#thing (or rather an attempt at one) would explain why the two of them thought Daring would be Apple’s Prince Charming

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst (obvi)

a/n: It's about to reallyyyy get started in the next part (I promise there will be fluff in this fic eventually). Thank you so much for reading and interacting with this series ❤️❤️ I love writing it!!

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 4 ☼

Series Masterlist

~~

Mor’s fingers slid along book spines as she circled the room. A fire crackled and popped beneath the mantle, providing ambiance as the blonde retold another story of your life. You, unsure how to move about the space, remained seated in a rather large chair with an uncomfortably low back. 

“Gods, you wouldn’t talk to Rhys for a week. He was beside himself,” she laughed, shaking her head in faint fondness. “You refused to stay at the House out of pure spite. That’s when you and Azriel decided—” 

She cut herself off, nearly tripping on the ornate rug under your chair.  

“When Azriel and I decided what?” you probed. 

Mor bit into her lip, taking a large breath. “That story is for another time.” 

You hummed, hiding your frustration beneath a close-lipped grin. 

A story for another time.

This was your story, and yet, there were so many pieces that weren’t making sense. There was so much being kept from you—you could feel it—but why? Why did Mor omit some things and freely speak of others? Why was the topic of Azriel so… taboo? 

Your thoughts traveled back to the lunch yesterday, the way Azriel had abruptly vanished. He hadn’t been able to spend even an hour in your presence. The rest of the meal had been tense, with Cassian attempting to save your feelings by sending subtle jabs Azriel’s way and Mor shooting daggers at the swinging door. 

Maybe you and Azriel were enemies? It certainly didn’t feel that way whenever he was around. Granted, you’d only seen him twice since waking up, but those two times weren’t filled with hostility or ire, were they? 

Mor moved over to the window. You clenched the cushion of your chair between tense fingers. 

Did Azriel not like you? 

The thought sent daggers through your chest, which was odd, considering the man had only spoken about four words to you. But… he had to like you, didn’t he? When Mor spoke of your family, of your place in this court, she always included Azriel. He was always some part of the stories of your life. 

But that didn’t mean the two of you were friends. 

That didn’t mean he liked being around you. 

Perhaps the Inner Circle was attempting to rewrite history—reform a bond between friends that had long been burned. Maybe the two of you had constant disagreements and fights and the rest of them were sick of it, using your lack of memories to drive you back together. That would certainly explain Azriel’s disappearance yesterday. 

The conclusion ate away at you. It ate and ate until you were left feeling hollow. How could one person—a person you didn’t even know—be affecting you so much? There was a vast array of other problems you should be dwelling on. 

“He doesn't like me very much, does he?” 

You hadn’t meant to ask the question; the words had spilled out without permission. 

Mor’s head jutted back in confusion, her mouth opening in the shape of a scoff. “Who?”

“Azriel,” you clarified, suddenly feeling so small in the large, confusing chair you sat in. “I know I lost my memory, but I still grasp context clues, Mor. You’re always hesitant to speak of him and he didn’t exactly seem overjoyed to be spending time with me yesterday. Listen—” you held your hand up, stopping Mor from giving you the excuses you could see welling up “—I don’t care, okay? I don’t care how bad it all sounds. I just want to know the truth. I can’t… I can’t even begin to figure this all out without the complete truth.” 

The conflicted twist of Mor’s brow was glaringly apparent. She brought her fingers together at her waistline, fidgeting with them in what you assumed to be a nervous habit.

A lick of sympathy made you add, “Come on, it can’t be that bad, right? Whatever it is?” 

A pause.

“I don’t know if I should be the one to explain this all to you,” Mor said, struggling over each word. 

“It seems like no one else will.” You stood from your chair, ignoring the strange sense of loss from your departure. Did the rest of this room smell so much of cedar and night-kissed air? “Please, Mor. I’m so confused. I know more about myself, about you and I—you’ve done a wonderful job at that—but… I need to know everything. There’s a chance that I… a chance that I don’t get my memories back. I need to know who I am. Every part.” 

You brought your hands up to grasp at Mor’s, pleading with her through your gaze. Your friend—she had become your friend—stared back at you with so much disparaged hope. 

“You could still—” 

“Please, Mor.” 

You squeezed her fingers. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. 

“Y/n, Azriel—” 

Something crashed, causing Mor to yank your hands back until you were secure behind her, her body acting as a shield between you and the door. There was another bang, a panicked voice, and then heavy footsteps. Your back pressed against the glass window, a chill sinking into your bones. 

“—in her and Az’s reading room.”

The door slammed open not a moment later, Cassian bursting through in a frazzled state. He quickly scanned the room before landing on you and Mor. He locked eyes with the blonde, gave a quick nod, almost indistinguishable, and then turned his gaze to you. 

“You want to meet our High Lord?” 

~~

You could feel the tension the moment you stepped into the room. 

Shadows battled for purchase around Azriel, his fists clenched at his sides as he stood opposite Rhysand. A desk separated them, filled with papers and books and notes. Neither made any indication that they had heard your group enter the office until Rhysand shot his eyes to the corner of his vision.

Azriel sighed, deep and menacing, as if Rhysand had insulted him gravely. 

But he hadn’t said anything. 

Rhysand’s jaw shifted to the side. 

Cassian spoke, and it was then you realized his arm was pressing you back into the doorway. “Everything good in here?” 

Mor stood ground behind you, keeping a firm hand on your back. 

“Everything is fine,” Rhysand replied, steady voice matching his steady gaze on the male in front of him.

“You both sure? Because you told me to get her and I don’t know if having two Illyrians—” 

“Everything is fine, Cassian,” Rhysand repeated. Some of the tension left him. With a sharp look in Azriel’s direction, he turned his attention toward you, craning his head to the side to catch you behind Cassian’s broad shoulders. “Hello, y/n.” 

A nervous breath left you; whether it was from the hostility in the room or the greeting from the High Lord, you didn’t know. When Cassian nodded to Azriel and moved to the side, allowing you a full entrance, you glanced around quickly and caught the eyes of each person once, and then twice. 

You licked your drying lips. “High Lord,” you responded, bending at the knee and lowering your gaze. 

You had no recollection as to how long a bow was supposed to last. There was just some intrinsic part of you that knew the gesture was needed. Rhysand was a High Lord and you were… well, you weren’t sure what your title was—if you even had one. What your place was within this court. 

No one had deigned to tell you. 

When you rose after a seemingly acceptable amount of time, you were met with a still silence. All of the previous tension in the room melted away to create space for the stifling pause that permeated the air. Rhysand blinked at you, and then blinked again. 

And then he had to cover his mouth because he began laughing. 

A new emotion you could not remember experiencing invaded every inch of your body. It took you several seconds of enduring Rhysand’s muffled laugh before you recognized it as mortification. Pure, unadulterated mortification. 

You clasped your hands together in front of your waist and took a harrowing breath in, trying to fight back the sudden burn in your nose. 

Azriel, who had been watching you with careful grace since you stepped out from behind Cassian, turned his head with a sharp snap and growled at his High Lord. The leather around his fingers, placed there to keep his blazing siphons in place, groaned as his fists constricted once more. 

Rhysand banished the argument before it began, attempting to wipe away the laugh with his fingers. “I’m—I’m sorry, y/n,” he chuckled, collecting himself further, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I know this is not funny for you, but… but I have never seen you do that a day in your life. And you have met several High Lords.” 

You glanced around to gauge the reactions of the others in the room, finding Cassian with his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek to fight a smile and Mor staring up at the ceiling, in the midst of that same battle. Some of the embarrassment fled, but it was only replaced with confusion. 

“I.. I’m sorry, I just assumed—because you’re a High Lord, I assumed your station required—” 

Rhysand shook his head and gently corrected your rambling. “In a public space, perhaps. Maybe not in Velaris. And certainly not from someone I consider to be a sister.”

A sister. 

Your family. 

Right.

“I’m sure Helion would welcome the greeting,” Cassian huffed out from beside you, his words laced with an unrealized laugh. “Especially since the last time you greeted the High Lord of Day you told him to never again try baking in his entire immortal life. Not even a hello.” 

Whatever discussion was occurring prior to your entrance was long forgotten. Even Azriel cracked a smile at that, and the room was filled with more than Rhysand’s laughs. The sounds, although new for you, had a smile tugging at your own lips. It was the first time since you woke up that no one was frowning at you, or fighting off tears, or storming away in bouts of shadows. 

In fact, the feeling was so jarring you found yourself laughing as well—a tentative laugh, but one of the first that felt real. 

It was a few more moments of joyous forgetting before silence took over again, but it was a lighter silence this time. Rhysand motioned to the chair facing his desk, and you took the seat, Cassian standing tall behind you, Mor positioning herself on the arm. 

Azriel remained standing just a step away. 

His face was void of a smile once again. 

Rhysand cleared his throat. “It seems wrong to introduce myself now, but I must ask that you call me Rhys—or Rhysand, if I’ve really done something to piss you off. But not High Lord.” When you only nodded in agreement, he looked down at his desk, something lost in his eye. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you sooner. I’ve been researching—trying to figure this out.” 

“I know. Thank you, Hi—Rhys,” you corrected. Cassian squeezed your shoulder from behind. A shadow followed the movement, slinking down from the Illyrian’s hand to loop around your neck. 

“There isn’t much literature on witches, unfortunately. Not here. I’ve had Amren, another member of our court, looking through what she knows. She—well, she knows a great deal about many things that we don’t understand.” Rhysand sighed. Humor left him. “The consensus so far is that anything done by a witch can only be undone by that witch. Meaning—” 

“Meaning there’s no hope unless we can find her,” you finished for him. “But—” your brows furrowed “—I’m the only one who saw her. Mor’s told me about that day. No one else saw the witch but me and now I…” 

The burning in your nose was back, this time accompanied by the pounding in your head and the pressure in your chest. Both had become constants in your life. A sickening sort of panic twisted its way through you, leaving your breath unsteady even as Cassian ran a comforting hand over your shoulders and Mor offered silent encouragement at your side. 

The only thing keeping your tears at bay were the shadows that had sought you out, their presence tickling your skin and serving as a distraction. That, and the azure glow continuously catching the corner of your eye as Azriel clenched and unclenched his fist. 

“There are two avenues we can take,” Rhys offered with a kind, calm smile. “I am able to see into minds, oftentimes past what even you might be cognizant of. If you allow me to, I can enter your memories and take a look… maybe see the witch or something useful.”  

You could make it worse.

You remembered bits and pieces from the day you were attacked, but some things were clearer than others. You had no idea who said what, but you knew someone had warned Rhys against this—someone had wrapped themselves around you and kept him far, far away. 

“Would that hurt?” you asked. 

A trembling exhale fell from the shadowsinger’s lips. You turned to look at him, but he kept his eyes forward. 

“I would do my best to ensure that it didn’t,” Rhys comforted, his own eyes darting from Azriel and back to you. “At any sign of discomfort, I would stop. The goal would just be to see where your memories lay, if they were accessible at all. And to see if there was anything hidden about the witch.” 

You nodded, trying to reconvene privately as you stared down at your fingers.

He would just take a look. Maybe it would somehow stop this incessant pounding in your head or maybe he would be able to see the memory of the witch. Maybe your memories were there, and you just didn’t have access to them yourself. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

“If you aren’t comfortable with that—” Azriel’s low voice cut through your rampage of thoughts. “—we still have several people looking for information. As spymaster, I can assure you that all personnel available are on the hunt in Spring Court.” 

You looked up, and Azriel met your eye for the first time since that disastrous lunch. Something felt like it fractured within you, a desolation so sharp it stung, but just as abruptly, that feeling washed away. It felt as if it seeped through some crack only to be reined in and slammed behind several locked doors.

You rubbed at your chest in an attempt to soothe the ache the feeling left. Azriel flickered his gaze down to watch your hand, clenched his jaw, and then looked back up. Softer this time—an apology you couldn’t comprehend. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. “It means a lot that you are spending so much time on this. I—I can’t begin to thank you fully.” 

Some of the conviction you had grown so used to seeing on Azriel’s face crumbled. He took a half-step towards you, a seemingly unconscious movement. 

“Anything.” His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “Y/n, anything.” 

It wasn't until Rhys spoke again that you were snapped out of the trance Azriel had locked you in. “I cannot guarantee I will see anything, if you choose to allow me in,” the High Lord explained. When you looked over at him, a sad smile lingered. “Which is why an alternative may be needed.” 

“Of course,” you nodded, an encouragement for him to continue. 

Rhys pushed his fingers together as they sat atop his desk. “We would take you to Day Court. Helion—the High Lord Cassian mentioned—is skilled in spell-cleaving. He may be able to undo some of what the witch did, if that’s possible. Or just give us a better read on the situation.” 

Mor startled from beside you, “Rhys—” 

“It wouldn’t be like last time,” Rhys placated, once again glancing toward the shadowsinger. “It wouldn’t.” 

“Couldn’t Feyre—” 

“She doesn’t have that much control over each of the court powers yet. We—we tried.” 

“Feyre?” you asked, but the question was directed to no one and no one answered it. 

“It’s a brilliant plan, isn’t it?” Azriel spit out, vitrole tainting each syllable. The heat rose in the room.

Cassian cut in this time, his voice a vibration at the back of your head. “Azriel, maybe—” 

You couldn’t focus on anything they were saying as each line spoken left you with more questions, more pieces you couldn’t connect. Azriel was mad, Mor was concerned, Cassian was attempting to play the mediator. You had no idea what role Rhys filled, but you assumed it was the level-headed High Lord who only wanted the best for his court. 

But Azriel was too livid and that emotion drowned out all the rest. 

It wouldn’t be like last time. 

What happened last time? 

“I can’t go through that again,” Azriel stressed, his palm now flat on the wood of Rhys’s desk. “We can’t put her through that again.” 

But it had sounded like the Night Court was friendly with Day; Cassian made it seem like you were close enough with Helion to make jabs at his cooking. 

Put you through what? 

“Maybe,” Cassian gritted out, his fingers kneading comfort into your arm. “This isn’t the best discussion to be having. Maybe we start with the first plan and if Rhys can’t find anything, we talk about it.” 

Azriel leaned away from the desk, a sharp breath leaving his nose. The shadows that had swarmed around him calmed and flowed along the floor, stopping at your feet. A link between the two of you, it looked like—like a thread or a river or a bridge. 

You expected Azriel to leave again, to storm off and avoid this entire situation. You wouldn’t exactly blame him; even with Cassian’s negotiation, there were still so many contingencies and unknowns. This wasn’t simple or clear cut, and it would take a lot of time—time perhaps not so willingly given. 

But he didn’t. 

Azriel bit back a snarl and pushed back into the shadows, but he didn’t leave. 

You felt his eyes on you from the corner of the room, and something within you calmed while something else chafed. 

Amidst a soft ringing in your ears, you caught Mor’s low grumble. “At least now we know why they were at each other’s throats when we walked in.” 

Cassian scoffed out a disbelieving sound. 

And you… you gave in to a few of the tears that had been burning behind your eyes, completely missing that the crack in your chest had returned. Completely missing that it was the cause—emotions that weren't entirely yours influencing the dampness on your cheeks.

Part 4 ☼

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #azriel #azriel fic

[junipers-archive]

Sweater

Word Count: 600

Includes: fluff! the team finds out about reader x Spencers relationship when you show up to work wearing one of his sweaters

"Y/n." It was Penelope, she was whispering conspicuously as you entered the office heading for the conference room.

"Goodmorning!" You answer quickly as you were already running late due to your much needed coffee run this morning.

She begins to trail after you. "Y/n."

You stop, now wondering what's wrong, especially as all the heads in the room begin looking towards you as you walk in. But it isn't until Derek speaks up that you're hinted as to why,

"So you and pretty boy finally did it?" Oh no.

You mind races trying to figure out how he knew. Did Spencer tell him? You'd agreed not to tell anyone at first so you wouldn't cause absolute chaos. But it's been sixth months you guess it's be perfectly reasonable if-

"Your-your Sweater...its Spencers." Penelope elaborates, calming you rampant mind, all at the same time making it spasm.

You look down silently at what you're wearing, its almost identical as your regular getup, but because you were really running late this morning you'd grabbed a sweater from the couch in your shared apartment on your way out.

Completely missing the fact it was Spencers. It had been a soft cobalt blue color crew neck, one of his favorites with little designs lining it in navy...and also one he wore quite often.

You stared in both disbelief from how you'd manage to grab the one he used most consistently and also at your own stupidity and how you'd failed to notice the whole car ride here.

You look up bewilderedly, to find your colleagues staring at you all in varying ways, Derek was grinning, Rossi was smirking, Penelope had taken to a worried/excited look, Emily was respectfully trying to hide her smile and even Hotch was pretending to read the papers in front of him to avoid eye contact.

You attempt a reply calmly but stammer despite yourself,

"I-I-we-um"

closing your eyes to focus your thoughts and breathe, you open them to find Spencer your lovely boyfriend entering or rather staggering into the room.

He had taken the long route so you'd show up at different times,

"Hi! Sorry I'm late-I just-I-What-why's everybody looking at me like that?"

Everyone shaking their heads and smiling to themselves ignored his question as Penelope began to brief all of you on the case.

You hope the subject will be forgotten.

But of course it won't be, and surprisingly its Hotch that asks once the case had been explained and he'd called wheels up,

"Are you two dating?"

