#you know i can usually tell if something is off or whatever

[puckstories]

Boyfriend Headcannons | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, that's it I think. Edited only once.

Summary; What I think Quinn would be like as a boyfriend (:

Word Count; 3.1k

Author’s note; Enjoyed writing this so much, also considering writing a nsfw version if anyone would be interested. As per usual, any thoughts or reblogs are greatly appreciated (: -Honey

Boyfriend Quinn, who absolutely lives for affection.

He’s not always the most vocal about it, but the way he craves your touch, your kisses, your warmth—it’s in the little things he does. Quinn has this quiet, relaxed way of seeking affection that makes your heart swell every single time. He doesn’t always ask for it with words; most of the time, he doesn’t need to.

You’ve learned to recognize his silent cues by now. Whenever he wants a kiss, he won’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he’ll simply stop whatever he’s doing and turn toward you, his soft hazel eyes locking onto yours, and then he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, his lips gently pouting in that way that’s both completely endearing and impossible to resist. He’ll just look at you with that silent, expectant expression, waiting patiently for you to indulge him, because he knows you almost always do.

And how could you not?

Sometimes, he’ll be subtle about it—like when you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a movie. You’ll feel him shift beside you, and when you glance over, there he is, his lips pushed out just a little, eyes soft and hopeful, his attention fully on you. It’s a request, his gentle way of saying, "Come here, kiss me." You’ll roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart melts every time. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, and you can feel the contentment in the way his body relaxes, the way his hand automatically finds yours and squeezes, as if thanking you without a single word spoken.

Other times, he’s a bit more bold, more obvious—like when you’re cooking in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables or stirring something on the stove. You’ll be focused on whatever task you have at hand, and you won’t even notice him sneaking up behind you. He’ll come up and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and before you even have a chance to say anything, you feel it. He presses his lips to your neck, soft and gentle, and then pulls away just enough to turn his face toward you, lips already slightly puckered, waiting. He doesn’t say a word, but his intentions are clear.

You’ll try to ignore him at first, teasing him, pretending you’re too busy with dinner to give in to his unspoken request. But he’s persistent. He’ll squeeze you a little tighter, nuzzle into your neck, maybe even let out a small, exaggerated sigh to get your attention. And when you finally turn your head, there he is again—pouty lips, soft eyes, silently waiting for the kiss he knows he’s going to get. You give in, every time. You can’t help it.

"Okay, okay," you’ll say with a laugh, turning your head to press your lips against his, giving him exactly what he wants. The way his lips curl into a smile against yours tells you just how satisfied he is.

It’s not just the way he asks for kisses, though. Quinn is equally generous when it comes to giving affection, and he loves surprising you with it at the most random times. You could be in the middle of reading a book or scrolling through your phone, completely absorbed, and suddenly, you’ll feel his presence beside you. He’ll lean in, wrapping his arms around you gently, his hands resting at your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. No reason. No explanation. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And it’s those moments that catch you off guard the most—the way he showers you with love so effortlessly, so naturally. He never needs an excuse. For Quinn, giving you affection is as simple as breathing. It’s the way he expresses his love, the way he reminds you how much he adores you, even without saying a word.

It's in the way, he loves being close to you. He always finds a reason to touch you—whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or draping his arm over your shoulders when you’re sitting beside each other. He’s not clingy, but there’s a need for contact that’s just so Quinn—that gentle, understated craving for connection. And you’re always happy to give it to him, knowing that being close to you is where he feels most at home.

When he’s tired, he’s even more affectionate. After a long day of practice or a tough game, you’ll find him seeking you out the moment he steps through the door. He’ll drop his bag, kick off his shoes, and walk straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms without a word. He won’t even need to say he missed you, because the way he pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, says it all. And when he’s feeling particularly worn out, he’ll simply press his lips to your forehead or your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he relaxes into your touch.

And then there are the nights when he’s lying next to you in bed, the room dark and quiet, both of you just on the edge of sleep. That’s when Quinn is at his softest. He’ll roll over, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your temple or your shoulder, and you’ll feel his gentle pouting, his silent plea for one last kiss before he drifts off. You oblige him every time, pressing your lips to his in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and he’ll hum contentedly, his body relaxing completely as sleep finally overtakes him.

Quinn never needs to say much when it comes to affection—his actions speak louder than words ever could. The way he seeks out your touch, the way he silently asks for your kisses, the way he gives so freely of himself—it’s all a testament to how deeply he loves you, how much he cares about you.

Boyfriend Quinn, who always does the little things for you.

It’s in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures that Quinn shows his love, the kinds of things that make your heart swell and remind you just how lucky you are to have him in your life.

Take winter, for example. As soon as the first snow starts to fall, Quinn’s mind is already on you—making sure you’re taken care of, even when it comes to something as simple as the driveway or your car. He hates the thought of you standing out in the freezing cold, shivering as you scrape ice off your windshield in the early morning before work. So, whenever he’s home and able to, Quinn is always up before you, dressed in his thick jacket and boots, quietly heading outside while you’re still bundled up in bed.

By the time you’re awake and getting ready for the day, the driveway is already clear, the snow neatly shoveled into piles, and your car’s windshield is free of snow and ice. It’s not something he ever makes a big deal about—he doesn’t even mention it, really. You’ll only realize what he’s done when you look out the window and see the work he’s put in, your breath fogging up the glass as you smile to yourself, heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

You always try to thank him, but Quinn just waves it off like it’s no big deal. "I don’t mind," he’ll say with that soft smile of his. "I just want to make things a little easier for you." And that’s the essence of Quinn—he’s always thinking about how to make your life better, how to take even the smallest burdens off your shoulders, whether it’s clearing the snow or making sure you don’t have to start your day on the wrong foot.

Then, there are the flowers. Every week, without fail, Quinn makes sure to pick up your favorite flowers when he’s out. It’s not a grand gesture, not some big bouquet delivered to your door—just a simple bunch of fresh flowers that he knows will brighten your day. Sometimes, they’re the ones you’ve always loved: delicate peonies, bright sunflowers, or soft, fragrant roses, depending on the season. Other times, he surprises you with something different—wildflowers from the local market or a mix of colors that remind him of you.

The best part is always when he walks in with them, his face lighting up just as much as yours does when he sees your reaction. He loves the way your eyes widen and the way your lips curl into that smile he adores, the one that makes his whole day feel brighter. "You didn’t have to do that," you always say, even though you both know how much you love it when he does. And Quinn just shrugs, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter or the dining room table with an easy grin.

"I like seeing you smile," he says simply, as though that’s all the explanation he needs. And it is—because, to him, these little moments of joy he brings into your life are worth everything.

It’s the same when it comes to things like the dishes. Quinn is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t just pitch in around the house—he takes care of the things he knows you hate. Like dishes. You’ve always hated doing them. It’s that one chore that gets under your skin, and you’ve made it no secret that scrubbing pots and pans is not your idea of fun. Quinn knows this, and so even on nights when he’s the one who cooked dinner, he’ll always make sure to handle the cleanup, too.

"Go relax," he’ll say, waving you off when you try to help. "I’ve got this."

You’ll protest, of course—after all, he’s already done the cooking, and it doesn’t seem fair for him to do it all. But Quinn is stubborn in the best possible way. He’ll roll up his sleeves and start running the water, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to convince him otherwise.

"You hate doing dishes," he’ll remind you with a smile, "and I don’t mind them. Plus, you always do so much for me." And that’s Quinn—always thinking about balance, about making sure you’re taken care of. He knows how much you appreciate the little things, and to him, doing the dishes after dinner is just another way of showing he loves you.

And then, there are the texts. When Quinn’s away for away games, his schedule is packed, and the time zone differences don’t always work in your favor. But he never lets that stop him from staying connected with you. No matter how busy his day gets, no matter how late it is, he always makes sure to send you a good morning and goodnight text, without fail.

Sometimes they’re simple—“Good morning, baby. Hope you have a great day.”—just a little reminder that he’s thinking about you, even when he’s miles away. Other times, they’re more playful—“Wish I was in our bed, I miss your icicle feet”—a teasing note to keep things light even in the middle of a long road trip. And when he’s too tired to string together a full sentence, it’s just a quick “Miss you” with a heart emoji, but that’s all it takes to remind you how much he cares.

He’ll always send these texts right before he crashes into bed, no matter how late or how exhausted he is. And when you wake up in the morning, knowing he’s already thinking about you from wherever he is, it never fails to make your heart skip a beat. It’s the small things like this that mean the most—how, even in the chaos of his life, Quinn makes sure you know you’re never far from his mind.

Boyfriend Quinn, who loves taking you on dates.

Whenever he has an off day, the first thing that crosses his mind is you. He always makes sure to check in with you first, sending you a quick text during the day or giving you a call, gauging how your day is going and whether you’re feeling up for it.

"How's work today? Not too tired? Feel like going out later?"

You never have to guess if he's planning, because you know Quinn's always thinking about how to make the most of his time off with you. It’s his way of creating balance in his life, something steady and beautiful amidst the chaotic whirl of hockey schedules, travel, and games. And even if you’ve had a long day at work, the thought of spending the evening with him—of getting out of the house, hand-in-hand, with nowhere else to be but together—always gives you the energy to say yes.

Most of the time, the two of you keep things casual, finding comfort in the familiar. Your favorite go-to is a small diner just a short drive away, the kind of place that feels like a second home. The staff knows your names, and there’s always that corner booth waiting for you two, tucked away enough for a little privacy. It’s not fancy, but it’s yours. The menu is simple—burgers, fries, milkshakes—but it never fails to hit the spot after a long week. There’s something cozy about it, something that makes you both feel grounded. You’ll sit across from each other, sharing fries and talking about everything and nothing, laughing over inside jokes that no one else would get.

But occasionally, Quinn likes to change things up. There are times when, instead of texting you about grabbing dinner at the diner, he’ll tell you something a little different: “Dress fancy tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” You can almost hear the excitement in his voice, even over text.

When Quinn decides to take you somewhere nice, it’s an event. He puts thought into every detail, planning a reservation at a restaurant you both love but don’t visit often—maybe that elegant spot downtown with the candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background. He’s a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t always show it in obvious ways. On those nights, he wants to make sure everything feels just a little more special.

One of the best parts is the little ritual the two of you have before your fancier dates. Even though you live together, Quinn always insists on getting ready in the guest bedroom, leaving you to get dressed in the room you share. It’s his way of adding an element of surprise, a way to keep things exciting. He loves the idea of seeing your outfit for the first time when you come downstairs, just like on your earlier dates, when everything was still new.

