#and i think that turning point is Meg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratbarzal · 1 month ago

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Sunsets in the Summer (LH43)

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader (a follow up to LIH/TSOU - reading is encouraged but not required to enjoy)

WC: 9.6k

Description/Warnings: some brief snapshots into the LIH!lovers second summer together while they figure out their flow as a couple - fluffy, suggestive interactions and mentions of sexual acts (including some brief hand action but not a detailed description) with fade-to-black smut, no angst!! hallelujah (some brief insecurity but not expanded on enough to be angsty), usual amounts of sarcasm and banter and cursing probably- rushed tbh so doesn't flow too well but I think it's cute lmao

A/N: I WAS GOING TO QUEUE THIS TO POST WHILE I'M AWAY IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS BUT IT IS MEG'S BIRTHDAY SO I PUT MY ASS TO WORK TO GET THIS DONE!!! PURE FLUFFY BLISS FOR THE ICON THE LEGEND AND THE MOMENT HERSELF!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY @star2fishmeg I LOVE YOU A LOT HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR DOLLS TO HAND AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! (if anyone reading this hasn't already send your love to meg bc she deserves it!! from the day I posted LIH part 1, she's been nothing but supportive and wonderful to me, and 3 seconds on her page will show you she's one of the kindest-natured and most wonderful people on here)

I had a couple requests for Luke and LIH!reader's first proper date, and one that was for how they spend their summer, so I sort of combined them to create this, it's a bit of an unstructured jumble of little moments between them, but I hope you guys don't mind it turned into a hybrid of requests! If you do want me to write individual moments feel free to send in another request, I don't really ever want to let these two go!! But to answer the question about their first date specifically - I genuinely think they just jump right into cutesy/dorky date nights, and Luke would eventually deep that they haven't done anything ~grown together - which is where the idea for the end of this really came from 💕

It doesn’t take long for you and Luke to get into a routine once you’ve come back out to Michigan in the summer.

You spend most of your days together - aside from when he’s at a check up or a physio appointment, or you’re out with Ellie or a few of your other friends still lingering in the area - and end up back in the same place every night - curled up against Luke’s good side in bed, your leg slung over his, and your face smushed into his peck by the time you wake in the morning.

Except for the few times he’s up before you.

Like now, when your eyes flutter open slowly to an empty space beside you.

His pillow is a little crinkled, his sheets are haphazardly straightened back out, and the spot where he had been laid is still warm - so you know he can’t be far.

After relieving your bladder and brushing your teeth, you slip into a shirt he had strewn across the chair of the little vanity he had set up for you, letting it fall to the top of your thighs as you amble throughout the house with little regard for anyone else you might bump into.

You sort of have a one-track mind when it comes to mornings with your boyfriend, and you honestly forget to consider who might not want to catch a slight glimpse of your ass cheeks so early in the day.

You find him in the kitchen, as assumed, and you almost think you’re half asleep when you take in the state of him.

His hair is a soft but unruly mess, and his briefs are so barely pulled up you can almost see his ass cheeks - as perfect as they are - the structured muscles of his back almost forming an arrow to point down, and you can only see those muscles because he’s for some reason wearing one of your shirts. How he got that on, unassisted, with the sling, you’ll never know.

You’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot - if the fabric wasn’t stretched so tight across his broad shoulders that it makes him look even thicker.

And because you can’t laugh, you pretty much groan as you draw in on him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face into his back.

“Morning, baby,” he drawls, his voice raspy and low, and good god, you’re fighting to consider the fact you aren’t alone in the house. You’d climb him like a god-damn tree already if you were.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his spine, your palms flat in the strip of stomach between your top and his briefs, and his skin is so warm you want to keep your hands there forever.

“Making you breakfast,” he says, wriggling a little out from your embrace so that he can show you - two slices of toast with unevenly chopped banana, and an adorable, crooked smiley face drawn on each one with honey.

You love him so much.

It must slip out without you even realising it because he turns in your hold, his free hand travelling slowly down your body until it lands at your hip and pull you flush to his, and he tells you that he loves you too.

He leans down for a kiss - sugary sweet, like he’d licked his fingers or something from the syrupy residue of honey on them - and you lean into it, revelling of the feeling of his large hand slowly curling around the back of you, fingers curling around the globes of your ass and squeezing.

And you let him turn the two of you until the base of your spine is pressed back into the counter, your hands running through his unruly curls and your tongue chasing more and more of the sweetness of his kiss.

“People eat in here,” you hear Jack as he steps into the kitchen, and you part from Luke slowly, slipping another peck against his lips before you glance around his slinged-shoulder at his older brother.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

You don’t even intend the double entendre, but seeing his face curl up in disgust almost makes it worth it.

“Too early for your crap, dude,” Luke huffs, his hand still in place, and you see him wince when he cranes his neck back.

“What is this, Freaky Friday?” Jack snorts as he opens the fridge, nodding towards the two of you and your weird clothes-swap mishap.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself mocking him straight back, and Luke spares you a knowing look as he waits for Jack to get what he assumes is the greek yoghurt he usually has for breakfast and go back upstairs.

He’s been getting on your last nerve all week, and he knows it.

Ellie is away on another family vacation, already, and you’re pretty sure Jack has formed an alliance with Quinn to cock-block you and Luke to fill his time, but you’re hardly gonna point the finger.

You’re trying to be better.

“Freaky Friday is where they swapped lives, not clothes.”

“You knew what I meant,” Jack huffs, slamming the fridge closed behind him and glaring at the two of you as he grabs a spoon out of the cutlery drawer for his yoghurt. “You look like a dork.”

“You-,”

And Luke’s hand on your ass squeezes before you can carry on, like a warning.

“Don’t you all have training this morning?”

“Gonna be leaving in ten,” Jack confirms, “So if you two could maybe wait until we’re gone to be gross, we’d all appreciate it.”

You press your lips together, a sardonic smile flashed toward him when he smirks over at you, and you watch as he retreats - the tension only seeping from your shoulders when he’s out of sight and out of mind.

“Maybe that can be our thing,” Luke leans forward and mumbles into the curve of your neck, just low enough for the sound not to travel in case Jack is still around, and the combination of his hand grazing the soft flesh of your thigh beneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the way his lips just brush the sensitive skin below your ear makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Freaky Fridays,”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shudder against his him, “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about swapping clothes?”

“We could have a fuck-it list,” and you can hear the smirk without even opening your eyes to look at him, “Cross off all sorts of positions while everyone’s out training on Friday mornings,”

“You’re not gonna be in that sling forever, babe,” you chuckle, finally looking up at him craning your neck a little due to the proximity, and he stays leaning, your nose almost bumping his where he’s in the same position. “You’re gonna end up joining them at some point.”

“All the more reason for us to get started immediately,” his eyes glimmer with mischief when you meet them, “No time to waste.”

You can’t even bring yourself to fight it when he’s looking at you like that - all charming and intentional - not that you want to, anyway. You’re not oblivious to how weirdly fortunate the two of you are to be in this situation, as much as his injury was upsetting at first. It’s the only reason you have so much alone time with him, even this early in the summer.

And you’ve been limited thus far - the start of your relationship being a little jumpy between the end of his season, the end of your school year, and everything that followed with his injury and you going back home. You’ve barely had the opportunity to bask in the honeymoon period - especially now that you’re at the house and his brothers are around.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “Fuck it.”

The two of you barely make it the promised ten minutes before he’s propped up against the headboard of the bed you now share, and you’re straddling his lap - following the seams of his sling along his chest with kisses that make his spine tingle, and he’s listing off all the positions he says he’s wanted you in since you first hooked up last year.

While the two of you slowly work your way through Luke’s Fuck-It List - a little limited when it comes to his current lack of mobility - you also make more of an effort to do things just the two of you.

It starts with movies, because of course it does, and Luke insists you go to watch them at the actual movie theatre. You share a bucket of popcorn, and you rest comfortably under his arm slung over your shoulders, and it all feels so normal and right.

And you do that a couple of times before you decide to switch it up a bit. If you’re going to be making the conscious effort to start up date nights, you should really be trying out different things, you think.

Which is what has you sat behind the wheel of Luke’s BMW and driving him to an undisclosed destination, drowning out his constant questions about it by turning the radio up, and singing along to his country music playlist he’s been forcing on you for too long, now.

You’re quite proud of this idea for a first attempt, and you can’t help but glance over to gauge his reaction when you pull up to the venue and put the car into park. He’s quiet as he works his way out of the car, still insistent on being a gentleman and opening your door despite his shoulder.

“Mini golf?” He asks as he helps you out of the car, his fingers interlacing with yours as you hit the gravel and bump the driver’s side door shut with your hip. “This is your genius date idea?”

“You said you felt left out at the course,” you pout, sidling up beside him until you’re pressed together, craning your neck up a little to meet his eye, “I wanted to give you the next best thing while you’re still in the sling.”

“I’d still need two working arms for a putter, babe,” he chuckles, lifting his arm over your head with your hand still in his until it’s wrapped around your shoulder, your hips bumping as you walk side by side up to the kiosk.

“You could beat me with no arms and a blindfold, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him, “But if you want to go somewhere else we can, I just thought this would be cool. It’s nice out tonight, and I don’t think there’s any chance of your brothers gatecrashing.”

Luke hums, leaning a little to press his lips to the side of your head, “It is nice to get out from under Quinn’s supervision,” he agrees, and you smile up at him when you register the levity of his tone. “Can barely look at you without him having something to say about it.”

“Imagine the scandal if you knocked me up at mini golf,” you gasp, and he gives one of those easy, heart warming laughs that almost make you stumble in your step. “We might have to fake a scare, just to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re the one who loves me,” you shrug, reaching into your back pocket for your phone when you reach the cashier, keeping a hold of Luke’s good hand despite him trying to pull it away so he can’t sneak his own card forward to pay. The teenager behind the counter hands over two putters and two balls without even glancing up from his own phone, and you twirl out from under Luke’s arm, pulling him up the path toward the start of the course.

“You gonna let me stand behind you and tell you what to do?” He asks as he follows you, smiling despite the fact you’re facing away from him at the quick burst of laughter you release.

“When have I ever let you tell me what to do?”

“Was worth a try,” and he’s still smiling, big and broad, when you swivel back on your heels to face him. You drop his hand to give the putter over, and throw the balls down onto the start of the first hole, kicking one onto the line and the other off to the side.

“I’ll tell you what,” you look up at him as you step closer, “Why don’t we make things interesting?”

“Interesting, how?” He smirks, a teasing tilt of his head causing your lips to twitch up.

“I don’t know,” you hum, edging just a little more toward him, “Winner gets-,”

“Head,” he finishes, almost immediately, and your eyes widen in response, hardly expecting the speed in which it comes out of him. It’s not exactly like the two of you haven’t been intimate back at the house - you’re making steady progress with the list - but there is the whole hardly ever alone thing to consider. “In the car, so no one back home can interrupt.”

“That was quick,” you snort, pressing your fingertips into the flat surface of his belly, avoidant of his sling, feeling the ridges of definition beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’ve been giving that a lot of thought, huh?”

“Got a lot to time to think when we’re in the car and I’m not the one driving,” he explains, “Don’t have to focus on the road, so I get to look at you,” he coos, craning his neck a little and seemingly pushing past the slight discomfort when he does so, dipping to your level, “Get to think about your pretty mouth when you’re singing along to the radio.”

And it makes your spine tingle, just how easy it is to slip in a sweet observation with something so forward. He’s so good at doing that - masking burning desire with gentle adoration.

“Fine, winner gets head,” you agree, extending onto your tiptoes to make closing the distance easier, and softly pecking at his waiting lips until you part with a teasing smile, because kissing him seems so much more efficient than a handshake to seal the deal.

“Beauty before brains,” he offers, pointing to the starting line with his putter and quickly avoiding your attempt at a playful shove.

You step up, anyway.

The first hole is an easy one, although you know from past experience at this exact course - a favourite amongst your sorority sisters for bonding activities - that there’s a trick to a good shot.

The last time you were here, you figured out that aiming for one of the stones that line the green is the key to a hole in one - and you shoot your shot with ease, the ball ricocheting off the surface and making its way straight to the desired target. All you can do is watch with a smile.

“Oh my God,” he groans, staring wide eyed as the ball putts and drop into the hole with an almost comical plonk, “You’re hustling me!”

“Who, me?” You gasp, feigning offence with a slacked jaw and widened eyes - both of which do little to hide the smile that’s twitching at the corners of your mouth. “I’d never.”

You bite your lip in amusement as he stands there, his gaze lingering on the course like he can’t quite believe you just potted a hole in one, already, and you amble up beside him, curling a hand around his free bicep and leaning up.

“You want me to stand behind you and tell you what to do?”

“You’re going down,” he scoffs, shrugging you off to tee himself up at the starting line.

“No, baby,” you call out, pointing your putter over to him as he looks back at you, his own pretty lips parted in defiance as you wink and tell him, “You are.”

You think it’s sort of embedded into the very fibres of your relationship that you and Luke will always resort back to movies - and for as much as you’ve been trying other options for dates, like the arcade where he thrashed you at air hockey, or the trips to the mall, where Luke thought buying one thing from each joint in the food court would be a good idea and you had to drive home with your jeans unbuttoned from the bloating - so it’s no surprise when the weather’s acting up, and you still don’t really like venturing out anywhere during a storm, Luke has the genius idea to finally sit you through the entire Star Wars movie franchise, beginning to end.

It’s something you’ve been putting off for a while, and it’s not that you’re against it, per se, but the thought of having to dedicate the brain power to remembering a bunch of random stuff almost gives you a headache.

The two of you are just settling in together on the couch, practically knotted up like pretzels with the way you’re snuggling up to him, when Jack and Quinn return from the store with Cole Caufield in tow.

“Sick, it’s like a home theatre in here,” Cole exclaims as he leads Quinn and Jack into the room, the eldest sibling biting back a knowing smile when he meets Luke’s horrified gaze, “What are we watching?”

“We’re not watching anything,” Luke gestures between the lot of them with his good hand around your shoulder, before he angles his head down toward you, “We’re watching Star Wars.”

“Prequels first?” Jack gasps as he reaches for the case by the TV, flashing the cover back over to you, “That’s not okay.”

“Good thing you’re not the one watching, Jack,” Luke argues back, and he visibly loses the will to argue when all three of them sink down onto the remaining couches and seemingly get comfortable. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s raining out, Luke, what else are we supposed to do?”

“Literally anything, anywhere else?”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, cozying up a little extra, because it sort of works in your favour to have them insert themselves into this situation. “They’re right, we can’t hog the TV.”