Everyone was still seated, waiting for something to be said, and you could see the pleasure in all their faces as he uttered the question.

Spencer swallowed though, not having become aware of the situation even after you'd tried to pass him a note like some third grader.

It had read: I'm wearing your sweater!

To which he'd simply responded with, I'm sure no one's noticed.

Having of course not been aware of your previous interaction with the team.

"We-uh-well-" he tried to begin

"Yes. We are dating." You had to confirm it, knowing if you didn't it would only make matters worse in the long run.

To that Hotch gave his lopsided smirk, "I'm Happy for you, but I'm not thrilled to do the paperwork."

The team of course having heard, errupted in giggles, reminiscent of child like giddy as they finally took it as their cue to leave.

And as they filed out Spencer received several pats on the backs and "good going reid" from Rossi and Derek as you yourself had been berated with questions from Emily and Penelope and "I swear to god if he hurts you-"'.

But as you both shyly retreat, gather your things and exit you agree that the best reaction had been from Hotch as he whispered quietly before he left,

"Well I guess I have to let you room together now."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader

[undercoverpena]

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with. 

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past. 

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped. 

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.  

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page. 

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You smile. 

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him. 

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him. 

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.” 

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you. 

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe. 

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon. 

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks. 

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there. 

“Not filled in means we’re okay.” 

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him. 

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him. 

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone. 

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.  

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths. 

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?” 

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist. 

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice. 

Thank you. 

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost x you #ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost x female reader #ghost riley headcanon

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

You're...Dating Them?

♡♡-Request: Neuvillette/Furina has a secret lover. They get put on trial for murder. Their only alibi? A date they went on with them. Chaos ensues.

Content: chaos, angst sorta, its just pure shenanigans.

Neuvillette

This couldn't be happening again. Neuvillette sat, unmoved in his seat. Eyes casting a glance over at you every so often. You'd been put on trial. For murder.

It was difficult for him to stay professional, surprisingly. Well, it wouldn't be if everyone knew that you two were a couple. But they didn't. Per his request, one of his attempts at keeping you safe. He didn't want others to know how close you were. Someone may take advantage and use you as leverage, or worse; hurt you. He didn't want to lose you and yet, here you were. Fear written on your face as you stood trial.

"Has the defendant prepared an alibi?" His voice wavered slightly, especially with those tearful eyes you aimed at him.

"I…I was out with someone." You said softly and only then, did it register.

He'd been so consumed with the fact you'd been accused. That there was possibly a chance you could be sentenced, that he forgot he was with you at the time. On a date. Hands interlocked as you both walked down a secluded beach. He had the very alibi that you needed, he could prove your innocence. But he could also create future issues for you. Neuvillette looked at you again. You had kept the secret, even though all of this was on the line.

He couldn't take it. Neuvillette stood, smacking his cane against the ground when the audience had gotten a bit rowdy from his silence. Then he looked at you, eyes conveying that you could say it.

"I was…with Monsieur Neuvillette."

The crowd erupted into gasps and shrills. They simply couldn't believe it. And it seems that his secret love was not so secret anymore.

Furina

To say you were confused would be an understatement. Especially since it was your lover who'd put you on trial. You weren't sure what kind of shenanigans she was up to, but you stood with your arms crossed. Waiting for her to explain why she thought you murdered someone.

"As you can see, the evidence is right there in plain sight!" She waved her hand dramatically.

"The defendant is obviously guilty," a smirk was etched onto her face and all you could do was roll your eyes. Was she serious? You'd probably be more upset if this wasn't the norm for you. And your relationship. Even if it was a secret, her dramatics knew no bounds. It's most likely someone told her you'd done it and being her, she took it at face value. Even if on that evening, you were with her.

"Do you have anything to say to refute her claims?" Neuvillette asked, clearly exasperated with her antics as well.

You crossed your arms. "The only thing I have to say is, I was with my lover at the time." Your brow raised as you watched the wheels in her head turn. Rather slowly but they did nonetheless. She cleared her throat immediately, "Right…a lover, your lover…me." She said a little too loudly, causing everyone in the courtroom to hear her. The crowd erupted and Neuvillette had to bang his cane against the ground.

"Order! Order!"

"Oh, would you look at that, I think it's time for me to exit stage left, Toodles!"

Navigation

#lovelies requests #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact furina #furina x reader

[heartpascal]

the sun was collapsing

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel thought you moving to a college halfway across the country would be the worst thing to happen to his family

▹— a/n: first off. yes this is me projecting. second, this is a miller!kid fic HOWEVER. it is not specified whether reader is adopted or biological etc + there is no reference to looks/resemblance! edit upon finishing: this took a slightly different direction than i originally meant but erm. yeah. let me know if y’all want any more of this!

▹— warnings: reference to a suicide attempt / suicidal thoughts and feelings — it’s the last section of the fic, and if you wish to avoid it stop reading at “You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.”, i will also put *** at the start of it (joel’s, but still, be cautious), negative feelings about going to college, miller!reader (adopted/bio unspecified), regretting leaving home, outbreak day, angst!!, brief use of they/them pronouns

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop (pedro)

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There had been a pit festering in the depths of your chest since the moment you had finished all of your exams. One which, no matter how many reassurances were provided, refused to go away, refused to allow you a moment of peace, of rest.

Strangely, it had only gotten worse the moment you had received your results, since you had received your acceptance letter, since your place at the college of your dreams was confirmed. As if all your hard work finally paying off was a bad thing, something to dread.

At first, you blamed it on the way Sarah had cried and held on to you for the way your chest caved in on itself. It felt reasonable to assume that your little sister could be the reason for such overwhelming trepidation about your impending departure. After all, you had always worried about her, had always looked out for her as best as you could, especially with everything that had happened with her mother.

When that didn’t explain away the uneasiness in your chest cavity, you shifted the blame to your father. Your dad, who you had looked after for what felt like the entirety of your life, who you had looked to in the best and worst times of your life. The very man who did his best to quell his own fear and worry about your move, just to reassure you, to encourage you.

Joel Miller was a self-made man, who raised two kids, a brother, and a business all in one short lifetime. He was a man who had struggled at practically every turn, and if this college was what would make you happy, was what would give you the head start that he had never received, he would welcome it.

You knew, really, that he would be fine. Your dad had raised you just fine, and he could handle your little sister without you, you were sure. For a brief moment, you had blamed that on the sense of foreboding within you; the idea that they didn’t need you. It didn’t take long for you to realise that they did, and that they would be glad to have you from miles away, rather than not at all.

So, you were at a loss.

It should have been an exciting time, something that you were looking forward to, rather than dreading. This was the start of the rest of your life, the reward for all of your hours spent working for the grades you had received, for the anxiety and stress of school. It was supposed to be a good thing. You couldn’t understand why your chest didn’t seem to get that memo.

The feeling persisted the entirety of the time that led up to your move, outlasting each brief flash of any other emotion. It continued the whole roadtrip up to the college, across multiple state borders, despite the multitude of karaoke covers that Sarah initiated.

Even when Joel and Tommy were taking your boxes up to your dorm room, you could feel it. Hell, when Sarah helped you start unpacking said boxes, it continued.

It was only when you were waving the three of them off, tears blurring the shrinking truck, that you realised just what was responsible for the feeling that had been bugging you for months.

You didn’t want to leave home.

Moreover, you didn’t want to grow up. You didn’t want to be alone.

The realisation was almost enough for you to call your dad, to beg him to come back, to pick you up and return you back home. Almost. Instead, you found yourself walking numbly back up to your dorm room, taking more than one wrong turn in the hallways which bled into one, and sitting down on the mattress which wasn’t your own.

For the next week, you breezed by, drifting along your timetable in some kind of half-there state. It was like you couldn’t fully comprehend that you were on your own.

You phoned Sarah on the fifth day, twisting the wire around your fingertip nervously, as if your little sister would ever ignore your calls. She answered on the second ring — unsurprisingly, given that was about how long it always took for her to answer the phone — and she greeted you with the most joyful call of your name you’d heard for a while.

“Sarah,” You responded fondly, tears immediately welling up in your eyes as you listened to her barrage of questions about your first week at college. “Slow down, Sarah, slow down!” You interrupted when her questions became intelligible over the spotty phone line.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sarah said, not sounding sorry at all. “I miss you. I wanna know everything.” She finished, which you already knew she would. Sarah was a lot like you in that way, curious and determined. You knew she was already thinking of what college she wanted to go to, and just how to get there. If she wasn’t swept up by playing soccer, neglecting her studies, that was.

Regardless, you smiled, just glad to hear her voice. “I know, I miss you, too. Is dad home yet?” You asked, unsurprised by her responding no, considering Joel Miller was renowned for his inability to stay on time, his tendency to overwork himself unrelenting. “Okay, well, you’ll tell him everything, right?”

“‘Course I will,” Sarah responded, sounding thrilled to get to relay such interesting information. She’d no doubt be sharing it with Tommy, first thing in the morning, too. “Now tell me!”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, before telling her as much as you could about what you recalled of your experience so far. Some of it was embellished, of course, mostly for Sarah’s benefit, though also slightly for your father’s. You already knew he’d be worrying himself sick over you.

That phone call was the only time the pit in your chest lessened, the whole time you’d been at college. As if the smallest dose of home was having a real effect. It only made you miss the house back in Texas all the more.

You felt worse afterwards, somehow. As if the call had been a harsh and unneeded reminder of the distance between you and your family. It had barely been over a week by now since you had left home, and you worried that you would never get used to being so far away. How could it possibly get better? How could you ever settle in when the people you love were so far?

The days afterwards were spent mulling over all of your life choices, spending your time soaking in all the regrets you were beginning to have. Why did you work so hard to get into this college? You were miserable. Not to mention all of the experiences you had missed out on in your determination to get here.

Luckily for you, you finally made your first friend.

He had sat next to you in one of your classes, and finally, after three classes of sitting in silence, the two of you had struck up a conversation.

Strangely enough, the two of you bonded over missing home. He was all the way from Nevada, and shared your debilitating homesickness. He talked a lot about his mother, and his older sister, and it was nice to have somebody to share that with.

Things were starting to look up. Life was a lot easier when you had a friend to share it with.

But all the talking about feeling homesick didn’t actually get rid of the feeling. Your heart practically ached each time you went home to your dorm room, where you were alone, where there was no little sister to come and bug you about dinner, or about dad getting home.

You called again, on the three week mark.

Much to your annoyance and happiness, your uncle Tommy answered the phone.

“Hey, uncle Tommy. How’re you doing?” You asked, the smile obvious in your voice. Even to your ears, it was the happiest you’d sounded since speaking to Sarah, a little over two weeks prior.

“Well, if it ain’t our little ol’ Nerd Miller.” Tommy greeted over the phone, that familiar teasing tone making you roll your eyes. “I’m doin’ mighty fine, kiddo. How’re you gettin’ on?” He asked, tone taking on a more soft note, which had your chest aching all over again.

Still, you shook your head and tried your best to seem as happy as possible, for his sake. “Oh, you know, just learning the ways of the world, n’ all. Where’s dad?” You questioned, not wanting to be rude, but also desperate to speak to the man who had raised you, and who had also missed your calls since you’d been gone.

“He’s out buyin’ some last minute supplies for tomorrow’s job. Keeping himself busy, I’d say.” Tommy replied, before you heard him calling out Sarah’s name, away from the phone. “Hang on, now, Sarah wants to speak to you.”

You wait, listening to the shuffling of the phone switching hands from across the country, endeared by your sister scolding your uncle for taking so long to tell her it was you. They argued for a moment longer, their joking tones familiar, but sounding vaguely different from across the phone line.

Finally, Sarah greeted you. “Hey, little sister! How are you getting on, over there? Tommy causing you trouble?” You asked in return, hearing him yell, some distance away, straining to be heard across the phone. It sent you and Sarah into giggles, and she had to take a breath before she could respond.

“As always. So, have you been to any parties, yet?” She asked, always insisting that you were the Miller child who caused the most trouble. You vaguely heard Tommy yell out a ‘sure hope not’ over the phone. Sarah shushed him, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“No, Sarah, no partying for me! I’ve gotta work hard, make this whole trip worth it.” You said, and though your tone was teasing, your words were feeling more true by the second. You had seen plenty of fliers advertising parties all across campus, even been handed a few as you exited classrooms, but you were uninterested. Your new friend had suggested you go to one, just yesterday evening, but you had declined. You were pretty sure that underaged drinking wasn’t the right way to cure your homesickness.

“You’re so boring. Dad’ll be thrilled.” Sarah laughed, the sound crackling over the line, and you smiled. There was no doubt in your mind that Joel would be relieved about your lacking party life, as much as he said he encouraged you getting out and living. Hell, the whole reason he hadn’t called you was so that you didn’t feel suffocated by him, so that you could live your life without feeling pressure from your old man. “Made any new friends?”

You hesitated, for some reason. “Uh, yeah! There’s this guy in my—”

“A guy?” Sarah interrupted, immediately. And there it was! The very reason for your hesitation. You heard a struggle over the phone, and Sarah was sounding more amused as time passed. “What’s his name? Are you dating?”

“Okay, enough of that!” Tommy said, and there was more shuffling as he presumably snatched the phone off of Sarah. You could hear her complaining through breaks in her laughter, but Tommy was refusing to hand back the phone. “Your old man does not need this one passin’ along details of your dating life, kiddo.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “There is no dating life, uncle Tommy. He’s just my friend.” You responded, though your uncle sounded unconvinced. “Anyway, enough about him. About dad’s birthday, next week—”

It was Tommy who cut you off this time, shifting the phone in his hand. “Woah! Don’t you go worrying about that, now. Me and Sarah have got it covered, don’t we, kiddo?” You heard Sarah yelling agreements, though you doubted she even knew what you were talking about.

“Actually, I was thinking about coming home for it. Surprising dad, you know.” You admitted, mostly in hopes that your uncle would help you plot the journey. And he was slightly better at keeping secrets than Sarah was.

“Oh, you just worry about yourself, up there. We’ll look after your old man! You gotta get out there, live your life!” Tommy responded, dismissing your idea immediately, even though he knew his older brother would have secretly loved the surprise. But it had only been a few weeks since you’d left, and if Tommy was honest, he wasn’t sure you’d go back if you came home so soon.

You frowned at his response, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You mean to tell me that you and Sarah are gonna manage the birthday breakfast, presents and cake? No way dad’ll remember any of it!” You said. For the longest time, you had been the one taking care of that sort of thing. Joel was always much too busy taking care of you and Sarah as well as overworking himself at his day job to sort out his own birthday celebrations.

Sure, Sarah was old enough by now to do this sort of thing, but it was something that you did. Since you were— what? Eleven? You had been the one to do it. Each year, you made Joel’s birthday cake, and either bought his presents or sent Tommy and Sarah out for them. Would they manage it without you? Did you even want them to?

It was the one day of the year where nothing else came first. Not schoolwork, homework, studying, work, not anything. You always made sure that this day was free, no exceptions. What would you do with it now?

“I think we can manage, right, Sarah?” Tommy said, teasingly, clearly not quite realising the significance of the day for you. Joel was your dad, in all the ways that mattered. He did everything for you! Hell, he even moved you halfway across the country, just because you thought it was what you wanted. This was the one day of the year where you got to return that. Where you got to show just how thankful you are for him, even if he did annoy the hell out of you whenever the chance arose. His birthday was the one day where you could get away with buying him gifts, and Tommy wanted you to… what? Stay this far? Be uninvolved?

“Tommy, I—… I always help with dad’s birthday. That doesn’t need to change now.” You murmured into the phone, suddenly feeling left out. It wasn’t a feeling you enjoyed whatsoever, and especially when it involved such an important day.

Tommy tutted, the sound just about crackling through the receiver, and you could picture him shaking his head, all the way back in Texas. “You gotta live your own life now, kid. Can’t be worryin’ about us little people back here. It’s high time you started puttin’ yourself first. Don’t worry about Joel’s birthday,” Tommy said, softer then, less mocking. “Me and Sarah’ve got it, alright?”

With a frown, you responded. “Alright.”

“Alrighty, now we better get goin’, your dad’ll have a fit if I make Sarah late again.” Tommy told you, and you nodded, before cringing and realising he couldn’t see that.

The three of you said your goodbyes, with Tommy putting the phone down soon after, cutting off his yells to Sarah about getting her shoes on. In the silence that followed after, you couldn’t help but feel more upset than before the call. Logically, you knew your family missed you. You knew that they couldn’t wait for you to be home at Thanksgiving, and you knew that they looked forward to your phone calls home just as much as you did. But it was hard. Brief phone calls with them just weren’t enough, and just showed that life was going on for them as normal, whilst you felt stuck.

You also knew that they were trying to give you your independence, that they were trying to let you live your life. Especially Joel. But you were finding, more and more, that you didn’t want this much independence. You wanted your dad to be overbearing and overly interested in your life, because he just wanted to be involved. You wanted your uncle to drive you to and from school, to sneak you a bottle of beer at family barbecues. You wanted to walk your little sister around town, because she was too nervous to go herself.

Everybody you had known back home had always told you that you’d be just fine at college. They had always told you that you were independent enough as it was, that you were practically an adult already, and that it’d be almost no different to home. For whatever reason, you felt guilty to think that they were wrong about you. You needed your family. You couldn’t do everything on your own, it was too much. It was too hard. It was too… lonely.