The guest bedroom becomes his own little prep space. He’ll spread out his suit jacket or freshly ironed button-down on the bed, taking his time to make sure everything looks just right. Quinn isn’t the type to obsess over his appearance, but on these nights, he pays a little extra attention to the details—whether it’s making sure his tie is perfectly knotted (though, he rarely wears one anymore) or his cologne is subtle but present. He knows how much you love when he dresses up, and honestly, he loves seeing that look in your eyes when you see him standing there, ready for the night.

Meanwhile, in your shared room, you’re just as focused, choosing the perfect dress and making sure your hair and makeup are done to perfection. There’s a thrill in getting ready separately, knowing that in just a few minutes, you’ll come downstairs and have that little moment of reveal. It’s a simple tradition, but it always makes the evening feel a bit more magical.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, your heart always flutters with anticipation. You make your way downstairs, and there he is—standing by the door, looking impossibly handsome in his suit or tailored shirt, his eyes brightening the moment they land on you. It’s like time stops for a second. Quinn’s not one to gush, but the way his lips part slightly and that small, slow smile spreads across his face says everything you need to know.

"Wow," he’ll say softly, his eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. "You look... amazing."

You can’t help but smile back, your cheeks warming at the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself," you’ll tease, though you can’t deny how much you love seeing him like this—dressed up, standing there with that look of admiration in his eyes.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and without a word, he’ll reach for your hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss—just a little gesture to avoid messing up your lipstick, but one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. It’s these small, quiet moments of affection that make Quinn’s love feel so real, so genuine.

And then, off you go, stepping out into the evening together, hand in hand, as the world seems to fall away. The restaurant is just a short drive, and the conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing. When you arrive, the ambiance of the restaurant is perfect—low lighting, the hum of quiet conversations around you, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware. But for you, the real magic of the evening isn’t just the atmosphere or the delicious food—it’s the fact that you’re with him, that Quinn has gone out of his way to make this night special for no reason other than wanting to spend time with you.

Throughout the meal, he’ll reach across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, or he’ll lean in to whisper something that makes you laugh, that private smile playing on his lips. He loves these moments—the ones where it’s just the two of you, away from the rush of life, enjoying each other’s company in a way that feels intimate and timeless.

And when the night is over and you’re both back home, the magic of the evening doesn’t fade. Quinn always makes sure to cap off the date in the sweetest way possible. He’ll pull you in close, his arms wrapping around you as he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering something like, "I had fun tonight," in that casual, endearing way of his.

[resident-idiot-simp]

I know this has been said before, but Logan who isn't used to being picked up casually and just blue screening when Wade does it.

Wade comes up behind him and hoists him up to move him out of the way so he can get something in the kitchen.

Logan just freezes because.... WHAT?! HOW?! Very few people could ever lift him up in fact it was one of the students favorite past times. They would challenge one another to pick him up and he usually had to stop them before someone got hurt by being a bit too enthusiastic.

He could count on one hand who had managed to pick him up. No way had he expected Wade to make that list.

Wade hadn't noticed him freeze he had just went to doing whatever it is he was doing. Logan couldn't help but just stare. Wade turned back around with a cup and squinted at him.

"What's your deal?" Wade asked and Logan just blinked at him. Wade sighed. "Peanut what broke you?" He asked again.

"You picked me up." Logan says blankly. Wade squinted at him, "Yes." He confirms patiently.

Logan doesn't continue. Wade blinks, "Is-Is that..is it that easy broke you?" He asked confused.

"Wade people can't exactly just do that. I weigh like 500 pounds!" Logan explained exasperatedly. It was such a simple thing, but it was so foreign and brought back so many memories he couldn't help it.

Wade pursed his lips before putting his cup down and stepping forward. "What are you do-" Logan was cut off as Wade easily picked him up. Logan's face went red as Wade just looked up as him with gleaming eyes and a shit eating smile.

This wasn't fair Logan couldn't do this, this was bullshit! Wade looked like the cat who got the cream however as she swung him back and forth.

"Aaawww does my Wolvie like being carried?" The merc crooned and Logan ducked down hiding his face in the others neck.

"AW he does! All you had to do was tell me I'd be happy to carry you around." Wade continued on and Logan just grumbled into his neck.

This wasn't fair

[sun-kissy]

🧣 remus lupin + "you fell asleep. it would’ve been cute, if i hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious"! please! 😁

thank you for the request lovely! :)

slumber | r.l.

— “You fell asleep. It would’ve been cute, if I hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious.”

remus lupin x reader

tw: fluff!

Remus can tell that you’re exhausted simply from your voice when you call out to him. It’s full of love, as it always is, just a little dimmer than it was when he kissed you goodbye that morning.

You enter the house and kick off your shoes. Remus meets you in the hallway, tugging your coat off for you before pulling you into his arms. You go easily.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

“Hi,” you mumble, relaxing into him. He splays one hand out between your shoulder blades, the other on the small of your back.

“Long day?”

You make a soft sound halfway between I dunno and mhm. Something in his heart twists when you look up at him, all droopy eyelids and tired smile.

He hums pityingly. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head. Remus pecks your forehead before pulling away to take your hands.

“Okay, that’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you.”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, but that’s enough for him. He all but carries you to the kitchen and hoists you up onto the platform.

He manhandles you in the gentlest way, adjusting your too-tired-to-move body until he was certain your head wasn’t going to hit anything.

“Remember that book fair Sirius invited me to, said it was full of classics and poetry?” he glances at you as he moves away. You nod.

Remus starts to cut up ingredients, goes through the familiar motions of making your favourite soup. He knows you’re not yourself when you’re tired — on a normal day, you’d be chatting his ear off. He’ll talk for you instead.

“… and it turns out he was lying. It was a fucking party, at this huge, loud club. I should’ve known, really, I mean it’s Sirius we’re talking about…” he hopes it’s enough to keep you awake. He isn’t usually one for words, but he’d read novels out loud if it meant you were listening.

Remus continues talking, and you really are trying your best to keep up. But your eyelids feel heavy. So heavy.

Maybe he asks you something, you hear the lilt in his voice at the end of his sentence. You don’t answer, you can’t. Your eyes flutter shut as you’re tugged along by the stream of unconsciousness.

There’s a tingling sensation in your brain, like someone’s pulling your mind out of the depths of sleep. You force your eyes open, squinting as the bright lights of the chandelier in the living room hit your retinas.

“Y/n, sweetheart?”

The vivid light is instantly replaced by your boyfriend’s silhouette as he stands over you. You can’t make out his expression fully, a mix of relief and bemusement and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up, thank god.”

You blink. “What happened?”

Remus gives you a small smile, the skin under his eyes crinkling in slight worry. He helps you up into a sitting position. “You fell asleep. It would’ve been cute, if I hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “How long was I out for?”

“Three hours.” His expression finally lets up a little, less terse. He sits down next to you, giving you a few giggly kisses before pulling you into his side. “I tried to wake you up more than a few times, dove. But you were out cold. I guess you really were tired, huh?”

“I guess so,” you smile.

“You were,” he grins, rubbing the fat of your arm affectionately. “You were snoring real loud too.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he dots a kiss on your nose, “Whatever rocks your boat.”

san’s christmas sleepover

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Hello! How are you? Can I lose for a reader with chronic leg pain? After an accident they chose not to amputate their leg and they feel very strong pain and were recommended by doctors to use marijuana and the reader kind of doesn't tell Jason? 🌸🌸🌸🌸

You smoke?

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: Jason finds you smoking weed for medical purposes warnings: use of weeds, fluff, mentions of chronic pain a/n: I'm good, thank you!!! I won't put any pretty pictures in here because I'm afraid of it getting taken down😭😭😭but the divider is really pretty (here): @animatedglittergraphics-n-more, also sorry this came out so short, enjoy!!

After moving in with Jason, you didn‘t think of telling him about the weed. It was necessary, so you feel sure that he won‘t mind if you get to tell him one day. As usual, you build a joint on a peaceful evening, and settle yourself on the balcony. You watch as the busy streets of Gotham fill with hundreds of cars, passing by under your balcony and create a rather relaxing atmosphere. Finally, you take a drag and exhale slowly, waiting for the drug to work.

The first drag feels like a relief, feeling light tingles across your body for a moment before you relax into the chair. You take the moment to calm down and close your eyes, to forget about everything around you. The rough back pain that was lingering on you, slowly fades into the background, finally starting to enjoy the light breeze around you.

It works, after a few more drags, however you jump up at the big figure beside you, not having noticed it before. You act on instinct and throw the lit joint at it, seeing how it falls to the floor after hitting its chest.

Jason keeps his eyes on you behind his mask, staying as still as possible. He doesn‘t know how to react, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind, many of them being possible worst case scenarios.

Before he could think of something to say, you exhale and speak up, realising who it is.

»Jesus, don‘t scare me like that… I was just taking some drags, no need to give me a bad trip.« You mumble out and get off the chair with a low groan, suddenly not as relaxed as before. Jason keeps standing in front of you, finally gathering his thoughts.

»Since when… why do you smoke that?«

You pay attention to him, realising you still haven‘t told him about it. Sure, he knows all about your chronic back pain and how it came to that, but he doesn‘t seem to connect the dots.

So, you try to explain as best as you can, while being high.

»I, uh… you know, my back? The pain? I have to… to smoke because of that. Doctor told me, I have two doctors, one to give advice for the best weed and the other—«

»The best weed? What, is he a drug dealer or something?« Jason interrupts, gently guiding you back inside with his hand on your lower back.

His retort made you chuckle, resulting into a brief giggle-fit before being serious again.

»No… maybe. I don‘t know, but it works. Really, I‘m not joking, I tried to tell you before, but… never came to that.« You shrug and slowly sit down on the couch. He follows suit.

»And how long have you been doing this? How many times a week?«

You think briefly before answering him, easing his nerves at the same time.

»Only when the pain becomes unbereable, like now. So… probably, like, about every three months. Once, I mean.« He nods in thought and sighs out in relief, finally taking his mask off after hearing your reply. Jason was genuinenly afraid this was something you struggled with and was a serious problem he somehow didn‘t take notice of before.

Seems like there‘s nothing to worry about after all. He carries you to bed and gets out of his suit before joining you in bed and caressing his hands over your back soothingly. You end up falling asleep in no time, curled up against his chest and dreaming about whatever your high brain comes up with.

a/n: i think he would be really scared when he catches you smoking, but he is an understanding man, so there's nothing much to worry about. maybe he'll try to sneak in 'healthier' methods whenever you're in pain

←MASTERLIST

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 22: i don’t have a lot to give, but i would give you everything

— summary: nat unexpectedly shows up on your doorstep on christmas eve.