“Yeah, Lukey, you can’t hog the TV.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Jack, settling back into Luke’s side and absentmindedly stroking at his belly as the movie tees up - and what starts off as unintentional, innocent petting, slowly drifts as time ticks on.

“What are you doing?” Luke whispers covertly, eyes stuck on the screen as your fingers trace along the bare skin that is revealed between his hoodie and his sweats, scratching softly until you can move the elastic a little to unveil more of his hipbone.

You know you shouldn’t tease him - but your whole plan to get out of sitting through Star Wars in the first place was to try and distract him - and the only thing you can think of that’s worse than sitting through all three prequels is sitting through them with his brothers around.

“Just touching,” you whisper back innocently, nails tickling at what you know is very sensitive skin.

“You’re teasing,” he corrects you, a quick flash of a knowing gaze sent down at you, but his hips still shuffle beneath your touch - like he’s giving you further access - and your lips twist at the movement.

There are telltale signs of arousal - sharp intakes of breath when your touch travels a little too low to be innocent, the constant rolling of his neck and shoulders like he’s trying to keep his head in the game, and, obviously, a shift in the front of his sweatpants, a subtle, gradual tent forming beneath the fabric that becomes harder and harder to ignore, no pun intended.

“You don’t seem to mind.”

Luke sighs as he shuffles again, his eyes darting to where his brothers and Cole sit on the other couches, making sure none of them are looking before he looks back down at you.

Your eyes lock on his as you bite back a smile - a wordless agreement between you both taking place, and you wriggle up a little, yourself, from where you’re situated against his side - high enough that you can sort of cover the movement of your hand with the rest of your body, and press a firm kiss the the sharp line of his jaw.

He can’t help the satisfied hum that comes out when your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pants, edging down slowly, and it only takes a second to realise he isn’t even wearing underwear.

You try not to giggle into his flesh, nipping playfully as you move in your ministrations.

He probably had no intention of sitting the whole way through Star Wars, himself - not tonight, at least.

“Who’s teasing now?” You barely even make a sound, so close to his ear that you don’t need to and he can make out what you’re saying, “Commando, Luke, really?”

He smirks, and you see the smile settle as he stays looking forward.

“You get handsy when you’re bored.”

“Oh, now I’m predictable?”

He glances down before he meets your eye again, quirking his brow in a wordless response, as if to say, am I wrong?

And the only way to bite back a scoff is to kiss him - a kiss that starts out soft and subtle, but escalates before you even realise. His palm caresses your cheek, long, slender fingers tucking your hair behind your ear, your hand is down his pants, and your tongue is in Luke’s mouth, his soft lips closing around the muscle until the sloppy sound of him sucking on it is too loud to mask.

And then you’re knocked out of your reverie with a harsh smack of a pillow against your back - the two of you darting apart and your hands slipping out from under his waistband.

“What the fuck?” Luke whines, and you both glare in the direction of the other three guys in the room - the three guys you, honestly, shamefully forgot were even there for a second.

“Knock it off, you’re being gross.” Jack frowns, leaning differently in the absence of a cushion behind him.

“Yeah, keep it PG, you two,” Quinn adds, “I’m under strict instruction to keep an eye on you both.”

“Ew,” you frown, “It’s giving Peeping Tom.”

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, despite the way Luke snorts out laughter from beside you, “It’s giving responsible older brother.”

“It’s giving dude who isn’t getting laid,” Cole chimes in, and you and Luke simultaneously hum in agreement just to annoy Quinn even further.

If they’re all going to intrude on your date night, the two of you may as well have your fun with it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Quinn turns his attention to the blonde currently lounging back into the opposite couch, “Do you want to sit here all night and witness those two swapping spit and getting handsy?”

“I can think of worse ways to spend my Friday,” Cole shrugs, and the rest of you all let out some form of grossed out exclamation - Luke shuffling out from beneath you to throw the pillow back in his general direction - watching as it smacks straight against Cole’s face and cuts off whatever the hell he’s about to add onto that about you.

“We’re going upstairs,” Luke huffs, pushing himself up off the couch and grabbing your hand - and you don’t put up any sort of protest, obviously,letting him drag you behind him as he throws out a, “You’re on a 24 hour timeout from even looking at my girlfriend,” he jabs a pointed finger towards Cole, and you bite back a smile at how hot you find his possessiveness - a trait he so rarely lets take over, but you can’t help but get excited when he does.

And as gross as the thought of Caufield watching you was - and as much as you sort of know he’s joking - you’re honestly thankful, because Luke isn’t the kind of guy to let that slide when you’re both safe behind the closed door of your shared bedroom, and he’s pushing you back onto the bed before you even have a chance to think about it.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.”

You watch Luke’s tongue poke out of his mouth in concentration as he dramatically swipes the paintbrush against the canvas you set up for him earlier - the bare back of which has been taunting you for at least fifteen minutes since you finished your own portrait.

Tiktok said this would be cute.

Painting each other as you share a pizza and sip at what is quite honestly a borderline undrinkable glass of wine - you won’t be trusting Luke on a liquor store run ever again.

But you probably overestimated your creative abilities.

Your portrait of Luke looks like a haunted blob of sickly pale skin and messy brown curls, and the longer he takes to paint you, the longer it stares back at you and you hate it.

He’s gonna hate it - and what was supposed to be a sweet, stay-at-home date idea, turned into something stupid.

You feel stupid, and maybe it’s the extra fifteen minutes he’s spent perfecting his creation that’s making you feel worse.

“It isn’t being hung in the Louvre, Luke,” you roll your eyes, leaning forward onto the table with your chin tucked in the clammy palm of your hand.

“That’s what you think,” he snorts, finally laying the brush flat on the surface beside his easel and tilting his head to peak at you from the side. “I’m finished.”

“Okay, who’s going first?”

“Uhh,” he narrows his eyes at his own work before they flick back up to meet yours, “You first,”

And you can’t help but pout a little as you grasp at either side of the canvas, fingers clenching a little as you build up the nerve.

“I’m not an artist, okay,” you glance over at him, a begging look in your like a silent plea to take it easy on you, “It isn’t the best.”

“Baby,” he pouts back, “You could have smeared your boogers on there and I’d love it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you cringe, but the sentiment sort of helps you build up the courage to flip your easel around, wincing as you watch and wait for his reaction.

He stares at it for what feels like a whole minute, gaze going side to side and up and down like he’s taking in every single brushstroke, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of his feedback.

“Do I have a lazy eye?”

“What? No,” you frown, quickly swivelling it back to take another look. His eyes are a little crooked - you’re drinking wine, you're bound to have a shaky hand - but you wouldn’t call them lazy. “Is it that bad?”

“It's no worse than mine," he snickers, pushing his chair back and nodding his head to the side of him - a gesture for you to come over, and when you do, and you're stood before him, he parts his legs for you to perch yourself on one of his thick, muscular thighs.

You circle your arms around his neck, trying to balance yourself and ignore the heat in his gaze when he watches you do such a mundane and routine thing, his hands gripping at your waist to help you.

“See,” he nods toward the painting, “I’d personally hang it on our wall but I think it’s obvious why.”

Despite the fact you don’t think you’ll ever get over him referring to anything in this house as part-yours, you manage to gloss over that small fact when you take in the monstrosity in front of you.

It’s so bad your jaw drops a little, and you try not to outwardly laugh to avoid offending him.

“Luke-,”

“Before you start-,”

“You started with my boobs didn’t you!” You accuse, swatting playfully at his chest as you let a smile overcome you.

“What?” He scoffs, “No, why would you think that?”

“They’re huge,” you snort, shuffling a little on his lap as he steadies you with a hand on your hip, “It’s like you painted them too big and ran out of room for everything else.”

You watch as a soft flush spreads across his cheeks, sheepish and self-conscious as he casts a glance back over his painting whilst trying to ignore your own eyes on him. His face scrunches a little, crinkles forming around his eyes and nose as he really takes in the lack of proportion, and you can’t help but smile at how cute he is.

“Alright, maybe I did,” he pouts, “Is that so bad?”

“I look like a balloon animal!”

“It is a little disproportionate,” he admits, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes you want to kiss it, and you roll your eyes to fight the urge. “We should have done naked paintings, then I’d be winning.”

“You wanna draw me like one of your French girls?” Your tone is still sultry as you mock him, and watching the slow, suggestive curve of his lips does little to fan out the flames of attraction in the pit of your belly. He’s so pretty, it’s stupid - especially up close, and that’s after you’ve spent the past 30 minutes glancing up at him to try and do justice to all the intricate, beautiful parts of his face with a cheap paint set and a brush that was falling apart.

No wonder you were so insecure about your attempt.

You don’t think there’s even a colour you could mix that would capture the unique hue of his irises - a soft combination of maybe blue, maybe green that you can’t even begin to think where you’d start when it came to creating it, yourself. And the smattering of little freckles and beauty marks that litter his skin - you’d never quite map that constellation correctly. The soft curl of his hair, the smooth curve of his lips, the unwavering dedication he has to whatever the hell is growing below his nose - you wouldn’t get it right in a million years.

Maybe him painting you as 70% boobs and 30% everything else is the better picture overall.

“Nah,” he smiles soft, his gaze drifting around your own face like he’s thinking the same thoughts - lingering on your mouth a little too long before he says, “Do wanna take you upstairs, though.”

You smile, too - easy and unwavering - and you feel a familiar heat creep up your neck before you press your lips to his in a slow, amorous kiss.

His knee bounces in a quick jolt as he responds, his hand rising to cup your face and hold you against him, mouth moving until his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, deepening the moment into something neither of you would want to retreat from.

You honestly can’t remember life before he kissed you like this - how you ever even lasted a day of denying your feelings for him, because you don’t think you could ever love anyone like you love Luke.

It’s something that seems to consume you, regardless of where you are - whether it’s painting stupid portraits together or it’s watching movies or it’s sitting out on the deck chairs on the back porch and talking to his brothers - just his presence, just knowing he’s close by and the way he feels about you is exactly the same settles you beyond what you can put into words.

“Jesus Christ-,”

You both groan in frustration as you part, turning to glare at Jack as he interrupts you, the kitchen door swinging closed behind him.

“Quinn, they’re at it, again!” He calls out, lips curled in disgust as he makes his way over - empty beer bottles stuffed between his fingers that he throws into the recycling with a clink.

You don’t want to move from Luke’s lap, so as Jack nears the table, you don’t even think to get up - despite the fact that he’s heading straight for the painting you really don’t want to hear his criticisms of.

“How cute!” He coos, but you can see straight through him - his lips curling into a borderline sinister smile as he picks up the little canvas. “She even got your lazy eye, Lukey!”

“I knew it!” Luke gasps, his fingers squeezing at your sides, teasingly.

“Hey!” You shoot up, reaching over the table and snatching it from his grip before turning to your boyfriend. “I did not give you a lazy eye!”

“Did he paint that zit that’s coming in right there,” he points to his temple as his eyes narrow your way - and event though you know you don’t have a zit coming in, you bring your hand up to cover the side of your face, anyway.

“She doesn’t have a zit,” Luke defends you before you can do it, yourself, and your features soften just a touch when you glance his way.

“Let me see-,”

Jack reaches out for Luke’s painting, and the two of you leap forward to yank it away before he can get his hands on it, yelling out, “No!” In unison.

“It can’t be that bad, Luke,” he snorts, eyes narrowing on you in particular as your cheeks burn with embarrassment - it’s not like they’re your actual boobs, and it’s not like they’re even anatomically accurate, but you don’t want Jack of all people seeing you portrayed like that. “Mom kept your paintings on the fridge at home until like two years ago, I know you’re a shitty artist.”

“M’not a shitty artist,” Luke grumbles, specifically turning to you as you both still clutch one hand each at the canvas.

“I know, baby,” you coo, your tone overtly-sweet and sickly in a bid to make Jack’s stomach turn - and make him go away, “Don’t listen to Mr. Meany, he doesn’t get you like I do,” and then you lean back in to kiss him, your pout turning into a grin when you hear his brother’s exaggerated gagging from the other side of the table.

“You both make me sick,” he huffs as you hear him leave, and you and Luke resume your previous position, fingers loosening on the painting until it drops to the floor. His hands clutch at your hips, and yours move to settle on the broad expanse of his chest to balance yourself a little better, shuffling until you’re straddling his lap - and still so consumed by your love for him that you couldn’t care less who else might end up disrupting you.

“We could rent some bikes?”

Luke’s suggestion comes out in a muffled yell, his head half in a large storage box in the garage as he roots around for god-knows what, and you perch yourself on the workbench by the side while you wait for him.

The two of you have been trying to figure out how to spend the day together - the other boys having taken the boat out with their friends - so many friends that there wasn’t space for you to tag along and Luke didn’t want to leave you behind on your own.

It’s beautiful out, and you had wanted to go out on the boat, so everything else seems dull in comparison.

A trip to the mall is a waste of the sunshine, even though you sort of want to visit the bookstore, and spend hours just walking around and holding Luke’s hand, and going to the park just seems boring, even if you do rent some bikes while you’re there. It would get tiring pretty quick, and as much as you think you could spend time doing nothing with Luke and still be happy, you sort of had your heart set on something else.

“I don’t know if I trust you not to fall off,” you tell him, swinging your legs as you place your palms flat on the surface, leaning forward to try and get a look at what on earth he’s doing. “What are you even looking for in there?”

“I’ll tell you when I find ‘em,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, looking around the rest of the garage and waiting for an idea to spark.

“What about that boat?” You point to the smaller vessel, covered in a faded tarp and perched on a rusted trailer.

It’s a lot smaller than the other boat the boys take out - probably fits two or three people, max, from what you can see of it, and a lot older, too - but if it gets you out on the water with Luke, and you can lay beside him as it sways on the tranquil water, skin to skin while the sun shines down on you - it’ll do.

“That’s Quinn’s,” Luke tells you as he retreats from the box, putting the lid back in place before he moves on to the next one down. “I’ve been explicitly told that if I touch it, I die.”

“Why does Quinn have his own boat?” You ask, jumping up and stepping towards it.

“Don’t know,” Luke calls a little louder, knowing you’re further away without even checking, like he has an instinct for where you are at all times. “Came home one summer and it was just in our parent’s garage, Dad said if he didn’t move it, it was getting sold, so it just sits in here.”

“And he doesn’t use it?”

“Can’t,” Luke shrugs, “I’m pretty sure it’s written off, I think it was just a project to keep him busy when he was injured or something, he hasn’t touched it in a while.”

“Why doesn’t he sell it, then?”

