

It’s Stiles who comes down next, although Derek can hear from the way he drags his feet that he’s barely awake. Why he’s not sleeping in like he should be, is anyone’s guess. He expects Stiles to stop in the living room, to wake up Scott or maybe even Jackson if he’s feeling particularly cheeky, but he doesn’t. The footsteps pretty much make a beeline from the stairs towards the kitchen. Derek opens one eye from where he closed them against the sunrays to see Stiles shuffling towards him in his boxers and T-shirt, rubbing a hand over his face and yawning soundlessly. His hair is standing up on one side. He’s wearing socks, navy blue ones with a red line near the toes.

The werewolf opens his mouth to point his packmate towards the coffee maker, but before he can say anything, Stiles has reached his chair and slings a hairy leg over his lap. He plonks down unceremoniously and lays his head on Derek’s shoulder, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. 

“You were gone,” Stiles mumbles disapprovingly, his mouth moving against Derek’s collarbone. And just like that his heartbeat evens out and he’s fast asleep again.

Derek sits frozen in his chair, his heart beating loudly inside his ribcage. If Stiles were awake he could probably feel it pound against his own chest. His hands hover uselessly on either side, not knowing whether to wrap around Stiles or pick him up and toss him to the floor. 

Stiles is oblivious, his sleeping body moulding easily against Derek’s. He’s warm and pliant, just like he was when they were sleeping together in Derek’s bed. 

When he chances a look at Lydia across the table, she’s already watching him steadily with a sly smile playing around the corners of her lips. “Glad to see you two finally got your heads out of your asses,” she comments eventually, before primly taking a sip from her cappuccino and going back to her reading.

Behind him, Cora snorts quietly in amusement. She comes up at his back and puts a hand in his hair again, running her fingers through the short strands. It’s grounding and Derek only notices how much he needs that when she lightly scratches her nails across his scalp. 

“He’s cute like this,” his sister remarks and even though he can hear the humour in her voice, he can also hear the truth in her heartbeat. “Best not wake him up, big bro.” She runs her hand through his hair one last time and then she wanders off, leaving him to carefully wrap one arm around Stiles’ lower back.

Slowly, Derek feels himself relax. The loft is quiet and peaceful and Derek is in his own little bubble, with the sunlight on his face and Stiles in his lap. Almost automatically, he starts to rub his hand slowly up and down Stiles’ back. Aside from some sleepy snuffling, there’s no real response. Derek picks his coffee back up and slowly drinks it, tilting his face towards the sun. It’s a nice morning.

[earlysunshines]

parenting trial

son chaeyoung x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: in which your date is interrupted when you hear someone’s child crying their eyes out

warnings: ummm none(?) ; not proofread

a/n: im actually supposed to be studying for my last final but uh oops... and happy pride!

chaeyoung’s head is in your lap, your fingers run through your hair as you two people watch, making up a background for each person that passes by.

an elderly woman walks a small poodle, humming a small tune as she does so. chaeyoung points to her and smiles.

“she’s definitely an undercover spy.” she says, making you laugh.

“was spy kids just permanently engraved in your brain after you watched it or...?”

chaeyoung turns her head and looks at you, offended. she pushes your face from where she is and you giggle at her expression. you scratch her scalp, then she rolls her eyes before explaining.

“it's the glasses, the way she holds herself, the poodle! who owns poodles? they’re definitely a breed planted by the government.”

you almost snort after hearing her little tangent.

“you’re so…” you move your hand down to squish her cheek for no reason. “creative.”

“thank you, i’m very proud of that trait.”

“why am i in love with you?" you mumble, looking at her squished cheek in between your fingers and her closed eyes. you smile at the answer in front of your eyes. “you’re so stupid.”

“you’re equally as dumb.”

“yeah okay whatev-“

your bickering is cutoff when you hear a loud wail, it catches pretty much everyone’s attention.

there’s a kid on the bench across the concrete path rubbing her eyes and sniffling. she looks to be around five years old, her bangs are quite wispy and her hair is cut just above her shoulders. she wipes her runny nose with the pink shirt she has on and starts to cry again — louder than ever — before quieting down in ten seconds.

chaeyoung looks at you — head still in your lap — and you look right back at her. the soothing movement of your hand in her scalp stops when she gets up to look at the kid as well.

“stay here love, i’m going to go check on the girl.” you say cupping chaeyoung’s face lightly before getting up from the blanket you had been on and putting on your clogs.

chaeyoung watches you walk towards the kid and exchange a few words, which quickly has the girl quiet as she directs her attention on you. in a minute, you walk back towards the blanket with your pointer finger in the girls grip. your girlfriends eyes soften at the sight.

you sit down on the blanket and urge the hesitant child to sit down next to you. the girl shakes her head, then looks at chaeyoung skeptically. your eyes widen at the realization and you smile softly, holding her hand in yours.

“this is chaeyoung, she’s my um…” you begin, pausing to lean over and ask your lover: “do kids know about girlfriends? i mean probably — definitely. but is it like, appropriate?”

chaeyoung giggles and nods, “i think so.”

you face towards the girl again and say, “this is my girlfriend chaeyoung. she’s really nice and sweet, come sit, she’s a great person. trust me.”

the girl looks at the two of you hesitantly then sits directly in front of you and your lover. she sniffles again, unable to look up.

“what’s your name?” chaeyoung asks, voice soft and sweet. “my name is chaeyoung.” she introduces, sticking out her hand for the girl to shake.

the girl simply looks at the hand that has tattoos scattered all over, observing them for a bit. she doesn’t answer; she’s too mesmerized by the little doodles.

“oh, these?” chaeyoung asks, pointing at the tattoos that have the girls attention. “i drew them myself.”

“really?” her eyes widen, she's amazed. this is the first time you and chaeyoung have heard her speak. her voice is small and hesitant, though it seems she’s willing to lend her trust to two adults that decided to care for her.

chaeyoung nods. “you see this one? i drew it two years ago. do you like it?”

the girl examines the flowers on her fingers, a small smile spreads across her lips.

“i like those.” the girl mumbles, reaching for chaeyoung’s fingers to get a better look.

“me too.” you agree, looking at chaeyoung lovingly.

“can you draw one on me?” the little girl asks, looking at your girlfriend with curious, hopeful eyes.

chaeyoung turns to look at you, making eye contact and tilting her head to silently ask for you to help her out. to be fair, this is someone's child and you can't just start vandalizing someone's lost child. the two of you have a silent interaction with raised brows, mixed expressions, and mouthed words before the child tugs at chaeyoungs hand again.