— warnings: fluff. hurt/comfort. a little angst. established relationship. gn!reader. r’s mom is a sweetheart in this.

you’re caught off guard by the knock at the door: your house is already buzzing with laughter, music, and the cozy glow of christmas cheer, and as far as you know, no one else is supposed to be coming by. you excuse yourself from the group, weaving past cousins bickering over the last gingerbread cookie and your aunt loudly complimenting the tree to go get the door.

when you swing the door open, the cold rush of december air instantly flowing in, you’re even more surprised to find her standing in front of you.

nat stands on your doorstep, shoulders hunched against the freezing cold. understandably so: she’s wearing her usual leather jacket, far too thin for the weather, and her hands are shoved deep into her pockets. the faintest red flush on her cheeks hints that she’s been out in the cold longer than she should have already.

“hi” she says before you can ask her what she’s doing here at all, holding out a little box to you like this explains everything. “sorry for showing up like this. i just- uhm- wanted to give you something! a belated present, or whatever”

her words are casual as always, but her eyes betray her: they instantly dart past you, catching on the glow of the christmas tree in the corner of your living room, the flicker of candles on the mantle, and the table crowded with plates of food. she’s looking at it all like it’s something out of a dream, something she’s never seen before.

“nat,” you say softly, stepping back so she can come inside, where it’s warmer before you take anything from her “you didn’t have to get me anything!”

she hesitates, her boots scuffing the porch. you can tell she’s on the verge of brushing you off, to turn away and vanish out into the snow, going god knows where. before she can, you reach out, lightly brushing your fingers against hers.

the hesitation in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the box too tightly, it all clicks into place then. she’s not just here to drop off a gift. she’s here because she didn’t know where else to go.

“i mean it,” you say, your voice firmer now. “come inside already! it’s freezing out there!”

as if she needed anymore conviction, your mom comes striding past, a plate of cookies ready to be served in her hold. she doesn’t ask any questions at all when she spots you and your girlfriend in the doorway. instead, she smiles at her, kindly telling her how good it is to see her in passing.

“see?” you squeeze nat’s freezing fingers. “you’re always welcome here nat!”

finally, she nods and steps over the threshold, her movements uncharacteristically stiff, as if she’s not sure she belongs between the sweetly decorated furniture, the soft scent of pine and cider and the soft voices of your relatives echoing from the living room.

you take the box from her hands and set it on the counter, gently pulling her jacket off her shoulders. “want something to drink? eat?”

nat shakes her head, but her gaze lingers on the table piled high with food in the kitchen. without waiting for her to answer, you go to grab a plate and start piling it with everything you know she’d like.

“you don’t have to say yes,” you say lightly, brushing past your mom, who’s still working on some final preparations before carrying another tray out into the living room. “but it’s christmas,” you call out to nat over your shoulder. “you’re not getting out of here without at least one cookie”

you mom glances up as you pass her. “nat, honey,” she calls warmly. “it’s so good to see you! did you have dinner yet? you know there’s plenty to go around”

nat tenses slightly, a polite but uneasy smile tugging at her lips. “i’m fine, mrs. (y/l/n),” she says, her hands still stuffed in her pocket.

“she’s not fine,” you mutter under your breath, loud enough for only your mom to hear, adding an extra amount of mashed potatoes to the plate, ignoring nat’s small glare when she catches you.

“good,” your mom replies when she sees you adding a bigger portion to the plate, her voice just for you catch. “make sure she eats. and make sure she knows she can stay as long as she wants, okay?” she gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before bustling back toward the living room, her tray balanced expertly in her hands.

“i’m glad you could join us” she tells nat in passing.

nat glances at you, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “uh, thanks. just dropping something off,” she mumbles, gesturing vaguely toward the wrapped box now sitting on the counter.

“nonsense,” your mom replies, waving a free hand dismissively. “dropping off or not, you’re here now. make yourself comfortable. there’s plenty of food! no point letting it go to waste”

you suppress a grin as your mom moves off to the living room with the platter, leaving nat standing there awkwardly.

you return to her side, holding up the plate of food you’ve made. “see? told you you’re not getting out of here empty-handed!”

“you’re fucking relentless, you know that?” she mutters.

“part of my charm,” you wink at her playfully, leading her toward the quieter side of the living room.

you find a spot near the fireplace, far enough from the rest of your family’s chatter to offer some privacy. nat sits down stiffly, the plate balanced on her lap before she finally takes a first bite. “thanks,” she mumbles.

“don’t mention it” you reply, watching her carefully. “are you okay?”

nat hesitates, her eyes flicking to the tree across the room, where your cousins are arguing over who gets to hang the last ornament. “yeah,” she says finally, though her tone clearly lacks conviction.

“nat,” you say softly, leaning just a little closer.

she exhales in defeat. “I just…didn’t want to be alone tonight,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “figured i could drop off a gift and, i don’t know…maybe you’d let me hang around for a bit. i wasn’t trying to, like…crash your family’s thing or anything”

you don’t say anything right away, instead, you reach for the plate, snagging a cookie for yourself. “you know you don’t have to have an excuse to be here, right?” you say after a moment.

she glances at you, a flicker of disbelief in her expression. “feels like i do. especially on christmas eve,”

“well, you don’t,” you reply firmly, offering her a reassuring smile. “you’re always welcome here, nat. no matter what. you heard my mom, too! we’re happy to have you here!”

she nods, still fidgeting a little as she takes another bite of food. “it’s just…holidays aren’t really my thing, you know?”

you lean back, letting the quiet stretch between you again, but not uncomfortably. “well,” you say finally, “they’re kind of my thing though, so you’re stuck with it now. and you better take another cookie before my mom notices you only had one”

that earns you a faint laugh, and the tension in her shoulders softens a little more. nat finishes her food in silence, brushing a few stray crumbs from her hands. you watch her closely, noting the way her shoulders have lost some of their rigid tension, though a bit of unease lingers. she’s still adjusting, you can tell, still waiting for the moment when she feels like she’s overstayed her welcome.

you don’t give her the chance. instead, you slide off the couch and onto the armchair she’s claimed, carefully setting the plate aside before fitting yourself into the space with her.

her eyebrows shoot up. “what are you doing?”

“getting comfortable,” you say matter-of-factly, settling against her and resting your head on her shoulder. “you’re warm.”

“this chair is barely big enough for me,” she chuckles.

“we’ll make it work” you counter.

she sighs, but it’s a sound laced with obvious amusement, and you catch the grin nat is trying to oppress. “you’re ridiculous”

“you love it,” you shoot back easily.

nat doesn’t respond right away, but you don’t miss the way her fingers tighten slightly on your leg, grounding herself in the contact.

the two of you sit together for a moment, the hum of your family’s chatter filling the room and blending with the crackle of the fire. nat’s eyes flit around, lingering on your cousins still bickering over ornaments and your mom laughing with your aunt.

“this is nice,” she admits quietly. “your family…they seem really kind”

you glance at her, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “they are. a little loud, a little overbearing sometimes, but yeah, kind” you bump your shoulder against nat’s playfully. “but fair warning, you’ll have to survive the full christmas deal first. my mom’s trivia contest gets brutal, and there’s the family charades too…”

she smirks, gently squeezing your leg. “trivia and charades huh? sounds intense”

“oh, it is,” you reply with mock seriousness. “this isn’t amateur hour, scatorccio. you’re in the big leagues now!”

nat grins. “still…it’s kind of nice. all of this”

“kind of?” you tease.

she rolls her eyes but doesn’t respond, her faint smile enough of an answer. you take the moment to lean back, letting the warmth of the room settle around you both. “want a drink? i can grab some cider or-“

“actually…” nat hesitates, glancing at the glass of wine on the coffee table you had abandoned earlier “that looks good.”

“coming right up,” you say, slipping off her lap to grab the wine and another glass. when you return, you hand her the glass and settle back into the chair, this time perched sideways on her lap so you can face her.

natalie takes a sip, her fingers curling around the glass, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. “this is good”

“told you,” you tease, clinking your glass lightly against hers before taking a sip yourself.

for another while, neither of you says anything. the wine warms you from the inside out, the fire casting a soft glow across the room. you rest your head on nat’s shoulder again, and this time, she finally leans into the contact, her cheek brushing against your hair.

“i don’t know how you do it,” she murmurs, her voice low.

“do what?” you ask, your voice equally quiet.

“this” nat gestures vaguely at the room, at the warmth and laughter and light. “make everything feel so…easy. like it’s normal to just…belong somewhere”

you lift your head to meet her eyes, your expression soft. “because you do belong, nat. here, with me, with my family…you belong. you always have. and you can stay for as long as you like”

her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and for a moment, you think she might argue. but instead, she leans her forehead against yours, her eyes slipping shut.

“thanks,” she whispers.

“merry christmas, nat,” you say, as you settle down on her lap in the arm chair, your fingers playing with the bleached strands of blonde hair at the nape of her neck.

she blinks her eyes open, meeting your gaze with something raw and unguarded. “merry christmas,” she says, her lips curving into the most genuine smile you’ve seen from her in a while.

[lillmirey]

„The Weight of the Truth“

summary: in which Emily relays on her Girlfriend

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Season 17 plot line used. fluff

Word Count: 1,2k

The BAU was quiet that night, the kind of silence that rang louder than the chaos the team usually endured. Emily Prentiss sat at her desk, the warm glow of her desk lamp highlighting the exhaustion etched into her face. You, her long-time girlfriend, had promised to meet her at Quantico to help her unwind after a particularly grueling week. You often joked that dating the Unit Chief of the BAU meant being her second-in-command when it came to maintaining her sanity.

But tonight, you could tell something was different.

The moment you stepped into her office, Emily’s eyes lifted to meet yours, and you could see the storm brewing behind them. Her lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, closing the door behind you. You placed the takeout bag on her desk and walked over, your hands naturally finding her shoulders to knead out the tension. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world today.”

Emily leaned into your touch but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, savoring the fleeting comfort you offered.

“You always know,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Of course I know,” you replied. “I know you better than anyone, Em.”

For a while, she let you work on the knots in her shoulders, the room enveloped in a comfortable silence. But then she spoke, her tone unsteady.

“(Y/N)… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You stilled, sensing the shift in the air. You moved to sit in the chair across from her, reaching for her hands.

“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together,” you assured her.

She looked down at your joined hands, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “This week has been… complicated. The team found out some things about me that I’ve been keeping under wraps. Things I never wanted to come out.”

You frowned, your mind racing. “What do you mean?”

Emily’s gaze lifted, the vulnerability in her eyes cutting you to your core. “Before I joined the BAU—before I even met you—I was… recruited by an international organization. It was supposed to be temporary, just a few undercover missions. But those missions turned into something darker, something I’ve been trying to bury ever since.”

Your heart clenched at the weight of her words, but you didn’t interrupt.

“One of those missions involved planting false evidence,” she continued. “It was supposed to take down a dangerous criminal network, but the fallout… it ruined lives. And now, it’s come back to haunt me. Someone leaked my involvement, and the team—” She broke off, her voice cracking.