“Don’t know, not his keeper, babe,” Luke’s voice is a little clearer, now, and you crane your neck back to see him standing up straight, a pair of old rollerblades in his hands and a big grin on his face. “I could teach you to skate?”

You gasp as you make your way back over, “Are they my size?”

“They used to be mine, so they might be a little long, but we can pad your feet up with socks.”

“Is it the same as skating on the ice?”

“The mechanics are pretty much the same,” Luke shrugs, handing you the rollerblades so he grab some of the pads that were in the box with them and close it back up, “But if you master this, we’ll get you some actual skates, and I’ll take you down to the rink to teach you.”

Ice skating is never something you’d considered before - even when you would watch Luke play, the thought of it was always daunting - but since the start of summer, you sort of like learning all the stuff Luke knows or loves. You like watching him play golf, like listening to him nerd out about his historical movies, like playing chess for some reason, as dorky as that is, and you even enjoyed Star Wars when the two of you managed to sit down together and watch all of the films - and skating seems like the final boss, in a way.

It’s exciting, like the last piece of a puzzle.

“Might have to get your dad to teach me,” you suggest, “You fall too much for me to learn from you.”

He teasingly swats at your ass with a pad, and you snort out a laugh when you see the amusement shining in his pretty eyes, leaning up when he bends a little to kiss you chastely.

“It’s part of the Hughes charm,” he mutters just after your lips part, “You’ll fit right in.”

And you try to ignore the way your heart hammers at the thought of fitting right in with the Hughes clan in a way you never really did with your own. Despite your previous problems with Jack, and despite Quinn’s newfound hobby for cockblocking you all summer, you honestly think they’re accepting of you too.

And that’s without taking into account Luke’s parents, who welcomed you back to Michigan with open arms, even if your place in Luke’s life wasn’t this solid the last time they saw you last summer.

For the first time in your life you do fit right in, and you’d be doing yourself a disservice to deny it.

You’d be doing Luke one, too.

So all you can do is smile as he leads you out into the driveway, and he sets up a little course for you to practice your skating - cones and obstacles that you do your best not to trip and stumble over, but when you do, he picks you straight back up, dusts you off, and lets you go again.

He’s patient, and he’s gentle, just like he’s always been with you, and if this is what it’s like to be a Hughes, - and as crazy as it sounds considering how fresh your relationship still technically is - you have a fleeting thought that one day you’d want to be one, for real.

“Do you think Jersey’s nicer than New York?”

You’ve been an anxious mess for the entire week before you and Luke flew out to stay with your mom - irritable and snippy and emotional - but now that you’re here, things seem to have settled.

It’s only a long weekend - three days and you can go back to the safety and security of the lake house, with the rest of the summer ahead of you and every passing day having you fall more and more in love with Luke Hughes - and your mom is actually being good company for once.

She’s present, having taken time off of work to make sure she’s around to properly acquaint herself with the first boyfriend you’ve ever brought home, and she’s sober, and she’s actively trying to get to know him.

The two of them have pretty much ticked off every other topic of conversation by the time she gets to your big move, and you can’t even let yourself stress about it.

You’re sat in between Luke’s legs on a chair out in the backyard, your stomach full of barbecue food, a cold bottle of beer gripped between your fingers, and your back pressed firmly to his chest, and there’s no way you think you even could still feel anxious in such a position.

Luke somehow manages to rinse those feelings straight out of you with just one touch.

For as much grief as your mom gave you when you first came home at the beginning of summer, you think your time away might have calmed her about the whole NYU thing - and maybe seeing you with Luke, seeing how sturdy and serious the two of you are, is quelling her fears, too.

“I mean I haven’t lived in New York, so I might not be a fair judge on that,” he chuckles, “But I like it. Feels a lot more relaxed, I think.”

“And you live with your brothers?”

“Just one of ‘em,” he says, “Jack, he plays on the same team as me,”

“So the two of you won’t be moving in with each other,”

“Mom,” you cringe, rolling your eyes at her even asking such a question when you’ve literally sat her down and talked her through your shared housing options.

“Not yet,” Luke says, easily, and you turn back a little at how casual he sounds about it.

The two of you haven’t really talked about it - not in depth, at least. He has no intentions of moving out of his and Jack’s place, as far as you know, and you’re definitely not moving in - the lake house during summer is bad enough in his brother’s company, no matter how civil the two of you have become.

“Not yet?”

“Well, it isn’t not ever,” he snorts, “I think we’re quite good at living together, I’d like to do it again. Would much rather live with you than live with Jack for the rest of my life.”

As if it’s that simple. The rest of his life.

“She’s a great cook,” your mom chimes in, like he needs her making a pros list. “And she always picks the nicest smelling detergent for laundry, I always get compliments on my uniform at work.”

“Mom,”

“She never forgets anything from the store, either, even when it’s not in her notes,” Luke adds - because clearly he already has a list. “Like I’ll be cursing myself thinking it’s too late to let her know we don’t have salsa, and I forgot to tell her in the first place, but she always remembers anyway."

“Oh my god-,”

“Exactly!”

And Luke’s arms tighten around you, a teasing embrace that you don’t really want to shake, not now, not ever. “If she’ll still have me by then, I think we’d revisit it next summer, but at least we’re closer now than we were before. I’ll still be around for her.”

Your mom smiles softly at his clear adoration for you, and when she meets your eye, you feel a sudden wave of relief wash through you. There’s something in her gaze that reads like approval - and for a woman who, this time last year, told you that there isn’t a single man out there worth your time, or who won’t hurt you - she doesn’t have to say anything for you to know she’s eating her words. For a woman who lost all faith in forever when she divorced your dad, you’re grateful to see her entertaining the idea of it when it comes to you and Luke.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll keep you around,” she reassures him, a subtle wink sent his way as your cheeks go burning hot - and you divert your gaze to avoid the depth of her perception, eyes lingering on the softened pink hues of the summer sunset you all came out to watch.

You think you’ll keep him, too.

“This is so fancy,” you sigh, something between awe and anxiety swirling through your brain at just how nice this restaurant is - so different to all the other date nights you and Luke have spent together over the course of the summer.

But summer is coming to an end, and Luke said he wanted to try something different.

“My mom told me about it,” he replies, eyes glancing up from his menu to meet yours, “Which I realise loses me cool points, but I promise she has good taste.”

“Your mom is cool, babe,” you laugh, “No points lost.”

“I mean, it’s better than the club, right?”

It’s definitely better than the club - and not only because you’re not reminded of having to work there last summer every time you tag along with Luke for an afternoon on the course, or a trip to the bar.

“Yeah,” you smile softly to reassure him, “It’s nice, it’s just weird, I think.”

“Weird?” He frowns.

“Not like weird,” you’re quick to cover your tracks at the sight of his expression, like a wounded animal, and guilt nips at your stomach. He’s trying to do something nice. He’s giving you a chance to get all dressed up, and he sent you to get your hair blow-dried at one of the nicer salons in town, and it is a treat to be pampered.

You just sort of like all the other stuff the two of you have been getting up to a little more.

But you can put on your big girl pants and enjoy it, for his sake.

“I just mean like, I feel like I need Duolingo to help me out with this thing,” you chuckle, waving the menu a little in your hands.

You need to be more grateful, you think.

He’s making such an effort.

In one of his nicest suits, tailored to perfection - and the two of you had a little bit of a walk from the car, you got to see how good his ass looked when he paid for the meter a couple blocks away, bending to read the machine and giving you the perfect view - he honestly looks so good it’s almost alarming.

And you think you do, too. You feel good, at least - especially with how Luke looked at you when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in this dress back in the house. Black satin, a sweetheart neckline just begging for his gaze to linger, and it fits like a glove, too - you swear he was starting to drool at one point.

“Yeah, it’s a little excessive, actually,” he sighs, his finger hooking into the knot of his tie and loosening it a little.

“Baby, I promise, it’s nice-,” you reach over to wrap your fingers around his hand, and it turns, palm-up, until you can properly interlace yours with his. “I’m just not used to this sort of place, but it’s gorgeous, I really appreciate all the effort you put into tonight.”

“I’m sorry that it’s the first time we’ve done it,” he frowns, “I promise I’ll try and do better-“

“Wait, what?”

Do better?

You don’t think for a second he ever has to try?

This summer has been like a dream, and the dates the two of you have gone on have far surpassed anything you’ve ever experienced in any other relationship.

Nights together watching movies - a routine the two of you kept up every Sunday, and even more throughout the week - even if that was with his brothers, or his friends, or even his parents, a couple times.

Days out on the lake, wake surfing, or just treading water. Swimming, socialising, sailing, sunbathing - a maintained sense of calm providing comfort over the past few months that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Mini golf, portrait painting, lego building, cooking together, shopping together, even nights as a group, doing whatever activities anybody else wanted to do.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy - and Luke is at the core of it all.

“You don’t have to do anything better.”

“I just feel like all our dates so far haven’t been super involved,” he sighs, “Like I fought so hard to get you, I should be trying harder to keep you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Jack said-,”

And you can’t help it - in as serious of an environment as this is - you reach over the table and swat at his head with your menu. It’s really more of a light tap, but the surprise of it jolts him a little, widened eyes staring back at you.

“What the hell?”

“I thought we knew better than to listen to Jack, babe.”

“But he said-,”

“Don’t make me hit you again.”

He narrows his eyes your way, a warning, almost, and you roll your own eyes in response, a quick squeeze of your hand to let him know he can carry on.

“He said he makes a point of being the one to take charge of the dates, ‘cause Ellie told him it makes her feel valued. And I know we don’t listen to Ellie, either,” and thank god he does, you think - because for as much as you’ve forgiven the both of them for the gigantic mess they made of yours and Luke’s relationship back in the Spring, Jack and Ellie are still gigantic morons, and their relationship couldn’t be any further from yours if they tried. “But it just made me thing back on all the stuff we have done together this summer, and how I sort of left it to you to take the reins.”

You suppose that’s technically true - a lot of times you came up with the ideas, but it’s not like he never contributed. It’s not like he never made an effort, or you felt like he didn’t care.

“You do realise I like being in control, right?” You ask, your lips twisting a little to soften the blow when he meets your eyes again, and you drop your menu to free up your other hand, leaning forward and reaching for his free hand, too.

“I’m very aware, actually,” he snorts, and you’re sort of relieved to hear it - because you know deep down that you and Luke understand each other on a deeper level than you’ve ever experienced before, and to hear him second guessing it sort of stings. “And I like you being in control,” he adds, thank god. “I just feel like I always leave it to you to organise stuff like this, without even realising I’m doing it, and I guess I feel bad.”

“I like looking after this stuff, Luke,” you admit, a little sheepish, though you don’t really know why. Maybe it’s leaving this sort of unspoken for so long, or maybe it’s past experiences of guys who would feel emasculated by you adding, “I like looking after you.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know,” he pouts, “I guess I just thought you’d want to be with someone who looked after you,”

“You do.” You assure him, and you could probably list a thousand ways in which he’s already proven that. “Looking after me goes beyond dates,” you tell him, “It’s about how you make me feel.”

“And how do I make you feel?”

You’re thankful to see the way a slow, sure smile creeps up on his face - like whatever thoughts Jack had infected him with before - whether intentionally or not - have been eradicated.

“You know how you make me feel,” you smile back.

“Yeah,” he nods, self assured and seriously sexy. “Still want you to say it, though.”

“How about we get out of here and you let me show you, instead?”

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quick.

He’s practically dragging you out of the restaurant in under a minute, making sure to thank and tip the maître d' on the way, and the two of you barely make it back to his car before he’s pouncing - his kiss firm, his adoration clear, and your love continuing to grow with every waking moment you spend in his company.

“Is that the last box?” You ask as Luke places it gently down beside the others he’s just hauled up to your apartment from the truck he rented to have your stuff shipped over from storage in Michigan.

He’s been pretty insistent on helping you move in - he’s been pretty insistent on helping with everything, and you couldn’t be more grateful for his input, if you’re honest.

He’d come out to Jersey to check out potential apartments with you, had given advice on all the best areas, with all the best travel access to get yourself across the river - because the thought of living in a different state again, despite just how close the two of them are, just didn’t sit right with you when it came to deciding where you’d live while you went to graduate school.

And now he’s brought up every single box without you having to lift a finger - so far from the slinged up version of him you’d started your summer with a few months ago, which is really wonderful to see. He’s worked really hard to rehab his injury, and you’re so proud of all of his progress, beyond using it to your own advantage.

You can’t wait to spend the next year watching him thrive.

He makes you so happy you could probably burst if you give it too much thought.

“Yep,” he smiles, and he flexes his muscles at you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, “You think me bringing all these up 5 flights of stairs is enough for people to start thinking I have the potential to bulk?”

“I’d say you’re plenty bulky,” you say, beaming up as you practically skip over to him, placing your hands on his muscular chest and leaning to press a kiss to his lips, “Gonna miss my big strong boyfriend while you’re away for the weekend.”

Him and his brothers have a little trip planned for the three of them, and as much as you want to spend your first few nights in your new apartment with him, you know how important it is leading into the season that they get their sibling time in - especially with Quinn.

“I’ll come straight here when I get back on Monday,” he promises, kissing you again and again until you start to feel a little dizzy, his strong, calloused grip on your waist guiding you back towards the couch that the landlord left behind for you - and while you’re quite keen to christen a few of the spaces while you have the chance, you can’t contain your excitement for much longer.

“I got you a present.”

“I’m supposed to get you something, I’m pretty sure,” he scoffs, watching as you spin on your heels, retreat back to the table you were standing at when he came in, and come back over to him - placing something small and cold in his palm.

A key.

A key to your apartment.

“So you don’t have to call ahead.” You tell him, although obviously it means much more than that.

He smiles - that same pretty smile that got you hooked over a year ago, now - and you smile straight back.

He lifts his hands to cup at your beaming cheeks, the cool metal of the key pressing into your skin - not that you mind - as he pulls you in to kiss you, again. His excitement is clear, and you're quickly consumed by the familiar thumping of your heart that will never go away when you're around him.

Finally the two of you have somewhere you don’t have to worry about interruptions, or rushing, or hiding away.

Finally you have somewhere - and someone - that’s just yours.

another a/n: I didn't know how to end this lmao!! but I hope you all enjoy!!

