#you’ll think you won’t get through it

[wolvietxt]

𝓑UTTERFLIES.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : light angst, shouting, reader stands up for bucky, kinda open-ended summary : bucky feels weird things in his stomach whenever he thinks about you, he’s convinced he’s getting sick wc : 1.7k a/n : part two in the works :3

the avengers tower was a hive of activity. agents scurried in and out, stark’s gadgets beeped incessantly, and the hum of conversations filled the hallways. amidst the chaos, you’d carved out your own little routine - something steady to hold onto in a world that rarely stopped moving. and then there was bucky barnes. he was the quiet one, always on the edges of the action, as though he wasn’t sure where he fit in. you’d noticed him almost immediately when you moved in, not because he tried to stand out, but because he did the opposite.

every morning, he’d shuffle into the kitchen, head down, hair slightly messy from sleep. you’d offer him a soft “good morning,” trying not to sound too eager, and he’d nod or mumble something before retreating to the solitude of the gym or his room. his shyness only made you want to know him more. there was a depth to him, layers you were dying to peel back, but he seemed content - or maybe resigned - to keeping everyone at arm’s length.

still, you didn’t give up. you tried in small ways: leaving him a cup of coffee when you knew he’d be up early, asking if he’d want to join for movie nights, even offering him a quiet corner during team meetings when things got too loud. his answers were always polite but distant. it wasn’t rejection, not really, but it still left you wondering if you’d ever get through to him.

then came the day you overheard something that made your blood boil.

it happened in the common room. you’d been looking for a misplaced file when you caught snippets of a conversation between two junior agents. at first, you thought nothing of it - just the usual chatter that filled the tower. but then you heard bucky’s name, and your attention snapped to them like a rubber band.

“he’s just so… weird,” one of them said, his tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, come on, we’re supposed to trust him? after everything he’s done?”

“seriously,” the other agreed. “it’s like walking on eggshells around him. guy barely talks, and when he does, it’s just… creepy. i don’t know why they keep him around.”

rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and immediate. before you could stop yourself, you stepped into the room, your voice cutting through their laughter like a knife. “who do you think you are?”

the agents froze, their faces draining of color as they realized you’d been listening. one of them tried to stammer an excuse, but you weren’t having it.

“no, i want to know,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “what gives you the right to talk about him like that? do you have any idea what he’s been through? what he’s overcome? or do you just like tearing people down because it makes you feel better about yourselves?”

they exchanged nervous glances, clearly searching for an exit, but you weren’t finished.

“bucky barnes has more strength in his pinky finger than you’ll ever have in your entire life. and if i hear either of you - either of you - say one more word about him, you’ll be reassigned so fast you won’t have time to pack your desks. understood?”

they mumbled something that sounded like agreement before bolting from the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding from the adrenaline.

unbeknownst to you, bucky had been standing just around the corner.

he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he’d been on his way to the common room to grab a bottle of water when he heard your voice. at first, he’d thought you were just talking to someone, but as the words sank in, he realized you were defending him. you were angry - no, furious - on his behalf, and it left him rooted to the spot, unable to move.

no one had ever done that for him before.

days later, the memory still lingered. he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, fire in your eyes, your voice unwavering. it was as though you’d burned yourself into his mind, and every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. it wasn’t just what you’d said; it was the way you’d said it, with so much conviction it made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name.

that night, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. his heart raced, his palms were clammy, and his stomach churned in a way that felt almost… pleasant? but also deeply unsettling. was he getting sick? that seemed impossible - the serum made sure of that. yet the symptoms were undeniable. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, heard your voice, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

by the next morning, he was convinced something was seriously wrong.

bucky had never been one to dwell on his feelings. survival, duty, and regret had occupied most of his thoughts for as long as he could remember. but now, as he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor, he couldn’t ignore the storm swirling inside him. he felt… strange. his chest was tight, his thoughts were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment he overheard you in the common room.

he should’ve stepped in, said something to those agents himself, but instead, he’d stood there like a coward while you defended him. the memory of your voice, sharp with anger, made his palms sweat. no one had ever spoken up for him like that. people either feared him or avoided him altogether. but you - you’d stood there, unwavering, because you believed he was worth it. the thought made his heart race in a way that felt entirely too unfamiliar.

it had to be some kind of illness, right? he couldn’t be sick - the serum wouldn’t allow it - but what else could explain the way his stomach flipped whenever you were around? or the way his hands fidgeted nervously whenever you said his name? bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. this was ridiculous. he needed answers.

and so, he turned to the only person he trusted to give him the truth.

“steve, something’s wrong with me,” bucky blurted out later that day. they were in the gym, steve halfway through a set of push-ups when bucky’s words made him pause mid-rep.

“wrong?” steve asked, pushing himself to his feet. “what do you mean?”

bucky hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s… i don’t know. i’ve been feeling weird lately. my heart’s racing, i can’t think straight, and every time i see - ” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “never mind. forget it.”

steve’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

bucky’s jaw tightened. “what? no. that’s not… that’s not it.”

“sure, buck,” steve said, his tone teasing. “you’re probably just coming down with something.”

bucky narrowed his eyes. “serum, remember? i don’t get sick.”

steve’s smile widened. “exactly.”

bucky scowled, realizing too late that steve wasn’t going to be any help. he mumbled a quick excuse and left, his frustration mounting. if steve wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d just have to figure this out himself.

next on his list was sam. surely sam would have a straight answer for him.

“ you’re not dying, man,” sam said after bucky cornered him in the kitchen. “although, judging by the way you’re acting, you’d think the world was ending.”

bucky frowned. “i’m not acting any way.”

sam raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. look, maybe you just need to… i don’t know, talk to someone about it. someone who isn’t me.”

bucky groaned. “you’re no help.”

“at least i’m honest,” sam shot back, smirking as he left bucky alone with his thoughts.

it wasn’t until later that night, during a rare moment of quiet, that bucky found himself seeking out natasha. if anyone could give him a straight answer, it was her. she was sitting in the lounge, flipping through a book, when he approached.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable. “always.”

bucky shifted awkwardly, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “if… hypothetically… someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person, and it made them feel all… weird inside, what would you call that?”

natasha’s lips twitched, and for a moment, bucky thought she might laugh. but instead, she closed her book and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “weird how?”

bucky struggled to find the words. “just… weird. like, heart-racing, can’t-think-straight, stomach-doing-flips kind of weird.”

natasha studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

bucky blinked. “got what?”

she smirked. “you’ll figure it out.”

and just like that, she returned to her book, leaving bucky more confused than ever.

over the next few days, bucky’s “symptoms” only seemed to worsen. he found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, even the little things you did - like leaving a cup of coffee on the counter for him - made his chest ache in the best possible way. it was maddening.

finally, in a last-ditch effort to make sense of what was happening, he sought out wanda. if anyone could give him clarity, it was her.

wanda listened patiently as bucky explained his predicament, her expression calm and composed. when he finished, she tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“bucky,” she said gently, “you’re not sick.”

he frowned. “but - ”

“you’ve got a crush,” she said simply.

bucky’s heart stopped. “a crush?”

wanda nodded. “yes. and from the sound of it, it’s about time you did something about it.”

bucky stared at her, his mind racing. the idea felt foreign, almost impossible. but as he thought about you - the way you’d stood up for him, the way you’d always looked and spoken to him with so much warmth and understanding - he realized wanda was right.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[quarterlifekitty]

Desperate times

Based on the results of this post and poll

cw: dark content. Kidnapping, threats, drugging, noncon, restraint, the whole shebang.

❌ Gaz is starting to feel a little disheartened, babe. You don’t seem as committed to making this work as he is… But that’s okay. He told you he loved you, and love means always being willing to put in the effort, yeah? So if the public approaches aren’t working, maybe you need something more private. It’s easy to get one of his mates to follow you around bars, wait for the perfect moment, and slip something in your drink. It’s easy to know when on the walk home there won’t be any witnesses. The hard part is going to be training you out of hissing and spitting when he gives you sweet words and gentle touches. That’s no way for a bird to treat her man, not when he’s gone through so much for her.

❌Soap is starting to feel a little… restless. This was fun at first, this game of trying to win you back, of cornering you like he was some kind of creep, but now? He just wants his bonnie. He needs you, and he knows you’ll never be as happy with anyone else as you are with him. He starts right from when you wake up after that night of reigniting your passions. You’re saying things you don’t mean, things you’ll regret— and he’s never been able to keep his cool when you get emotional. So if he wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes until you still, he can’t be the only one to blame. Now, he’ll be the first to admit that his worship of your body last night was just a wee bit lackluster… he was too excited for the main event. When you wake up, tied to his bed and gagged, he won’t be making the same mistake. In fact, best start on it now.

⭕️ Ghost doesn’t keep it casual. He doesn’t take baby steps. Just as soon as you return one of his calls, you can barely say hello before he says “I’m comin’ over, dovie.” You’ve never seen him smile like he did on that day before, and quite frankly, you never want to see it again. He looks sick. Drunk on just his proximity to you. He attacks you with his mouth once you answer the door, grunting between heaving breaths that he knew, knew you’d come around, knew you were a good girl, knew you’d never wanna force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He takes you on a few surfaces before he can finally pull his mind together enough to take you to a real bed. Tells you he’s gonna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly so this can’t happen again, because honestly? He doesn’t wanna tell you what will happen if it does.

❌Nikolai thought it was cute at first, seeing you try to play at being the big, strong, independent girl. But while his love for you is endless, his patience isn’t. The longer he lets this go on, the more training you’ll need when you come back. So he decides to do the merciful thing, and take you home. It’s a shame you didn’t behave— he would’ve let you sit in the passenger seat with his hand on your thigh the way you used to love. Instead he had to drag you into the back, chemicals soaked in the cloth he put over your mouth and nose. It doesn’t do well for a princess to be out of her tower. No, it isn’t good for anyone, least of all the princess. You don’t realize the dragon is collared and chained to you, that’s okay— he’ll just have to put you in a collar and chains of your own while you get used to things again. Maybe you’d be a little happier with your life inside if you had something little and sweet to take care of, like he does? He could get you that, malýshka. You don’t even need to ask.

I was thinking of making this the last in the series, but maybe we can push it further?

[writingsbytee]

GET BACK

TOXIC BABY DADDY TERRY x BLACK FEM READER

Photo: @partiallyfuctional7

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!*

WARNINGS / TRIGGERS: Reader has feelings of insecurities; Terry is a big, sexy, toxic, idiot here. 

PAIRING: Terry x Ava (reader)

SUMMARY: Tension develops between you and your baby’s father when he discovers you might be moving on. Terry’s unhinged ass is going to do whatever he can to get her back.

TROPES:  Second chance romance; MDOM or dominant themes

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I’m so excited to share this one with you guys! I’ve wanted to write toxic Terry for forever, but I was just nervous. I really liked writing this one. Maybe it’s the toxicity in me lol. Please tell me what you guys think, but be nice please. Babygirl is sensitive

“TJ get your cleats! Your father’s almost here!,” I shouted up the stairs. I hear the tell-tale thumps of his little feet as he rushes to put everything in his duffle bag. Wandering into the living room, I tighten up the area a bit. Straightening out couch cushions, the coffee table, you get the gist. Looking at the clock, I notice it’s almost two o’clock.

“TJ! Two minute warning!” I exclaim. Within seconds I hear the thunderous steps only a child can make. Then my little boy rounds the corner, a giant beam on his face. 

“Did it Mommy!”, he said proudly handing his soccer bag to me so I could double check everything. Rifling through the items I notice his epipen isn’t in there. Before I can ask my little man where it is, I hear the familiar chime from the ‘ring’ app on my phone. Grabbing it from the charger, I see my son’s father through the pixelated lens. I take a calming breath before walking to the door. 

“Hey baby girl, TJ ready?” Terry asked, smiling down at me. It’s truly unfair how fine this man is. Standing at his full height on our porch in a navy blue tee and olive cargo pants with asics. He could make a trash bag look good. I ignore the flutter in my belly at his smile and step aside to let him in. 

“He’s just about ready, but I can’t find his epipen. Can you come in while I run upstairs really quick?” I ask moving back so Terry can cross the threshold. He steps in like he owns the place (well technically he does).

“We gotta get going soon, I’m taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ after practice,”  Terry said, sweeping his eyes over the living room. 

I nodded, “Well I’ll find it and meet you guys there or at practice. Thanks for taking him,” I say, trying to be civil. 

“Just to let you know, Brandy’s going to be there,” Terry said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I feel my back molars grind, “That’s fine.” I can’t fucking stand Brandy. She’s Terry’s new situationship and we didn’t get off on the best foot. That sour taste has never really left my mouth when it comes to her. Why Terry’s bringing her around our son, I’ll never understand.

“I trust you’ll keep it civil,” Terry says, looking down his nose at me. I roll my eyes and head toward the stairs completely ignoring him. Who the fuck does he think he is telling me to behave? She better fucking behave, I’m liable to beat a bitch. When I reach the bottom of the stairs Terry grabs my hand, spinning me to face him.

“Ava, I’m serious, keep it cool,” Terry’s voice had a slight edge to it which I didn’t appreciate.

“Listen, as long as she plays nice I’ll play nice. Matter of fact I’ll pretend she’s not even there. That work for you Terry?” I asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. I never wanted us to end up in this tumultuous cycle, but it wasn’t my decision. Terry broke up with me, said he didn’t want to be tied down. Vowing to be a good father he gets Terrence Junior (TJ) every other week. He’s the best dad and I won’t take that away from him, I just thought we’d be a family. I was holding out hope for a year hoping he'd change his mind and we’d get back together. 

Ultimately, I shattered my own heart, scrolling on facebook. I saw that he’d been tagged  in a photo hugged up on another woman. I stopped hoping after that. I stopped trying to get a man to see that I was enough, stopped trying to get him to stay when he so clearly was happy elsewhere. 

“Terry, the last thing I want to do is fight with you right now, yes I’ll be nice. Please just take TJ and leave, he'll be late for practice,” I say on the verge of tears. 

Terry’s eyes soften as he takes a step toward me, “Bunny…”, he starts. I hold my hand up stopping him and shake my head. I can hear our son make his way towards us obviously hearing his father’s voice as he barrels toward him. 

“Daddy! Daddy!,” TJ yells, launching himself into his arms.

“There my little striker! C’mere man,” Terry’s face blooms into a megawatt smile as he reaches for our son. He picks him up and blows a raspberry on TJ’s cheeks, causing him to burst into giggles. A small smile forms on my lips as a warm feeling spreads in my chest. Moments like these made me wish that we could be a little family again. But I can’t think like that anymore, Terry made his choice. He wants to be in the streets, that’s where he can stay. 

“You ready to go little man? I’ve got a surprise for you after practice,” Terry said, putting TJ down. Spotting the epipen on the kitchen island, I grab it, and pass it to Terry

“Well I’m going upstairs to shower and change, and I’ll meet you guys there,” I say, turning toward the stairs.

“TJ, go hug your mama before we leave,” Terry says looking at me.  TJ comes barreling towards me, goofy smile and arms outstretched. A warm smile blooms on my face as I hug my gentle little man.

“Hey, mama loves you, be good and listen to your dad ok?” I ask straightening his backpack. 

“I always listen mama,” TJ giggles, with a playful roll of his eyes. Terry grabs his son’s hand and with a half- assed ‘see ya later’ from Terry, they’re both out the door. I grab my airpods and head upstairs. Needing the comfort of a dominant mafia boss, my current audible obsession to ease some of the tension I feel creeping up my neck. Pressing play on my audiobook I begin getting ready. After the grueling arm workout of trying to tame my curls, I place it in a slick back bun with a few face framing curls to enhance my beauty (ref). Then I put on some light makeup and a simple outfit for this bipolar Georgia winter weather (ref). Grabbing my purse and keys, I head outside to my bronco, mentally preparing myself for the next few hours. 

When I pull up to the soccer field, I see that practice is in full swing. I immediately spot Terry standing off to the side with all the other parents. Why does he have to look so fucking good just standing on the sidelines. Brandy’s standing next to him ear pressed against her phone, what a shocker. Getting out, I pop my trunk to grab my lawn chair.

“Ava! Let me!,” I turn to see Lance, another one of the dad’s lightly jogging toward me. A small smile forms on my lips. Lance is fine don’t get me wrong, he just gets around the bookclub if you know what I’m saying. Hmm, maybe my bookshelf could use a good dusting off. I think it’s about time I had a little fun. I haven’t been with anyone since Terry, that needs to change. 

“Aww, that’s nice of you. Thank you Lance,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Lance grabs my lawn chair out of the trunk and we head toward the soccer field. 

“I assumed you weren’t coming, since Terry brought TJ,” Lance said.

“Oh, so you checking for me now?”, I say, smirking at him. 

A small blush forms on the apples of his cheeks, “I look forward to seeing you at practices, sue me.”

A small giggle burst from my lips, “I’m just picking Lance.” He grins at me as we finally make it to the sidelines where the other parents are. My eyes find Terry to see him mugging Lance down. Lance isn’t paying him any attention as he sets up my lawn chair for me. 

“A throne fit for a queen,” Lance says, gesturing toward the chair. 

“Thank you Lance,” I say with a small smile before taking a seat. Okay so far so good, I just hope I can get through the rest of this evening unscathed.

TERRY

Since when did Ava and Lance become cool? That motherfucker has been sniffing behind her for over a year now. I subtly inch closer to the two, trying to listen in on their conversation without being detected. I hear him ask her what she had planned later. A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach dropping anchor and forming an uncomfortable weight there. I recognize the feeling in an instant, jealousy. Fuck. 

“Oh, Terry and his girlfriend are taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ downtown. I’m probably just going to tagalong with them so I can get pictures of TJ,” Ava says. Girlfriend? She thought Brandy was my girlfriend? Fuck no, I’m just having fun with her. I just didn’t want TJ to see the two of them arguing since they obviously didn’t like each other.

“Do you mind if Max (Lance’s son) and I join you? And maybe after I treat you and TJ to dinner?,”Lance said, smirking at Ava. My fucking Ava, and she’s smiling back?! Fuck nah, I ain’t about to have that. I take a step to interrupt their conversation when a hand on my shoulder grabs my attention. 

“Sorry boo, but I have to go. Family emergency,” Brandy said, before laying a kiss on my cheek and then she left so fast I would’ve thought her ass evaporated. I locked back in on Ava and Lance seeming to be in just a friendly conversation but I couldn’t shake the fact that Ava was entertaining him. As long as I’ve known her she’s only ever wanted me. So, to see her chatting it up with another man is really rubbing me the wrong way. 

She jumps up out of her chair, jumping up and down cheering for TJ. I damn near go cross-eyed trying to keep an eye on TJ and the jiggle of her ass when she jumps. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ava, she gave me my son, and she’s a fantastic mother, friend, and support system. I don’t know why seeing her potentially move on is fucking with me so bad. I pull out my phone and text my younger sister Trinity, I need advice ASAP.

ME: Trin I need your help. Fast

TRIN: Damn, no hi lol. What’s up Terry?

ME: It’s Ava, she’s going on a date tonight I think.

TRIN: Ok…what’s the problem?

ME: I don’t want her to.

TRIN: Aren’t you actively fucking that brittney chick??????

ME: ..yeah

TRIN: Ok so let me get this straight. Ava has to sit back while you fuck through all of Savannah, but the minute she gets a little bit of attention, you can’t deal?

ME: Well, when you put it like that..

TRIN:  I love you bro, but you’re a fucking idiot.

AVA

“We’d love to have dinner with you and Max tonight” you say, smiling at Lance. He smirks down at me, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Your brows furrowed, “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I’ve been trying to get you to look my way for months, what changed?” Lance asked, leaning in. ‘I’m trying to get over my baby’s father’ , you thought. But you can’t just say that out loud so instead you just smile and say, “I thought it was time I put you out of your misery.”