“They’re questioning you,” you finished for her.

She nodded, her jaw tight. “They say they understand, but I can see the doubt in their eyes. I’ve worked so hard to lead this team with integrity, and now it feels like everything I’ve built is falling apart.”

You let her words sink in, the gravity of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. Emily Prentiss was the strongest person you knew, but even she had her limits.

“Emily,” you said, your voice firm. “I don’t care about your past. I care about who you are now. And the woman I see in front of me is brave, compassionate, and willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people she loves.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You say that now, but what if—”

“No,” you interrupted, squeezing her hands. “I’m not going anywhere, no matter how messy things get. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Emily’s lips parted as if to argue, but the look in your eyes stopped her. For once, she allowed herself to lean on you, the walls she so carefully constructed crumbling just a little.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You stood, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to you, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Emily,” you murmured. “And we’re going to get through this. Together.”

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

The fallout from Emily’s past continued to loom over the team in the weeks that followed. Tension was high, and trust was strained. You could see how it weighed on her, the constant scrutiny taking its toll.

One evening, you found her sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, staring blankly at the wall. You slid in beside her, tucking yourself under her arm.

“Bad day?” you asked gently.

She let out a heavy sigh. “They caught the leak, but the damage is done. I can tell the team’s still wary. And maybe they should be. Maybe I’m not the leader they deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly. “You’ve saved more lives than I can count, Emily. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours for reassurance. “What if I can’t fix this? What if I lose everything I’ve worked for?”

“You won’t lose me,” you said softly.

That night, as you lay in bed together, you held her close, letting her feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. It was a silent promise—a reminder that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone.

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

Months passed, and Emily slowly began to rebuild the trust she thought she’d lost. The team rallied around her, proving that the bonds they shared were stronger than any shadow from her past.

And you were there every step of the way, reminding her of her worth, of the love that surrounded her.

One evening, as you stood in the kitchen cooking dinner, Emily walked in, a rare smile gracing her lips. She wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What’s this for?” you asked with a laugh.

“For being you,” she replied simply. “For sticking by me when I wasn’t sure I deserved it.”

You turned in her arms, cupping her face. “You deserve the world, Emily Prentiss. Don’t ever doubt that.”

In that moment, she realized that no matter how dark her past might be, the future was brighter because you were in it.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.

[daisymbin]

tell me you love me! - kim mingyu

genre: friends to lovers!

wc: 1.7k

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

“wanna bet?” mingyu’s voice is playful, his smirk cocky as he watches you with that glint in his eye that always makes your heart skip a beat. you try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening.

you swallow nervously, not sure where this is going. “depends. what are the stakes?”

“whatever the winner wants,” he replies, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms casually. his tone is confident, as though he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “anything? that’s a bit risky.”

“trust me,” mingyu says, his smile turning more confident, like he's enjoying this moment of control. "it’ll be worth it."

you hesitate, but only for a moment, before nodding. "fine. i'll bite."

“good choice,” he says, leaning forward with that usual cocky grin on his face. “so, here’s the bet.”

you wait, unsure of what’s coming, but bracing yourself for whatever he throws at you.

“arm wrestling,” he says, suddenly, and your eyes widen.

“that’s not fair!” you exclaim, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. you were expecting something—well, anything—else. something that didn’t involve you getting completely embarrassed in front of him.

mingyu chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. "you already agreed, sweetheart. don’t back out now."

“but you’re way stronger than i am!” you argue, arms flailing slightly as you try to explain why this isn’t fair. “there’s no way i’m going to win!”

“a bet’s a bet,” mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, not even fazed by your protests. "you agreed to it. c'mon now."

you feel a mixture of frustration and a nervous, fluttery excitement as you sit down across from him, your eyes narrowing at his smug expression. he stretches out his arm, flexing his muscles just to tease you further.

you try to steel yourself, but your hands are already shaking. this wasn’t what you had in mind when you agreed to the bet, and now the thought of losing—especially in front of him—feels like the worst possible outcome.

“you ready?” mingyu asks, his voice dropping slightly as his fingers curl around your hand.

you bite your lip, casting a quick glance toward the door, as if you could escape from this situation, but then you look back at mingyu. his grin only widens, and you can see the playfulness in his eyes.

you press your lips together, determined to at least try. you might not win, but you weren’t going to back down without a fight.

when you both lock hands, the challenge is set, and mingyu’s grip feels like a vice around yours, making you feel smaller and weaker in comparison. you brace yourself, trying to summon the last of your courage.

the countdown begins. “three, two—”

before you can even blink, mingyu’s hand crashes down to the table with ease.

you blink at him, stunned for a moment. “...you’re kidding me.”

he laughs, the sound deep and triumphant, and leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. “that was way too easy.”

“you didnt even give me a chance,” you complain, but mingyu doesn’t let you wallow for long. his cocky grin only grows wider as he leans in slightly, his gaze now fixed on you.

“so,” he begins, drawing out the word with exaggerated suspense, “since i won, i think i’ll collect my prize.”

you look up at him, panic flashing in your eyes as the realization hits you. “what do you want?” you ask with a sigh.

you barely have time to process it when he leans forward, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“i want a kiss,” he says simply, and the air feels like it’s been sucked out of your lungs.

you freeze. for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. you open your mouth to protest, but the words don’t come. all you can do is blink at him, utterly caught off guard by his casual request.

“i-i can’t,” you stammer, taking a step back instinctively, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

“why not?” mingyu teases, his voice a little softer now, but still carrying that cocky edge. “it’s just a kiss.”

“but that’s... i just can’t,” you say, your voice shaking now, feeling vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before. you’re in love with him—how could you not be? but the thought of kissing him, of letting him have that piece of you, knowing it could never be enough, feels like you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak. and you’re not ready for that.

mingyu’s expression falters slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, but then he just shrugs, clearly thinking it’s just nerves.

“why not? it's just a kiss. you've kissed plenty of people before.” he teases, taking a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst way.

you swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing. “yeah but... why do you want one? ” you ask, your voice barely a whisper as you meet his eyes.

“isn’t it obvious?” he asks, his smirk returning as if it’s second nature to him. but there’s something different in the way he looks at you, something softer beneath the teasing.

“well... no?” you reply, unsure of yourself. “that’s why i’m asking. why did you—” you trail off, suddenly too scared to say the next words. to admit what you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself.

mingyu’s expression hardens for a brief second, before his gaze softens again, his cocky smile vanishing as his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s seeing right through you. “aren’t you in love with me?” he asks, his voice low and piercing, leaving no room for denial.

your heart stops. you feel like you’ve been slapped, the world spinning around you. you try to speak, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. instead, you just stare at him, completely blindsided.

“what? that’s—” you begin to protest, but mingyu cuts you off, his voice now serious and commanding.

“i’m going to kiss you,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “back out now if you don’t want it.”

you stand frozen, all the words swirling in your mind but not leaving your lips. your heart races, thundering in your chest as your thoughts spiral. you don’t want to back out. but you don’t want to risk having your heart broken, either.

you don’t say a word, but your silence says everything.

mingyu shifts closer, closing the gap between you, and you can feel your breath hitch as he leans down, his lips brushing gently against yours. the kiss is slow, almost tender, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. you can’t. you kiss him back, feeling the warmth of his lips, the softness that you never expected, the connection you’ve always wanted but never dared to dream of.

when he pulls away, you’re breathless, your heart pounding wildly. you step back, your face flushed, and look away from him, suddenly feeling too exposed.

mingyu watches you carefully, his eyes searching yours. “do you regret it?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable but masking it by carrying that teasing edge.

“no, i just...” you start, but the words don’t come out the way you want them to. you feel the weight of everything you’ve kept hidden pressing down on you.

“hey, look at me,” mingyu says, his voice gentle now, almost like he’s comforting you.

reluctantly, you meet his gaze, your heart still racing in your chest. but now, it’s different. it’s not the same cocky mingyu you’re used to. there’s something deeper in his eyes, something you can’t deny anymore.

“tell me you love me,” he says quietly, almost expectantly, like he already knows the answer.

your eyes widen, your mouth falling open as you try to make sense of what he just asked. “w-what?”

“you do,” mingyu insists, his gaze intense, his voice firm but soft. “i know you do. you look at me the same way i look at you. so just tell me you love me.”

you blink, your mind racing. “mingyu, what are you—”

“i said what i said,” he interrupts, his voice steady and confident. “you heard me loud and clear.”

you stand there, speechless, feeling as though the floor has been ripped from beneath you. so many thoughts are running through your head, but nothing makes sense. what does he mean 'you look at me the same way i look at you.'

“i... i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper, backing away, your heart in your throat as panic and fear hugs you like a thick weighted blanket you can't shake off.

before you can take another step, mingyu’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist firmly. “don’t walk away from me,” he says quietly, his grip gentle but unyielding.

you freeze, your chest tightening. you want to pull away, but his touch is grounding you, making it impossible to move.

he pulls you back toward him. “i love you,” he says, his voice clear and sure. “everyone knows i do. you’re the only oblivious one.”

your heart stutters, your world spinning. “what?” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips.

“and i know you do too,” mingyu continues, his gaze unwavering, his tone confident. “are you still going to tell me you don’t know what i’m talking about?”

you stand there, caught in his gaze, unable to move or speak, but in that moment, everything changes. the fear fades away, and something new takes its place.

mingyu encourages again, “tell me you love me,”

you swallow, your voice trembling as you finally admit out loud, “i love you.”

mingyu’s grin widens, and for the first time, it’s not cocky—it’s soft, full of relief and happiness. he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, and whispers, “you don't know just how bad i've wanted to hear you say these 3 words.”

[lowdownlolo]

ohhh my favourite fred fluff scenario please i need to see your take on it PLEASEEE

fred and reader have been in a secure relationship for months, they're so healthy and so trusting and comfortable. there's a gryffindor house party that fred most definitely goes to, though reader stays in their dorm (homework or just tired or whatever reason).

some other girl has polyjuiced herself into reader and tries to make fred jealous by making out with other guys or trying to break up with him, all the while posing as the reader.

fred sees through it immediately cause wtf this is not my love? whomst are you and how quickly can you run because when they find out about this you better have left the country.

fred is possessive of them, obviously, but he also knows that they are just like that about him. there is not a force in the world that could drive the two apart, especially not some random person at a party.

feel free to change anything you wish oh but PLEASE i wanna see your spin on this so badly pleaseee

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝒸𝓀ℴ𝒻𝒻 | 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢�� 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥?..

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐣𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮(𝐚�� 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡!💋), 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝’𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬: 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬! 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞, (𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨!) 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 @kisses4fred 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! 💋💖

Fred Weasley had been in high spirits when he left your dorm that evening, the usual buzz of a Gryffindor house party calling his name. You’d waved him off with an indulgent smile, telling him to go enjoy himself while you stayed back to catch up on your homework—or possibly just to enjoy a quiet evening without the noise and chaos.