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x you #*writing #also shoutout my jsw Maggie cinematic universe believers #there's an Easter egg in here lmao #sorry this is like technically 3 hours late to be a Meg bday post #but the intention was there hahaha

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rosachae · 2 months ago

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lovesick opaleye | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: can i call you tonight? - dayglow ⁍ genre: Hogwarts AU! fluffy. loser gryffindor!megan x ravenclaw!y/n. ⁍ a/n: rewatched the first movie and man, i just love the idea of megan being goofy. had this one in the works, so figured i'd finish and post. ⁍ wc: 5.4k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel, a socially awkward seventh-year gryffindor, stumbles across a secret involving a sick baby dragon and a well-meaning, bumbling groundskeeper who’s far too kind to turn away help. the only problem? megan has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. so she turns to the smartest ravenclaw she knows.

the gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the two seventh years curled up in the mismatched armchairs closest to it. the hour was well past curfew, the other students having drifted off to their dormitories with tired yawns and unfinished essays. someone had left a chessboard halfway through a match on the table near the window, the black queen kept pacing back and forth like she was losing patience.

megan was halfway through her third stolen treacle tart from the kitchens, crumbs dotting her jumper, her legs swung over the side of the armchair in a fashion that suggested she’d long ago given up on dignity. lara sat opposite her, textbook open on her lap, quill tucked behind her ear, trying and failing to focus on the finer points of sopophorous bean extraction.

“you what?” lara blinked, squinting as if megan had just confessed to beheading a unicorn.

“i didn’t mean to!” megan said, through a mouthful of tart. “i only went to ask hagrid for advice, you know? about the niffler i’ve been working with. the little lad’s been getting all fussy lately and i thought maybe he needed a new trinket, something shiny and special, but i wasn’t sure what to give him.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “and instead you—accidentally—discovered hagrid hiding a dragon?”

“technically, i discovered hagrid hiding a sick dragon,” megan clarified. “there’s a difference.”

lara set her book down slowly, like it might try to run if she wasn’t careful. “merlin’s beard, meg.”

“i knocked!” megan insisted. “he just didn’t hear me, and when i poked my head in, he was halfway through the floo network—kneeling in the fireplace, talking to someone in dumbledore’s office, i think—and when i said ‘hiya’, he got such a fright he bashed his head on a hanging pan and yelped like a kicked kneazle.”

“did he say anything? about why he had a dragon?”

megan’s eyes gleamed, the way they always did when she was sitting on a secret just a bit too big for her pockets. “well, after he put out the fire on his sleeve and stopped panicking, he said dumbledore’d asked him to look after it. just for a short while. didn’t say why, and i didn’t ask. you know hagrid—said too much already, looked like he regretted it immediately.”

lara exhaled slowly. “and you told me?”

megan grinned sheepishly. “you’re my best mate. if anyone’s gonna get expelled with me, it ought to be you.”

lara groaned and leaned back in her chair. the firelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, flickering against the worn tapestries. “so what are you going to do?”

“he asked me to help,” megan said, quieter now. “the little one’s ill. he said it wasn’t eating properly, and there’s this weird shimmer all over its scales, like—like glitter, but not. it’s not in any of the textbooks, and you know i’ve read all the ones in the care of magical creatures section twice over.”

“since when do you turn down an excuse to break into the restricted section?” lara teased.

“i would, but—” megan hesitated. “you know reading’s not… the easiest. i get there in the end, but it’s slow, and i don’t want to muck this up. not when there’s a living, breathing dragon depending on me.”

lara studied her for a moment, then smiled that all-knowing sort of smile megan had learned to dread. “well. there is someone who might be able to help.”

megan’s stomach did something traitorous. it flipped like a pancake on a hot griddle. “don’t say it,” she muttered.

lara raised her brows innocently. “i haven’t said anything.”

but megan knew. of course she knew.

there was only one person in this castle who lara could possibly be talking about. one person who read so much it looked like she absorbed knowledge through osmosis. one person who brewed potions with the precision of an unspeakable, took notes in three colours, and had a voice that always sounded like she was explaining something worth listening to.

y/n.

of course it was y/n.

“she’s in our year. clever. kind. smells faintly of ink and lemon balm—”

“lara.”

“and she just happens to have rescued your potion in sixth year before it turned into a sentient blob and started cursing in latin—”

“i said don’t,” megan groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

lara beamed. “you’ve been enamored with her since the moment she touched your cauldron.”

megan groaned again, louder this time. but she wasn’t wrong. not really.

megan remembered it all too clearly. sixth year, late winter, cold in the dungeons. her potion a catastrophic mess of purple fizz and what she thought was a good idea involving powdered moonstone. snape had just started his usual round, already eyeing her like she was a flobberworm on his carpet, and she’d been seconds away from a detention so long it’d have carried over into adulthood.

and then—y/n. soft-spoken, quick-handed, calm like a winter pond. she’d leaned over, said, “you’ve just over-infused it. here,” and adjusted the temperature with a flick of her wand. no judgment. no fuss. just a quiet smile.

and somehow, even with her heart thudding like a hippogriff on cobblestones, megan had watched y/n toss in a twist—something small, deliberate, something that made the potion fizzle out with a hiccup and a dramatic puff of green smoke. just a little something to throw snape off, because he would’ve absolutely known immediately that megan didn’t do it herself. she was far too messy.

megan had passed. barely. but it was enough. the worst part of the debaucle, however, had to be the way y/n smiled at her afterwards. not a smirk. not a tease. just warm and soft, like she saw something worth seeing.

safe to say, megan had been doomed ever since.

“so,” lara said, all casual, “you’re going to ask her for help.”

megan stared into the fire, its gold glow making the shadows dance along the common room walls. she chewed on her lip.

“maybe,” she said. “but not because i’ve got a thing for her.”

lara snorted. “sure.”

“it’s because of the dragon.”

“right.”

“and maybe the thing. a little.”

megan had never been more aware of how often someone could be around and still utterly unreachable.

y/n was everywhere that week. tucked in corners of the library with parchment spread like wings around her. walking with manon and sophia through the courtyard, laughing at something too clever for megan to understand from a distance. perched in the great hall, always surrounded by ravenclaws with opinions too large for their own tables.

manon she recognized immediately—ravenclaw quidditch chaser, fifth fastest in the school, and the reason megan had ducked just in time during last week’s match when a bludger came flying through the stands. she still had the grass stain on her jumper. and sophia—sophia wore her prefect badge like it had been pinned there at birth, always polished, always impeccable. she was the one who confiscated exploding ink in ancient runes last month and offered the culprit a sternly-worded study schedule in lieu of detention.

and then there was y/n. quiet, composed, radiant, unbothered. every time megan even considered talking to her, she suddenly forgot how mouths worked.

“just ask her,” lara had said, for the third time in as many days. “she doesn’t bite.”

“you don’t know that,” megan had argued. “she’s a ravenclaw. they read everything. she probably invented a spell for efficient biting.”

still, megan tried. kind of.

she loitered near the arithmancy corridor. circled the greenhouse after herbology like a lost niffling. even sat at the very end of the gryffindor table during breakfast, dangerously close to the ravenclaw end, pretending to read the daily prophet upside-down while y/n chatted two seats away.

there was one near-success. megan had caught y/n alone for a moment, manon and sophia flanking her behind just several feet away, but it was enough. she sat on the far side of the great hall, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her usual fortress of books conspicuously absent. megan had approached. slowly. like one might approach a hippogriff, if said hippogriff had excellent cheekbones and a devastatingly kind smile. y/n looked up just as she reached the table, and immediately her eyes lit up. that smile, warm and curious, touched her lips.

megan opened her mouth. but, it wasn’t anything intelligent that came after.

“so… do you come here often?”

pause. megan almost shat bricks. she fought the urge of facepalming herself, internally cursing whatever compelled her to ask such a dumb question. what in merlin’s flaming trousers was that?!

behind y/n, manon choked into her juice silently. y/n, to her credit, looked amused. a soft laugh slipped out, gentle. nothing cruel like megan half expected, nothing she knows a slytherin would have given her.

“i do,” y/n said after a moment, that same smile still curling her lips. “for the past seven years, actually.”

megan stammered something about porridge. or possibly the weather. maybe both. then she turned on her heel and walked away with the mechanical stiffness of someone who’d just miscast petrificus totalus on themselves.

she was halfway up the marble staircase when she hissed under her breath, “i’m a menace to society.” and that, she thought, was the end of that.

but hogwarts had a wicked sense of humour.

two days later, megan found herself in filch’s office. or more specifically, sneaking into filch’s office. which, in hindsight, was mistake number one. daniela avanzini’s stink pellet had been confiscated in charms, and megan had sworn on her pumpkin pasty she’d get it back. it was a matter of principle. and possibly revenge.

she meant to cast accio.

instead, she cast depulso.

filch’s desk exploded in a small but theatrical burst of ink, old quills, confiscated dungbombs, and a surprisingly elegant set of enchanted dentures. megan shrieked. bolted. tore down the corridor with filch’s furious howling echoing behind her and mrs. norris hissing somewhere too close for comfort. she took a sharp left—then a right—then another left—then, in a moment of desperation, vaulted through a tall arched window beside the entrance hall, not quite realizing it led directly out into the courtyard below.

“oof—bloody hell—bugger—”

thud. megan lay sprawled in the damp lawn of the courtyard, winded and blinking at the clouds above her. she considered simply staying there. becoming one with the moss. maybe she could claim to be part of a herbology project.

above, the window creaked. filch and mrs. norris peered down at her, unimpressed. filch squinted. and then, miraculously, he chuckled. chuckled. he walked away without another word, an aura of ‘serves you right’ in his pleased saunter. megan sat still, a short groan tearing from her throat, lost in a daze of processing what she’d done. she’s snapped out of her stupor when a voice sounds nearby.

“that was… a lot.”

she turned her head. and of course—of course—there was y/n, sitting with a book in her lap, looking down at her with a mix of surprise, concern, and an expression that could only be described as politely suppressed laughter.

y/n stood, closing her book with a soft snap. she approached, hesitating just a moment before extending a hand. “are you alright?”

megan blinked up at her. everything slowed. the haze of embarrassment, the grass in her hair, the sting in her elbow—none of it mattered. it was y/n. kind and radiant and real, her hand outstretched like this wasn’t the most mortifying thing to ever happen to megan in her seventeen years. she reached for it.

“i’ve been better,” she admitted, letting y/n pull her upright.

y/n gave her a quick once-over. “nothing broken?”

“just my dignity.”

y/n laughed. megan might’ve died and gone to heaven.

“not your first dramatic exit, i take it?”

“not even my first this week,” megan muttered, brushing herself off.

a leaf flew from her sleeve and hit y/n in the shoulder. megan cringed, apologetic, however y/n just smiled and flicked it away.

“so,” y/n said, “was that all just for fun, or…?”

“actually,” megan said—before she could lose her nerve again—“i was looking for you.”

y/n blinked, a little surprised. “me?”

“yeah. i, um. need your help. with something magical. and weird. and possibly not entirely allowed.”

y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “go on.”

“i can’t really say what it is. not yet. but i need information. and you’re, like… really smart. and good at things. and nice. and—books. you like books.”

“i do like books.”

“so… would you maybe help me?”

y/n studied her, thoughtful. and then she nodded. “alright. where do we start?”

they slipped into the library just after supper under the very flimsy excuse of “last-minute studying.” or, well, that’s what megan muttered to the fat friar when he caught her pacing outside the entrance like a wind-up toy with a broken gear. the truth was—she was nervous.

not about the library. and not even about what she was going to ask y/n. but about being with y/n. for longer than three minutes. without combusting into a tragic little firework of feelings and sweaty palms.

this was their first real thing. not a pass in the corridor. not an accidental brush of hands during herbology cleanup. a proper, intentional, capital-T Thing. together.

as soon as they stepped through the library doors, madam pince’s beady eyes lifted over the edge of her spectacles. they landed on y/n first. and, of course, they softened in their own pince-way. pince gave her a nod, almost respectful. like y/n was some kind of sacred academic artifact. then her gaze slid to megan. the scowl appeared instantly. forged in stone. eternal.

megan flinched on instinct. she knew exactly why.

it wasn’t her fault. not technically. she hadn’t meant to send an entire stack of spellbooks flying into madam pince’s head last month. she’d just wandered in, sneezed—violently—and that was that. her whole body jolted like a hexed marionette, and the books collapsed like a game of wizarding dominoes. right onto pince’s noggin.

the memory still gave her phantom sneezes.

but y/n, calm as ever, simply offered the librarian a polite smile and started toward the back tables. megan followed in her wake like a very guilty, very lovestruck puppy.

“no funny business,” pince barked from across the room, breaking her own strict silence policy as if it were nothing. she simply did not trust the gryffindor. not even in the slightest

“no ma’am,” megan winces, already holding her hands up.

“and no sneezing!”

“that was one time—”

“the entire shelf collapsed!”

“technically,” megan muttered, “it fell with passion.”

y/n bit back a laugh as she nudged megan gently toward a quiet corner, where the light fell in warm pools across the wooden floor and the smell of old parchment hung thick in the air.

megan flopped into a chair and waited for pince to disappear behind the tall shelves before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “okay. how much do you know about dinosaurs?”

y/n blinked. “you mean the ancient muggle reptiles?”

megan grinned, wiggling her brows. “no no—i mean dragons.”

y/n leaned back slightly, brow raised. “ah. the wizarding dinosaurs.”

“exactly,” megan said. “but like, the real ones. not just textbook death statistics.”

“those statistics are there for a reason.”

“sure, but hear me out—maybe they’re just really misunderstood.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. “they breathe fire.”

“so do some gryffindors after too much pepper imps. that doesn’t make them evil.”

y/n snorted, but said nothing. and then, megan started to ramble.

it began with a casual thought about care of magical creatures, but spiraled—spectacularly—into a half-breathless monologue about how dragons got a bad rap, how it was all human error, how maybe if people stopped poking them with sharp things, they’d be less inclined to torch everything in sight.

“they’re just animals,” she said, hands waving to emphasize every point. “scary, sure, but also majestic. and a bit lonely. like… ancient. wise. brilliant, really. if they weren’t so busy being hunted or chained up, maybe they’d be—i dunno—more like companions. or partners. or, like, big winged—”

she stopped abruptly.

y/n was staring at her. not in confusion. not in judgment. but rather, interestingly enough, in awe. megan felt her face flushing when she noticed. she could’ve sworn she detected the faintest sliver of something soft behind her eyes.

“what?” megan whispered, blinking.

“nothing,” y/n said. then, a little gentler, “you’re cute when you ramble.”

megan short-circuited. she made a sound like a deflating balloon and buried her face in her arms.

y/n giggled. “so, what exactly are we looking for?”

megan peeked up. “dragon anatomy. possibly illness. definitely not for a test. totally not suspicious.”