"please miss chaeyoung?" the little girl asks, pouting.

chaeyoung looks at you again, portruding her lower lip to mimic the girl. your girlfriend is already convinced, it's just you that has to give her the green light before she goes ham on this kids arm with her pens.

"um, hold on." you interject, "we don't know if your parents would be fine with that."

the girl frowns again after being reminded that her parents are nowhere to be found, then starts to tear up again. you panic and so does your girlfriend after she begins to get vocal again, a tear now falling down her cheek.

"okay okay! wait, wait." you quickly say, trying to prevent others in the park from looking at you, your girlfriend, and someone's lost child. "how about you tell us your name first before chaeyoung draws anything, yeah?"

"tara. tara hong laurent." she immediately says, then turns to chaeyoung, urging her to start doodling.

so you have her whole name, which was easy enough to get although quite concerning because she had just given out her government name to strangers. chaeyoung picks up her pen and starts to draw something small on her pinky, then mouths "ask... more..."

"um, okay tara." you start, looking at her skeptically. "when was the last time you saw your parents?"

she frowns again, looking up at you. "i miss them."

"i know," you say softly, pushing her hair to the side. chaeyoung watches the whole interaction, the small gesture, and the small smile you give her; chaeyoung melts. "that's why we're going to help you find them. do you know their names?"

"james and jihyuk." she answers, watching chaeyoung as she scrunches her brow and doodle a small flower on the back of her hand. "do you know them?"

"oh, i don't know a james or jihyuk, but we'll find them tara, don't worry."

she grins. "miss chaeyoung, you're very good at this."

"thank you." chaeyoung turns to look at you, there's a sparkle in her eyes. "do you want to draw on y/n?"

"chaeng i-"

tara interrupts you, beaming at the opportunity. "yes! yes! please? can I?"

chaeyoung smirks at you and giggles mischieviously before handing the pen to the girl, then grabbing your forearm and pushing it toward the little girl. "the floor is yours tara, but can you answer a few more questions?"

she nods aggressively, making both you and your girlfriend laugh.

chaeyoung continues, "so, where were your parents the last time you saw them? how did you lose them?"

your girlfriend hands the girl the pen, she grabs it eagerly. tara starts to scribble something just below your already existing tattoo, something not so far off from a bunny. it's a messy scribble, clearly done by a child, but it's adorable.

"we were by the water and then my dads both went to get something from the store with me... then I saw a rabbit in the store! it was as big as my head! and it started running around the store and I followed it and it went outside and I followed it again and it kept running away from me!" she explains with frustration. "and then I looked around and I couldn't find my dads... and I went to the benches over there before miss y/n found me."

she adds small whiskers on the bunny she's drawing on your forearm, the drawing is the size of her hand, taking up a lot of space -- but it's adorable.

she seems unbothered by the fact that she's basically missing now, too busy admiring her work and smiling up at you. "do you like it miss y/n?"

your lips turn up, your cheeks flush from how happy she looks, then you nod. "I love it tara."

"yay! is it as good as miss chaeyoung's?"

pretending to think to yourself, you put a finger on your chin and look up at the sky. a little dramatically, you hum, then look back at the bunny inked on your forearm.

leaning closer and lowering your voice -- but not too quietly so chaeyoung can hear -- you respond, "I think it's better than hers."

tara smiles with her teeth, then leaps into your arms and gives you a big hug. she's so small, at least compared to you, clinging onto you like a koala. she pulls away to smile even bigger. "thank you thank you! i think I want to be an artist someday."

you look down at her and chuckle before placing a hand on her head and fixing the strands poking out. "do what you love, okay? i think you'd make a great artist."

chaeyoung watches the whole interaction, her head in her palm and cheeks warming from how adorable you are with her. chaeyoung sigh adoringly just from the sight, falling a little more for you -- especially after you look up, make eye contact, and smile warmly at her. she feels like a popsicle on a burning day.

"tara, we should find your parents. they shouldn't be too far from here, I hope."

"do you want my dad's number? the one with the mustache."

you and chaeyoung look at each other again, mouths widening and faces looking dumbfounded; tara's known her dad's phone number this whole time. the two of you laugh like idiots.

you reach for your phone and hand it to tara. "could you type their number in? I'll call them and we'll get you back to them soon."

"on it!" tara responds with a fist in the air, punching up excitedly.

chaeyoung watches her sit down next to you, and how you tilt your head a little strangely to match her level and meet the screen of your phone. tara's little fingers tap at the screen, then she shoves the phone up and hits your nose, eliciting a small squeak from you.

you rub your and nose and chaeyoung puts a hand to her mouth to stifle the laugh that's threatening to come out -- loud and so strong it'll have her falling down on the blanket -- she barely manages to do so.

rolling your eyes at her, you bring the phone up to your ear and wait for an answer. ten seconds pass before you hear a low "hello?" from the other end of the line.

"hi, is this james? or-- no, maybe jihyuk?"

"how did you get my number?" the man asks, his voice Is so low that it catches you off guard, but he's soft-spoken. "who are you?"

"hi, i'm not sure which dad this is but we found your daughter on a bench crying. she gave us your number and -- my girlfriend and I -- we've just been watching over her. we didn't know she knew her parents' numbers."

the man man lets out a sigh, it sounds like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "oh dear, y/n right? you're a life saver, thank you. where are you located? near the riverside I assume?"

"yeah, that's right. would you like us to meet you there soon? by the convenience store? it's not too far from us."

"yes, that's perfect. thank you so much, my husband and I have been panicking like crazy. see you soon."

"of course." you respond before hanging up. chaeyoung tilts her head, silently asking for a brief explanation. you look at tara, then hold her hand comfortingly. "we're going to go find your dads okay?"

tara nods before standing up, you and chaeyoung get up with her. the three of you all work together to fold the thin blanket that was previously under you, then shove it in the tote bag you had brought.

as you hang the tote bag on your shoulder, you feel your pointer finger being tugged at and look over to see tara. she's also holding chaeyoung's hand-- well, her pointer, middle, and ring finger. chaeyoung looks at you and smiles, mouthing a "she's adorable" in your direction. you nod in agreement and mouth back, "not as adorable as you" before winking teasingly, making chaeyoung roll her eyes and look away to conceal the faint dust of pink on her cheek.

the three of you make your way to the little riverside convenience store, tara in between you and your lovely girlfriend. you and your lover share eye contact again, both of you falling deeper in love without knowing it.

tara starts to drag you over to the railings near the riverside, but you and chaeyoung resist (somehow terribly, she's dragging the two of you with enough force for two grown adults to struggle holding her back), instead redirecting her to where her parents should be.

you catch the convenience store in the distance, then look down at tara. "almost there, you alright?"