“Try not to blow up the common room,” you’d teased, glancing up from your parchment.

Fred had laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before pulling back to study you with a warm, fond expression. “Blow it up? Love, I’d never leave you homeless. I’ll keep the chaos contained.”

“Sure you will,” you’d replied dryly, your lips twitching into a smile.

Fred had left reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder one last time before closing the door. He didn’t particularly want to go to the party, not when you weren’t there, but George had insisted. “You’re already an old married man,” George had teased. “Come on, live a little.”

The party was as wild as expected. Gryffindors packed the common room, music blaring, butterbeer and firewhiskey flowing freely. Fred, as usual, was in the center of it all, orchestrating pranks, laughing with friends, and keeping George from getting them both banned from the tower. But no matter how much fun he was having, a part of his mind always wandered back to you. He wondered if you were still working or if you’d fallen asleep on your books, and he caught himself glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until he could sneak away and return to you.

That’s why, when you walked into the common room, Fred’s heart stuttered for a second.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d said you were too tired to deal with the noise, too swamped with work to join. But there you were, standing at the edge of the room. Fred’s initial surprise melted into confusion as he watched you move. Something wasn’t right.

You didn’t carry yourself the way you usually did. Fred was used to your quiet confidence, the way you moved like you belonged anywhere you chose to be. But this version of you was stiff, hesitant, almost awkward. It was subtle, something most people wouldn’t notice—but Fred did. He always noticed you.

Then came the real blow: you sauntered over to some Ravenclaw bloke and laughed at whatever drivel he was saying. It was a loud, shrill laugh—one that didn’t belong to you at all. Fred frowned, his hand tightening around the butterbeer he’d been nursing. His confusion deepened, but he didn’t feel panic. He trusted you implicitly, knew that whatever he was seeing couldn’t possibly be real.

And then you kissed the Ravenclaw.

Fred didn’t feel heartbreak or betrayal. Instead, he felt something colder, sharper. He set his drink down slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the scene in front of him. The way you moved, the way you kissed—it was all wrong. Whoever this person was, they weren’t you. They didn’t know how you leaned into Fred when you kissed him, or the soft little sigh you made when you pulled back. They didn’t know you well enough to even pretend to be you convincingly.

Fred’s lips curled into a smirk, dark and dangerous. Whoever had done this—whoever had dared to steal your face—was about to learn why you didn’t mess with a Weasley, especially not his person.

He pushed through the crowd with purpose, weaving between dancing students until he stood just a few feet away from the impostor. His towering frame and piercing stare were enough to draw attention, and the room began to quiet as people noticed him.

“Well, well,” Fred drawled, his voice carrying easily over the muffled music. “What a surprise, love. Didn’t know you’d decided to master time travel and personality swaps tonight.”

The impostor froze, their back stiffening as they turned to face him. Their expression faltered for the briefest moment before they forced a bright, nervous smile.

“Fred! I—uh, I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

Fred tilted his head, his smirk widening as he stepped closer. His eyes were sharp, glittering with something that made the impostor shrink back slightly. “See, I am happy to see you. But there’s just one problem.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You’re not her.”

The impostor blinked, their smile faltering completely now. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m—”

Fred laughed, the sound cold and humorless. “Please. You think I wouldn’t notice? I know every inch of her, every look, every move. You? You’re a cheap knockoff.” He leaned closer, his tone darkening. “Whoever you are, you’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself before I make you wish you’d never set foot in this tower.”

The impostor’s eyes darted around the room, clearly realizing they were cornered. The real you wasn’t here to see this, but Fred knew you’d be livid when you found out. And Merlin help whoever had done this, because Fred was possessive of you, sure—but you were just as protective of him. There wasn’t a force in the world that could drive the two of you apart, and anyone foolish enough to try was playing a losing game.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the impostor stammered, but their voice wavered, betraying their panic.

Fred didn’t even blink. “Run,” he said simply, his tone low and menacing.

The impostor didn’t need to be told twice. They bolted for the door, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Fred watched them go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and fury. He’d deal with the details later—figure out who they were and how they’d managed this stunt. For now, all he wanted was to see you.

When Fred reached your dorm, he knocked lightly before stepping inside. You were exactly as he’d pictured: curled up in a blanket, your quill in hand, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Fred? Back so soon? What happened to the party?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. You let out a soft laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

“Fred, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice muffled against his jumper.

“Nothing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Just missed you.”

You pulled back slightly, your brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? You’re acting… weird.”

Fred smiled, his usual playfulness returning as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Weirdly in love, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile softened. Whatever had happened at the party, you didn’t need to know all the details. Fred was here, with you, and that was all that mattered.

taglist: @wingyattium @ivyinthesun @georgeplease @kisses4fred

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[thelovetheystole]

I wrote a little something, because I can't stand the current situation with Aaron. I don't usually share what I write, but here it goes.

Aaron's been pushing it aside, rather successfully, for months now. It's nothing in the grand scheme of things really, some shared dna markers and a last name. It doesn't affect him in their daily life together, at least it hasn't so far.

The first time it does affect him though, it hits him like a smack across the face. Actually, he would have much preferred a literal smack.

John's taken him out, wants to treat him, and Aaron's reluctantly agreed. It turns out it's that bloody Italian restaurant near the hospital in Hotten and suddenly he's having vivid war flashbacks of Dr. Alex. Aaron regrets the analogy off the bat, John is the one who's been to war and has both emotional and actual scars to prove it. Still, Aaron can't shake the images of the doctor with the perfect hair and how close he had come to cheating on him... with Robert.

The thing is, Robert can't be on his mind now, he just can't. Not that he ever can, but especially not now, when he's about to be wined and dined by John. Pull yourself together, he tells himself and attempts a faint smile when his boyfriend looks at him.

That's when the smack across the face blindsides him. He hears John say they have a reservation under 'Sugden' and it's like Aaron realises, for the first time, what it means. What he's actually been doing. He feels a bit sick, suddenly the collar of his shirt is too tight, and he can feel the colour is draining from his face. He doesn't hear John anymore, all he hears is a medley of "Mr. Sugden" and "Mr. Dingle" and "I love you, Mr. Sugden-Dingle first" and it's fucking heartbreaking.

'I have to go', he hears himself say in a voice he doesn't even recognise as his own. John just looks at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Aaron takes off but not before John tries to grab his arm to stop him. Aaron shakes himself free, and mutters 'sorry' under his breath. He's tearing up and he knows he's making a scene, but he runs for the door anyway. The cold December air that hits him makes it even harder to breathe for a second or two, but being outside still helps. Being on his own helps too.

Aaron starts walking, hands in his pockets, eyes already red from crying. He hasn't cried about Robert in a long time, he doesn't even know how to anymore. He's locked Robert away, ironically, in a place that's almost unreachable. He's done it with Jackson, Ben and Liv too, but not quite in the same way. It's okay to grieve them, people understand when he needs to do that. They're all gone - Robert is too but in another, more dangerous, way. The others can't come back, but Robert can.

Given what Aaron knows about Robert, he will come back, because where else would he go? To find Seb, sure, but then? He'll come home. It might not even be that long, Aaron realises. Five years have already passed. It feels like twenty.

He feels the guilt creep up when he dares to actually think about it. Robert coming back to the village where he was born, became a dad himself, got married. Only to find his ex-husband living with his new half brother. It doesn't matter how angry Aaron still is, or how hurt he was about being blanked and divorced. What he's been doing with John suddenly feels wrong in every way. How could he have let it go so far? Why hasn't the people around him questioned it more?

His brisk pace has taken him halfway home. He feels sick again when he sees the lay-by coming up in front of him. Where he was with John wasn't exactly here, but it was close enough. Aaron stops in his tracks and wipes his eyes. He sees it now, what he should have seen all along; the lay-by, the barn, the woods... He's been living in deja-vu mode without even noticing. Has he been projecting his feelings onto John? Or is something more sinister brewing beneath the surface?

Well, whatever it is, it stops now, Aaron decides. He takes a deep breath and as he starts walking again, his mind feels clearer than it's been in a long time.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

No Pickles (Blair Waldorf x gn reader)

Summary: Blair insists on sending your food back when you're given the wrong order

Warnings: the reader is implied to be a bit of a picky eater and have social anxiety/people pleasing tendencies but I think that's about it besides that

A/N: based off that one relationship meme of "they asked for no pickles" because that would totally be blair and her partner in my mind (that's also where the title comes from haha)

Blair loved taking you out places. Shopping, movies, restaurants, you name it. At this point she'd probably taken you to every upscale place on the Upper East Side at least once.

Dinner dates were possibly her favorite. She loved getting all dolled up for you in one of her favorite dresses, doing her hair and makeup before heading out for your reservation. Seeing you dressed fancier than usual wasn't a bad perk as well.

One thing she always knew to keep in mind, however, was making sure whatever place she took you had a menu she knew you'd enjoy. There were certain things you just couldn't stomach eating, and she completely understood that, having gone through her share of aversion when it came to certain food before in the past.

That's why it was so important to her for you to feel comfortable and safe with whatever you were eating, no matter how big or small. In fact, she often ordered for you just to be certain nothing was miscommunicated between you and the server.

It was a Friday night, which naturally meant the two of you were out at dinner together. You usually tried to go out with her at least once a week, just so you could spend some time with her and make sure she wouldn't have to worry about feeling neglected or anything like that.

You decided to order your own food for once, which is something you almost never did and something you were certain you wouldn't do again for a while after this. Everything seemed fine at first when the server brought the food out, but you soon realized they'd put the one thing on your dish that you'd asked for them not to add.

Most people wouldn't see it as that big of a deal and would probably tell you to just take it off, but Blair knew you well enough to know you still wouldn't eat it afterwards because you wouldn't feel comfortable with it. Still, you decided not to say anything, electing to remain quiet and simply eat around the portion of food that you didn't like.

Blair picked up on your sudden silence and hesitation to eat almost immediately, her brown eyes narrowing into a calculating gaze as she watched you. "What's wrong?" She demanded, her tone firm but not quite harsh in a way that was always reserved specifically for you.

"Nothing, it's fine," you responded quickly, far too quickly for what you just said to be true.

Reaching her arm out across the table, she set her hand on top of yours in order to get your attention. "Hey. I know you, and I know when you're upset. Now tell me what's wrong."

Letting out a quiet sigh, you set your fork down and explained. "It's nothing, just- I asked for them not to add something to my plate, and they did it anyway. But I can always eat around it, it's fine."