Lance laughs and says, “Well thank you for that pretty lady.”

A throat clears behind you and you glance over your shoulder to see Terry standing there.

“Can I talk to you real quick?”, he looks with anxious eyes darting back and forth between you and Lance. 

You glance back toward Lance, “I’ll be right back” you say, getting up from my chair. You follow Terry a few feet away to the edge of the field, but still able to keep an eye on TJ.

“What’s up?” you say, raising a brow.

“We need to talk, Bunny,” Terry said, wringing his hands. What’s going on? This nigga is never nervous. You raise both eyebrows this time, indicating that he can continue.

“What’s going on with you and Lance?” he asked, crossing his arms. Your eyes widen in disbelief, there’s no way his ass is questioning you about who you’re seeing.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you reply, crossing my arms. 

Terry scoffs and rolls his eyes, “It’s my business if his ass is going to be around my son.”

You could feel the attitude crawling up your spine gripping your throat in a vice grip. “So you can prance all the bitches you want around our son? But when his friend’s dad; someone he’s familiar with, is around more often all of sudden it’s an issue?” you roll your eyes, Terry is really starting to piss you off. Just when you decide it’s time to try and move on he comes back with this.

“Terry what is this really about? You know Lance, you should be happy for me” you say pleading with him. His eyes soften, and he shuts them giving his head a rough shake.

“Happy? You can do way better than Lance!” he whispers.

A sarcastic laugh leaves your lips, “Mind your business Terry. I stay out of your love life, you stay out of mine.” you turn to leave but Terry reaches out and grabs your wrist.

“C’mon Bunny, you know I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m trying to say is he better kiss the ground you walk on, anything less is an insult.” 

You roll my eyes yet again, a small smile on my lips, “You’ll get him right if he doesn’t?” you ask with a subtle pop of my hip.

A smirk grows on his lips, “Bunny, you know how I’m coming behind you,” Terry said, crossing his arms. 

You shake your head to slow the smile from forming, “It’s nothing serious between Lance and I. I just need a little fun right now.”

“You know, we used to have fun,” Terry said, taking a step toward you. You could see it in his eyes. The way he was looking at you, he’s going to bend you over the first surface he can get his hands on. 

You reach your hand out, slowing his advancement toward you. “No, Terry. Don’t do this here.”

His smirk widens, taking in your panicked yet aroused features. You still wanted him , that he could see. “Don’t you miss me Bunny? We were good together. I could always tell what you needed before you knew yourself and vice versa.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Where is all this coming from? Less than two hours ago, you were telling me I needed to be nice to Brandy and now you wanna reminisce? We’ll talk about this later, I’m not doing this right now.” 

You couldn’t believe Terry!  ‘We used to have fun’, he thinks he can just walk in here all gorgeous and muscled and you’ll just roll over? Well you will but you want to make him work for it at least. You spin, prepared to return to your seat when Terry grabs your wrist. 

“Don’t go out with him tonight, Bunny. Let me treat you and our son to dinner instead, and I can explain everything.”

“What if I don’t want to hear your explanations Terry? I’ve waited and waited for you to finally come to the realization that we should be together. Now that I have the potential to find something with someone new, you can’t handle it. How do you think I felt watching you parade girl after girl in front of my face? If you’re serious about me, you and TJ becoming a family again, you’re going to have to prove it to us. The back and forth shit isn’t going to work, and TJ deserves stability,” crossing my arms, I finish my rant and turn to head back to my chair. 

TERRY

Fuck, I need to get my family back 

Okay, so I wanted to make this a little short and to the point So I can set you guys up for the next part. Let me know if Terry is toxic enough for y’all or should I crank it up a little. I wasn’t expecting to turn this into a series but I think I just might *winks* As always let me know what you guys think, if we’re feeling this or not. Happy new year beautiful people! Sending you all love I hope this year is better than your last and you get everything you want!

Happy New Year! Until next time

TEE <3

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @greatpandagladiator @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theereina @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @diaries-of-me @notapradagurl7 @helloncrocs-deactivated20241222 @miyuhpapayuh @simplyzeeka @gg-trini @playgurlxoxo

[charlesslut16]

-very merry christmas-

summary : you can't see your family, so Lando tries everything to make it happen...

PAIRINGS : lando norris x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you have a great day, my loves!!!

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The gentle hum of the jet engines was familiar, a steady rhythm that usually calmed your nerves, but today, the soft noise only seemed to amplify the quiet ache in your chest.

You stared out of the small plane window, watching the clouds drift by in soft, cotton-like clumps. It should have been a comforting view, but all you could think about was how this Christmas was shaping up to be unlike any other.

You’d tried everything. You’d fought to get time off work, even sacrificed family traditions to make it happen. But no matter how hard you tried, no flights had been available.

Your mind raced with images of your family back home—your siblings laughing around the Christmas tree, your parents cooking in the kitchen, the sound of carols filling the house. You hadn’t seen them in what felt like forever, and now you wouldn’t be there to share the magic of Christmas morning with them.

Lando, your boyfriend, had been understanding, of course. He always was. It’s one of the things you loved most about him—his ability to always put others’ feelings first, even when his own were clearly brimming over with excitement.

You’d both decided to spend Christmas together in Monaco, with his family, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of missing your own. Lando had insisted, though, that you’d make new memories together. And while that was sweet, it didn’t stop the ache inside you.

Lando’s hand found yours, his fingers warm and steady, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and tenderness.

You nodded, offering a half-hearted smile, trying to hide the disappointment that clung to you. “Yeah, just… thinking about everything. You know, Christmas.”

He squeezed your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “I know you’re missing your family, but I promise you, we’ll make it special. It won’t be the same, but it’ll be just as meaningful. I swear.”

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s just hard, you know?”

He smiled softly. “I get it. But we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You tried to focus on the bright side—the beauty of Monaco, the excitement of being with Lando’s family, but as the plane flew closer to its destination, the sadness didn’t seem to want to let go.

When the plane touched down, you were immediately swept up in the bustling energy of the Monaco airport. Lando was already in his element, his mind on everything at once. As the two of you navigated the crowds, you caught sight of the shining Christmas trees and twinkling lights that lined the walkways, and for a moment, you felt that familiar holiday warmth.

But when Lando turned to you, his expression serious and a little secretive, you knew something was up.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he said, his eyes dancing with a playful gleam.

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink. “But first, we’ve got to head back to my parents’ house.”

You climbed into the car with him, the anticipation mounting in your chest. As the car sped through the streets of Monaco, you tried to imagine what could be in store, but nothing could have prepared you for what Lando had planned.

When you arrived at the house, the door swung open before you even had a chance to knock, and Lando’s parents greeted you warmly, their arms wide. You were soon swept inside, the scent of mulled wine and cinnamon filling your senses.

The house was decorated beautifully, lights sparkling in every corner. There was the unmistakable feel of holiday cheer, but something was different about the atmosphere—something that felt a little extra special, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

As you followed Lando through the hallway, you were greeted by more than just his family. You were greeted by your family.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at your mom, your dad, your sister, and your brother. They stood there in front of the grand Christmas tree, their faces lighting up with joy at the sight of you.

“How—” You couldn’t finish the question, your voice cracking with emotion.

Lando smiled, his eyes glowing with warmth. “I know how much you’ve been missing them, so I flew them out. They’re here, just like you always wanted. We’re all going to have Christmas together.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that washed over you. “Lando… I can’t believe you did this.”

“You deserve to have your family with you, especially at Christmas,” he said softly. “I love you. And I wanted this to be perfect.”

Your heart was in your throat as you rushed toward your family, embracing them all at once. The warmth of their hugs enveloped you, and it felt as if all the space between you and home had finally melted away.

After the initial whirlwind of emotions settled, Lando gathered everyone together, leading you all into the living room, where the fire crackled softly in the hearth. It felt like a dream—a beautiful, surreal dream.

He turned to you then, his eyes shining. “There’s one more thing I need to do.”

Before you could even react, he was kneeling in front of you, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. You gasped, the breath catching in your chest.

“[Y/N],” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion, “Christmas isn’t just about family. It’s about love. And you’re my everything. I want to spend every Christmas with you for the rest of our lives. So, will you marry me?”

The room fell silent, all eyes on you. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, the words struggling to break free. But as you looked into Lando’s eyes, the man who had brought your family halfway across the world just to make this Christmas unforgettable, the answer was already clear.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

The room erupted into cheers and applause as Lando slid the ring onto your finger, his smile brighter than the Christmas lights surrounding you. It was a moment you would never forget—a moment where love, family, and everything you held dear came together in the most perfect way.

As you kissed him, feeling the joy and warmth of everything you’d ever wanted, you whispered against his lips, “This really is the very merriest Christmas.”

Lando’s arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you closer as the cheers of your family echoed around you. “It’s only just begun,” he murmured. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

And with that, you knew you were home, no matter where you were.

[headkiss]

hi hi there! Newcomer to your blog here, and I just wanna say that I love love love your writing sm, it makes me warm and happy and I wanna consume it like good soup. I saw that you’re looking for Spencer requests (my beautiful beloved baby) and I was wondering if I could just request a classic friends to lovers where the reader is a member of the team, and gets hurt on a case and that’s what makes Spencer realize? Any format you’d like. This might be a bit tmi but I just got broken up with and honestly fictional men are the only thing getting me through this rn, and seeing you were taking requests was just straight up happiness. Thank you!

this is so sweet what if i cry :,) i hope this helps you at least a little bit (especially since this has been sitting in my drafts for a MINUTE) <3 you will get through this my love (spencer thinks so too!) | 0.7k words!! my first spencer fic so bare with me 😅 tw mention of a knife and a small injury !

You’re no stranger to taking risks. Nobody at the BAU is. It’s practically written into your job descriptions. Split-second decisions, no room for mistakes.

Only, usually they seem to pay off. Mostly. This time, you aren’t so lucky.

After three days of profiling and trying to catch this unsub, of new victims and suspects and secrets uncovered by Garcia, you’ve finally found him. Apprehending an unsub seems to either be the easiest or toughest part of a case.

This time around, it’s the latter. He’s stubborn, and smarter than you’d like to admit, and when you think you’ve got an opening, the upper hand, that one wrong move proves you wrong.

It’s so quick, the way he grabs your wrist and twists your arm behind your back harshly, a pained groan escaping your mouth before you can suppress it. The way the team all springs into action quickly, talking to him calmly, Hotch at the forefront.

And the look on Spencer’s face. The pleading in his eyes that he can’t seem to control.

He’s who you look to first. Who you keep looking at, because you think if anyone could keep you calm in this moment, if anyone could make you believe you’ll be okay, it’s him.

There’s a knife held to your neck, a cruel grip on your arm, and still, you look at Spencer.

“I won’t cut her if you let me go,” the unsub says. You squeeze your eyes shut before blinking them back open.

You know Hotch has a plan, and if he doesn’t, then Emily does, and so on. They’re all incredible, and there’s not a part of you that thinks they won’t get you out of this, but your heart still pounds, your stomach still twists in fear.

“Go ahead,” Hotch says.

“Hotch-” Spencer’s voice is quiet but sharp. He trusts Aaron, he always has, but you aren’t something he wants to gamble.

“You won’t get far,” Hotch continues.

You find Spencer’s eye and nod at him, so slight that he’d be the only one to pick up on it, since he’s paying such close attention to you. Under different circumstances, you might feel your heart flutter from it.

Sure enough, Aaron does have a plan, and before you can really process what he’s said or done to get through to him, the unsub lets you go with a harsh push, and the first place you go is into Spencer’s waiting arms.

“Take her outside, Reid, we’ve got this,” Morgan says quickly. Spencer doesn’t fight him on it.

He walks you out with one arm tight around your waist and the other stabilizing your wrist. His hands are far kinder than the ones that had been on you moments ago, and you let him hold some of your weight until you’re settled sitting in the back of one of the ambulances on scene.

Spencer watches them wrap your wrist with a tensor bandage, watches them assure you that it’s just a sprain, that you’re otherwise injury-free. He holds your good hand the entire time. Maybe too tightly.

You both wait until the paramedics are done and have walked away to help somebody else before speaking.

“Well, that was fun,” you say. Your instincts are always to play things down, to hide behind jokes. Still, you let yourself lean your head against Spencer’s shoulder.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. The hand that isn’t holding yours covers your bouncing knee. “I know a lot about odds, and they weren’t in our favor back there.”

“It was mostly my fault, probably. I let him get too close.”

“We arrived seconds later than we should have. That car slowed us down in the intersection on the way, and then the rest was off.” He tells you. Comforting you the way he knows how; with the facts. “Time is what went wrong. Not you. Never you.”

You pick your head up and turn your head to look at him, his hair falling around his ears, his eyes still worried but soft. “Never, huh? I’m gonna remember that.”

Reid squeezes your good hand, his pinky running across your wrist to find your pulse, like he’s making sure you’re really okay. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so afraid on the job.”

“Not even when you’re the one being held like that?” you ask.

“No,” he tells you. “Not even then.”

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 (𝓕. 𝓣𝓲𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓪𝓻)

…I have no words for this or myself. Enjoy.

Contains (ooh boy): kissing and I mean nasty kissing, spanking, teasing, oral f receiving, Fiyero sucks you off the bone and is unhinged about it, multiple rounds, multiple 0rgasms, fatcxck! Fiyero, stomach bulge, creaming and squirting, dacriphylia, disgusting kissing like seriously, more crying, unprotected and minimally provoked railing, ZERO plot, some fluff I think😭

‎ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ.

So much for starting off the new year in a wholesome way….

“Come now, princess. We won’t have a happy new year if you don’t say it back”, Fiyero teases you. Words dripping in false sweetened concern against your lips that are dropped open in pleasure; dipping his head to tongue along the roof of your mouth, pace unrelenting in the way his cock slams into your wet heat.

You’d say it back if you could.

Having been at this for some time since you’d woken Fiyero up to insist he kiss you before midnight or else you two wouldn’t be together in the New Year. Fiyero, sweet as ever, was more than willing to indulge you but things swiftly got out of control when after kissing you, he swirled his tongue around your mouth like he was trying to commit your taste to memory before pulling away, smacking his lips.

Your body lights up with that heavy warmed molasses feeling as Fiyero settles on top of you, looking down into your eyes as he suggests:

“How about a double kiss? You know, so we’ll definitely be together in the new year.” Huh? You’d never heard of that and as Fiyero keeps distracting you, big warm hands caressing all over your body leaving scorching shivers in their wake. His hands so heavy with intent that it takes you a minute before you ask.

“What’s a double kiss?”

Aww. You really are such a treat. Fiyero quirks an eyebrow as he coos at you. Nosing along your neck until he reaches your ear. He knows exactly what a double kiss is and he can’t wait to show you, blood humming through his body at the thought of your sweet, soft self under his tongue as he ‘kisses’ you. Fiyero drags his hands down lower, slowly feeling the material of your pretty nightie under his palms before settling them on your thighs; making you gasp with a firm squeeze- when he whispers in your ear through the tension that now coats the room.

“Let me show you? They’re very sweet, you’ll love it, pet.” Oh? You try to ignore the quickening of your heart as you nod at him.

“O-okay..” You sounded so cute and nervous that Fiyero’s chest swelled with affection, kissing wetly down your body, moving your sleepwear up to suckle at all the newly exposed skin that was so much warmer the lower he got.

Fiyero tries to take a deep breath, calm down a little but it’s of little use when all he can smell and feel is you. His position quickly gave you the idea of what a double kiss was and you shiver at the thought. Sensing your nerves, Fiyero takes your hands in his- licking slowly down your bellybutton to the top of your cunt then looking up to quickly reassure you even as his mouth waters in anticipation of your wetness.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll go easy.”

About 15 minutes and 2 orgasms later, he in fact did not go easy on her. The second he opened your legs and saw your fat lips shining under a heavy gloss of your juices, he lost it. Shoving his face into you as he lapped into your hole like a dog. Thick, heavy licks through your folds, suckling messily at your clit.

The sudden onslaught of sharp pleasure made you cry out, hands flying to pull at his hair, needing to get a break from the intensity but your moans of “not so hard” fell on deaf ears and the second time you pulled his hair, Fiyero’s entire mouth was over your pussy when he moaned, vibrating your soaking pussy in the process, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream, thighs clamping shut as you cum all over his face.

Fiyero’s eyes flutter as the taste of your squirt hits his tongue, feeling almost drunk and he hums in satisfaction. Lips moving as he makes out with your cunny, fat and hard in his pants as he presses his tongue in harder strokes against you. Shivers wrack up your spine from overstimulation but he doesn’t pay it any mind- flipping you on your stomach while you’re still breathless, positioning you in a low arch. Hot hands rub up the sides of your thighs, his lips kissing down the back of each one and you flush from the exposure, calling his name in uncertainty.

“Fiyero?”

He has to physically tear his eyes away from the sight. The new angle letting him see everything from the creaminess of your still spasming hole to the soft pucker of your other whole and he’s aching to have his tongue in you again.

“Mmm, yeah lovely?”

“What’re doin’?” You’re clearly still dazed from how fast and hard you came but it’s fine. He’s got you.

“Kissing you. So we’ll be together in the new year. S’that alright darling?” He purrs out and you visibly melt even as you feel yourself getting a bit of an attitude. He was talking to you like that on purpose. But still, you nod anway.

“Yeah, that’s alright”.

No sooner than the words left your mouth, his was on you again. Tonguing your hole before flicking the nub repeatedly in lavish strokes. You tried to muffle yourself by burying your head in the pillows but a sharp smack that echoed in time with the stinging burn that came after had your raising your head, keening dizzily when you were rewarded with three fingers rubbing against that warm bundle of nerves inside you and a muffled “good girl” before lips wrapped around your clit, hot tongue grinding against the underside and you were cumming so hard you couldn’t hear- wailing breathlessly.

You fall onto your stomach, so busy trying to catch your breath before Fiyero kills you that when he maneuvers you to laying on your back, it takes about five minutes and your vision clearing to realize it.

Fiyero peppers kisses all over your face and neck as he looks fondly at the state he’s put you in, needing to have you. Licking his lips, he can still taste you and it makes the nerves beneath his skin simmer. Those whining sobs that fell from your lips at when you came all over him are his favorite and he wishes to make you sound that way all the time. His pretty little thing, feeling so good you don’t know what to do with yourself…

Your eyes are glued to the veins on his thick forearms as he undresses, gasping hotly when he drags you down the bed by your ankles, resting them on his shoulders, kissing the inside of your knee as he asks,

“Ready to be more together? In the New Year?” The sight of his dimples showing through his dangerous little smirk let you know that he planned on you two being together either way but you nod, smiling back.

“Absolutely. Wanna be full of you not just in this new year, but all of them.” Fiyero groans at the innuendo, sliding himself through your folds and coating himself in your juices before slamming into the hilt, eyes locked on your face.

“You will, see? Happy New Year’s baby.”

Which led you to now;- with him fucking you well into after midnight, so wet that it leaks down the front of his thighs. Hips rolling into you so deep, you feel the pressure of it on the inside of your bellybutton as Fiyero makes you cry for it.

You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d woken all of Oz with the very happy New Year you’re having, goosebumps rising over your skin as Fiyero licks and bites at your puffy nipples, hips moving relentlessly as he slams his fat cock into you- battering that gooey spot inside you. You couldn’t remember how many times you’ve cum and Fiyero clearly didn’t care, ruining you with how good he was fucking you, moving his mouth off your chest to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, intertwining his tongue with yours before sucking it into his mouth. It was so hot you feared you’d evaporate, actively concentrating on your form so you don’t float away.