"mhm!"

chaeyoung smiles at this side of you, she's never seen you so caring. you've always been an idiot or overly teasing with your friends -- she loves that, it's why she fell for you -- never this protective and caring.

you were always caring with your friends, attentive to their well-being. you were even more caring with chaeyoung, in a subtle way she always noticed. usually quiet in how you helped others, seeing you so sweet with this little girl shows how genuine and lovely you are. chaeyoung realizes that if you had kids someday, she’d love to be around a protective, caring you—just like you are right now.

the revelation is exciting, chaeyoung finds another way to love you even harder.

you spot two men outside the store. one stands out more—a big, buff, tall man. next to him is a shorter, lankier man with his hand on the other's shoulder, seemingly calming the bigger man with his touch -- just like how you comfort chaeyoung.

tara jumps, then lets go of both you and chaeyoung, running up to the two men and yelling "papa!"

the bigger man catches her in a hug, holding her close and his huge arms practically engulf her. his eyes widen and soften at the same time, then he kisses tara's temple and sighs in relief.

"tara! oh darling, i've been worried sick, your dad and I have both been." the voice is the same one you had heard on the phone earlier, the octave of his voice matches his appearance but the softness and care he shows reminds you of a huge teddy bear.

the smaller man looks at you and chaeyoung, offering a sincere, thankful smile. "thank you for taking care of our daughter, we've been quite worried."

he has a thick french accent, and just his appearance, mannerisms, and the way his words flow out make him seem a bit intimidating. she puts his hand out for you and introduces himself, "jihyuk."

you shake his hand before responding, "y/n."

chaeyoung also does the same, introducing herself and giving him a grin, "chaeyoung."

"thank you for taking care of her, seriously, we owe you the world." the other says, from what you can remember, he should be james since jihyuk has already been introduced.

chaeyoung waves her hand, then holds yours, squeezing tightly as she says, "my girlfriend noticed your daughter crying on a bench, she wanted to help. we were worried."

you nod and send her a quick smile. "ah! also, sorry about the scribbles on her..." you panic a bit, unsure of whether they'd approve of the artwork on her. "we tried to warm up to her and ask her questions, but she wouldn't budge until my girlfriend had drawn something on her." you explain, then you frantically start to ramble, "I'm so sorry about that, my girlfriend's tattoos caught her eye and she--"

jihyuk places his hand on yours before fixing the glasses he wears to sit on his nose bridge. his voice is higher, but he speaks with certainty and some slight authority in his tone, voice levelled, "it's alright dear, we're just glad that our daughter is well."

"right, yeah."

chaeyoung laughs at you and holds your hand a little tighter.

tara starts to squirm in her other dads grip, which urges james to set her down. she runs over to chaeyoung, hugging a leg and muttering, "thank you miss chaeyoung for the drawings, can you do it again sometime?"

your girlfriend looks at you, you look over at james, james looks at his husband jihyuk. jihyuk laughs and nods approvingly.

chaeyoung bends down to meet her level, then fixes the wispy bangs. "of course, anytime."

"yay!" tara beams, then hugs chaeyoung tightly. you watch the whole interaction, feeling your heart overload with adoration, threatening to burst out of your chest.

then tara runs over to you, almost making you lose balance when she collapses into your leg and holds on. you do the same as chaeyoung had done: meet her level and smile at her. "hi tara."

"thank you for helping me y/n, you're very beautiful and kind." your lips twitch a bit; she's seriously adorable. you hold her hand in yours and manage to mutter a low, "thank you."

tara hugs you one more time, it's warm and lovely and wow you never really thought about having kids--but now it's all you can think of as the small, energetic child hugs you with adoration and care.

she runs back to jihyuk and he holds her small hand in his.

james walks up to you, tilting his head down to match your level. this guy has to be at least 6'4 or something. despite his build, he's sweet just from how he smiles at you and the little glint in his eyes.

"i hope you don't mind, i'm going to save your number and," he looks over at his daughter and lover. "I hope we can repay you with coffee or lunch sometime in the future." then, he looks over to chaeyoung, his head tilting down even more. "tara seems to love the art on her skin, and we'd love for her to smile like this again. and you two are such a lovely, kind couple. thank you for this, you saved me from a heart attack."

chaeyoung nods and assures, "it's no problem, we're glad you're all back together."

jihyuk stands next to his husband and links arms subtly before looking up at him, then back to the two of you. "thank you chaeyoung and y/n. we hate to cut this short, but we have to get to dinner on time with my parents. thank you again."

"it's no problem, you all enjoy the dinner alright?" you respond, jihyuk's diastema between his two front teeth is shown when he flashes a smile.

tara waves to you and you watch the small family leave.

chaeyoung kisses your cheek suddenly--you turn in surprise.

"what was that for?"

"you are so adorable, i hate you."

you can't help but chuckle before pecking her lips.

"you love me."

she rolls her eyes before dragging you away from the convenience store and towards the little viewing area nearby.

the breeze hits you two perfectly as you both lean against the railing, chaeyoung leans her head against your shoulder and kisses it through the cloth of your shirt. you turn to press a kiss on her forehead, watching boats make their way to their destination, birds travelling, and the waves flow calmly.

your girlfriend holds your hand and kisses the back of it. "do you want kids?"

"i'm," you pause, chaeyoung watches your lips part as you think of a response. "I'm not against it, but not now I think. if and whenever it happens, I think you'd be the greatest mom ever."

"no," she looks at your features with admiration. "you'd be better." she moves over to kiss your lips and pulls away just barely, lips brushing against yours. "I've never really thought about it much, kids and all." she kisses you once more, then pulls away fully in order to gaze at all of your features. chaeyoung blows some of your hair out of the way, making you laugh.

"me neither."

"but," she begins again, "if it's with you, I know i'd be set just waking up to see you being the mother of our kid. i really like this side of you."

"thanks." you mumble, savoring the moment of intimacy and tenderness. "i'd love to see what kinds of new art would pop up on our child's skin everytime I come back from work."

her face makes its way to the crook of your neck as she giggles. she holds you close.

"there's a lot to look forward to."

"as long as you're in my future I'm fine with anything chaeng."

[fickleminder]

be good

AU inspired by this prompt: Humans are born with demon counterparts to protect them. The more innocent and pure a person is, the more mean, fierce, and terrifying their demon becomes.

Halloween 2023 fic 😈

It’s one of the things your parents often told you when you were growing up.

"Behave yourself."

"They won’t hurt you if you’re good."

"Say please and thank you."

"It’s okay, they’re your best friend."

"Mind your manners."

"You can always rely on them to protect you."

"Be good, now."

