#i have notes for a fic with this premise in my drafts

[vilevenom]

I know it's a ridiculously rare pair, but I love Metadow

Y'know why?

Because of the angst and implication that Shadow can't move on from Sonic after he inevitably passes away and Shadow just has to keep on living

After Eggman is gone, and all of the robots disband/are decomissioned, I like to think that Shadow finds/repairs Metal and just...has him around. Metal sticks with Shadow, because where else is he going to go?

Inevitably, one day, Metal just slides a note to Shadow that just says "I'm not him", and Shadow has to go on a long walk

[xiaowhore]

equivalent exchange.

DRAFT. this fic is incomplete, as i've stated in this post. this has been sitting in the dungeon for a while, and i have no plans to finish them, but i posted these drafts to not let them go to waste. it is up to you if you still want to read them regardless of their incompletion :) i will be writing my original ideas for the fic at the end so you guys will have an idea of what the fic was supposed to be like.

premise. when ayato stumbles upon a drafted resignation letter on your desk, he doubles his efforts to show you the perquisites of staying by his side.

he doesn't want to lose a competent subordinate. that's all there is to it.

note. what's wrong with secretary kim au but it's definitely not the same because i stopped watching at episode 5 and have no idea what happened. anyways i think we were all expecting a ceo!ayato x secretary!reader fic at some point so here it is. (couldn't keep this gender neutral for plot reasons, so feminine pronouns were used.)

Kamisato Ayato considers himself a good boss.

Or as far as things go, he's a decent one. He treats his employees well, takes them to expensive restaurants for company dinners, and discourages overtime so they can head off early for the night. He doesn't care much for formalities, and he gets along with his colleagues fairly well. He's never heard anyone talk behind his back or complain about his attitude at work, and there aren't any rumors spreading about him (if he turns a blind eye to the conspiratorial gossip guessing his relationship status).

But he does have minor faults. Like showing a more mischievous side when work hours are over. Getting Thoma dead drunk during dinners because his half-conscious inebriated talking is a form of amusement, or riling up Itto in drinking games just because it's funny. Then he leaves Sara to clean up the mess for him, since Yae seems to enjoy the comedy sketch as thoroughly as he does and probably won't lift a finger to help even if he asked her to.

As his assistant, you're prone to falling victim to his shenanigans, silly stunts that coax out aggravated eye rolls and sighs of exasperation. Years of experience eventually shaped you up to be entirely immune to April Fools' pranks.

He's in the middle of planning another one when he spots a letter of resignation on your desk.

At first, he thinks it's your rebellious phase arriving a decade late. He always found it odd how you never retaliated against his tricks, and this may just be the long-awaited April Fools' prank of vengeance. If it is, it's particularly mean of you—Ayato does have feelings, you know? Even he would feel hurt if you told him you wanted to leave! You shouldn't take this kind of thing lightly!

Then he remembers you aren't the type to make jokes, April Fools' or otherwise, and it's that moment when he feels (proper) fear.

“[Name] wants to resign?!”

Ayato makes a zipping motion and Thoma's shrieks immediately die down, but the disbelief on his face has yet to wane. His brows scrunch together, brain hard at work in processing this piece of information, though it seems to short-circuit in utter confusion from the sudden blow.

Scandalized, Thoma lowers his head and levels his voice to a hushed whisper, “Are you sure you saw it correctly?”

“I have able eyes. Unfortunately, my optometrist confirmed my perfect vision and assured I saw it just fine.” Woe is he.

“Get them checked again.”

“No matter how much I check, it won't change the results, Thoma.”

“We don't know that for sure, sir!”

“Trust me,” Ayato deadpans, looking off into the distance, “I checked with him thrice.”

Defeated, Thoma leans back to his chair, crossing his arms while deep in thought. “You saw the letter, but she didn't turn it in, did she?”

“She didn't. No e-mail, either.” Ayato taps the table in a mindless rhythm, expression stern but the shape of his lips almost resembling a pout. “Do you have any idea why she'd want to resign?”

Thoma rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is that a genuine question, sir?”

Ayato's head snaps back to look at his companion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“...Everyone in the office knows you... tease her for your own amusement.”

“It's my way of showing affection.” The corners of his lips curl up, stretching to a twisted smile as he rests his cheek on his palm. “Isn't she just so adorable when she gets angry?”

“You really do have a rotten personality.”

Ayato waves his hand in a noncommittal response. “We're straying off topic. What should we do next?”

Thoma hums, closed fist beneath his chin. “Since she hasn't turned in the letter yet, that means she must be hesitating. For what reason, we don't know, but it's keeping her here. So before she makes up her mind, we should dissuade her from quitting no matter what.”

Ayato laces his fingers together, brow in an inquisitive arch. “And we do that by?”

Green eyes sparkle with tenacity, clashing with blue irises twinkling in intrigue. “We bribe her, sir. It's time to show off your good points.”

--

“If a woman quits her job, what do you think her reasons could be?”

Ayaka blinks owlishly at her brother, taken aback by the abrupt question. It's a sudden thing to ask, especially odd given how their conversation hasn't led to that topic at all. “Did someone resign? I haven't heard anything of the sort, though.”

Ayato shakes his head, stirring the boba tea in his hands. “It's a hypothetical.”

Which means it's real.

Ah, whatever. At least he didn't go for the “my friend...” excuse.

Ayaka warily cuts a portion of her cake, scrutinizing each microexpression flashing on Ayato's face. It's one of their weekly lunch meetings, squeezed between hectic schedules, and they more or less have a silent agreement to avoid discussions involving work if they could help it. But this time, he brought it up himself.

How peculiar.

“Perhaps she wants to change workplaces? If she's exemplary, she might have been offered a better position or higher pay.”

Ayato nearly scoffs at the suggestion. The company, old-fashioned as it is, can only be inherited by a direct line of descendants. Outsiders can only go so far, and being the secretary for the chief executive officer isn't bad at all. Last time he checked, he's been paying you generously as well—how many figures was it? Six?

“Oh!” Ayaka exclaims, holding up a finger as she seems to have figured out something. “Or maybe she wants to settle down and get married? If her work is keeping her occupied, she'll most likely take time off to find a husband.”

Ayato proceeds to choke on a tapioca pearl.

“Or she got married and wants to be a housewife-”

“That's quite enough, Ayaka.”

Ayato would rather believe the Earth is flat.

--

If Ayato were any less desperate, perhaps he would have rationalized that putting together “give her what she wants to make her stay” and “she wants to get married” is a bad, bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, he is grasping at straws, so it leaves him no choice. Yes. Definitely. There is no other option than this, obviously.

(He does not delve deeper into the reason why he doesn't want you to leave, nor does he dwell any longer on why he was so quick to think he was fine with getting married if it was to you.)

“Don’t you want to get married soon, Ms. [Surname]?”

To clarify, Ayato does not spy on other people's conversations for a hobby, but he's always had impeccable timing. It comes with the job.

He stands by the door, reaching for the doorknob to the break room, but the mention of your name forces him to a halt.

“Why are you asking me that...?” You awkwardly dodge the question, sipping on your coffee. “I suppose I am at that age, though.”

“So you do want to!” The squeal rings with a note of glee, a stark contrast to Ayato's gradually dimming mood. “Wouldn't it be nice to marry a good man? I'm sure even you have thought of it at some point! Are you seeing anyone, then? Anyone you can imagine yourself marrying?”

“No, not yet.”

Before Ayato can even heave a relieved sigh, you follow with, “But my mother is making me go on dates to see people. Said if I didn't bring home a man soon, she'd come all this way to drag me back by my ear and introduce me to her friend's son.”

“Ah, I get that...” Your friend replies emphatically, nodding. “But those kind of meetings hardly go well. And you can't exactly tell your mother's friend you don't find her son attractive, right?”

“Why not just marry Mr. Kamisato, then?” Another one pipes up, to which Ayato gives a mental salute of appreciation. “You spend most of your time together. If you're not married to your job, then you're practically married to him.”

A cackle sends his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Not a chance.”

Can you at least expound why?!

“Huh? Why not? I mean, Mr. Kamisato is on another realm of existence and I can never hope to be on the same level as him, but you look good together!”

Your face pinches to a tight frown. “Look good together? In what way?”

“When you stand side by side, it just looks... right. And like I've mentioned earlier, you spend all your time with him. Why not seal the deal?”

“Mr. Kamisato is reliable, and if you marry him, you're set for life. He's handsome too, and we've all seen his muscles at our company sports day a few months ago!”

“I've never been so thankful for team-building events. Hallelujah.”

Ayato's face burns in embarrassment hearing the dreamy sighs. Even if they think there isn't anyone else listening on them (which is false), shouldn't they exert some restraint at work?

“Please don't lust over my boss,” you assert sternly, voice ice cold. “And we have a strictly professional relationship. So don't get any weird ideas from here on out, alright?”

“Fine. Tell me that again when I'm invited at your wedding, I dare you.”

“I said-”

They wave off your vehement protests at the statement. “Then if you're not into Mr. Kamisato, what do you plan to do?”

Ayato perks up, straining his ears in rapt attention.

“...I'm going on a date this weekend,” you sigh, rubbing circles on your temples. “I'll let you know how it goes.”

Oh no.

--

“-Dinner was nice. We didn't expect the rain shower, but he ran to the convenience store across the street to buy an umbrella because he didn't want me to get wet on the way to the car. He said it would be a waste if my hair got ruined since I-”

Slurp.

“...Styled it for the occasion. Then he drove me home. I found out we liked the same band from the music he played, and we agreed to-”

Sluuurp.

“-Go to their upcoming concert together. Then we somehow also like the same novel that's getting a movie adaption soon, so we also promised to see it-”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“Could you please refrain from making noise when eating, sir?”

Ayato decidedly does not comply and only slurps his boba tea harder, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl yet again.

As always, you learn to ignore him.

“Concert... and a movie. I'm not sure about the concert, but the film you're talking about is the one coming out in the next two months, right?” Thoma confirms, sweating when Ayato's expression turns visibly grim. “You plan to see him for that long...?”

“Even if dating doesn't work out, we can always become friends, can't we?” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich. “He seems like a nice guy. We get along really well, considering we've only met once. I ended up agreeing to a second date-”

The passive-aggressive slurping persists for the following afternoon.

--

“I've been meaning to ask for a while,” Thoma treads carefully, noticing Ayato's rapid-fire typing—no, striking—on the keyboard, “Ms. [Surname] is good at her job, but you seem really... eager to make her stay, sir.”

Ayato's fingers halt in their movement, and he takes a second to flash his business smile. “Of course. She's a valuable asset, and I'd be foolish to let her go.”

“Yes, I'm well aware, but...” Thoma scratches his cheek, looking off to the side. “You didn't go to such lengths when your former assistants resigned from their post. Or, uh... you fired most of them.”

“Yes,” Ayato simply agrees, still smiling, “she's competent. You don't find anyone like her easily, so it's only natural I'd want her to stay.”

“What do you mean by 'anyone like her,' sir?”

Thoma is awfully talkative today. Ayato might need to feed him something spicy to shut him up.

“Ms. [Surname] is special.” The words smoothly leave his lips. “Does anyone else have the meetings and company events scheduled for the next month memorized? She's the only one I can count on for work matters.”

Thoma's shoulders slump. “Okay, let me get straight to the point. Do you-”

“Mr. Kamisato?”

Thoma nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, accompanied by the clack of your heels.

“What is it?” The cold smile on his face finally melts to something more genuine, softer around the edges and looking especially radiant. It's welcoming, like your arrival counts as a joyous occasion, and he is exponentially more attentive compared to the way he lent Thoma half his ear (the other preoccupied with a phone call, which he swiftly ends the moment you walk in).

“I came to deliver some files from Ms. Miko... did I interrupt something?” You gesture to Thoma standing idly by the side, dumbfounded from Ayato's inconceivable behavior.

“Not at all. Is there anything else?” Ayato accepts the documents, noticing your hesitance to leave.

“Ah, yes, I will be asking for time off tomorrow.”

That's... rare?

But it's not a hard request. Ayato's own schedule is blank for the most part, since the latest project wrapped up not too long ago, and the workload is lighter than usual. Missing one work day won't do any harm.

“It's fine, but could I ask why?”

You fidget, tentative as you reply, “I was invited... for a trip on a cruise. He insisted I come since his friend bailed on him and the tickets would go to waste.”

The warmth in his eyes freezes over.

“The tickets would go to waste...” Ayato repeats under his breath, mockingly cruel. The tone flies past your head but it hits Thoma full-force, making him sweat profusely.

Distasteful. An utter disgrace of a man. The magnitude of his ignorance is so awe-inspiring, I have to applaud. I must give credit where it is due, and the foolishness of this clown is truly impressive. “The tickets will go to waste,” he says? His money must worth more to him than his dignity. Inviting Ms. [Surname] to a date on a workday with no regard for her schedule is one thing, but making her out to be an afterthought as a substitute for his original travel partner is another. How shameful. This is no way to treat a lady. If Ayaka were to be with a man of his caliber, I would never allow it.

But what he says outloud is of course, “I see. I hope you have fun, then.”

--

Corporate events are, for the most part, adequately entertaining.

Preparing for it is not.

But the worst part isn't even brainstorming themes, or finding an appropriate venue, or planning the logistics, or writing the guest list.

It's choosing what to wear.

Actually, the cause for Ayato's headache isn't even what attire he'll go with. It's yours.

“That looks wonderful,” Yae praises, looking at the picture on your phone. It displays a silver necklace, a tear drop topaz encased in a diamond twist. It pairs well with the dress you bought with Ayaka last week, an elegant fit that accentuated your curves.

However.

“He chose that for you, didn't he?”

The stoic line of Ayato's mouth twitches and his eyes can't help but sweep over your screen, scrutinizing each grainy pixel.

Though he has plenty of insults prepared at his arsenal, he can't find anything to nitpick about. Damn it. It's a good choice.

“You'll look stunning,” Kokomi assures good-naturedly, smiling in delight. Ayato does not doubt that will be the case, but he's sure he would be in a foul mood the entire night if he were to see you adorning it.

He has already retrieved his coffee from the break room so he excuses himself to his office, long strides that lead him out of earshot.

As a result, he doesn't hear the following conversation.

“Why this, though?” Kokomi asks, looking closely at the accessory. “It's a simple design. Doesn't look like something a man would pick from the rest.”

You shake your head. “I just told him I wanted something blue, and I couldn't choose myself because there were too many that caught my eye...”

“Blue?” She echoes, a simple curiosity. “Why blue?”

“...It's a pretty color.”

--

It is an actual coincidence that Ayato runs into you in the middle of shopping.

You're hunched over a display stand showcasing a variety of earrings, deep in thought as you observe each one. You're doing that thing where you scrunch your nose in concentration, a habit Ayato doesn't think you even realize you have.

“Fancy meeting you here, Ms. [Surname].”

(He wonders what face you would've made if he said “You go here often?” instead. Probably some degree of disgust.)

You blink, correcting your posture and nodding in greeting. You don't look particularly thrilled to see him, but at least you're unbothered by the prospect of seeing your boss on a free day. “You're here to shop too, Mr. Kamisato?”

Ayato smiles amicably. “I am. Were you planning to buy earrings?”

“Yes, but...” Your gaze returns to the display, your own smile faltering. “It is a bit difficult to choose.”

He walks over, scanning the variety up and down. “Is it really? You only need to choose a pair that matches your necklace, right?” He focuses on shades of silver, bypassing the vibrant colors of reds and pinks. Not even fifteen seconds later, he picks out a card and holds it out next to your ear. “This one looks nice on you.”

“Huh? Really?” Perhaps surprised by his swiftness, it takes you a moment to react accordingly. You take the card from his hands and flip it over, eyes widening by a fraction. “Oh. It is rather pretty.” Then they widen further as big as saucers. “I can't say the same for the price tag, though.”

“Hm? What price tag?”

He plucks the earrings from your hands, walks to the counter, and pays for it without a second thought.

“M-Mr. Kamisato?”

“Pull up your hair.”

“Eh? Oh, okay.”

You're so caught off guard that you unwittingly do as he says, tucking your hair back obediently and still processing the last two minutes.

His fingers tug at your ear, warmth bleeding to your skin, and by the time you return to reality, he's already putting the earrings on you.

STORY FLOW.

ok i lied i actually can't remember shit about this fic so i will be making up stuff as i go lol

what i do remember clearly is that the resignation notice that ayato found on your desk is years old. you meant to submit it way, way back when ayato was tougher on you, and you weren't as well-adjusted as you are now to the job yet. as stated in the fic, being ayato's secretary is no easy task—he'd fired countless people he thought was incompetent.

you fought a number of times, and you didn't know if you could keep up working for a man you thought was simply incompatible with you (in terms of being colleagues/partners).

but over time, you learned to work together. ayato acknowledged your efforts and hard work, and you knew ayato had been trying to give you less jobs to reduce your workload, but you were going to prove that hou could handle it.

what truly made you appreciate ayato more was when you got stranded at the train station. you dealt with a far company they collaborated with, but work ended later than expected, and you'd missed the last train home. taxis were an option, but youd have to go through several of them to get back. right when you were thinking of checking into a hotel, ayato informed you he was already on his way and drove a couple of hours to get where you were to bring you home.

time continued to pass, and that brings us back to the present. you were on the process of cleaning up your desk and left the old resignation notice out in the open by accident, which led to ayato seeing it.

it is very apparent to the others that you two like each other, but the involved parties themselves are unaware of it. you currently aren't eager to get married, but you were trying to meet people so your parents would stop bugging you about still being single.

anyway, ayato bought those earrings for you. timeskip to the corporate event. you unconsciously picked a blue motif for your outfit because it reminds you of ayato.

when you get there, surprise, surprise. the man you were meeting, kazuha is a bigwig, heir to some other corporation. he actually owned that cruise he invited you to and pretended he didn't because you might be intimidated. ayato didn't think the kazuha he knew and the kazuha you knew were the same person, and now the advantage he had over him was ruled out (i.e being rich). (actually while i was rereading i was surprised i didn't mention that it was kazuha...? istg i was imagining him the whole time i wrote about him)

anyhow, as it became later in the night, ayato wanted to get you home before kazuha could offer to drive you back or worse, spend the night with him. ayato acted drunk so you'd tend to him and accompany him home while his driver was in charge of taking you to his apartment. as you were nagging at him, he compared your interactions with him to yours and kazuha's. you were certainly nicer to that man. smiled at him a lot more, too. did you really like him that much?

if you did, could he let you go?

he was ashamed that he couldn't answer it right away. as if he had any right to whatever you do.

you carried him to bed when you got to his apartment, but when you were preparing to leave, he hugged you from behind. do you like that man? why do you want to leave me? why can't it be me? ayato was just pretending to be drunk, but he felt dizzy now, soaked in your scent. he said things that he wasn't supposed to. things that he couldn't take back. things that would change your relationship forever.

slowly, you took away the hands wrapped around your waist. ayato figured that was a message of rejection.

but then you pushed him back down on the bed and you straddled his lap. his mind was silent for but a few seconds before he started screaming mentally.

i've always wanted you, but i knew it was impossible. you have a fiancee. i'm an ordinary worker. your family won't accept me. ayato's mind was in a daze because your face was so close to his, and all he could see was the red, glossy shade on your lips, but he managed to hear those few sentences.

it doesn't matter. nothing else matters. i can't marry if it's not you. if you accept me, i swear i'll make you happy.

from here on, it could be a happy, fluffy ending where turns out, you were tipsy so you were more honest with him and you fell asleep in the middle of kissing so he took it upon himself to change your dress into something more comfortable and end the night with a forehead kiss...