Where was your support system? Where were the three overbearing family members that would crowd you when you were upset, until you finally felt better? Who would you turn to when you needed a lift all the way across town? Who would you persuade to watch shitty DVDs from the Adler’s with you? Who would save Sarah from the Adler’s clutches?

As awful as you felt about it, you couldn’t help but want your family to feel as incapable without you as you did without them. You didn’t want them to manage without you. You wanted them to tell you to come home.

Part of you was just hoping that they weren’t doing it because they knew you were looking for the excuse to come home. Because they knew that if they asked, you’d come. Without question. Without even a moment of hesitation.

Your phone rang again, and you jumped up to answer it, hoping your dad was finally home, finally ringing you back. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Your newest and only friend greeted, the sound of a party muffling his voice. You sighed, hand over the end of the phone in hopes he wouldn’t hear it and misread your disappointment. “You sure you don’t wanna come to this thing? It’s a lot of fun!”

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was the morning of your dad’s birthday, and you had barely slept a wink, despite having a class relatively early this very morning. It had been a night full of tossing and turning, full of regrets and ideas about going home at 2AM. In the end, your exhaustion let you sleep when it was nearing 6AM, and your alarm woke you up not long later.

You’d barely managed to refrain from micro-managing Sarah and Tommy, all the way from across the country. Instead, you’d let yourself believe that they’d be able to remember everything, despite your anxiety telling you otherwise. You felt awful enough about not being there for Joel’s birthday, the last thing you needed was to feel guilty about him not getting a good birthday, too.

Not that you thought that Sarah or Tommy would allow that, of course. But Tommy was almost as forgetful as Joel was, and it wasn’t like Sarah could borrow Tommy’s truck like you had, last year. She wasn’t even old enough to drive yet! Surely it wasn’t unreasonable for you to worry, right?

You held off from calling home until it was nearing the time they would be leaving for school and work respectively, in hopes of not making the three of them late. You knew that you’d have to leave for your own class soon enough, but it felt wrong to start the day without speaking to your dad. Hell, your sad breakfast of toast had already started the day off on a pretty low note.

The phone rang for an uncomfortably long time, and you were reaching out to hang up when somebody finally answered. No greeting came immediately, just shuffling over the line, alongside some distant yelling. Finally, Tommy said, “Hello?”

“Hey, uncle Tommy. Everything alright over there?” You asked, brows creased as you listened to the commotion going on within the house, audible even over the crackly phone line. It seemed that the day was not starting off as smoothly as it usually did, no doubt due to your own dad and his persistent snoozing of his alarm.

Tommy yelled something away from the phone before finally responding to your question. “All good on our front, kiddo. How’re you doin’?” He asked, though you didn’t miss how distracted he sounded as he asked.

“Um, fine, I guess. Is dad there?”

“Huh? Oh, hang on.” Tommy replied, before you heard the clunk of him placing the phone down on the wooden table it sat on. There were some crackles that you think were his boots against the floor as he walked away, and you distantly heard him yelling for your dad. “Joel, your kid is on the phone!”

It’s awkward — the waiting, that is. The second hand on your watch ticking away until the minute hand moves, and still, there’s only faint rustling on the other end of the phone. Finally, after almost three full minutes, somebody picks up the phone.

Sarah said your name cheerfully, and you smiled tightly, despite yourself. “Hey, Sarah. How’s it been, sorting dad’s birthday?”

“Oh, not so bad. Made him eggs this morning, because he forgot the pancake mix yesterday. And he’s picking up the cake later! But don’t worry! I’ve got his present sorted.” She rambled, barely pausing to take a breath between sentences. You can imagine that she’d been stressed, trying to sort everything. It’s not as easy when you’re young, and you know that from experience.

“I don’t doubt you for a second. Where is dad?” You replied, eyebrows creased as you waited for her response.

“He’s running late, as always.” Sarah answered, and you could picture her rolling her eyes. She was punctual by nature, and definitely didn’t get that from Joel. He was always too late.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You heard faintly, the words muffled across the line. “You, go get in the truck. We’re late! Hey, kiddo.” Joel said, talking to Sarah before finally addressing you on the phone.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but we really are running late. I’ll call you once I’m home, alright?” Joel told you, sounding apologetic and frustrated. He probably missed you — and your annual birthday breakfast — just as much as you missed him.

“Okay. Happy birthday, dad.” You responded, feeling increasingly down. You should’ve never listened to Tommy. Joel’s birthday would no doubt be a disaster without you. And you already knew he was going to forget to pick up his birthday cake before returning home from work. It was the whole reason you always baked him one before he got home.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Joel said, a faint smile audible in his voice. He hung up a moment later, already shouting to Tommy and Sarah before the call was cut off. You frowned at the phone in your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of your family back home. Moving away truly wasn’t a good idea, was it?

That was what your thoughts were stuck on, for the rest of the day. Even as you proceeded to go to classes and see your few friends as normal, you couldn’t help but feel that pit in your chest getting worse, like you really were making a mistake. It was suffocating, and it felt never ending.

When you finally got back to your dorm room — much to your friend’s dismay, after having left them in the library to do an essay alone — you waited by the phone for your dad to call you back.

But when the phone finally did ring, it wasn’t your dad on the other end. Sarah greeted you the moment you answered, sounding relatively tired. She started telling you about her day, and about how Joel still wasn’t home, despite it nearing the late evening. She also told you about having to go to the Adler’s house, and helping Mrs. Adler bake disgusting cookies, followed by how creepy her mother was. Sarah had always found the old woman to be creepy, with her motionless state and blank expression, but in her words, the old woman seemed even more creepy than usual.

You rejoiced with her when she told you the title of the shitty DVD she’d borrowed from their extensive collection, though. It was one of your favourite things about your dad’s birthday traditions, even though the movie was almost always awful.

The call didn’t last long, because Sarah wanted to get her homework done before the weekend started, so you let her go, and sat in your quiet dorm room, once more. It was lonely, more than anything, and even though you often just sat alone in your bedroom at home, it was different. There was no option of going downstairs to see your dad, or crossing the hall to see your sister.

Eventually, you fell asleep, the dim lighting of your room alongside your poor night of sleep prior meaning that you couldn’t wait for Joel to call any longer.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The first thing you think when you wake up to a world of chaos, is that you never got to speak to your dad last night.

Even as the world rages on around you, people going insane, reports of an outbreak, shots fired on the streets, you can only think of your family, who feel as if they’re half the world away. How are you going to get to them? Are they okay? Are they alive? What was the last thing you said to them? Did you tell them you love them?

It’s a quick downward spiral, one which you’re only pulled out of when your friend appears in your vision, gripping your arm with relief that is practically palpable in the air around you. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, and you think there’s blood staining his sleeve. Still, it’s a relief to see him, to see a familiar face as the sky turns dark and chaos rages on.

He’s pulling you down the street in the next moment, past the site of a car wreck, with three, four— five cars practically piled on top of one another, one of which is already ablaze. There’s glass and blood and bodies everywhere you look, and it’s a feat that you don’t throw up.

“Robbie, what’s happening? Do you know what’s happening?” You asked desperately, straining to be heard over the sound of people screaming and crying around you.

“I—I don’t know. We need to get out of here, it’s… it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.” Robbie answered, his voice shaking even more than it had when he’d been talking of home, missing his family. You imagine he missed them far more in this moment, just like you did. He didn’t look back at you, but he did lower his hand to your own, rather than gripping your wrist. You squeezed his fingers, breathing through the growing pit in your chest, through the weight settling in your throat.

You’re not sure how long the two of you walk, but by the time you paused, the sun was rising. Half of you is convinced that you’re in some kind of delusional state, delirious enough from your lack of sleep that this is some sort of illusion that your brain is creating. The other half of you, however, knows better. It’s the part of you that keeps that pit in your chest empty, that keeps it all consuming. It’s the part that knows something is very, very wrong.

You kept wondering how this happened. How did the world turn to chaos in a matter of days? Hours? Sure, you’d caught glimpses of news reports following what doctors believed to be some kind of virus outbreak, but that didn’t prepare you for this. It hadn’t seemed so serious yesterday.

Between lapses of silence on your trek with Robbie, he’d told you everything he knew. He told you about how he tried to call his family, about how all the phone lines were down. He told you about his roommate, who had tried to attack him the moment he exited his room. It was only thanks to a few passersby that Robbie had been able to barricade his roommate in their shared dorm.

It was a mass outbreak, it seemed, and clearly, the government had no idea how to handle it. The entirety of the state was in disarray, and there had been orders to shoot civilians on sight. Both of you were terrified of coming across anybody, whether they were Infected or just hostile, neither of you wanted to die. All you wanted was to see your family again.

You knew you never should have come to this college.

Neither you nor Robbie had brought it up, but there was an unspoken question about where you were going to go. Where could possibly be safe? How were you going to get to your families? The two of you lived in opposite directions, so what were you going to do? Split up and try to get back to your home states alone? There was no way to even tell what you were going to find, if you even made it that far. Would your family be there? Would they have left? What if they tried to come to you? What if they were already gone?

There was no way to communicate with either of your families, and the uncertainty was wearing you both down. What if you got to them, and you infected them, somehow? How did you even know if you were Infected? Was there warning signs before you turned violent?

You didn’t know what to do, and it was making you even more anxious. You wanted, more than anything in the world, to be with your dad. A part of you just knew that Joel Miller would know exactly what to do. He would know how to keep you safe. It was the only thing that was giving you any semblance of comfort, the knowing that Joel would look after himself, Tommy and Sarah. All you had to do was find him, and everything would be okay. It had to be.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was nearing a month since Outbreak Day, as so many had taken to calling it, and everything still felt surreal. You and Robbie had stayed together, and had come across a group of three others who had some supplies. One of them, Benny, was an ex-military man, and coincidentally, he had known your uncle, back in the day. It seemed like too much of a sore subject to ask how, so you refrained. You hoped, however, that if you could manage to find somebody who knew your uncle in the midst of an apocalypse, you’d be able to find him. And with him, would, of course, be your dad and sister. They would have stuck together, you were certain.

Regardless, Benny was keeping you safe. You felt far more comfortable with him than you did the others with him, given he knew your family. There was something reassuring about it.

The five of you were travelling together, avoiding populated areas and sticking to forests and fields to travel when you could. It seemed to be the best way to avoid those who were infected, as many of them were clustered in cities and neighbourhoods. There was more than one time, though, that you came across camps which had been ravaged by the infection. Benny had shot someone on one of these occasions, when she had broke from the tree line and approached you at a run, sobbing through breaths.

You had been terrified at the time — horrified, really, but when you got closer, passing her body, you saw the infection crawling up veins, sprouting from her skin. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the sound of gunfire.

All the work you had put in to get into that stupid college seemed trivial, now. If you thought too long about it, you were almost certain that you would go insane. It didn’t matter how much you regretted all of your past decisions, it would never change where you were. It would never change the fact that you had no idea if your family were okay.

There was no doubt in your mind that you would’ve never survived if it hadn’t have been for Benny. He was strict with you, stopping you from eating anything that could’ve infected you, because he was certain that the mass outbreak must involve some kind of infection in the food supply. He kept you alert at all times, and refused to let you lag behind the rest of them. He kept you alive.

That fact became all the more clear when you when he woke you up, a hand pressed over your mouth. Instinctively, you had panicked, eyes wide and your limbs flailing until you realised who it was, and when he pressed a finger to his lips, you had nodded. You trusted Benny, for whatever reason, he seemed to care about keeping you safe. But Benny had a certain look in his eye that you didn’t like, the furrow of his brow had seemed deeper than usual.

When he pointed towards Robbie, you could see why.

He laid on top of a blanket you had found, his head turned towards you, eyes closed as if he was asleep. But his fingers were twitching, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. His skin looked dull, and when you squinted at him, you barely stopped the gasp from escaping your throat. Instead, it had gotten stuck, and you couldn’t breathe as you stared at the Infection raised upon Robbie’s veins.

You had looked towards Benny, and he shook his head. You knew what that meant.

The four of you tried to leave in silence, but Robbie had woken up anyway. He squinted over at you, calling your name in a slurred voice, and his eyes had looked all wrong. Against your better judgement, you turned back towards him, Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “Where’re you goin’?” Robbie slurred out, his voice failing halfway through his words, and he had stumbled to his feet. You had taken a step back at his approach, and he noticed. He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed, eyes taking in the way his fingers had twitched, and he shook his head. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” He had yelled, stumbling around before he had turned back to the four of you. “This ca—can’t be happening.”

“Robbie, I’m—I’m sorry.” You had answered, voice cracking over the words, as you stared at the boy who would never make it home to his family. You had wondered if you would meet the same fate.

“C’mon, kid,” Benny murmured, eyes stony as he had stared at Robbie, his shoulders tense and his hand had hovered over the gun at his hip. “We need to go.” He had said, hand firm at your shoulder as he turned you away from the first friend you had made at the college you’d dreamed of. How had this dream turn into such a nightmare? “Robbie… don’t make me do it. We need to go our separate ways.” Benny had yelled at Robbie, when he had tried to approach the moment your back was turned.

“I’m not infected!” Robbie shouted back, though his twitching limbs and the way he seemed to lack control of his body said otherwise. His eyes were bloodshot, red around the edges, and you had known what was going to happen next. It didn’t make it any easier.

You didn’t look back after the shot went off, after there was a distinctive thud behind you. You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.

∘₊✧───── ─────*───── ─────✧₊∘

***

Joel Miller tried to kill himself.

He doesn’t know how to respond to the fact that he failed. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really know how to respond to anything. He’s not even sure that anything that’s going on is real. How can it be? How can there be zombies in the world? How can his daughter be dead? How can he have no way of knowing if you’re alive?

It’s all been blurry, after Sarah. Joel spends more than a minute thinking about the fact that there’s an after her. She was meant to outlive him — you both were. And here he is, very much alive, while his daughter is dead, and you may be, too.

The world is turning around him and Joel just can’t get his bearings, can’t get past the pain at his temple, the sound of gunshots. How could he live through a bullet to the skull, when his daughter is dead? How could his daughter be dead?

He’s vaguely aware of Tommy at his side. Joel is vaguely aware of everything, really. He can hear all of the screaming, the crying, the questions, but he isn’t really listening. He isn’t really listening to Tommy begging him for something or other, either. And if he had any capacity to feel anything, Joel thinks he might feel bad for ignoring his younger brother, the man who had relied on Joel his whole life, but he just can’t.

All Joel can do is close his eyes, and watch his daughter die in his arms all over again.

All he can do is hear the sound of the severed phone line upon trying to call you. All he can do is think about how scared you must have been, alone in an unfamiliar state, with no way to get home. All Joel can do is revel in all the ways he failed his children.

What does Tommy expect from him? How could Joel possibly go on when he has just lost the most important people in his life? The only people who mattered? Of course, Joel loves his little brother, and he would do almost anything for him, but this? This is asking too much of him. Expecting him to live when his daughter is… when you could be… It’s all too much.

“Joel,” Tommy says, his voice quiet in the raging chaos behind the curtain around them, and he stares at his older brother as if he’s a stranger. The bandage across his head makes him look weird, and the despondent look in his eyes is one that Tommy doesn’t recognise. “Joel.” He says more urgently, grasping onto his brother’s shoulders, seemingly trying to shake him back to reality. “We have to keep going.”

But Tommy’s urgency means nothing to Joel, who can barely see his brother with the way his eyesight is blurring.

Tommy continues nonetheless, grasping Joel’s shoulders more roughly, unable to rid the image of Joel pulling the trigger from his mind. This was his older brother, the man who had almost raised him, who had protected him at every turn. To see that man so… hopeless, so done with the world, it was jarring, even more so than the apocalypse.

“You can’t give up on me, Joel, we gotta go find them.” Tommy says, getting louder and more desperate as the time passes and Joel continues to look dazed and far away. This seems to catch his attention the slightest bit, and when Tommy says your name, Joel’s eyes clear up slightly. “They need us, okay? They need you.”

It might be true, Joel considers. But he’s not sure what he would do if they found you anything other than healthy and well. If you’re dead, too, then that cements Joel’s failure, ensures his passage to join you.

“Okay,” Joel murmurs instead of voicing anything else, realising through the muddle of his thoughts that if you were alive, he needed to find you. “Alright, Tommy, I’m… I’m here.”

#heartpascal writes #joel miller father figure #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x reader platonic #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #tlou imagines #tlou x you #tlou x reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller fluff #tommy miller angst #tommy miller one shot #tommy miller imagine #tommy miller imagines #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x platonic!reader #pedro pascal x you

[doobea]

CHILLY - SAE ITOSHI

synopsis: he has a bad habit of saying things without thinking.

contents: established relationship, gn!reader, sae being stubborn, rin and sae have a healthier sibling relationship, sfw, hurt and comfort, word vomit, kinda proof'd word count: 1.3K a/n: idk i wanted to write a sad sae fic but it ended up being hurt/comfort. turns out he has a weird special place in my heart. also not sure if i like this one or not bc work has got me fk'd up with long train rides back

It's been almost two days since Sae's last conversation with you, but it honestly feels like weeks.