Breaking apart as you moan in unison, Fiyero lazily raises an eyebrow as he groans out in your face,

“You have to say it back, sweet thing. Or else it won’t work.” The mock concern shouldn’t be hot because you’re not a whore (for him you are) but it was your superstition that started this. As soon as you open your mouth to say it back, there’s a warm palm and pressure as Fiyero presses down on the outline of his cock through your tummy and you scream- really feeling him now.

Fiyero’s hips stutter at the way you seal tighten, spasming walls threatening to milk him dry as you cry prettily, biting his lip at how hard you’re making it for him not to cum. Normally he’d let you off the hook but teasing you is always fun so pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, he fucks into you a bit slower but harder, making you feel every inch. The result is worth it. The loud smacks where you connected sound even wetter and Fiyero swears as he looks down, seeing sloppy white rings around the thick base of his cock as it stretched you out.

You were creaming.

Creaming hard too, white splashing out of you, flecking onto his lower stomach, tears budding in your eyes as you wail brokenly- still trying to form words but can’t. Just looking at you does it, the dark hickies scattered around your chest, soft skin wet with sweat and orgasm as you creamed his cock had him shooting ropes deep into you, head thrown back moaning in bliss.

He grinds, humping into you until the coil in his stomach is completely gone, leaving a warm buzz from the back of his skull and down. Breathing for a minute he looks down to check on you but you’re already falling asleep. Smiling, he shakes you gently, laughing at the irritated look you shoot him in your exhaustion.

“My deepest apologies in bothering you but I must vacate your premises so we can clean up.” He whispers against your cheek as he kisses it. You simply wind your arms over his back in a hug before snuggling into him, eyes still shut as you mumble sleepily.

“Stay put, we can do that later…still gotta stay together.” His chest warms at how content you are with him and he settles on you again, cock softening inside you.

“Ah, right. For the New Year?”

“Mmhm”, and he can hear you roll your eyes before whispering back.

“Goodnight angel.”

“Goodnight pretty pain in my ass.”

He huffs out a laugh but closes his eyes as he listens to your heartbeat, smiling.

Every year is good so long as it has you.

[mistiell]

Hi hi hi!! I legit JUST started Arcane and I saw you wanted some Viktor requests, so I was wondering if you could write something that’s reader insert, and the reader is trying to get Viktor to take a break, so they a resorting to smothering him in kisses 🤭

Sorry this is so late and so short, I hope you enjoy anyway <3 wc: 816

---

It isn’t as quiet in the lab after hours as you’d expect, you’ve come to realize in the past few months. There isn’t nearly as much chatter or foot traffic as there is during office hours, for obvious reasons, but the monotonous hum of electricity, the whirring of electric cooling systems and occasional burble of liquid ones have become something like white noise to you by now, with how much time you spend in your cozy, makeshift corner of the lab.

By this hour, most of the academy is asleep or getting there. But not you, and certainly not your Viktor. The tousled mess of his hair is just barely visible over the spine of your book, and you listen to him sigh for the umpteenth time in the past hour before muttering to himself in a language you’ve yet to quite understand.

With a small sigh of your own, you close your book after marking your page, stretching your arms overhead with a quiet grunt before rising to your feet. He doesn’t turn to look at you as you cross the short distance to stand behind him, and startles rather violently when you place your hands on his shoulders before sliding them down his chest.

“You scared me.” He chuckles softly, palms covering the backs of your hands and rubbing sweet lines into the skin of your wrists with his thumbs. You can feel the tension in his shoulders ebb little by little as you kiss your way from his collar to the underside of his jaw, and he tilts his head ever so slightly to allow you more access to the pale column of his throat.

“Sorry.” It’s half-hearted and hummed into the side of his larynx as you press your lips to his pulse point, teeth barely grazing the delicate skin there when you smile at the way he shudders.

With a frustrated huff, he spins in his chair to face you, taking your hips in his hands and glaring playfully up at your smug grin. “Must you be such a distraction?”

“When you’re still sat here despite it being several hours past the end of your work day?” You start sarcastically, letting him guide you to stand between his legs, “I should think so.”

He sighs at you, and you know you likely won’t get very far convincing him if you don’t find a way to coax him out of the lab. Cradling his face in your palms, you dip down slowly, watching him abandon his annoyed act in favour of staring at your lips. You pause just as your bottom lip ghosts over his cupid’s bow, angling your face slightly to press the tip of your nose into the side of his. His breath fans over your mouth, easy breaths warming your skin. Ever impatient, you feel one of his hands slide up to the nape of your neck, giving the flesh there an affectionate squeeze as he pulls you closer, kissing you tenderly. You indulge him, until he nips at your bottom lip, a silent request to taste you. Pulling back just enough to speak, you feel his confusion in the way his thumb caresses the soft palette behind your ear, always concerned with your well being.

“Come to bed.” You whisper before he can ask why you pulled away. Confliction paints itself blatantly over his features, and you know with just a little more persuasion, you’ll have him.

“Ten more minutes.” You kiss him again, softly and suddenly, and his hand slides from your neck to your cheek.

“Five-.” He breaks away to reason, only to receive his ‘not good enough’ by way of another kiss. Finally, he chuckles through his nose, his laughter puffing rhythmically over the apple of your cheek. You pull back, and he huffs dramatically, “Ugh, fine, you win.”

Triumphant, you grin at your victory, leaning down to pepper his face with kisses.

“Okay, alright-!” He laughs, catching your face between his hands and kissing you properly before pulling back, smiling with a tired softness, “To bed with both of us, hm?”

“Finally.” You reply dramatically as you step out of his embrace to grab your bag as he stands.

“Oh, enough with your sass.” He replies, knocking your ankle lightly with the tip of his cane, “I could very easily change my mind.”

“Mhm.” You hum disbelievingly as you watch him continue to pack up his things. He shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye that quickly turns into an eye roll when you pucker your lips and make comical mwah sound at him.

“Hush.” He chuckles, slipping into his coat and slinging his bag over his shoulder before offering you his arm. You hook your elbow around his gladly, making your way out of the lab towards some much, much needed rest.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : How do I unblock myself ?

I am the baddie and the CEO !

PERSONAL READING (SALE) (LINK)

FIRE TO THE MOON

FUTURE LOVE + SEX DOUALA = 40$ (2for1)

DOWN TO MY CORE

CHARACTER UPDAPTE + LORE DUMP = 40$ (2for1)

PILE 1

SONG : DENIAL IS RIVER - Doechii

You’ve been carrying the weight of your own potential like a secret, whispering your brilliance instead of shouting it to the world. But here’s the truth: you are radiant, and your beauty—inside and out—is a currency that opens doors others can’t even see. Stop pretending it’s not. Stop shrinking to make others comfortable.

The path forward is in embracing what you already know but are hesitant to accept: your uniqueness is not just a gift; it’s your power. You don’t need to downplay it to seem more “relatable” or “deserving.” That humility you think keeps you grounded is only a chain, not an anchor. Let it go.

You’ve already built a foundation with so much love and intention, but it’s time to celebrate it. Celebrate yourself. Success isn’t meant to be a struggle at every turn, and the easiest path to it is the one that feels natural—effortless even. Trust the parts of you that others admire, the parts you sometimes brush aside.

This isn’t about arrogance; it’s about truth. Lean into your talents, your charm, and your allure without apology. Once you do, you’ll find the rhythm of your life moving in harmony with your dreams. That’s when the celebration begins—not just for you, but for everything you’ll inspire in those lucky enough to witness your journey.

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK

PILE 2

SONG : WAHALA - CKay ft Olamide

You’ve been circling the same path, trying to figure out why you can’t break free. The answer? You’ve been holding the key this entire time, but you’re afraid to use it. You keep telling yourself it’s safer to stay where you are—working hard, waiting for the moment when things finally make sense. But deep down, you know that moment won’t come until you let go of what no longer serves you.

You’re stuck in a cycle because you’re clinging to an old way of being, one that feels familiar but drains you. You’ve been trying to build something solid without fully trusting your vision, collaborating without trusting yourself. That hesitation is keeping your world small.

The truth is, the only way forward is through. You have to let yourself feel the disappointment of what didn’t work out and stop looking for clarity in the same old places. You already know what needs to change, even if it feels uncomfortable or risky. Stop waiting for permission to want more, to ask for more, to be more.

Your breakthrough is on the other side of surrender. Not to the cycle, but to yourself. Let go of what’s blocking you—fear, overthinking, or even relationships that don’t inspire you. Start creating from a place of passion instead of perfection, and watch how quickly the walls around you crumble. This is your chance to rewrite the story and step into the life you’ve been dreaming of. It’s waiting for you, but you have to decide you’re ready.

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK

PILE 3

SONG : OZEBA - Rema

You’ve been standing at a crossroads, torn between the safe path and the one that whispers promises of power you’ve been too afraid to claim. That hesitation, that fear of stepping into the unknown, has left you feeling disconnected—not just from others, but from yourself. It’s time to face the truth: you can’t keep running from the shadows when they’re the very place your light is meant to shine.

You’ve been rejecting parts of yourself that are raw, intense, and undeniably magnetic, all in an effort to stay within the lines someone else drew for you. But those lines? They were never meant for you. The parts of yourself you’ve been hiding—the hunger, the ambition, the fire—aren’t flaws. They’re your power, waiting to be unleashed.

Embracing your dark side doesn’t mean losing control; it means reclaiming it. The things you’ve been taught to fear—your desires, your intuition, even the mysteries of the occult—are tools, not traps. They’re there to guide you, to help you break free from the chains of self-doubt and scarcity.

You don’t need permission to step into this version of yourself. You don’t need anyone else’s approval to explore the magic that lives within you. This is your moment to shed the fear, to rewrite the rules, and to rise—unapologetically. Let your curiosity lead you into the unknown, and trust that even in the darkest corners, you’ll find exactly what you need to create the life you’ve been craving.

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK

[coichii]

SKZ WITH CRUSH ON SECRET SOFTIE READER

—(🎧)—> headcanons on skz x secret softie reader

pairing -OT8 SKZ (seperate)♥︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff, request

word count - 1.5k combined

warnings - not in even pieces… I apologize 😢

CHAN

Chan definitely finds himself just slightly (not slightly) intimidated by you

He’s seen you in and around the company before, and immediately found himself struck at your beauty

He’s gotten a lot of pestering from Han to go talk to you, but your quiet demeanor makes him too nervous to give it a shot.

He thought you were beautiful, but he was way too nervous to actually make a move.

It was one late night later, Chan

You spotted him as you were getting ready to leave, feling guilty as you knew he would be the last person there that night if you had left

You don’t know why you knock on his studio door at nearly 12:00am in the morning, but you don’t regret it when you see his pretty face as he opens the door littered in eyebags

He’s obviously a little surprised, asking why you were there then practically melting when you say you were worried about him

He didn’t know you had this side to you, but he was absolutely loving it

LEE KNOW

Now with Minho, I don’t feel like he would be intimidated by you when he first met you, he was more so flustered by how quiet you were

He’s known you for a while now, and one of the main reasons you get along is that your personalities are similar

Aka tough on the outside, soft on the inside

It took him a while to realize that he liked you

Well…took him a while to accept that he liked you. Not because of you or anything, but because it was such a new feeling, a crush deeper than he’s ever felt

But when you would buy him food just because he mentioned he was hungry he couldn’t help but fall for you

Or when you would comfort him after a hard day, running your hands through his silky strands of hair, he couldn’t stop blushing

Has has had multiple instances where he’s wanted to confess, but backed out it out of fear that you won’t feel the same since it’s hard to read your emotions

You’ll just have to tell him first <3

CHANGBIN

If there was one person that would be the most intimidated, it would be him

Always sees you with such a quiet serious demeanor, so when he finally sees you let that goofy side out whilst talking to your friends from afar, he malfunctions

Now when he finally built up the courage to go talk to you, he would do anything to try and get you to show that side to him

As you get closer, he would always blush furiously when you would look at quiet and scary then lay your eyes upon him and smile

And when I say he does everything to see it again, I really do mean it

Finds himself buying you food from his own pocket every time you guys hangout just to see that adorable smile and giggle

Finds himself thinking about you whenever he writes a love song

(Has written lyrics about you but he would never confess that)

Loves from afar because just like Minho, he’s worried you won’t feel the same

And just like Minho, you’ll probably have to tell him first 😭

HYUNJIN

Now this man finds you utterly adorable

He can’t find the seriousness in it, he just thinks you look cute all quiet and bundled up in a blanket while reading

Your lips are placed in a thin line as you read, but all he wants to do is go kiss those lips into a smile

Likes it when you let him join you in whatever activity you’re doing in solitude

He thinks it’s the best thing ever

One time when you had invited him over to his house, he was shocked to learn the fact that you have multiple plushies littered EVERYWHERE across the room

The blush on your cheeks when you explained them to him is a picture that is forever burnt into his mind

So don’t be surprised if a hello kitty stuffy randomly ends up in your arms one day with a flustered dumpling handing it to you

Definitely confesses with something hello kitty related, and loves the look on your face when you do

JISUNG

You know how I said the most intimated would be Changbin?

Well I lied, it’s definitely Han

That serious look on your face is intimidating as hell to him, and the last thing he would want to do is embarrass himself

Sticks to watching you from afar up until the point where he sees you act all cute and silly with a couple of friends

That’s where he loses his sanity as has just got to try his shot

(He’s still to scared to talk to you im person so he slips a note to you and runs away like a little kid, leaving a very confused you)

You can’t be upset at him though, especially when you see what’s actually written on the note (aka the cutest “I wanna be your friend” ever)

Now when you actually get close, he’s a lot like the other guys

In which, he would do anything to get that silly and soft side out of you again

He does this most by trying to make you laugh, or honestly anything to see you smile

He ends up make a fool out of himself often just to hear that adorable, airy laughter

But he can take the red hot face if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that

FELIX

Another guy I feel wouldn’t be intimidated and would just find you adorable from the get go

Being close friends with Minho means he has experience in this sort of thing

(Also because he doesn’t see that serious side of you too often considering everybody melts when they see that ray of sunshine we call Felix)

He finds it really easy to talk to you, way more so than any of the other guys do

Just sees right through that barrier and automatically sees that softie adorable side you have

Now for him, he doesn’t have to try much to get the soft part of you, just occurs naturally

Honestly all he has to do is flash that smile and you’re done for

But his heart burns up every time he gets even a huff of your laugh, or a flash of your smile

It’s kind of like a secret weakness to him lol😭

Honestly when it’s you & him together, you’re just a bunch of sunshine’s lighting everything up

SEUNGMIN

I’m a little bit lost on where to start his

I feel like he wouldn’t be intimidated, but like Minho, flustered about how you are

He’s seen the softie side come out a couple times before, and it feels like an actual shot to his heart each time

He doesn’t know why (he does he’s just ignoring it) each time you smile his face gets all hot and his heart rate increases so rapidly

Idk maybe it’s the flu 🤷🏾‍♀️

Anywho, he doesn’t try to get the softie out of you, it just happens sometimes

But that doesn’t mean he won’t try to make it last longer when it magically does happen…

Definitely lends you anything and everything of his that you could possibly need when you so much as mention it

One time you guys went on a walk together and you (foolishly) thought you wouldn’t need a jacket

…you found yourself shivering 5 minutes in

He definitely notices the pink flush on your face and the slight shaking of your body

“Here, take it idiot.” He grumbled, handing his jacket to you with a furious blush on his face

You thanked him ofcourse, and you guess the way you said it must have done something

Why?

Because hes suddenly frozen and blushing even deeper than he had been

JEONGIN

Would be the second most intimated out of all of them

To him, you look so cute but so scary at the same time and at this point he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling

His hyungs definitely try and convince him to go talk to you, but he always backed out of fear

Until a certain fool (Han) went and talked to you himself

All you saw was a random man run up to you, point at his friend who was harshly covering his face with hands, and explain how he wanted to talk to you

Thankfully for him, you agreed

At first he was mad at Han, but when he sees your beautiful boba eyes sparkle as you introduce yourself with a small smile, he can’t help but think he’s a god damn saint

Find himself blushing at every single thing you do

You could be just sitting there scrolling on your phone and his mind is raving about how utterly adorable you are

Also tries to get that softie side out of you, but it comes naturally as-well

Just kind of sees you with that same straight faced look, plops down beside you, and sees the corner of your lips turning upward

Honestly, it’s disgusting mutual pining, but Jeongin still thinks that you’re not into him like that

Partially because your emotions can be hard to read sometimes

…but mainly because he can be a little dense when it comes to love

Yeah… you’ll probably have to tell him first 

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

18. It means, my dear sister 💌

Spending money becomes a hobby when it doesn’t come out of your pockets.

“So what are you thinking of buying him?” You ask while sipping a bubble tea–the very drink that caused your descent into a comfortable pile of pillows.

Thoma runs a hand through his golden hair before scanning the clothing racks, “That’s why you’re here because, I have no idea.”

“And I’m supposed to know?”

He stops in his tracks, tilts his head, and squints. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. You always can–Thoma is an open book, but something about his gaze makes you uneasy. He takes a sip of his drink and shrugs, “Two heads are better than one.”

You sigh and it’s not a breath of relief, “How about clothes?”

Thoma shakes his head in disapproval as he feels the fabric of a navy blue polo, “He has more luxury brands than I can count.” That’s not surprising considering the car Childe owns or the clothes he wears in his posts. You can tell he comes from a wealthy family both in love and money.

“Did you ask him what he wants?”

Thoma looks at you as if you were a failed experiment he had the consequence of cleaning after–synonymous with the expression he gives you every day so it’s no different, just exaggerated, “If he told me, I wouldn’t be here. He said, “Surprise me,” With what? A successful talking stage? A therapist?”

You chuckled, recalling the conversation you had a few hours ago. You surmise that the ginger is more of a provider than a receiver. Perhaps in all context, “I bet he’d like anything you give him.”

“He would. He’s like a golden retriever on crack. He’s a dumbass, but he’s funny so it cancels out. It reminds me of a time when he was practicing in the gym for a swim competition—and a girl walked in looking for something. He thought she was pretty so he started acting cool but in the locker room there was a huge rat and he came out screaming, “I’m not a pervert.”

You giggle with your brother whose head is thrown back from a fit of laughter. His free hand hovered over his stomach and his face was bright tomato. You recall the day it happened–how gorgeous Childe looked in the water and how silly he seemed running out for help. That was a throwback.

“That’s insane.”

He nods aggressively while catching his breath, trying to form the right words without coughing, “Exactly, but I think he’s hung up on that girl.”

“Really?” You act surprised.

“I just have a hunch.”

“Does he like that girl?” Maybe you shouldn’t have pressed. But when Childe is the subject of conversation you seem to want more, to know more, to see more.

Your brother thinks. You know that expression too well. Something he does as a habit every time he’s being witty, thinking of trouble, or giving you the best advice your parents couldn’t compare to. Finally, he finds his thoughts, “I’m not sure, he has a habit of getting attached and disconnecting. It’s happened before–multiple times.”

“Oh.”

The thing about the English language or any language for that matter is that there are words used interchangeably depending on the tone one uses–either surprise, disappointment, or disgust.

And the thing about Thoma is that he reads people, especially those he holds dear.

“But with her…” He begins, “It’s different. The way he talks about her is the same as when he talks about swimming–You can see the passion.”

That comforts you. It gives you hope, but too much of it is dangerous. Childe is a book everyone discusses with praise and you want to know why but a part of you dreads that once you do, you won’t like the ending. That you’ll be disappointed with the money and time you spent because the hype wasn’t for you.

But curiosity is human greed. And Childe is a conversation you want to have, “What does he say about her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Because I’m scared of being disappointed again.