...or you could continue what you were doing and the first thing ayato takes off is the damned necklace so he could replace it with a smattering of hickeys. your choice ^^

[starlightkun]

⇢ word count: 16.3k ⇢ genre: fluff, college au, brother's best friend trope, christmas/holiday themed, baseball player!jisung, rich kids!reader and chenle, part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon ⇢ warnings: chenle and reader are annoying as hell together lol (they love each other but would die before saying ily), everyone’s parents suck!, only minor proof-reading bc i wanted to post for christmas, FAKE pro baseball players mentioned (idk anything abt baseball and was not going to research any real baseball players and be wrong abt them ok) ⇢ extra info: this is part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon, three short, unrelated fics starring jisung all with cheesy hallmark christmas movie-esque premises. there’s no continuing plotline between fics in this series, they’re all standalone fics ⇢ author’s note: ok so this one isn’t exactly “short” but as always, i got carried away. im just happy i got this one out in time and it didn’t end up being 20k+ lmao. anyway, this is my last fic of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon, and of 2024, and i hope you guys had as much fun reading them as i did writing them! happy holidays and i will be back with even more fics in 2025! ⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

“I know what you’ve been trying to do this whole time. You’re not ‘very into baseball,’ you’re into Jisung.”

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20

Clicking the ‘submit’ button for your last final paper of the semester, you let out a sigh of relief. You were done, for now. The time in the corner of your laptop read 10:58 p.m. You’d submitted with an hour to spare. Usually, you hated cutting it so close, but four of your five classes this semester had assigned fifteen-page papers, and you wanted to take your time researching, outlining, drafting, and editing all of them before the deadlines.

There were only a few other students scattered around the library so late on the last academic day of the semester. One table away from you was another student, a boy who had also been hard at work on his laptop for the greater part of the past four hours. You had seen him around campus, not in any meaningful way, but enough that his face was familiar to you. And tonight, you had been stealing glances at him—when he let out a groan or a sigh that rang a little too loud in the dead silence, pushed his hoodie off his head to reveal his dark hair and handsome features, or stood up from his chair to go to the vending machine around the corner and walk around the library to stretch his obscenely long legs. Yeah, you’d done a bit of ogling, you also needed a break every now and then.

He was still typing away at his laptop when you had packed up for the night and were heading out, your path taking you right by his table. You were never usually this bold, but maybe it was the rush from finally being done with finals week, or how late it was, but you found yourself stopping next to the end seat the cute boy was occupying.

Upon realizing that you were there, he looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, slowly taking his headphones off. “Hm?”

“Are you going to be here till closing?” You asked him knowingly, a playful smile on your lips and bag of gummy candy in your hands. You had bought it during a vending machine break earlier in the night but never ended up opening it.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m hoping only another thirty minutes…”

“Here.” You offered the candies out to him. “I’m done for the night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You set them down next to his laptop. Not wanting to take up any more of his waning time left to submit his assignment, you started off towards the exit again. “Good luck. Have a good break.”

“You too…”

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21

“You didn’t get his number?!” Your roommate gasped in horror after you told her about the cute guy from the library. She had been asleep when you got home last night, and now the two of you were packing in preparation for your respective winter break plans. Sooyoung was heading back home while you and your brother would be driving to meet your parents at your family’s winter house in the mountains.

“Or his name,” you confirmed sadly. “I mean, the poor guy only had an hour left of the semester to submit whatever he was working on, there was no way he would’ve wanted me wasting it.”

“You have got to find him when we get back.”

“I’ll try,” you agreed.

There was a long honk from outside your dorm, and you rolled your eyes before peering out your window. Sure enough, your brother’s sleek black SUV was outside.

“Alright, I’ll see you in two weeks, Soo.” You hugged your roommate goodbye. Before you could even grab your bag, there was another obnoxiously long honk, followed by a series of shorter honks.

You immediately videocalled your brother.

Chenle picked up, already complaining. “Y/N, hurry up! You always take forever—”

“Shut the fuck up!” You retorted, flipping off the camera. “You’re so fucking annoying, I swear to—”

He laid on the horn again, and you could hear complaints start up outside from other people yelling at him to shut the fuck up. Then, you swore you heard another voice in Chenle’s car, quietly suggesting that he stop, but it was too indistinct for you to properly identify.

“Who was that?” You squinted at him suspiciously.

“I told you I was bringing a friend—”

“I know, I meant which one?”

“Get your slow ass down here and find out, or we’re leaving you!” With that, he hung up.

You pocketed your phone with a quiet scream, then turned to your roommate. “Ugh! Can you believe we’re related?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, not even looking at you.

Hauling your stuff downstairs by yourself, you were a little out of breath by the time you shoved the front door of your dorm open. Your duffel bag started slipping down your shoulder, and as you readjusted that, you weren’t even looking out for the uneven slab of concrete that you knew stuck up in front of the entrance. Your toe caught on it, and you let out an unfortunate ‘eep!’ as you tripped forward. Your bag slid off your shoulder again, catching on your elbow and swinging around, the weight making you stumble a little more. You stayed upright, and you were thankful that only your brother and his friend saw all that. Yeah, Chenle was going to tease you for the entire three-hour car ride, and Mark or whoever was coming with would definitely get in on the ribbing, but you had plenty of dirt on them too. It was the natural order of things.

“Clumsy ass,” Chenle yelled at you from the car, the driver’s side window rolled down. You flipped him off on instinct. “Jisung, go help her before she hurts herself.”

Jisung. That was a new one. Admittedly, you didn’t know all of your brother’s friends, you two ran in different circles at school. You were usually introduced them in passing if you happened to run into each other at events, or some you knew from before college, like Jeno and Jaemin, the twins who lived next door to you guys growing up, or Mark and Donghyuck, who you all went to high school with.

A car door opened and closed before a tall figure was walking around the front of the car to meet you on the sidewalk. You blinked in surprise as you recognized Chenle’s friend that was approaching you, and not because of your brother. The cute boy from the library was standing in front of you, seemingly having a similar sense of déjà vu as he froze, hand already outstretched, reaching for your duffel bag.

“Hey again,” you chuckled, putting your bag strap in his hand. “Did you get everything turned in on time?”

“Yeah, I did.” Jisung unfroze and smiled at you, and you swore the sun seemed dim in comparison. “Thanks for the candy, by the way. Completely forgot to tell you that.”

“It’s okay, you were busy.”

“I’m Jisung, by the way.”

You nodded towards your brother’s car. “I had guessed.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“I had guessed,” he quipped back.

Chenle honked again, then yelled, “Come on!”

You rolled your eyes. “Pain in the ass.”

Chenle popped the trunk for you from his seat, and Jisung put your duffel bag in among their things that were already packed, then he took your suitcase to put away as well. As you opened the passenger door, your brother immediately shook his head.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” You looked at him incredulously. “I always get shotgun!”

“And Jisung gets carsick in the backseat.” He pointed at the boy standing awkwardly behind you. “I’m not having him puke all over my car. You’ll survive the backseat for once.”

Hating his condescending tone, but with no other option, you graciously stepped aside. Jisung gave you a quiet ‘sorry, thanks’ as he opened the back door for you. After buckling yourself into the middle seat and Chenle starting his music, everyone was ready to go.

“Y/N, Jisung,” Chenle made introductions over his shoulder, jabbing his thumb between you two. “Jisung’s on the baseball team and was in my bio lab last semester. Y/N is my annoying little sister.”

You kicked the back of his seat. “By ten months. As soon as you popped out, Mom and Dad were so disappointed they immediately decided to have another kid.”

“Regret saying yes yet, Jisung?” He asked his friend smugly.

Jisung, meanwhile, had been staring straight ahead at the road, clearly feeling uncomfortable as he didn’t want to get in the middle of your typical bickering.

“Ignore him, Jisung.” You leaned forward between their seats over the center console, your tone much more friendly. “So you’re on the baseball team? Do you have an athletic scholarship or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he answered hurriedly. “Uhm, it’s the only way I could afford to go here. Full ride as long as I keep my grades up.”

You all did go to a rather expensive private university—your parents were alumni, they wouldn’t have sent you anywhere else, of course.

“Wow, so you must be really good, then.”

“I mean, I don’t know—”

“A full ride, I would think they only give those out to the best players, right?”

“Well—”

Chenle cut in, “You’re making him nervous, Y/N. Back up, for fuck’s sake.”

You didn’t back up. “Am I making you nervous, Jisung?”

“No, it’s fine,” he rushed to reassure you, finally turning around in his seat to face you. He let out a squeak as soon as he did, probably not anticipating that you’d be as close as you were. He sat back in his seat, propping himself up against his seatback on his forearm. “Uhm, it’s just that this is only gonna be my second season. Still a rookie, you know. I don’t think I’m that good.”

Jisung sort of reminded you of a little hamster when he was nervous like this, and your lips twitched with amusement. He really was cute.

“When’s baseball season?”

“Practice officially starts in January, first game’s in February.”

“Don’t you get cold out on the field?”

He shrugged self-consciously. “I mean, we’re moving around a lot. And we have hand warmers and stuff for when we’re on the bench.”

You kept eagerly asking him questions. “What position do you play?”

“Pitcher. I’m a switch pitcher—I can pitch left or right-handed—so they like that.”

“So it’s a surprise for the other team?”

“No, you have to declare which hand you’re going to pitch for each batter beforehand,” he admitted, then quickly tacked on, “But it still kinda throws them off!”

You hummed thoughtfully. “What about when you’re hitting the ball?”

“I could do either, but I prefer my right.”

“You’re never this interested in my friends,” Chenle interrupted accusatorily.

“Because I already know like, way too much about the twins, Hyuck, and Mark. Wish I could unlearn some of it, actually,” you snorted. “And you’ve been trying to get me into sports for our whole lives. What’s the problem?”

“Basketball,” your brother corrected you. “I’ve been trying to get you to watch basketball with me. Jisung plays baseball. Wrong sport.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m five,” you snapped, kicking his seat again.

“Stop kicking my seat like a five-year-old and I might,” he retorted.

You scowled at the back of his big head.

“I can see you pouting in the rearview mirror.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, flopping back against your seat.

“Saw that too.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it!” You snipped back childishly. Turning your focus back to Jisung, who was looking out the passenger window, you asked, “Is he like this to you, Jisung?”

“Don’t answer that,” Chenle directed him before the other boy could open his mouth. “She’ll tire herself out.”

“Oh, you’re insufferable!” You spat. “Talking about me like I’m not even here! Or like I’m Daegal!”

“Well, Daegal is actually trained.”

“Pull the car over, I’m going to beat your ass!”

“Hey!” Surprisingly, it was the soft-spoken Jisung who raised his voice over the sounds of you two fighting, shocking both of you into silence. He continued, “Chenle, you’ve been antagonizing Y/N ever since we pulled up in front of her dorm, man. Then you act like she’s crazy for being pissed off at you. It’s honestly pissing me off.”

Chenle huffed loudly, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, before he finally said, “Fine. Sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for apologizing because Jisung told you to.” You unbuckled and scooted over to the seat behind Jisung, buckling back in and looking out the window at the scenery rushing by.

The car was silent other than Chenle’s music, which he turned up as you pulled out your phone.

[you: i found out cute library guy’s name]

[soosoo: omfg the cia has nothing on u]

[soosoo: SPILL]

[you: i didn’t stalk him, turns out he’s my brother’s friend. his name is park jisung and he’s on the baseball team]

[soosoo: your brother’s friend that you’re going to be ALL ALONE WITH in the mountains for the next TWO WEEKS???]

[you: not ALL ALONE, chenle will be there, remember?]

[soosoo: unfortunately]

[soosoo: WAIT i found him on the team’s roster online and WHEW GIRL]

[soosoo: attached image.]

It was a screenshot of Jisung’s athlete profile on the university’s sports page. The small ID photo he had on there honestly did him no justice.

[soosoo: how is ur brother always friends w the HOTTEST GUYS who ALSO PLAY SPORTS????]

[soosoo: i need him to hook me up fr]

[you: don’t tell me ur thinking abt jeno and jaemin rn]

[soosoo: always]

[you: u don’t need chenle to hook u up if u rlly want, im friends with them too??]

[soosoo: YOU WOULD????]

[you: but you’d have to pick one]

[soosoo: god i am not your strongest soldier]

[you: exactly what i thought]

At the mountain cabin, you three were the first ones there, of course. You parents wouldn’t be arriving until Christmas Eve due to their work schedules. The house was already decorated like something straight out of a Hallmark movie—lights, red and green bows, candy canes, baubles, and other decorations all throughout.

“Wow,” Jisung breathed out, stopping in the foyer and turning around, his eyes wide as he took it all in. “Your parents are really into Christmas, huh?”

“Not really.” You had also stopped to watch his slow circle of awe. “They pay somebody to set it up.”

The wonder dropped off his face and was replaced with confusion, his brow furrowing. Chenle yelled for him from further in the house, and you jerked your head for him to follow. Your brother was at the threshold of the hallway where all your rooms were located.

“Yours is there,” Chenle pointed Jisung to one end of the hallway as you slipped by him to head to the bedroom at the other end. “Y/N’s is on the other side.”

“We share a bathroom,” you called over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Don’t use all the hot water in the morning!”

“And I’m upstairs.” Your brother indicated to a small ladder between Jisung’s room and the bathroom in the middle. “I got the loft. Won it in rock-paper-scissors almost two decades ago.”

“You cheated!” You reminded him loudly from where you had started unpacking your things in your room.

“Sore loser!”

“Sore winner!”

“Anyway, holler if you need something.”

You were still unpacking when there was a soft knock at your open door. It was Jisung leaning in your doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly.

“Hey.” You smiled at him brightly. “Bathroom’s the middle door. We both have doors that connect to it, so knock before we go in? Even if the light is off?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Jisung continued silently watching you unpack, then finally blurted out, “You egg him on.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Chenle.” He held his hands up in front of him defensively as you opened your mouth. “I know he started everything back in the car, but you didn’t help.”

You sat back on your feet in front of your open suitcase and dresser drawers. “Yeah, I know I’ve got a temper problem. I need to work on it.”

“I didn’t say anything in front of him because I kind of got the feeling that he was being extra mean because I was there.”

“When we’re hanging out with friends that we kinda share, like Jeno and Jaemin or whoever, it’s fine. You know, they met both of us at the same time. But I think when we’re with people that are his friends, it’s different,” you explained, gesturing to an armchair in the corner for Jisung to sit in while you talked. “We were always in the same grade and stuff, so obviously people assumed we were twins. That’s also why he really gets on the ‘little sister’ thing. When we got to college, we were both relieved to finally be different people, you know? Have different friends, different things that were ours.”

“You seem to understand him really well.”

“Known him my whole life,” you pointed out. “And just because I understand why he acts like this doesn’t mean it still doesn’t piss me the fuck off.”

“To answer your question from the car, no, he doesn’t treat me like that. He’s sarcastic, sure, but not like that.”

Zipping up your empty suitcase, you started on your duffel bag that was on your bed. “Sorry you had to deal with us like that, even more so that you had break us up. I’m sure the next two weeks were flashing before your eyes, huh?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t actually start beating him up,” he chuckled.

“Me too, that would’ve been embarrassing.” You added, “For him. To get his ass beat in front of one of his buddies.”

He looked out the room down the hallway, checking to see if Chenle was coming, then admitted, “Don’t tell him, but I was sort of calculating how many swings to let you get in before it would look unreasonable for me to not intervene.”

“Oh really? And how many would you have ‘let me’ have?” You grinned, using finger quotes over ‘let me.’

“One good punch and a hair pull, I think.” He looked to be sizing you up, a teasing glint in his eye. “You seem like you fight dirty like that.”

“Could claim you didn’t want to hurt your friend’s little sister, let me get a few more in.” You mimicked punching and kneeing the air. “At least let me knee him in the balls.”

“I’ll consider it in the event you two do actually brawl while we’re here.”

You looked up at the ceiling, thinking about your brother up there somewhere. “Eh, we’ll make up properly soon. One thing about us, we fight a lot, but it’s never for that long.”

“Okay, now I’m worried about the next two weeks.”

You laughed, maybe a little harder than his joke warranted, but you couldn’t help it—he was cute, he was funny, and he was making your chest feel tighter and your head spin faster the longer you were around him.

“Why are you in here?” Chenle had appeared in your doorway, looking genuinely perturbed at the visage of Jisung sitting in your chair.

“Because we’re talking?” You answered for him. “Or is he only allowed to talk to you while he’s here and I have to take a vow of silence?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he snickered, walking in and flopping on your bed.

“You first.”

“You want to do lunch in town then get the tree?” He checked the time on his phone. “Mom and Dad know how much you like Christmas tree shopping so that’s the only thing not done.”

“Or is it just another responsibility to pawn off on someone?” You snorted, opening the door into the adjoining bathroom to put your toiletry bag away.

Your brother’s distant voice called after you, “Even if it is, we can still have fun!”

You took a deep breath, and came out of the bathroom with a smile on your face. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”

“Ew, stop that, it’s creepy.” Chenle threw a pillow at you.

You caught it and chucked it right back at him. “What? Smiling?”

It hit him in the face before falling to the floor. “Yeah, exactly. I’m done trying to cheer you up, keep being a little Grinch, it suits your face better.”

You climbed on the bed and grabbed a pillow to smack him with it. “Quit being fucking rude!”

He laughed and cackled, rolling away from your pillow attack until his eyes went wide with panic as he went right over the edge of the mattress and landed on the floor. It was your turn to burst into laughter at the sound he made, and when he started groaning and complaining, you knew he was fine. Jisung was also laughing from his seat.

You finally gathered yourself enough to peer over the edge of the bed, looking down at where Chenle was sprawled out dramatically like a cartoon character that had been crushed by an anvil. As soon as he looked at you, he started giggling too.

“What about this one?” Mr. Song, the elderly man who had run the Christmas tree farm in town for as long as your family had been coming for the holidays, was showing you around to the various trees they had for sale.

“Ah, too skinny.” You shook your head. “We have a lot of ornaments. And a vaulted ceiling too, so we can get a taller one.”

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” His eyes crinkled fondly as he walked you around by the elbow. “You and your brother have gotten so big, Y/N. I remember when you two were up to my knee. Always playing hide and seek in the trees.”

“We used to think you were Santa Claus,” you giggled, gesturing to his big, bushy beard. “We told everyone we knew that we got our Christmas tree from Santa every year.”

“Good to see that Chenle and your boyfriend get along so well.” He nodded to where Chenle and Jisung were throwing snowballs at each other. More accurately, Jisung was pelting them at Chenle with scary precision, and Chenle was doing his best to throw some back in between peals of laughter.

“Oh, Jisung is Chenle’s friend from school, he’s not my boyfriend,” you clarified quickly.

“My mistake.” Mr. Song patted your arm.

After circling the next one Mr. Song showed you, you were content, inspecting how dense the branches were, the height, and general shape.

“Guys!” You yelled out to get Chenle and Jisung’s attention. They ceased their (unfair) battle, meandering over to you. “What do you think?”

Chenle gave it a once-over before nodding. “Great pick as always, Y/N.”