“totally.”

they found a thick, worn copy of fires and flares: an in-depth look at draconian digestion tucked between two mislabeled transfiguration manuals. it looked older than the castle itself, bound in cracking leather with dragon-hide edges that shimmered faintly when touched. y/n handled it with expert care. megan fumbled it like it was made of treacle.

“right,” megan said, shouldering her bag. “now comes the hard part.”

“what’s that?”

“sneaking this past madam pince without shoving her foot up our rears.”

hagrid nearly dropped his teacup when he opened the door.

“blimey,” he rumbled, blinking down at the both of them. “yeh brought company.”

“this is y/n,” megan said, gesturing quickly. “she’s nice. and also very smart. please don’t worry.”

y/n offered a polite wave. “hello, professor.”

“just hagrid’s fine,” he beamed, already stepping back. “well, don’ just stand there—come in, come in.”

the hut was warm, the hearth crackling with a low fire, and the smell of cinnamon toast wafted in from a plate sitting on the table. fang wagged his tail sleepily near the corner, but his ears perked up when y/n walked in.

“she’s good with dogs,” megan whispered proudly.

hagrid scratched his beard, a little awkward. “’fraid it’s not dogs i need help with this time.”

he led them around to the back of his hutt, just near the fireplace, where a medium wooden crate was partially obscured by a heavy wool blanket. inside, curled like a sleepy ember, was the sickly form of a very small, very iridescent dragon. its scales shimmered with a pale, opalescent gleam—faint blue and green along the spine, and silver near the wings. its eyes were half-lidded, breath coming in slow wheezes.

y/n’s expression shifted instantly. from calm, to cautious.

“oh,” she said. “that’s… not legal.”

“not permanent!” hagrid hurried. “jus’… holdin’ him. on a favour. dumbledore’s orders. very hush-hush.”

“of course,” y/n muttered. “why wouldn’t it be.”

“he’s not been eatin’ right,” hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck. “wanted meg ter take a look. but maybe yeh could help too.”

y/n crouched near the crate. the dragon lifted its head weakly. she didn’t flinch, though megan saw the way her shoulders tightened.

“this is an antipodean opaleye,” she murmured. “young. male, i think.”

“aye. haven’t named him yet. didn’t seem right.”

“so?” megan asked, voice soft as she watched y/n crouch near the crate again. “what’s the verdict?”

y/n glanced at her. “i’m no dragon doctor but he’s clearly not well. looks like some kind of mild respiratory infection? probably from the cold. these dragons are used to warmer climates—he shouldn’t be this far north, not without enchantments.”

hagrid scratched his head. “blimey. knew summat was off. poor lad’s been coughin’ like a cat with a hairball.”

“what have you been feeding him?”

“oh,” hagrid said. “er… i may’ve given him a bit o’ mutton stew.”

“of course you did,” y/n muttered, standing slowly. “he’s too young for raw meat. his jaw hasn’t developed fully.”

megan elbowed her gently. “you do realize he’s doing his best, yeah?”

“his best could’ve exploded this hut.”

“but it didn’t,” megan said, grinning.

hagrid cleared his throat. “right, well. hate ter leave yeh girls with him, but i’ve got a quick errand in diagon alley. just a meetin’—nothin’ yeh need worry about—strictly confidential—dumbledore business—oh, i shouldna said that—”

“go on, hagrid,” megan said, already waving him toward the door. “we’ll be fine.”

“just for an hour or two,” he said, shuffling for his coat. “keep the fire goin’, and don’t let him out the crate. oh—and mind the tail. he’s swingy.”

he left in a thunder of footsteps and the door thunked closed behind him, leaving a slightly nervous silence in his wake.

megan, of course, bounded straight to the crate.

“alright, you little biscuit,” she whispered, crouching beside it. “time to make a new friend.”

the dragon—small, shimmering, and vaguely sneezy—lifted its head at her voice. it let out a breath that sounded a bit like a deflating kettle, then rested its snout back on its forearms.

“pip,” megan said suddenly. “he looks like a pip, doesn’t he?”

“you’re naming him?”

“someone’s gotta. you can’t just go around calling a dragon ‘the dragon.’ that’s cruel. what if he has an identity crisis?”

y/n stood, stepping away from the crate. she leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“you really like magical creatures, don’t you?” she asked.

“mmhm.”

“even the ones that could eat you?”

“especially those.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “and why’s that?”

megan sat back on her heels, tugging at her sleeves absently. “i dunno. they’re just… honest. they don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. if they don’t like you, you know. if they do, you’ve earned something real. and they’re smart, too. smarter than most people give them credit for.”

pip snorted softly.

megan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, glinting bauble—a broken earring she’d found outside the charms corridor. she held it out carefully. pip blinked at it once, then nudged it into his bedding with something like contentment.

“you know,” y/n said after a long pause, “there’s a reason dragons are highly classified creatures. the ministry regulates every known species. not just because they’re rare—because they’re unpredictable. they attack unprovoked. they hoard gold. they set things on fire.”

“so do some politicians,” megan said. “should we crate them too?”

y/n blinked, then laughed—genuinely laughed—and megan’s heart nearly stopped.

“okay, but,” y/n continued, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, “they’re also territorial. and deadly. and illegal to breed. i’m just saying… you have a very romanticised view of them.”

megan shrugged. “maybe. or maybe i just believe they’re capable of more than what the ministry says.”

“that’s very gryffindor of you.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not. just… idealistic.”

“and you’re a realist.”

“someone has to be.”

megan grinned at her, eyes crinkling. “we balance each other out.”

“do we?” y/n asked, tone teasing.

“absolutely,” megan said. “you’re the brains. i’m the charm.”

y/n snorted again. “you fell out of a window this morning.”

“with charm,” megan insisted.

pip let out a soft growl-sneeze, and both girls turned their attention back to the crate.

y/n moved a little closer, kneeling beside megan. their shoulders brushed.

“he really is beautiful,” y/n murmured.

they sat like that for a while. no more arguments. just quiet understanding and the flicker of firelight casting gold along the floor.

they’d been spending more time together.

not always in the library. not always in hagrid’s hut. sometimes it was quiet walks around the lake, with their shoulders brushing and conversation drifting between nonsense and dragons. sometimes it was scribbled notes passed in class, ink-smudged and full of half-spelled jokes. just yesterday it was y/n sitting beside megan in the quidditch stands, scarf pulled up to her nose, pretending she understood the rules as manon zipped past overhead, a hufflepuff chaser hot on her tail.

of course megan noticed the glances. the way y/n’s friends looked at her—pointed, curious, smug. how manon wiggled her brows with absolutely no subtlety, how sophia giggled behind her hands. how lara, the worst of them all, blew dramatic kisses from across the great hall like she was in some kind of romantic play. megan rolled her eyes. every time.

the truth was… she didn’t mind. she didn’t care.

she was simply enjoying herself. the time. the company. the girl.

she liked the way y/n’s eyes lit up when she solved something difficult. the way she tilted her head when she was curious, or how she’d go quiet—not awkward, just thoughtful—when she was really listening. she liked how y/n never made her feel small for not knowing something, never laughed when megan tripped over her words or misread a line or forgot what she was saying halfway through a sentence. and more than anything, she liked how being around y/n made her feel… steadier. like maybe she didn’t always have to fill the silence with a joke. like maybe it was okay to just be.

megan didn’t say any of this out loud. of course not. but it lived in the way her gaze lingered a little longer than it used to. in the way she started showing up to classes early, just in case y/n did too. in the way she started carrying sugar quills in her pocket—y/n’s favorite—like it was no big deal.

y/n learned, in bits and pieces, that megan had tried to do the research herself. she just… struggled. not because she didn’t care—she did, fiercely—but because reading long passages and deciphering thick magical texts was hard. harder than it should’ve been. megan never said it out loud. she didn’t need to. y/n just knew.

she started reading things aloud when they studied. doodling diagrams instead of writing long explanations. pointing things out in books with gentle, quiet patience, like it was the most normal thing in the world. like it wasn’t a big deal.

megan noticed. of course she noticed. and she didn’t say anything either.

she just let herself fall harder.

eventually, after about six near-catastrophic experiments, they landed on a plan for pip. a potion. a tonic, technically. brewed to soothe his respiratory tract and reinforce his magical immune system. it required one semi-illegal root and two very expensive herbs. y/n brewed it in an empty classroom after hours. megan stole half the ingredients from snape’s cupboard.

��he definitely knows,” megan whispered as they made their way to hagrid’s hut the next afternoon.

“he always knows,” y/n replied, tucking the warm vial into her satchel. “we’re just pretending he doesn’t.”

hagrid opened the door before they even knocked. “girls!” he beamed, ushering them in with a wave of his enormous hand. “pip’s been waitin’ on yeh!”

the little dragon looked marginally better. still a bit sniffly, but more alert, with clearer eyes and fewer wheezes. he perked up when megan crouched beside him and gave a happy little huff.

“you’re going to feel loads better,” megan said softly, crouched beside the crate. “my ravenclaw brewed you a magic smoothie.”

the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

my ravenclaw. her mouth clamped shut a beat too late, like her brain had only just caught up with her heart. it wasn’t meant to be a claim. then she glanced sideways.

y/n hadn’t flinched. hadn’t stiffened or laughed or even blinked in surprise. instead, there was a tiny, knowing smile at the corner of her mouth. just enough to send megan’s heart skittering sideways. she turned back to pip with a flushed face and a half-choked breath.

“it’s not a smoothie,” y/n muttered, kneeling beside her. “and don’t let him drink it too fast.”

megan held the bottle steady while y/n carefully fed pip the potion in slow, measured drops. he scrunched his nose, blinked a few times, then settled back into his crate with a content sigh.

hagrid sniffled. “bless yer hearts,” he said gruffly, wiping at his eyes. “he’s been like a sack o’ sad potatoes all week, but look at him now.”

y/n smiled politely. megan beamed. hagrid nodded to her with a fond grin.

“yer girlfriend’s got a smart head on ’er shoulders.”

megan choked on absolutely nothing.

“she’s not—I mean—we’re not—I—”

but y/n didn’t even flinch. didn’t so much as glance in megan’s direction. she just tilted her head and said, smooth as honey, “thanks, hagrid.”

megan, meanwhile, went so red she could’ve powered a lighthouse. she kept quiet through the rest of the visit, nodded mutely as hagrid patted their shoulders and called them “a right clever pair,” and barely squeaked out a goodbye before they slipped out the door and back into the fading afternoon.

they made it halfway up the hill toward the castle before megan finally remembered how to breathe.

the path was quiet, the grass still damp from morning mist. birds chirped somewhere above, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender, and megan was actively trying to avoid combusting on the spot.

y/n, mercifully, didn’t let her spiral in silence forever.

“you know,” she said gently, “i’ve been thinking about what you said. about dragons being misunderstood.”

megan glanced over, still sheepish. “yeah?”

“you were right.” y/n nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “they’re dangerous, sure. but so are a lot of things. doesn’t mean they don’t deserve patience. or care.”

megan’s heart skipped. “told you so.”

“don’t push it.”

they walked a little farther. their arms brushing. once, then again. y/n’s sleeves were pulled down over her hands, but megan still caught the quiet way she fidgeted with the hem of one.

“i’ve really enjoyed this,” y/n said, almost too casually.

megan blinked. “what?”

“us. this whole… project. spending time together.” her voice was soft, but steady. “it’s been… really nice.”

megan’s stomach did a backflip. “yeah. yeah, it has.”

a pause. a breath. then y/n leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek—quick, careful, but certain.

megan stopped walking. just—stopped. like someone had hit pause on her entire nervous system. her heart launched itself somewhere into her throat. her brain made a sound like a fizzing cauldron. and before she could even think about it—before she could stop herself—her mouth moved on its own.

“i’ve been in love with you since potions class last year!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the quiet path.

silence.

y/n turned to look at her, wide-eyed—but not shocked. if anything, she looked like she’d been waiting. like she’d heard something she already knew and was just happy to hear it out loud. she stepped closer. close enough for megan to see the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the blush rising on her cheeks, the spark of something warm and bright that had nothing to do with the sun.

“really?” she asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

megan nodded. “yeah. i mean. obviously.”

y/n laughed, quiet and bright and just a little breathless. then, without hesitation, she reached out and laced their fingers together, her grip warm and certain.

“finally,” she murmured, tugging megan gently forward.

and then—just like that—she kissed her. not on the cheek. not a quick, shy thing. but a real kiss. sure and steady and soft enough to make time tilt sideways. megan’s breath hitched. the world around her blurred into background noise. all she could feel was the press of y/n’s mouth against hers, the way her nose brushed lightly against megan’s, the way her free hand curled at the edge of her sleeve like she was afraid to let go. it was sweet. and it was clumsy. and it was absolutely perfect. megan felt something behind her ribs detonate in the best, most dangerous kind of way.

she kissed her back, eyes fluttering closed, every nerve in her body buzzing like she’d swallowed a snitch.

when they finally pulled apart, y/n was smiling. so was megan. helplessly.

they stood there for a beat, forehead to forehead, hearts racing.

“so,” megan said, breathless. “do we… tell the dragon first? or our friends?”

y/n snorted. “we’ll flip a coin.”

they kept walking, hand in hand, a little dazed, a lot delighted—like two girls who’d just wandered into the happiest kind of trouble. they walked the rest of the way back to the castle hand in hand. cheeks flushed, minds spinning, steps lighter than air, and absolutely no idea what they were going to tell their friends.

but for once, that wasn’t a problem to solve. not right now.

right now, there was just the girl.

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tojipie · 2 years ago

Text

˚ ✧ content: first-time parent toji, doctor reader, fluff, brief mentions of injury

“oh— hey! found one more for you down the hall.” a dreaded patient chart is thrust into your arms before you can tell the cheery nurse that your shift is already over.

“great,” you mutter, tiredly scanning the stack of paperwork as you make your way down the hall. it was way too late for this.

2-year-old male, already triaged and x-rayed. drove in by his dad about 2 hours ago. nothing too extensive, wouldn’t take more than an hour to get him sent home.

soft cries greet you at the door to the examination room, a hushed voice— his father— attempting to console the child.

“megs, c'mon. you’re gonna be okay! these are good people.” the older man whispers, sighing as the toddler’s sobs only grow louder.

your knock silences them both, the little boy trying to put on a strong face for you despite the little sniffles wracking his chest.

the kid is a carbon copy of his dad, donning the same shaggy black hair and big green eyes. the toddler looks up at you hesitantly, long lashes slick with tears.

“see? doctor’s here,” his dad coos, feigning fake excitement as you shut the door behind you. you can hear the quiver in his voice as he says it, anxiety eating away at his composure.

first-time parent you think, cute. always more terrified than the child. always.