“I’m just curious—you made him sound like a playboy. Maybe the girl needs to be warned.”

“It’s not like he’s a bad guy. I just don’t want him or her to get hurt. Relationships aren’t easy—you know that.”

“What if…” You start, already regretting the question in your head. But Thoma looks at you expectantly, urging you to continue, “I started seeing someone like him… what would you say?”

“I’d say fuck him.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

He shoves you out of the store and you almost stumble next to a person.

“I’m joking! Give me a serious answer then.”

He crosses his arms and squints his eyes before raising a brow, “Why? Who’s this guy? What’s his name?”

You give him a look.

He matches it but he gives in, “Someone like Childe? There’s no one like him. As much as I shit on him, he has a good character, and I respect that. So I’d say unless you’re bringing the real one, don’t come home at all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, my dear sister…” Thoma opens his mouth then shuts it close only to shake his head as if constricting himself, “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs and says nothing more.

You follow your brother, pushing back the conversation you had despite the questions ramming your head every thirty seconds.

But when you pass by a cosmetic store, a new thought comes to mind.

“You should buy him skin care.”

NOTES:

👀👀 i’m on a roll with these updates

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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[szyvrue]

GREEN EGGS AND HAM, miya osamu.

( 10.6k ) tropes ── meet messy(ish?) to lovers speedrun, baker x chef, mistletoe kisses, scheming friends.

wdym this is over twelve hours late ... happy holidays, @tulip-room! i hope the inflated word count makes up for the late submission. getting to know you through the server has been a gift and i really hope you enjoy the fic <3 this was written for @lale-txt's secret santa, thank you sm for organising this lale x

credits to @/nectardaddy for the divider.

I.

The holidays is, par the course, a time of great stress for you: as the designated Christmas host, December finds itself packed full of activities, lists, organisation, recipe testing—this year is no different. When you really think about it, organising Christmas with friends is no different from organising one with a family that halfway hates each other. Two of your friends are unreliable and RSVP two days after the last possible date; one will have his answer in by the day and have weekly check-ins to see how things are going and readily offer you a list of allergies or foods to avoid; one almost accidentally invites half of his contact list, which stretches longer than it has any right to; two (not naming names) decide to ruin all your plans two weeks before Christmas.

Oh, whatever. You’re naming them. Hinata Shouyou and Miya Atsumu. See, you’ve spent the first two weeks of December planning. You have had everyone RSVP, you underwent the arduous task of finding out dietary requirements (have you ever had to figure out a Christmas meal plan when the invitees have the diets of professional athletes and you consider dessert the core of a Christmas meal?), you’ve already mostly decorated your apartment, you’ve made a comprehensive meal plan. You’ve practically organised everything down to the minute. And what do those two do, in the face of your extensive planning?

They spit in your face, that’s what.

“We’re really sorry,” Hinata says, at least having the sense to look sheepish. “We didn’t mean to double book.”

“It just kinda happened,” Atsumu agrees, looking far less repentant. He just has a criminally guilty face like that. “We know it’s a lot to spring on you so close to the date, but seriously, Samu’s a great chef. He won’t make it hard on you.”

“How do you accidentally overbook on Christmas?” You hiss, half offended and half baffled. “Seriously? You couldn’t have told me this earlier? Why not just invite him along? I can accommodate an extra guest, but a co-host?”

The boys exchange a glance. Atsumu is the one to speak. “Well, we didn’t want ta make one of you feel bad but asking you to, uh, give up your hard work. And you guys’ll get along great! He’s really…”

“Friendly!” Hinata pipes up, nodding aggressively. “He’s a chef, too—did we say that yet?—so he can help you with the food. And he probably won’t mind. And he’s conscientious. And—”

“Stop trying to pitch this guy to me,” you groan. You bury your head in your hands, taking a moment to breathe. Okay, okay. You’re flexible. You’re accommodating. You can handle this. Why can’t you just host Christmas, though? Miya Osamu may be a chef, but as a baker you’re far from a hazard in the kitchen. Anyone that’s had your Christmas pudding practically fights to get you back in there. And what about his Christmas guest list? How much more food do you have to make? How many guests do you have to host? Will he want to take over dinner now? What about—

“We’re really sorry.” Hinata leans over the counter, gripping your hand between his own. “We know this is short notice. I really think you’ll get along with Osamu though, and there shouldn’t be too many adjustments. There’s, like, a two person invite difference. You have really overlapping guest lists.” 

Your lips purse. Hate to admit it, you already know what your response is going to be.

II.

you: hey, is this miya osamu? you: hinata & atsumu gave me your number for christmas you: are you free anytime so we can discuss plans? sent 11:16am

miya osamu (christmas): yeah this is osamu miya osamu (christmas): sorry for the late response i was at work miya osamu (christmas): i can meet during my lunch break tomorrow miya osamu (christmas): or the weekend if you’re unavailable then sent 7:33pm

you: your lunch break sounds good! you: when around would that be? sent 7:45pm

miya osamu (christmas): about 1:30 miya osamu (christmas): onigiri miya miya osamu (christmas): just come up to the register and ask for me sent 7:47pm

you: alright, i’ll see you then sent 7:58pm

miya osamu (christmas): 👍 sent 7:59pm

III.

So. You meet Miya Osamu.

It’s 1:27pm when you venture into Onigiri Miya, which you Google Reviews prior to get a gauge for the place. A 4.9 star aggregate rating (impressive numbers) with what is alleged to be an affordable menu. If you’re taking it at face value, which you are, it looks like the kind of place you’d visit on your own. 

You’re fiddling awkwardly with your bag—which contains a written version of all your plans alongside your usual essentials—when you enter the store, eyes scanning over the crowd as if Miya Osamu himself will pop up with a sign around his neck. He doesn’t, because you’re at his place of work and not an airport.

Settling into line, you peer at the menu and debate whether you should buy something during your meal or just sit there and talk things through with Atsumu’s wayward twin. Or would Atsumu be the wayward twin, given his proclivity to ill-thought ideas? He was the one to suggest you merge Christmas with his unknown brother, and even if you’re the soulmates Atsumu alleges (or the perfect personality match Hinata declared) you doubt you’re both going to magically have the exact same plans. God, what if he’s allergic to, like, flour? That’d wipe out half your menu.

It doesn’t take long to reach the front of the line. “Hello,” you say to the worker behind the counter, lips curving into an awkward smile. “I’m, uh, here for Miya Osamu?” You offer them your name afterwards, just in case they were told to recognise you by it. There’s a moment's pause as the worker disappears towards the kitchen, followed shortly by the appearance of, you guessed it, Miya Osamu.

You’re not sure why you’re surprised to see Atsumu’s face copy-pasted on his identical twin brother, but it still shocks you for a second. Maybe it’s the difference in expression, relaxed and vaguely tired to his eccentric brother’s more proud visage; maybe the silver in place of gold, or the opposite parting, or the fact he’s wearing an apron while working in hospitality. You wouldn’t catch Atsumu dead in customer service.

He says your name, as if confirming that you are who you say you are. When you dip your head in a nod, he offers you a hand. “Nice to meet you. Tsumu doesn’t shut up about you.”

You try to think up a smart response. Something like ha, as if he’s much better when it comes to you or I’ve heard plenty about the enigmatic twin brother myself, but both feel flat. And false. You take his hand, shake it briefly, and quickly return your hand to the strap of your bag.

A pause. “Well, d’ya wanna sit inside?”

“Ah, sure.” You offer him a smile. “I’ll follow your lead?”

“Yeah.” He ignores your awkwardness, rolling his shoulders as if he’s physically letting your cumbrous attempts at responding to him slide off his back like water to a babbling brook. “You getting yourself anything? On the house, for the inconvenience.”

“If you don’t mind.” You rattle off a request for a snack, before being quietly led to one of the booths near the back of the shop. Miya Osamu (is just Osamu okay?) sits first and you follow, the chair scraping as you sit. You wince. “So, uh.”

“I’m really sorry for Atsumu,” he starts out of the gate, which is better than you were expecting—he does share a bloodline with Atsumu, after all. “I wasn’t exactly ecstatic hearing the news either, even if we’ve got a few weeks to sort things out.”

‘A few weeks’, you mouth. You’ve got two. Less than that, really. Twelve days. Your Christmas cake has been in the cupboard since August, feeding off of your fortnightly soaking in brandy. You’ve probably been planning for Christmas since the moment the day ticked over to November 1st. “Right. I was wondering—since we’re merging Christmas, how many more guests do we need to accommodate…?”

“Well, uh, I’m not sure who you have coming ‘round—”

“Oh, I wrote out a list.” You shuffle around in your bag for a second, pulling out the stapled collection of paper. “Sorry, I printed out a copy of everything so you’d be able to read through it. Or bring it home, if you needed to. I don’t know how long your break runs.”

“I can take a minute.” He says off-handedly, taking the paper from you with wide eyes. As he reads it over, you take an opportunity to bite into your food. “Huh. Sakusa must love you.” He glimpses over it. “You’ve even got dietary restrictions? You're an angel.”

You swallow your mouthful. It really is delicious. Atsumu wasn’t underselling his prowess. “I’m a baker,” you offer, “and also preparing the meals. Or, well, was? I figured it was important.”

He hums. “Looks like we’ve got kinda similar lists. You’re just missing Suna, Aran—friends from high school—and Ma.”

“Ma,” you say surreptitiously, “your Mom? Oh my.”

Osamu glances at you before snorting. “I don’t know what horror stories Tsumu’s been telling you, but she’s great. He’s just dramatic, he practically worships the ground she walks on on. Not that she doesn’t deserve it.”

“That’s part of what’s intimidating about it,” you groan. “Still, three more people isn’t bad. I was expecting a lot more.”

“You’ve got more people than I do to begin with. Yer inviting Tsumu’s whole team? Rowdy bunch, aren’t they?”

You shrug. “I only moved here a few months ago, so when Hinata took me in I wasn’t exactly resistant. I figured it was only polite, and half of them declined to visit family instead.”

He nods. “The shop should be able to hold eleven. Should I clear a section of the fridge for your stuff or do you want to bring it in on the day?”

“I was hoping we could still do it at my place,” you say tentatively, “I’ve got the apartment set up for Christmas, and you know the atmosphere half makes the holiday.”

“Onigiri Miya has an industrial kitchen,” he replies, “and a proper oven for cooking the ham—”

“The ham?” You stare. “I mean, if we want something, we could just grab some from the deli—”

“The deli? What deli serves Christmas ham?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s gonna be a roast?

“Not gonna be a roast?” Osamu stares at you, slack-jawed. “Whatdya just say to me?”

“Do you usually have roasts for Christmas?” You ask. 

He blinks at you. Blinks again. His lips twitch downwards, and oh God, this stranger with Atsumu’s face genuinely looks troubled. It barely takes him a second to flip through your paper, eyes landing on the menu with the dawning horror of a man being served his third divorce. “You’re kidding me. This is a snack platter.”

“Not really,” you defend, “I mean, we’ll be opening gifts, and socialising is important—dinner usually lasts a few hours on Christmas, we can’t have everyone filling up within twenty minutes. Besides, what about dessert? Everyone knows dessert is the main meal—”

“The main meal?” He squawks. “What rock have you been living under? Filled up in twenty minutes? Opening gifts with the food? You have to be joking. You’ll be sending guests home with an empty stomach!”

“It’s not like I’m going to put out a charcuterie board and call it a day! It’s just about smaller portions so people can sample more food and snack for longer.” You take another bite of your onigiri. It’s so good, which just makes it worse when Miya Osamu is so wrong.

“Christmas is the one time of year you’re able to gorge yourself sick during dinner and you’re subjecting your guests to deli ham and pastries?”

“Are you even reading the menu?” You ask, exasperated. “What would you do then? A roast ham, where everyone will be stuffed three slices in? A rotisserie chicken on the side? Because that doesn’t offer many choices. Forget an unfulfilled meal, that’d be boring.”

He gapes at you. “Look, a couple snacks as a pre-dinner meal while the ham is cooking is all fine and dandy, but as the whole meal? ‘Sides, presents are during snack time. You’ve got everything backwards.”

“What about dessert then? I mean, what’s the point of a Christmas cake—which I started in August, mind you—when no one’s got room for it? What about the custard? The pudding? The treats?”

“The dessert is complementary to a good dinner. Of course the desserts gonna feel like a showstopper if all people have had up till that point is crackers and dip—”

“Crackers and dip? Seriously?”

“Look, I said I’m all for snacks while dinner is still cooking, but this is just—”

Things don’t go well.

IV.

“Hey,” Atsumu says the next time you see each other, “how’d you and ‘Samu get on? Do I need to start planning a wedding?”

“A wedding?” You scoff. “Please. You could pair that man with a soggy napkin and the napkin wouldn’t last 30 minutes before considering complete dissolution.”

“Oh.” He looks at you for a second. “You know, most people think I’m the annoying twin.”

“They’ve clearly never met the idiot that calls itself your brother.”

“...Right.” Atsumu doesn’t look as happy as he normally would be when someone calls him the favourite twin—which really is a monumental occurrence—but rather like he’d just tripped on his laces and face planted into the sidewalk. “So, you’re not friends yet?”

“Oh, no, we’re perfectly friendly.” You say bitterly. “Absolutely wonderful. You know, he doesn’t think dessert makes a Christmas dinner? He has the idiotic idea in his head that the ham makes the meal! Can you believe that? Everyone knows the Christmas pudding makes or breaks the holiday, you’d think a chef would have more respect for—”

“Oh,” Atsumu says weakly, “right.”

V.

You take some time to cool off. This is indubitably a good idea. Within an hour, you come to a relatively simple resolution: it’s not that big of a deal. Well, it is, but even then you were overreacting. A bit exaggerative, maybe. You’re not really that angry, even if the both of you were bitchier than you had any right to be.

Maybe he’s right about the roast? Just because it’s not normal for you, doesn’t mean it’s not normal for anyone else. He is a chef. He could’ve been nicer on the desserts, though—what did your apple pie do to deserve that kind of vitriol?

You text Atsumu an apology for the rant. You were in the wrong for that, even if you’re not quite ready to apologise to his brother for acting out. You’ll sleep on it. Maybe the morning will come with the proper words and fully extinguished anger.

As you find out the next morning, you don’t have to send the first message.

miya osamu (christmas): hey miya osamu (christmas): i’m sorry abt how our talk went miya osamu (christmas): we clearly have different ideas of a christmas meal & i shouldntve blown up at you like that sent 6:13am

you: hi sorry, i just woke up you: honestly, you weren’t the only person overreacting. i’m really sorry about how poorly i acted you: i honestly don’t mind your roast idea you: i’m really sorry you: i’m honestly really embarrassed about how i acted sent 8:39am

miya osamu (christmas): dw miya osamu (christmas): i wasn’t exactly an angel miya osamu (christmas): ill be honest i still don’t get the want for smaller servings over a hearty meal miya osamu (christmas): but its not gonna kill me to try something new sent 1:31pm

you: actually i was thinking you: since you’re a chef, you probably have a better idea of what’d make a good christmas dinner you: so if you really want to go the roast route, i’m not going to complain you: i will admit that i really would prefer to have christmas at my place though! sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): i can work around that miya osamu (christmas): only issue is i’d have to transfer meal prep/food throughout the week sent 1:37pm

you: i’m okay with that you: should i send you my address? i was thinking maybe we could meet in person and work out a menu that works for both of us you: and you can take a look at my kitchen to see if it’ll be an okay substitute to your industrial kitchen sent 1:42pm

miya osamu (christmas): sounds good miya osamu (christmas): when are you free? sent 1:43pm

VI.

The second Osamu sees Atsumu coming, he struggles to suppress a groan. He loves Atsumu, he does, but there’s only one thing the guy will want to talk about right now: Christmas. Osamu’s more than happy to be hosting it—their Ma’s been in charge since they were born all the way up to Osamu opening Onigiri Miya, and he’s happy to take over the holiday and let her just enjoy the holiday. That being said, a last minute co-host wasn’t in the cards. At all. 

He’s heard your name enough to feel like you should be best buds, given how much Atsumu refuses to shut up about you. He’s never been subtle in his foray into matchmaking, but this? This takes the cake. It doesn’t matter how much c’mon Samu, you’ll love them! or ya know, this friend of mine loves this too or I should invite them ‘round sometime, dontcha think? Atsumu tries to ply him with, there’s no world in which this would happen and you’d both be fine with it. If you’ve heard half as much about him as he has you (which he’s pretty sure you haven’t, given the dumpster fire that was your first meeting) then you’d be just as aware that Christmas planning would probably get a bit messy at first. 

Barring the major issue of you valuing dessert over dinner (which, whatever, but who doesn’t have Christmas ham? He’d been half convinced you were joking at first) while he’s always put weight on the dinner—what can he say? With Christmas came free hams from his Ma’s work, and that was a once a year experience. It’s just how things are. However, Atsumu apparently expects the both of you to magically gain the ability to read minds and communicate perfectly and innately understand each other upon your first meeting. Idiot.

You were gorgeous, though. That was almost the worst part; he'd seen you, and he'd gone oh, that's why Tsumu's so desperate to set us up. You smiled, a shy, cracked smile, and for a second it was all he could think about. Then, of course, he started arguing like an idiot and things blew up out of control.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu cheers, rounding the table he’s scrubbing down to slap him on the shoulder, arm snaking across them. “Whatcha up to? Free for a chat?”

He snorts, eyes lingering on the door. “Where’s your henchman?”

“Shouyou’s busy,” Atsumu declares shamelessly. “I was just wondering… everything alright with Christmas?”

“Things are fine,” he says blandly, “don’t worry, yer getting a gift.”

He squeezes Osamu’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I meant planning Christmas. You’re getting on with—?”

“Yeah. Just had a couple misunderstandings. We’re ironing them out.”

“No fights? You’re all good?”

So he’s already interrogated you. Colour Osamu unsurprised. “Yep. Things are fine.”

“You sure?”

“Did they tell you otherwise?”

“Nah,” Atsumu says too quickly to actually be honest, “just worried for the less charismatic twin. I get why you might be having trouble.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Osamu replies. “Now stop nagging. Your food will be fine, your Christmas will be fine, your friend isn’t going to maul me to death. Everything's sorted.”

VII.

Okay, you were overdramatic. You’re not that angry that he doesn’t understand the sanctity of a proper Christmas cake, because, funny enough, different people celebrate Christmas differently. It’s Christmas, he was a little frustrated, you’re a little frustrated; you can offer the both of you the benefit of the doubt.

So when Miya Osamu shows up at your apartment three minutes into your allotted meeting time, lunchbox in one hand and a crumpled pile of paper in the other, you merely offer him an ever so slightly tense smile and let him in.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” you offer, “how have you been?”

“Pretty good. Work’s been busy—always is, ‘round the holidays—and Tsumu’s been annoying as usual.”

“He’s been pestering you too?” You pause, glancing around the apartment. “Sorry, do you want to sit or do you want to look at the kitchen first?”

“We can sit.” He offers you a smile, eyes crinkling at the edges; you can’t help but notice it’s a trait unique to him. You can’t even begin to imagine his brother with crows feet. “I, uh, made some lunch. As an apology.”

“You didn’t have to,” you start, eyes flickering towards the lunchbox tucked underneath his arm. “But, um, thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

“Least I could do.” Osamu looks around for a second, as if waiting for your lead. You both hover there, unsure how to act following the dumpster fire that was your first conversation. “Your apartment looks nice. I like the tree.”

“Thanks.” You take a seat, motioning him over towards your couch. “Well, how are you?” You wince. “Sorry. I already asked that.”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s fine. I’ve been good. You?”

“As good as I can be.” You take a deep breath. “So. Christmas dinner.”