“Is that going to fit through the front door?” Jisung asked skeptically, trying to fit his arms around it to gauge the size.

“It will,” you promised as Chenle pulled out his checkbook.

Two of Mr. Song’s grandsons brought the tree up to the cabin in their truck, and you had to open both front doors all the way for them to carry it in. They got it set up in the corner for you, and you sent them on their way with an extra cash tip.

“We’ve got to let the branches settle before we can decorate it,” you advised Jisung. “So we’ll do that tomorrow.”

“Y/N’s got a whole thing about the tree,” Chenle added from one of the couches, turning the TV on.

“Smells nice,” Jisung piped up.

“Did your family have real trees or artificial ones?” You asked, taking up the other couch.

Jisung seemed to momentarily panic about where to sit, before taking the empty space at the end of Chenle’s couch, facing you. “A fake one. It came with the lights already on. Easier for my mom to set up.”

“One or two?” Chenle asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Two!” You answered, and Chenle immediately played a movie from whatever streaming service he was scrolling through. You went to fill Jisung in, “It’s a game we like to play. One of us will assign numbers to things in our head without telling the other, and you have to reply with a number without really knowing what you’re picking.”

“I couldn’t decide which movie to watch,” Chenle added.

“So, instead of a coin flip, you used Y/N?” Jisung clarified.

“Sort of. You can do it for more than two options. Like…” You tilted your head back and forth as you tried to think of one on the spot. As soon as you had, you perked up. “One, two or three?”

“Three?”

“Hot chocolate it is.” You stood up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen.

Jisung turned in his seat to keep you in his eyesight. “Wait, what were the options?”

“That’s part of the fun.” You smiled. “Sometimes you never know.”

A few minutes later, you came back into the room with three mugs of hot chocolate, and handed one each to Chenle and Jisung before sitting back on your couch.

Several movies, rounds of various video games, and large pizzas later, you were beat. Standing up from your couch, you stretched and started grabbing everyone’s plates.

“I’ll get these if you guys put the food away?”

Chenle gave you a thumbs-up, his eyes locked on his phone screen.

“Night!” You tossed back over your shoulder as you traipsed out of the room.

“Night!” Your brother echoed.

“Goodnight!” Jisung replied.

As soon as you were bundled up in your blankets in your room, you videocalled Sooyoung. She picked up, the familiar scenery of her childhood bedroom in the background.

“Hey!” She beamed. “How was day one? Kill Chenle? Make any moves on cute library guy?”

“We know his name now, Soo!” You laughed.

“But a nickname is so fun and mysterious!”

“I did almost kill Chenle in the first ten minutes of the car ride,” you groaned. “Jisung surprisingly came to my defense.”

“Your brother’s friend took your side against him? Wow…”

“He’s really sweet, he’s making an effort to be my friend too.”

“Friend? Or something else?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, it’s been one day,” you giggled, rolling over onto your back. “Anyway, how’s your family?”

You stayed up chatting for another hour before finally going to sleep, giddy with thoughts of what could happen tomorrow.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 22

In the morning, with no alarm for class to get you up, you woke up, rolled over, and went back to sleep several times. Eventually, you decided that it was time to get up, and slowly shuffled out of your room. Chenle was already up, by the stove cooking something. Jisung was nowhere in sight, probably still sleeping.

Upon hearing your footsteps, he looked over his shoulder. “Morning.”

You grunted back.

“Mom called.”

You made another noise of acknowledgment, still rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you lumbered over to your seat at the table. Your brother set a plate of pancakes down in front of you, and you squinted up at him suspiciously. Typically he would’ve made you get your own plate, or more likely, make your own food. Actually, it was kind of weird that he was up before you. He must not have gone back to sleep after talking to your mom. It wasn’t unusual for her to have called early in the morning—your parents’ work took them all around the world, and often the only free time they could find had them calling at odd hours.

“They’re not going to make it for Christmas, Y/N,” he told you softly, still standing next to your chair.

“Of course,” you scoffed, lip curling with distaste as you picked up your fork.

“They’ll be here on the 26th, and we can do everything with them then.”

“Are they staying for New Year’s?”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

“Of course,” you repeated with more venom in your tone than before, dropping your utensil back down onto the table. “What the fuck else should we have expected? Honestly, why do they even fucking bother?”

He put a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Chenle, don’t apologize for them.” You patted his hand. “It’s not your fault.” Pushing your chair back, you stood up. “I’m not hungry right now. I’m going out back.”

“I’ll save your plate.”

Shoving boots on your feet and pulling a heavier coat on, you opened the door in your bedroom that led directly out onto the back patio. It had snowed last night, so you had to shuffle through the fresh layer to get to the swing seat back here. The cold morning air bit at your nose and cheeks, and you tucked your hands into your pockets to keep them warm—you’d forgotten gloves. Sighing, you watched your breath fog up in front of your face, until your tears overtook your vision and you couldn’t see anything past them.

You pulled your knees to your chest on the porch swing, pushing your face into the thick material of your pajama pants. Why did it still hurt so bad? They did this all the fucking time.

The sound of feet crunching snow came to your ears, and you wiped at your face as you looked up at who was approaching you. It was Jisung, two steaming mugs in his gloved hands.

“Uhm, Chenle said you weren’t hungry. Does cider count?” He offered one out to you.

You chuckled, accepting it, grateful to have something warm to wrap your chilly fingers around. “No, it doesn’t. Thanks, Jisung.”

“It’s pretty out here,” he commented, looking around at the scenery. “Or not, if you want me to go back inside.”

You laughed again, gesturing to the empty half of the porch swing next to you. “You can stay.”

Jisung brushed off the snow from the rest of the porch swing before sitting down. He wedged his mug of cider between his legs and you watched him curiously as he started taking his gloves off. He offered them out to you, making you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I’ve got the cider—”

“So do I.”

“Then how about this.” You plucked one glove from him and put it on your right hand, which was holding the handle of the mug. Your left cradled the body of the mug, where all the warmth was. “Glove goes on the colder hand.”

He chuckled, slipping his remaining glove on his left, and wrapping his right hand around the mug. “Innovative.”

“Thank you.”

The smile faded as he turned more somber. “I’m sorry to hear that your parents’ plans changed.”

You took a sip of the cider, staring out at the still landscape of snow-covered trees and mountains. “Me too. You think I would be used to it by now.”

“Chenle was talking about maybe going to this ice-skating place later. If you’re feeling up to it.”

“That’s what’s nice about having him. No matter how much stupid shit we fight about, we’ve at least got each other when they do stuff like this.” You half-smiled to yourself. “You know, sometimes I think they did that on purpose. Had two kids instead of one so they wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving us alone all the time.”

The tears had come back, and you wiped at them with your bare hand, not wanting to soil Jisung’s glove that he had given you. Shaking your head at yourself, you said derisively, “I’m sure I seem pathetic to you. Rich girl crying in her family’s winter vacation home because mommy and daddy won’t make it for Christmas.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

You turned your gaze to Jisung to find him already looking at you, so sincerely, too. Swallowing down more tears, you asked, “Why aren’t you home with your family? I’m sure you’d much rather be with them than stuck here with us.”

“My parents are divorced. Every year, my dad and his wife go on some cruise for Christmas, and my mom spends it with my stepdad’s family. They say I’m welcome there, but they’re all strangers, except my mom.” He shrugged half-heartedly, blowing across the surface of his cider. “I know it’s kinda my fault too, I’m not making an effort to get to know them or whatever. But I just… don’t want to.”

“How’d you end up coming along with Chenle then?”

“Last year I stayed at school for Winter Break. Met Chenle in the spring, and when Winter Break plans came up this year, he was appalled at the idea of me eating at the dining hall for Christmas dinner.” Jisung chuckled, and you smiled fondly, able to imagine your brother’s horrified face. “It wasn’t even an offer, he decided for me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here instead of eating dining hall food by yourself.”

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry your parents suck too.”

“Shitty parents club.” He held his mug out to you.

You clinked your against it in a commiserative toast. “We need Chenle out here for our full membership.”

“Yeah, but this swing only fits two people…”

You smiled a little as you sipped your cider. “Then I guess it’s just us for right now.”

Jisung smiled back. “Guess so.”

That afternoon, as promised, you three went ice skating. The local nature reserve had a lake that always froze solid, and would rent out ice skates and sell hot chocolate and other treats to earn a little extra income—free admission if you brought your own skates. You were the first one to get your skates on, and shuffled onto the frozen lake excitedly. There were a few other people out here—couples, families, groups of friends—but the area cordoned off for ice skating was big enough that everyone had plenty of room to spread out. A wide smile immediately spread across your face. Chenle knew you well, which was a blessing and a curse. He knew exactly how to push your buttons and cheer you up.

Speaking of, your brother smoothly skated up next to you, smug look on his face. “Better?”

“With a head that big, I’d hope you’d have a good idea every so often,” you teased, lightly bopping him through his beanie.

“Ungrateful.” He snapped one of your earmuffs against your head, not hard enough to hurt.

You two had been milling back and forth waiting for Jisung, and you looked back over at the bench where you’d all been tying up your skates to find him still sitting there, fiddling with the laces.

Chenle followed your gaze. “What is he doing? He had them tied when I got up, I thought he was right behind me.”

You shrugged, exiting the ice to stop in front of Jisung on the bench. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just—” Jisung swallowed, squinting and scrunching up his nose nervously. “I’ve only been ice skating once, and I was a kid, so…”

“You don’t know how,” you finished.

“I mean—Yes.”

“Come on.” You offered out your arm out to him.

He waved his hands as he refused. “I’m going to do something stupid like fall and end up breaking your arm or—”

“No, it’ll be fine,” you assured him. “Seriously, I did ice skating lessons as a kid.”

“You did?”

“You’re in good hands, I promise.”

Jisung grabbed your arm, and using both you and the bench as leverage, stood up. He looked around warily as you patted his back.

“There you go, you got it. Now, you get to walk until you get to the ice.” As you coached him through the basics of operating his skates, you slowly guided him closer to the edge of the ice. You stepped onto the ice first, keeping a hold on both of his gloved hands for him to cautiously join you, one foot at a time.

“You didn’t think to tell us you’ve never skated?” Chenle questioned dryly as he joined you two.

“I have!” Jisung defended himself. “Once…”

“Well Y/N can teach you,” he offered you up. “She used to do lessons, till she got kicked out.”

“Wait, for what?”

You rolled your eyes at your brother just having to bring that up. Nudging Jisung forward to start moving his legs, you began relaying the story, “I called my coach a bitch to her face and refused to apologize.”

“Just because or…?”

“First of all, I was seven, so impulse control wasn’t even in my vocabulary. Second of all, she called another little girl in the class fat to her face! She had just gotten a new competition dress, it was this really pretty purple one with sparkles and stuff all over it, and the teacher told her she shouldn’t wear it because something about the pattern made her look bigger or something ridiculous. A seven-year-old! She’s just lucky she didn’t get an ice skate to the face!” Your rant picked up steam and volume as you continued, feeling freshly pissed off as you recalled the incident.

Jisung frowned, looking troubled as well. “That’s awful.”

“I know! Honestly, I’m glad I got kicked out. I hated that woman.” You pulled him away from a divot in the ice. “Watch out. Don’t want your blade getting caught in that.”

“Thanks. You seem to have retained a lot.”

“I didn’t get very far before I was booted,” you scoffed. “But I guess we still went to rinks and out here pretty frequently, so I haven’t lost the basics, at least.”

“So are we decorating the tree later?”

“Yep, should take the rest of the day.”

“Seriously?”

“We’ve got a lot of ornaments.” You snickered at his wide eyes, looking to your other side where Chenle had been skating for confirmation. Instead, your brother had disappeared. Confused, you scanned the figures on the ice, finally spotting him far ahead of you, skating backwards at an impressive speed. “He left us.”

Jisung finally detached his eyes from where they’d been glued on his feet, chuckling when he saw Chenle as well. “He’s not very patient, is he?”

“Not a virtue he was born with, no.” You turned your attention back to Jisung. “Think you’re getting the hang of it?”

His grip tightened on your arm. “If I say yes, are you going to let go of me?”

“No,” you laughed. “Not until you’re ready.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But let’s try this.” You moved to hold both his hands, skating backwards in front of him. “Okay?”

“You can’t see behind you,” he said, nervously glancing between your face and over your shoulder.

You checked over your shoulder. It was clear, and you redirected your path to make sure you weren’t heading directly at the next closest people. “I’ve got it.”

“I feel like I’m leaning forward too much, how do I—Wah!” The distinct clank of Jisung’s skates hitting each other rang out, and he fell forward.

Not wanting him to faceplant into your skates or the ice, you braked and tensed your arms to try to keep him up. However, since you had braked and he obviously did not, his forward momentum sent him catapulting directly into you. His arms wrapped around your waist as his legs scrambled against the ice trying to find his footing again. You readjusted your hold on him to clutch him under the arms in an attempt to keep him up, but with all the layers that you were bundled up in and the slippery ice, it was a losing battle. You were a good skater, but you couldn’t haul him back to his feet like this. So you decided to just let the two of you slowly descend, squatting down until you could plant your butt on the ice and kick your feet out on either side of Jisung, careful not to hit him with your blades.

“You alright?” You asked him, pulling his beanie back from where it was entirely obscuring his eyes.

“Please tell me I’m dead,” he groaned, the half of his face that you could see was completely pink and his eyes were squeezed shut. His head was pressed against your middle as he was still clinging onto you.

“No, you survived that,” you laughed. “And so did I. No broken arms or other bones.”

“Will you kill me anyway?”

A spray of ice showered both of you as Chenle stopped next to you guys, proceeding to double over with laughter. “Clumsy ass.”

“Nice, thank you,” you scoffed, wiping off the cold ice from your face, then a couple drops that had gotten on Jisung’s cheek. “Anytime you’d like to quit being an asshole and help us up.”

“I don’t know, you two look pretty cozy to me.”

Jisung somehow turned even redder, squirming in your grasp. “Y/N, I’m sorry!”

“Chenle, shut up!” You scolded your brother. “You’re making Jisung freak out and he’s going to hurt himself!”

“You make him sound like a scared prey animal,” he snickered. Letting out a sigh, he patted his friend’s back. “Alright, Jisung, come on.”

With Chenle’s assistance, Jisung got to his feet, and you were then able to stand back up on your own. Brushing snow off your legs, you shivered, and saw that the entire front of Jisung’s pants were soaked through thanks to the ice, and you could feel that the back of your own had suffered a similar fate.

“I think that’s enough ice skating for today,” you declared. “My ass is quite literally going to freeze off if we stay out here any longer.”

Jisung nodded quickly from where he was clinging onto Chenle to stay upright now. “I’m skated out.”

“Good thing my car has heated seats then,” Chenle said, beginning to drag his friend back towards the exit.

After a hot shower and in a fresh change of warm pajamas, you were in front of the Christmas tree with all of the boxes of decorations for it. You had already wound the lights around it when Jisung joined you in the living room, hair still damp from his shower—he’d given you first shower out of guilt.

“Hey, you know where Chenle is?” You asked, flipping open boxes of ornaments. Chenle’s loft bedroom had a private bathroom, so you figured he’d be out by now.

“He got a call—Mark, I think,” Jisung informed you.

“Oh, that’ll take an hour,” you snorted. “You can help me. Put any ornaments that have Chenle’s name on them aside, he gets to put those up whenever he’s done.”

“Any ornaments with your name are yours to put up?” He guessed, reaching into a box and pulling out an ornament in the shape of a bear with a Santa hat on. The white band of the hat had ‘Chenle’ written in cursive.

“Yep. Everything else is fair game for you. Quick tip, any bear ornaments will be Chenle’s. That’s his parent-assigned motif.”

“Got it. And what’s yours?”

You held up the honeybee ornament that you’d just fished out, letting it dangle and twist in the air, the yellow gems catching the light. “Bees. They had a theme, kind of.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” He reached up to hang a blue and gold ornament on a higher branch, though you could feel his eyes on you as you put your own up on a middle branch. Finally, he blurted out, “Are you sure you didn’t get hurt earlier?”

“Yeah, Jisung, I’m okay,” you chuckled. “Really, we were both wearing so many layers we were practically bubblewrapped.”

He visibly relaxed. “Okay, good.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. But I crashed into you, not the other way around.”

“True, but you had a much less graceful descent.”

He visibly grimaced, a bashful smile on his face. “Mm-hm. Thank you for bringing that up again.”

“Pretty sure you brought it up again,” you teased, nudging his arm with yours as you reached in front of him to hang an ornament.

“And I would love to change the topic now.” He grabbed an ornament in the shape of a snowman.

“What’s your major?” You decided to save him this time. “You and Chenle had bio lab together, but I know he took bio for non-majors, so you’re not a STEM major either…”

Jisung made a buzzer noise, and you blinked at him in surprise. He cracked a grin as he said, “Cybersecurity.”

“Ah, so you’re a baseball jock and a little computer geek…” You nodded slowly, grabbing another ornament. “The duality of man, truly.”

“Geek?” He repeated incredulously.

“What? I think it’s cute.” You giggled and put up the glass snowflake in your hand. Then, you turned back to him hopefully. “Ooh, actually, my laptop gets possessed sometimes ever since Chenle clicked on one of those sketchy porn pop-up ads when we were fourteen. You don’t think you would be able to take a look at it sometime, would you?”

Jisung visibly sustained whiplash at your words, his head jerking back and eyes going wide before he furrowed his brows. “Wait, what? How old is your laptop? He did what to it? What do you mean it gets possessed? What exactly does it do?”

“Uhm… it’d probably be easier to show you.”

“Y/N, this thing is old enough to drive.”

You put your hands on either side of your laptop’s screen as if you were covering its ears, giving Jisung a stern look. “Sh! You’re going to hurt her feelings!”

He continued to look at you over his glasses, entirely unamused. This was the first time you’d seen him wear them—even in the library, he’d had contacts in. Now, with him wearing his casual clothes, glasses, sitting on your bed and attempting to fix your laptop, you felt like you were going to lose it, truly. Especially when you’d catch a whiff of his shampoo, and you’d have to stop yourself from leaning in to follow the smell of cinnamon.

“Seriously, why do you still have it? Chenle has the newest Macbook,” he asked, fingers flitting across the keyboard.

“Because it works fine!” You insisted, removing your hands. “I get the internal stuff cleaned out regularly, and make sure all the software is updated and everything.”

“It still gets software updates?”

“It just… gets possessed every so often.”

“I wouldn’t call the occasional possession ‘working fine.’”

“When it’s not possessed, it works great! And it doesn’t even happen that much, only like, once a month.”

“Once a month since you were fourteen?” He squinted at you in disbelief where you were sitting on the opposite side of the laptop screen. “And you kept the damn thing?”

“No, once a month now,” you clarified. “It happened the first time when Chenle clicked on that porn ad, then maybe once a year for a few years after, and slowly started happening more and more often.”

“And he was watching porn on your computer because…?”

“So it wouldn’t be on his internet history.”

He snorted. “Of course. I should’ve realized.”

“Can I watch?”

“Oh, uhm, sure?” He readjusted to make room to his left side on the mattress, angling the laptop that way as well.

You shuffled around to the other side of the computer, dropping to lay down on your front, propping your chin up with your elbows to observe. Tilting your head, you rested it against Jisung’s knee that was next to you. His hands froze over the keys, and you lifted your head back up, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Sorry—Is this okay?”