You’ve had multiple shadows for as long as you could remember. No one else could see them; a person’s demon was their own after all, but you quickly realized that everybody around you only had the one. Any attempts to convince your family otherwise only led them to believe yours was a shapeshifter.

But one demon or seven, they never laid a finger on you. Sometimes they kept their distance, watching over you from afar; other times they stayed within arm’s reach, readily accepting your touch should your curiosity win out. You soon became accustomed to the chilly air around them, their cool skin a familiar comfort on days when you just needed a hug.

They were brothers too, despite not looking anything alike. You talked to them of course, wanting to know more about your protectors friends, where they came from, what they did to pass the time when they weren’t watching you. The oldest one told you that they weren't like the other demons; they were more important, had other roles to fulfill and duties to tend to, which was why they had to take turns looking after you.

"I'm sorry for being a bother," five-year-old you said. You'd been left alone more often than not, your father having passed away recently while your mother worked extra jobs to keep the both of you fed. She never neglected you when she was home, but you still felt like a burden to her.

"You're not a bother," the oldest one — Lucifer — chided you gently. "Your mother loves you, and so do we. Never forget that, understand?"

You gripped his pant leg and nodded into his thigh, only relaxing when a gloved hand reached down to stroke your hair.

.

.

.

The wind howled outside your window and rattled the panes. Cloudy skies covered the moon, casting your room into inky blackness as you huddled under the blankets and shivered, eyes wide open and unable to sleep.

Everything seemed louder in the dark: the shrieking gusts, the creaky old floorboards, the scuttles in the walls, the scratching and rustling behind your closet door—

"It's way past your bedtime, you know."

The voice came out of nowhere, but all you felt was a sharp sense of relief knowing that you weren't alone tonight. "I'm scared," you whispered to it, clutching the sheets tighter against your body. "Can you check the closet for monsters, please?"

One of the shadows in the room seemed to grow and stretch, moving lazily towards the closet in question. You didn't dare to peek over the blankets, but you heard the door open and close as the faint noises from within fell blessedly silent.

"Better?" The voice drawled, returning to its place under your bed. "Go to sleep now. There's nothing scarier here than me."

"Thanks Belphie. Goodnight."

You let one arm dangle off the side of your bed as you finally closed your eyes. After a while, you felt a cold hand grasping yours, keeping you safe in its grip.

.

.

.

"I said I was sorry!"

"You think a simple 'sorry' is gonna cut it?!"

Bumping into other students in a crowded hallway was almost inevitable, but apparently this upperclassman took personal offense at it. The older boy hauled you up by your shirt and slammed you against the lockers while everybody else kept their heads low and gave the two of you a wide berth.

"I oughta teach you a lesson for—" He looked over his shoulder at someone you couldn't see, frowning with irritation. "Whaddya mean 'wrong person'? This twerp was the one who—"

Whatever his demon said must have convinced him, because he abruptly let go and stomped away without another word. Your knees buckled and you slid to the floor with a breathy exhale.

Someone squatted down beside you to check the back of your head, running gentle fingers through your hair to soothe you. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I was more startled than anything." You smiled at Satan, who still seemed somewhat troubled. "Can you walk me to my next class?"

"With pleasure."

That night, Satan got Asmo to read to you on his behalf, claiming he had a last minute errand to run. You didn't mind; Asmo had such a melodic voice that he might as well have sung you to sleep.

(You never saw that upperclassman in school again. People still said he transferred out.)

.

.

.

The day your mother passed, you were sitting next to her and holding her hand, doing your best to ignore the beeping of the machines that monitored her vitals.

One minute she was peaceful, halfway dozed off while you spoke to her softly, the next her entire body seized up as she began mumbling incoherently.

The machines went haywire and alerted the nurses to her side. You were forced to step back and let them do their job, your panicked gaze focused on her fearful face as she writhed on the bed, as though struggling to get away from an assailant.

"No, no... I thought... Please..." were the last words you heard before someone wrapped their arms around you and turned you away.

"Don't look," Asmo cooed in your ear, moments before the shrill beeping noises became steady.

The demon guided you to sit in the hallway outside, whispering words of comfort and rubbing your back. He told you to remember how pretty your mother was before her illness, the good times you'd spent with her after all the hardship the two of you had endured, happy memories that made every second worth it.

You knew your demons would help you to work through the grief in time, but for now, you let yourself fall apart in Asmo's arms.

.

.

.

"Take care on your way home."

"Thanks boss, see you tomorrow."

Closing shifts sucked, but the late hours paid well. Luckily, you had company on your walk back too, a hulking figure no one else could see but everybody still instinctively steered clear of. It made taking shortcuts through shady alleys a little safer.

Even on nights you stopped for supper at a sleazy diner, the only place still open at this godforsaken hour, nobody invited themselves into your booth or tried to strike up conversation with you. Which worked just fine, all you wanted to do was eat your food, go home, and collapse into bed.

Strangely enough, you noticed that the cook also tended to be extra generous with the portions he served you. The man was loud and gruff towards the waitstaff, but on nights you were seated at the counter, he was quiet as a mouse when setting your dish in front of you.

You could never finish it all, but you always made sure to leave a good tip anyway.

.

.

.

You stared at the numbers on the screen for the longest time, feeling conflicted. A part of you wished you had never approached your coworker to ask about the discrepancies you'd found in the accounts, not when he opened your eyes to some of the dealings that went under your boss's radar. He offered you a cut of the profits to keep your mouth shut of course, but you never imagined...

He was a good guy. Hardworking, funny, always willing to pitch in and offering to pick up a bite for you whenever he went on snack runs. You knew he went to church regularly too, so why?

A bat-like wing blocked your view of the screen, and you looked up to see Mammon smirking. "You're overthinking this," he said. "The answer's right in front of ya."

"I thought..." You bit your lip. "He isn't doing too well himself, and the company isn't a megacorp or anything but it's not like they'll notice. Shouldn't I just look the other way?"

"Ha! What he's offering ya is peanuts compared to the promotion you'll get by exposing his operation."

"I'm not in it for the money—"

"Maybe so, but it's the right thing to do, ain't it?"

"Still..."

"You won't have to worry about any retaliation." Mammon assured you with a ruffle of your hair. "I'll make sure of it."

.

.

.

"—lie! It's all a lie! Listen to me, you can't trust the devils!"

"What nonsense are you watching now?" Levi leaned over your shoulder as you tilted your phone to give him a better view.

"A video that went viral recently. Some crazy dude ranting about conspiracies and whatnot."

Levi's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Sounds like he's jealous about having a wimpy lesser demon chained to him, if you ask me. These guys are just bitter they got leftovers since they aren't good people."

"I don't know, Levi. Some folks just need a bit of help, I think. And don't get me started on the whole nature vs. nurture debate."