“Right. I took a page out of your book.” He gestures with the paper in his hand, pages denting from his tight grasp. “They all come with recipes so we can figure out what we’ll need to get. Just thought I’d run a possible menu by you? I know you said you wanted snacks.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly. “We can just serve my idea as snacks, I hadn’t bought everything yet. Besides, it’s being held at my place, isn’t it? I can’t complain. Considering everything that happened last time we talked, I kind of assumed you’d want to take over dinner.”

“If that’s fine by you.” He offers you the paper, then the lunchbox. “I just made some onigiri. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, onigiri is good.” You place the paper in your lap, reaching over to unlatch the lunchbox and peer inside. “Oh, it’s the one I had last time! It was really good. I didn’t get to say.”

“Can’t blame ya. Tensions were a little high.” 

You slide a glance his way. “You’re only half to blame for that.”

“Still half, ain’t I?”

“I suppose.” Your lips twitch as you reach over to grab one. “This looks delicious, thank you.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. At the same time, his lips curl up proudly like an aloof cat begging for attention; too proud to admit he’s pleased, not proud enough to not show it. Wildly endearing. “I make it every day.”

You hum around your first bite of onigiri and Osamu follows suit, grabbing one for himself. “I, uh, don’t have most of the stuff for this. And I don’t know if I have room in my fridge for a five kilo ham on top of everything else.”

“The ham needs to go out a couple days early to start defrosting too,” he warns. “How big is your fridge? I’ll need to see what I’m working with.”

“You’re going to be playing a bit of tetris with it,” you reply. “I’m making a lot of dessert that you’ll be contending with. Since you’re now on dinner duty, I was thinking of expanding the dessert menu a bit and just sending people home with leftovers.” 

“I’m fine with that.” He takes a bite, chews, swallows. “We might need to shorten our snack list since it’s no longer meant to be a full meal. I was thinking we keep the mix of savoury and sweet, just lessen portions and maybe cut out the cheeseboard.”

“Thank god,” you mutter, “I felt like I had to put it out since it’s such a staple, but I’m lactose intolerant and a cheeseboard never gets finished. What was I supposed to do with all that leftover cheese? It’s so expensive nowadays too. Yeesh.”

Osamu snorts. “And around the holidays too? Things have doubled in cost.”

“It’s ridiculous. You’ll never believe how much I saw the local grocery store selling butter for the other day. It’s daylight robbery.” You flip past the menu to individual recipes, quickly skimming the ingredients list. “I have a pretty stacked spice cabinet, so you won’t need to buy much. Ms. Sato—my next door neighbour—has a herb garden too, and she’s always happy to spare fresh herbs. You can get the rosemary from there.”

“Nice. How far is your local fresh veggie store?”

“About an 18 minute drive,” you admit, “and it’ll be swamped as Christmas gets closer.”

“Still better than some withering supermarket produce three days away from moulding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re clearly going to a better supermarket then.”

You shake your head slightly. You’re really not.

To say things go better this time around is a vast understatement; with your individual printed menus (it turns out Osamu never got an opportunity to read your original dessert menu, given his outrage at dinner—all for the better in the end, considering you’d since expanded it) you compare what you’ll need, discuss who’s paying (Osamu insists he pays for ingredients if he’s using your kitchen, even if upon inspection he admits it's a little less well-equipped than he’d like), the dietary requirements of his additional guests, Sakusa’s preferred hygiene practices (fine—honestly just industry-standard requirements, you’ve never understood why people act like he’s the world's greatest germaphobe when he simply strictly adheres to proper hygiene practices and the healthy and safety standard), and an appropriate time to hold the meal (given the guests are coming over at 4 and snacks will be out, you settle for 7 so there’s still enough time for pre-meal socialisation).

When he finally surveys your kitchen, there’s a few issues. It’s smaller than he’d like, given you’ll be simultaneously working on a meal to feed eight voracious athletes (turns out his two friends from high school also went into professional volleyball), a chef, you, his mother, and Bokuto’s “best bud” Akaashi. Your dutch oven is a bit too small, which you deal with by him simply asking if he can bring his own over to keep in your house during the holidays, and your oven is going to be cramped, which is a side effect of working in a regular kitchen as opposed to Onigiri Miya. There’s a couple other issues—he does take one look at the inside of your fridge and freezer and grimace at the limited space—but it turns out that when you can properly sit down and talk, things don’t feel that dire. Who’d have thought?

By the time your kitchen investigation is winding down, the hours have trickled over and your shared meal settles warmly in your stomach. There’s a lingering smile on your face, and the ever-present knot in your chest has loosened into something closer to relief. Now that you’ve got all the major details sorted out and you actually know how things are going to work, the idea of co-hosting Christmas doesn’t feel as stressful.

You follow him to the door, leaning against the doorframe as you bid your farewells.

“Do you know when you’ll want to start dropping things off?” You ask. You’ve both well-established the meal prep that goes into your specific meal. Osamu, given the nature of his ingredients, is going to be cooking a lot more day-of; you’re lucky enough to get away with a lot more meal prep.

“I was thinking I’d start dropping things off maybe nine days before Christmas?” Osamu grimaces. “If I start early, I won’t have to juggle everything while catering to the full Christmas crowd at work.”

You hum in sympathy. You’d mentioned your own work as a baker at a crêperie and to say you hadn’t been experiencing the Christmas activity would be a big, plain, fat lie. It’s been hell on your back. “Alright. Just text me before you want to visit so I have some warning, M- Os- sorry, what should I call you?”

Osamu huffs, amused. “Just call me Osamu. Ya gotta deal with my oaf of a brother too, no need to get all formal. It’ll only get confusing. I’ll come around seven thirty on the 16th?”

“Perfect.” You smile up at him. “I’m really sorry again about how our first meeting went. I’m glad we sorted it out so quickly.”

“Didn’t I say it’s fine?” He asks blandly. “Water under the boat. We were both dicks.”

“Still.”

“Still,” he repeats, lips twitching upwards. “I’ll see ya around. It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Osamu. Drive home safe!”

VIII.

you: would you mind taste testing something for me when you drop by to stack the fridge? you: i’m working on some christmas cookies and i need a second opinion on taste and how the icings looking sent 6:57pm

miya osamu (christmas): sure thing miya osamu (christmas): want me to bring leftovers from the shop? sent 7:01pm

you: a man after my heart you: yes please!! sent 7:03pm

miya osamu (christmas): be there in 15 sent 7:03pm

IX.

“Osamu!” You offer the man at your door a smile. “Come on in. The kitchens a mess right now and I still need to do the dishes, but I’ve been working on some desserts—”

“You told me,” he replies, “smells delicious. Sugar cookies?”

“Yeah, but I’ve also got some mini pumpkin pies cooking. I was thinking of serving it as a snack, but I don’t know if it’ll work well with everything else we’re serving.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He follows you to the kitchen, quickly unloading his two full tubs of stuff onto the kitchen counter. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought my own mixer. Yer KitchenAid looks a little outdated, and I figured a newer model might be nicer until Christmas is over.”

“You’re an angel,” you reply brightly. “Do you need help stacking the fridge, or are you happy doing it yourself?”

“I’ll try a hand at it myself.”

“Holler if you need a hand.” You’re quick to return to your own preparations, practicing for Christmas. With the sugar cookies done (if Osamu approves of them, that is) you’ve also pre-made a few batches to keep chilled until Christmas comes. One thing done, only a hundred others to go. “Try a few cookies while you’re working.”

“Will do. Hey, was your work okay?”

“Same as always,” you say, “we can’t all own our own place. Boss is a jerk, the menu’s alright. What else is new?”

“Sounds boring.” A grunt, likely Osamu trying to fit a 5kg ham in a fridge that can barely hold five kilos of food to begin with. “And I’m making onigiri all day.”

“Maybe, but it’s all pain au chocolat and fruit tarts and those awful cinnamon swirls. Not to mention, the crepes suck.”

“Your fault for working at a crêperie. I didn’t even know those were real.”

“It’s all pseudo-French. I don’t think a real French person has ever stepped foot inside the establishment.”

Osamu whistles. “Sucks to be you.”

“Oh, Shut up,” you say waspishly. Your pie weights are collected back in the bag you store them in, the filling is done, and you’re just waiting for the crust to fully cool before filling them. Stuck with nothing immediate to do, you return to cleaning up. Osamu is busy maneuvering his huge dutch oven into your cabinet as you admire the stand mixer that will be yours for the next nine days, all attachments beside it. It possesses way more than your measly dough hook, beater, and a whisk that’s definitely seen better days. “Get to it, taste tester. Stop messing around.”

“Messing around? Do you have any idea how much this oven weighs?”

“That brother of yours wouldn’t have any issue,” you say teasingly. 

“That brother of mine is a professional athlete. ‘Sides, he’d spend the entire time whining about having to do it.” Not something you’ve ever personally experienced, but you’ll take his word for it. Osamu, having finally placed his dutch oven, reaches over to your plate of cookies. You’ve done your best to make them Christmas themed when you don’t own proper Christmas cookie cutters—this really is the season of over consumerism—which largely means using circular cookie cutters and decorating them like baubles, but you think they’ve turned out pretty nice anyway. He picks one up, examines it, and grins. “Not sure why you were worried about the icing, it looks good. I like this one.” He turns it your way, jingling it a bit like a bell will start ringing. You bite back a smile.

“The lines aren’t too shaky?”

“Nah. Looks perfect.” Your mouth pulls into something pleased. You turn your head away to hide it, knowing even as you do it that you’re largely unsuccessful. In the interim of your bashfulness, Osamu takes a bite. “Mm, it tastes good too. Not too sweet.”

“Yeah?”

He grins, blinking slowly at you. “Yeah. Got no reason to lie, do I?”

“Alright, alright, don’t flatter me too much.” You laugh, flattered anyway. Geez.

Osamu merely hums, turning back to stacking the fridge. “Not like it’s hard. You’re a good baker.”

“Can tell from a couple of sugar cookies, can you?”

“Yeah, I can. I’m looking forward to the pumpkin pies.” He grabs a couple trays, slotting them where he can. Your fridge is already looking pretty full with everything in it, but he finds a way to make room. 

X.

“So,” Hinata starts hesitantly between mouthfuls of food. You’re at the local park, perched together on a bench as you eat your individual lunches. “How are you and Osamu getting along? Atsumu said you were,” he pauses, “having difficulties.”

“I may have overexaggerated,” you admit, “he’s actually really lovely to work with. He’s a really good chef and, after the initial bump, we don’t really have any issues. I think we were both just stressed about Christmas going perfectly that first time.”

Hinata brightens, his face flowering like the sun. “I knew you two would work it out! Atsumu was scared it was doomed.”

“Well, I did tell him Osamu couldn’t charm a wet paper towel or something. I was a bit aggressive.”

“He said,” Hinata replies gravely, “but I thought you’d talk it out. Kageyama—my setter from high school—and I had a really crappy first meeting too, and we were able to talk it out then. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have been able to now. You’re way more mature now than I was at fifteen.”

You cover your snort with a cough. You have heard stories about Hinata’s exuberance as a teenager, occasionally to his own detriment. It’s not as much of a comfort as he’s probably thinking, considering he might just be the world’s most charismatic individual. “Yeah, we apologised and everythings sorted out. Neither of us hold it against each other, I think. Osamu’s honestly really charming.”

He looks at you warmly. “You’ve both got a lot in common. It’s why Atsumu’s been so adamant about setting you up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn some subtlety,” you grumble, “and don’t think I don’t know your hand in this, Mr. Co-conspirator.”

“I can see his vision.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s on this vision board he’s cultivating? You know, he asked me if he needs to start planning the wedding last time we talked.”

“He’s not that excited! I think. He really wants you to marry into the family though, and obviously their mum’s off limits.”

“You don’t know that. I love women.”

“She’s 53.”

“I like older women too.” You pause. “You know how old their mum is?”

“Yeah, she’s been inviting me to her birthday for the past couple of years.” Hinata takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “And you get along way better with Osamu.”

“You just know everyone on god’s green earth, don’t you.” You look over at the park, watching two kids kick a ball between the pair of them. “By the way, I wanted to ask. Do you know what Osamu would like for Christmas?”

XI.

That Saturday, Osamu arrives in the morning. He tells you it’s because he asked someone else to open the shop for him, leaving him free for the morning; either way, you make the both of you breakfast. He eats your homemade bread like it’s michelin star cuisine, and you swear you’ve never taken so many compliments in your life. You receive more in that hour than you have in the entirety of your existence, you’re pretty sure—a lifetime of deprivation being filled in fifty-seven measly minutes. It means a lot, even if you’re too proud to admit it.

You both end up in the same place you have every day he’s come over that week: the kitchen, Osamu mixing together ingredients for the roast glaze while you make a lemon meringue pie. You lend him an apron, which means that on top of his—admittedly very attractive, despite its simplicity—usual outfit is a pink apron with a classic ‘Kiss the Chef’ embroidered on the front. A gift from Atsumu for your birthday, which Osamu is quick to inform you was exactly what he got from Atsumu for Christmas last year. Hearts and all. 

You knock against his hip as you walk past, peering into the fridge (already looking pretty full, which does not bode well for the remaining build up to Christmas) in search of some more pastry you’d pre-prepared for recipe testing. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of thing would your mum like for Christmas?”

“You’re getting her a gift?” Osamu raises his head, turning a near 180-degrees to look at you.

“I’m getting everyone a gift, Osamu.” You busy your hands with scrubbing your kitchen counter free of stray flour. “Now, what does she want? And while we’re at it, what about your other two guests?”

“Get them something cheap.” He says simply. “You don’t know them, they don’t know you. No one needs to shell out for a stranger. I’m pretty sure Suna’s buying you wine and Aran’s got chocolate.”

Okay, simple gifts. That’ll be easy. Simple. Convenient. It won’t hurt your pockets much more than this holiday already is. “And your mum? Hinata recommended a massage wand, but I wanted a second opinion.”

Osamu snorts. “That scrub has no concept of a price range when it comes to gifts.”

“Tell me about it,” you lament. Hinata’s really good at budgeting, up until birthday gifts get involved. You’re not surprised Christmas is much the same. “I’m just worried a massage wand is too much since they run pretty expensive, but I don’t want to just get her wine and chocolate and call it a day. It’s what half the party will be doing.”

He hums. “Ma’s not that materialistic. She likes stuff she can use.”

“Well I’m not going to get her a set of pans, am I?”

He huffs, a soft sound that drags out into the air and lingers in the kitchen. “Not like that. I mean craft items, or something like honey from a farmers market or an artisan soap or some bath bombs. Shouyou’s on the right wavelength with the massage wand.”

“Okay, okay,” you leave the kitchen briefly to grab a notebook so you can scribble that down. “Chocolate, wine, artisanal goods. I’ll go out and grab them tomorrow. Then it’s just waiting on your gift.”

“Waiting on mine?” He asks, immediately curious. “You’re getting it shipped?”

“Nope.” 

“Then how’re ya waiting on it? Still coming up with ideas?”

You roll your eyes. “None of your business, is it?”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Your heart skips a beat at the endearment. Sweetheart. You. Sweetheart. “Give me a hint about mine, and I’ll tell you something about yours?”

“You’re so conniving,” you say fondly. “Fine. I’m waiting on it because—and you can’t get mad at me for this—I’m trying to thrift it.”

“Thrift it?” His brows furrow. “What is it, a sweater?”

“No,” you huff. “Look, I know it’s got a bad rap, but I like thrifting gifts. There’s always some hidden gems, and you can find some really good high-quality or vintage stuff at affordable prices. It forces me to think out of the box sometimes too. They can make for really good gifts.”

He raises his hands in a sign of surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging you. My Ma did the same thing growing up.”

“Then you’d know it’s not just sweaters.”

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

“Oh my god.” You take a moment, fight back a smile, and continue. This man—you wish you’d met him sooner. “Anyway, I have an idea, but it’s a bit on the pricey side. I was hoping I could get something good quality thrifted, but if I don’t see anything over the next couple of days I’m falling back onto plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“C’mon now! Yer just stringing me along.”

You turn to him, peering at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

His expression cracks. “Yer such a brat,” he tells you, even as his mouth splits into a grin. “You think you’re so smart, dontcha?”

“Well, since you said so,” you say brightly, “it’d be rude of me to refute a compliment, yeah?”

“Whatever,” he says warmly, “you’re a big fan of thrifting?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “As I said, you can find some nice vintage pieces. It’s where I got my favourite jacket, and I’ve been hoping to find a good sweater there for forever. I know cashmere is a far away dream, I just want something that’ll last, y’know? Clothes fray so fast nowadays.”

“Hm.” It’s all he says. A low hum of acknowledgement, a soft curl of huh, a- you don’t even know how to explain it. He opens his mouth to speak, and the pair of you are interrupted by the blaring of your timer.

“Oh, shit!” You squeeze his arm, shuffling past his figure as you hurry over to the oven. “God, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. Lemon meringue is so finicky—”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m sure it’ll taste great.” Osamu peers over your shoulder as you lay it on the counter, pressed close to your back. “How long until I can try it?”

“You’ve got a black hole for a stomach there,” you tell him, “five hours minimum.” You pause. “Hey, wait, what about my gift? We had a deal.”

His expression twists into a grin. “None of your business, is it?”

XII.

miya osamu (christmas): its really hurting my heart to have to make greek salad for christmas dinner sent 1:32pm

you: your fault for catering for a bunch of athletes! you: here’s to hoping they don’t turn their nose up at dessert sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): theyd be idiots to miya osamu (christmas): besides whatever they don’t eat ma and i are taking home lmao sent 1:36pm

you: a little presumptuous of you to assume you’ll be taking all the dessert you: maybe i want to distribute it among my coworkers sent 1:37pm

miya osamu (christmas): you dont miya osamu (christmas): you hate all of them miya osamu (christmas): minus the one girl sent 1:38pm

you: stop listening to me when i talk sent 1:38pm

miya osamu (christmas): hard ask sent 1:39pm you reacted to this message with ‘👎’

XIII.

“Ya know,” Atsumu starts, which never bodes well for the collective intelligence of anyone in the room. “Considering the two of you are hosting and all, do you think you should have matching Christmas sweaters? As a show of unity.”

“Whaddya take me for? A muppet?” Osamu snorts. “Didja even try with that one? That’s your flimsiest excuse yet.”

“Hey! It’s a genuine question.” Atsumu nods to himself. “You should get them a gift. They’d love a matching Christmas sweater.”

“Sure,” he says blandly. “You done now?”

“Wait, really? You’ll do it?”

“No.” Osamu turns back to what he was doing, which is making dinner for the both of you to eat when he comes over in an hour with more food to put away. “I’m getting ‘em something else.”

“Wait, really?” Atsumu repeats, even more shocked, which he has no right to be when he was just suggesting matching Christmas sweaters. “You’re actually getting them something?”

“Close yer mouth, you’ll catch flies.” 

“I didn’t realise you were actually getting along! Shouyou made it seem like you’re best buds, but you know how he is!”

“Shouyou’s clearly got his head screwed on a bit tighter then.”

“Oi, fuck off.” Atsumu groans. “They talked about you like you were, I don’t know, the devil or something. They said you couldn’t convince a soggy napkin to marry you without it wanting to off itself in thirty.”

Osamu snorts. He can’t find it in himself to be offended; that’s pretty funny. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“And now you’ve learnt humility?” Atsumu’s head jerks, horrified. “What have they done to you?”

Osamu ignores him. Atsumu isn’t wrong, even if he’d rather drop dead than admit it. He does like you, a lot more than he probably should given you’ve barely known each other for two weeks. You’re cute (really, crazily cute), funny, conscientious; he’s had more fun sorting out Christmas with you than he’d ever imagined, even with Atsumu hyping you up to be the second coming of Christ himself. You’ve grown closer than he’d thought possible. If he’s being honest with himself (which he is), he’s kind of dreading the end of your plans come Christmas. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he says instead, “I’ve always been like this.”