“Y-Yeah, you’re fine.” He nodded quickly and pushed his glasses up as he returned his attention to the screen.

Leaning your head back against his knee, you settled in to watch him work on your laptop. You couldn’t follow what exactly he was doing to the computer, opening and closing different windows, folders, and applications. You zoned out, watching his hands and fingers deftly move over the keys instead. He was muttering to himself under his breath, his low voice pleasant to listen to even if you couldn’t make out the words he was saying. This close to him, you could smell the cinnamon better, and were starting to think that maybe it was actually a body wash or cologne.

“Y/N?” He said your name, making you snap out of a daze as you realized he was calling for you. “Hello?”

“Hm?” You perked up a little.

“We need to do an exorcism.”

That woke you all the way back up. “Wait, what?”

“Complete reset. Wipe everything and redownload the OS.”

“But I have everything on there!” You pleaded, stretching your hands over the keyboard to prevent him from doing anything else. “We’ve been through so much together! You can’t kill her!”

He sighed regretfully. “Is there an electronics store or something around here? We can get an external hard drive to back up all your personal stuff.”

“There’s a mall like an hour away. Chenle and I need to go gift shopping anyway so we can go tomorrow!”

“Why did I hear my name?” Chenle’s voice came from further down the hallway. He must have finished his call with Mark. Your brother poked his head into your room, briefly pausing when he saw you and Jisung. “I thought you guys were decorating the tree…?”

“Remember how you downloaded a virus trying to watch porn on my computer in high school? Jisung is fixing it for me,” you said pointedly, never missing an opportunity to bring that moment up. “But we need to buy something. I was telling him you and I need to go gift shopping anyway, so we can all go to that mall tomorrow.”

“Please tell me the thing you’re buying is a new laptop.”

“Never! She’s going to outlive you if I have anything to do with it!”

“Based off the fact that it sounds like a jet engine taking off right now, I’m pretty sure that was a threat on my life.”

MONDAY, DECEMBER 23

“Okay, so you’ll need at least this much storage for the files that you have right now,” Jisung explained, motioning to a few different options of hard drives that the electronics store had. He then gestured to a few more. “But if you really want to have her until Chenle’s dead, you might want to consider some more storage.”

You grinned, bumping his shoulder affectionately. “You said ‘her.’”

He covered his mouth as he let out a sputtering laugh, his cheeks turning pink. “Oh God—I didn’t even realize. That’s—Ah, you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I like that one,” you declared, pointing to one hard drive that was a similar colorway to the laptop case you had.

“Yeah, that’s more than enough storage.”

After purchasing your hard drive, you and Jisung headed out of the electronics store together. Chenle had already gone off to gift shop on his own so you and Jisung couldn’t see what he bought you.

You turned to Jisung. “Want to help me shop for Chenle?”

“Sure.”

The two of you meandered around the mall, popping into stores that seemed promising from the outside. As you passed by a jewelry display in a window, you tapped on the glass in front of a pair of earrings.

“Those are cute,” you commented, slowing down but not stopping entirely.

“You think so?” Jisung questioned, looking at them over your shoulder as you kept walking.

“Mhm.” You nodded, then clicked your tongue. “I’d get them, but I already have a pair like them.”

“You do?”

“Yep.” Keeping your gaze on the passing storefronts, you said levelly, “I don’t want to assume anything about what you think of me, Jisung, but I want you to know that I don’t expect a present from you. We only properly met two days ago.”

“Yeah, that’s… really reasonable,” he chuckled, the relief evident in his voice.

“Seriously, if you fix my computer, that’ll be the best Christmas present I get this year, hands-down. I don’t care what expensive crap my parents get me or surprisingly thoughtful, niche thing Chenle somehow manages to find.”

“I didn’t realize how much my computer exorcism skills were worth.”

“To me, they’re priceless,” you assured him. “I wish I had something to offer in return.”

“Hey, you already taught me how to skate,” he insisted, nudging your arm.

You tilted your head side-to-side contemplatively. “One could argue whether I was successful at that…”

“Completely my fault that the lesson got cut short, not yours.”

“Alright, alright. I suppose a computer exorcism can be our quid pro quo for ten minutes of ice-skating lessons.”

“I didn’t pay much attention in my high school history class when Mr. Yoo was talking about the bartering system, but I’m pretty sure those two things are equivalent, yeah.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut as you started to go a little light-headed from how hard you were laughing. You were still walking forward alongside Jisung, and felt him grab your arm and tug you towards him at the same time he warned, “Watch out.”

You couldn’t see whatever you must’ve almost walked into as you were still trying to sober up from your chuckle fest, covering your face as more giggles bubbled up every time you tried to close your mouth. Jisung kept you right next to him, guiding you through the mall crowd with a gentle but steadfast grasp on your arm, not letting you bump into anybody or trip over anything.

“Are you really still laughing?” He asked, and though his words were exasperated, his tone was overly fond, letting out a soft laugh of his own at the end. “I don’t think it was that funny…”

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, shook his hand off you, and suppressed your giggles to say, “Fine. I don’t think you’re funny at all and I hate you, actually.”

Jisung’s mouth parted as he stared at you in shock, and you couldn’t keep the bit going for very long when faced with his adorable look of being totally caught off-guard and floored, even if both of you knew it was all a joke. You grabbed his arm this time, your laughs getting muffled in his sweater as you buried your face in his shoulder and leaned against him for support.

“Oh my god, you looked like I ran over your dog or something!” You gasped for air between guffaws, apologetically rubbing his arm.

“You’re…” He trailed off, letting out a sigh instead, reaching for your purse that was on your arm and now awkwardly crushed between you two with you holding his arm. “Here, I’ll take that.”

He had already been carrying your shopping bags that you’d been acquiring from the various stores, and you now stopped to wordlessly shimmy off your purse for him to shoulder on his opposite side from you. You reattached yourself to his arm that you had been holding, and though his cheeks were turning pink, he had a small smile on his face as he looked down at his phone to check the time.

“Did your family assign you an animal too?” You asked him, your eyes getting caught on a kiosk of Christmas ornaments as you continued your journey through the mall.

“What?”

“Like how my parents decided when we were born that Chenle’s a bear and I’m a honeybee,” you explained, quickly looking back over to Jisung. “Did you ever have an animal or something that was like yours?”

He scrunched his nose as he thought, then shook his head. “No, not that I can remember. I always had a bunch of different stuffed animals.”

“I think you look like a hamster,” you informed him. “Especially when you do that with your nose.”

“Do what with my nose?” He questioned, his nose unintentionally twitching and scrunching up again as his eyes flitted around nervously.

You giggled, squeezing his arm tighter as you couldn’t help but coo over how cute he was. “That!”

He covered his nose with his hand, and though it obstructed half his face, you could tell he was pouting behind it.

“I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious, I’m sorry!” You apologized, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away from his face. “I think it’s really cute!”

He stubbornly kept his nose concealed. “You still haven’t told me what it is…”

“You just scrunch up your nose sometimes, like this—” You imitated it, doing your best not to make it look like you were mocking him. “Seriously, it’s adorable! Please don’t ever stop, I might die!”

Jisung’s eyes crinkled and he dropped his hand back down as he chuckled. “Well we can’t have that.”

Your phone buzzed in your hand then, and you saw that it was your brother calling. “Mm, hold on, it’s Chenle.”

“Hey, where are you guys?” Chenle asked on the other end.

“We’re still on the first floor,” you told him. “By the pretzel stand. Where are you?”

“What have you two been doing? I’m on the third floor; I’ve been through the whole mall already. I’m done,” he scoffed. “Stay there, I’ll come to you.”

“I had to get my hard drive first, remember? You got a head start.”

“Anyway, are you done?”

“No, I have a couple more people to find gifts for.”

“Alright, hold on, I see you.”

You craned your neck looking for Chenle, still with your phone to your ear. “Damn bitch, how many old ladies did you take out on your way here?”

“Only two,” Chenle’s voice came through your phone and from directly beside you at the same time. He was loaded up with shopping bags on both arms.

You jumped out of your skin before rolling your eyes and hanging up the call. “Did you see a place that sold bath bombs and stuff?”

“Yeah, second floor, directly to the left off the escalator.”

“That’s my next stop, SooSoo loves that stuff,” you declared.

“There’s a baseball specialty shop on the third floor,” Chenle stated, eyes lingering on where you were still holding onto his friend’s arm. “If you want to go check it out, Jisung?”

You perked up, giving him an enthusiastic smile. “That sounds awesome! You totally should.”

Jisung turned to Chenle and nodded. “Yeah, sounds cool. Let’s do it.”

“I’ve still got a couple people on my list, so I’ll call you guys when I’m done so we can meet up and go,” you said, reaching for your purse that was still on Jisung’s shoulder. He handed it back to you, and you hurried off to take care of your final errands.

Back at the house, you watched on with bated breath as Jisung performed his laptop exorcism. The screen turned on, which already was good news. After a few more progress bars, you eventually saw your homescreen and looked at him with guarded hope.

“I still need to transfer your personal files back over. And you won’t know if it worked unless it just never gets possessed again, but…” Jisung gestured to your laptop with a certain finality.

“Ahh, thank you! Thank you!” You cheered, hugging him.

“O-Oh, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, hesitantly hugging you back.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24

Christmas Eve was ushered in with a fresh snowfall overnight, and maybe the Christmas spirit finally possessed you, because all three of you were outside playing in it like little kids. A rather lumpy snowman had already been built and decorated with various rocks, sticks, and kitchen utensils. Snow angels were scattered around, and Chenle had just thrown the very first snowball, hitting Jisung squarely in the back of the head.

You laughed incredulously as the pitcher turned around and calmly started packing snow between his hands.

“Are you stupid?” You snickered at your brother, who was also preparing another snowball.

Before he could finish readying that one, Jisung wound up and launched his snowball, nailing Chenle in the face. You weren’t even focused on your brother as he desperately wiped the snow off his face with both hands, however, your eyes still watching Jisung, who was chuckling to himself. You’d been too preoccupied at the Christmas tree farm to really watch any of their snowfall fight that had happened there, and obviously hadn’t gone to any of Jisung’s games before, so this was the first time you’d seen him really use any of his pitcher skills. While it wasn’t a proper pitch, the practiced ease and skill that he clearly possessed even in doing something as silly as throwing a snowball was admittedly really attractive.

Chenle had taken his loss and grabbed a stick to start writing something in the snow, a good distance away from where you and Jisung were, his back to the two of you.

Stepping deliberately closer to Jisung, you said, “That was really cool, Jisung.”

He fidgeted with making sure his beanie was down over his ears. “Ah, I mean, it wasn’t a real pitch or anything—”

“Then can you teach me how to pitch for real?” You requested sweetly. “I’m very into baseball these days.”

“Uhm, y-yeah,” he agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. He stooped down to pack more snow between his hands into a round sphere, then held it out for you. “Here, that should be the right size.”

You graciously accepted it, then looked at him expectantly.

“Do you prefer to throw with your left or your right?” He asked.

You held up your dominant hand holding the snowball, and he nodded.

“Okay, uhm, you should stand with your feet like this.” He demonstrated the correct positioning himself, and you copied.

Jisung went through the basic steps with you, making minor adjustments here and there, and you were actually finding it sort of interesting, outside of the cute boy teaching you something he was passionate about. Learning a new skill or something to that effect. When he was showing you how to actually move your arm when throwing, you were genuinely trying to do it per his verbal instructions, but apparently there was still something wrong with the way you were doing it. And so he walked behind you, covering your gloves hand with his. You could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, and his other hand grabbed your opposite shoulder to correct your posture as he manually moved your arm through the correct motion. Slow at first, talking through it.

“Feel how it’s different than what you were doing?” He asked, doing it again, a little faster this time.

But you were long gone, your brain white noise and your vision blurring a little bit (but that was mostly due to the cold wind hitting your eyes). He still smelled like cinnamon, and you wanted to listen to his voice all day. Jisung could read you a car manufacturer’s manual for all you cared.

“Mm, mhm,” you agreed absentmindedly.

“Alright, I’m going to step back and let you throw your first pitch.” He patted your shoulder and did just that, leaving you feeling even colder.

You momentarily panicked as you grappled in your short-term memory for anything that he had just been saying. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, deciding that you would probably suck anyway, and to just fucking do it. Trusting your gut and muscle memory of what Jisung had just been walking you through, you did your damndest to throw that snowball in something akin to a pitch.

Amazingly, the snowball actually hit the trunk of the tree that you had been aiming for, and you stared at it in disbelief, hands hanging down by your side. Jisung clapped, the sound dampened by his gloves, but his cheers were surprisingly upbeat for how soft-spoken of a guy he was.

“Wow! That was a really good first pitch!” He congratulated you, holding up both his palms for you to high-five. “So awesome…”

You high-fived him, but stayed holding onto his hands, wide smile overtaking your features. “Thank you.”

“I—You’re welcome.” He held onto your hands too, throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

“Jisung!” Chenle yelled out, reminding the both of you of his presence. “Can you get my phone? I made Daegal out of snow and I want to take a picture. It should be charging on my bed.”

“Yeah!” Jisung called back. He gave you a regretful look, letting your hands go to trudge back up to the cabin.

Rounding on your brother, you stomped over to him, observing the admittedly cute snow-Daegal for a moment before addressing him.

“You can get your own phone,” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“I thought I might hurt Jisung’s feelings if I told him to leave to his face,” Chenle replied nonchalantly. He looked at you over his large-framed sunglasses. “I feel like I have to warn you, as your big brother—”

“By ten months.”

“—about Jisung.”

You gave him a sour look, knowing that he knew that you wouldn’t be able stop yourself from asking a follow-up question to a statement like that. “What about him?”

“I know what you’ve been trying to do this whole time. You’re not ‘very into baseball,’ you’re into Jisung.”

You immediately got fired up, hands balling into fists at your sides. “Don’t you dare start pulling the ‘my friends are off-limits’ card now. You’ve never—”

“Hey, I like Jisung.” He held up his hands defensively, an amused smirk on his face. “If I had to make a tierlist of my friends for you to date, he’d be like, the only one in S-tier.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Do you have a fantasy draft of boyfriends for me too?”

“I’m genuinely trying to help you here, alright?”

“So, what? Does he have a girlfriend or something?”

“Not exactly…” Chenle sighed. “Right before we left, during finals week, he met this girl in the library and just absolutely fell head-over-heels, okay? Like, he’s never even looked once at all the girls who show up to his games, but this one says three words to him and gives him some candy and he’s a goner. I don’t get it.”

It took everything in you to suppress your giddy grin and instead cock your head, playing dumb as you asked, “Wait, did he even get this girl’s name?”

“No, he never got a chance since they were both working on finals stuff,” he answered. “Anyway, I’m just trying to warn you. You’ve got to compete with the romanticized version of mystery library candy girl that he has in his head.”

“Mm. Tough competition,” you nodded with mock solemnity.

“I’m serious, Y/N. He called me at like midnight walking back from the library to tell me about it. He’s got it bad.” As if suddenly realizing everything he had just told you might dampen your spirits, Chenle’s entire demeanor shifted, and he gingerly patted the top of your head. “But uh, you’ve totally got this. I’m rooting for you, lil sis.”

“Right. Thanks… big bro,” you replied with intentional stiltedness, softballing a punch to his shoulder.

That night after dinner, you all sat down around the Christmas tree for your family tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve. You sifted through the presents under the tree, some of which were ones that had been shipped here ahead of time by your parents or other extended family, others from Chenle.

“Hmm… one or two?” You asked, your eyes on two particular gifts.

“One,” Chenle and Jisung answered unanimously.

You grabbed the one that had been under your left hand, returning to your seat next to Jisung. Chenle had already picked his box, and fished out a gift bag, plopping it in front of Jisung. He seemed surprised, blinking down at it.

“But—”

“I got you more than one gift, dummy,” Chenle cut him off, already guessing what his confusion was about. “Go ahead.”

“No!” You stopped Jisung. He looked at you with alarm as you snatched the gift bag away, putting it back under the tree and replacing it with a different, much smaller one instead. “Open mine.”

Jisung looked even more confused, and slightly betrayed. “I thought we agreed we weren’t doing gifts…?”

“Yeah, but then I saw this and…” You smiled sheepishly. “Just open it!”

Shaking his head, he pulled out the tissue paper, then removed the object at the bottom of the bag. It was wrapped in more tissue paper to protect it, which he carefully wrapped, revealing the ornament that you had bought yesterday while you were split up. It was in the shape of a hamster popping out of a present box, and as soon as you saw it at the mall kiosk, you knew you had to get it for him.

Jisung turned it over his hands, looking up at you still a little confused, but with a smile. “Wait…”

“It looks just like you!” You giggled, taking it from him to hold it up next to his face. Aiming your next question at Chenle, you asked, “Doesn’t it?”

Your brother started laughing, reaching forward to tweak one of Jisung’s cheeks. “Ha, she’s right. How adorable.”

Jisung pushed his hand away, rolling his eyes. His gaze softened when he looked back over at you. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s great.”

“Hang it up!” You urged, giving it back to him and gesturing to the tree.

He got up on his knees to reach forward and affix it to an empty branch, between a bear ornament and honeybee ornament.

“Okay, Y/N, you next,” Chenle directed.

Ripping the wrapping paper off the small box, you were met with a small jewelry box, and took that lid off. Inside was a pair of ornate, bejeweled earrings, a little flashy for your taste. You checked the card.

“Great-Aunt Ying,” you announced, and Chenle let out an ‘ahh’ sound in understanding. You put the lid back on the box and set it aside. “SooSoo will love those.”

“Who’s that?” Jisung asked curiously as your brother started unwrapping his present. “Not your great-aunt.”

“Sooyoung, my roommate since freshman year,” you explained. “She’s also like, my best friend. And those earrings aren’t really my style, but I know she would wear them like, all the time, so I’ll just give them to her when we get back.”

Chenle’s box was a bit larger than yours had been, and was similarly stylish. He turned it over to shake the lid off and make the contents fall out all in one go, catching the fabric that fell out in his hand. Holding it up, it was a tie in what looked like a nice material, a monochrome and not exceptionally busy pattern on it.

“Another tie, wonder who it’s from…” he snorted, picking up the card. “Oh, Great-Uncle Feng. Surprise.”

“Does he think you’re eating all the ties he gives you or something?” You snickered.

“I think he’s so old he forgets he’s given me a tie before and thinks I don’t own any.” Chenle then offered it out to Jisung. “You need a tie? If not, I’ll ask the other guys.”

“I would need a suit first…” Jisung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chenle stared at him in disbelief, then sighed. “Okay, so we’re getting you a suit when we get back to school.”

“What do I need a suit for?”

“Don’t you have formal stuff that you have to go to for baseball? Awards or press conferences or something?”

“That’s maybe once a year. I just rent a suit!”

“Jisung, don’t say another word, you’re going to kill me.” He put a hand over his heart as if it were going to give out any second.

You chuckled at their antics, starting to clean up the trashed wrapping paper. “Christmas movies?”

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 25

You felt like a little kid, unable to sleep the night before Christmas morning. It was after midnight, so it technically was Christmas now. And even thought you knew that neither Santa nor you parents were coming, you were still oddly giddy. You had already videocalled Sooyoung to recap the developments of the day, but you were still replaying everything in your mind, kept up with thought of Jisung. How it felt being that close to him when he was teaching you to throw a snowball, the information that apparently he was just as smitten with you after the library as you were with him. Even Chenle’s unofficial blessing put your mind at ease—not because your brother determined who you dated, but he knew Jisung better than you did and was brutally honest, so if he said that he liked Jisung for you, you knew he meant it.