“how’s our little trooper doing?” you smile, sympathetic to both their states. the younger boy says nothing, wiping the wetness from his face with his good arm. poor baby.

“fell off his trike in the driveway,” the father explains, shaking his head. he was charming, soft-spoken yet commanding respect. gnarled edges of a scar gracing the side of his mouth.

“can i see? just want to have a better look at the injury site,” you say calmly, snapping on a pair of blue gloves.

“show her where it hurts kiddo,” he asks tenderly, wincing as you take the ice pack off to expose the child’s swollen wrist.

megumi looks up at you curiously as you examine the injury, exhausted from a mix of pain and sleep deprivation.

“mama?” he mumbles, idly kicking his feet in his father’s lap.

“no bud not mama.” the older man laughs, clearly embarrassed. you feel your heart twinge just a bit at the adorable show of confusion.

“no broken skin, the joint is still aligned too.” you say confidently, placing the ice pack back. “likely not a break or a dislocation but i’ll look at the x-rays just so we’re positive, sound good?”

the father nods quietly, hugging his son to his chest.

“his mom was never in the picture, s’ hard handling him alone,” the older man doesn’t follow up on his comment, leaving it at that.

you nod. “i’m sorry.”

“toji,” he mumbles.

“i’m sorry, toji.”

it doesn’t take long for you to go over the blue images. an intact bone stands out against the illuminated wall, not a break thankfully. the stranger catches on soon enough, tension leaving his body at the good news.

“looks like it’s just a sprain,” you say, pointing to the image.

“see that kiddo?” he whispers, turning the little boy’s head toward you. “s’ nothing.”

“nofing?” megumi mumbles, clearly too tired to pay attention anymore. shy as a bunny.

“you’re gonna want to ice and elevate for at least the next two days, you should see a full recovery by then but if not i want you to come right back, okay?” you explain.

the father nods, propping his little boy down on the floor as you type out your post-visit instructions.

“say thank you to the pretty doctor megs,” he encourages, chuckling as the little boy waddles over to hug your leg with his good arm. so incredibly tiny.

pretty huh? you could get used to that.

“fank you.” his sweet voice latches onto your tired heart and melts you from the inside. megumi slumps down against your shoe as sleep takes over, caught under the arms and swept into his dad’s arms in an instant.

#fushiguro toji x reader #toji fluff #toji x reader fluff #toji x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji headcanons #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji imagine #toji fushiguro #zenin toji #dilf toji #jujutsu toji #toji #toji drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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muletia · 7 months ago

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your obsessed! Optimus yappings have me thinking about a y/n who has a kid,, who is just there looking at Optimus like "please stop trying to fuck my mom :((", bonus points if you add an obsessed! Megatron into the mix, poor kid would have to deal with TWO crazy ass robots trying to fuck their mom 😞😞 /silly

milf!reader???? would

ALSO THIS IS SO FUNNY OMGGG imagine you’ve already told your kid that you’d like to introduce them to your friend. the day of the first meeting arrives, and at first, the kid’s like: wow, a robot that turns into a massive truck??? that’s so cool, literally a hell yeah moment. and optimus would try so hard to win your kid over. i can totally see him showing off what his body can do, taking you both for rides during his free time, being the dad who stepped up. and then megatron realizes that he is ready to start a second war over a human pussy, and the poor kid can’t catch a break. their parent keeps getting kidnapped by a crazy warlord, like, who’s gonna help with homework?? :((( until the kid also gets kidnapped by megs, who, after finding out you have a sparkling, suddenly decides he wants to be a stepdad too and does everything to prove to the kid that he’s way cooler than optimus. it gets even funnier when the kid unironically starts rooting for megatron lmao.

#obsessed!optimus #obsessed!megatron #optimus x reader #transformers x reader #megatron x reader #be silly

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revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

goooodddss, i know megs is gonna be absolutely Insufferable™️ as a carrier.. he's gonna be so much more cranky than normal, blaming his human for turning the tables on him unexpectedly like that, but then probably also end up being the most clingy now because he's like "oh shoot, now i Need to have you around more than ever"

(sorry if this is a duplicate ask or similar to another ask sent earlier, tumblr is being tumblr as always 🤪)

I think I remember seeing a similar one, but it’s cool. It’s probably lost in all that ⬆️ the hilarious part is I emptied the inbox completely in January. Four months ago. I’m at 893 total because the drafts? Yeah, those are also asks. 🤣 I started moving them there so I wouldn’t lose ones for new story prompts and that’s backfired at this point because neither folder has a search option. I’m just watching the number click up in horrified fascination at this point because I’m pretty sure I only managed to keep up with the asks for a week tops last time 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Broken Arrow Pt 21

TFP Megatron x Reader

• Breathing raggedly as he meticulously straightens your stupid harness, you close your eyes. You’ve tried to break that ridiculously fine chain more than once just to be petty and it’s stupidly strong whatever it is. And after you’d kept undoing the clasp to take it off, he’d pinched the closure shut between his servos where you can’t take it off anymore. You’d tried to squirm out of it once and he’d found you with your arm pinned awkwardly against your body, because while it’s loose on you, it’s not loose enough to squirm out of. “Alright. You’re going to make me ask. What’s a sparkling?” Because you have a guess based on what he’d said and you’d better be wrong.

• “Cybertronian young,” he growls, optics narrowing when your expression becomes panicked. You really didn’t know, didn’t understand and it’s infuriating. Venting in aggravation, he runs a claw tip over your bottom lip and down the line of your throat, his spike stirring again as he straddles you. “Though I was trying to spark you and you somehow sparked me, you little brat.”

• “So, I knocked you up?” You blurt as his optics narrow, and you get momentarily distracted by a bead of pinkish purple slick beading at the head of his spike and slowly trailing down his length. And he’s baring his denta even as you start laughing. Because honestly? It serves him right. “Better you than me,” you add, aware that you’re playing with fire teasing him, but this means the jerk had tried to knock you up without asking.

• “Is that so?” He growls, plucking at your harness and you smack his hand. Wonders if you really think he doesn’t realize you’ve been trying to break his lovely work? He might not have made the fine weave of chains, but that metal is a part of him, damaged sections of his plating salvaged and melted down to make something to adorn you. “You should apologize on your knees.”

• “You did that to yourself,” you mutter, trying very hard not to think of the fact that you’re having a half alien kid with him. What if it’s an awful mini him with those sharky denta? What if the kid is worse? It’s bad enough with one of them biting you, but you can just imagine his kid clinging to your leg and gnawing like a rabid animal. And that uncertainty spills into the worry that he’s going to lose interest now. That he won’t have any reason to keep you around or alive now that he has what he wants. “Are you going to let me go now?” Preferably not via chucking you out of the ship mid flight.

• Staring at you, he growls. Because you really understand nothing. “We’re bonded,” he says, lip curling. “For life.” And your eyes go wide. ‘Oh, fuck me,’ you manage and his optics narrow as he lifts up and flips you onto your belly, covering you. ‘Not literally, you bastard,’ you snap as he hooks an arm under you to get your hips up and sheaths himself, hips pumping. Taking out his frustration and outrage with the wet heat of your tight body. You accepted him, bonded him and he’s keeping you even if you did somehow misunderstand all of it. You’re his to breed, to claim. His mate even if you didn’t choose him.

Found an old doodle and started inking and coloring before realizing I only have like five markers. I’d make enamel pins if it wasn’t so expensive 🤣

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #tfp megatron #valveplug

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sparklystarrrr · 4 months ago

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No Chance, No Way!!

Synopsis: In which (Y/n) falls in love with none other than Idia Shroud, but is scared to fall in love because of her freshly broken heart.

Contains: Idia S. x Fem! Megara! Reader, set in a garden in the Island of Woe, Idia & reader are hopelessly in love, Ortho our fav wingman who's sick of the two being hopelessly in love, Idia in Hades' toga and Reader in Megara's dress... I need that (I'm Greek, I want the rep), told from the reader's perspective, YES THIS IS BASED ON THE ACC SCENE WHERE MEG SINGS I WON'T SAY I'M IN LOVE it's gonna be so cliche and cheesy but WHATEVER

It was a rather warm summer night, the moon was shining and all seemed peaceful. That was until I got lost in my thoughts, walking and picking a delicate blue flower and landing myself on a bench in the garden of the Island of Woe. This was the perfect night to get lost in my thoughts. The only thing accompanying me was the cool breeze and the ruffle of leaves. I twirled the fragile flower around between my fingers, noticing how the flower's petals faded from a dark blue out to a light yet bright blue and all I could think about was him. A small grin formed on my face.

Oh, him... It felt so fleeting to feel this way, as if I was jumping on clouds with the wind in my hair... That was when I felt that feeling I was all too familiar with. I was in love... Ugh no.. I am not in love! I learned my lesson from the first guy this cannot be happening! I crossed my arms over my legs, propping my head up on my hand, I grumbled to myself "What's the matter with me... You'd think a girl would learn..."

I got myself up and walked around the garden. It seemed to be decorated with little cupids and statues of lovers, this was certainly an icky feeling... I sighed hopelessly while turning the little cupid from pointing its arrow at me to the other direction"If there's a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I've already won that..." I sauntered around aimlessly, passing a hedge of bushes"No man is worth the aggravation, that's ancient history... Been there, done that!" I flung the blue flower behind me in frustration.

As if on queue, a pair of big bright yellow eyes poked out from inside the bush. Suddenly, a determined Ortho popped out and caught the flower I tossed. He seemed to be giggling to himself, "Who do you think you're kidding! After doing a few scans on you, my databases tell me that big brother's the "Earth and Heaven" to you!" My cheeks flushed at his sudden interjection. I grunted as I plopped down onto a bench, holding my head in my hand's as I pouted... I can't really be feeling like this after just getting broken up with a few months ago, could I? "Don't try to keep it hidden (Y/n)! My scans can see right through you!" Ortho's child-like robot voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Oh no..." I moaned out while covering my face with my hands.

"You can't conceal it forever (Y/n), I know exactly how you're feeling and who you're thinking of!" He floated above me and dangled the flower beside my face in hopes I would catch it and just confess to these heavy feelings. I ignored the flower tickling my cheek and brushed it off of me. Ortho made a "hmph!" sound like he was determined to get me to say it. I stood up, feeling slightly ashamed for these not so new feelings,"No chance, no way! I won't say it, nope!" My frustration easily got to me. Why can't these feelings just pass!

Once again, Ortho kept pushing, "You're swooning, sighing, and your dopamine levels skyrocket when you're around Idia, all signs of being in love! Why deny it?" He had a point... but I won't say it!,"It's so cliche, Ortho! I just can't say i'm in love!" I walked away holding my arms close to my body. These feelings were so warm yet so uncertain... Ortho sighed and followed me to the path full of statues of lovers "I thought my heart had learned its lesson... It always feels this good when it starts out." I grumbled and looked up at all the statues while feeling a pang of loneliness I didn't know I felt until now.

My head was practically screaming 'Get a grip, girl! Unless you're dying to cry your heart out!' at me! I then felt Ortho's mechanical hand pat my shoulder and he looked up at me with those adorable big yellow eyes of his"You keep denying who you are and how you're feeling, but I'm not buying it! You practically hit the ceiling whenever the two of you talk!" I turned away from him and pouted, was it really that easy to see my feelings towards Idia..? "Facing it and owning up to these emotions will release a weight off your shoulders. And my databases are 101% sure you won't get rejected!" That comment made me feel... hope? Why was I feeling hopeful about this?! I can't believe myself!

"No chance! I won't ever say it!" I say stubbornly as I hop across pedestals that stuck out in the clear blue water of a pool. On the last pedestal I trip and nearly fall into the cold water! That's when a male's hand reaches out to me. I grab on and he pulls me onto the ground before I could fall. I looked at the hand. It was pale, bony and was larger than my own. I looked up at the man who owned this warm hand and it was none other than Idia.

"..Hey... Y-you good?" His awkward sharp toothy grin was really cute and I couldn't help but smile when I saw the pink tips of his blue hair going wild and crazy. 'Wow.. he looks really good in this outfit he was wearing though, I see his biceps and everything...I knew he had a sleeper build...' Shut up mind! I can't think like this... I smiled gently up at him and muttered a small, "I'm fine..!" I said as we both giggled awkwardly. I turned away, trying to hide my blush and he did the same. My hands brushed through my long (h/c) locks and I saw Ortho who seemed to be ushering me to confess because the Seven know Idia won't. He created a small hologram that had the words "Give in!!" "I can see that smile from here, (Y/n)!" He shouted at me. He put up a thumbs up for me to confess.

I covered my ears and shut my eyes as if I was trying to shut the whole world out. "This scene won't play Ortho! I just won't say it, get off my case!" I yelled back to him as I ran off to the fountain to sit and be irritated. I plopped down with a scowl and put my hand down on the cement to lean myself on my arm. The feeling of a stem was under my palm and I suddenly knew exactly what it was... the blue flower. I picked it up, smiling to myself in content as I put it up to my nose and smelled the fragrance. It smelled almost sweet, but perfect.

I touched the petals delicately with my free hand "Well, at least out loud I won't say I'm in love..." I held the flower to my chest and sighed, my body going to lay down on the edge of the fountain when suddenly I felt someone beside me. I heard a small "Eep!" from the person my head had bumped into and I turned around in surprise. "I-Idia?" We felt close.. too close for us to just be friends. "Uh.. Ortho sent me here.... Sorry... I-i can go if you need me too." And with that he started getting up, his hair going a bit more crazy than usual with the pink tint still there, even his ears were a light pink, his cheeks too.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. All I did was suddenly grab onto his arm. I'm so gonna be embarrassed for this later... "Sorry... but don't go. Sit with me, Idia..." I felt my face heating up a bit, him clearly turning pinker as seconds passed. I pulled him to sit down next to me. "So... clearly Ortho wanted the both of us to be here." I mumbled. "Yeah..." He said while nervously playing with his hair that was glowing a brighter pink. There was an awkward silence for a moment. We didn't really have anything to talk about in this situation. I sighed. "I'm sorry for... being in love with you, I guess." My hand wrapped around his hands which were still busy fiddling with his flaming locks. My other hand sat in my lap, twirling the blue flower.

He choked on air for a moment at my sudden confession. Obviously he wasn't expecting it. "N-no! It-it's fine it's just... Idk.. I'm not used to this stuff..." At this point all his hair had been colored a bright fuchsia. "Well I am you could say... I'm just scared of being in love." He looked at me, then away from me, at my flower, then back at me. "... Why? You seem like that girl everyone wants... like some normie... couldn't ever be seen with me..." He muttered the last part under his breath.