XIV.

It’s finally Christmas. This, of course, comes with a whirlwind of activity; you spend Christmas eve deep cleaning your house with Osamu as a willing assistant, spend Christmas day rearranging decorations and doing the last of your baking and trying really, really hard not to panic.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Osamu assures you, elbow deep into his dinner prep while you buzz around the apartment, looking for the slightest imperfection in need of fixing. “Your baking tastes great, the apartment looks nice, everyone’s coming to have a good time, and you’ve still got half an hour to get ready in case something does go wrong.”

You nod in agreement even as you rearrange the bouquet on the dining table. “The ham’s already in the oven, right?”

“You helped me put it in half an hour ago,” he replies, “stop worrying. C’mere, don’tcha have a custard to make for the eggnog?”

“Right!” You zip into the kitchen, readjusting your apron as you approach your now stuffed fridge. Getting anything new in it has been a challenge, what with the way you’ve both had to rearrange it three times to make everything fit. You grab the milk carton, dropping it at the nearest counter and reaching over to squeeze Osamu’s shoulder in thanks as you walk past. Everything else is all but ready; the house is arranged, gifts are stacked under the tree, the ham’s already cooking and every single one of your desserts (minus the custard) is tucked carefully in the fridge. Snacks are already laid out on the dining table, the bathroom has been scrubbed until it was sparkling, everyone knows your address, you’re almost completely dressed; there’s little to do but fiddle. And make custard. Osamu passes you the egg carton, and you smile at him in thanks.

You guys work in silence before your own nerves get the better of you. “I’m really sorry about all this. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about everything right now. It’s planned down to the minute, I really shouldn’t be so stressed about this.”

“I don’t mind. Happens to the best of us.” Osamu pauses, taking a break to wipe olive oil off his hands before leaning his hip against the counter. “I’m pretty nervous too.”

“You’re good at looking otherwise.”

He shrugs. “There’s a lot to be nervous about. Ma’s joining us, and I always want to make it a good holiday for her. Work’s been busy, holiday planning’s been busy. I’m doing a more western-style Christmas dinner. I’m worried about where you and I will stand when Christmas is over and I’m worried Ma’s gonna feel awkward being over 20 years older than everyone else. I know she’s struck up that weird friendship with Shouyou, but still.”

“Well, Sakusa does have a weird affinity with middle aged women,” you offer, “and if anything, he’ll be desperate for embarrassing stories about Atsumu. You know how those boys like tormenting each other. I’ve tasted your cooking too, and it’s never been anything less than spectacular—you should know, given how much I enjoy it. And, uh, I hope we can continue meeting up regularly afterwards. At the very least, you’ll need to visit to transport half of your cooking utensils home.”

“Doesn’t stop me from worrying though, does it?” He cracks a smile. “I dunno. I’ve grown attached to this kitchen. Might take a page out of Tsumu’s book and start haunting your apartment.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you say softly. “I mean, the circumstances weren’t amazing, but I’ve liked getting to know you. I hope we can stay close.” You hover on that for a moment, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to just gush, but I hope we can stay close isn’t all you want to say, either. The words linger there, sweet on the tip of your tongue, lost only to your inability to verbalise the feeling coalescing in your chest. “You’re, uh, a dear.”

Osamu reaches over, grasping your hand in his own; his palm is warm, soft from the oil he was just handling, a bit bigger than your own. “I’m a dear? What are you, my grandma?” He asks teasingly.

“You know what I mean.”

His lips twitch upwards. “Yeah. I do.” He squeezes your hand, thumb rubbing soft circles into your knuckles. His mouth opens, like he too has something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it. Like you, he too cops out. “Keep texting, ‘kay? This has been fun.”

“Of course.” You grin, lips peeled over your teeth, your joy on full display. “What else are we supposed to do with our lunch breaks?”

His gaze flickers. “I have some ideas.”

It sinks into you then; oh. He’s flirting. Probably. Most likely? That’s, like, the most overused phrase in the book. I have some ideas. He doesn’t just want to talk. He has some ideas. You turn your hand in his grasp until your palms face each other, carefully lacing your fingers together. You keep eye contact. He follows your lead dutifully, shuffling ever so slightly closer, and you gather that soft hope in your chest as you respond. “Some ideas, huh? Wanna share with the class?”

It hovers in the air between you. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and slightly parted; his flickers to yours. The anticipation, that moment before an inevitability, yawns. You both know what’s going to happen, your free hand moving to his bicep as his rests on your waist. You bite your lip to contain a smile. 

“You just gonna stare at me all day?” He asks, voice ushered into a low murmur. 

“Well, you were the one that had some ideas,” you reply, voice just as low. “I don’t want to get the wrong idea, do I?”

“I have a feeling you know what it is.” His hand, a brand on your waist, slides until it rests on the small of your back; he pulls you in until you’re pressed together, a scant thread of air the only thing separating you. You tilt your head up, still making eye contact, and he hums slowly. “You’ve got such a beautiful smile. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

Your features bloom, a happiness inexperienced unfurling in your chest; you’re sure now, absolutely certain, that there’s not a single person in human history to have experienced the same joy that you do in this moment. It’s not possible, that there’s this kind of giddiness in you that billions before you have been able to experience. Or maybe it is, and it’s your turn to experience it. Either way, you open your mouth to reply.

This, of course, means it’s the perfect time for the doorbell to ring.

Osamu’s head swings forward until your foreheads are touching, a deep groan escaping his lips. A similar sound of disappointment escapes you. “Whoever that is, I’m gonna kill them.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” you say, even as a part of you wants to ignore them. “Those are our guests we’re talking about. Who’s gonna eat all that ham if you kill them at the door?”

“It’s your Christmas cake I’m worried about.” And he steps away, rolling his shoulders in noticeable disappointment. “You started it in August, can’t let all that hard work go to waste.”

The doorbell rings again. Your eye twitches, even as you heft a full-body sigh. “I’ll get it.”

When you open the door, Atsumu’s cruel, malignant face is the one to greet you, a huge bag hefted under his arm. “Took you long enough! Did I interrupt something?”

“You’re obnoxious,” you tell him, stepping out of the way. Hinata follows behind him, arms stacked with about six bags full to the brim. “Gifts under the tree.”

“What’ve you got there, Shouyou?” Osamu asks, moving to grab some of the bags. Atsumu bats his hands away.

“Nah, uh, uh, Samu.” He grins. “Nice apron. Got it for you last Christmas, didn’t I?”

“No, that was my birthday gift.”

He grimaces. Osamu, in contrast, grins. “Nice of you to get us matching aprons. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat performance.”

“You’re such a dick.” Atsumu claps him on the back. “Geez, get freshened up. You’re gonna welcome your guests looking like that?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to set you right.” Atsumu nods to himself, rummaging through his huge bag before tossing Osamu a headband with foamed, sequined deer horns on top. “There you go. Get changed and put this on—the wardrobe is half the holiday!”

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Still, remarkably good at annoying each other, Atsumu manages to usher Osamu into the bathroom. The second Osamu’s gone, he turns to you with a wide grin.

“We bought alcohol.”

Instinctively, your eyes snap to the weight Hinata is carrying in horror. Hinata, either not noticing or not caring for the way you recoil, smiles. “The place looks good! Sorry for coming so early.”

“It’s alright,” you say, even though it really, really isn’t. “Did you seriously bring six bags of alcohol? How much did that even cost?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Atsumu pats your shoulder consoling. “We’re gonna need it. You might want some liquid courage for this.”

“For what?” You ask, eyes darting over to Hinata, who’s suddenly very dutifully unpacking the contents of an entire liquor store onto your counter. “Okay, wait, don’t do that. Put it in the pantry.”

Atsumu sighs out your name. “You don’t need to play coy with us. We know the truth.”

“...Right.” You turn away, retreating back to the kitchen and your unfinished custard. “Well, you have fun with that. You’re not getting drunk until after dessert.”

“Now that’s just not fa—” the doorbell cuts Atsumu off this time. Serves him right.

XV.

The party is in full swing by the time gifts are being opened. Your snacks are well received, given they’re all but devoured by the time dinner comes around. Dinner is a smash hit, and dessert is demolished even with 80% of the guest list comprising of professional athletes. Osamu’s ham is a particular favourite (you have to admit, there really is merit to a Christmas roast) and your Christmas cake another, four months of cultivating gone in fifteen minutes. By the time everyone is winding down, Atsumu’s excessive load of alcohol has been brought out even though most of the party is sipping on the homemade eggnog—Atsumu’s brandy an additional ingredient—and gifts, which at that point had spilled out from under the tree to halfway across the lounge, are finally brought out.

“You were right,” you mutter to Osamu, who’s sat so close beside you that your shoulders brush with every movement, which is something Atsumu had been gleeful to point out. Constantly. “The roast was the better idea. I can’t believe I was so anti-ham.”

“Looking a little cosy there,” Atsumu says knowingly for the third time this evening, before Osamu gets the chance to respond. Aran, one of Osamu’s guests and sitting criss-cross-applesauce beside Atsumu, groans loudly. “Got something to share?”

“They were complimenting my ham,” Osamu replies blandly. “Why? You wanna take turns, maybe compliment the salad?”

Hinata perks up from where he was opening a volleyball shaped soap. You’re not sure who bought him it. “It was really good, Osamu. Are you sure I’m allowed to take some home?”

“Go ahead, Shouyou. You think I can eat that and everything else in the next few days?”

Tuning out the conversation, you pull out your next gift. It’s from Osamu, funny enough; you bite your lip, ready to make a comment, only to find him already looking at you. “Go on, open it. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin meticulously unwrapping it. It’s square, which you find out is because he put it in a nondescript cardboard box before wrapping it. A gasp escapes you as you peer inside and Atsumu (ever the mood killer) squawks when you pull it out to properly look at it. “You called me a muppet for suggesting a sweater!”

“You’re a fucking liar, Tsumu.” Osamu immediately shoots back. 

You grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you run a hand along the inside. It’s soft, with a slightly well-worn look to it; you almost feel like kicking your feet, recalling your conversation from several days ago. No wonder he refused to give you a hint—he’d only just decided what to get you, that sneak. You don’t even know how he found this.

Well, you kind of do. You nudge his shoulder, grinning giddily. “Open your gift from me. Right now.”

“Impatient, arentcha?”

“I’m serious.” You beam up at him. “Open it, Osamu.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, pulling it towards you and quickly tearing through the paper. There’s a moment's pause as he stares at his gift. Osamu’s lips twitch upwards, peeling back over his teeth. He glances at his gift, back up to you, back down to his gift again. “You told me you weren’t getting me a sweater.”

“I lied.” 

“You’re kidding,” Atsumu groans, “Osamu rags on me about suggesting matching sweaters, and the two of ya do it anyway?”

“They’re not matching,” you argue. “And it’s cute. You were just meddling.”

“It’d’ve had the same result if you’d followed my lead anyway!”

“Yeah, except if we had it your way they’d be ugly, scratchy, and unwearable.” Osamu argues. “This is classy.”

“When have you ever cared about class—?”

XVI.

You knew Atsumu and Hinata were up to something. It was pretty obvious—everyone and their mother could tell. Unfortunately for you, knowing they’re going to do something doesn’t mean you knew what it was. You find out because the co-conspirators divide and conquer and Hinata, for all his fumbling, remains incomprehensibly charismatic. 

It only really clicks when you almost slam into Osamu as Atsumu nearly shoves him into a wall before sprinting off like his life depends on it. It probably does. Giggling like a schoolgirl, all he says as he zips off is, “Thank me later!’

You yelp as Osamu nearly sends the both of you tumbling to the floor. “What the hell? Why did he do that?”

Osamu groans. “Something about ‘helping out the less fortunate.’ He thinks I’m too scared to make a move on you.”

That shocks a laugh out of you. “He has such little faith.”

It’s proven doubly true when something hits your shoulder. Osamu swipes it before it hits the ground, displaying it to you with an open palm. Plastic mistletoe, with a piece of tape dangling sadly off the edges. “You’re kidding.” 

“That scheming pig,” Osamu says with something akin to wonder, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“He couldn’t even splurge? This looks like a stick with leaves.” You pick it up, feeling along the synthetic edge of one leaf. It really is a sad thing. You show it off to Osamu, a snicker accompanying your next words, “Looks like he really thought you needed the help.”

“Well,” Osamu muses, “since he’s so kindly went through the effort, it wouldn’t hurt to finish what we started earlier, would it?” 

“Oh? You’re giving him the satisfaction?”

“Between you and me, I think I’ll be the one better off for this.” Both hands move to cup your cheeks, and you let the mistletoe fall to the ground as your own hands move to his hips. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

You bite at the inside of your cheek, desperately fighting a smile. “No complaints here.”

He hums softly, one hand dropping to the curve of your neck. He leans in then, breath ghosting over your mouth, and kisses you. It’s a delicate thing, barely a brush of your lips before you press into it. His lips taste vaguely of cinnamon, pressing into a smile as your noses nearly collide. You grin hopelessly as well, and it’s not much of a kiss at all; you’re two idiots grinning into each other’s mouths, breathing the same air and clinging to each other and hovering awkward in the doorway to the bathroom. It’s kind of perfect.

Osamu pulls away first. “I’m going to do that again,” he tells you, matter of fact. “And if you let me, I’m gonna take you out for dinner this weekend.”

“Yeah?” You ask, features giddy with a full-body happiness; your heart beats like a drum, your fingers twitch with a physical manifestation of your affection, and you rock on your feet, leaning into him once again. “I can make myself available.”

His face softens. “Yeah.” Then he’s leaning in again, hands warm against your skin, thumb rubbing circles into your cheekbones. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re stuck with me now. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say, leaning up and into him.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [v]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: After finally getting justice, Tara decides to take a step further into your friendship.

word count: 4407

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight angst (insecurity, self doubt), (don’t worry bc it’s all fluff now 😈)

a/n: happy new year everyone! may 2025 bring you endless joy, success, and cherished moments with loved ones :)

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iii] | part [iv]

Tara stands in a familiar room, the air heavy with the heavy scent of Ambers scent. She was at her old house, the one she left weeks ago, but it feels different now. Smaller. Claustraphobic. The walls seem to inch closer, the ceiling pressing downward, as if the entire space is collapsing in slow motion.

“Did you really think you could leave me?” Her voice cuts through the air like shattered glass. She spins around, but she’s not there. Only a shadow flickers on the wall, impossibly tall, stretching toward her.

Tara’s breath quickens. She tries to move, but her legs won’t respond. Her feet are rooted to the ground, the floor beneath her growing colder, wetter. She looks down and sees the carpet turning into dark, sticky mud, sucking her in. She struggles, her hands clawing at the air, but the more she fights, the deeper she sinks.

“You’ll never be free,” her voice echoes again, closer this time, hot breath grazing the back of Tara’s neck. She whirls around, and now she’s there—her face too close, her eyes dark pits that swallow the light. She smiles, the kind of smile Tara remembers, the one that came before the worst nights.

Her voice catches in her throat as she tries to scream. Nothing comes out. She reaches for something, anything, and her hand closes around a broken shard of glass lying on the floor. She raises it, her arm trembling, but before she can strike, Amber’s hand clamps around her wrist like a vice.

“You can’t fight me,” she hisses, her grip tightening until pain shoots through her arm.

Then, suddenly, the walls give way. The room is gone, replaced by endless black. She’s falling, weightless, spinning through the void, her laughter echoing all around her. Her eyes snap open, and she bolts upright in bed, gasping for air. Her chest heaves as she clutches the blanket to her chest, her skin damp with sweat. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reassures her that she was at your house—her safe place. But her heart doesn’t slow. Her voice still lingers in her ears, a ghost she can’t quite silence.

She decided to take refuge in the kitchen, grabbing a cup before filling it with running water from the tap. She gulped down her drink within seconds, seeking to refill it to repeat her steps before she heard a noise coming from the stairs.

Tara would be lying if she said her skin didn’t crawl out of the body. That was until she realized that she was safe; you were there, and she was currently staying over your house for 6 weeks since the incident at her home. She heard the soft pat of footsteps getting closer, grounding her in the moment. Her eyes burned slightly as you flicked on the kitchen light, illuminating the room with bright lights that contrasted the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. She hadn’t even realized she had been standing there in the dark the whole time, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like a shield. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt—the one you lent her that had quickly become her armor

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the haze like a lifeline.

Tara’s heart skipped at the sight of you, a mix of relief and something else she couldn’t quite name. Your messy hair stuck out at odd angles, and the sweatshirt you’d thrown on hung loosely, bunched up just enough to reveal a sliver of your toned abdomen. She forced herself to look away, her cheeks warming as she realized she might’ve been staring too long.

You yawned, your hand covering your mouth as you shuffled closer, the soft scuff of your socks on the floor breaking the silence. It was obvious you’d just woken up, probably stirred by the noise she’d made earlier when she’d stumbled on the stairs in the dark.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, her voice tinged with guilt. You shook your head, brushing off her concern with a small wave. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, your tone gentle but still heavy with sleep. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Tara blinked, shaking her head as if to clear the fog. “Yeah,” she lied, her voice quieter than she intended. “I was just... thirsty.” She gestured vaguely toward the counter, though the glass of water she’d poured sat untouched beside her.

You stepped closer, your movements careful, deliberate—like you didn’t want to startle her. “Do you want to talk about it?” you offered, your hand hovering near hers without touching.

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the floor. The truth felt heavy, like a stone in her chest. But the quiet warmth in your voice coaxed something loose. “I had another one,” she admitted, her voice breaking on the last word. “The same nightmare. It’s like I can’t get away, even here.”

Your brow furrowed, and you nodded, understanding without pushing. “You’re not there anymore,” you said gently. “And you’re not alone.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, cracking something inside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. When she opened them again, your hand was still there, hovering, offering quiet reassurance. For the first time in what felt like forever, she reached out and took it.

-

Tara had recently started seeing you in a different light, her gaze lingering just a moment longer, her heart betraying her with a subtle flutter whenever you laughed or offered her on of your quiet, reassuring smiles. It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something warmer, softer, the kind of feeling that crept up on her slowly, like the first rays of dawn chasing away the night.

But with that warmth came a pang of guilt that tightened in her chest every time she let herself linger on the thought of you. It felt wrong—dangerous, even—to have these feelings so soon after everything she’d been through. She’d barely begun to patch herself together, the cracks of her past relationship still too fresh, too jagged. It didn’t matter that she knew you for as long as she can remember; you deserved someone whole, someone who didn’t flinch at shadows or wake up gasping for air in the middle of the night. Not someone who carried the weight of emotional baggage too heavy to unload, let alone share. Tara didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to burden you with the mess she felt she still was.

And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way her heart betrayed her, beating a little faster when you walked into the room, or how her defenses softened in the safety of your presence. She told herself it wasn’t fair—not to you, not to her. You had already done so much, offering her a refuge when she had nowhere else to turn. Falling for you felt selfish, and Tara wasn’t sure she deserved to be selfish right now. Not after everything.

Still, when your hand brushed hers accidentally, when your voice softened just for her, when your laughter chased away the heaviness in her chest—or when you stepped in at school, silencing harsh comments with a sharp retort or a glare that could freeze anyone in their tracks—Tara felt something stir inside her. There was a striking contrast between the protective fierceness you showed the world and the quiet vulnerability you reserved only for her. It was in the way your walls came down when it was just the two of you, the tenderness in your eyes speaking volumes you didn’t say out loud.