"Well, doesn't change the fact that you can't save everybody."

"They're cultivating us, like livestock! You have to sin, SIN I say!"

"Ugh, I've had enough of this dude. Can you change the channel? We haven’t watched the latest episode about that time-traveling god yet.”

"Ooh, you’re right! Give me a sec to log into my account…"

.

.

.

Lucifer hummed in amusement. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend." You scrambled to clarify your earlier statement. "It's just— I've known you and your brothers for so long that you don't look scary to me, not anymore. I'm not saying you guys should be monsters or anything, but... Does this mean I'm a bad person?"

"Demons have many forms not meant for mortal eyes," he explained patiently. "And you should know that humans are neither fully good nor bad, but often somewhere in-between. In any case, why would we ever wish to frighten you, hm?"

"Told you it was a silly question..." You grumbled under your breath.

Lucifer squeezed your shoulder. "You’re a good person. You always try your best to do the right thing, even without our guidance to keep you from going astray. I don't say this lightly: I’m proud of you."

You hid your warm cheeks in the demon's chest as you hugged him for all you were worth. "...Thanks Luci."

"Anytime. Now, off you go. Don't keep Beel waiting."

Lucifer watched as his younger brother filled the empty space next to you, holding your hand while walking you home. The hour was late and the streets were dark; it wouldn't do to have anything unsavory happen to you before you made it home safely.

Yes, they needed to keep you safe at all costs. A pure and innocent being like you was hard to come by, perhaps only once every millennia or so. He and his brothers had fought for the right to you, to nurture and polish your soul for when the time was right. And when it was, you would be—

"Delicious," Lucifer whispered, baring his fangs as he licked his lips.

[phoenixkaptain]

Really all three of the Sonic movies are a masterclass in making films geared towards fans while still creating new stories, but Sonic 3 especially because like. They listened! The fans said “we don’t like all these human parts” and the movie went “alright” and there are almost no scenes starring solely the human characters. Even in scenes prominently featuring them, Sonic and friends either show up (making the scene no longer solely focused on humans) or they’re focused in some way on what Sonic’s doing. Like damn man, they really… Listened? And accepted the criticism they received?? And improved??? And they even technically made the wedding subplot in 2 relevent to the plot????

I really liked the movie! Part of that is my fondness for Shadow, who I will never ever get over being the saddest little ultimate lifeform in the whole world. And movie Shadow really ticks all the boxes, I mean- the way he talks so stiltedly? The way he skates? The way he teleports? The fact that he doesn’t even initiate the majority of fights? The fluffiest little ultimate lifeform in ever, truly, 2024/10 for the year of Shadow-

I like this Shadow. The opening scene of him escaping is just beautiful. Him being all drenched filled me with an urge to blowdry him so he could puff up like a lil angry cat. He’s so legitimately awkward and confused watching the Eggmans that I watched his expression more than what either Robotnik was doing. He looks so confused! He’s over there like “somehow, the human has grown weirder with age… and here I thought humans were supposed to grow wiser…”

Also Maria’s face when Shadow gets sad because the movie they’re watching is called “Alien Freak” or whatever??? Beautiful, amazing, outstanding, give this lady an Oscar.

Sonic’s relationship with Shadow throughout the movie is so fun to watch progress. He just canNOT stand this guy!!! This new hedgehog who has definitely been around longer than him!!! Let Sonic be angy, it is so cute.

Tails and Knuckles are also very cute, though they feel a lot more sidelined. Which, I mean, literally every single character aside from Sonic, Shadow, and Robotnik have no character arc. And that’s fine! That’s good, even! Side characters don’t need to be focused on so intently! It only feels strange because Sonic 2 was so different in where it focused, but it isn’t a bad thing! Do I wish there was more Tails? Always. Do I think Knuckles was great just because he could have punched through the barrier really at any moment? Absolutely. I think the characters fit their roles in the movie very well.

All in all, I like Shadow. He is the saddest little ultimate hedgehog lifeform in the history of ever. He isn’t even all that angry for most of the movie. He’s just sad and lost and hopeless and it’s very depressing! Guy really tried to taunt his way into being killed, and I just think him trying to irritate Sonic into committing murder is funny, especially since it very nearly worked. Also, the scenes of Shadow jumpscaring everyone makes me assume that he has been jumpscaring people for years, which causes me to imagine that there were many occasions of GUN agents finding a Shadow where there was not a Shadow five seconds before. When did he get into the cupboard? How long has he been standing behind that door? Can we put a bell on the hedgehog, please, this is getting out of hand!

In my imagined future Shadow series where Shadow becomes friends with Sonic and pals, Maddie makes him wear a little bell so he stops giving everyone heart attacks. He still manages to give everyone heart attacks. I like to think they will occasionally wake up to find him standing at the foot of the bed ominously. Shadow is a eldritch cat monster, I’m pretty sure that was made canon-

Anyway. TLDR: 10/10 movie. The creators listened to the criticism they received on the second movie and made changes. Shadow was perfect. Sonic being taken off guard by Shadow will never not be funny, nor will their banter grow old. The dog has subtitles and I can only assume it’s because Knuckles and only Knuckles can understand him. Stone’s love was reciprocated in the very end. And yeah, I’m with the menacing hedgehog, Gabriella should have just killed Juan and Pablo both and been done with it.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

“I mean, you’ve got to feel a little sorry for them really haven’t you?” Jaskier said from where he was mopping up the last of the evidence of the half dead rat Roach had thoughtfully decided to gift them (the first time it happened he’d shrieked in surprise before Geralt put it out of its misery with a matter of fact “Welcome to country living, city boy”). Geralt gave a non committal hum from where he was warming milk up for Ciri on the stove. The little girl sat colouring at the large kitchen table - too large for two, but that would change when Geralt’s brothers and any guests they decided to bring descended on them.

“I mean they’re just minding their own business like, Oh I’m a hungry rat. Please don’t kill me.” Here Jaskier put on a slightly squeaky voice and held up his hands in imitation of paws, still holding onto the mop, “And then wham one of the last things they see is Roach’s teeth coming towards them. So many teeth.” He gave the resident farm cat a critical stare and received a dismissive tail flick in response.

Ciri giggled at his antics which caused him to grin back at her in return. It always felt like a special sort of personal victory when he managed to coax a laugh out of the little girl.