I scoffed at myself," If you really want to know, I got my heart played with." I looked away as my shoulders slumped and I looked down at my hands. His silence made it awkward but I knew he didn't really know how to respond. "That's stupid of him...." I heard him quietly whisper to himself. I looked at him with a smirk, "Yeah, really was stupid of him. Glad you think the same, Shroud..." He squeaked and his face turned almost as pink as his hair.

"But you know, I'm past him." He looked at me with his bright yellow eyes that I adored so much. "I don't think I could be scared of love when I'm with you..." I said while smiling up at him. His deep blue lips parted as I got closer to him, our hands still touching as they went down together and leaned on the stone fountain. He picked up the flower laying in my other hand, and feeling bold, he tucked it behind my ear."...You know... (h/c) looks mega cool with blue..." I smiled at his words.

Without a second thought, my now empty hand went up to his jaw and I dragged him down to get closer with me. I crashed my rosy lips against his icy blue ones. Suddenly the whole world seemed to disappear. His hands froze in their spot but as the kiss deepened, his hands went to my waist, his thumbs rubbing against my sides while he pulled me closer.

We pulled away to catch our breath. I smirked at his now bright red face. "I love you, Shroud. Don't break my heart.." I said in a breathy tone. I already knew he wouldn't, I trust him with my life. "I wouldn't dare, πριγκίπισσα." We crashed our lips together once more, grabbing onto each other like our lives depended on it. And the rest was history~

(queue lil Ortho celebrating in a bush and watching them, then covering his eyes when the two start getting a little steamy)

I've had an Idia hyper fixation for the past 2 days, I NEEDED THIS

Edit: πριγκίπισσα is princess in Greek<333

#idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud #ortho shroud #twisted wonderland Idia shroud #twisted wonderland ortho shroud #ignihyde #twisted wonderland fluff

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no1ryomafan · 11 months ago

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The funniest thing about being a niche micro internet celebrity-yes I’m back on my bullshit-that makes their presence so known in fandom is that the thing that gets reposted by me and people didn’t know I made it isn’t even memes it’s my gifs-

Because I always get so fucking jumpscared seeing my gifs used even if I put them out publicly on tenor to be used and not like I’d claim them-their just me turning clips into moving images lol-because I didn’t expect them to get spread around so much and my tenor username isn’t my current one so no one actually knows it’s me 😭

#meg text #I’ve made soooo many gifs probably 100 at this point just for mecha anime #I need to make more it’s just a slow process of finding what clips from shows would be good to turn into gifs #and maybe I’m a little lazy lol #but I wish tenor allowed usernames to be changed but they don’t sadly so no one knows it’s me #also this came from the fact in my last reblog my Dorothy gif was used #but also I have a HANDFUL of gifs that hit 1K shares which is crazy to think about #tho granted I realized even if my username was the same no one ever checks who makes these gifs #and they’d probably assume their all different people #but nope bitch it’s all me

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saetoru · 2 years ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me)

synopsis. suguru stumbles across two girls that need a home. somehow, one step at a time, you both find yourselves navigating parenthood

word count. 5.4k (sigh...this was supposed to be a drabble)

contents. not canon compliant at all—there are still curses, but it's literally an au where everything turns out happy LMAO, teacher! suguru, husband! suguru, fem! reader, reader is referred to as "wife" and "mommy," hints at child neglect/abuse (nanako and mimiko's backstory), yuji, nobara and megumi are the ones that save nanako and mimiko—the timeline is inaccurate bc the twins are still kids when megumi and co. are teens, single dad! satoru who raised megs and tsumiki (tsumiki is ALIVE and NOT CURSED) <3, it's just fluff tbh, it's overall healing and happy i promise

notes. yeah i am telling u i literally shoved every fix-it fic idea for jjk into one fic okay and u will all nod along and agree with it. this was supposed to be a drabble but i literally just could not shut up so now its a fic

“there are these two girls,” suguru says quietly at dinner one night, pulling you from the comfortable silence. you look up as you swallow, eyeing him as you nod carefully—nothing is ever a normal conversation when your husband is a jujutsu teacher. nothing is ever a normal conversation when you’re capable of jujutsu in general, you’ve learned that well by now.

“okay…” you say slowly, “and are they your students?”

they must be new, if they are. you know all of suguru’s students; you know them well enough to pick birthday presents and bring what they each like from the bakery. you don’t think you know of these two—they must be new.

“no,” he breathes, “no, they’re too young for that. maybe someday,” he adds hopefully.

“maybe someday,” you agree thoughtfully.

suguru loves teaching. it’s not something he ever saw himself doing—but life is dark at one point, a constant cloud looming over his head as it screams it’s over! your youth is over.

sometimes it hits him all at once—no one was there to protect suguru’s youth, no one was there for satoru’s or nanami’s, and certainly not haibara’s. no one was there to make sure they could be kids, that the sun could still shine and chase the clouds away.

so suguru becomes a teacher. he’s fond of the kids—and they like him too. geto sensei, they call, geto sensei, look! and then he pauses in the hall, holds back an amused chuckle before turning to face an overly enthusiastic yuji and nobara. megumi is not far behind, that disgruntled look on his face as always, but if you look closely, his eyes are soft and laced with something close to fondness.

geto sensei is a favorite—much more of a favorite than gojo sensei is, to satoru’s utter dismay. you can’t help but watch proudly sometimes, can’t help but watch how much suguru has grown as he interacts with those kids, how much he’s allowed himself to grow, how much he’s let himself try to chase the sun instead of letting the clouds convince him the light no longer exists.

“they’re five,” suguru continues, poking the soba in front of him as he doesn’t meet your gaze. “the kids found them on a mission. in a cage.”

you know what that means instantly. you look at suguru, watching as his eyes stare numbly at the food in front of him—sometimes, you worry that suguru will once more fall victim to those bone-chilling thoughts he shares with you one night. sometimes you worry he’ll slip and fall once more and you won’t notice this time, won’t reach your fingers and grasp him at the last second.

but he blinks, looks up and meets your eyes this time, stares into them and searches them for what he needs. he finds it, you think, because there’s light returning to them once more.

maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s acceptance. maybe it’s neither, and he’s just happy to have you to come back to when the world gets too burdensome. you’re not sure, but you do know you’ll always be there, right where he needs you.

“what happened to them?” you ask gently, “was it their parents?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “the villagers. their parents are dead.”

it’s not new—you’ve seen it before too. children tend to notice their techniques at this age. it’s not new to hear about children with no family history of sorcerers being labeled as some type of other in the family, in the community, or in the village.

suguru is lucky in that way—his mother and father see him as something special, something worth celebrating, something greater than they could ever hope to be. you meet them once every year, just for a few days. they love you, greeting you with kind smiles and warm hugs, pulling you inside as they get dinner ready. you visit his old room and smile as you rake your fingers over the figures on his desk and the cd’s he used to collect. his mother keeps his room in perfect condition, even after all these years.

you remind him to call more. sometimes, he tries—just for you, he tries. it’s hard for him, you realize. sometimes suguru is guilty; sometimes, he’s haunted by what he almost did but thankfully didn’t. it’s hard to face his parents ever since, even if they’re blissfully unaware. it’s easier to love them from afar, he thinks. but you insist he calls more, so he does. sometimes hearing his mother’s voice is what he needs, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.

“so…what’ll happen to them?” you ask quietly.

“they’re at the school for tonight,” he mumbles, “there’s enough bedrooms, anyway. but…”

but they can’t stay there forever, is what he wants to say, you know that. staying at jujutsu high is hardly enough for children so young. they need a proper home, a proper family. you can’t help but stare down at your own bowl of soba. it’s hard to watch children suffer like this. it’s especially hard on suguru—he chose to teach to help those kids, to be there. somethings, however, cannot be fixed by simply being there.

“and then what will happen after?”

“they need a home,” he says quietly, “and…listen, i know we never really…we’ve never discussed something like this. but…maybe for a while, just until something better is decided, we could…”

you know what he’s trying to say before he can even say it—you and suguru have never discussed children. you don’t think you ever really want to, and you’re fairly certain he feels the same. it’s hard to lose haibara when you’re just a young kid, hard to live with the fact that someone so young and hopeful about the world is here one second and then gone the next. you see nanami sometimes—he’s kind to you, greets you politely, and asks how you are. but nothing about him has ever been the same since that day.

will your children meet the same fate? will you have them one second and lose them the next? will you patiently wait for them to come to visit the next chance they get from school, only to get a phone call no parent deserves to hear? they’re common in the jujutsu world. it’s a risk every parent has to take. some are selfish—rightfully so. some don’t care to let their children master their techniques, arguing it’s better to have a child that’s incapable and alive than gifted and dead. what if your children end up like nanami? the one who manages to live but can never accept the fact, not when someone else is dead. how will you be a pillar of strength? how can you tell them it’s okay to live as long as it’s not them who’s dead? how can you help them grieve when you are always grieving yourself?

you don’t think you ever want children, and you think you’re right in your assumption that suguru agrees.

but those girls need a home, and you know the look on suguru’s face means options are limited—scarily so. you look at him for a while, look at him and see the way he’s got his heart set on these two girls—suguru has lost more than you ever could, and if this is something he thinks he should do, you think it might be worth a chance.

“bring them for dinner tomorrow,” you say finally, bringing soba to your lips, “i’d like to meet them.”

it’s not a straight answer, but it’s a start. suguru nods, smiling gently at you before he continues with his own dinner. it’s silent after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. he still steals your last bite of soba at the end, and you still roll your eyes and let him. you wash the dishes together after that, argue over whose turn it is to rinse and whose turn it is to dry—it’s routine, and you’re grateful you have something to look forward to in this cruel world, something you can count on regularly.

—————

hasaba nanako and hasaba mimiko.

those are their names. megumi says so when he first brings them to suguru. nanako is blonde, a bit bolder than mimiko, who’s brunette. nanako is older by five minutes, and she likes to remind everyone when she can. mimiko holds nanako’s hand when she’s nervous, and nanako squeezes tightly with a smile. they’re a mellow pair, despite it all. a little distrusting and a little nervous when too many people are in a room at once.

they take a liking to suguru, however. satoru is a bit too loud and boisterous for them, but suguru is kind and soft and gives them gentle head pats when they cooperate and answer his questions. on the way home, he asks them if they’d like something from the bakery.

it leaves them a bit quiet, right until he looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow as he awaits their answer.

“we’ve never been to one,” nanako answers quietly, the first to speak between the two, as always.

“is that so?” suguru asks gently. they nod, still holding hands.

children of five summers, and they have never picked out a cake for even a birthday—he wonders why that is. they shouldn't have shown signs of having cursed techniques so young, there should be no reason to mistreat them so early on—the conclusion he comes to makes him even unhappier. parents should never have children if they aren’t willing to love them, he thinks bitterly.

“it’s alright,” mimiko says finally, “we don’t need—”

“come on then,” suguru grabs nanako’s free hand, gently pulling them both along the busy streets of tokyo, “my wife’s favorite bakery is around the corner. we’ve tried everything they have by now, so you’ll have to tell us what’s your favorite, yeah?”

it’s nanako who answers again first, nodding slowly before she smiles hopefully. “okay,” she murmurs.

from the corner of his eyes, suguru notices mimiko gently pull her hand from her sister’s, quickly taking a few steps as she walks across in front of him before promptly finding herself on his other side. her hand reaches for his—it’s slow, a bit unsure, so he grabs it delicately, giving a small squeeze as he grins down at her.

“wait until you try the strawberry cake,” he hums, “that’s my favorite.”

—————

suguru comes home with two small girls on either side of him and more bags than you can count from the bakery just five minutes from your apartment. you blink before rushing over and taking a few bags from his hands.

“did you just buy one of everything or something?” you ask incredulously, staring at all the boxes of goods within the bags.

he grins that closed-eye smile of his, crinkles forming in the corners as he says, “well, of course,” like it’s the most normal thing ever to buy one of every item in a large bakery in the heart of tokyo. “the girls have never been to a bakery before so i thought we could let them try everything and rank them.”

you look down at the girls, who stare at you nervously as they cling to each other. instantly, as soon as you meet their eyes, you can’t help but drop down to your knees to meet their level as you smile softly.

“why hello there,” you murmur, ruffling each head gently. they like that—suguru texted you that earlier, that they seem to brighten considerably when he offers them a gentle pat on the head in affection. “what are your names?”

“i’m nanako,” the blonde one answers instantly—suguru is equal parts shocked and equal parts pleased by her new air of confidence. he wonders if she’d be a bright and energetic child right about now, if the world hadn’t crushed her under and forced her to live meekly. “and i’m older by five minutes.”

“hello nanako, the eldest by five minutes,” you answer seriously, nodding as though it’s a crucial fact to her identity, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. and what about you?”

the brunette clutches her sister’s hand a little tighter—but nanako seems to have deemed you as safe. anyone geto sensei (as the other kids seem to call him) trusts is someone they don’t have to be on guard around. she nudges mimiko gently, encouraging her to tell you her name.

“i’m mimiko,” she says quietly. she seems to be holding a small, pink stuffed toy. it’s seen better days, you think, but a nice wash and a few stitches to the top of its head should have it looking quite a lot better.

“and hello to you too, mimiko,” you smile, “are you younger by five minutes, then?”

she giggles a little at that before nodding, “i am,” she assures, “but i’m smarter.”

“are not!” nanako says instantly, gasping. you and suguru share a look, amused and fond and relieved all at once.

“what a lovely toy,” you murmur, tracing the eyes with your finger. she droops a little at that—like being reminded of its condition is something that breaks her spirit.

“it’s ripped,” she mumbles, “it wasn’t before.”

“i can fix it,” you offer, “suguru is always ripping his uniforms, but lucky for him, his sweet little wife here is a fixer-upper.”

“really?” she brightens. you nod, chuckling as you ruffle her hair, doing the same to nanako, too, when she eyes you hopefully from the side.

“that sounds great,” suguru interrupts, “but i believe i have cakes that need to be tried and mouths that are not trying.”

you rise, rolling your eyes and standing next to him, and his hand gently grabs yours. thank you, he squeezes. always, you squeeze back.

“well, come on, girls,” you usher. mimiko grabs your free hand, and suguru grabs nanako’s—you all make your way to the dinner table. it feels oddly natural, you think. “we have desserts to try. the chocolate one will definitely be your favorite, i can feel it.”