Pushing your covers off, goosebumps immediately popped up on your legs that were now exposed to the cool air. You treaded over to the bathroom door. The light was off, but you still knocked. When there was no response, you opened it. You didn’t stop there, however, continuing on to the opposite door, which you knew led to Jisung’s room. Taking a deep breath, you knocked softly on that one too.

You heard the rustling of sheets and quiet padding of footsteps before the door handle twisted and opened, Jisung on the other side. He looked down at you, nose scrunched up in bewilderment.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asked, rubbing one of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Yeah. Uhm, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, I uh, I couldn’t sleep, actually.”

“Me neither.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and you fidgeted with the ends of your longsleeve. “Do you want to hang out for a bit? Since we’re both up…”

“Oh! Y-Yeah, sure.” He stepped back from the door, motioning you in. “Uhm, come in.”

“Thanks.” You stepped inside, and he closed the door behind you.

The bedsheets were rumpled on one side, so you sat down on the other side, pulling the blanket over your chilly legs. Jisung watched you, frozen halfway from the bathroom to the bed for a second.

“I’m cold,” you told him, turning your phone on.

“Of course, right,” he breathed out, snapping out of his trance.

He climbed under the covers as well, putting a headphone in his ear opposite from you and pressing play on a video on his phone. Curious, you peeked over at his screen to see what he was watching. It looked like a bunch of clips of professional baseball pitchers.

“It’s my favorite pro pitcher,” Jisung blurted out, pausing the video again. He had apparently noticed you snooping at his screen. “Well, that’s currently active. He’s a lefty, and he does this thing on some of his pitches where he gets this spin and—”

You blinked as he had abruptly cut himself off in the middle of his sentence. Tilting your head, you asked, “What? Why’d you stop?”

“You’re not really interested in baseball, are you?” He questioned, turning his eyes down to his lap. “You’re just being nice.”

“Hold on—”

“It’s okay, you can go back to what you were doing, I don’t want to bore you.”

“Jisung,” you giggled, turning over on your side fully to face him. “You really haven’t figured it out?”

His brow furrowed and he pouted slightly as he seemed to genuinely be confused. “Figured what out?”

“I’m interested in baseball because I’m interested in you,” you said bluntly, watching the gears turn in his head before his eyes widened.

“Wh—Oh. Really?”

“Mhm. But Chenle did warn me that apparently you’re head over heels for some mystery girl that you met in the library during finals week who gave you candy,” you teased, letting out a wistful sigh. “So I have no chance…”

Jisung dropped his phone to cover his face with both hands, letting out a noise of embarrassment from deep in his chest, shaking his head. “Oh my God…”

“I told SooSoo about you too,” you informed him. “After the library.”

He opened his hands to peek at you meekly. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jisung glanced upwards, and you snickered.

“Chenle’s not like that. He’s not going to care unless you’re a dick to me.”

“Because only he gets to be a dick to you?” He joked, slowly removing his hands all the way from his face.

“Yep. Same for the girls he dates. Nobody gets to be a bitch to him except me.”

“So, now what?” He asked nervously, glancing around the room.

“Now, you’re going to finish telling me about your favorite pitcher,” you stated, scooting over until you were snuggled into his side, head resting on his shoulder so you could see his phone screen better.

Jisung grabbed his earbud case from the nightstand, bringing the other one out. He offered it to you, and you put it in as he turned his phone back on. He restarted the compilation, but didn’t press play yet, instead launching back into his explanation from before, excitedly talking faster now.

“So this is Hwang Myungjun. Like I said, he’s my favorite pitcher that’s in the league right now. He’s a lefty and—you’ll see it in this video, but—he does this really cool thing on some of his pitches where he can get this certain spin on the ball and…”

You listened to him go on and on with a smile on your face, breathing in the warm smell of cinnamon.

In the morning, you stirred a little, sighing and pulling the covers up to your nose. Covers that smelled like cinnamon. Opening one of your eyes, you were greeted with Jisung already wide awake, sitting up against the headboard, staring at you from behind his glasses.

You rubbed your eye and yawned. “Christ—Did you sleep at all?”

“Yeah, we get up early for baseball conditioning, so I don’t really sleep in even on days off.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good morning…”

“Morning,” you mumbled, yawning again. “Sorry for falling asleep here.”

“It’s okay. Sorry for talking you to sleep.”

“No, it was nice. I like your voice.” You pushed yourself into a half-sitting position. Pecking his cheek, you added, “Merry Christmas.”

His face flushed as he smiled down at his hands. “Merry Christmas…”

Climbing out of bed, you stretched your arms over your head, then wrapped them around yourself. “Anyway, I should emerge from my own room. Just because he doesn’t care if we date doesn’t mean Chenle needs to think something other than watching baseball compilations happened in here last night.”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. “Good idea.”

“See you in a few.” You bid him a momentary farewell, opening the door to the adjoining bathroom.

Shuffling back into your own bedroom, you almost screamed when you saw a figure sitting on your bed in the dark. You grabbed for the closest thing in your reach, a candlestick on the dresser next to you, ready to swing. The figure turned on the lamp next to the bed, and you saw that it was Chenle, still contemplating hitting him anyway. You decided to set your weapon down, however.

“What the fuck?!” You hissed, stalking up to your bed and grabbing a stuffed animal to chuck at him instead. He caught the stuffed bee, holding it to his chest as he smirked at you.

“Something you want to tell me?” He raised an eyebrow. “About where you’ve been?”

You followed his line of sight between you and the bathroom door that you just came out of. “What are you, the piss patrol? Can’t a bitch pee in peace around here?”

“Toilet didn’t flush, sink didn’t run,” he immediately shot back. “Also, I’ve been in here for the past hour.”

“Don’t be weird about it—” You held up a finger in his face threateningly, and a victorious grin immediately spread across his features. “Jisung and I talked about how we felt, and I fell asleep in his room. Nothing else, okay?”

Chenle gave you a look that told you he didn’t entirely believe you, but he didn’t press you any further. “God, how am I going to choose between being your brother of honor and his best man?”

“We haven’t even gone on a date!” You grabbed a pillow and tried to pushed it over his face to shut him up. He narrowly saved himself from being smothered, cackling as you resorted to smacking him with it instead. “As if I’d even ask you to be my whatever you just made up! You’ll be lucky if you even get an invite, I swear to—”

The door to your room was thrown open from the bathroom, Jisung looking around the room wildly. “Y/N! Are—”

You stopped your assault on your brother to smile breathlessly at Jisung. “Oh. Hi.”

“I heard you yelling, I wanted to make sure…”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “Thanks, Jisung.”

“I know!” Chenle announced loudly. “I know everything, Park Jisung! Last night, you and my little sister—”

You succeeded in smothering Chenle this time, muffling whatever obnoxious things he was about to spew.

After breakfast and opening presents in the morning, Jisung excused himself to go call his parents. Chenle tsked, turning the gaming console on to start up one of the new games he’d gotten and tossing you a controller.

“He tell you how he ended up coming with us?” Your brother asked, his gaze on the screen.

“Yeah. His dad goes on a cruise and his mom is with his stepdad’s side of the family. So he would’ve just been at the school if you didn’t bring him,” you replied, only paying half-attention to the opening cutscene.

“At least ours pretend to make an effort,” he scoffed. “His mom didn’t even offer to pay for his plane ticket.”

“Hm?”

“His mom and stepdad live on the other side of the country. They technically ‘invite’ him to Christmas every year, but he’d have to get himself there and back.”

“So it’s hardly a genuine invite.”

“And you know what his stepdad does?”

“What?”

“CEO of that logistics company that Mom and Dad are always talking about. The big one.”

“Shit, really? And he can’t be bothered to pay for his wife to see her own son once a year?”

He clicked his tongue. “Apparently not.”

A few levels into the video game, Chenle’s phone lit up with a text. He paused the game, and sighed upon reading the message. “Jisung says we can eat lunch without him. He’s suddenly not feeling well.”

You winced. “I take it his phone calls didn’t go well.”

“You go check on him. You can handle crying people better than me.”

You nodded in agreement, getting up from the couch. Outside of Jisung’s bedroom door, you listened carefully first, just in case he was still on a call. It was quiet, and you knocked softly.

“Jisung?” You called out. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he replied, his voice sounding far away.

Opening the door, you saw him laying on the bed on top of his covers, his back to the door. You stayed in the doorway, asking, “Do you want to be alone?”

“No.”

You sat down on the bed behind him, still giving him his space. “Do you want to talk or do you want quiet?”

“My dad didn’t even pick up,” he muttered. “And my mom—God, I got to tell her about school for all of five seconds before she started gushing about how her grandbabies are learning how to write or whatever. I’ve never even met those kids, honestly, I don’t give a fuck about them. They’re not even her grandkids, they’re her husband’s. Apparently, one of them is on a little league baseball team. When she started saying I could teach him how to pitch when I come to visit for summer, I pretended the call was dropping and hung up. ‘When I come to visit’—I live with my dad in the summer because he didn’t move away from me.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung,” you said, feeling the hurt in your heart as his voice tightened and cracked.

“It’s funny, they used to have these-these blowout fights every year about who got me for Christmas,” he sniffled. “And now that they moved on and got their new families, they couldn’t care less about me.”

“Lucky for me and Chenle, then. Because we got you this year.”

He laughed, finally rolling over to face you. He wiped at his eyes, but you still saw the tears that had run down the side of his face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You gently stroked his hair, brushing some of it out of his face.

Jisung scooted closer, until he could pillow his head in your lap instead, his eyes fluttering shut as you resumed your ministrations. “I’m glad you guys got me too…”

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26

A knock on your bedroom door woke you up. It opened, and somebody who was neither Chenle nor Jisung peered in.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” your mother hummed lightly. “Are you up?”

“Mm, yeah,” you grunted, pushing yourself up against your pillows.

She came over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas,” you smiled up at her, letting her take your hand in hers. “Did you and Dad just get here?”

“A few minutes ago. Your father’s getting Chenle.”

There was a loud thunk from above you, followed by a yelp and two very familiar and similar laughs that you recognized as your families’. You chuckled as your mom rolled her eyes fondly.

“I think he was successful,” you snickered.

“We’re going out for breakfast when you’re ready,” she informed you, squeezing your hand before letting it go.

“Mmkay.” You yawned as she headed for your door. “I’ll let Jisung know.”

She paused, tilting her head. “Who?”

“Didn’t Chenle tell you his friend was coming? Park Jisung?” You pointed at the room next door.

“Oh, I thought he was bringing Mark for some reason.” She looked at you with concern. “Does Jisung like basketball too?”

“I… don’t know? He plays baseball?”

“Oh. Hm.”

“So, what are you studying, Jisung?” Your mother asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.

The five of you were at a diner in the small town at the base of the mountain, you, Jisung, and Chenle packed into one side of a booth and your parents on the other. The car ride had been filled with you and Chenle filling your parents in on your various happenings from this semester, but now your parents seemed to have zeroed in on the newcomer.

“Cybersecurity,” he rushed to answer.

Both your parents seemed impressed by that. Your dad spoke next, “And what do your parents do?”

“He’s got an athletic scholarship, Dad,” Chenle cut in before you could. You both knew what he was really asking about.

“Full ride,” you added proudly. “Baseball. He’s the pitcher.”

“Really?” Your dad’s interest was piqued—he was a bigger sports fan than your brother.

“Yes, sir,” Jisung replied.

“The school doesn’t give out full athletic scholarships frequently. You know that?”

“No, sir, I-I didn’t know that.”

Your dad took a sip of his own coffee, regarding Jisung like he was evaluating his investment portfolio. “So what makes you so valuable?”

“W-Well, uhm, I-I don’t—”

“He’s ambidextrous,” you answered for him. “He can pitch with both hands.”

“Switch pitcher?” Your dad hummed thoughtfully. “You know who the best switch pitcher in the history of the league is, right?”

“Kim Beomjin, sir,” Jisung replied firmly.

“Has he passed your test, yet, Dad?” Chenle scoffed. “Come on, stop treating him like he’s interviewing at the company.”

“I was trying to get to know—”

“You were being a bit much, dear,” your mother interrupted your dad’s attempts to defend himself.

“Alright. My apologies, Jisung.”

“It’s fine, sir, really.”

You didn’t understand why your mother had asked if Jisung liked basketball until you got back to the house. Your parents had brought a few more presents with them, including, kindly, a couple for Jisung. Except they hadn’t been expecting Jisung, they had been expecting Mark, which evident in the gifts. Both Chenle and Mark loved basketball, so the matching jerseys for their favorite team would’ve made the perfect present, if it had been Mark receiving it.

“I’m so sorry, Jisung,” your mother kept apologizing, clearly embarrassed at the mistake.

“No, I-I like basketball too, ma’am,” he tried to reassure her.

“It’s a requirement for being my friend,” Chenle helped him out. “If only I could’ve made it a requirement for being my sister.”

“If we got to pick, I would’ve made not being annoying as fuck a requirement for being my brother,” you retorted.

“Language!” Your mom scolded you, at the same time that your dad warned Chenle to “Be nicer to your sister!”

Your parents were gone again after dinner, leaving in a flurry of hugs, kisses, and promises of celebrating Christmas together properly next year. As soon as he’d shut the door behind them, Chenle turned to you, cynical disbelief on his face already.

“No way,” he chuckled and shook his head. His phone rang then, and he tutted. “Gotta take this. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Jisung was already in the living room, and you plopped down next to him on one of the couches, dropping your head into your hands.

“Your parents seem nice,” he said quietly.

“Mhm, they’re really great when they’re here,” you agreed bitterly. “Sort of makes it hurt worse. It’d be easy to just hate them if they left us all the time and changed plans last-minute and were awful when we did see them. But they do all that shit, and then I see them and it’s good. And it makes me start thinking that maybe it’ll be different, maybe they’ll really keep their promises next time.”

“I get that.” He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. “But maybe this time you just don’t get your hopes up. Might be easier on you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

With a sigh, you sat up, turning into Jisung’s side and snaking your arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head. His other hand slowly rubbed your back, encouraging you to relax into his embrace even more.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31

The morning of New Year’s Eve, the three of you were sitting around the kitchen table silently eating breakfast scrounged together from various leftovers and the singular grocery store trip you’d taken since Christmas. Then, there was a knock at the front door, and with your cereal spoon sticking out of your mouth, you gave Chenle and Jisung a bewildered look. They, however, didn’t seem put off at all.

“Y/N, can you go see who it is?” Chenle asked you, returning his gaze to his phone screen.

“Are you expecting someone?” You retorted. “You go answer it.”

The knocking came again, more insistent this time.

“Y/N! Just get it!” Chenle demanded loudly.

“Fine! Fine!” You got up, stomping over to the front door.

Opening the solid wood door, your jaw dropped when you saw six figures on the other side, before you were tackled in a hug by the one at the front.

“Surprise!” Sooyoung squealed, nearly squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“Soo!” You gasped, hugging her back. “What are you doing here?”

“We were invited!” Jaemin informed you cheerily, grabbing you for a bear hug next.

“We’d never pass up an invite to a Chenle-Y/N party,” Jeno’s eyes twinkled as he pecked the crown of your head.

“Especially a New Year’s Eve party,” Donghyuck added.

“Since when have we been throwing a New Year’s Eve party?” You spluttered, still in delighted shock as you took in all of your friends standing in your foyer.

Mark hugged you too. “Chenle texted us a couple days before Christmas to see if we could make it for New Year’s.”

You grabbed your roommate’s hand, bewildered the most by her presence. She wasn’t friends with Chenle or any of the other guys standing there, to your knowledge. “But how did you…?”

“Jisung’s idea,” Chenle had joined you all, standing at the threshold of the foyer with the baseball player. “We figured out that Renjun and Sooyoung were in a study group together this semester and…”

You’d spotted Huang Renjun, one of Chenle’s friends from college whom you’d met several times before, hanging back on the fringes of the group. You smiled at him before beelining for Jisung, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek a couple times in your excitement.

“Thank you!” You were smiling ear to ear, so much that your cheeks hurt, but you couldn’t help it.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Jisung returned the hug, rubbing your back. “My late Christmas present to you.”

You let him go to hug your brother next, hooking your chin over his shoulder and squeezing him so tight you felt like your chest might burst, and you hoped he could feel how much all of this—how much he—meant to you. Despite everything you may say or do to each other. “Thanks, Chenle.”

“Of course,” he whispered, hugging you back just as tight.

“SooSoo, I’m serious, not that much has happened!” You promised, laying on your bed to watch as she got settled in your room. She had of course insisted that you filled her in on every details of everything that’s happened between you and Jisung, including things that she had already heard before since you two talked almost every night. “It’s only been like a week, and my brother is literally here.”

“We all saw those little cheek kisses earlier,” she replied pointedly. “You’re at least going to kiss him at midnight, right?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, quite literally kicking your feet as you thought about it. “Onto you—You just spent three hours in a car with them, have you figured out if you want me to set you up with Jeno or Jaemin?”

“We took two cars. I was in Renjun’s with Donghyuck,” she informed you with a desolate sigh.

“Why did you—”

“He offered because he knew I didn’t know anybody except him, and I didn’t know how to explain why I wanted to go in the other one!”

“Foiled once more by empathy and kindness.”

“I’ll figure it out before we go back to school!”

“Maybe you can get one of their numbers on your own before then.”

Despite the reputations that ‘Chenle-Y/N’ parties carried amongst your friends, and your friends also bringing enough alcohol to host a full-blown kegger, the event itself was pretty low-key. You’d gotten the firepit on the back porch going, food ordered, music going throughout the house, and had already completed several different games.

You were fixing yourself a cup of eggnog in the kitchen when you spotted someone out by the firepit. Pouring another mug, you took both out with you. Jisung looked up when he heard the back door open. He smiled as he recognized that it was you, scooting over on the bench to make room for you to sit with him.

“Eggnog?” You offered a cup out to him. “I didn’t spike it, but I can go add something in if you really want.”

“No, this is perfect,” he chuckled, his laughs rising as white wisps in the cold air. “I’ve been thinking…”

“About?”

“Were the three options hot chocolate, cider, and eggnog?”

It took you a second to catch up, but once you had recalled your first night in the mountains, you burst into laughter, nodding. “Yeah, those were the three options when I made you pick a number.”

He smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “There was something else, that I was thinking about.”

“Oh?”

“Are-Are we going to kiss at midnight? Do you want to? I know we haven’t gone on a real date or anything—”

“I do want to kiss you,” you admitted. “Do you?”

He nodded hurriedly. “Yes, god.”

“You still seem… fidgety. We can wait, if you—”

“That’s not it.” He set his cup of eggnog down, and you did as well. “I want to kiss you. I just don’t want the first time I do to be in front of a bunch of our friends.”

You smirked, tilting your head curiously. “Are you asking to practice before?”

He blinked. “I don’t think I was before, but I definitely am now.”

You snickered a little, leaning in and gently touching your lips to his in a feather-light kiss. He let out a small sigh against your lips, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek and pull you closer, sealing his mouth over yours. Everything was warm, no matter the fire or the cold wind or the thick jacket you were wearing, you were being heated from the inside out.