Despite being together for six months, he was still being introduced to her as her father’s ‘friend’ (which was true enough, they wouldn’t be dating if they didn’t get along) and Jaskier was happy to go along with it. Geralt had explained without revealing too much that the little one had been let down by too many adults in her life already, himself included, and ‘boyfriend’ was maybe just a little too official sounding for the time being (and if he said his heart hadn’t broken a little for the five year old smiling at him from Geralt’s phone, he’d by lying), especially after the shit that had gone down with his ex. Geralt hadn’t gone into detail but from what Jaskier had gathered, the woman had had a hidden agenda in wanting to get back with Geralt and Ciri had almost gotten seriously hurt as a result. Geralt had blamed himself for jumping back into the relationship too quickly and so, any potential partners now had to pass what Jaskier had dubbed ‘The Ciri test’.  

He liked to think he’d passed the first portion with flying colours, the tiny blonde seeming perfectly comfortable with him in public places. Now they were dipping their toes into Jaskier staying in their home for longer periods, with Jaskier having graduated from the guest bedroom to sharing with Geralt the previous visit (the brunette wanting the ground to swallow him up when she happily informed her Uncle Eskel of ‘Daddy’s sleepover’ when the man had dropped by unexpectedly the following morning. Geralt had just shrugged and told him to be thankful it hadn’t been Lambert; who could and would, happily take the piss forever).

“Alright Ciri, put your things away and then go get your bedtime book. I’ll be in in a minute.” Geralt said, pouring the warm milk into a plastic My Little Pony cup.

“I want Jask.” Ciri declared form where she was trying to force the crayons back into their box by the (relatively small) handful, Causing both adults to stop what they’d been doing and stare at one another. This was new.

“You sure you don’t want daddy?” Jaskier asked, looking to Geralt for some sign as to what he should do.

“You do better funny voices. Daddy’s all sound the same.”

It took everything Jaskier had not to burst out laughing at that as he took in the minute eye twitch from the other man at that statement, “Geralt?”

Geralt nodded, “Mind if I stay and listen? You know how much I love The Gruffalo.”

Jaskier snorted and felt a surge of fondness. The lies we tell for our children.

It ended up being a joint effort, with Geralt guest starring as The Gruffalo “On account of you being so, well...gruff.” and admitting to a slightly too smug looking Jaskier and a mostly asleep Ciri that “Yes, Jaskier does better voices for everyone else. Especially Mouse.”

"Everything ok? You’ve gone all quiet on me.” Jaskier said from where he had his head in Geralt’s lap as they watched some mindless Netflix show. “I didn’t overstep did I?” He was suddenly frantic, his anxieties bubbling back up to the surface now that he didn’t have a performance and an audience to focus on, “I know you probably just said yes so things wouldn’t be awkward. I probably should have told her no and come up with an excuse but how can anybody say no to that face-“

“Jaskier. It’s fine, honestly.” Geralt said, rubbing his hands up and down Jaskier’s arm in a way he knew calmed him, “I’ve built up something of an immunity to Ciri’s puppy eyes. I would’ve said no if I had a problem with it. I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how I might have a question for Ciri.”

The next morning saw Jaskier seeing both of them off with a hug (also accompanied by fishing a stray cheerio out of Ciri’s hair which he had been too tired to question) before heading back to his city apartment and his job as a music tutor.

“Ciri?” Geralt asked, putting her school backpack by the door as he knelt down to help her button up her coat, “You know how Aiden is Uncle Lambert’s boyfriend?"

It had slowly been killing Jaskier not to check his phone as soon as the text notification came through but he was nothing if not professional and he would not check his phone when he was in the middle of a lesson. Thank the Gods he did wait as he was prettu sure he gave his retreating student a minor heart attack with the squeal he let out at Geralt’s message:

‘Ciri has been proudly announcing to her classmates this morning that Jaskier is her daddy’s boyfriend. Much disappointment from the single mums.’

[kimulus0check]

can I ask for specific hcs? (ex trans characters or sth like that)

I want to make this to what I personally see while also keeping it to character I can. Like for example I don’t think mean little teenage boys from the 90s to early 2000s know what demiromantic means nor are going to know that theres more than two genders. Much less grown ass men who canonically have Facebook. Just a pet peeve

Hyperspecific or weird headcanons

Bill Dickey

•He is a dictionary definition of a sociopath or has antisocial personality disorder; but has never been to the doctors to be diagnosed. He wouldn’t even think there’s anything wrong with him either nor would think he would have any symptoms, even when they heavily show up a lot.

•symptoms of antisocial personality disorder are characterized by: those with antisocial personality disorder tend to lie, break laws, act impulsively, and lack regard for their own safety or the safety of others. Which we see him do by lighting himself on fire to intentionally burn down the comic shop and everyone in it.

•His overall lack for empathy for others is very prominent from the beginning to the end of the comic series.

•He is not gay, but he isn’t straight either. His hatred and Blanton misogyny towards women compared to his almost religous idolization fictional men is something that speaks for itself.

•Deep down he is aromantic. Though I doubt he would find out about this for himself until he’s seventy-five years old or dead in the grave. He dreams and yearns for sexual intimacy but doesn’t want to actually achieve it with a person in real life. He sees sex more as a social status to achieve than something you do with your partner in a romantic relationship.

•my most extreme head canon I mentioned in my general head canon post was that his parents are divorced and his mother has full custody of him and his sister.

•His father used to be very abusive to him and his sister but neither of them really registered that ‘violence and beating each other is bad’ and that’s why they are so violent towards each other and just physically aggressive in general. Also gives a reason why we never see his father.

Jerome Stokes

•is neurodivergent, more specifically having verbal stimming and stutters when trying to say the letter B. Jerry is more high-functioning on the ASD spectrum.

•Hates having his clothes wet, some clothing material like polyesters or cotton and can’t stand certain smells and lights because of sensory issues. But with his friends or if had partner was around him when he was having sensory problems he would mask and try to thug it out even though he is having a mental breakdown internally.

•It would take a lot for him to even open up about his feelings because he emotionally shuts himself off when his with the club members to get less hurt when they shit on his interest in fantasy or get into fights verbal and literal fights.

•Lives with his mother and father but they’re very religious and conservative so they don’t support his fantasy hobbies at all but let him indulge thinking “it’s just a phase”. They don’t really know how to live with the fact he is neurodivergent, specifically his mother. His father works a job with long hours so he is rarely home, if he is home he’s not awake half of the time. So his mother helicopters him and coddles him when he doesn’t need to be.

•The most open minded person of the group, but will follow in the clubs behaviors because he doesn’t want to be excluded or not have friends despite the ones he has right now are god awful.

•Has definitely was sent to Christian camp over the summer in middle school. His mom has found some of his fantasy porn stash in his closet and thought he was going astray from god.

Josh Levy

•Josh is a collective turned organized hoarder and over consumer. He canonically stated in the comics how he lost the passion in his hobbies and now just grasps at any collectibles he can find just to have them.