On the first night, the two of you slept with your backs against each other with neither turning around or uttering a word. Sae remembers barely getting any sleep that night because of the heavy sinking feeling in his stomach, and he was positively sure that you were in a similar state. He thinks that he should've slept in the living room to grant you the needed space, and maybe it would've been better the next morning, but Itoshi Sae is a selfish person.

He half expected you to roll into his arms in the middle of the night, apologizing and saying that he was right and you were wrong and that everything would've ended on a good note with a kiss. But you continued facing the wall while he stared at the window.

Sae doesn't want to admit it but he's scared. He feels like he's walking on a tightrope and isn't sure if this fight, out of many, was finally going to be the last.

During the second night, he attempts to start the much-needed conversation. He brings his arms slowly around your waist, fingers almost burning at the touch, but you remain still. At any other given night, he would've thought you were asleep but he knows that you're currently wide awake and as tensed as he is.

Sae swallows the lump forming in his throat and fights off his nerves, "I'm sorry."

You inhale sharply and he swears that he could feel your eyes glaring at the wall in front of you, "Is that it?"

He recoils at the sound of your voice, a voice that he hasn't heard within the past day. He feels like retreating under the covers but stands his ground, the grip on your waist tightening just ever so slightly as he carefully rests his chin on top of your head.

"No," but he struggles to find the rest of his words so he lets go.

You finally turn to face your boyfriend, eyes swelled and reddening from suppressed tears. You keep yourself mute, getting out of bed and exiting out of the room. Sae thinks you were going to rest in the living room but jumps at the sudden loud slam from the front door.

He tells himself he'll get used to the silence.

Two more days pass by and Sae tries to stay out of the shared apartment as much as possible. He only goes home to shower when he gets back from the gym and sleeps in a separate room, hoping that you would take the bed. Outside of the house, he spends his free time at his younger brother's place and, surprisingly, Rin understands the situation without Sae explaining much.

"You're an idiot." Rin flips to the next page of his comic, body sprawled out on his bed.

Sae leans against his brother's bedframe on the floor, "I know."

Another flip and Rin continues, "So go talk to them."

Sae sighs while looking through his camera roll at your photos, "I'm going to."

Rin doesn't glance up from his reading and only hums in response. A silence falls over the brothers but it's a silence that Sae can cope with. A part of him doesn't want to acknowledge it, the fact that he hasn't been speaking about it only makes him fall deeper in denial, but he feels like he needs the time to collect his thoughts or rather lack of them.

Sae slides down and lies on his stomach on the floor, grabbing one of his brother's older horror comics that were lying around. He's never bothered understanding Rin's hobbies and now he understands why. While their parents and friends may say they're similar in many ways, this wasn't one of them.

Their peaceful solitude is soon interrupted by soft rapid knocks from the front door and Rin gets up with a small groan, mumbling something about his delivery arriving late. Sae shrugs, too occupied with trying to understand what was occurring in the comic to care until a familiar voice calls out from the hallway. He feels himself freeze and holds his breath.

"Is Sae here right now?"

"He's in the back." Rin says hesitantly before offering, "Do you want to come in?"

Sae couldn't hear the rest of the conversation from how hard his heart was beating against his chest. He tries to calm down the sudden anxiety but it becomes increasingly difficult when he hears footsteps coming in his direction. Rin steps back into the room with his thumb pointing at the front door.

The younger male throws Sae a look, as if he was telling him to not fuck up, and says, "They're here. You should go."

"Oh," that's all Sae manages before getting up from the floor, suddenly painfully aware of his disheveled look in the bedroom mirror on the way out.

Well, it was too late for that either way. He knew he wasn't going to stall this time, not when you went out of your way to talk to him. Prerecorded words empty from his head as soon he sees your solemn figure against the doorframe.

"Hey." You offer lamely.

"Hi." He cringes at his cracked voice.

"Let's talk outside?"

And he nods.

You both say goodbye to Rin before walking in an aimless direction around the neighborhood. Sae notices you keeping an arm's length away and doesn't push it. He shoves his sweat-covered hands in his pockets, looking at the ground as you begin to talk, ready to hear whether or not you were still his.

"I had to think about this for a while," You begin, thumbs fiddling, "...and you were right."

Sae almost trips over himself, "What?"

You release a long sigh, "I didn't agree with how you handled things but you were right. I should've set clearer boundaries with some of the guys at the party. I didn't mean to make you upset, that wasn't my intention."

Sae finds himself frowning and grabs your hands, forcing you to stop with him, "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have gotten mad and caused that scene." He grimaces at the recent memory of the way he chastised you in front of his teammates and the press.

"Yeah, I know," Your harsh tone made him flinch but he relaxes as your thumbs caress his palms, "but, I'm the bigger idiot for not being comfortable to say no. I promise it won't happen again."

"Just... make sure to delete their numbers." He murmurs.

What happened at the party was unnecessarily mean on his part, considering how Sae didn't bother to pull you aside privately to explain the matter. But, to his defense, he didn't even know he would've felt that jealous in the first place and also didn't expect half of his team to flirt with you.

You silently agree with a squeeze into his hands. Slowly, he takes a step forward, closing the distance and placing a shy finger on your chin, gently lifting it to meet his gaze. Your eyes are laced with vulnerability, matching his own.

Sae pulls you into an embrace, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders as if he was afraid to lose you again. He feels your body hesitate, taking a moment to realize what was going on before mirroring the gesture back tenfold.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice barely audible to his surroundings but loud enough for you, "I don't like fighting with you."

You muzzle deep into the croak of his neck, "Me neither."

Sae takes in your scent and closes his eyes. He sighs through his nose in relief at the fact you both are back to what it was before. The way that things should always be. He slouches into your touch as your fingers run through his hair and, the silence that follows after, is one that Sae finally feels comfortable with.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #doobea writing #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 13

a/n: thank you, as always, to @bahablastplz for editing! thank you sm, readers, for interacting with this fic. i appreciate every single one of you!

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Chan.

[ read chapter twelve here ]

Chapter Thirteen: Of Girl Talk and Berry

 Saturday, November 4th

It’s four days into the challenge and there’s already $200 in the pot, $100 each from Felix and Changbin. Four days, and you haven’t made any attempts at seducing Hyunjin or Chan. The announcement of No Nut November was given on such short notice and has you feeling unprepared right now. Perhaps the boys did that on purpose so none of you would have time to plot their demise.

The first day of the challenge you were with Chan, and he made sure to keep his distance—he practically made you feel invisible. The unreasonably high wall he keeps between you seems to have risen even higher. Adding yet another obstacle in your way to winning this. The two of you don’t playfully flirt or make out for fun…and you’ve never been the one to initiate anything. If you try to, Chan will immediately know what you’re up to. You must play the long game with him, to make him believe you’re not interested in getting him to break.

The past few days with Hyunjin, though, have been easy. Bless his heart, he hasn’t banished you to your own bed yet. He has, however, taken to sleeping on his back rather than spooning you. He said he has to keep his precious parts away from your enemy territory. That’s fine. Better to let him relax in his presumed safety and pounce when he least expects it.

If you had it your way, you would only want Chan to lose, not Hyunjin. But all you would get for that is Chan doing your chores for a couple weeks. You want that vacation—you need both to lose. Winter break is approaching, and you’ve taken to using the thought of spending Christmas in a warm, tropical environment as your inspiration. So, unfortunately Hyunjin is going to have to be a casualty of war.

It’s mid-afternoon and everyone is home. Chan has called you, Allie, Charlotte, and Rhiannon down to the den. It’s on the first floor, on the opposite end of the kitchen—closer to the laundry room and garage. You’re all crowded in the hallway in front of the double doors.

“Now that the remodel is complete,” Chan addresses all of you, “you ladies will have your own area to do homework and study.”

“And to stay away from you guys this month?” Allie immediately remarks, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Suspicious timing for this to be complete, if you ask me.”

“Good thing I didn’t,” Chan smirks. “There are four desks, you can choose which one you want and decorate your area as you see fit. If you need help with anything, just ask.”

He seems so accommodating. It’s always interesting to see how Chan speaks to other people. Interesting in a ‘why can’t he be like that with me?’ kind of way. It reaffirms that there’s so much about him you don’t know, that he won’t let you know. You’ve become better at pushing away these thoughts, but it feels like they’re always lingering close by.

Chan steps aside and Allie reaches for both doorknobs, twists and then pushes to open them. You all file in and you’re the last one to enter. You turn around to see Chan right behind you, making a move as if he’s going to enter the room.

“Is there anything else you need to explain about this room?” You ask, placing a hand on his chest to stop him.

He looks down at your hand on his chest, then back up to meet your eyes. For a brief second you consider removing your hand, but it passes quickly. The rules of your fucked up arrangement with Chan are changing for the month. You will have to get out of your comfort zone with him, you can’t back down any time he makes you nervous.

“No,” he replies with a shrug.

“Then beat it,” you say, jerking your head in the direction of the living room.

He arches an eyebrow at you, and you smile in return before promptly shutting the door in his face.

When you turn back around to take in the room, you see that it’s huge. Bigger than any of the bedrooms you’ve seen in the house. The wall immediately in front of you has two large windows covered with light grey curtains and a futon up against it. The walls to the right and left each have two desks in front of them with white, gaming style chairs. They each have cat ears in different pastel shades attached to it—blue, purple, pink, and yellow. The center of the room is open with a large, circular, fluffy grey rug, a white coffee table and four papasan’s around it. On the wall to the right, above the desks, is a mounted TV. And on the left, near the door, is a bookshelf.

“Yeah…they’re definitely trying to keep us away,” Allie mutters, surveying the room. “I call the blue one.”

“Pink,” Rhiannon chimes in, going to her chosen desk.

“Which do you want?” Charlotte turns around to ask you. She’s the sweetest.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine with whatever.” You shrug.

She gives a curt nod and takes the chair with the yellow cat ears.

That leaves you with purple. You sit in the chair, open the drawers at the desk—of course they’re empty—and give the chair a spin. It’s close to the window, too, looking out toward the front yard.

“Damn them,” Rhi mutters, spinning in her chair too. “It’s really fucking cute in here.”

“We have to circle back to the timing of it all,” Allie says, leaving her desk to test out the futon.  

“Highly suspicious,” Rhi agrees.

“I’m already tempted to just spend my free time for the month in here,” Charlotte replies. “They can jerk themselves off all month long.”

You all laugh at her words. It’s the most explicit comment any of you have heard from her. She offers a sheepish smile in return.

“Agreed,” you say. “Not only did they announce the challenge super late, but now they want us to spend more time here than out there working against them?”

“I wasn’t even planning on participating,” Charlotte shrugs.

“And give up the chance to win that trip?” Rhi shakes her head. “I’m gonna make Changbin crumble by week two. And Seungmin shortly after. I’m getting that trip.”

You smile as the conversation turns to a matter of true importance.

“Hold on. Timeout.” Allie says, abruptly sitting up on the futon and making a ‘T’ with her hands. “This is good—we can work together. But first let’s bring our school stuff down here and get snacks. Lots of snacks.”

It’s an easily agreeable suggestion. The four of you clammer out of the room and upstairs to retrieve your belongings. You drop them back off at your new desk then raid the kitchen for snacks and drinks. The snacks amassed on the coffee table in the den seem like a lot, but their removal didn’t even put a dent in what’s available in the pantry.

“So,” Allie says when everyone is back in the room and seated in a papasan. “Let’s dissect these men. Rhi…what’s your plan for Changbin?”

You listen intently as Rhiannon discusses her methods for Changbin and Seungmin. She explains that Changbin’s confidence in his body is a strength and weakness—he’s a sucker for a good compliment. She knows how pumped up he is after coming home from the gym and how susceptible he is to being provoked. A few comments about his lack of gains and he’ll feel like he has something to prove to her. Seungmin, on the other hand, will take a little more work. He’s stubborn and likes to be right, so she’s still figuring out a way to make him think losing the contest is his idea.

Allie then divulges how much Felix loves physical touch. She’s planning to essentially deprive the poor boy of it for a couple weeks, then pounce on him with so much of it at one time that he has to break. Lee Know on the other hand…your jaw drops and Charlotte coughs on the chips in her mouth when Allie explains he’s been asking to fuck her in the ass since she came to the house.

“He’s not as crude as it sounds, I swear,” she holds her hands up in defense. “He’s always gentle and sweet, and sometimes a little silly when he asks so he can play it off like he’s joking. But I know he wants to. He’s an ass man.”

“And you’re gonna let him do it?” You ask.

“Yeah…if I give him an ultimatum, I think he’ll take it. Plus, I’ve done it before,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not so bad. Don’t knock it until you try it!” She says in response to the look of shock on each of your faces.

Charlotte then goes on to explain how she doesn’t believe Jeongin will make it through this first week. Apparently, they had gone to an all-boy’s boarding school and with this being Jeongin’s sophomore year of college, he’s still trying to catch up on lost time. Han, on the other hand, she thinks he’ll end up losing just from masturbating alone.

“He has a high sex drive but he’s so…hmm, how should I put it,” she taps her chin with her finger. “He doesn’t want to feel like a burden to me? He knows how Jeongin is and tries to give me time to recuperate but in the process, he ends up getting turned on by the most random things and goes off to his room to rub one out.”

“Has he let you watch?” Rhiannon asks.

Charlotte giggles and shakes her head.

“That’s your in, girl. Ask him to let you watch…or better yet—do it with him…have him watch you. He’ll probably lose his mind.”

Charlotte seems embarrassed at the idea of it.

When it’s your turn, you easily open up about how patient Hyunjin had been with you. You explain that because he already waited so long, he could do it again without much struggle.

“Maybe,” Charlotte says. “But you could also use it to your advantage. Since he’s now had a preview, it might be harder to resist and go so long without it again.”

You nod in agreement. You’ll have to coax him into it, for sure. You know he’s capable of pushing away your advances, but you also know he finds pleasure in seeing and making you happy.   

“What about Chan?” Allie asks. “If he won the last three years…that sounds like a challenge within itself.”

You feel a little less inclined to spill the details of your ‘relationship’ with Chan. From the information they’ve shared of their experiences, your interactions with Chan feel out of place in comparison. They’ve done some rather wild things as well, but the way they explained made it sound fun. And not like it was loaded with tension.

“He’ll be tough to crack, let’s say that.” You finally answer. “I don’t know if I should try coming on strong or just act wanton and desperate. But he’s so good at self-control, even in those moments.”

“There’s gotta be something,” Allie says. She grabs her laptop from her backpack and opens it on her lap, typing away on it furiously. “You might just have to get creative with something he wouldn’t expect. Some props or…”

She turns her computer around so you can all see the screen. It’s an amazon search for sexy lingerie.

“Oh, God, no,” you shake your head.

“I think most men would lose their shit seeing the girl they’re fucking dressed up in any of these,” Allie says.

“What is this house doing to us?” You ask, palming your forehead.

You all spend the next hour browsing the internet for things that might be useful in your respective missions. Allie is doubled over with laughter as she places an order for assless chaps. You order a few different items, still unsure that you’ll actually wear them. You’ve never dressed up in lingerie before. How heartbreaking would it be to do it for the first time and have the man you’re wearing it for reject you?

Tuesday, November 7th

You come out of the weekend thankful not only for the new workspace with the girls, but for the camaraderie it is helping to build. The den really is turning out to be a safe haven. Especially these last two days with Chan. Since you aren’t having sex, being in his room with him feels awkward. And that makes you feel like shit.

Even now as you’re climbing into bed, you don’t know what to say to him. But you have to set your plan in motion. He’s lying in his own bed already, too. He’s on his back, head propped up against his pillows and the light from his phone illuminates his face in the darkened room.

“Chan?” You call out to him meekly from your corner.

“Hm?”

“Are you not going to speak to me the entire month?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he replies coolly.

“I know I don’t stand a chance in hell at getting you to break so if it’s some sort of defense mechanism…it’s really not necessary,” you tell him. You’re glad he can’t see you, and you hope your tone sounds convincing. You’ve got to plant this seed perfectly.

He locks his phone, and his face disappears into the dark.

“What do you want to talk about y/n?”

“Are you an only child?” You ask.

“No.”

His short reply is met by silence. He doesn’t offer up any further information freely.

“Older? Younger?” You pry.

“Yes.”

Silence consumes the room again. In the safety of the darkness, your eyes roll so fucking far into the back of your skull. His answer doesn’t even make any sense.

“Maybe I should forget about becoming a vet and go into dentistry,” you say.

“Why would you do that?”

“All this fucking teeth pulling you have me doing to have a conversation.”

A snort sounds from across the room.

It’s followed by quite possibly the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard him make—a light and airy series of ha-ha-ha’s.

You’ve never made him laugh this way before. Didn’t think it possible.

“I’m serious,” you say, not bothering to hide your smile. “What do you think will happen if I know these things about you? That I’ll use them against you? Trust me, Chan, I don’t know anyone who gives a shit about how many siblings you have.”

“Then why do you want to know?”

“To understand who I’m living with.”

“I told you, you don’t need to understand me.”

“I may not need to, but I want to. I think that’s a pretty natural, human thing.”

He’s quiet and lets out a heavy sigh. You resist the urge to harp on him about it, the way he did when you sighed too much.

“I’m the oldest,” he says after another wave of silence. “I have a younger brother and sister.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“It was actually,” he replies, but for once it sounds like he’s joking with you.