"Absolutely not. You asked for your food to be prepared a certain way, and I'm not letting them off the hook for it until your order's correct," she stated firmly before snapping her fingers at the nearest server, trying to get their attention. "Excuse me, I'd like to make a complaint," she said while keeping her hand resting on yours in a reassuring manner.

You listened quietly as she told the server what they'd gotten wrong, to which they very profusely apologized, taking the dish back from you before vowing to fix it. That wasn't much of a surprise, as nobody (especially those in the service industry) wanted to risk getting on Blair Waldorf's bad side.

"They'll be back with your food in a minute, sweetie, okay?" She gave you one of those rare genuine smiles of hers that wasn't either condescending or fake, her thumb rubbing the back of your hand as she continued to hold it. "Would you like to try some of mine while you wait?"

Contemplating her offer, you thought for a moment before nodding your head, albeit a little reluctantly. You didn't always like trying out new types of food, but you knew she wouldn't be offering to give you something that she thought you wouldn't enjoy.

Letting go of your hand, she picked up her fork and got a small bit of the food from her meal on it before leaning over the table and feeding it to you. It wasn't something you'd order for yourself, but you could appreciate the flavors and didn't necessarily regret trying it.

She let you have another bite or two before the server returned with your own plate of food, apologizing yet again for the mistake as they set it down in front of you. This time, the dreaded portion of the dish you always ate it without was nowhere to be seen, much to both you and Blair's delight.

Thanking the server, you began to happily dig in to the meal, your spirits successfully lifted and your mood notably brightened compared to earlier when your food first arrived. It tasted even better when you didn't have to worry about accidentally eating the wrong thing.

"Next time they end up getting your food wrong, I want you to tell me right away and I'll make sure they get it fixed, understood?" Blair said in an almost stern matter while watching you eat, looking pleased that you weren't upset anymore.

"Okay," you agreed without protest, eating a little bit more of your food before adding in a somewhat shy manner, "thank you for telling them about it for me so I wouldn't have to."

"Of course. That's my job as your girlfriend, to make sure you always get what you want," she replied as if it was nothing. "You'd do the same thing for me."

You couldn't argue with her there. You'd do anything to make Blair happy, even if it meant doing something as big as going to the ends of the earth. And she'd do the exact same for you, even if it meant doing something as small as sending your food back because they got your order wrong.

End notes: I thought it would be very in character for blair to do something like this and I'm pretty sure I actually talked with @sparklingbutterflies about it one time which is where the idea for this fic initially came from

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[darlingofthorns]

Bullet Holes in a Guitar

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Stylist!Fem! Reader / Spider-punk x Assasin!Fem! Reader

Description: When given one last job to end your career as an assassin, during your work, you meet an unlikely punk and his band.

Warnings: Blood and violence, weaponry, cursing, implied abuse of power, no physical description of R other than clothes here and there

Chapter 1: Boxed In

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The man grunts as your foot shoves him further on the ground. His lackeys lay bruised and blue behind you, their clothes torn, soaked in rain, and smudged with dirt. Their unmoving bodies spilled crimson into the drains, the long hunt finally coming to an end. They needn't lose their lives. Just their beloved boss had to be put down, but you give credit to their loyalty.

"You bitch!" The man spits at your boot, his own blood dripping down his mouth before it mixes with the rain water. His eyes are crazed and filled with anger, hair that was previously slicked back now lay sticking to the sides of his face, his blunt now smushed under your foot. Your boss will be thrilled to hear that one of the many thorns on his side has been eliminated. You didn't care that much about that part of the mission. Just getting paid to take down corporate assholes like him were good enough.

You look down on him with an icy glare reserved for pathetic men like him. Mask snug around your face, hood hiding your eyes in its shadow, the neon lights of the street reflected on the bloodied bodies that surrounded the two of you. Thankfully, no one was out tonight to see this grueling sight. Windows and doors were shut closed, the stands empty, shops barren. The fog danced and slithered just a few inches off the ground, making the scene more dramatic.

Your mind shifts to the irony of it all, the oddly beautiful view with its inspiring neon colors were now stained with a crime scene. How many more times would you have to do this until you could get away from all of it? Every moment after your eyes are shut closed, the same dream would haunt you, the same memories. Blood forever stained your hands, unmoving and stubborn, gripping to your skin like it was its very color. Every object in your grasp turned a weapon, every assignment given to you is another person dead.

The wheezing of your current assignment brought you back to the wet streets covered in red. The man was close to his last breath. No help would be fast enough to aid him. Maybe it was fitting for a pig like him to suffer until his last cough anyway. He has done immeasurable crime. Human trafficking, dealing drugs, scams, and how many mistresses did this guy have again?

Before you could get lost in your thoughts further, a familiar beeping noise rang, one that alerted you to any further information. You tapped on the device next to the shell of your ear.

"How's my favorite assassin doing?" The voice spoke, an annoying screech of a voice that always brought some unexplainable anger to you. Never mind information when your 'guy in the chair' is some dude who you only know by voice and whatever drama he tells you about his coworkers.

"Gent. Hq talked to you about this. This is unprofessional." You replied, voice colder than usual, so no one would recognize your actual pitch.

"You and I both know professionalism can kiss my ass-- Listen! We got a new assignment for you!" Gent cheered. You could hear him twirl in his wheeled office chair.

"You're not allowed to call me that." You huffed, shaking your head. A short silence follows between the two of you, and you wondered if the line had somehow cut off. When you decide to open your mouth to say something, it closed promptly at the annoying start of Gent's voice.

"So, uhh.. you done with your assignment?" He completely ignores your previous statement. Your brows furrow before giving the bloodied man before you one last good kick to the nose, the crack of his bone echoing.

"Yeah." You answered truthfully as you walked away from all the scattered bodies. As an assassin, it wasn't your job to be clean up crew too. Either someone will come in and clean it up, or police will find them. Whoever comes first wouldn't know who left all that blood spilled on the street, no trace of anyone there.

"Alright! I'll pull up your next file. This one's- uh, unique!" Gent cleared his throat.

"Meaning?" Your voice going back to normal as you walked the hushed streets.

"Meaning you're not gonna particularly, specifically, exactly, generally..." He went on and on.

"Gent."

"Okay, you're not gonna like this one!" He finally admitted.

"And why is that?" You swerved into an alleyway swiftly after sighting a car light from a mile away, the fog fortunately covering you.

"You need to somehow go undercover in York."

"New York? That's not so far away...what's the deal?"

"No.. York as in England, York. As in England, Britain."

"..."

"Y/n?"

"Yeah, I'm here. But, England?" You whispered, confusion and frustration mixing in your tone.

"I know, I know.." Gent hushed you.

"But listen, if you complete this.. you'll be set." He let out a small chuckle.

Those few words almost lifted the weight off your chest. It almost seemed like the world was dangling a piece of meat in front of you as if you've been starved for days. It's offer tempting and successfully persuading. This could be it. No more blood, no more close calls, no constant instruction and destruction. You'd be free to live as you please. Wear clothes that don't restrict you, talk how you want, live how you want.

"I'm gonna guess you'll take the job?" Gent laid back in his seat with a smug smirk as he files his nails.

"When do I start?"

"In a week or two. We need you to lay low incase the press find out about your most recent...errand." He shrugged.

"But until then, get in the car." He twirled in his black office chair again. You turn your head and find a shiny black car pulling up in front of the alleyway, the same one you spotted.

"Talk to you next time, Y/n!" He sang. You let out a sigh, from the long day of hunting down that gang in the casino to just chatting with Gent can take the caffeine induced energy out of you. Amidst your thoughts, you slipped into the car, no words spoken to the assigned driver. Nor did you make a sound.

You did notice he seemed spooked at your sudden appearance, the hair on the back of his neck prickling up with his eyes widening for a split second before he started the engine.

...

"Word on the street says you're moving abroad!" Your neighbor stopped you in your tracks as you were about to reach your door. The cursed entrance stands only a few feet away, you wonder if you could just pretend you didn't hear her and quickly go in.

Dropping your shoulders with a twitch of an eye, "Uh..yeah." You sighed in defeat, slowly turning yourself to face your innocent neighbor. Who in reality, has been nothing but nosy to you. Which really doesn't help you as an assasin, you already have countless detectives all around the country trying to trace you based on blurry security camera pictures.

"Wow! I've always wanted to go to the big ol' tea country!" Her eyes sparkled as she locked her hands together and dreamed of Britain.

"I didn't tell you-" You scratch the back of your neck, trying to find place to speak before she inevitably cuts you off.

"Anyway.." She looked to the side, avoiding eye contact as she does.

"So you already got a job or a place to stay?" She fiddled a strand of her red hair as she chews the gum in her mouth with a smack of her lips. She always asked you curious questions. It started out as small talk, you put in what you could at first so she didn't grow suspicious, but as time went on, her questions seemed more like riddles about your personal life.

"Heading out for the day?"

"You have any pets?"

"You always look so tired.. what's up with that?"

"Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend?...or a friend.?"

There weren't many risks in answering her inquiries. You tried to live your life as boring as possible so people don't show interest, answering questions with the most plain answers you could think of. But somehow, Holly has stayed ever so curious.

"Uhm..no. I guess not." You tell the truth, keep it short and simple but left out the part that Gent was already looking for apartments you could stay at.

"Ah, that's a shame." Holly shrugged. You looked at her with a blank stare, knowing and waiting for when she tells you an idea she conjured up, like she planned the conversation and she's pulling strings on whatever happens next.

"Oh I just remembered!" She clapped, smile gleaming up at you.

"My brother in law is in England. He's planning on selling his loft and moving back here! Didn't this line up perfectly?"

Ah, there it is.

"Wow, that's crazy." You attempt a typical response.

"Wait, brother in law? I didn't know you were married."

"Didn't you know? I own half of this building, I bagged the landlord.!" She whispers that last part to you, elbowing you discreetly as if you guys weren't the only two in the stairwell.

Suddenly everything clicked, from the way she knew what your name was immediately after you moved in to when your rent was due.

"Ah." You say dumbfounded.

"I'll see you around, gotta help with dinner. Email me if you're interested in that loft!" Before you knew it, she was already halfway down the stairs, waving theatrically.

You sighed, turning around to enter your humble abode that's been decorated for you. The apartment doesn't feel like home. But, to be fair, you were barely in there.

The walls of pictures are all edited, the framed certificates on the wall are fake, and even the two trophies "you got from high school" were custom-made to fit the space on your bookshelf. Despite the warm ambiance Gent and his team pushed into the space, so it looked like you weren't one of their best assassins. The air always seemed cold. Loneliness struck you every night or early morning, and you entered through the door. No one greeted you, no familiar smell danced through the air, no embrace warmed you up from the cold feeling of taking someone's life.

You were by yourself. Like you've always been.

...

"Hobie!" Gwen shook him harshly by his arm, ignoring the few spikes that poked her from his jacket. Said man wakes up with a snort, looking around the room half awake and his guitar sliding off his lap as he sits up from his bean bag made of various patches.