When Jisung pulled back, he had such a dazzlingly soft smile on his face that you couldn’t help but stare, wanting to burn that image in the back of your eyelids forever. He moved to duck his head shyly, but you grabbed his face.

“I think we might need some more practice before midnight,” you teased, nuzzling your nose with his affectionately.

“Mm, of course,” he agreed humorously, kissing you again. And again, and again, and again.

⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001

@classicroyalty @giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01

@tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69

@winkeuu

[azullumi]

TO HOLD, TO FEEL, TO LOVE !!

premise — the intimate act of handholding, wishing to feel one another at the tip of the fingers; what are hands made for if not to hold one another? content tags — various characters with gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, hands are mentioned multiple times, my small headcanons of their hands, not proofread, 0.7k words ; headcanons

note from me — something small and simple for me because i have 3 lengthy fic series (or events) in my drafts for all of you <33 also i dont have wifi here and just relying on data so im barely surviving

SUNDAY, he held the sun once; he held your hand. His hands are slender and bony, delicate and gentle yet his hold on yours is firm and tight—as if he doesn’t want you to let go nor does he want to let go of you. For him, it’s a way of protection, a grounding reassurance that you’re there with him, not an illusion, not a dream. He’ll always take his glove off when holding your hand, insisting that it’s much better to feel the warmth of your palms and the way your fingers fit in his.

AVENTURINE, has hands that are soft, slim, and slender with clean, trimmed nails. He uses his fingers to draw the stars and the universe on your skin, tracing the lines of your palm, kissing your knuckles so sweetly, so gently. Whenever he holds your hand, he often finds himself fidgeting and playing with your fingers—it’s a small habit that he does, one that eases and soothes the tremble of his own. The simple act of holding your hand grounds him and stables himself at times when everything feels so messy and suffocating.

VERITAS RATIO, is not one to ask for such things, at least verbally. He’ll show himself more through his acts, fragments and pieces of himself found in the subtle gestures that he does—such as the pinky of his hand finding its way on to yours, hooking itself, and letting it linger until you let him hold the entirety of your palm in his. It’s subtle, simple, delicate yet rough and sharp on the edges just like his hands. One thing is that when you squeeze his hand, accidentally or intentionally, he’ll squeeze yours back.

LUOCHA, how could his hands be more feminine and delicate than a woman’s while also looking like a man’s? His hands are pretty, fingers delicately thin and long with intricate lines on his palms that looked like it was carefully drawn by an artist. The way it looks when he’s holding yours is just mesmerizing, it’s like two missing puzzle pieces that finally found and fit into each other—he is never complete without you. Perhaps he has told you or perhaps he hasn't yet but the reason why he gets quiet when you hold his hand is because he’s relishing in this moment and burning its print into his memory so he’ll never forget how soft your hands feel.

GALLAGHER, touchy, needy hands that seek for the warmth and smoothness of your skin underneath his touch—he’s simply an affectionate man who adores seeing your hand in his. He’ll always find ways to lace his fingers in yours, always wanting to hold your hand; on the note of his hands, it’s rough and bigger than yours will ever be—years of his life honing and carving the shapes of his fingers into ones that you’ve known and always held in your sleep.

ARGENTI, an epitome of beauty and so are his hands, are the definition of it too. It’s slender, long, and pretty, a perfect pale shade that seems to glow underneath the sun, and his fingers have this naturally pink shine on them. He’ll sing praises of how beautiful your hands look, especially when he’s holding it in his—would adore it more under the light, as the shadows cast itself on your skin and everything around him feels so surreal. It's mesmerizing, wonderful, breathtaking, to think that you could be more beautiful in his eyes, even if it’s just something small and simple.

JING YUAN, has rough, big, calloused hands that never want to let go of you. To think that he had gone through a life where he never felt your skin, where he never got to hold your hand. He’s a clingy man, affectionate with adventurous hands that is always on you—whenever you’re near him, his hands are either holding yours or just on you, resting on your waist, wrapped around your figure, or just anywhere as long as he gets to feel you under his hands. It’s like your skin and his palms are magnets of opposite poles.

GEPARD, a little shy and hesitant in the aspects of affection, even if it’s just the small act of holding your hand. His face is flustered, cheeks covered with a shade of pink that is easily discernible underneath the light, and his lips are curled into a smile that beams only affection the same way he looks at you and your hands intertwined with his. His grasp on you is firm and strong but would easily loosen when you ask him to; he does get anxious though, thinking if his grip was too tight or too much.

special mentions to the wonderful and beautiful @toorurs !! i know i have already said this before but you’re a pleasant surprise in my life, and you have become someone special and dear to me. you’re an amazing friend, kind and sweet, as well as, talented <33 i aspire to have your strength and courage in situations that would have me just running away and just completely avoiding it, you’re a strong person and you’re doing amazing, and you’ll keep on doing amazing things. i’ll always be here for you no matter what happens, hoping and wishing that you’ll get everything you have ever wanted and wished for, and anyone who is a hindrance to your happiness will get a watermelon or anything thrown at their face (just point me to them)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[defectivevillain]

attempts at amnesty

pairing: Harry & Reader (platonic)

the reader is gender-neutral. their race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. He won’t let his guard down, and you can’t really blame him. You take a deep breath, before trying to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. “Here.” Harry stands at the object you hand him with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. “It’s my wand,” you explain, “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.” “You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers. “Yes,” you respond instinctually. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy.

Canonically, Harry’s first introduction to the Wizarding World was wonderful and magnificent, but it was also jaded. He was left to make his own assumptions about magic from the behaviors of those around him. But what if Harry Potter had a trustworthy adult to teach him about the Wizarding World—one who always had faith in him, stood up for him, and protected him?

word count: 4k | chapters: 1/? | ao3 version

warnings: canonical child abuse

author's notes: I’ve been battling with myself to even post this fic in the first place, so please know that I am trying my best and taking the utmost care to assure that I am not upholding JKR's prejudices. And if you don’t want to engage with this at all, I completely understand.

This is a reader-insert piece primarily focused on the platonic relationship between the reader and Harry. The reader in this piece is gender-neutral—relatedly, the word “wizard” is used as an ambiguous, gender-neutral term that encompasses all gender identities. The reader will also be written as racially ambiguous & no physical descriptors will be used. In future chapters, they may be referred to with they/them pronouns.

This piece is going to tread the line between canon divergence and canon noncompliance, so there will likely be many canon inconsistencies. You may have to suspend your disbelief a *little* to enjoy this story. But it will still be largely centered around the events that take place in the seven books.

I have most of the general premise written for this already, but very few of the details and necessary transitions are written. I think this first chapter is a bit choppy, for example, but I don't want this fic to die in my drafts... so I'm letting it run free.

October 31, 1981

You’re having a strange day: a few of your top students completely forgot about the Ancient Runes essay you assigned; at breakfast, Headmaster Dumbledore announced that the next Hogsmeade trip would be postponed; you nearly got mauled by an unfamiliar owl... Things are just odd today. You don’t put much stock in Divination, but even Professor Trelawney’s ravings are starting to sound less mad than usual. Something is in the air.

As you’re walking about, you hear the whispered conversation of two Gryffindors in the hall. You’re not above eavesdropping, so you lean against the closest wall and listen. Besides, you could easily punish them for being out of bed after-hours; if anything, you’re doing them a favor by letting them continue to walk the halls unimpeded. 

“Did you hear? James Potter and his wife were killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” a third-year Gryffindor, Evelark, says.  

“Really?” their companion says, clearly suspicious. “Lily Evans, too? I heard they were both rather talented wizards.” 

“Yes,” the student confirms. "But there’s good news—great, even. Their child, Harry, survived the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse. Not only did he survive, but the curse rebounded and killed the Dark Lord."

“Seriously?!” the other student remarks.  

“Crazy, right?” Evelark exclaims. The elder Gryffindor looks skeptical. The younger student sighs and continues to speak. “They say Harry has a scar on his forehead to show for it.”  

“I don’t quite believe you, Evelark,” they huff.  

“That’s bloody fine,” the younger Gryffindor scoffs, clearly bothered by their companion’s suspicion. “You’ll see it in the Prophet tomorrow." 

“If you say so.” With that last remark, the two Gryffindors make their way back to their common room.  

You watch them retreat for a moment, before eventually letting them fall out of your sight. For a few moments, it feels as if you’re stuck to the wall. Eventually, you manage to peel yourself off of it and walk away.  Your heart pounds traitorously in your chest and a buzzing noise reverberates through your ears and into your skull. Surely the Dark Lord can’t be dead. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. 

You begin to walk down the hallway, suddenly burdened with the pressure of coming to terms with the supposed end of the war on your own. You mechanically make your way back to your office and, before long, you’re sitting at your desk. Admittedly, you can’t quite bring yourself to believe what the students were saying. Even if it were true, one unshakeable fact remains: Voldemort would not die so easily. 

Little do you know, at that very moment, in Little Whinging, Surrey, young Harry Potter is placed on the Dursleys’ front porch. In a few hours, the very ordinary Dursleys will wake up to a very unordinary sight: a baby on their doorstep. For now, James and Lily’s son sleeps peacefully—with no knowledge of the horrible, gruesome events that took his parents from him.

Meanwhile, you’re left to the solitude of your office, an uncomfortable tension lingering in the air. An inexplicable shiver rolls down your spine; and it takes you a long time to fall asleep that night.

Eleven Years Later

You know very little about Harry Potter—or, “The Boy Who Lived,” as the Wizarding World has dubbed him. Admittedly, you are pretty uncomfortable with how easily the wizarding population seems to idolize the boy. He’s just a boy, after all. The story behind his parents’ death and Voldemort’s defeat is painted out to be a heroic feat for young Harry, but you can’t see past the tragic nature of it all. You seem to be in the minority in that regard. 

These days, Harry Potter is somewhat difficult to track down. At least, that’s what you glean from your brief conversation with Albus Dumbledore regarding the boy’s Hogwarts letter. Apparently, several letters have been sent to the home of his Muggle relatives—but they have gone so far as to relocate to a shack on a deserted island to prevent Harry from receiving his letter. The thought is troublesome. Albus requests that you deliver the boy’s Hogwarts letter in person and take him to Diagon Alley—where you’re also supposed to check on a vault at Gringotts. You grit your teeth and sigh. You’re not usually the one who has to visit families on account of Hogwarts, but McGonagall doesn’t have the time to meet with Harry. You’re the second choice, apparently. 

Your conversation with Albus then prompts you to find yourself standing outside the aforementioned seaside shack in the pouring rain. After a moment, you cast a Tempus charm, finding that it is now midnight on July 31st—reportedly, Harry’s birthday. You glance through the front window, only to find a thin, bruised boy sleeping on a shoddy hardwood floor. That must be Harry. His relatives are nowhere in sight—they must be occupying the other rooms. Somehow, you doubt that they are sleeping on the floor. The thought of Harry’s relatives treating him so callously fills you with irritation. 

After a moment’s contemplation, you unlock the door with an Alohomora charm and find yourself on the business end of a rifle—courtesy of Harry’s uncle, Vernon Dursley. You huff a laugh at the Muggle’s pseudo-bravery; it fades quickly when you cast a spell that makes his rifle melt into a puddle on the floor. You immediately elect to ignore Potter’s relatives and instead address the boy directly. You tell him that he’s a wizard. Predictably, he doesn’t believe you. 

“I’d be happy to explain further, Harry, but not in this company,” you say, with a glance at his relatives. His aunt and uncle are hovering awkwardly over their son, who is panting heavily after you momentarily cast an Ebublio Jinx to stop him from speaking. You hadn’t actually intended to drown him, of course, but his parents don’t seem to care about your intentions. You sigh and turn back to Harry. “I’ll stay here for the night. We’ll depart in the morning and I’ll show you to Diagon Alley, where you’ll get your school things.” Any further argument falls on determined ears as you cast an impromptu ward that prevents the Dursleys from stepping any closer to Harry and you.

You don’t sleep well that night—and Harry doesn’t either. It seems he doesn’t quite trust you yet—and, from what you can glean from his upbringing, you can’t entirely blame him. Instead of waiting until the morning, you decide to explain the circumstances of his birth and Voldemort’s return. It’s certainly a difficult conversation—you believe you’re far from the best person to be explaining all of that to him. You soon find yourself troubled by the fact that Harry didn’t know how his parents died; the Dursleys’ “car crash” story was beyond disrespectful.  

“So Voldemort—” Harry starts, after you’ve explained the circumstances of his birth; Hogwarts and your role as the Ancient Runes professor; and anything else you thought pertinent to mention. 

“It’s generally frowned upon to utter his name,” you interject instinctively. Harry blinks at you. 

“Then why do you say it?” Indeed, Harry noticed that you hadn’t refrained from saying Voldemort’s name. You take a deep breath, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’re the one tasked with introducing the boy to the Wizarding World. Something about that doesn’t feel quite fair. You didn’t know James and Lily well—while you were in the same year at Hogwarts, you hadn’t been friends with them. Harry is still staring at you expectantly and you have to take a moment to refocus your thoughts.  

“There is power in knowing someone’s name—recognizing their power—and choosing to acknowledge it,” you begin. “Avoiding the Dark Lord’s name only transfers accountability, and furthers the false notion that he is too powerful to be opposed by anyone.”

Harry is staring at you blankly and his eyes are almost saying “I have no idea what you just said.”  You smile and reach out to ruffle his hair, before remembering that he likely wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Your hand falls to your side again and Harry just blinks confusedly. 

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us. I’ve cast a spell that prohibits any of your family members from entering this space, so you will be safe here.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. You take a deep breath. He really should get some sleep—the two of you are going to have a lot to do, what with the travel to Diagon Alley and the shopping for school materials. He’s only eleven years old, so he needs the rest. You try to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. Suddenly, you get an idea. “Here.” Harry stands at the object in his hand with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. 

“It’s my wand,” you explain. “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. A wand is the extension of a wizard’s power; without it, they can cast very little magic.” You decide to negate the existence of wandless magic for now. That’s something you can explain later. “I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.”

“I advise you not to try using my wand, both because it will likely not work and because underage wizards aren’t allowed to cast magic. When we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow—or, I suppose, later today—we’ll get you your own wand.” You hate to overwhelm the boy with all that information, but you fear that he’ll be overwhelmed regardless. He was being raised as a Muggle, after all. Harry isn’t familiar with anything from the Wizarding World. You notice the wary expression on his face and wait for him to question you about the purpose of a wand, the spells a person can cast with one. 

“You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers quietly. His voice is unsure and, upon noticing this, your heart breaks a little.

“Yes,” you respond instinctively. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy. Harry likely didn’t hear that often—if at all—during his childhood. The Dursleys treat him like he doesn’t exist. The thought makes your blood boil, but you resign yourself to thinking about that later. “Anyway, I’m going to try to sleep a bit. Feel free to do the same.” You conjure up two futons before reclining on the first one and closing your eyes. 

Before you can drift off, you remember what you’ve forgotten. “Harry?” you ask. He hums. “Happy birthday,” you whisper before closing your eyes. Sleep comes quickly, preventing you from comprehending his response.  

Hours later, your wristwatch goes off and jolts you from slumber. You blink and slowly push yourself up to a sitting position before chancing a glance at Harry. Harry is sleeping, thankfully. Your wand is in his hand. You’re not quite sure how to wake him. You settle for saying his name quietly and he wakes within a few seconds. The thought that he has to remain vigilant, even when he’s sleeping, is deeply troubling. In the short time you’ve spent in this clumsily built shack, you’ve learned a lot more about Harry Potter than you would’ve liked to know. 

You didn’t originally foresee having to spend the night in the shack, so you didn’t bring food. You tell Harry that you’ll stop for food before shopping. Harry watches as you pack up your things. You almost urge him to do the same, before realizing that he has next to nothing, save for the clothes on his back. You grit your teeth. Did Albus know about the nature of Harry’s upbringing? The mere possibility sickens you. You push the thought aside. For now, getting the boy’s school supplies is the priority. [That, and the vault key the headmaster trusted you with. Then again, you’re not too happy with Albus at the moment, so you’re keen to let that slip to the back of your mind.] 

“Dumbledore made us a Portkey; it’ll send us over to downtown London,” you explain, gathering the remainder of your things before beckoning for Harry to follow you. “A Portkey is an item that transports you to a predetermined location when you touch it."   

“Hold on, Harry,” you tell him once the two of you are situated outside of the shack. Harry stares at you for a moment, before you reach out and hold the worn old boot sitting on the ground. Harry looks extremely skeptical, but he grabs onto it and the world begins to swirl around you. 

Moments later, you’re falling down to a wooded area on a side street. You take a deep breath and turn around to look for Harry, only to find him sprawled on the ground. You bite down a laugh and walk over to him, offering a hand. He takes your hand and you pull him to his feet. “Is it always that unpleasant?” Harry asks. 

“No, you’ll get used to it,” you say reassuringly. You take a quick look at your surroundings, happy that you recognize where you are. You will only have to walk a few minutes to get to the cafe for breakfast. “Now, let’s grab something to eat.” You motion for Harry to follow you and he does so, albeit while still being shocked at his surroundings. 

By the time the two of you make it to the cafe, the novelty seems to have worn off for Harry. You’re sure he must be starving. You settle into a small table in the corner of the space, pleased that it isn’t very busy. A waitress stops by your table and asks for drinks, but the two of you end up just having water. When she returns and asks about food, you encourage Harry to choose whatever he’d like. He eventually decides on a chocolate croissant and, when the food arrives, the two of you eat in silence. 

After your pleasant breakfast, you pay the bill and head out with Harry. It doesn’t take you long to notice the stress that seems to string his shoulders together. The boy’s brows are furrowed. “You alright there, Harry?” You question. He flinches for a moment, as if torn out of his thoughts. 

“You said we were going shopping, but—” Harry breaks off, looking embarrassed, “I don’t have any money.” Your heart sinks at the shame on his face. He shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. Even if he were to truly have no money, Hogwarts has a funding program. However, Harry does have the money his parents left him—and you’re quick to tell him that. 

“Sure you do,” you remark. “You have access to everything your parents left you. It’s all in a vault in Gringotts.” At Harry’s questioning look, you explain. “Gringotts is a bank in Diagon Alley. It’s one of the biggest wizarding banks in the world. Your parents have an account there—Dumbledore instructed me to show it to you.” You were given explicit instruction not to give Harry the key, but you’re apprehensive about that. The Potter vault is rightfully Harry’s and no one else’s; even the headmaster can’t control that. 

Before long, the two of you are standing a short distance from the Leaky Cauldron. You earn Harry’s permission to disillusion him—once you mention that he’s famous, he’s quick to take you up on the offer—and the two of you manage to make it to the courtyard within a few minutes. The disillusionment spell wears off and Harry murmurs his gratitude, before staring at the brick wall in front of you with thinly-veiled trepidation. You smile at him, before tapping the correct brick. The wall slowly falls away to reveal the twisting streets of Diagon Alley. Shops line the pavement and pedestrians walk about. There’s an energetic buzz in the air; evidently, you’re not the only one going shopping for school supplies. 

You chance a sidelong glance at Harry, delighted to see an awestruck expression on his face. After giving him a few moments to look at it all, you reach down and extend an arm for him to hold. Diagon Alley is chaotic, even to someone familiar with it; you don’t want to lose Harry in the crowd. Harry takes your arm and the two of you walk along the cobbled path. 