“I’m an only child,” you offer up freely. “Thank you for asking.”

You wrack your brain for other questions to ask, to make the piercing silence filling the room go away. And then, to your surprise, Chan speaks up and you don’t have to.

“What made you want to be a vet?”

It’s so fucking stupid, but his question, his interest, sets your heartbeat off at an erratic pace.

“The simple cliché answer is that I’ve always loved animals,” you begin. “My grandmother was notorious for taking in strays and wounded animals of all kinds. She’d nurse them back to health and if they wanted to leave, they would, but if they wanted to stay, she’d keep them. Every time I went to visit her, I’d help with them and…I don’t know, I guess it just stuck with me. It felt really rewarding, seeing them recover. Though, they did not all make it and that was gut wrenching as a kid.”

When you finally stop talking you feel as though you’ve overshared. Maybe he’s not looking for in-depth answers.

“Did you have any pets growing up?” Is his follow-up question.

“No, unfortunately. My mom was allergic to damn near everything.” You tell him. “You?”

“Yeah, we have a dog named Berry.”

“What breed?”

“She’s a Royal King Charles Spaniel.”

“Sounds pretentious. Do you have any pictures?” As soon as you ask the question, you second guess if you should have. What’s going to be pushing him or asking too much right now? But you shake the thought—you have to try to scale this wall of his. Or find a way around it. Or blow it up entirely.

He’s quiet for a moment, then the light from his phone illuminates his face again. He remains quiet as he’s scrolling through his phone. You push back your blankets and slowly make your way to him, not wanting to bump into anything. He looks up at you when you’re at the side of the bed and locks eyes with you for a moment. Should you not have come over?

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding when he scooches over the tiniest amount, and you feel like doing a cartwheel. You slide on the bed next to him, resting your head against the pillows next to his. Your body immediately feels on edge, being so close to him, in his bed…and not for sex. His freshly showered scent fills your senses, and you wish you could just cuddle against him. You have the urge to lay your head on his chest and breathe him in, but that would certainly be pushing it too far right now.

There’s a privacy screen on his phone so you can’t see anything until he turns it towards you. A photo of a happy Berry waiting to go on a walk stares back at you. She’s white and brown and looks oh so fluffy, you can imagine how the fur would feel beneath your fingers.

“Awww,” you say with a smile. “How old is she?”

“She’ll be eight in December.”

“She’s adorable,” you say.

“I know,” he says with a soft smile on his face as he looks at the photo, too. You can tell how much he cares for her.

You want to tell him that he’s full of surprises, that you would not have guessed he’d have so much love for a pet. That he is capable of such an emotion. But you’re happy to see it’s possible.

You turn on your side to face him, propping your head up with your hand.

“Chan?” You ask, eyeing him carefully.

“Hm?” He replies again.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“For what?”

“For talking to me, for opening up a little.”

You’re treading carefully, not knowing if anything you say could make him resort back to his usual ways. You don’t want to make the wrong move. You can’t jeopardize this new territory you’re tiptoeing into with him.

“I should get some sleep,” you say, before he has a chance to reply. You slide out of his bed and return to your own. You don’t want him getting the wrong idea—yet. You want to initiate a closeness, and let him think you will ‘behave’ for the month. Let him think he’s trained you well.

“Y/N?” He calls when you’ve made it back to your bed.

“Yeah?” You pull the blankets up and snuggle into them.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Chan.”

For the first time, in this room, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

a/n: sorry for the wait, and sorry it's shorter than normal. blame the twice concert for having me so distracted last week haha. anyways, y/n is moving into a new space with Chan that we've all wanted to see for a while. there will be more to come of this and, of course, Hyunjin getting rizzed up by y/n. more soon!

taglist: @iflmho / @stayatinykatsy / @blackhairandbangs / @ayoitschannie / @idunnomanmynamewastaken / @charmer-c / @ihatemen55 / @channniesslefttt / @jiwoos-babygirl / @krayzieestay / @kayleefriedchicken / @sunnyhonie / @cotton-candycloudz / @lubsungie / @conwunder / @puckmaidens / @ashleighland / @hyunjiinnnn / @bmnyy / @ihrtlix / @maqqiekwon / @teti-menchon0604 /@you-make-skz-stay / @zandra-42 / @seungminindabuilding / @slytherinatheart / @loveuwoo / @hyunjinhoexxx / @chartrucewhore / @torothecatt / @fun-fanfics / @yaorzu-blog / @yjeonginlvr / @tenshimara / @a-person-with-void / @ilovetheworldilivein / @dhillomilo / @skzfelixlove / @luvvvash / @blondechannie / @sailor--sun / @stephanieeeyang / @msauthor / @grlcbrd / @minnieprincess85 / @tiny-skidz

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #bangchan fanfic #bang chan #skz x reader #skz x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan imagines #skz x y/n #bang chan x y/n #bang chan fanfic

[actual-changeling]

It was actually rather hard to decide how to begin this meta post because there are essentially going to be two main parts: why Crowley does not actually avoid/run from his problems and why "going off" is not a bad thing regardless.

Then I wrote the first part and realised this is now 2.5k words long, so uhhhh I will grant part 2 its own post.

With that, welcome back to Alex's today-not-unhinged meta corner!

I am going to approach this topic from a psychological angle, which a lot of people have already done, but without explicitly mentioning it or going into depth. All my information comes from personal experience, research, my therapist, and my psychiatrist, just so you know I am not making shit up. I actually dug up some resources my therapist gave me a while ago.

Generally, there are four different fear/survival responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Most people have probably heard about fight and flight, since those two are usually the only ones that are mentioned/taught, so I will stick to explaining the other two.

"Fawning" refers to actively being submissive and subdued, both physically and emotionally. The goal is to appear non-threatening and to calm whoever is causing the fear response in the first place. It shows up as being overly agreeable, not having thoughts/opinions of your own and ignoring them if you do, your body language changing (e.g., making yourself smaller, taking up less space), and generally attempting to 'keep the peace' or reinstate it.

"Freezing" is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin—you freeze. It means slipping into a dissociative state, which disconnects you from your body, your emotions/mind, and/or the outside world. Usually, people stop being able to talk well or at all, they do not move, and if they do, it is on autopilot; you do not fight or flee, you simply exist until what is causing the fear response is over.

While dissociating, your brain is unable to form full memories—and depending on how heavily you are dissociating, it does not form any memories at all. 

Freezing as a response happens when fight, flight, and fawn aren't possible anymore, e.g., a child who has no internal mechanisms to deal with large amounts of fear because it's a child, so the only way to escape the pain and aggressor is by fleeing into your mind and shutting down.

Why am I telling you all this? Because most people tend to have one or two survival responses that dominate/they usually fall back on, and the same goes for Aziraphale and Crowley.

When faced with an outside problem and a lot of stress, Aziraphale's first instinct is to fawn, to placate the person, to diffuse the situation, to make sure everyone is agreeing, or, at the very least, submitting to authority figures or aggressors. It is what heaven teaches them—stick to the rules, don't ask questions, do what you are told. If fawning involves lying, he will do so, here the need for safety is stronger than his desire to be truthful and stick to his morals.

Unfortunately, the fact that this is his primary fear response is also the reason behind his extreme cognitive dissonance. How can you stick to the rules when you do not know what the rules ARE? So he is stuck trying to figure out what is "good" and what is "bad" so he can be a good angel and avoid doing anything that might be seen as bad or disobedient.

His secondary response to stress or fear is to fight—once it's clear that fawning won't work, he can and will switch over to being more direct and aggressive/less submissive. We see that happening when he gets discorporated in season 1 and needs to get back to earth, at the airbase, or when the bookshop gets attacked.

If I were to ask you what you think Crowley's primary fear response is, how would you respond?

Well, if you said "flight"—you're wrong, and I will explain why.

Flight is his secondary fear response, it is what he falls back on in absolute emergencies when everything is doomed and there's nothing he can do anymore.

Before that, though, he fights.

Even as an angel, he was already questioning the system, he was ready to go and tell God she was doing a terrible job, that her ideas were bad, that he wants to keep his stars and the universe— six thousand years are nothing! If you actively oppose existing rules and defy people's authority over you, fighting is the only option you have unless you plan on giving up or the response becomes too much to deal with.

Fear itself happens when you or someone/something you love is being threatened (whether that threat is real or simply perceived as such doesn't matter), plus there are a large number of more irrational fears.

Crowley's creations were threatened -> He goes against the rules, he wants to fight for them.

On the walls of Eden, he questions God and talks to an angel, his hereditary enemy, once again defying the rules, questioning them.

Job and his children were threatened -> He goes against orders to try and save them.

There is good reason to believe he went against God by saving some of the children from the flood.

He showed Jesus the kingdoms of the world—do we really think that was based on orders? No, it was once again Crowley not playing by the rules.

Wessex? He proposes the Arrangement, which is one gigantic "fuck you" in his fight against celestial rules. Everything after that goes back to Crowley knowing that their jobs suck and that they can cheat, fight the system by working together. In 1827, it gets him pulled to hell and punished, and yet he does not stop; he keeps fighting.

Crowley is the one who immediately tries to stop the apocalypse. Aziraphale needs to be talked into it, needs to be convinced with selfish reasons and personal pleasure.

The reason why both heaven and hell absolutely loathe him is not because he is a runner; it's because he constantly and consistently defies them. He fights.

In season two, he immediately tries to deal with the Gabriel problem while Aziraphale is standing behind him and saying "I don't know" to all of his questions. Taking him somewhere so they can figure shit out in peace is not 'running'—it's smart. Sure, it's far from ideal, but we see what keeping him in the bookshop brought them, don't we? The hiding miracle is what tipped heaven and hell off in the first place.

Aziraphale goes to Edinburgh based on a hunch, but once again—did that help? Did his journalist roleplay trip actually provide vital information that solved a single puzzle piece of that mess? No. Finding out that Gabriel was at that pub with some mystery person was a nice fact to know, but that's it.

During the ball, Crowley is scared, vigilant, prowling around the shop, checking windows, telling Aziraphale to "stop this charade" so they can figure out what to do. Aziraphale, in that moment, was already convinced that sticking to the rules would save them—a heavenly embassy on a technicality, surely the group of fallen angels who got booted due to not following heaven's rules will respect that.

Crowley goes to heaven, which is once again him actively looking for a solution, while Aziraphale also falls back on fighting because fawning is not going to do shit.

There are three times during which Crowley suggests fleeing—which is his secondary fear response—but those are exceptions. Let's have a look at them.

The first one is at the bandstand, the evening before the Apocalypse, and since Aziraphale is lying to him, the situation seems hopeless to him. Yet he is still having his 'agents' look for him, is still fighting.

Do you know why he even suggests running? He is about to leave when Aziraphale calls him back with "there isn't anywhere to go," and now allow me to insert the following passage from the scriptbook.

Crowley looks back. He looks at Aziraphale. Above them, a beautiful starry sky. And Crowley softens.

"Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together."

The sentence in the show is slightly different, but they have one thing in common: If.

IF the world ends, we can still leave and be together. IF.

Crowley is NOT saying "let's leave", he is presenting Aziraphale with a contingency plan in case stopping the Apocalypse does not work. He is NOT running, he isn't even SUGGESTING to run.

It's a "if the world ends, we can be together. We don't need to be with hell or heaven; we can be in the stars," because remember what the end of the world would mean? Eternal torture for Crowley while Aziraphale bores himself to death in heaven.

The next time he suggests it again—when he stops Aziraphale on the street—several things have happened.

First, he did not leave. If he truly wanted to flee, he would have by now, but he didn't. He sits in a cinema waiting for the end: "Out of time. Out of hope," as Neil puts it. Then Hastur and Ligur show up on screen and tell him, 'You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. […] We're coming to collect you'.

We all know that means "eternal torture in hell," but if you're not convinced for some reason, have another snippet from the script book that did not make it into the show.

Dagon is speaking from the Bentley's radio while he drives towards the bookshop, saying that something has gone wrong and they're sure he has a 'perfectly reasonable explanation' for it. Once he gets out of the car, however, Dagon still keeps going and says the following:.

"Your explanation, and the circumstances that will accompany it, will provide a source of entertainment for all the damned of hell, Crowley. Because no matter what agonies the damned are suffering, Crowley, you will have it worse."

Crowley already knows that. He has been punished by them before, heard, seen, lived torture, there is no doubt as to what will happen should they catch him. So he does what any person with a single fucking brain cell would do—he tries to get his loved one and FLEE.

Flight is the best response in this situation, and if you need me to explain why, then honestly, I cannot help you anymore. I won't go into detail about Aziraphale's response, but, tl;dr, it was shitty and incredibly hurtful, go figure.

Now, let's get to situation number 3, which is his speech during the final fifteen. We do not have an official script for that, but someone did make transcriptions for all episodes; you can find them here. Additionally, I will copy some of what I already said in a different meta post.

Crowley, stuck in his trauma-induced hypervigilance and paranoia, suggests putting as much distance between them and the problem as possible. I think it is interesting that in ep1 he wants to get Gabriel away from them, while at the end of the season, he is ready to get them away from the problem.

So far, I have never seen anyone mention that change! And it’s important! The entire season, it is hammered into our heads how much they love being on earth. It is THEIR bookshop and THEIR car and THEIR life.

Crowley wants to protect that home, and Gabriel is a threat to it, a threat to both of them, their life, the bookshop—everything. He does not want to leave, he wants his peace and angel in one place.

Yet by allowing Gabriel to stay, Aziraphale destroyed the sense of comfort and safety Crowley had slowly developed over the last few decades. Heaven nipping down every now and then to check in with Aziraphale is very different from him sheltering the Supreme Archangel who is running from ‘something terrible’ without even asking if he’s alright with that.

Aziraphale calls it their bookshop, but he fundamentally still sees it as his space to govern and Crowley as a guest; he even calls it a 'heavenly embassy'.

After another horrible week and having his previously safe space violated by several different times and beings, Crowley is back to where he was before—without a home. That fragile existence broke apart, so he is standing in the heap of shards and telling Aziraphale 'I don’t feel safe here anymore, let’s leave’.

He lost his safe space, but he still has his safe person, his best and only friend, the person he loves. I doubt he cares where exactly they go as long as they’re together and it’s safe.

Returning to heaven—it is the one place Crowley cannot follow him to. It’s literally the worst option, he can’t go back, he won’t go back. So he invokes the bookshop again, if you don’t want to stay for me, stay for the bookshop, your books, your corner of existence that I thought we had carved out for ourselves.

There is a common error that people make regarding the timeline, which is assuming that during this conversation they are already aware of the impending apocalypse—but they aren't. Aziraphale himself has no clue, and while Crowley saw the conversation and trial, he does NOT know when it will happen. For all he knows, it could be tomorrow, could be in a thousand years, and, even if he had been given a date, I doubt they laid out all the details and how to stop it.

Considering that his original plan was "get drunk at the Ritz and then have us time," I don't think he knew literally anything about how or when to stop it. So no, Crowley does NOT suggest running away from earth and leaving it to die.

All he wants is some bloody peace and quiet where no demons, angels, or power-hungry floating heads can interrupt them. A space that is safe and theirs. There are also zero mentions of where he wants them to go; he is not talking about the stars or the universe. He wants to get away from where they currently are because heaven and hell show up uninvited whenever they please.

If your boss and ex-boss constantly kicked down your front door and stated their wish to torture you, would you stay there or would you move? Yeah.

This post got very long, but it was long overdue.

I am tired of seeing people call Crowley a callous coward who always runs away from his problems when he is the literal opposite. You take three sentences said under exceptional circumstances and apply them to Crowley as a whole, when it is nothing but his last ditch effort to keep himself and Aziraphale safe.

One last thing: If you come onto my post and start aggressively arguing about this, I will block you. Genuine discussions and questions are always welcome, being a dick is not, and I also simply cannot handle some of the rhetoric people in this fandom perpetuate because it's very triggering.

Make your own post, don't do it on mine.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #crowley meta #aziraphale meta #crowley deserves better treatment from this fandom #and people that actually remember canon and don't take some fanfic version of him they have created during the hiatus #so many straight up factually incorrect takes #i dont know if i will make it until season 3 guys

[koishua]

not—𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕 [ 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ]

what they would never, ever tell you!!

fluff. gn!reader. no warnings. like, reblog, feedback!

✧ heeseung has never told you this, but he'd actually tried sixteen times to muster up the courage to ask for your number and a date. it had taken him an entire year, sixteen tries, and five meltdowns to finally approach you and not instantly turn back around in a moment of weakness. he would never tell you that, however, because he thinks that you believe him to be a suave man. what you don't have the heart to tell heeseung is that jay had snitched on him and his various failures. you think it's adorable, so when you first teased him with this information, he'd gone pink as the cotton candies in your hands.

✧ jay will take this secret to his grave and not for reasons you may think. it had been two years into your relationship with him preparing sweet little lunch boxes for you to enjoy during your days of working and it had just occurred to you that he must have payed an honestly concerning amount of money on your groceries. when you had asked him about it, he'd laughed, shaken his head and brushed it off. this was the one thing in life he would want to do without a single payment back. he simply loves you to the moon and back, unconditionally. let him keep at least this to himself.