"Wha' happened.." He blinks away the sleep, slapping himself awake. One side of his hair has perfectly stood up instead of its usual out turned position, a product of him sleeping on his left side. He looked like the epitome of being disoriented.

"I've been trying to wake you up for like half an hour!" The blonde paces around the room, arms flung in the air in disbelief. Her sneakers slide on the hardwood floors, Hobie's eyes regaining focus by watching her shoes glide past him.

Shaking his head, "Alright, alright... why're you doin that?" He grabs his beloved guitar, placing it to the side.

"That stylist Nix hired a month ago quit! You guys need one before that show at the bar next week, duh!" She snatches her cardigan off the growing pile of clothes on the floor, her eyes lighting up when she spotted it.

"Tha's it? Gwendy, we can style ourselves." He waves her off, flopping back into his place on the bean bag. "Right, only wake me up if someone's dyin next time." He begins to doze off again, crossing one leg over the other and putting his hands behind his head before Gwen's cardigan hits him straight on the face, his spider senses failing him miserably.

"Style ourselves my ass! Yeah, maybe if the world gave the whole band like five years to decide on which leather jackets to wear before every show!" Gwen stood before him, her hands on her hips as her foot taps on the floor impatiently. Gwen eyes his disheveled state, wondering how this guy led a handful of successful missions.

"Alright, alright.." Hobie surrendered, hand gently grabbing her cardigan off himself. "We'll get another bloody stylist.." He folded it neatly, tucking it next to his guitar and adjusting himself to go back to sleep, muttering small grumbles as the cushy chair sinks to his liking.

Gwen walks out of the room with a loud bang of the door after making sure he's true to his word and giving many suspicious glares his way.

[bloody-bee-tea]

24 Days of MHA 2024 Day 21 - Fucking bullshit

Shouta just bundled himself up in his sleeping bag, ready to sleep the break away, with Hizashi’s soft humming in his ear when it knocks on the door to the teacher’s lounge.

Shouta cracks one eye open because with his luck it’s going to be one of his problem children who started the apocalypse or something but he lets Hizashi get up to open the door.

He did not expect Shinsou to be on the other side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Hizashi greets him. “What’s up?”

Shouta watches how Shinsou wrings his hands in front of his chest, how his eyes dart all over the place and he starts extracting himself from the warm cocoon of his sleeping bag. This will not be over quick, even though he never expected Shinsou to be one of his problem kids.

He had hoped that starting out in Gen Ed saved the boy from that particular curse but clearly he was wrong.

“I need your help,” Shinsou finally mutters and Hizashi looks back at Shouta, who waves him in.

“Come here, kid. What is it?” Shouta says, his voice rougher than usual because he was just falling asleep but he’d never send one of his kids away and especially not Shinsou and most certainly not after he so plainly asked for help.

“I—” More hand-wringing, more eyes darting all over the place and Shouta wonders what the kid could have possibly done to be this worried. “I really need your help.”

“And you have it,” Hizashi reassures him because it’s not even a question that they are going to help with whatever it is.

But they need to know what it is, first.

“Tell us what’s going on,” Shouta encourages him and Shinsou takes a deep breath, which does clearly nothing to relax him.

“My foster mother, she’ll be going to the police later to accuse me of using my quirk against her husband. I really—with my quirk, it’s not going to go over well and I really need help.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that short explanation but for now Shouta and Hizashi only share a look before they nod.

“Of course,” Hizashi then says and pats Shinsou’s shoulder.

“Did you?” Shouta asks, because he has to and because the police will, too, but he can admit that the betrayed look Shinsou gives him hurts. “You will be asked that, a lot. So better get used to it now.”

“I didn’t,” Shinsou whispers out, because of course he didn’t, he would never, Shouta knows that but clearly the foster mother has it out for him if she’s going to accuse him of that.

“Why would she think you do?”

“My foster father’s started to act cagey around her so of course I’m the first to be blamed.”

That’s rather disturbing, really, if Shouta thinks too hard about that.

“Do you know why he’s acting like that?” Shouta doesn’t have much hope for an answer here but to his surprise Shinsou nods.

“He thinks I’m stupid and I’m not allowed to talk at home, so he isn’t as careful around me. He’s having an affair.”

More things Shouta files away to inspect at a later date, but it’s really not painting a good picture for Shinsou’s living situation.

“Oh, boy,” Hizashi sighs out. “And I’m guessing if you were to expose that then both of them would accuse you of using your quirk on him,” he mutters, and Shinsou nods.

“I just—when the police sees my quirk they’ll believe her. I know they will because—”

“It happened before,” Shouta finishes for him when Shinsou seems lost for words and he had always wondered about that smirch on his record.

But of course quirk discrimination is still rampant everywhere and Shinsou has already confided in them that he’s been called a villain most of his life. It’s not a stretch to believe the police wrote him off without a proper investigation and purely based on one statement.

“I’m going to call Tsukauchi,” Shouta decides and gets his phone out, trusting Hizashi to explain who that is to Shinsou as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Eraser, please, no more emergencies with your kids. I’m a detective, not a babysitter,” Tsukauchi greets him and Shouta snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, welcome to my world. I need a favour.”

“Of course you do,” Tsukauchi sighs out. “What is it?”

Shouta briefly explains the situation to Tsukauchi who lets out another deep sigh.

“What’s his address? I’m guessing his mother went to the nearest police station.”

“Foster mother,” Shouta corrects him because no mother would ever do that and then he relays the question to Shinsou.

“I know someone at the station there,” Tsukauchi says once he has Shinsou’s answer. “Let me check with them real quick and I’ll call you back.”

“Tsukauchi, we need you on that case,” Shouta says because with his quirk it’s easy to prove that Shinsou didn’t do anything wrong.

“I know. I will be. I just need to see if the foster mother already stopped by and what exactly it is she’s accusing him of.” He doesn’t give Shouta time to say anything before he hangs up and Shouta doesn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes as he pockets his phone again.

“Tsukauchi is on it. You’ll be just fine, kid,” Shouta says, and Hizashi must have explained who Tsukauchi is because Shinsou bursts into tears.

“Thank you,” he gets out between his sobs and Shouta shuffles closer to awkwardly press his shoulder to Shinsou’s.

He’s not great with physical comfort but when Shinsou leans heavily into him, he guesses he must have done something right.

“I’ll make some tea,” Hizashi softly says and then signs to Shouta ‘And call CPS’.

Shouta nods, because that is not even a question. They will not allow Shinsou to stay with people who clearly have it out for him and what did they even get their foster licenses for if not this?

“You shouldn’t,” Shinsou mutters and Shouta frowns, because of course they need some tea in this situation but then Shinsou pushes away from him. “They will just move me to a group home because there’s no other family that will want to take me after this. I’d rather stay with them.”

Shouta and Hizashi share a surprised look before Hizashi signs ‘You understand sign?’

“I’ve been muzzled for most of my childhood. Had to learn to communicate somehow,” Shinsou says with a shrug as if that isn’t the most devastating news he could have delivered.

“Shinsou, if your foster mother really is going to accuse you of that, there’s no way we’re letting you go back there,” Shouta tries to explain, but all it serves to do is make Shinsou curl in on himself.

“Kiddo, we’re licensed foster parents,” Hizashi cuts in before Shouta can awkwardly fumble his way around anything else. “You’ll have to be moved after this and we just wanted to make sure you’ll be moved to us.”

“You—can do that?” Shinsou breathes out and Hizashi shrugs.

“We’re already pulling strings with Tsukauchi. What’s one more, right?”

Shinsou turns towards Shouta.

“And you’d—want to?”

“Of course we do, kid,” Shouta says and reaches out to ruffle Shinsou’s hair. “If we had known your situation was that bad we would have brought it up earlier, but we thought you were fine in your current home. We didn’t want to barge in where we’re not wanted.”

“I—nothing about that home is fine,” Shinsou mutters and Hizashi huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, we realise that. But no worries, we’ve got you. By the time this is over, you’ll be staying with us.”

Shouta nods but before he can say anything, his phone rings. Tsukauchi is calling back.

“She already came in and gave her statement. I need Shinsou here to take his statement.” Shouta really appreciates Tsukauchi’s brusque nature and he clasps Shinsou’s shoulder.

“We’ll be by in thirty.”

“You have classes,” Shinsou weakly protests but Shouta doesn’t pay him any mind.

“You or me?” he asks Hizashi who looks between Shinsou and Shouta for a moment.

“You,” he then decides and gives Shinsou a smile. “I’ll just make sure everyone knows not to expect either of you back today.” He gives them his horrendous finger guns but Shouta thinks he can excuse it this one time, because it makes Shinsou smile slightly.

“Alright, kid, off we go then,” Shouta says and pushes Shinsou out of the room.

The ride to the police station is silent, though Shouta spots Shinsou wringing his hands in his lap more than once and he wishes he could tell the kid to stop worrying but he knows that’s not in Shinsou’s nature.

He’s a natural worrier, Shouta came to learn that much during their training and he guesses with what he now knows of Shinsou’s living situation and his childhood it’s only understandable that he second guesses his every move.

When they finally arrive at the station, Tsukauchi is already waiting for them.

“Eraser, Shinsou,” he greets them and then leads them into a conference room almost immediately.

Shouta is thankful that it isn’t an interrogation room because that would have only spooked Shinsou more.

“Alright,” Tsukauchi starts once they are all seated. “Shinsou, your foster mother accused you of using your quirk against your foster father, making him change his behaviour around her. Now, I’ll ask you a bunch of questions and with my quirk Lie Detector we’ll quickly verify if any of that is true, alright?”

Shinsou nods, though he’s still tense and Shouta shuffles a bit closer.

If he can provide at least a little comfort like this, he’ll do it.

“I’ll need verbal answers from here on out, because otherwise my quirk doesn’t work, understood?”

“Yes,” Shinsou mutters and Tsukauchi gets out a dictation device.

“We’ll be recording everything and after every answer you give I’ll state if it’s true or not. Like that, there’s really nothing your foster mother can do and the charge against you will be dropped.”

Tsukauchi just rose several ranks higher in Shouta’s regard, because he doesn’t seem to believe that Shinsou did what his foster mother accused him of and for that Shouta is thankful.

“Okay,” Shinsou says and squares his shoulders as if he’s marching off into battle.

Shouta resigns himself for a passive role in this, because he’s here for moral support and nothing else. Hizashi might have been better for this, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

“Your foster mother accused you of using your quirk against her husband. Are you aware of that?”

“Yes,” Shinsou gives back. “She told me she would this morning when he slipped out without even looking at her.”

“True. Told you?”

Shinsou winces and Shouta just hopes that Hizashi isn’t too busy with classes to call CPS.