“it’ll be strawberry,” suguru says confidently.

you meet his gaze, grinning at him as he stares at you hopelessly in love. it’s always been enough, you and suguru—it’s always been more than enough with just the two of you. so enough, that you never wanted more. but this is nice too, you think. this is something you could get used to, even if it breaks the routine you’ve learned to love just a bit.

—————

nanako and mimiko stay at your house that night, and somehow, that turns into a week. sometimes, suguru takes them with him to school, just to handle a few things that are still to be taken care of regarding their case. you find you miss three instead of one while you’re home alone for the day.

they return cheery each time, bags of deserts in hand and a newfound glow in their eyes. mimiko’s toy is much cleaner now, and the small rips have been carefully sewn shut by you from the first night they spend. she clutches it everywhere she goes, hugs it in her sleep too. it’s hopelessly endearing.

nanako takes a liking to suguru’s phone—he’s a bit too giving with her, you think. she’s managed to figure out his passcode rather quickly, and he lets her get away with it, watching her small fingers work the buttons of whatever game she's downloaded with a gentle look of affection over his features.

on the days that suguru goes to school alone, the girls are left in your care for the day—you don’t usually have someone to keep you company while you’re at home. you’ve quit being a sorcerer long ago, deciding that it’s not worth the constant back-and-forth tug of war with life and death.

perhaps it's selfish—people are dying every day, and you sit and let it happen, but you can’t help it. it’s too much, sometimes. suguru has always supported it, though, has always murmured that you’re doing the right thing and that sorcerers deserve quiet, peaceful lives, too, if they wish. so you do just that, stay home and learn a new dish or two through the day, watch a few shitty sitcoms on the television, leave and do some grocery shopping for the week, and return home to your quiet little apartment (as quiet as an apartment can get in tokyo, that is) and wait for your husband to come home.

suguru comes home by seven pm every day and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead as he says, hello, wife, to which you giggle and murmur, hi there, husband. you have dinner after that and share details about your days with each other. yuji and nobara are arguing again, suguru will tell you sometimes, i think nobara will cave and talk first this time, though. i brought fresh strawberries from the season’s harvest, you murmur behind a glass of water to your lips, got them just for you, sugu.

it’s been a routine like that ever since your marriage. you marry suguru quietly when you barely turn twenty, just a room full of the few people you dare let yourself love and the two of you as you sign the papers and share a kiss. there’s an extravagant meal waiting for you after, though, courtesy of gojo satoru, a man with more money than he could hope to use on himself. satoru is happy that day—happier than you’ve ever seen him in a long, long while. he takes his bandages off, sits and watches everything, and takes it all in even if it’ll bite him back in the ass later with a long, pounding migraine.

today, however, is a saturday—school is out, and anyone who doesn’t have a mission is free to have the day to themselves. suguru hasn’t taken a large mission in ages, years, even. he accepts small ones here and there, and if it really calls for it, he joins a tough one with his students—but it’s for their sake more than anything. but the big ones are too much for him to handle regularly anymore. the higher-ups aren’t happy—special-grade sorcerers are hard to come by, and it’s unfair that the lower-grade ones are busting their necks out there more than he is. but suguru deserves a semblance of control over his well-being, and with satoru on his side, there isn’t much of anything the higher-ups can really do.

he sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone as you click the remote, finding something to watch.

“you know, we should really talk about this,” suguru mumbles from the side. it’s early, still. barely eight am, and the girls are still sleeping. they’ll be up soon—and with that, will be gone any moment for you and suguru to share a private moment.

they didn’t warn you about that part of kids—you knew it was a busy job, watching over them, but you figured leaving them to play for a bit would grant you some peace. you and suguru quickly learn that children, no matter how well-behaved and disciplined, always need a watchful eye on them.

“talk about what?” you yawn, “it’s too early for you to speak in codes.”

“the girls,” he says, unimpressed. oh. right.

“what about them?” you say, dancing around the edge of the real issue. he sees right through you—you know he will. still, you’re petulant enough to try and dodge the topic anyway.

“it’s been a week,” he says seriously, “those kids think this is their new home. it’s cruel to make them think that any longer if we don’t…”

keep them. let them stay. let them become a part of this home and, by extension, this family that has always just been you and suguru. raise them. take them in. take responsibility over them. love them.

can you love? like that, at least? are you meant to be a mother? you’re too selfish, you think—you couldn’t even stay fighting curses for long, too weak to care about those who need you, and too focused on needing yourself. can you handle two children? if you do this, you can’t do anything else but do it right—it’s what they deserve. but you don’t know if you can give them what they deserve.

but there aren’t many better options either, you remind yourself.

suguru seems to know what you’re thinking because he murmurs, “i think it’s easier to raise children than be a sorcerer,” he says quietly.

you raise an eyebrow skeptically. “you can walk away from being a sorcerer, suguru. being a parent is for life.”

“being a parent means you get to love,” he reasons, “unconditionally. without regrets. without a contract, you know? loving a sorcerer is just betting how long someone has left to live, at the end of the day.”

“how morbid of you,” you snort.

“they’re good kids,” he says quietly, “great, even.”

“they’re lovely,” you agree. and then, quieter this time, “i…i would miss them. more than i care to admit.”

“me too,” he nods.

your head falls to his chest, and he presses a kiss to your head, wrapping his arms around you. suguru has always loved you—when the world was not worth loving, and the people were not worth saving, suguru had loved you. he still does. and the way you love him is enough to make all of those things change. the world has a little more hope, and the people are a little less ugly when you’re there to prove not everything is bad. that even where the bad exists, the good can follow. as long as he has you, suguru is complete—but he thinks more is not always so bad.

“suguru?” you ask gently. he hums, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he squeezes your hand, “we won’t force them,” you say firmly, “to do anything. they should exist as themselves if they want to. cursed techniques or not.”

he smiles. you don’t see it, and you don’t have to. you know it’s that deep, eye-crinkling smile that’s heartfelt and real.

“no, we won’t force them,” he agrees, “they’re perfect as is.”

—————

the girls are given the option to each get the two spare rooms you and suguru have in your apartment. that leaves ultimately no guest room, but you think they deserve to have their own space and be their own people after everything. but, as you and he had expected, they choose to share a room and stay together.

you’ll never forget the looks on their faces when they realize they’re staying here permanently, the look of pure excitement and the slightest hints of shock—you never realized how fulfilling it could be to make two children smile like that.

“we can’t paint the walls,” you hum, “we don’t own this place. but we can still decorate,” you offer.

they don’t seem all that disappointed about not being able to paint their walls—instead, they’re too excited about their beds, giggling as they jump on the mattress. suguru wants to tell them that jumping on mattresses is bad for the springs, but you stop him—they deserve to be kids for a bit. after that, you’ll teach them. but for now, they deserve to just be kids.

“can we get lights?” nanako asks—now that you and suguru are guardians to two children (parents seems…a bit too overwhelming to use right now), spontaneous dates don’t happen one on one anymore. evidently, it’s hard to find babysitters on the spot, and leaving them home alone is not an option, so you decide to simply bring them along on your weekly sunday afternoon cafe visit. nanako takes a liking to the lights on the walls, and mimiko eats three slices of cake.

you can’t wait to bring them next week, too.

“you sure can,” suguru hums, chuckling.

“and a mirror?”

“of course,” you nod, “you’ll certainly need one to make sure the beauty sleep works.”

nanako giggles, flopping onto the bed, and mimiko sits not long after, still hugging that toy to her chest as she looks around the room in wonder. they’ve been sleeping in it for over a week now, but now that they can officially call it their own, they seem to be much more attached.

“i want pink sheets,” nanako hums.

“i want blue,” mimiko mumbles, looking at you shyly.

“well,” suguru murmurs so that only you can hear, “maybe we can get them two beds. smaller one—they’ll fit on either side.”

“and what do we do with this one, then?” you raise a brow.

“we…sell it?”

“suguru, are you trying to drain every last bit of our savings?”

“we have plenty,” he chuckles, “we don’t ever do anything.”

that much is true—you and suguru hardly leave tokyo let alone japan, and though you let yourselves splurge on nice things, there isn’t much to spend on between two people. but the last few days have really put into perspective how…expensive raising children can be. clothing and school supplies (they’ll attend a normal school) and room decor and snacks, and anything else children require to be children is quite denting to bank accounts.

but you and suguru can’t say you mind—and if nanako and mimiko want pink and blue sheets, well��you think you can make that happen.

“i think we’re spoiling them,” you mumble, “should we be doing that?”

he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his chest as his nose presses to the top of your head when he kisses it. he’s warm, just like he always is—maybe warmer now, in fact.

“nah,” he grins, “i think we’re doing great.”

—————

the girls take their time to warm up to satoru, but when they finally do, he seems to be a favorite. satoru is very proud of this fact—he’s not a lot of children’s favorite…well, maybe yuji’s perhaps, but you don’t think yuji has a single bone in his body that could really dislike anyone. or rank them, to be quite honest—you don’t think he prefers satoru or suguru over the other.

“oh, kids,” satoru calls, stepping into your apartment and letting himself in. you and suguru are in the middle of making dinner, looking back in shock from the kitchen as satoru waves enthusiastically at you both.

“satoru, how did you even get in?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. he grins, practically giggling as he points to your husband.

“suguru gave me a key.”

“what?” suguru sputters, “no, i didn’t!”

“you let me borrow them,” satoru concedes—that’s still not even anywhere near the truth.

“i left them at your place and kindly asked you to bring them to me at work the next day,” suguru corrects, crossing his arms and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“yes, and i did what you should have done a long time ago and made myself a copy,” satoru huffs, “i’m the best friend! i deserve a key—”

“gojo sensei!” the girls call.

as most kids do, they pick up what they hear around them. everyone seems to refer to satoru and suguru as gojo sensei and geto sensei. they’re not students, but nanako and mimiko both pick up on the habit too—and it’s helplessly adorable, you can’t deny.

sometimes, you want to correct them, but they seem excited to see satoru, so you let the moment pass.

“there they are!” satoru beams, taking his blindfold off and crouching down to meet them in the eye—nanako and mimiko seem to find satoru infinitely more approachable when his eyes are out and easy to look into. you can’t imagine why—he looks like a creep. “i brought dessert! because what’s life without something sweet, right? are these two feeding you girls the sugar you need to grow into tall, healthy young women?”

“this is why you should never be allowed near children,” you say flatly.

satoru looks at you with a pointed look, “i practically raised megumi and tsumiki, y’know. saving young siblings and giving them a nice home life is old news, i already did that. be more original, please.”

what a jackass—you scowl at him, throwing the wooden spoon in your hand at his head and watching as it doesn’t even touch him and falls to the floor. curse his infinity.

“okay, now,” suguru chuckles, “i don’t want to spend the evening looking after four children instead of two—”

“geto sensei! thanks for having us over for dinner,” yuji interrupts, stepping through the door that satoru took such great care not to close, “fushiguro was a bit of a hassle to convince, though.”

suguru throws a sharp glare at satoru as soon as three of their students step into your home—you’re going to have to forget the dinner you’re making and order takeout, you think. satoru will pay.

“this is why you didn’t get a key,” suguru hisses, “because then you act like you own the place.”

“i wanted a family gathering,” satoru gasps, “tsumiki is coming too! wait for her.”

despite the way suguru grabs satoru’s hair—and satoru, for some reason, turns off his infinity and lets him—you notice the corners of your husband’s mouth twitching into a gentle smile, and you know he’s thinking the same thing as you. family—nanako and mimiko are here, and so are yuji, and nobara, and megumi, and satoru (the biggest headache), and soon, tsumiki too.

family—yes, this is family, you think.

—————

“daddy, i’m hungry,” mimiko tugs on suguru’s sleeve.

“i know, pumpkin, just give me a second and—”

“daddy, look! i beat the high score on my game and—”

“daddy is looking, sweetie, just give me one minute, nanako, yeah? daddy will look and—”

“wow,” satoru chuckles, grinning amused, “you’re really worn thin.”

“satoru,” suguru grumbles, “if you’re not going to help, then please leave.”

nanako and mimiko are seven now. in two years, their personalities have really blossomed—something which you and suguru are very grateful for. the world should not crush children so young that they don’t get to be the children they are meant to be. you and suguru take great care to make sure they know they can be kids.

and they are—they whine about bedtime and pick at their vegetables and point at everything in the store and plead for something new. they’re children—your children, and you can’t help but love them unconditionally so.

“well, welcome to fatherhood,” suguru snaps, trying his best to make lunch and entertain the two girls waiting for his attention.

suguru is a good father—a gentle one, in fact. he comes home every day from work and grins, asking in that smooth voice of his, where are my ladies? and just like that, you and your two girls meet him with excited grins. you peck his lips before he crouches down and pulls two small bodies against his chest, letting their tiny arms wrap around his neck as he hoists them up.

it’s a perfect little routine, one you cherish greatly. but the girls are getting older, and soon, they’ll be too heavy to carry like this. it makes you a little sad to think about—but if there’s one thing you’ve learned, breaking routine isn’t always so bad. soon there will be a new one, and when you outgrow that, another new one, and so on.

what won’t ever change is the way you love suguru, and he loves you, and you both love your daughters, and they love you both too.

“daddy,” nanako calls, “where’s mommy?”

“at the store, nanako,” he says patiently, sighing. this is the fifth time she’s asked.

“when will she be back?”

“soon, nanako,” he smiles assuringly, “at least, i hope so,” he adds quietly, under his breath.

satoru hears, though—and he cackles, heinously loud, too, as he watches the scene unfold in amusement. but satoru is suguru’s best friend, and yours too. and the girls love him. he’s family—and so are their students.

it’s nice, suguru thinks, it’s nice to have something worth smiling for.

“i’m home!” you call, “is satoru here? because the door was unlocked—”

“mommy!” the girls call, cutting you off with the pitter-patter of small, excited little feet hitting the ground and greeting you.

“why hello,” you gasp excitedly, laughing as they tackle you in a hug.

you and suguru share a smile as he looks back—family, it’s what you’ve both built here. it’s slow at first, and sometimes it wasn’t easy. at one point, it was just the two of you, just you and suguru, and that was okay. you didn’t think you would ever be capable of letting it be more—but it’s nice when it grows, you think. maybe one day, you can dare to hope to grow it some more.

the scene were they got 2 beds—that was me and my sister when we first moved into our weeeee lil apartment back when i was in middle school !! we were bummed bc we couldn't paint the walls but our parents let us have 2 beds so we could pick our sheets !! it was a fond memory LOL but now i DO have a room where i painted the color except i HATE the color now bc i was still in middle school when we moved into our house and got to pick colors and middle school me and adult me are soooo different so now i have a teal bedroom that haunts me

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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