✧ jake was the person who'd bring stacks of well-taken and organized copies of his notes and put it under your desk back when you were at school. the mysterious, generous note giver had never revealed themselves to you for years. the writings on the papers were the biggest reason why you were so successful those years and it had crushed you not being able to thank the person properly other than stick-it notes you'd past under your desk for them to see whenever they came by. four years later when you'd reunited with jake and started a relationship with him, you realize how awfully familiar the handwriting looks.

✧ sunghoon would rather dive off a cliff than to explain what the clanging sounds in the kitchen for the past two weeks has been all about. you weren't allowed to enter it to help him with whatever he was doing, too. it would be your birthday soon and he'd fought tooth and nail to get every ingredient he'd ever need in order to make you the world's best birthday cake yet. the issue was the fact that he didn't know how to bake— not a single clue under the roof. so, he's taken it upon himself to practice making cakes every day until he could get it right. so far, every attempt has been a total failure. he still has a few days, so until then, he swears you off the kitchen.

✧ sunoo had written a few lengthy love letters to you as a child, not that he would ever tell you. he was eight years old and a hopeless romantic. he would spend hours coming up with rhymes for his poems about you and include them in the letters confessing his love for you. he was utterly smitten and charmed by your cute littles smiles (still is now). he'd never sent them to you, though, in fear of rejection, so he'd hid the notes in a box under his bedroom. ten years later, you were hanging out in the very same childhood bedroom and your feet hit a plastic box in the corner of his room. once sunoo sees the box and remembers about the contents in it, he feels absolutely mortified.

✧ jungwon was popular all throughout his childhood and teen years with many admirers, boys and girls alike. he was, however, thought to be uninterested in any romance, because he would instantly reject anyone that approached him. the small detail that no one knows about is how he'd walk the same route home a few times a day in hopes of one day catching your eyes from behind window as he'd pass by. no matter which clothes he wore or how he'd styled his hair, his subtle attempts would never work. months of hard work and the only thing that had worked was just going up to the counter with a box of juice and a small paper with a series of digits written on it.

✧ riki is a prideful boy and it would destroy his fragile ego if you knew how he'd stayed up a few nights and searched for tips on how to make someone like you on google's incognito mode. he was clueless and desperate to get you to like him as much as he liked you, so he'd scrolled through many wiki hows and blog articles. he even took a compatibility test to see how you matched and he prayed that you wouldn't ask why he was asking for your time of birth and star sign. you didn't ask, thankfully, and you did end up reciprocating his feelings in the end, but only because he'd charmed his way to your heart on his own— not because of wikihow's tips.

#enhypennetwork #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen reactions #heeseung x yn #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jay x yn #jake x reader #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x y/n #sunoo x reader #jungwon x y/n #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #niki x you #enhypen jay #enhypen x female reader

[oneatlatime]

I was thinking about city of Walls and Secrets again (because when I don't like things I want to know WHY) and it occurred to me how much power Iroh has amassed, just by being nice.

We've seen Iroh being nice to strangers, often in situations where he can't receive anything in return for his good manners, since the beginning of the show. I've usually written those occurrences off as Iroh smoothing over for Zuko's awkwardness or awfulness (think him interfering between Zuko and the ship's crew in The Storm), or as simply Iroh being a polite person. I don't think he was lying when he told Toph - while showing Toph - that he enjoys sitting down for tea with new people. He is sociable by nature, and if Azula's comment about him being a tea-loving kook is accurate in Zuko Alone (which is up for debate - she did a lot of lying and/or repeating what the adults around her think as her own opinions that episode), then he's always been a sociable creature. This seems to be a fundamental aspect of Iroh's personality.

So whenever I've seen Iroh being nice to strangers, I've never suspected that it had a purpose beyond the short term (cover for his nephew), or as Iroh being Iroh. But I think he's playing the long game with niceness. Let me explain:

When you're hiding under a false identity while posing as a refugee in a city that probably has a ridiculously large bounty on your real identity's head (and rightfully so), you'd think the smart thing to do would be to keep a low profile. And Zuko and Iroh are doing that! Sort of. They're staying in the lower ring, but they are working customer-facing jobs. And more importantly, a true attempt at lying low would include reproducing the awful tea that was being served at the tea shop before they were hired. But Iroh won't let bad tea stand.

I made a joke in my write up of the Tales of Ba Sing Se that it was a good thing that Iroh came to people's attention as the person who makes the "best tea in the city," because he was going to attract attention one way or another, and being a good teamaker is both less suspicious and more of a currency than just being a nice guy who stops babies from crying and compassionately redirects muggers. But now that I've thought about it for a bit, I think he was going to attract attention one way or the other because he has, all this time, been attempting to attract attention. It's not just his personality, it's not just him cleaning up after Zuko, it's him consciously attempting to build connections. It's a 'nice two birds with one stone' type situation that he can attract this attention while being paid to make tea.

Here's the thing: all these times that Iroh has been polite in situations where there could be no payoff for being so, I think he has been casting seeds. And City of Walls and Secrets is the first episode where we see the seeds of his politeness and (seemingly counterintuitive for keeping a low profile) network building bear fruit.

Jet accuses Zuko and Iroh of being firebenders. He's absolutely right. Given that Zuko and Iroh are members of the Fire Nation royal family, you could argue that they're the most firebenders a firebender could be. But Iroh has been being relentlessly polite to customers, and serving the guards such good tea that they declare he makes the "best tea in the city." Rather than playing it safe and letting people overlook him, he has given people a reason to like him. So the customers, the guards, even his boss, come to his defence when Jet accuses him. The guards are not going to let a man who keeps them fed, keeps them in tea, and keeps them company, be maligned.

Here's the other thing about these seeds of politeness that Iroh casts: they protect Zuko in the long term as much as the do in the short term. Sometimes Iroh's politeness is just covering for a single remark from his nephew, which I always view in the short term as smoothing over offence. But Iroh being polite also goes a long way to protecting Zuko from Jet's accusations. Lest we forget, Zuko steals a guard's swords, at least participates in the destruction of the tea shop's table, and at least participates in the disorderly conduct outside the tea shop. If the law were fair, half of the consequences heaped on Jet would fall on Zuko. And (this is speculation) I would argue that if Iroh had kept his head down and played at being a refugee rather than everyone's friend, Zuko at least would have lost his job for destroying some of those tables. But the goodwill Iroh has generated with customers, guards, and his boss stretches to cover Zuko too. Which is handy, because Zuko is not looking like he's in a place where he can expend much mental energy on anything beyond taking it one day at a time at the moment.

Iroh knows there is power in being nice. The incident with Jet shows that being nice can carry more power than being truthful. A lot of that is down to presentation; Jet didn't exactly endear himself, and frankly season 1 Jet would have been ashamed of season 2 Jet's lack of charm, but that's a post for another day.

All this makes me think two things: first, I wonder if any of the other one-episode characters that Iroh has tossed a throwaway polite comment to are going to come back. Second, Iroh is playing a somewhat risky game by attracting attention; so far it's paid off. I wonder if there will come a point where it causes trouble instead.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #iroh #zuko #jet #btw this is why people give free doughnuts to cops #also what is up with tumblr's spellcheck? Counterintuitive does not need a space.

[cocklessboy]

So here's the thing about having a post break containment on tumblr: if you make a mistake in the original post, there's absolutely fucking nothing you can do about it.

The people reblogging once you realize your mistake aren't reblogging it from your blog. They're reblogging it from someone you never even knew existed. If you edit the original, it does not affect the copies already being passed around.

You can make an addition to the post with a correction! But here's the thing. Posts tend to break containment if they are tagged and people see it in the tags they follow. But reblogs don't appear in tags. Only original posts do. So your addition will only be reblogged by people who follow you, and it's pretty rare for a post with a correction added in a reblog to break containment in the same way as the original.

So you wind up getting a lot of reblogs with angry comments about how you're wrong (and that's if they're being polite - the less polite ones will attack you rather viciously, which is not something I would wish on anyone). And even if you didn't make a mistake, if there's something you didn't make clear enough for Tumblr Reading Comprehension™️, you'll wind up inundated with angry comments from people who missed the point, and it's too late to go back and adjust your wording to make it clearer.

(That's why I'm making a new post for this instead of responding to the comments I got on the post in question, by the way. I'm hoping some of the same people who spread around the original might spot this one in the tags and share it around as well.)

So what is this about? I recently made a post about how a friend was worried that I was addicted to my ADHD meds purely because I said I look forward to taking them and they bring me joy.

The purpose of that post was:

Something bringing you joy doesn't necessarily make it addictive. (For fuck's sake stop being afraid of pleasure.)

Even if something is addictive, that's not inherently harmful.

Don't be afraid to take your meds just because they might be addictive. If they help you more than they harm you, take them.

I also made a comment about how my ADHD meds aren't addictive anyway. This is the point people have been pouncing on me about. So allow me to explain where that assertion came from.

My psychiatrist, an ADHD specialist who manages my meds: I know you're nervous about addiction and tolerance to meds, but don't worry. If you have ADHD, methylphenidate is not physically addictive.

My GP, who I got a second opinion from out of nervousness: Yup, your psychiatrist is right. You don't need to be afraid to take these. Take them as directed and you will not form a physical dependence on them. If you notice them getting less effective with time, though, you can always just take a break from them to remove any tolerance.

Me, after a year and a half of taking these meds: Yup, no addiction here. I guess my doctors were right.

So here we are. Two doctors and my own personal experience have assured me that ADHD meds are not something to be afraid of. Yet I keep seeing people afraid to take their meds because they're afraid of dependence. So why don't I do a nice thing in this post of mine and reassure my fellow gremlin-brained tumblrs that their meds are perfectly safe to take!

And to be fair, I've gotten quite a few reblogs with tags and additions and comments saying thank you, I was afraid to take my meds, even though they help me, but now I'm reassured that I shouldn't be scared.

And I think that's a positive outcome.

On the other hand, I'm getting some very angry comments from some people who seem to think I'm attempting to spread a vicious, intentional lie claiming that people with ADHD are immune to stimulant addiction and that I'm going to do all kinds of harm, presumably on purpose, because there's nothing I enjoy more than ruining other people's lives! 🙌

I would assume that anyone who thought about this for more than three seconds would realize that's not the case, but this is tumblr.

I've gotten angry rants ranging from "this author you've never heard of wrote a book where he defined addiction as inherently harmful, and therefore you're harming people by saying being addicted to something is not inherently bad!" to "STOP SPREADING MISINFORMATION!!!" to "OP is making statements that are incompatible with reality!" and folks? I'm real fucking tired of it.

Is it possible that my doctors are wrong? Of course! Doctors get things wrong all the time, especially when it comes to stuff like ADHD! But yelling at me from across the internet and accusing me of lying is not helpful.

There is nothing I can do about the original post. I can reblog it with an addition clarifying that yes, everyone is capable of becoming psychologically dependent on basically anything in a way that would be considered addiction, and yes, that includes ADHD people and their meds.

To be clear, this does NOT contradict the intent of my original post: that ADHD meds are good, you should take them, medication making you feel good is nothing to fear, pleasure is not the same as addiction, addiction is not inherently dangerous, and according to my doctors, who are fallible human beings but my most trusted source of information as of the writing of that post, ADHD meds are not physically addictive - as in, your BODY will not become dependent on them to function. This is the definition of "addiction" I had in mind when I wrote that post - and I think in a lot of cases the thing upsetting people is that we don't even actually disagree on what we're trying to say, but there was a miscommunication in terms of what I actually meant.

If I could go back and edit that original post and have it change everywhere it's been reblogged, I absolutely would. I would clarify where my information was coming from and what definition of "addiction" I intended, and reiterate that even if something can cause physical dependence, that doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't take it.

But I can't. That post is out there now and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Keep this in mind as you go forward in your tumblr journey, friends. If you come across a semi-popular post with a mistake in it, you can bet every bit of your ass that OP has heard about it many, many times already, probably in very impolite terms, and there is nothing they can do about the original post. Unless they're a massively popular blog, a reblog with an addition or correction will not be seen by the people spreading around the original.

And for fuck's sake, stop assuming ill intent on the part of people who say something incorrect online. There are people out there who intentionally spread misinformation, but those people are rare, and usually trying to get you to not vote democrat in US elections, not trying to encourage you to take your fucking meds. If you see a mistake, it's probably an honest one, and if you really want to correct it, be a decent fucking human being, be polite and kind, and try assuming good intentions on the part of the person who said it.

The person telling you to take your meds is not your fucking enemy.

Oh, and do me a favor and reblog this, please. I actually have very few followers so no one will see it if it doesn't get reblogged. Thank you.

#adhd #actually adhd #medication #ritalin #concerta #methylphenidate #addiction #misinformation #tumblr reading comprehension #stop being dicks to strangers online

[multific]

Run Away

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: When Sherlock went to work in London, he made a promise, a promise he has to keep and now, even more urgently as your father found a suitor. 

Ever since your eyes met his, you loved him. 

Back then, all he was is a handsome young man who intrigued you, but as the years passed, as he matured, your feelings grew. 

You two met in secret, just on the edge of your father's property, you met him every night. 

He told you about his dreams and you told him about yours. He dreamed of becoming a detective, the best one. And you had no doubt he would become just that. He had the potential.

But then, he needed to leave you.

He left you and his family for London.

"I'll become the greatest detective, My Love, and then I'll bring you with me to London, I'll ask your father for your hand in marriage. I promise." he said as he left you, and you believed him.

You believed Sherlock, so, you didn't look for another. But your father sure did.

And soon he found, Richard. 

Richard Moore was from a rich family, noble with way too much money, so of course, your father didn't have to think much and arranged your marriage to him.

You have never seen Richard, you never met him nor his family and yet, your wedding invitations were already sent out.

As y last desperate attempt, you asked for them to also include the Holmes family. Your father never knew about your feelings for Sherlock. But he sure knew who he was.

"Such an arrogant man. Sherlock had potential and yet, he became a detective," he said a year ago, just as Sherlock's popularity grew, so did your father's hatred.

"Being a detective mustn't be that bad. What if my future husband will be one?"

"Impossible! I'll never give you to a useless man! A politician or a hard-working man will be your husband. No arrogant detective can take my daughter's hand!" 

And ever since, this feeling of his only grew. Your father soon found Richard Moore, his family were known for their political views. 

No doubt, you would only be a trophy wife for him, he needed someone to call his and to show to the public, he didn't want feelings, and he would never love you. 

You were convinced you would never love someone as much as you loved Sherlock.

Which is why you insisted on inviting him to your wedding. If his feelings were true, he would come and he would rescue you from the future which seemed so dark now. A hand written invitation just for him.

You hoped he would get to you before the wedding, but as you stood there in your white gown, which you weren't even allowed to choose, your heart panicked.

Your mind told you the cruellest things, how Sherlock never even loved you, how he wouldn't come and how this will be your life from now on. And you started to believe. You started to believe that all of it is true. 

That Sherlock found someone more interesting than you, a stunning woman who is independent. 

And there you were, a love-sick teenager who was still waiting for him. He must be laughing at you, you often thought, at just how incredibly naive you were. And you don't blame him.

You were ready to walk down the aisle. You let out a deep sigh as everyone left you alone for just a moment before your father would come and walk with you.

"Love?" the voice behind you, barely a whisper, and you thought your mind was playing a trick so you didn't move, but then you heard your name getting called with the same deep voice. You slightly turned and saw, Sherlock. "Love, I'm so sorry for not coming earlier, I had matters to attend to, but now I'm here. And I'll keep my promise and bring you with me." he rushed over to you.

"What took you so long?" you asked, rather angry with him.

"We don't have much time, Y/N, please come with me I'll explain everything. And you did, you accepted his hand as he pulled you out of the church and into a carriage. 

You were surprised just how easy it was to get out of there, even in your white, very visible, dress. All that you left was the bouquet of flowers.

"I missed you, you are more beautiful than the day I left." he wanted to lean in and kiss you but you pushed him back.

"You have to explain a lot to me. There I was, thinking you didn't even care about me, that you found someone else, and then you just show up."

"I had to arrange many things. Didn't help that the police had another very interesting case, but you were more important. When I got the letter... I thought you moved on, that you found someone else. But then I noticed, the way you wrote, hand written by you just for me, and your hands were shaky, judging by the ink and the paper soaked with your tears. I am not sure how I missed that but when I realized I rushed."

"I never moved on. My father thinks your job is... not the best, to put it nicely. I tried to convince him, so we wouldn't have to run away, but he is stubborn. And Richard... I never met him, never even saw him." your eyes met his as the carriage stopped. You weren't too sure, but London couldn't be so close. 

"I thought we shouldn't let that dress go to waste." he got out of the carriage and helped you.

The scene in front of you took your breath away. 

A small chapel in the middle of a beautiful field, you recognized Sherlock's siblings, mother and a priest. 

"But only if you say yes out of your heart. I would never force you to marry me." you looked at Sherlock, eyes tearing up as you nodded. You pushed him and he nodded before walking to his place as his mother walked over to you and walked you down the aisle. Of course, there was no actual aisle, but you could live with that.

The smallest ceremony, this was about love, not about politics or trophies, this wedding was purely out of your love for one another. Suddenly even the dress you hated became the most beautiful.

A small kiss made it official, from that day on, you were Mrs Holmes.

---

London was much like you imagined but at the same time, nothing like you could ever dream about.

221B Baker Street was... interesting to say the least. Clearly, the home was a place for a man but you did see how Sherlock tried to make it more livable to you. 