•sort of a sudo-masochist. Like he would never enjoy pain for his own pleasure but he’d know when he’s miserable and is aware what he does isn’t healthy, but continues to do it because he’s already in the deep shit of it.

•speaking of shit, the fact he only eats certain food products because they have collectibles even though he hates the food and has horrendous bowel movements on the regular makes him so much more sadder because he is willing to borderline torture himself just to collect.

•He comes from a Jewish family and a very religious family at that.

•he has naturally curly hair but he doesn’t shower almost at all so his curls turn into a greasy oily slick mop of a ponytail.

•moles and birthmarks all over his body.

•secretly closeted gay, and has probably online dated with men but will die in his grave than come out to his friends or loved ones.

Pete Dinunzio

•Pete is seen to have some anger issues in the pilot and in the comics like bill, but his anger derives from a sense of justice and fairness (though only when it benefits him).

•lives with a very strict and intense father and a couple older brothers, along with his more lenient mother.

•closeted gay but is homophobic to out gay people because he can’t process his own turmoil and eternalized homophobia. (his family is catholic Italian New Yorkers they probably don’t fuck with gay people.)

•Pete is impulsive and vain. Not thinking about the consequences of his choices like the other boys but his hobbies do take a toll on him more differently than the other three. when he gets older he thrives in an environment where they enable his worst habits and addiction to the point where he is a assistant producer in snuff films, horror porn, etc.

•you could hold the argument where Josh has a similar path in his career as swell, but Josh is only and editor while Pete is a co-producer. Having a higher job title and embedding the fact that this is no longer a new he hobby but apart of who he is in the worst way possible to where he is taking sexual advantage of the women who work for him.

•He wants to be covered in tattoos when he’s older with full sleeves and everything, but in his later years has a couple of five to eight tattoos scattered over his body.

•this is very much a stretch but I think he warms up to people like rigby from regular show. (stay with me-please) He is very distant and mean at first but if he warms up to you he will grow to be very loyal towards you.

[meadow-hearthfire]

[Insert dialogue of a ten-year-old ranting to his previously-unknown Pop dad about the mistreatment he and his sister endured in the Techno foster system just for being half-Pop.]

--We didn’t ask for any of that! We never asked to be made!! Where was all that love and care these past ten years? Where was that these past FIVE YEARS?!!

I have no excuse… I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

No kid should ever have to go through such hardship, especially not at such a young age as you were…

Despite how angry and upset they are, they’re still kids and they’re hurting and they need a hug. Also, you gotta let them get it outta their system.

---

I love @zivazivc's OCs Eddy M and Ravin! (Oh, and their Techno dad is confirmed to have been in his twenties when he had them.)

Some songs I listened to while working on those pics:

This takes place in a universe in which Floyd mans up and takes those kids in after being reminded of their existence and informed of their situation. There are some other things that sets this AU apart from Ziva’s but I’m not gonna spoil any more than I probably already am. Plus, the AU is still a work-in-progress.

The kids are sent straight to Pop Village after the events of Trolls World Tour, and all of BroZone is informed of the kids’ existence after ancestry test results come out.

Why’s Eddy M pissed at Floyd, you may wonder? It’s because Eddy M knows Floyd knew of his and Ravin’s existence from the start and didn’t bother being part of their lives until Floyd was reminded of their existence and informed about their situation. Ravin knows that too, but she’s more upset that she’s reliving the trauma she and her brother underwent.

In the Mirverse, Eddy M and Ravin’s Techno dad died when they were five, and their Techno grandparents, whom they thought loved them, shunted them off to the Techno foster system where they were mistreated for being half-Pop.

The kids are supposed to be ten years old in this. If Floyd is thirteen when BroZone split, in his mid-twenties when he had those two eggs with that Techno troll, then he should be in his mid-thirties in this (at least in the Mirverse and according to my headcanons). If you notice the kids’ heights are possibly inconsistent for a ten-year-old, please ignore this error because I was too late to fix it. Maybe their time in the shitty-ass Techno foster system stunted their growth?

Wondering about Eddy M’s bandages? Well, all I’m gonna say is that Eddy M ran into trouble and got hurt. And nope, it wasn’t during his and Ravin’s time in the Techno foster system.

As for the clothes the kids are wearing? They were gifted those clothes when they were in the much nicer Pop Village foster home/orphanage.

Notice Floyd’s tattoo? The flowers are forget-me-nots, which I picked for a symbolic meaning that's literally in the name. I’m gonna let you try to figure out the rest (; btw the tattoo design isn't finalized, so it's subject to change.

Oh, and I hope you don’t mind the alterations and errors in Eddy M and Ravin’s designs. I was almost done with the pic so it was too late to fix those errors (the bangs and eyebrows), I’ll try to rectify that and see if I can make those details work next time I draw those two. As for the alterations, I wanted to simplify Ravin’s skin for ease of drawing and I struggled to make Eddy M’s Techno troll teeth work.

[satoruhour]

hey t it’s me again 😔 i saw u have choso on ur masterlist and it got me thinking back to the brothers bff/bff’s brother debate and now i can’t decide which is better

being yuuji’s sister and getting used to choso always being at ur house bc him and yuuji r inseperable and ur always acting annoyed but secretly u love having him around bc he’s super sweet and respectful to his friend’s sister and over the years u also become close w him and can’t help but slowly fall for him bc he is so gentle and protective w u

oorrr being yuuji’s bff and always hanging around at his house but his quiet, grumpy introvert of a brother choso avoids being around u bc he doesn’t wanna overstep his brother’s boundaries. u always think he’s annoyed by you when actually he would love to be friends (or more) with u bc u r the literal sunshine in his life and he’s dying to talk to you but he is too afraid

aahh t...need your thoughts. now!

a/n: sorry this took so long jelly !!!! but why not both...? 0.7k / 0.8k ✶

i. choso as your older brother’s best friend

it’s at fourteen that your older brother, yuji, starts to bring a pale guy to his house. he looks dead in the eyes most of the time, hair tied up in matching buns and they were unkempt, just like the rest of his clothes, but he made them look good. and although he looks like he just walked through hell, his voice was gentle, timid.

you bow slightly when he enters the house for the first time, a grunt escaping you when yuji throws an arm around you forcefully and introduces you with the same booming voice he’s had since five. since then choso’s been coming around more and more, and you’re happy to at least see yuji smile a little more ever since your grandpa died — they’re not entirely guarded about their time together too, because sometimes yuji would drag you over to play stupid dress up games and you’re the one they listen to when you tell them purple is a terrible colour against stark, bright red.

within months, choso’s soon to treat you just like how yuji does: a little annoying and insufferable just like a big brother is, and soon you find yourself warming up to him: giving him highfives, being able to go out with him on ice cream outings, giving him stickers that you buy to paste on his skateboard. he’s always asking if you’re okay, too — he has heating pads for when you get shitty cramps, he has plasters for when you skate a little too fast on his skateboard.

they’re so inseparable that it almost feels unreal when you still see choso at twenty one years old in your first year of university while yuji’s in his third, bringing him over often in weird spots of time.