“Screamed at me, more like. She threw a glass at me, too.”

“True. Did you get hurt?”

“Shallow cut on my shoulder.” Shinsou shrugs it off as if it doesn’t mean anything to him, as if that is just a normal occurrence and Shouta feels sick to his stomach to imagine a kid—and especially Shinsou who he may have grown more attached to than he should—in a situation like that.

He makes a mental note to check the kid over later, but he fears that he’s rather adept at first aid by now.

“True. Did you use your quirk on your foster father to make him behave in a certain way?”

Here, Shinsou hesitates and both Shouta and Tsukauchi note it with worry.

“I haven’t used my quirk on Yamamoto,” Shinsou finally says and Shouta holds his breath.

“True.” Tsukauchi hesitates. “Have you ever used your quirk on anyone who was in charge of taking care of you?” he then asks and Shouta feels his eyes flare because what the fuck does this have to do with anything?

“Tsukauchi,” Shouta warningly says but Tsukauchi doesn’t back down.

“I have to ask this.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Shouta spits out even as Shinsou shrinks deeper into his chair. “This has nothing to do with anything.”

“You know how this is going to look,” Tsukauchi gives back, just as heated. “We won’t be the only  ones who noticed this clarification. It’s not a good look and if this gets brought up later, someone can spin it around. Better to get it out now.”

Shouta hates that Tsukauchi has a point and it doesn’t help that Shinsou is deathly pale right now.

Shouta and Tsukauchi glare at each other for a moment before Shouta backs down, dragging his chair over to Shinsou’s until their shoulders touch.

“I’m on your side, kid, no matter what,” Shouta says because even if Shinsou used his quirk on anyone, with what he learned today about his childhood Shouta guesses he was more than justified, even if maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Shinsou, please answer the question. Have you ever used your quirk on anyone who was in charge of taking care of you?”

“Yes.” Shinsou’s voice is thin and shaky and Shouta startles when a trembling hand clutches his sleeve.

“True,” Tsukauchi says and he sounds decidedly unhappy about it.

“If you do not ask for his reason right now, I’m going to forget myself,” Shouta shortly says and now Tsukauchi looks about as unhappy as he sounds.

“Why did you use your quirk on anyone? To protect yourself?”

“No, I—” Shinsou takes a deep breath or at least tries to because it continues to come out rapid and short. “I never used it to protect myself.”

“True,” Tsukauchi says, now with a frown on his face but Shouta can already guess where this is going.

Of course Shinsou would never do it for himself; for someone else though—the kid wants to be a hero. Of course he’d try to protect someone else.

“What did you use your quirk for?”

Shinsou curls in on himself, and Shouta can’t help himself, he puts his arm around Shinsou and pulls him close.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Shinsou struggles to breathe for a moment before he basically slumps against Shouta.

“I—there was—in a previous family,” he haltingly starts. “The foster father there—he—” Shinsou cuts himself off and Shouta sees him gripping his own arm so tightly his fingers turn white. “I had a little sister there,” Shinsou finally gets out and Shouta goes cold with horror.

He’s worked enough years as an underground hero to understand where this is going and judging by Tsukauchi’s suddenly pale face he knows it, too.

“It—it took me a while to realise but once I did I—whenever he told us to go to sleep, I told him the same. It worked, for a while, until I fucked up and he realised. He kept me muzzled after that and—”

Shinsou breaks off with a sob and Shouta tightens his arm around him.

“True,” Tsukauchi finally says, because he has to, but Shouta still hates him for it. “How old were you? What was his name?”

It’s unthinkable, imagining what that guy could still be doing right now but Shinsou shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he gets out between his tears. “One night she—he’s paralyzed from the neck down and she’s dead.”

Shouta lets out his own shuddering breath and wonders if the kid ever went to therapy. With all the things Shouta learned today, he thinks it’s no longer optional, really.

“True,” Tsukauchi mutters and then stops the recording before he nods at Shouta and takes his leave with a muttered “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” Shouta says, because what else is there to say and Shinsou continues to cry, pressed close to Shouta.

“I just—I just wanted to protect her,” he eventually cries out and Shouta hums.

“I know. And you did the best you could,” he reassures him, because Shinsou did and he suffered for it, too.

Shinsou eventually calms down and once he does he seems worn out, completely drained of the little energy he usually has.

“What now?” he wants to ask and Shouta shrugs.

“Now I’m going to text Hizashi and then I’m going to take you home.”

“Home. Back to—them?”

“No,” Shouta denies immediately because there is no way he’s letting Shinsou back there. Who knows what that woman is going to do when she learns that her complaint has been brushed off. “I’m taking you home with me.”

Shouta trusts that Tsukauchi will have the necessary paperwork ready for him by the time they leave and Shouta gets his phone out to text Hizashi as well.

‘If the CPS gives you trouble burn it to the ground’ he types and immediately receives a thumb up emoji. ‘And ask Hound Dog if he has time to take on Shinsou or if he knows a therapist who could.’

‘That bad?’

‘Worse’, Shouta texts back and he will explain everything to Hizashi later but this is not something to be done over text. ‘I’m taking him home’.

‘You do that. Tell the little listener to get some rest’, Hizashi writes back and Shouta relays the message to Shinsou.

“I feel as if I could sleep for days now,” Shinsou admits and it must be a novel feeling for Shinsou, going by the eyebags.

“Then let’s do that,” Shouta decides and leads them out of the conference room.

Tsukauchi is waiting for them with the necessary paperwork that puts Shinsou in his preliminary care until the CPS can make it official and just like that they are out of the station and on their way home.

Shouta doubts that things will be easy and he is under no illusion that they only just scratched the surface of all the traumatic shit Shinsou went through until now, but he is safe with them now and Shouta and Hizashi will do their best to give Shinsou the loving home he deserves.

[just-a-queer-fanboy]

Ah, social cues, my arch nemesis.

Ok but seriously I'm consulting wikihow on how to flirt I feel like a shitty teen movie protagonist right now

[dovalore]

evbo meets a little friend!

alright you already know the drill, time for a yap session

his eyes are just rectangles (oblongs?) here since i wanted to incorporate that specific aspect of evbo's skin into the design. it also kinda serves to make him look more... animalistic? he's a bird, so i really like this look for him

the song i listened to while designing him was to the sky

another inspiration i had for this design was meteion since she's probably one of my favourite designs in ffxiv

he's somewhat based off a conure/hummingbird! their colours are similar at least and hummingbirds have incredible control over their flight so yeah, that's him

but if you asked me to pick between those two for like, an actual bird form, he'd be a hummingbird. again, because they're super agile but this is what i imagine what he sounds like when he snores

related to that: all of his colours were made warmer on purpose, really colourful birds usually come from tropical regions so this was a way to reflect that a little bit

no boots, just netherite scales on his legs and hands (claw? talons?) because i thought it would be cool. so these things can't be taken off, they're part of his body

the knee pads can though, those pop on and off like magnets

he can't actually fly, but he can glide and it helps with adjusting the trajectory of his jumps and it negates the need for water bucket clutches if he times his wingbeats right (so i guess this makes it closer to an elytra? it might be interesting if he figured out how to use fireworks)

instead of having tail feathers coming off his body, i thought it would be a cooler visual to have his headband become his tail. so... that's' another thing he can't take off his body now!

the things he can take off are his hoodie and pants

pants are worn as usual, but the hoodie has a giant hole in the back for him to slip into so he doesn't have to pull things over his wings

speaking of his tail feathers, they're based off peacock feathers since he's kind of a show of lmao, the 'eyes' on them are a nod to him being the parkour god since i did something similar for acg's design with his head wing, evbo's markings are pretty much just that. markings, so he can't see through them or anything

not visible because it's being covered up, his chest is fluffy! i just think it would be cute and i'll take literally any excuse to add more fluff to a character because it brings me that much joy

also this is the first iteration i had of bird evbo's design, look at this little guy

the green highlights were cool here, but they kinda just ended up blending in with the rest of his hoodie/body so i decided not to do that

i made him fuzzier in the full piece too because i can

his ears were changed to be wings since these ones were too similar to my previous evbo design

headband tail feathers have been part of the vision since the start, but these ones here were pretty much just slapped on without too much thought about what they actually look like

now i don't usually share unfinished work on its own but these two have been sitting in my drafts for weeks now so... here's another little guy!

can you tell that i really enjoy making designs of him?

anyway, since summit evbo's still a draft at this point, i won't say much about him since he'll have his own post eventually

but i do want to say that i consider him and bird evbo as a duo of sorts since they're kinda opposites in terms of design

[aphverse-confessions]

I have a conspiracy theory that whoever is in charge of this account keeps track of the people who forget to turn on anon for their confessions whether by simply keeping them in the ask box waiting to be answered, or by screenshotting them. And when the day finally comes for this account to be defunct there will be BLOODSHED.

that or you secretly work for Jess, or ARE HER! *que dramatic music*

Okay I was gonna post this as a normal confrssion but I changed my mind. So all of my response is in the tags teehee

[ennard-is-near]

Fuck it, FNaF Kill count! (Humans only)

FNaF 1:

Phone Guy (Ralph)

FNaF 2:

Six children (later revealed to be Charlie Emily, Susie, Fritz, Jeremy, Gabriel and Cassidy)

FNaF 3:

William Afton

FNaF 4:

CC Afton (Evan/David)

Sister Location:

Elizabeth Afton

Michael Afton

Two unnamed male technicians

One “Dead body found” in a vent

Pizzeria Sim:

Henry Emily

Help Wanted:

Jeremy

Security Breach:

Nine random townsfolk

Total:

25 human deaths (11 male, 4 female, 10 unknown)

Waughhh not enough information to go further I think.

I can’t think of any deaths from Ruin or HW 2 (I don’t want to confirm Cassie’s Dad as anything yet I don’t know what happened to him) and I know Vanessa has that thing about killing therapists but that’s mostly based on book stuff and it’s hard for me to piece together so I just ignored it :)

The 9 townsfolk are from the alleyway ending, where Gregory is shown with a newspaper with nine missing residents. I assume that the “Later…” text isn’t that much of a timeskip (Gregory still has the bandaid on his face, and to me it would have fallen off after enough time for her to kill nine ppl) so I think Vanny has already killed all these people by the events of SB and the deaths would be canon, even if it’s not featured in the canon ending.

I did not put the five more kids that some people think there are because I don’t think there are five more kids. That doesn’t even make sense there are only four toy animatronics where would the fifth one go? The toys aren’t possessed, they’re just like that.

Oh btw, everyone was marked for their first appearance as dead. This is mostly about the MCI kids and Charlie bc I know they were shown in more depth in PS (Susie and Charlie especially) but they are first shown as corpses in 2

Okay tell me if I missed anything.