"Well, this is..." you trailed off as you tried to maneuver through the books. "Lovely."

"It's messy, I know but I do not have much time too clean up. We can hire someone to do that, I do not expect you. Oh please, don't open the fridge."

And you did, and it was already too late. You closed it as quickly as you opened it.

"I really hope that is cheese... right?"

"I always eat out, so it could be anything. I'll clean it out later."

At least the bedroom was in a good shape. The bed looked comfortable and warm.

"At least nothing smells in here." he laughed slightly behind you. 

"It's a new one, I got it before I went to get you."

"We have to do something about the fridge. I don't mind the books and if it's a little messy but..." you felt his hands run up your arms.

"Do as you wish. I have the money if you wish to change something."

"I like your home, and I don't think Mrs Huddson will be pleased if I ruin her kitchen." 

Sherlock smiled as he turned you around to kiss you and hold you.

He finally had you in his arms, and he was not going to let you go ever again.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

A/N: Thank you to my beautiful friend, @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ for helping me with the plot! 

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock series #enola holmes #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #x reader #domestic fluff #fluffy

[maple-the-awesome]

When Another Finds Out About His Crush Part 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairings: Four, Hyrule, Legend x GN Reader

Overview: What happens when someone else in the Chain finds out about his feelings towards you?

 Zelda Masterlist 💙 Fandom Masterlist

How is it that today has been so peaceful? Seriously, when was the last time the group got a chance to breathe for a second, let alone actually take a moment to enjoy themselves like normal Hylians who don't have to constantly deal with the weight of the world upon their shoulders?

Maybe it's because of the last battle which left most of them pretty battered - too battered to dive head first back into another hoard of monsters right away. Perhaps the Old Man finally got tired of their constant whining and bickering which had grown in volume over the course of the last few days, leading him to pacify them with a quick break. It's probably a combination of those two things, but whatever the true reasoning for this blessing, Four plans to enjoy it - at least he's trying his best to.

He won't complain. It's nice getting to sit here in the sun, enjoying its warm beams that pair sweetly with the cool breeze that carries itself up from the spring where the majority of his traveling partners currently splash around, their joyful cheers making all sound right with the world. Of course, this scene of an early summer would be so much better if not broken every few seconds by Four's sneezing.

His nose is probably red and eyes possibly a bit puffy, but he tries not to care. He's too focused - too distracted with the many thoughts running through his head to begin fussing over some mild allergies.

'Loop over that...Now tie here...' 

'Maybe we should've chosen different flowers -'

'- No. We can't admit defeat to a stupid flower. We're seeing this through, damn it!'

'I wasn't suggesting that we give up. Only that we reevaluate our clearly flawed plan. This field is filled with flowers. We can take our pick.'

'Ooo, I like the poppies over there! Let's use those!'

'No! Poppies aren't good enough. Must I remind you why we're using daisies in the first place?!'

Four sighs heavily, his hands collapsing to his lap. The tangled flowers resting in his touch are a pathetic excuse for a 'craft'. If anything, they look no different from flowers that have been tugged from the ground then tossed around in a bag for a few shakes. It's rather shameful considering how long the minish took to teach him the careful art of weaving flower stems together. Are some watching him now, shaking their heads in confusion as to how someone can be struggling to this extent? Of course, it would be easier if he switched to practically any flower other than daisies, but he's committed to seeing this through as is, no changes. 

Four's harsh thoughts only break away temporarily when noticing the wolf that saunters through the meadow towards him, likely chased away from the cold shadows that have begun casting over his former resting place closer to the spring. Over here in the sun it’s much warmer, so there’s no surprise when the wolf invites himself to sit next to Four, giving a curious look to the flowers on his lap that asks the question without words being needed.

"I'm trying to make a crown," Four answers, lifting the string of stems up with one finger to let the wolf get a closer look which he does by leaning forward and taking a sniff. To him, the craft is impressive, looking far more detailed and put together compared to the flower crowns he's personally made with the children of his village, although it's clear that the Smith is having trouble accepting his own talent by the way he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand with a huff.

"Normally I can make them pretty quickly with fewer mistakes or tears in the stems and petals, but today I just can't get it right. No matter how many times I attempt one, it never looks good enough," Four explains further, his words drawing Wolfie's eyes to the several drafted flower crowns abandoned off to the hero's side. Then suddenly, the wolf's attention is drawn back to Four with a start when he sneezes loudly. 

Sniffing, he gives the slightly startled animal a pitiful look, "...Oh, and it doesn't help that I'm allergic to daisies..."

Wolfie tilts his head to the patch of poppies growing no more than two feet away from them.

"No, I can't...Daisies are easiest to make flower crowns with. They, um, have longer stems."

Woflie tilts his head further, showing doubt over Four's claim, yet in this form, it's not like he can truly call him out. All he can do is make himself comfortable, lying down among the tall grass where he can bare witness to the poor smith's torture as he goes back to weaving flowers into a circle, the only interruption to the silence between them being his repetitive sneezes and eventually a pair of footsteps approaching from the spring.

"Hey, we're missing you down at the water! Whatcha doing all the way up here by your lonesome?" It's no surprise that you're wearing a smile - Alright, it might've been a surprise a few hours ago when all you did was scowl or pout about your aching feet, but ever since Time allowed the group a break, you've been nothing but smiles and rainbows, a look Four prefers on you due to how contagious your enjoy never fails to be.

Immediately upon looking up, a smile pulls at his own lips and all of his muddled thoughts wash away into one. Even his voice is light as a feather without giving you any hint to his prior irritation; a complete contrast to how he had been seconds ago when Wolfie first joined him, "I'm not the biggest swimmer and even if I were, that scream Sky gave when jumping in was enough to convince me of my decision to stay up here."

"Yeah, it's ice water, but hey, anything beats sore feet at this point," You place your hands on your hips with a chuckle, sparing a quick glance back at the rest of the boys before your attention returns to Four, "Making flower crowns, I see?"

He nods, fiddling with the one in his hand which he seems to stare at for some time (truly it was only a few seconds for anyone except himself) before he holds the craft up towards you, "...I thought you'd like one."

"Really? For me?" The bashful smile he wears is easily missed as you awe over the flowers, delicately running your fingers over each petal. Like Wolfie, you see none of the flaws Four concerns himself with. Instead, you see a beautiful collection of near perfect daisies (only a few petals missing here and there) all weaved together in a strong pattern that keeps them from falling apart, "Oh, this is incredible…Wow, you truly are a talent to behold, aren’t you Smithy?"

He officially blushes, rubbing the back of his head with a wide smile he tries to maintain, "I can't take all the credit. I learned from the minish."

"You're too modest," You shake your head in mock annoyance, although the delight in your eyes never fades as you look over the flowers some more, "You know, daisies are actually my favorite, too."

"You don't say," Four picks at the petals on his lap, trying to act as casual as possible, "What a coincidence..."

You open your mouth to say something else, however you don't get the chance when a shout is suddenly heard from the spring followed by a loud splash. Four would've been curious to see what the commotion was, but he's currently in too much of a daze to follow where Wolfie and you look. Surely it's not that important judging on your calm sigh anyways. 

"Aaand I'm pretty sure that's the sound of Vet drowning the Captain. Seeing as I would like Time to keep giving us breaks in the future, I should probably go handle everything before he comes back," As disappointed as Four is to hear you’ll be leaving him so soon, he forgets all about that feeling when you place your flower crown on top of his head, your hands hovering there as you give him a gentle smile. He could’ve sworn he even felt your breath blow against his face given your close proximity, but maybe that was just the optimistic side of him, "Keep this safe for me, please? I’d hate for your hard work to get ruined."

"Uhhh...Y-Yeah. Yeah, I'll protect it with my life."

"Thanks. Now if you two will excuse me…" After patting Wolfie’s head goodbye and winking to them both, you race back down to the spring, shouting something to the other boys with a fierce tone that is the exact opposite to how sweetly you always speak to Four. He might've had a little nerve to either fear you or admire your anger (which can be kinda hot), although he merely sighs lovingly in distracted thought he only leaves when happening to catch that knowing stare Wolfie is giving him in the corner of his eyes. Now, wolf or not, Four can once again understand exactly what that type of smug look means without words.

Pushing Wolfie away halfheartedly, he huffs, "Don't say anything and we'll be even."

"Do you think you could teach me how to cook this dish?"

Pour Four nearly chokes on his own spit when the question meets his ears. Teach Hyrule to cook? Now he knows all of his fellow heroes come equipped with many talents, but surely there's a line to be drawn! 

Of course, Wild has a much milder reaction to this 'challenge', in fact, he's actually happy to be granted something to do seeing as he's been grounded to camp after his latest 'stunt', as Twilight referred to it. So, raising his attention up from the supplies he’s been taking inventory of, he glances over the wobbly handwriting on the paper that Hyrule holds out towards him, the Traveler trying not to look either too hopeful or too nervous.

"...I mean, I'm willing to teach you to cook, but are you sure you want this recipe? It’s not intended for beginners...Not to mention we might not have all the ingredients..." Taking the paper into his own hands and whispering to himself in thought distracts him from Hyrule's gulp, "We might be better off trying something else -"

"- No!" Hyrule bites his lip when Four and Wild's gazes jump to him, clearly surprised by his tone. Shifting on his feet, Hyrule tries to clear his throat as a poor attempt at acting 'natural', "I, uh, would really like to try this recipe. It sounded pretty good when the baker explained it, plus we've been traveling for so long and it's not everyday that we get to try something like it - Oh! And I already have all the ingredients. 'bought them in the last town we went to."

Hyrule hopes he isn’t coming off as too pushy or, in the worst case scenario, desperate. This plan is nerve wracking as it is, thus the last thing he needs is anyone asking questions, after all, he already had a close call when you caught him leaving that bakery during your stay in town.

When you saw him leave without buying anything, you assumed he was being rupee-cautious and offered to buy him something sweet if that was what his heart desired. You’re kind like that, always keeping an eye on him and doing your best to hype him up as being just as worthy of the hero’s title as everyone else. That’s why he couldn’t possibly have told you then that you’re what his heart desires most. No, that would’ve been too weird and cliche, even he knows that. You deserve a better confession (whenever he finds the courage for that), but in the meantime, he can at least show you his gratitude through gifts which is why he currently stands here mentally praying for Wild’s help; he’s his only hope at this point!

The Champion looks inside the pouch Hyrule had quite literally tossed at him, the Smith also sneaking a peek from over his shoulder. Comparing the written ingredients to those in the pouch, they confirm that everything is there (surprisingly no weird foods that Hyrule somehow manages to find).

"...Well, the Traveler's right about one thing: we don't usually get a chance to eat sweets on the road, not to mention everyone's been a bit stressed since our last battle. Maybe a treat would be a good way to lift spirits," Four suggests, although the words feel as if they must be pushed through his teeth. Already, his stomach tosses and turns in memory of the last 'dish' Hyrule made which resulted in seven of the ten heroes getting food poisoning and Hyrule receiving a permanent ban from the kitchen ever since.

Wild hums in thought then, to Hyrule's joy, nods and hands him back the recipe, "Alright. Let's get started."

Thinking back to it now, the request seemed so easy to him. Unlike the others who usually see their lives flash before their eyes at the thought of Hyrule's cooking, Wild has actually enjoyed most of his meals including the one that made nearly everyone sick, his only complaint being the need for less salt (a critique that was drowned by out Wind's over the top gagging). With that said, he saw no issue with helping the Traveler complete the desired recipe, however it's always possible for someone to come around to reason, it just took a lot of smoke and heaving, but come around nevertheless.

One minute everything was cooking as it should with a wonderful aroma filling the camp. All Wild did was turn his back. It was only seconds - that's it, seconds - before the cooking pot exploded into a puff of smoke and sparks. Since then, it's been utter havoc which is normally the word everyone else uses whenever Wild and Hyrule get paired, but today, Wild's admitting it himself. Is this usually how stressed Twilight feels?! If so, then he's sorry! He doesn't have time to actually apologize and will most likely forget by the time he sees his mentor again, but dear Hylia, he's sorry!

It's by the grace of the goddesses that no one comes running back to camp to find the scene that would await them if they did: Wild and Hyrule working together to frantically stomp out the flames before they reach any supplies or burn down the entire forest. Even then, evidence of their crimes remains in the form of charred grass and the coat of soot that covers Hyrule's face, stretching his bangs to the sky as his eyes carry a certain daze to them. Maybe now that he's literally had his work blow in his face, he can finally admit that his cooking might not be the best in the group's.

"What did you do?!" 

"I didn't do anything!" Hyrule meets Wild's shout, however he soon falters and pokes his fingers together innocently with a mumble, "...I thought you said that monster parts can give dishes effects..."

“Yeah, some…” Wild's face drops, his eyes wide with realization yet he still finds himself asking with a hint of fear to his voice, "What did you add?"

"..."

"Please don't tell me..."

"...Red chuchu jelly..."

"Dear Hylia!"

"I was curious to see what effect it would have!"

“It blows up! That’s the effect it has!”

"Do I even want to know what's going on here?"

Oh Goddesses, please kill him now...Hyrule had hoped if anyone, it would be the Old Man or maybe even the Captain who came running back to scold them, but you? Oh, you’re the last person he wanted to see this!

To be fair, you still aren't as bad as one of the stricter adults who would’ve immediately accessed the situation and started handing out punishments.  Instead, you plan to let them plead their case. Actually, you don't even look that angry, mainly confused and tired as you stand at the edge of camp, arms crossed with an expression that's anything except amused (probably because you had the unfortunate fate of being one of the seven who got food poisoning from Hyrule's last ‘cooking’ attempt).

Before either boy can begin explaining themselves, you sniff the air and immediately scrunch your nose as a reaction to the awful smell that burns it. Hyrule swears you even gag, although it's hard to tell because of how fast you shoot a hand up to cover the whole lower part of your face.

"What in Hylia's name were you trying to make? It smells like bokoblin guts!"

Hyrule shrinks even further into his embarrassment, "...It was supposed to be a fruit cake..."

"A fruit cake?"

"Hyrule wanted to learn how to cook and had the recipe for one. It just...didn't go as planned," Wild rubs the back of his neck, sparing a pitiful glance at the smoldering gunk that sticks to the cooking pot. It'll be a pain to clean later, that's for sure.

"Obviously,” You roll your eyes followed by a frown as you look to the cooking pot yourself with more sympathy than pity, "...But it’s a shame. I love fruit cake."

Wild blinks, his eyes shifting from you to Hyrule as the gears inside his head begin to turn. Meanwhile Hyrule tries to clear away the soot from his face with a quick drag of his sleeve, however he only makes matters worse by smearing it, "I'm sorry. I really wanted it to turn out right for you, but…I guess I should’ve just bought a cake at that bakery, huh? …I’m not cut out for cooking myself…”

Your frown remains as does that look of sympathy. Stepping forward, you take your canteen from your hip and dump a little water over the very edge of your cloak. By the time it's properly soaked, you're standing in front of Hyrule and using the cloth to wipe away the scoot from his face. Your attempts are far more successful than his, getting most of the gray off at the cost of your clock taking on the shade itself, not that you show any care.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it some day, 'rule. It's something that requires practice and patience. After all, I'm sure Wild wasn't as good of a cook from the start as he is now.”

"Umm -"

"- Shush." 

And with that, Wild immediately puts his hand down with a pout.

"Start out with some simple dishes first, then whenever you get the basic skills of cooking down, I'll teach you how to properly make fruit cake. How about that?" 

Hyrule's eyes nearly sparkle at the offer. Sure, Wild is his partner in crime when it comes to getting into unnecessary trouble, however he'd much rather have you as his cooking partner (and maybe his partner in everything else, too, if he can one day get that far). That's likely why he nods too quickly, his bangs still being stuck upright which prevents them from bobbing with the movement for once. 

You chuckle at his excitement and go to leave camp to return to whatever you had been doing before, although you do stop to ruffle his hair, reminding him to wash it when he gets a chance (words he doesn't hear because he’s too busy obsessing over the feeling of your hand running through his hair).

"You know -" Hyrule jolts out of his trance, cheeks red at the realization that he had forgotten all about Wild who stands with most his wait shifted to the side, arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips, "- Usually when you like someone, the best thing to do is to try not poisoning them."

"I-I wasn't - That's not what I -"

"- We still have some ingredients left over. Let's start from the top," Wild merely shakes off Hyrule’s rambling, something the Traveler is thankful for as he begins to trail after his friend back to the cooking pot, however he stops dead in his tracks when Wild suddenly spins around to point a wooden spoon at him, "BUT, no more adding anything that isn't in the recipe when I turn my back or else I'm warning (Y/n) that they'll have to be doing all the cooking in your relationship…Hylia knows I can’t afford getting in trouble again with Twilight...”

Hyrule gulps and nods more timidly than he had with you, "W-Will do."

This was a mistake and the worst part is that Legend knew it before he even committed to the decision. He knew it would be a bad idea to 'invite' nine others into his home, even if it was to be a temporary trip, yet he opened the doors to mayhem anyway. 

He blames his own tiredness, if anything. He didn't really feel like presenting a good argument as to why everyone should remain outside, which would've been especially difficult to pull off given the blazing sun above. No one wanted to just ‘wait outside’, not when their curiosity was overflowing at the thought of all the cool things the Vet must be hiding inside his home. So ever so foolishly, he let them in, underestimating the exact extent of annoyance he'd be instantly cursing himself with.