“how’s university treating you?” choso asks from across the room, lying down and staring blankly into the ceiling; he’s mindlessly playing with his lips. you’re reading a book on a couch in the bedroom, though you’re hardly digesting any information from how loudly yuji is clacking on the keys. he’s not aware of how loud he’s being either, music blasting into his ears as he rushes for an assignment.

“it’s alright,” you sigh, wincing when yuji almost spoils by slamming the spacebar. it’s futile trying to focus now, so you abandon your book totally, dumping it on the bed to sit by choso’s side on the bed, “though one of my professors is a total ass.”

“is it mr. shuichiro?” you just scrunch up your face and nod, another defeated sigh leaving your lips. 

“how’d you know?”

“not telling ya,” choso smiles. it’s not like you hadn’t seen yuji’s best friend smile before. there’s laughter, grins, everything on top, but never like this. the older man’s eyes crinkle when he smiles too, and you realise you’ve never looked hard enough to notice it. but you were unaware that today would be the day that would get you staring (and also would get you sputtering in retaliation).

you tsk, “annoying,” and you know the other knows you don’t mean it. not when later on he’s slipping a blanket over yuji who’s passed out at his desk, who offers to make you some hot chocolate when you can’t sleep. all these years have not turned you blind to choso’s selflessness, but because he was so casual about it, it hadn’t made a mark on you until you’re borrowing a hair tie from the other after yours snapped that same night.

“here,” he removes his buns, shoulder-length hair falling to frame his face, “you can have i—”

and you’d have more decorum on other days, but you’re so enamoured with how often his quiet acts of service happen that you reach out to touch his soft hair. you’re awkwardly twisting against the kitchen island, strands of black into your fingers and you gasp as you come to your senses when you get a sudden cramp up your leg.

choso’s the first to react, scooping you up effortlessly as you yelp, hands quickly wrapping around his neck. and then he laughs when you’re glaring at him through hooded lids and messy hair while everywhere else is tingling like frostbite. your heart is the fastest when choso leans down, pecking your forehead softly with a smile that shows relief, you think.

“let’s get you to bed, pretty.”

ii. choso as your best friend’s older brother

“aniki! come say hi to my friend.” your best friend itadori yuji needs everything but a loudhailer, because his voice easily carries throughout the house. he didn’t exactly need to shout either, because it was an small apartment with neighbours and you heard they’ve already got multiple complaints about yuji and his older brother playing DDR while shouting like dogs.

there’s grumbling when choso inches out from his room, a muffled rock song playing on the speakers. paramore. you bow when he finally reaches the two of you and you almost wish yuji hadn’t called his brother out when he looks like he would kill you. two years older than you both, his black hair is tied up messily into matching buns, eyes lined with faint makeup but choso sees your bow and scrambles to do the same, offering you a smile.

“you datin’ her?”

yuji chokes on his drink the next time he brings you over to complete a partner assignment, interrupted with the sudden question. similarly, the hands on your laptop halt too and your head snaps back to look at his older brother incredulously.

“anikiii!” yuji whines because it works on choso, seeing it take effect immediately when all he does is put up his hands in surrender and purses his lips, a smile tugging at his lips before his eyes shift to you. by then, yuji’s already moving onto the next section of your combined essay, but you linger just a little longer in choso’s gaze, who just shoots you a resigned smile and leaves.

“you like paramore?” you ask on another day, focusing on devouring a snack bar. choso nods, amongst other times where you’ve asked are you in university like us too? and he shakes his head. do you wear anything other than black? and he mumbles “no”.

warming up takes a while; you’re able to speak your mind whenever, so you’re usually the one initiating conversations that usually result in nods and one-worded answers. it doesn’t dampen your spirit, though you speak out less and less around him until choso picks up the pace again — he since then, you’re the only person worth communicating to.

choso only ever talks when you start, and most days are spent in his room avoiding the both of you, but mainly you, and he isn’t sure when those feelings of wanting personal space turns into varied feelings of wanting to see you more.

“choso? your dinner’s ready,” you call through the door, reluctantly accepting yuji’s plea for a favour when he realised he had nightly club activities to attend, shooting up from his bed before sprinting to the university nearby. you’re left with heating up the leftovers from yesterday, and yuji emphasised that you make sure that he comes out for his food.

you didn’t expect the door to open so fast, contrary to yuji’s experiences, taken aback by how dishevelled choso looked. your curious eyes couldn’t help but wander past him, looking into his room with renewed curiosity at the posters on his wall and the iMac on his table. there’s a tab open, a video that’s entirely out of his style playing faintly.

“here.” you smile, hand outstretched as you pass him a bowl of udon noodles, not noticing how choso wills his fingers to stop shaking at almost being found out and you think he’s going to go back into his man cave, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he asks “wanna watch a movie?”

two bowls of udon finished, you’re halfway through the rom-com he suggested, and maybe you’ve been too caught up in your perception of him that maybe he’s not all that stoic and mean-looking. glancing down you see the rings that adorn his fingers and how his nail-polish is chipped and the tips of his fingers are red, and maybe they’re calloused from playing his guitar or working on his iMac, but you won’t know for sure until you find out; that’s a lie you tell yourself.

if yuji was here, he’d burst out laughing — his best friend and big brother stuck in an awkward predicament — at your finger tracing his knuckles and veins on his hand. but there’s no shrill laughter to quell the situation and fluster on both your cheeks, unfortunately. in a swift motion, choso swallows his pride and aches to hold your hand, but he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, so he pulls away and scurries back to his room and you’re soon lamenting over your stupid mistake.

but then choso comes back, an unfinished product in his hands. it’s an average-sized bouquet of paper flowers, but so far there’s only three flowers finished and he’s apologising — you realise earlier, he had been learning how to make flowers for you. “i’m sorry— i didn’t know how else to—” you place a hand on the one holding the bouquet, scooting closer to him with a sweet smile.

“i like you, too, choso,” placing your lips on his cheek, you get a whiff of his cologne, giggling when you see a faint blush on his cheeks that puffs out at your confession. your laughter is cut off when choso places down the bouquet and pulls you into his side, already feeling at home within the warmth of his embrace.

“you’re going to be the death of me.”