That contrast captivated her, making her feel like she was seeing parts of you no one else ever could. It felt special, even if she told herself it shouldn’t. No matter how much she tried to bury it, the flicker of hope continued to grow, warm and persistent, defying her attempts to smother it.

Would you like this expanded further or shifted in tone?

On the other hand, you were doing everything in your power to suppress your own feelings, burying them beneath layers of logic and self-control. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time, that Tara needed support, not another complication in her life. You reminded yourself that she was still healing, still piecing herself back together after everything she had been through.

And yet, every time she smiled at you, her walls cracking just enough to let a bit of light through, your resolve wavered. Every small moment—her laughter when you managed to make her forget the weight she carried, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, or how she unconsciously sought your presence whenever the world felt too heavy—made it harder to pretend you didn’t feel anything.

You tried to keep your distance emotionally, to draw the line between being her safe place and letting your own heart get involved. But deep down, you knew the truth: Tara wasn’t just someone you wanted to protect—she was someone who made you feel seen, someone who awakened parts of yourself you hadn’t realized were dormant. And no matter how much you tried to push those feelings away, they lingered, stubborn and unyielding.

-

That same afternoon, Tara received a phone call from the police regarding the ongoing investigation into Amber’s abuse. Relief flooded her chest as she listened to the officer explain the progress being made—finally, Amber’s actions were being brought to light. But her relief was mixed with a jolt of surprise when she learned that Serena, along with several other victims, had found the courage to come forward and share their experiences too.

Tara’s hand tightened around the phone as a wave of emotions swept over her. She was proud of Serena—proud of all of them—for speaking up, but the news also dredged up memories she’d been trying to suppress. The details of her own ordeal flickered through her mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Still, there was something empowering in knowing she wasn’t alone, that others were finally breaking their silence. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of the end for Amber’s reign of cruelty. Tara hung up the phone and sat quietly for a moment, staring at the sunlight streaming through the window. A weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying lifted slightly, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of hope.

A month later, that hope turned into reality. Tara sat in the living room, the news playing softly in the background. Her heart raced as Amber’s face flashed across the screen, the headline scrolling beneath it in bold letters: Local Woman Sentenced for Multiple Counts of Abuse.

Amber had been convicted in court, her manipulative web unraveling under the weight of evidence and testimonies from Tara, Serena, and other victims. The judge’s sentence was clear: five years in prison, along with mandatory therapy for her abusive behavior.

Tara leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Justice had been served, and Amber’s smug, untouchable demeanor had crumbled in the courtroom. For the first time in what felt like forever, Tara felt a sense of closure—not complete, but enough to begin moving forward.

But the consequences didn’t end there. Online forums and social media exploded with the news of Amber’s trial. Her name trended for weeks as people dissected her actions, some sharing their own stories of survival and solidarity. Amber’s once pristine facade was shattered, her reputation irrevocably ruined.

Tara stayed off social media as much as she could, but every now and then, she’d catch a glimpse of the posts and comments. Part of her still felt conflicted—justice was never as clean and satisfying as people made it seem—but the other part of her, the one that had endured so much, knew Amber deserved every consequence she faced.

Sitting in the quiet comfort of your home, Tara turned to you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s finally over,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of relief and exhaustion. You nodded, meeting her gaze with a warmth that steadied her. “It’s the start of something new,” you replied, your words gentle but firm.

And for the first time in a long time, Tara believed that might actually be true.

-

After finding justice against her abuser and knowing she wouldn’t be seeing Amber anytime soon, Tara finally felt a sense of safety she hadn’t known in months. The weight that had clung to her since the abuse began was lighter now, replaced by a cautious but growing confidence.

With your unwavering support over the past three months, she found the courage to take the next step: moving back into her own home. It wasn’t an easy decision—her house still carried echoes of the past, shadows of memories she’d rather forget—but it was time to reclaim her space and her life.

Still, she couldn’t help but miss the little intimate moments you shared—the lingering stares that spoke volumes, the quiet whispers exchanged in the stillness of the night. Both of you seemed to hover on the edge of something more, a silent understanding that neither dared to voice. She knew you both wanted to take that next step, but the unspoken weight of your circumstances kept you from crossing the line.

As the days passed in her reclaimed home, Tara found herself replaying those quiet moments with you—the lingering stares, the warmth of your whispered reassurances, the way your presence had become her anchor during the hardest time of her life. She realized how much those moments had meant to her, how much you had come to mean to her.

But with that realization came another: she couldn’t keep living in limbo. The fear of her past and the weight of uncertainty about the future had kept her frozen for too long. If she wanted to truly start over, she needed to let go of the chains that held her back—her doubts, her fears, and most of all, the idea that she didn’t deserve happiness.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted her living room in hues of orange and gold, Tara made a decision. She wasn’t going to let her past define her any longer. She wasn’t going to let the possibility of rejection stop her from moving forward.

The next day, she called you. Her hands trembled as she held the phone to her ear, but the sound of your voice steadied her. “Hey,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “Can we meet? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course. When and where?”

When you arrived at her house later that evening, you found Tara waiting on the porch, the soft glow of string lights framing her silhouette. She looked nervous but determined, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of her sweater.

“Tara?” you asked, concern flickering in your eyes. “Everything okay?”

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage she’d been building all day. “I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice wavering slightly before she steadied it. “About us. About how much you’ve done for me and how much you mean to me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you stayed silent, letting her continue.

“I know I’ve been through a lot, and I know I’m still figuring things out,” she said, meeting your gaze. “But I also know that I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t feel something for you. I don’t know where this could go, or if it’s even the right time, but… I want to try. If you’re willing.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, but the look in your eyes spoke louder than any words. Then, a small, reassuring smile curved your lips as you reached out, your hand gently brushing hers. “Tara,” you said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Relief flooded her chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself smile—a real, unguarded smile. This wasn’t just the start of something new; it was the start of a life she was choosing for herself, free from the shadows of her past.

-

From that moment on, things between you and Tara unfolded naturally, like a river flowing back to its course. Neither of you rushed into anything; instead, you let the connection grow in its own time, giving Tara the space she needed while steadily building on the trust you already shared.

Your first outing wasn’t anything grand—just a quiet evening walk at a nearby park, where the golden hour bathed everything in a warm glow. You talked about anything and everything, from random childhood stories to dreams for the future, and Tara found herself laughing more than she had in months. It felt effortless, like being with you was the safest and most natural thing in the world.

Each hangout felt like a small but significant step forward. Movie nights turned into impromptu dinners; casual walks turned into long conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. You were patient with her, never pushing for more than she was ready to give, and that patience only made Tara’s feelings for you deepen.

Before either of you realized it, those moments of closeness had transformed into something neither of you could ignore. One evening, while sitting together on her couch after yet another movie marathon, you turned to her, your expression more serious than usual.

“I don’t want to assume anything,” you said softly, your voice steady but unsure. “But these past few months have been… everything to me. I just need to know—what are we?”

Tara felt her heart skip, her stomach fluttering nervously. But instead of fear, she felt a quiet certainty settle over her. “I think,” she began, a small smile forming on her lips, “that we’re something worth holding on to.”

You smiled, relief and happiness evident on your face, and without thinking, you reached for her hand. This time, there was no hesitation—only warmth and a mutual understanding that this was the start of something real.

From that night on, you were no longer just two people finding solace in each other. You were something more, a partnership built on trust, shared laughter, and the unspoken promise that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

-

Tara could feel herself melt like a puddle with how well you treated her—both before and after you officially started dating. It wasn’t just the big gestures, like showing up at her door with her favorite takeout on a tough day, or surprising her with a late-night drive to watch the stars. It was the little things that truly got to her: the way you always opened the door for her without making a big deal of it, how you remembered the exact way she liked her coffee, or how you would kiss her temple and whisper sweet nothings every time you both cuddle; even if you thought that she was sleeping, and the way your eyes softened whenever she spoke.

Before you were together, those moments had been her lifeline, a reminder that someone cared, even when she doubted she deserved it. Now, as your partner, those gestures took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t just care—it was love, expressed in the quiet, unassuming ways that made her heart flutter every single time.

She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to deserve someone like you. But whenever she voiced that thought, you’d simply shake your head and pull her close, your words as steady as your presence: “You deserve everything good, Tara. Don’t forget that.”

And in those moments, she believed you.

Even though things were going so well between you two, there were moments when Tara couldn’t help but doubt herself. She would catch herself wondering, Why would you date someone like me? The thought lingered in her mind more often than she cared to admit. She wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness, with respect and patience, without the underlying tension of manipulation.

There were nights when the quiet would settle in, and she’d look at you, unsure of what to do with the warmth in her chest. What if I mess this up? What if I’m not enough? It was a thought that tugged at her constantly, a remnant of the insecurities Amber had instilled in her. She had spent so long believing she wasn’t worthy of love, and now, with you, she was learning to undo that belief, but it didn’t come easily.

And sometimes, that uncertainty bubbled to the surface. Tara would snap at you over the smallest things—little miscommunications or harmless comments that she would blow out of proportion. Her heart would race, her pulse quickening with the old familiar fear that she was doing something wrong, that she might push you away. She’d feel guilty for arguing, but the sting of past hurts would seep through, making it hard to just… relax.

“I’m sorry,” she’d whisper one evening after a heated argument, her eyes downcast, voice barely audible. “I don’t mean to be like this… I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be in a healthy relationship. I’m not used to it.”

You would always sigh softly, your touch gentle as you cupped her face in your hands, lifting her chin to meet your gaze. “Tara, you don’t have to apologize for being human. We all have our moments. But don’t ever think that you’re not enough. You are more than enough, just the way you are.”

It wasn’t always easy for Tara to believe you, but in those moments, your words grounded her. Slowly, she began to understand that healthy relationships were built on patience, understanding, and forgiveness—not on fear or constant conflict. Your love for her wasn’t conditional, and that was something she was still learning to accept.

“My issue isn't you, it's the problem we're having. My love for you hasn't diminished in the slightest." is what you would say every time Tara doubted herself.

But with every apology, every tear shed, and every moment where she saw the love in your eyes, Tara began to shed the weight of her past. You never gave up on her, and bit by bit, she started to believe that she could let go of the fear, the doubts, and the walls she had built around her heart.

Eventually, the arguments became fewer, the self-doubt quieter. And when Tara realized that she could trust the stability and love you offered without second-guessing herself, she allowed herself to truly lean into the warmth of this healthy relationship you had together.

-

“I had no idea you did that during your finals, that’s wild!” Tara laughed, cuddling by your side, her leg hooked onto your torso while her arms were wrapped around you, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she listened to your story about the soccer finals against Blackmore.

“Yeah, and Mindy’s been boasting non-stop about scoring the winning goal. She’d been riding that high for at least month,” you chuckled, shaking your head, still a little in awe of her determination. “But, honestly, I’m so proud of her for leading the team and getting that goal. She earned it.”

Tara grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s Mindy for you. She knows how to make sure everyone knows when she’s the hero.”

“You know… I’m glad you did that to Amber… But you shouldn’t have, you ruined your own career,” Tara added, leaning in closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper, the words softening as they barely escaped her lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Honestly, I don’t care about the career right now. What happened, happened, and I’ll deal with the consequences. But as long as you’re here, that’s all that matters to me.”

Tara blinked, surprised by your response. “You’re serious?”

You met her gaze, your voice steady but soft. “Yeah. In the end, careers come and go, but I’ve got your back, no matter what. You’re more important to me than any of this.”

Tara smiled, her eyes softening as she leaned in for a quick hug. “You’re insane, but I’m glad to have you by my side.”

You placed a hand gently on Tara’s waist, your voice unwavering. “I love you, Tara. There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for you.”

Tara’s eyes softened as she looked at you, the weight of your words sinking in. Without another word, she pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you as if she never wanted to let go. You held her just as tightly, a quiet moment passing between you both.

Then, she pulled back slightly, her gaze meeting yours, before she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead then a peck on your lips. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Tara felt a quiet certainty deep within her—that no matter how hard the world threw at her, no matter how much she had to endure, she could face it all as long as you were there beside her. With you by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t overcome.

————————

a/n: hehehe thanks for tuning in for this fic! lmk your thoughts & feelings🤔

[delulustateofmind]

TW: Older Professor Yandere x College Student Reader, Abuse of Power, Spanking, Fingering, Manipulation, Infidelity. MDNI

A/n: This could be awful, but the brain worms in my hungover little noggin were munching away at this idea. Also, I thought dead dove was a universal term last night, and I had to (mortifyingly) explain what it meant to my friends 👍 and I feel like I definitely overexplained it. Enjoy!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Thinking about controversial older yanderes... Like a professor in his 40s, married, with a couple of kids. You know the type. The kind who’s got everything—tenure, three published books, a whole career built on being the guy everyone respects. The guy who should really know better.

But then there’s you. Poor little nineteen-year-old you, sitting in the front row of his lecture hall, looking up at him with those big, wide, puppy-dog eyes. It’s barely the first day, and you’re already turning to the person next to you, asking if he’s going to go over the syllabus. He’s not. That’s something you should figure out on your own. But the way you looked so lost and helpless—God, it just did something to him.

He knows it’s wrong. He’s married. He has kids. A reputation to uphold. So why can’t he stop thinking about how you’d look with those pretty lips of yours wrapped around his cock? Why is he willing to risk everything he’s worked for just to have you?

It starts small. He tells himself it’s harmless. He watches you, admires the way you fumble through class. But it’s not enough. He’s always been a man who takes what he wants. So, when you turn in your first big paper, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

“AI-generated,” he says, shaking his head like it pains him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.”

You’re a mess, practically in tears, insisting you worked so hard on it. You did. Hours, maybe days of effort, all for him to dismiss it in one breath. But he just sits there, palms pressed together like he’s some kind of saint, telling you his hands are tied. “It’s academic integrity,” he says, like he’s not already imagining you on your knees.

You’re begging him for another chance. And, well, he’s a reasonable guy. Of course, he’ll help. “Why don’t you assist me with my research?” he offers. “It’s a great experience. We’ll get that grade sorted out.”

So, there you are. Alone with him in his lab most days, where his hands are always just a little too familiar. Brushing your hip as you reach for a chemical or guiding your hand over the keyboard when you “mess up” the data entry. And when he loosens the cap on a reagent just enough for it to spill, you’re flustered, stripping out of your stained clothes while he promises he’s not looking.

Except, of course, he is. His phone is propped up on the desk, recording every second. For “security reasons,” he says, but the truth is obvious.

You just keep messing up, though. The numbers are wrong, the experiments fail, the code has errors. Every mistake adds up until he finally sighs, exasperated. “I really hate to do this,” he says, sitting you down like a child about to be scolded. “But I think we need to address this another way.”

Next thing you know, you’re over his lap, his rough hand spanking your ass while his fingers slide into your dripping cunt. “You don’t want an academic violation on your record, do you?” he murmurs, voice low, while you sob out apologies. “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

The slick sounds of your body betray you, loud and lewd as he works you to your first orgasm. His hand is soaked, his palm stinging from the impact of spanking you. And he can’t help but notice how tight you are, tighter than anything he’s felt since his wife’s virginity all those years ago.

By the time he lets you up, your legs are shaky, your thighs sticky with slick. He’s already thinking about what he’ll do next time—because there will be a next time. You’ll be in his office tomorrow, lips wrapped around his cock like he imagined on that very first day.

Maybe, if you’re good, he’ll bump your grade up to an A. Or maybe he’ll fail you, just to make sure you stick around next semester. After all, who are they going to believe? A beloved tenured professor—or a naive little college freshman who can’t stop crying?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Inspired by: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Aizawa, Erwin

[h3arts4abby]

ellie williams headcanons

AND A MOODBOARD AT THE BOTTOM

i love ellie just as much as abby i swear </3

so here’s my headcanons (some r no outbreak au and some mention the outbreak)

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she lovesss sending you tiktoks of random things and it literally doesn’t matter

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 one minute she’ll send you a video of skibidi toilet and 3 seconds later she’ll send you a tiktok that says ‘send this to someone you’ll make out with violently’ and attaches no text and give no context to anything

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’ll love exploring outside of jackson to collect all of her superhero trading cards. if she finds one she already has, she’ll just give it to you.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s pretty vanilla but likes exploring different kinks if you ask. she likes praise and other affection during sex, like holding hands or just holding each other close

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s definitely a switch. sometimes she’ll like being on top, using her strap on you or eating you out, but she loves when you take control and lead the way.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s reckless most of the time with joel, but when you guys start dating she’s hyper aware and extra vigilant. if a bush even dares to graze your leg she won’t think twice about setting it ablaze.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 everything in her room has something to do with you. her posters are bands you both like, all the photos on her wall are of you or include you in some way, and all her jewelry is yours.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she has a box of your clothes (totally didn’t steal them from your dresser) under her bed in case you decide to stay over at hers. all of the essentials are there, like undergarments, pajamas, and clothes for the next day. once a week she’ll take them out and wash them so they stay fresh <3

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 always wants to play songs for you on her guitar but she gets shy halfway through and you’ll have to sing with her so she’ll finish the song.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 one time she was too shy to even play the first chords so when you got home you learned the song on guitar so you could play for her

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she loves all of you, and she will never understand how you have any insecurities. she will kiss every single mole on your body or every scar if she could.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 loves pda but would never make out in public or do anything that would make you uncomfortable. she loves holding hands, rubbing her hand on your thigh, or just holding you close during cold bonfire nights

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 if you kiss her in public she’ll literally turn tomato red and become a stuttering mess

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 joel never allowed the two of you to pick anything up on patrol unless it was necessary, just to preserve room for supplies. obviously ellie doesn’t follow these rules and picks up letters, trading cards, or drawings. but you stick to the rules and only pick up alcohol, rags, bottles, etc. so if you find something on patrol you like, ellie will go back another day and pick it up for you and surprise you when she gets back

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she did not make the first move. she obviously gave little hints like longer hugs than other people, glances towards you, longer eye contact, or just general touches. it took what felt like a million years for you to finally give up and ask her out, becuase eventually you realized she would never ask you out.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 that last headcanons proves she’s bad at picking up hints. she’ll drop so many but she can never tell when you’re making a move. you’ll kiss her cheek goodbye, hold her hand, graze her thigh, and tuck her hair behind her ear and she’ll never pick up on it

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 girl cannot flirt. terrible rizz, i mean terrible. she’ll make bad jokes that no one laughs at or try to lean on the table you’re sitting at and fall. but that’s what makes her more charming bc she’s so cute. you’ll laugh at her though, and that’s all that matters to her. that you noticed her

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s a rambler. while the two of you are stuck stationed at patrol, she will not stop talking. she’ll talk about the newest movie she saw with joel, or the newest comic she read, and if you don’t seem interested for 2 seconds she’ll get sad.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tension remains. It feeds into your anxiety. An impatience that needles in your chest. You want to get this done with. You want to go home. But each time that desperate yearning tweaks, you remember that you won’t be going home. Not right away. You’ll be going back to Andy’s. 

He holds the door for you again as you enter the pharmacy. You roll your tank with you, reminded by the squeaky wheels of the constant companion. It’s like a part of you. It keeps the parts of you that don’t work from failing completely. That thought makes you feel even smaller. 

Again, you walk down that middle aisle. The pharmacist greets you and Andy together. He replies as you stay quiet and browse the lozenges lined up under the window. 

“I don’t think we have her insurance on file,” the pharmacist says as he puts in the amount owing. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just give us a receipt and we’ll make a claim.” Andy assures. 

“I have...” you reach into your belt bag and sift around. “Here.” 

You pull out the card you keep on you at all times. There will still be a copay owing. You don’t have money on you. Your mother is always sure to swipe her card with a tut. 

“Um, I don’t... I don’t have the credit card,” you mutter at Andy. 

“That’s fine,” he steps closer, pressing against you. 