"Don't touch that!"

"Get away from there!"

"Hey, those are delicate! Put them down!"

"No, I am not playing any music! I'm just here to switch out my weapons. Just - STOP SHIFTING THROUGH MY STUFF! HAVEN’T YOU EVER HEARD OF SOMETHING CALLED ‘PRIVACY’?!"

"...You can borrow that if you want."

Surely some of the heroes snapped their necks by how quickly they turned towards Legend, surprised to hear him speak in a tone not laced with vexation nor raised in a shout. Actually, his words are rather soft - soft for him, at least. 

Even you're surprised, although it's not for the same reason as the others. Hearing the Vet's voice behind you, you practically leaped out of your skin and prepared yourself for the same harsh scolding as everyone else has received, so it takes you a second to process what he had really said instead. 

You blink once then twice (the rest of the group does, too) before glancing down at the ring you have pinched between your fingers. There's a small chest filled with them in front of you, each somehow different from the other whether that's because of the color of the band or the types of gems decorating them. Of course, you only planned on looking over them with your eyes, not wanting to disrespect Legend's privacy (and not wanting to be shouted at either), but that was before one ring in particular caught your eye. Your interest couldn't be tamed at that point, leading you to pick up the piece of jewelry for closer inspection which lands you in your current situation.

Turning to face Legend, who only boredly glances at the ring in your hand before going back to his own business, you open your mouth to say something - perhaps ask if he's serious because you most definitely misheard, right? He's going to let you borrow something of his? After getting so peeved about everyone else simply touching his stuff? You aim to be safe and confirm permission, yet the question doesn't have a chance to leave your lips before someone else beats you to it:

"What?! How come they get to take something? I wanna ring!" It's Wind and his objection makes sense seeing as he had just been looking over the same jewelry box moments ago only for Legend to swat his hands away. He isn't the only one to see the hypocrisy either.

"Can I borrow this?" Wild asks, holding up a boomerang with a hopeful smile that nearly distracts from the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"No, you can't!" Legend hisses, quick to rip his tornado rod out of Warrior's hands while he's at it much to the Captain's offense.

"Oh come on! What makes (Y/n) so special, eh?!"

"They're responsible," Legend dismisses stubbornly with a wave of his hand as he turns his back to them again. The others merely roll their eyes in annoyance, Warrior mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'simp' much to Legend's frustration, but before he can bite back, he mostly forgets all about them when you finally get a chance to speak up for yourself.

"You're sure it's no trouble?"

Legends fears he might have stared at you a bit too long - not that you would've noticed seeing as you keep your eyes focused on the ring you fiddle with. Despite how much you try to act neutral as to not get your hopes up, there's a giddy joy to your eyes at the thought of getting to keep this ring even if just for a little while, after all, it's so beautifully crafted and the red rubies attached to the golden band remind you of Legend in a way you'd prefer not to explain in front of everyone else, let alone with him present.

"...Yeah, it's no problem," He looks away quickly, blowing some air which fixes his bangs out of his view. If anyone were to spend more time studying his behavior (Hylia forbid it), they might notice how awfully red his face has suddenly gotten, "...Just don't lose it."

Truthfully, he doesn't care. If it were just the two of you, he'd actually tell you to keep it since he has plenty of rings anyways, not to mention it would give him some peace of mind for you to always have a protection ring handy, but he can't risk saying that here. The others are already questioning him too much and the last thing he needs is either Wild or Warrior picking up on the hint. Maybe he’ll just wait for when you try to return the ring so that he can play it off better by simply pushing it back towards you and giving some excuse like ‘I didn’t even miss it’ or ‘I actually don’t need any more junk now that I think about it’. You wouldn’t suspect a thing then nor would anyone who overhears. 

"Thank you! I promise to take really good care of it!" At last, you take no shame in letting your delight show and waste no more time sliding the ring over your finger. 

Legend just nods, burning through all of his willpower to not keep stealing glances your way. Fortunately, it doesn't take him much longer to locate the weapons of his desire, allowing him to finally herd everyone out of his house while continuing to deny their requests to borrow some items for themselves. Hyrule is the last straggler, something Legend originally wouldn't have thought much of since the Traveler isn't one to usually cause him trouble, although there's a first time for everything as it would seem.

"Congrats on the engagement," It's such a smug comment to come from someone who looks nothing but innocent as he saunters by, in fact it takes Legend's brain several seconds of spinning before he understands the implication and with it, his confusion instantly melts into a mix of fury and embarrassment (which one is at the head could be anyone's guess).

"T-They asked and I have plenty of rings, so there was no point in me turning them down! It's not an 'engagement'!"

Hyrule merely chuckles in the face of Legend's anger, "Don't worry. I won't say anything."

Legend huffs, taking it upon himself to push Hyrule towards the exit so that he can sooner leave this mess behind, however before he can begin to feel too comfortable, the Traveler speaks up again while casually picking up a gauntlet off the nearby table Legend leads them by, "This is cool.”

Legend glares; a deadly look Hyrule once again meets with too much innocence - mocked innocence, the Vet is now convinced - nothing but an act!

"You know, it would be a shame if someone like Warrior or Wild realized why you only do nice things for (Y/n). If they connect the dots for themselves -"

"- You can borrow it," Legend cuts Hyrule off in a hurry, pushing the gauntlet into his hands while shoving him out the door, "But I want it back in one week, you hear? That's all the time you've bought yourself with, you rat!"

#linked universe #link x reader #linked universe x reader #lu four x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu legend x reader #legend of zelda #reader insert #x reader

[lynlmao]

kisses, hugs & cuddles 🫂

cc!Quackity x f!Reader hcs [SFW/FLUFF]

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD, this is kinda just to dump my thoughts sooo,, enjoy ? also this is my first post in a long time, so sorry if it seems cluttered or unrealistic💀

KISSES

He puts chapstick on so his lips are soft

His kisses are either very affectionate, very sloppy, or both and I feel like when he’s really happy or excited or something like that(?) he kisses u multiple times/peppers kisses on ur face.

He’d be like “Omg cmere..*MUWWHAAAH PHMUAH MWUAHMWAMWAMWA*” like u can hear a pucker noise if that makes sense🤗 .

Sometimes u gotta push his face away from yours bcs you might be late or something and he’d just look at you with a pout on his face :(

(I personally would rather take the kisses and be late)

When u kiss him he’s like “😍☺️😏😚” yk?

I feel like if u wear lip balms/glosses then he would have a fav…sometimes he kisses u when u have lip gloss/balm to taste it and then he’d be like

“Babe…..can u wear that lip gloss/balm u we’re wearing last time”

Lets u kiss his face, neck, and/or hands with lipstick on and then posts it on his ig story with the caption “these are better than hickeys”

He’d still be into hickeys but I feel like he would want them to be in areas he could cover up.

Making out with him‼️

Again, it’s either romantic, or you guys just look like horny teenagers💀.

Ok, a lil off topic but I remember his qsmp elections stream with that mannequin at the start….And how he was gripping its hair😍

Anyways he definitely holds u by the hair or by the neck while making out. No questions asked.

Sometimes he’d be like: “Your *kiss* so *kiss* goddamn *kiss* PRETTY. *MUWAHH*”

Basically kisses for days.

Also pls kiss him back or you’ll make the poor boy go crazy.

HUGS/CUDDLES

His hugs are so sweet and I noticed that when he hugs ppl he does that light back rub thing☹️💗

when ur cooking something he sneaks up behind u and snuggles you (and maybe try and tickle u if he’s feeling like silly😭)

his hugs are super warm and comforting, especially when ur sad, I swear one big hug from him can literally make u go from 😭 to 🥲☺️

When u and him cuddle he’s a switch but I feel like you would probably be the big spoon cus he wants to lay his head on or in between ur boobs.

He finds it comforting the way you wrap your arms around him tightly, but not enough to suffocate him. The soft “badump” sound of your heart beat, your soft breathing, and the smell of your perfume.

At some point he just starts to get drowsier and falls asleep.

His head against ur chest + you running ur hand through his hair = literally heaven for him.

When he’s a big spoon, it’s probably in the morning when you’re about to get out of bed and get ready…Until you swiftly get pulled back into the comfy bed and all you hear is “no.”.

After a few failed attempts of escaping him, you finally give in but only for a few more minutes.

Sometimes when he’s the big spoon he likes when your both somewhat facing each other because he enjoys looking down on you, he thinks the way you look when u look up at him is adorable😭

idk how to explain it but it’s like taking a photo at an angle that makes ur eyes a little bit bigger and u just look cute like that🤷🏻‍♀️.

But if he ends up streaming and your already sleeping then hes the big spoon. Carefully pulling you closer to him with his hand on ur stomach while nuzzling his face into your hair, enjoying the scent of your shampoo.

Speaking of scent and cuddling he would also know when your using a new perfume🤗.

So basically this is what I imagine happening when he smells your new perfume:

*smelling u a lil* *Ooo are you using a different perfume?…what is this one called??

“[insert perfume name or whateva], why?”

“*literally full on inhaling all the perfume particles*…nothing.”

“…I know you have something to sa—“

“Can u PLEASE wear it more often? :33”

..…He would buy you an extra or two of the perfume u we’re using the next day.

On some special occasions, he’d let you straddle his lap and cuddle him while he’s working but sometimes he won’t if he’s extremely busy that day.

He also knows after a few kisses, it’s almost always gonna turn into a make out session☺️ (Or smth else..iykyk ig)

#QSMP quackity #quackity x reader #quackity headcannons #quackity blurb #qsmp #quackity imagine #quackity fanfic

[coraniaid]

Jenny and Giles were only a couple for a total of sixteen episodes and still managed to have two awkward and emotionally devastating break-ups (even if the writers couldn’t quite explain why one of them was happening).  And there were still one hundred and fifteen episodes left of the series to go when Jenny died!  So simple arithmetic tells us that if Jenny had survived up to Chosen, we could have watched that happen at least fourteen more times.

Here are my candidates:

Season 3

Teenage Ripper and Janna do not get on at all, but this does not stop them awkwardly having sex on top of a police car.  They’re both so embarrassed about it afterwards that they don’t talk to each other for a month.

Jenny breaks up with Giles for the second time this season when she finds out about his role in the Cruciamentum.  Buffy’s attempt to persuade her that it was all fine really and she doesn’t have any hard feelings about it and that Giles is still the best father figure she’s ever had is, funnily enough, not quite as helpful as she thinks.  (They get back together in The Zeppo but we don’t get to see how it happens, only that Xander walks in at a very awkward moment and leaves in a hurry.)

Jenny has not exchanged more than two sentences with Faith all season (because she’s somehow worked out that Faith thinks she’s cool and doesn’t want to shatter her illusions), which is why it’s only after Faith defects to the Mayor that she realizes Giles had let one of the Slayers he’d agreed to look after live out of a motel for half a year.  They break up again.

Buffy and Angel break up for the last time in The Prom and the writers decide it would be a good thematic parallel to have Jenny and Giles break up again too.  They can’t think of a good in-universe reason for this to happen, given that they’ve only just gotten back together again, but figure that: hey, that never stopped them before.

Season 4

Jenny breaks up with Giles five minutes into their Thanksgiving meal and walks right out of the house.  It takes him a few months to work out why.

Giles breaks up with Jenny when she helps Ethan escape being captured by the US military.  She’s outraged by this because it’s both obviously the right thing to do and something that she thought Giles himself was trying to signal her to do all episode.

Giles breaks up with Jenny again during The Yoko Factor.  This does not have anything to do with Spike, who has been moderately terrified of Jenny all season ever since she threatened to give him a soul, but just something Giles does out of habit whenever he’s unduly stressed.

Season 5

While discussing how the monks changed everyone’s memories to fit Dawn in, Jenny and Giles remember an argument about books and computers they’d had back in Season 1.  They both remember it very slightly differently and end up relitigating it all episode, eventually culminating in a fully-fledged row in which they both say things they can’t take back.  (This memory wasn’t changed by the monks at all and doesn’t have anything to do with Dawn anyway.)

Technically Jenny and Giles co-own the magic shop, but somehow Anya still ends up doing all the work.  Sometimes Anya offers them helpful relationship advice: this usually ends up with her being temporarily fired.

Jenny is a little bit too enthusiastic about agreeing to teach Dawn magic.  When Giles warns her that Dawn might try to use her newfound magical knowledge to bring her recently dead mother back Jenny rolls her eyes and says yes, obviously, that’s the whole point.  This doesn’t go well.

If Jenny finds out about Giles killing Ben she would not even think about breaking up with him over it, but rather view it as an entirely reasonable and pragmatic thing to do and something that Ben definitely had coming.  That doesn’t stop Giles somehow talking himself into breaking up with Jenny so that she can never find out his terrible dark secret.

Season 6

Yeah, there’s no way Jenny’s voluntarily going to England (or that she’s on board with what Giles is proposing to do to Buffy).  Guess what she does instead.

Not technically a break-up, but at some point after Xander and Anya’s wedding, Jenny lets slip that she’s been married to Giles since sometime in Season 3 and they never got around to divorcing at any point since.  The idea simply didn’t occur to them.  They just didn’t tell anyone about the marriage because they didn’t want to make a big scene.  (They’re still not speaking at this point.)

Season 7

For some reason Jenny decides to prove that Giles is the First by punching him in the jaw as hard as she can.  It’s the first time she’s seen him in over a year.  When he regains consciousness she preemptively breaks up with him out of embarrassment even though technically they weren’t dating at this point.

Jenny fully agrees with and supports Robin Wood’s plan to take revenge on the vampire that killed a beloved family member, even if said vampire now has a soul, but breaks up with Giles about it anyway because he refuses to accept how hypocritical he’s being about the whole thing. 

Everyone else is hooking up and tentatively rebuilding emotional connections ahead of the big apocalyptic final battle, but Giles and Jenny are mature adults, not silly fickle young people.  They have another big argument and spend the rest of the episode refusing to speak to each other.  Like grown-ups.  

(Also Jenny saves Anya’s life in the final fight against the First Evil.  This doesn’t have anything to do with her relationship with Giles, it’s just important to mention that Anya survives the episode.  Also Tara and Cordelia are there too and they’re both doing fine.  Why wouldn’t they be?)

#btvs

[ithebookhoarder]

🎄 Spending the Holidays with the Moon Boys (Steven, Marc, Jake x Reader)

A/N: It's almost Christmas again and that means having a chance to finally sit and force myself to finish the things I’ve had sitting in my drafts for MONTHS... have some fluffy thoughts for the festive season.  

Warnings: Mentions to mental health, slight smutty thoughts, references to childhood trauma, religion, holidays - let me know if I missed any.

Masterlist

The holidays are a complicated time in your life - but then again, what isn't complicated when it comes to living with your boys?

Marc is Jewish and Steven loves Christmas and Jake doesn’t really care either way. They all just want you to be happy, but that doesn’t stop you from ensuring that they all get a slice of the holiday season.

Your main mission is making sure they all have a gift from you as you love them all so much and want to make sure they know it. If anything it’s adorable how much they suddenly bicker about fronting on Christmas morning so they can open theirs first. 

They also all insist on getting you a gift, from each of them, to thank you and remind you they love you in return.

You also got them each their own stocking to put up, in a proud display of your unique family.

Anytime you mention the holiday season, Marc is quiet. You know why - which is why you make sure to to ask him to help tell you about the Jewish traditions associated with this time of year in an attempt to heal old wounds.

It clearly means a lot, even if it’s tinged with a sense of pain when he explains about lighting the menorah or about how his dad would make latkes for him to eat whenever his mom started her usual seasonal ranting - normally after a bottle or two of whatever liquor she could find. 

Needless to say, he’s overwhelmed when he comes home one day to find you with your sleeves rolled up, doing your best to finish prepping latkes to cook later on. 

You do, however, make sure to buy a bag of donuts to have on hand incase your efforts go poorly… 

Steven would find it all rather fascinating to learn about it, and has probably looked up so much history about the holiday that it makes your heart swell.

He’s also the first to help and insist you do indulge Marc - even if he protests against it, saying it isn’t a big deal. 

“He deserves it you know, he’s a teddy bear deep down under that whole macho Jason Bourne tough guy bullshit.”

As for Steven, he'd be 'Captain Christmas' and will be only too eager to assist in all holiday and festive activities.

He's the one you ask for advice when picking out a tree and decorating it. You also let him blast his cheesy Christmas playlist over and over again, loving the smile it puts on his face as he duets with you in the car.

It's also why you end up begging Steven to come to your workplace's Christmas party, as your date, as you trust him the most to make polite conversation with your colleagues and not shoot your boss when he looks at you and your Xmas attire a little too long. 

Surprisingly, I think Jake would indulge in the season in his own ways - like insisting on hanging mistletoe in the apartment and making sure to catch you as often as possible.

“What? It’s not me, it’s tradition. You want to mess with fate? Your choice sweetheart.”

He's a tease, but you know he cares and he's trying to show it.

Hell, why else does he not protest every time Steven puts them in the most ugly Christmas sweater he can find?

He's also the one who would get you the most risqué gifts, hoping to celebrate the festive season in his own way 😅

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #marvel #marvel x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant #moon knight series #moon knight #jake lockley #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #oscar issac characters