“We’d better go to Gringotts first,” you remark, breaking Harry out of his reverie. Harry nods, although his attention is quickly captured by all the shops and stores lining the street. You promise him that you’ll visit many of the different shops once you visit the bank first, which seems to appease him for the moment.

Harry’s jaw falls open once you both enter the entrance hall of Gringotts. Indeed, the building is rather luxurious—with long, elegant pillars and well-carved desks scattered around the space. The sound of quills against parchment fills the air. You allow Harry to follow behind you as you approach the service desk and ask for a goblin’s assistance. Within moments, a goblin by the name of Griphook is leading you towards a mine cart and closer to the vaults. You don’t realize that you’ve neglected to explain goblins and other magical beings to Harry until he’s asking you about them in a hushed voice. 

You try your best to explain goblins, vampires, centaurs, werewolves, and more to Harry to the best of your ability. Funnily enough, Griphook occasionally chimes in with his own remarks. By the time Harry and you are finally at the vault, you’re certain that his head is likely spinning from all the information. You smile and motion for Harry to open the vault with the key you gave him. The look on his face as the vault door opens to reveal the Potter inheritance is priceless. You linger outside the door, but try to advise him to only take as much as needed. Harry eventually decides on taking a small amount. You assure him that it’ll be enough to last him the school year. 

“We have one more stop to make, unfortunately,” you say to Harry once he’s done in the Potter vault. The boy looks at you in confusion. Griphook nods and, with a wave of his hand, the mine cart is shooting down the rails once more. You can tell Harry is resisting the urge to ask about the vault you’re going to. You decide to tell him that Dumbledore sent you to retrieve something. You don’t want him to think that you’re keeping secrets from him; unfortunately, you know you can’t tell him any more than that. 

Upon arrival at the vault, you realize there’s nothing in it, save for a rather flimsy bag. You take the bag in hand and step out of the vault. Griphook sneers and mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. You notice Harry warily glancing at the parcel in your hand as the cart makes its way back up to the lobby. 

“Thank you for your help, Griphook,” you remark, once you are back in the entrance hall. You watch Harry nod and send him a small smile, to which Griphook rolls his eyes and walks away. You resist the urge to laugh at the visible fascination on Harry’s face. You don’t blame him, of course. He didn’t grow up in the Wizarding World, so everyone and everything he’s seeing today is entirely new to him. 

After Gringotts, you decide to take Harry to the bookstore to pick up his textbooks. Harry gets all his required textbooks and a few other necessities. After that, the two of you head to The Apothecary for his Potions ingredients. 

Next, the two of you walk into Ollivanders. Harry gets his wand, albeit after thirty minutes. Ollivander seems to be on the verge of having an aneurysm, but the confused frustration on his face quickly fades to wary fascination as Harry finally finds his wand. Ollivander explains that the wand had a brother—one other wand with the same core, a phoenix feather. The other wand belongs to He Who Must Not Be Named. Ollivander is about to continue speaking, but you cut him off and catch Harry’s eye, looking to the door. He understands and follows after you. The two of you leave Ollivanders and you take a deep breath. That was unexpected. Harry is regarding the wand in his hand with a mix of excitement and fear. 

“Harry?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Harry looks up to you in surprise, before nodding hesitantly. You bite your lip and try to find the right words. “You’re not worried about the wand being a brother to Lord Voldemort’s, are you?” 

Harry is silent. That is enough of an answer. 

“It’s okay,” you remark. “You share the same core and nothing more. Voldemort’s wand is likely made with different wood and is a different length. Besides, you’re not anything like him, Harry.” 

“Are you sure?” Harry murmurs, so quietly that you nearly miss it. It takes you a few seconds to recover from the emotional whiplash of that remark. 

“Positive,” you remark, your eyes suddenly burning for some reason. This boy… He deserves far better. 

And speaking of deserving better, it’s still Harry’s birthday. You get the feeling the Dursleys didn’t give him birthday presents. Harry has been rather pleasant company, and you feel that you should get something for him.“You probably didn’t have many pleasant birthdays with the Dursleys,” you start. Harry diplomatically keeps silent. “And, well, I’d like to get you something.” Harry blinks at you in disbelief. “I’m thinking I should buy you an owl; they’re really useful. How does that sound?”

“Brilliant.” Harry grins. You smile and lead him towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. Twenty minutes later, the two of you are exiting with a cage in hand. Inside, there’s a snowy white owl that chirps at Harry happily. The boy decides to name her Hedwig. 

“I hate to leave you, Harry,” you remark some time later, once you’ve left Diagon Alley and are outside the Leaky Cauldron. “But, unfortunately, I have to return to the castle and give this parcel to Dumbledore.” Harry nods as if he’d expected something along these lines. You frown. Despite your short time with the boy, you feel rather uneasy with the thought of leaving him to his neglectful relatives for the duration of the summer. You suppose you don’t exactly have a choice, though. If only there were something you could do for him… 

“I’m willing to bet those relatives of yours don’t know anything about magic,” you start. “So, they won’t know that underage magic is prohibited. I’m not encouraging you to perform any underage magic, but a gentle reminder of the fact that you can cast spells will probably be enough to prevent them from…  bothering you.” You nearly slip up and say “harm” at the end there, but you manage to save yourself. 

“Also, now that you have an owl…” you continue. “You’ll be able to send people letters. If you’d like, you can send me a few.”

“I’d like that.” Harry smiles. 

“Great.” You summon a piece of parchment and quill, before quickly scrawling out your address. “Just send Hedwig here. I have an owl too, so you can expect a timely response.” Harry nods and pockets the piece of parchment. “Now, let’s get you back to your relatives.” You hold out an arm and Harry takes it. 

Moments later, the two of you are standing on the sidewalk leading up to Number Four Privet Drive. Harry wobbles on his feet for a second before righting himself. You watch as Harry stands on the sidewalk, evidently not thrilled to be returning to his relatives. You can’t say you’re thrilled for him, either.

“Well, here we are,” you announce. You take a deep breath, wondering why you feel guilty for leaving the boy with his relatives. “I’ll see you soon, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your summer!” 

“Thank you,” Harry responds with a small smile. You hold your wand up and wink at him. His hand moves to his pocket and the smile on his face widens. You decide to wait on the sidewalk as Harry paces up to the front door and rings the doorbell. For a long moment, you’re convinced that his relatives won’t let him into the house. Eventually, his aunt steps forward and quickly ushers him into the house, glancing to the side as if making sure no neighbors are watching. Her eyes meet yours and she bristles, quickly shutting the door behind her. You grit your teeth and stare at the house for a moment, before shaking your head and Apparating to the Hogwarts grounds.

next chapter

endnotes: I can't believe I'm finally posting this!! My 71 page google docs draft is very thankful.

Despite that ^ I am not going to have any kind of update schedule. I'll post whenever I feel I've completed a chapter. No promises on when or how that will manifest.

I initially wanted to write Harry to be Sorted into Slytherin, but then I realized that would deviate too much and just end up making a whole murky mess of the timeline I already created. So... yeah.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I'm really looking forward to digging into this story. Mwhahahahahha.... AHHAAH... Whew, sorry. Had to get that out.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

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[diodellet]

try wishing for it: magical girl au ~author's note~

warning for: Puella Magi Madoka Magica spoilers and more yandere headcanoning

Read the fanfic first before you spoil yourself on my rambling 😇

I did not expect to be able to transition from draft to posting that quickly for a fic of this length (or maybe it just felt faster because the stars aligned for my motivation and brainworms to work together? who knows)

Will I ever continue this AU? Maybe if I get clubbed in the head by more Scarabia brainworms, I might write oneshots/short scenes, but I don’t see myself writing for any of the other twst charas.

Anyways onto the ramblings galore:

Inspirations:

The verse that the fic’s title is ripped from goes: “Saying, ‘it’s like magic!’ / immersed in this sensation, even if I try wishing for it, / I know it’s nothing but playing with dolls //” (tl credits to Releska).

Tbh, analyzing poetry/song lyrics isn’t my biggest strength, but I know that Mahou Shoujo, as a genre, tends to touch on themes of adolescence like innocence vs. jadedness in the face of the real world and its many issues, just stepping into and growing out of adolescence as one of those uncomfortable transitions in life.

Stepping into young adulthood is scary, and most people my age don’t even know what the hell they’re doing. So for Reader, I gave them that highschooler-trying-to-be-capable-and-mature persona, with a tinge of anxieties that a young person would have.

*I’ll elaborate more on the Puella Magi inspirations in a later section, but yes, that was also a major inspiration for this fic

Vagueness:

Compared to my usual long-winded writing style, this fic ended up a bit more short and ambiugous in its prose. Partially because I didn’t want to procrastinate on writing this by rewatching my favorite Mahou Shoujo franchises.

(but also mainly because partial aphantasia lets gooo, detailed visuals are not my strong suit, I’m leaving Reader’s outfit and weapon blank for people to insert anything they’d like)

I mainly wanted to emphasize the character moments between Reader and Kyubey!Scarabia, which ended up becoming more conflicting and interesting than I initially drafted.

(It helps that Jamil is a shady guy, he set up the foreshadowing on his own. Kalim on the other hand, my god, maybe it's just me but I had a harder time characterizing. Why is he so loud and friendly, it makes his manipulation so much more covert grr)

Gold (and Red, I guess):

I lied, there was one visual aspect I wanted to highlight throughout the story, which were Scarabia’s trademark colors of gold and red. Anything gold mentioned in the fic is traced back to them. So every moment of Kalim and Jamil using magic, Reader’s magic, the bangle that Jamil gifts them, the wraith in the beginning having a (formerly) gold collar. (I would've added a description of something gold on each wraith, but I didn't want to be too heavy-handed with the repetition.)

(yes i had thoughts of jamil just giving them a golden collar…but ooo…held off on that instead, it could be a standalone what-if scenario…a corruption arc premise…ooo…someone remind me about this, i might forget)

I also mention jamil++the color red in this fic because I had to put Snake Whisper in, I can’t not 🙈

(that bit of kalim’s healing magic was me trying to make a reference to Oasis Maker, it feels a bit scuffed to me, but i don't think he’d ever get the urge to drown the world. truly sunshine boy's such a covert yandere it almost made me tear my hair out)

Kyubey!Scarabia, Some Difficulties and Omissions:

In Puella Magi, the little satanspawn named Kyubey is actually short for “Incubator,” who hails from an alien civilization tasked with preventing the heat death of the universe. Turns out the emotions of teenage girls is a very potent energy source. So he turns girls into magical girls to fight Witches and when those magical girls succumb to despair, they become the very thing that they fight against, producing vast amounts of energy for them to use.

(Though I changed it from ‘Witches’ to ‘Wraiths’ for this fanfic. I also did away with the Witches’ Labyrinth to lessen the amount of exposition. I jus think Witches work better in a visual medium.)

Another standout characteristic of Kyubey is his eerie sense of apathy to the characters’ suffering, which was Difficult to incorporate into Kalim since that guy’s got buckets of empathy. Until I realized that i could spin this into a kind of “warped” love.

Kalim loved each and every magical girl that he’s worked with, and of course he gets sad that they eventually become a wraith. But as an Incubator, his grieving is more akin to a rich person feeling sad over the death of a pet. He’s very quick to turn his attention to the next shiny thing (that’s you/Reader! Ain’t that great!🥴)

Also @jessamine-rose gave me this hc of Kalim amassing little trinkets from every magical fighter, like a ribbon accessory or a piece of their wand, collecting these little charms. Just, the idea of him saying that he’ll cherish Reader’s own treasure, and the way that could go from reassuring to chilling. (now i’m spreading that hc to yall instead of pingponging it in my brain😇)

On the idea of Jamil and love, I think he just loves holding power over magical girls #MegalomaniacThingz (ignore that growing fondness in the fever scene, he was just playing the part of helpful familiar or sumn /shrug)

There's definitely room for some kind of intense fascination to reader, knowing that they surprised him with their resilience. Yeah sorta like Tokyo Mew Mew's Ichigo and Quiche...

(i was crying so hard at having to axe forehead kissies for the second time, but it was a necessary omission😔)

Misc. Extras:

As a palate cleanser, just imagine plush ball!jamil carrying a plastic bag twice his size… (i was struggling with the dialogue during that fever scene, this was how i kept myself from spiraling too far)

In line with the genie of the lamp story, Kyubey!Scarabia gets the three wishes for their magical girls, with the third wish eventually corrupting the magical girl into a wraith.

I guess the other dorms would have something unique for the magical girls that they create? (not having wi-fi for the past few days gave me some half-baked ideas)

Like Heartslabyul imposing a rigid set of rules on their magical girls, which are of course rigged against the inherently flawed nature of humans and their emotions.

Savanaclaw and Pomefiore are similar, you fight until you can’t. Or in Pome’s case, you fight until you become an unrecognizable monster.

I imagine that Octavinelle and Ignihyde are the most similar to the original Kyubey of Puella Magi. You make a wish, fight the wraiths, reap the consequences of a wish, and eventually succumb to the vicious system they have laid out. Only Octavinelle’s version is Sayaka Miki-core, while Ignihyde’s plays out like a video game-ified version of Hercules’ trials. (Also, Ignihyde deffo keeps a compendium of each magical girl and wraith).

For Diasomnia, it could kinda follow Sleeping Beauty's plot, where there's a curse that the magical girl has to work against, while being aided with blessings from the fairies/Malleus' retinue (tho in this case, i guess Malleus ends up being revealed as the one creating the wraiths?)

tl;dr: This fic was so fun to write, I can almost forgive the usual agonies that plague me. I'm a writer who heavily prefers soft worldbuilding. Scarabia makes me so ill.

tagging: @viperwhispered @twstgo

[puckpocketed]

Ah yes hi hello! I have a bit of a ramble and some info about line dynamics in hrpf if you don't mind? I should probably get my research tgt and read and do a crazed metapost lol.

I don't have a lot of hockey technical sense yet (<- beginner in exam season who has a backlog to study and redearch, lol) but I do think hrpf deals with a lot of line dynamics but subconsciously. A lot of pairings aren't just based on history as the major part, but also on built-in assumptions of how the dynamic must be based on position, or interestingly, how it could've been for childhood friends.

Its not addressed very often though, it goes in as a sort of subconscious or if some is thinking about it, its a behind the scenes element, and it does not scales directly in proportion to fic size.

A lot of hockey pairings have trends where a lot of forward only pairings have to be lineys, or a couple's chemistry in a trade fic being reinforced by them being each other's liney and having the chem to be a good line. dmen/goalie pairings are rarer, as are forward/goalie pairings from my tag scrolling. They are a bit more varied but operate on a sense of protectiveness quite often. A la king/knight pairings almost.

Goalie/goalie operates on a sense of connection based on a game view and therefore worldview no one else gets, but authors don't incorporate it intentionally too often, as far as they say in notes atleast. D-partners are very very close devotional pairings usually, and as such every position pairings has a set of assumptions it comes with, an almost internalised intuition for the average hockey rpf writer.

Essentially, in hrpf, if you go deep, the line mate is sacred. They are delegated to a special status that often creates pairings but also have been relegated to a dynamic that is not in competition with the ship itself if the other player isnt a liney, because it's absolutely sacred friendship/connection/whst ever. It is often explored in longer fics or ones with certain premises, and the space loves the dynamics but doesn't always address it actively outside of certain premises, aus, and fic types (like trade fics + variants, soulmates, or character studies.)

you'll find these trends more with certain pairings and certain draft classes/eras of hockey as well. This is so long. I am so sorry. Take my words with a grain of salt and some idea hat this is in now way a very deep glance, but thatd the overall impression for someone in hrpf spaces for a while and studies in literary analysis, haha. Hope this helps?

-signed, tynedtime

[EDIT: post being referenced can be read here]I wanted to hoard this in my asks for like 7 months and marinate it but I think this should be on #myblog and so that others can see and maybe say hi.... anyways no need for apologies ever ever ever thank you so much for dropping by to explain some of this to me!! Your notes on pairing trends are super fun, but I found this part most fascinating:

Essentially, in hrpf, if you go deep, the line mate is sacred. They are delegated to a special status that often creates pairings but also have been relegated to a dynamic that is not in competition with the ship itself if the other player isnt a liney, because it's absolutely sacred friendship/connection/whst ever.

MUCH to think about. Please someone who knows more than me (guy blindly pawing around) say something profound here LOL I have half a transcript to get done and some media to gather re; line construction.

But question for you and any interested parties: do you have any reflections/insights to give on hrpf role-based relationships that go beyond pairings? threesomes and moresomes, that is (<- personally NOT a fan of the way people write/talk about three-way relationships as a way to "solve" ship wars) I'm very curious as to how it all shakes out in hrpf (if at all) given there are these sorta built-in triads in the form of forward line combinations.

Please @ me or ping me or carrier pigeon me about your crazed metapost when it drops. I will wait patiently <3

[simpingforstardew]

muse

pairing: sdv elliot x reader

synopsis: elliot is struggling with severe writers block; if only he had a muse...

note: a while ago i talked about having a derivative idea for an elliot x reader fic; here is that fic !! the premise is completely unoriginal, but i'll leave the references at the end of the fic to avoid spoilers hehe

warnings: i don't even know for this one gang, wholesome w/ an ending that could be read as spooky? let's call it a doomed romance !! tw/ relationships that are doomed by the narrative !!

word count: 1.5k

Adronitis

A heart so damaged; tender; sore—

You ever-blooming sycamore,

Through hunger pangs; my deliriousness,

I mourn my mortal catoptric tristesse.

With starving dreams, your warmth I crave—

I worship you, I must embrave,

Indulge me, lay your fear ahind.

Our sanctuary; your piece of mind.

My amorous famine demands more […more what?],

So I feast on your smile […] petrichor.

i am just writing this right niw so it

looks lije i am being pro ductive oh Yoba

andnow leahs comin g over this

is alll shit im jist going to star t overrr

“How’s the writing going, El’?” Leah peers down at Elliot with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’ve been at it for a while without a break, you know?”

“Oh, Leah! It’s going splendidly, and yes, it seems we have…” Elliot coughs, avoiding eye contact while tearing the paper from his typewriter. “Why don’t we call it for today then?”

“Without showing me what you’ve done? C’mon,” she whines, “What do you have?”

Elliot and Leah had decided, sometime early last Spring, to meet in Cindersnap forest every Wednesday to work on their current projects. ‘Parallel play for artists,’ Penny once called it when walking Jas back to Marnie’s ranch. For Leah, this weekly rendezvous has (so far) allowed her to complete 2 clay sculptures, 3 wood sculptures, 23 drawings, and 8 paintings; for Elliot, the last few months has allowed him to create…

“Nothing,” Elliot sighs, packing his typewriter’s case with a frown. “I have, somehow, written nothing! I mean, I wanted to craft a Petrarchan sonnet, inspired by Poe’s romantic, yet macabre sensibilities. I ended up with trash I couldn’t even make hendecasyllabic. It’s embarrassingly Shakespearian and—”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, that’s okay. That’s fine. I’m not sure what any of that means, but…” Leah scrunches her freckled nose, hoping to find the right words to calm Elliot down, “It seems like you’re expecting perfection from a first draft. Maybe we should call it for today, and you could revisit your poem tomorrow?”

“Yes, you are right,” the authors scowl softens; after a moment of meditation—feeling the summer breeze tangle in his hair—he looks towards Leah with a smile. “I will see you next week, Miss Faraday.”