The pharmacist keys in your insurance number and hands the card back. You accept it with a sheepish smile. Your chest is tight and your cheeks are scalding. He taps the enter button and looks at Andy. 

“Five bucks, left over.” 

“Even?” Andy says lightly as he reaches into his back pocket, “no problem.” 

He opens his wallet and plucks out a bill, handing it over. You sink down in shame. You can’t even pay a couple bucks for your livelihood. The pharmacist hands over the stapled white bag with the receipt and script attached.  

Andy takes it and reads the label as the pills rattle inside. His eyes narrow as his gaze turns pensive. He clucks his tongue and offers you the bag. You thank him and hug it against your side. 

“I’ll get mom to pay you back,” you assure him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off. “Like I said yesterday, I want to help out.” He gestures you ahead of him. You turn and head back toward the front of the store. He’s only a step behind you, trailing like your shadow. “Hey, do you think you could do me one favour?” 

You approach the door and grab the metal handle. The bag presses against it in your grasp as you try to pull it open. It’s heavier than you expect. Your pills drop and hit the floor. You gasp but before you can retrieve them, Andy scoops them up. 

He hands them over again. You look at him and frown, “what?” 

He opens the door and lets you through first. He follows again. “Did you want to write down all your appointments for me? I’d like to put them in my calendar. Just in case.” 

“My... appointments?” You echo as he points you toward his car. 

“Sure. Your mom must be stretched thin as it is. Might be why she gets a bit snappy. If I can help a little...” 

“You-- you don’t have to,” you murmur. 

“I want to,” he opens the passenger door. He hauls up your tank, dragging it from your grasp, and sets it in the SUV. “Must be hard, living in the hospital.” He offers his hand. “Your mom says you don’t have any friends.” 

Your eyes glaze at once. You’re humiliated. What else does your mom tell him for him to think you so pathetic? You grab his hand and heave yourself up into the car. 

“Thanks,” is all you can muster as you untangle the air tube and get your seat belt in place. 

He gently shuts the door and goes around to the other side. You squeeze the bag and look out the window, ignoring Andy as he gets in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say another word as he turns the engine and patiently waits to pull out of the spot. 

He idles at a stop sign and flips on the stereo. You flinch and look over as the station titles flash across the display in the middle of the dashboard. He stops on a Current Hits station. 

“Bet you like this stuff,” he says as the sultry pop plays. 

You’ve never heard this song. You focus as you try to make out the lyrics. 

‘Say you can't sleep, baby, I know 

That's that me espresso 

Move it up, down, left, right, oh 

Switch it up like Nintendo’ 

Your eyes widen as you pick up the innuendo. You shift in your seat and lean into the door. You grip the handle of the tank tighter. 

“I don’t know this one,” you eke out. 

“Really? I heard this girl was really popular.” 

“Um, I’m not sure.” 

“It’s not bad, is it?” He taps his thumb so the volume increases. “I’ve heard worse, for sure.” 

You wallow in the rhythm and the lyrics. You can’t relate much to them.  

‘Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya...’ 

You try not to be prudish. It isn’t that sex stuff scares you or that you think it’s wrong. You just don’t know much about it. You don’t have the experience. You never had the chance to. It’s just a mystery that makes you feel stupid. 

“I like it,” he bobs his head, “what about you?” 

You shrug, “she has a nice voice.” 

You stare out at the streets as he drives on. The music doesn’t get much better. It seems like every song that’s popular is about... that. You zone out and let the words blur together. 

The car stops and the sudden lack of motion makes you dizzy. You sit up and undo your belt as you peek out at Andy’s house. You hope your mom is awake. She’ll probably want to go home. 

You get out before Andy can grab you or the tank again. As helpful as he is, it’s a bit suffocating. You don’t want to tell him so because you know he means well. Besides, after everything he’s done, it would be rude. 

He patiently trails you to the front door. You watch him punch in the door code, reminded of the coincidence that they perfectly align with your birth date. Does he realise? He would’ve had all your info to file the case and all that. You shake off that memory. You’re still recovering from all that. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks as he pushes the door open and steps back to let you inside. 

“Nothing, just... thinking of... stuff.” 

“The case?” He guesses easily. 

“Maybe,” you enter and stop to slip off your sneakers. 

“Did I tell you how good you did, sweetheart? You know, it’s a lot for most people but you really were so well-spoken,” he praises. 

“Mm, oh thanks, I guess,” you mutter. 

Before he can reply, your mother’s voice calls from the second floor. “Andy, is that you? Oh, my head.” 

She appears at the top of the stairs. She’s in a robe that’s too big for her. Probably his. She keeps her hand against her temple as she leans on the banister post. 

“There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone.” She mopes. 

“Like I said, we just went to get her script,” Andy states flatly. 

“You were a rather long time,” she counters, swaying at the top of the stairs, “I missed you.” 

“Hm, well, it was a bit of a wait,” he says curtly. 

You inch away from Andy and your mom sneers in your direction, “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“All good,” he assures, “it’s after noon. You should get dressed.” 

“Mm, yes, I suppose,” she sniffs. 

“I’m... I’m going to go to the guest room, make sure I have everything,” you utter. 

Andy sighs. “Sure, I gotta get back to work. Gotta make a call.” 

You climb the stairs as your mother disappears with a stomp. She isn’t happy with Andy’s dismissal. You go down the hall as a door slams. You go into the guest room, happy to hide there, knowing you already have everything with you. You’ll wait there until she’s ready to go. 

You stare out the window. That song is stuck in your head. The beat is good and catchy. Still, the lyrics make you squirm. 

The door swings open behind you. You cough as you face your mother’s blustery entrance, “what did you do?” 

You blink at her cluelessly, “mom?” 

“Yes, obviously you’ve pissed him off, so tell me, what did you do? I told you, I’d get the pills.” 

“I didn’t-- he said—he wanted too--” 

“Oh it’s never your fault,” she hisses. “After everything we’ve done and you just keep taking, don’t you?” 

“Mom, he only... we went to the pharmacy.” 

“You could wait. You’re not running dry on any of your precious pills. Like an addict.” 

You frown. The meds you take aren’t addictive, even if you are reliant on them. If it was up to you, you wouldn’t choose any of this. 

“No, I didn’t--” 

She storms towards you and grabs the belt bag around your waist. You squeal as she rips open the zipper and reaches inside. She tosses the contents onto the floor. 

“I’m missing a bottle of Xanax,” she snarls. “And you’ve been so spacy, haven’t you?” 

“Xanax?” You gulp, “no mom, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not stupid. All you do is sit around and feel sorry for yourself and now you’ve got Andy doing it too.” She snarls and jerks by the belt bag, your air tube slipping off your ears. You cough and push against her. 

“Mom, please, not here. When we get home--” 

“So you took them!” She accuses. 

“No, mom--” 

“You’re such a lying little bitch,” she snarls. Her eyes flare like a snake’s. When she gets like this, she can’t stop. “I didn’t raise you to be a thief.” 

You struggle with her, trying to get her hands off the belt. When you can’t free yourself from her grasp, you push on the clasp and release it. She stumbles back as the bag comes loose and you stagger at the sudden release of tension. You fall back against the window sill and whimper. 

“I swear, mom, I didn’t take anything,” you plead and shield yourself behind your hand.  

She looks at the slack bag in her hand. She considers it as she tightens her hold on the empty pouch. She pulls her arm back and swings it at you. The plastic clasp hits your forearm, leaving a welt there as she reels back to lash again. 

“Danica!” Andy’s voice roars through like thunder. You falter and slip down to your knees. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Your mother’s face drains and her eyes round like a deer. She lowers her arm and straightens, her expression smoothing over as she faces him. “Honey,” she purrs softly, “I was just helping--” 

“No, I saw what you did,” he crosses his arms as you sit on your feet, breathless against the wall. 

“Look, honey,” your mother nears him, “she stole from me. Antidepressants. Do you know how dangerous that is? It could affect her other medications.” 

“So you’re beating her with a belt?” He challenges. 

She chokes and shakes her head, “no, it’s not—I'm just so stressed. I put so much into taking care of her and now she’s messing around with pills--” 

“They are in your goddamn purse,” he comes forward and tears the bag out of her hand. 

“What, no. I checked--” 

He snarls and grabs her wrist, dragging her out of the room. You gape after them, stunned and confused. This can’t be real. 

You grab your tank and use it to push yourself to your feet. You limp after them as he harshly marches her down the hall. His feet bang on the stairs, making you flinch with each step. Your mother whines weakly and begs. “Andy please, you’re hurting me.” 

He lets go as he gets to the front door and he grabs her purse from the table against the wall. He reaches inside and takes out the orange bottle. He shakes it in her face. 

“Don’t talk to me about hurting you,” he barks. “After what I just saw--” 

“It’s a misunderstanding,” your mother issues a brittle laugh, “sweetie, tell him, I didn’t hurt you.” 

“You’re laughing?” He grits. “Danica, get out of my house. Right now.” 

“You have to listen--” 

“Go. Now.” He raises his voice and you shrink back, terrified. His anger is like a storm. 

You mother huffs and drops her head. She turns and straightens her posture, “fine. Come on, let’s go.” 

She snaps her fingers at you. You grip your tank tightly at your side and wheel towards the stairs. She’ll just take this out on you at home. 

“Are you insane? She’s not going with you,” he insists. 

“She’s my daughter,” your mom snarls. 

“She’s your victim,” he retorts and grabs her arm. She whines and smacks him across the face. He recoils and brings his hand to his cheek. 

She pants heavily. His jaw squares as you feel his wrath roiling from the second floor. He’s quiet as he shoves the pills back into her purse and picks the whole thing up. He pushes it into her chest. 

“Go.” 

“Andrew, my car--” 

“You’re a fucking adult. Figure it out before I call the cops.” 

“The cops—Andrew, you can’t--” 

“Oh, I can’t? Because I will have a protective order by the end of today,” he snips. 

“I have guardianship--” 

“I can have it revoked,” he growls. 

She huffs and puffs again, “Andrew, please, you don’t understand--” 

“Get.” He takes a step back and opens the door. “Out.” 

Your mother shakes her head and turns to look up at you. “Dear, please, tell him--” 

You just stare, paralysed by the scene. This can’t be real.  

She snivels and wiggles her nose, crying without tears. She faces Andy again, “she hit me first--” 

“Out.” 

She cringes and snarls, fluttering her fingers in his face, “you’ll see, honey. She’s a burden you don’t want.” She flicks her fingertips at him and scoops up her heels. “You better call the police fast before I do.” 

No sooner than she steps out of the door than Andy swings it with a shaking slam. You peer down at him as your head wobbles. You fumble around for your oxygen, shaking as you bring it over your ears. He faces you and slowly climbs the stairs. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go get your things together.” 

[ihavemanyhusbands]

DUM SPIRO, SPERO – A DRABBLE

A request for my lovely mutual @thedancingcostumeyoungadult <33

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.9k words

Summary: After your secret lover, the gladiator Lucius, gets a minor injury in the arena, you spend time with him while he's in recovery.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, mild angst, mentions of injuries, secret affair, flufffff (they love each other ur honor), lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, aaaand i think that’s it! But lmk if anything else.

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Nothing could have possibly prepared you for the sight of Lucius being struck by an arrow. You were sitting too far away to see where exactly it landed, but just witnessing him falling to his knees on the sand was enough to rob you of breath. The cacophony of sounds around you became a dull roar at the back of your head. If it weren’t for the fact that you were sitting with your mother and your sisters, you might have gone into an anguished frenzy. But all you could do was grit your teeth and hold onto any semblance of composure, forced to wait until the games were fully over.

Later, when you were finally home and away from prying eyes, you sent a servant down to Macrinus’s barracks to inquire about his well-being. You paced back and forth restlessly, like a tiger stalking the arena, until there was news of him – he was alive and mostly unscathed, except for a wounded shoulder. He also urged you not to worry too much, but there was no way you would stay away without seeing him for yourself.

And so you waited until the darkest hour of the night to sneak out, accompanied by a servant carrying a torch to light the way. It was Ravi who let you into Lucius’s cell, where he was lying on his cot. He tried to sit up as you entered, but he winced and painstakingly lay back down.

Ravi clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head. “I told him not to move too much, but he won’t listen.”

“Don’t worry Ravi, I will try not to get him too riled up,” you said, half attempting humor to raise their spirits.

Lucius chuckled lightly, raising his hand in your direction to beckon you closer. You knelt beside him, guiding his palm onto your cheek. His smile was a little dopey and his eyes were heavy-lidded, which made you raise a questioning eyebrow in Ravi’s direction.

“I had to give him some opium when I removed the arrow,” he said with a shrug. “The effects should wear off in a few hours, but he won’t feel any pain for now.”

“Well, I suppose you’re not doing too terribly then…” You said to Lucius, eyebrow still raised.

“I am doing even better now that you’re here,” he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “Though you shouldn’t have troubled yourself… I don’t like to think of you walking through the darkened streets.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at his worrying. “Nothing could have kept me from you tonight. Not after that fright you gave me earlier.”

“I have treated him for much worse,” Ravi supplied, perhaps wanting to ease your anxiety. “Trust me, he is a tough one.”

“But not immortal,” Lucius added. “I never forget that part.”

“Neither do I.” You sighed.

He took your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You will be glad to know I am getting a couple of days of rest, at least.”

You hummed, noncommittal. The relief of knowing he was safe would only be temporary, and then he would be forced to return to the arena. But then another thought occurred to you – the rest of the cells would be empty during those days, offering a much larger window of time for you to spend with him unnoticed. The corners of your lips curled up with mischief, a plan already forming in your mind.

“Oh, you poor thing, you’ll be just terribly lonely in here, won’t you?” You said, pouting exaggeratedly. “Not even Ravi will be around to look after you…”

You glanced at him over your shoulder pointedly, clearing your throat when he didn’t react.

“Ah, yes, you are correct, mistress,” Ravi said quickly, finally taking the hint. “I’ll be required elsewhere…”

Lucius raised his eyebrows in amusement, but you could tell he was not at all put off by the insinuation.

“Perhaps I shall be rendered vulnerable to any sort of attack, after all,” he said, sighing theatrically as if surrendering to his fate. “But you needn’t worry yourself, my lady. I am perfectly capable of handling myself, wounded or not.”

His smirk hinted at his double meaning, the promise in his eyes undeniable. Behind you, Ravi shook his head with amusement, murmuring something about being sickened by the two of you. Uncaring, you leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Lucius’s lips.

“I am sure you are, my love, whatever may come.”

—--------------------------

Being at the barracks so early in the afternoon felt strange, but it was so quiet that you did not feel too nervous about the risk you were taking. As expected, no one was around to see you slip into Lucius’s cell, but you still shut the door behind you just in case. He couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of you so flustered, both excitement and a tinge of fear making your heart race.

You stumbled to where he was leaning against the wall and kissed him without any greeting, careful not to touch his wounded shoulder. He grinned, trying to suppress a shudder as you traced your tongue over his bottom lip. He held your arms so you didn’t get too excited too fast.

“What’s got you so eager, my love?” He said teasingly, pulling back to look at you. “I didn’t know respectable Roman ladies could kiss like that.”

“That’s nothing, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve I could show you,” you said, biting your lip to try to contain your eagerness at least a little bit. “Gently, of course.”

He chuckled, kissing you once more. He was already bare-chested, the warmth emanating from him like a siren’s lure. Your hands wandered over his skin and soon your lips retraced the path they’d made. He moaned softly, his brows furrowed wantonly as he watched your every move. He murmured your name almost like a plea for mercy, but it only spurred you on.

He tried to pull you back to help you out of your dress, but you stopped him with a hand on his good shoulder and a shake of your head.

“Let me take care of you,” you said. “All you need to do is lie back.”

“But my lady, I wish to…”

You cut him off. “Don’t be stubborn. You want to get better, don’t you? Even Ravi said you should not exert yourself too much…”

He raised his eyebrows, amused, but let you guide him to his cot. You gently pushed him onto his back and he lifted his hips as you tugged his loincloth off. His erection stood proudly, lying against his lower abdomen. You kissed his hip bone right beside it, grinning as it pulsed.

“Seems like I am not the only one who’s eager…” you commented, looking up at him.

“I always am when it comes to you,” he said, reaching down to caress your cheek. “Even when I am unsure when you will pounce on me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss the velvety underside of it. You felt a heated pulse deep within you, and you knew you couldn’t wait to have him. You licked your fingers and spread your saliva over the flushed tip of his cock, listening to his sharp intake of breath.

You hiked up your dress and straddled his hips, holding his gaze as you grasped the base of his cock with one hand to guide it inside you. His callused hands grasped your hips tightly as you sank on his length, the fabric of your dress between your teeth.

“Oh, Lucius,” you sighed, hands roaming over his chest as you leaned forward. “Does that feel good?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, relishing the enveloping warmth of your cunt around him. The last two pieces of the puzzle finally joined once again. “Gods, yes.”

You shifted your hips slowly, rising and lowering yourself slightly. He planted his feet on the cot, bucking his hips to meet your movements. You indulged him for a moment, your desperation mirroring his, but then you halted your movements in warning.

“Slowly,” you said, clicking your tongue. “I will stop if you try to go too fast.”

“You torture me…” he groaned, but the faintest grin tugging at his lips told you he was not all that agonized.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re suffering greatly,” you said sarcastically, leaning against him to kiss his neck and jaw, his rapid heartbeat under your tongue.

He moaned near your ear, sucking in a breath when he felt you clench around him. His hands slid down to your ass, fingers digging into the supple, meaty flesh. His nails left a faint red trail as he dragged them over your skin, trying to fight the urge to take over control and please you in all the ways he knew would get you to melt. Already, he could feel your arousal tricking down to his sac, and he was nearly delirious with lust.

Leaning back, you gyrated your hips, dragging them back and forth. The movement caused friction between his pelvis and your clit, causing more heat to pool in your lower belly. You leaned a hand against the base of his throat and he tilted his head back, holding your gaze. His hips started moving again seemingly on their own accord, your breathy little moans spurring him on.

But then, in a quick maneuver that made you gasp in surprise, he rolled you onto your back, his weight pinning you under him. You drew your knees up around him, barely able to protest as your hands settled on his hips, tugging him forward with each thrust. Still, you bit his bottom lip in retribution, slightly shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“You’re not being fair, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you said.

“You are, and I am merely returning the favor. I think that is more than fair,” he said, grinning lopsidedly as he kissed the tip of your nose. “Hold onto me, my love…”

Any more protests died away as heat rose within you like licking flames, his hips snapping against yours in a frantic rhythm. He murmured praises in your ear as he felt you tense against him, your legs trembling. He fucked you through your orgasm, kissing your temple and under your ear as you leaned your head against his muscular arm. With a few final thrusts, his hips melded against yours and you felt the heat of his spend inside of you. You ran your hands up and down his spine as he caught his breath, content to stay in the same position for as long as possible.

“I wish I could spend every day with you like this,” you murmured. “Without having to separate at the end of it…”

“One day, my love,” he said, bringing your free hand to rest over his heart. “I vow to earn my freedom and become worthy of your hand. I will take care of you for the rest of my life, and we will no longer have to be a secret.”

He sealed his promise with a kiss, resting his forehead against yours. Perhaps it was foolish to hope for so much, but his words had such conviction that it was hard not to believe he would keep his promise. Perhaps with enough offerings to Venus, she might turn a kind eye on the two of you. The goddess was quite fond of young lovers, after all.

“I suppose I’ll just have to endure a few more scares like this one…” you said.

“Perhaps, but I rest easier knowing you will be there to care for me,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively and making you chuckle.

“You are terrible,” you grinned, gently flicking his nose. “But I love you just the same.”

“I love you, too, my sweet tormentor.”

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