Elliot didn’t return to his typewriter until later that week, deciding instead to bask in the sun’s warmth on the beach. The author sits on the pier with a contented sigh, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing backdrop to his afternoon reverie.

Even still, despite the Elysium that he has found himself in, Elliot cannot shake his frustrations; his linguistic discouragement plagued his every thought.

“Ahoy there, my boy! Perfect weather for fishing don’t ya reckon?” Willy smiles, closing the front door to the Fish Shop behind him. Elliot

“Ah, hello Mr. Tucker,” Elliot waves as the fisherman sits beside him, attaching a small blue tackle onto an impressively shiny rod, “I suppose it is, although I fear I don’t have my fishing gear with me today.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that? No need to be so formal, son,” Willy chuckles, casting a line into the vast depths of the saltwater, “Say, aren’t ya usually off in town around this time? Feel like I never see you this early on a Wednesday.”

Elliot still had to adjust to the predictive routine of a small town, and the horrifying consequences of straying from said routine: becoming the topic of mid-afternoon gossip.

“Yes, well, I um—,” Elliot sighs, looking into the deep blue below as if the ocean concealed the antidote to writers block, “I have been, writing with Leah every Wednesday and… actually can I ask for some advice?”

“O’ Course ya can, my boy.” Willy nods.

“I have been… struggling lately,” The taller man slumps as he runs a hand through his auburn hair, his voice heavy with uncertainty, “I feel as if I have lost my spark, my… capacité artistique. I cannot, for the life of me, write anything of quality! I just… I feel broken, Mr. William.”

Willy takes a moment to think, slowly breathing in the salty air, “Hmm, I see your problem, lad— but it’s important to know yer not broken. Aye, nothin’ about ya is broken.”

A fish tugs at Willy’s fishing line: desperately; hopelessly.

“It’s like if yer pal Willy couldn’t fish anymore… I’d sooner swallow a sea urchin than lose my ability to do what I love,” Willy pulls the rod towards him, putting up a fight with whatever poor creature is on the other end of the line, “but sometimes it’s tricky doing what ya love 24/7, son! You got to remind yerself to take breaks, and…”

The creature is hurled out of the ocean, flapping helplessly as the fisherman releases it from his tackle. Willy holds the freshly-caught octopus up to Elliot.

“Remind yerself why ya love it!” Willy chuckles, before mumbling to himself about throwing his newest catch in a tank lest he ‘gets inked’.

As Elliot sits in contemplative silence, the ocean offering solace: the rushing winds, the distant cry of seagulls, even the smell of salty air. Over the last year and a half, he has grown to love it all.

As he rises to his feet, Elliot considers his friends’ advice. He certainly didn’t want to remain in this slump forever; so he needs to find a reminder of why he loves writing; a source of reinvigorating inspiration.

He needs to find a muse.

A muse in a village with a population of 27.

‘Well,’ Elliot thinks, slamming his cabin’s door shut behind him as he slides onto his desk chair. He sets up his Olympia SM 9 for the second time today. ‘If I can’t find my muse in life, I will simply create my muse in art.’

For a moment, the black page loaded into the typewriter stares back at Elliot, mockingly. Then, as suddenly as the crash of thunder that bellows from above, the author began to write.

Elliot bursts into the Fish Shop, his manuscript clutched tightly in hand, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “Willy, my friend, you’re incredible!” he cheered, his excitement palpable. “I truly could not have done this without your support.”

Willy grins, offering a sincere thumbs-up. “Glad to hear it, lad! So what was your reminder, eh? What got you back on track?”

Elliot coughs, a flush creeping up his freckled cheeks. “Well, you see… I made it up.”

Willy arches an eyebrow, bemused,“Ya made up yer reminder for why you love writing? Now, son…”

“No, no,” Elliot hastens to explain, “My love for writing is genuine. But my muse, my darling muse, is not.”

“I’m not following, my boy.”

“I have spent all night crafting the narrative of a completely fabricated person, it’s all here,” Elliot elaborates, “They’re genuinely kind, talented and hard-working, despite never being appreciated. They have the most charming mole on their neck, and they’re delightfully witty! After their grandfather passed away, they—”

“Son,” Willy interrupted gently, his tone tinged with amusement, “Yer a peculiar one, ya know that? How is this going to help with yer writing?”

“It does sound ridiculous, but dedicating my sonnets to this idealised character… thinking of them as I work on my novel… It has been phenomenally motivating!” Elliot laughs, re-reading through the pages before stopping in his tracks, “Oh, I do apologise old friend, I barged into your shop like a man possessed.”

It had been months since Elliot had felt such a fervent desire to write; his unbridled excitement was contagious; a smirk spreads across Willy’s face, crinkling the corners of his dark green eyes.

“If it were anyone else instead of you, I’d be furious, lad,” Willy chuckles, reaching into his mini fridge, “‘Ere, I whipped up too many crab cakes last night, and I know they’re yer favourite— consider it a gift.”

As Elliot arrives back at his cabin, writing snacks in tow, the muffled playing of his piano greets him. He chuckles softly, before preparing to shoo Harvey out of his home so he could resume his day of writing.

“Sincerest apologies, I—,”

“Oh! Honey, you’re back so soon.” Turning away from the piano, your eyes catch Elliot’s with a familiar warmth. You admire the way your boyfriend’s hair always forms delicate waves when exposed to the sea spray.

The author was struck speechless, his heart pounding as he stared at you with more focus than you have ever been subject to.

It couldn’t be real. And yet there you are. You. The muse Elliot had crafted— who's entire life was written mere hours prior on the pages that were now strewn about the floor— was standing before him in flesh and blood.

Every flawless detail exactly as he had imagined.

“Elliot, darling, are you okay?” Your smile becomes wry; nervous as to why your lover was acting so peculiar, his pale skin was now a ghastly white. “Would you like me to pour some wine? We can—”

Before your suggestion was made, Elliot was gone; the door slamming shut behind him.

note #2: okay if you didn't catch it, my inspiration was the 1960 episode of the Twilight Zone: 'A World of His Own', and (more relevantly) the 2012 psychological horror romcom Ruby Sparks !! if you check out either that episode or movie, pleasepleaseplease lmk what you think <33

[thepixelelf]

female ceo reader x tailor mingyu 1.1k words.

note: female reader (because the plot is based on how some men think women can't be taken seriously in higher up positions). this premise/idea is from The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare. like pretty much all my fics, this is not a full story and more just a fun idea

[coincidence? I think yes] Letting out a guttural, defeated groan, you slump your head down on your keyboard. The keys press down, adding to the already incomprehensible email you were drafting to send to your personal assistant.

Seungkwan,

I need a husband.b,mfnhh7gy6untjjn 7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n

The first four words were stupid enough. Why should you need a husband? Just because your grandpa is a misogynistic prick?

7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n

And why should you need to get married of all things just so that he doesn't hand over "his" company -- that you practically resurrected from bankruptcy, by the way -- to your insipid cousin?

7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7

It's not like your cousin Yeongmin is married. He just happens to be the family's oldest male in your generation.

n7n7n7n7n7nn7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7

"Um--"

Seungkwan's voice makes you pop up, and you straighten your back to attempt to look put together even though it's arguable that Seungkwan is the only person who's ever seen you at your most bedraggled. He's probably the only person you'll ever let see you as anything beneath totally put together badass CEO who built themself up from almost nothing.

You smooth out your sleeves. "Yes?"

"There's a man at my desk," Seungkwan says, slightly confused. You're not sure why.

"Okay...?"

"Asking for you."

"Yes, Seungkwan." You nod, brows furrowing. "That's why people normally go to your desk."

His fingers toy with the end of his other arm's sleeve. "Yeah, but..."

"But?"

"He's wearing a wedding dress."

"Oh." You glance down at your computer screen, and the last words you typed-- well, on purpose.

I need a husband.

Weird.

"Do you, uh..." Seungkwan jerks his thumb towards the door he's only stepped halfway through. "...want me to send him away?"

"No, no." If a guy is coming to you in a wedding dress, he must want something. Badly. You've never heard of such a stunt, but you might as well hear him out. "Let him in."

Husband...man in a wedding dress... There's not that big of a difference, right?

Maybe you can offer him what he wants so badly. In exchange for something you want.

Seungkwan nods, still hesitant. "Alright, but you might want to put on some sunglasses."

You don't have time to ask him what the heck he means by that before he disappears out the door, and only seconds later, a blazing white fire barges in.

With all the floor-to-ceiling windows in your corner office, the afternoon sunlight is often a blessing. Right now, however, it bounces off approximately one million sequins, pearls, and crystals, and reflects so harshly into your poor eyeballs that you have to simultaneously raise your hand to cover your eyes and turn away.

"Oh my god." You may have just received snow blindness comparable to years of albedo exposure. "What the--"

"Miss CEO. Ma'am," Mr Say Yes to the Dress starts from behind the curtain of your fingers, voice loud, if a bit unsteady. "My name is Kim Mingyu, and I'm here to collect."

Lowering your hand just slightly, you allow yourself to see him from the shoulders up, which is lucky, since the dress seems to have a sleeveless sweetheart neckline.

Not bad. Broad, sculpted shoulders, a symmetrical face topped with fluffy black hair, something meek in his eyes -- despite having the gall to walk right into your office wearing the world's brightest hodgepodge of fabric and demand payment for... something.

"Collect?" you echo.

"Yes." He nods, and you see him shift to gesture towards the crinoline-filled skirt of the gown. "For the dress."

Instinctively, you look where he gestures, and you wince at the sparkles that stab your retinas. It's not that it's ugly. In fact, the handiwork must be incredible, if you know anything about anything. It's just so...much. Lace and pearls and sequins and rhinestones and floral embroidery.

"You must be mistaken. I never ordered--" You wave at the embodiment of Narnia's never ending winter. "--that."

"No, but Choi Yeori did."

Ah, now things are starting to make sense. You're closer to your cousin Yeori than you are her older brother Yeongmin, if only because you used to play murder mystery make-believe with her when you were nine and she was six. It's been a long time since those days, though. The only updates you get about Yeori's life now come from her public social media and gossip columns. But there's one thing you know from both the past playtimes and the current Instagram stories.

Choi Yeori is a romantic. Always has been, always will be, you suspect.

From acting the femme fatale (as deadly as a six-year-old can be, which is surprisingly very) to the three engagement announcements she's since deleted from all her accounts, she likes to believe in stuff like love.

All the power to her, you say. Living in her beautiful world must be nice.

Well, except for when it's not so beautiful.

"Let me guess." You tilt your head at the boy-in-a-wonder. "The wedding's off."

Now that your hand is down, and your full attention is on him, Mingyu seems to shift uncomfortably under your gaze. His hands reach to pull the top of the dress higher over his pecs, since it's tailored to Yeori's exact size, not his.

He nods. "I spent countless hours on this dress--"

"I can see that." Otherwise he probably wouldn't be here.

"Everything is sewn by me, like she requested--"

"Of course." No machine could make something so ice queen from Sharkboy and Lavagirl-esque.

"And her payment was retroactively rescinded," he finished. "I can't get a hold of her, or any of her contacts, and I couldn't--"

"Find a single other person who would buy this amalgamation of sparkles, luxury, and fanfare?"

Frowning, Mingyu crosses his arms. "I couldn't think of who else to go to. I'm a one-man company. The cost of material on its own has almost put me in debt."

"Right, sorry." You roll your chair further under your desk and lean your elbows on the dark, lacquered surface. Your eyes glance once again over the dress. "But this could've been an email, you know."

He shrugs. "I got your attention, didn't I?"

You can't help but laugh. Yes, he's got you there.

Reaching into one of your drawers, you pull out your chequebook. "Right, well." You grab a pen and put it to paper. "What does my dear cousin owe you, Kim Mingyu?"

He rattles off the number, and you try not to sigh at it. Oh, Yeori... This time might really be too much.

You sign on the dotted line, then stand from your chair to round your desk. Walking up to him, you tear the single cheque from the book and hold it out.

"Here."

He's even more handsome up close, you note.

Just before his fingers can grip the expensive piece of paper, you jerk your hand back with a sharp bend of your elbow.

"Or," you say. "I could offer you even more than this."

Cautiously, Mingyu raises a brow. "Even more...?"

"You could take this money now--"

A moment happens where you curse in your head. You're acting cool and collected, but the idea bubbling in your mind is one of the most outlandish you've ever come up with. Are you really going to do this?

Mingyu eyes the cheque hungrily. That seals it. He needs money, and that's really the best thing you have to offer anyone, so why not someone with a pretty face?

You smile. "--or you could marry me."

[lets-try-some-writing]

I saw someone else ask about Transformers Animated and you said you had something in the works for it, mind if I ask about what it is? I know you do most of your work for Prime, but I would love to see what you have in mind.

It's been a LONG time since I've thought about animated. I don't think I have the drafts I wrote up for my various thoughts when I first watched the show anymore.

BUT I think I remember a few of the premises I came up with at the time.

Days of Old: Cybertron has long forgotten its history. The Autobots are all puppets of the Quintessons, although they are not aware of it. Only the Decepticons remember when their people were free, and even their memory is warped. The Allspark was taken from its place, the people have been physically altered to match what the Quintessons wanted. Nothing is as it should be.

Primus is not pleased, and he refuses to allow his holy stations to be corrupted. Thus he has returned one of his first creations to Cybertron to wield the Matrix and put things back the way they were.

Author's note: This concept would be a way to warp TFP elements into the animated universe. I personally imagine it is set in an alternate universe where the Quintessons never left and so continued to change Cybertronians to their liking. This way old TFP lore can still apply and certain world rules can still come into play. I also just liked the idea of young Optimus slowly remembering how the world used to be. It gives him an excuse to ally with the Decepticons since they are, essentially, a living remnant of the old world.

I don't know I just wanted lore so I made an excuse for lore.

Death Korps: The Primes aren't just high ranking generals, they are also absolutely insane. The most indoctrinated out of all of Cybertron's citizens, the Primes are raised from youth to fulfill the role of fanatic soldiers. They throw their lives away willingly if it is for the greater good and tolerate absolutely zero disrespect toward the Council. Imagine how things go when one disgraced Prime is saddled with a suicide mission and a team of heretics who don't give a flying frag about the government and its rules.

Megatron is going to have his hands full working to open the optics of one fanatic Prime, an exiled medical officer, two recruits who simply couldn't be indoctrinated, and a ninja who fled from the government sanctioned reprograming he was meant to undergo.

Author's note: I liked the idea of each of the team showcasing a different aspect of Cybertron's corruption. Optimus the religious fanatic. Ratchet the war vet who knew too much and thus was silenced. Bumblebee and Bulkhead who were born with the rare mutation that makes it impossible to be forcefully indoctrinated. And good ol Prowl who is one of the few with enough brain cells to get the heck out of dodge before he underwent what might as well be shadowplay.

The plot of this potential fic would follow Megatron's efforts to get these Autobots on his side. Primes aren't just fanatics, they are high ranking generals. They know things. If he can get to that knowledge, Megatron can win. But due to the fanatics that are the Primes, its not like torture will do anything. That means trust is the only avenue.

Warframes: The team are not what they seem. Megatron has begun to see it now that the Autobots on Earth aren't being pumped full of whatever Cybertron puts in its energon. They are growing, getting taller, stronger, and more aggressive. They don't seem to notice the changes, but Megatron is seeing it and he is enraged.

Vorns upon vorns ago the Council stole hundreds of Decepticon sparklings to make up for the lack of newsparks on their own side. They were considered dead, a lost cause. But seeing the team on Earth, Megatron now has a far greater fear. What in Primus's name are the Council planning to do with a bunch of warframes?

Author's note: Aka: the Cons now have a very VERY good reason to be extra pissed with the Autobots. Hundreds of their sparklings all stolen and each forced to remain on suppressors until the Council decides that its time to turn them into the super soldiers they need. In this particular idea, Ratchet SHOULD have been keeping the team on their suppressors and Prowl SHOULD have been ensuring that their civilian social coding was up to snuff. But neither have been doing that, and thus the three youngest bots on the team are coming into their own.

I imagine that at least one of the three are directly related to a high ranking Con. That way the beef can be REAL and PERSONAL.

I have some other ideas as well, but I will need to put them in a separate post I think since they are more one shot material than anything else. Let is be known, I wasn't actually the biggest fan of animated, but I loved the POTENTIAL it threw out for fic writers.

Please let me know if any of these appeal :) I will gladly write for one of them if I get a request for it.

[stiney]

WIP folder game

WIP folder game

I was tagged by @flootzavut

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Oh boy. Okay. I'm going to ignore the "tag as many people as WIPs" part btw (because oh lord I have a problem and it's starting fics and abandoning them apparently).

But starting with "have posted at least one chapter," we have:

Love Bites

Sending My Love from the Other Side of the Apocalypse

To Survive I Forged You Like a Weapon

Moving on to "actually have started drafting/outlining this" gives us:

B/BB/S

Dirty nonsense I guess

earshot redux but before Crush and with Spike

Halloween Reunion fic fragment

Halloween Reunion fragment 2

holly bday fic (oops this is really late)

In the Midnight Hour, Babe

Life in the Flicker

Little Ditty 'Bout Jack and Diane

mawwiage Take Me to Church

Once upon a time there lived a princess

Secret Nina Collab

Spatula

This Is Not a Happy Story

time jump to future

untitled WIP inspired by Spike's pants

Wizard of Sunnydale

In my WIP folder as a doc rather than just a note in my ideas spreadsheet, but only has bare bone notes/a premise/in one case just the poem that will be inspiration:

ayw rewrite

fangy slayers ideas

Roses, Late Summer

S2 Fangy Slayers

S6 Depresso Buffy Grave

@elysianholly @isevery0nehereverystoned @satinsafefromreality @werehorsebite @deaththekat @disco-tea @scratchmeout @alittlemoretime

[zarvasace]

It’s “appreciate yourself” hours! Pick five pieces of writing/art that you’ve done that you love and talk about them! ❤️❤️❤️

Ahhhh okay, thank you!! 💜🌻 I finally have a free moment (aka work is slow) so I'm going to work on drafting this out :) I have far too much art I'm proud of—I'm at a stage in my progress right now where I think my art looks pretty awesome. So this list will be stuff from my Greatest Hits collection on AO3. In order of oldest to newest, I think:

incandescently happy

An LU post-adventure work, one of the first longer fics I posted. I released one chapter a day over the summer of 2022, so a lot of the notes have something about my day in them. It's about 30k all told.

I absolutely adored expanding on what the boys might do after the whole LU adventure happens (though I did forget about the fact that I think Time and Malon have a kid during this time!) This work features some proto-Shatterproof stuff, like Wind having a prosthetic leg and Four starting to specialize in crafting prosthetics/disability aids. I gave Hyrule longer hair and a job making maps for the royal family. Legend got another adventure but also started a magic garden/orchard, which pulls in more business than Ravio's stuff. Four and his grandpa adopted a single mother and her two kids. Man I went off with some of these headcanons. I've always considered writing more in this world, but I think it stands very well on its own. Maybe someday I might revisit and rewrite it with some of my new skills. :)

Rise and Shine and Fall

Whumptober 2022, focused entirely on LU! Guys this thing is almost 78k. I realize now that most people pre-plan or pre-write for things like Whumptober, but I wrote these one by one every day, which was extra-hard because I had both college classes and a day job at the time. I came up with some fun AUs, learned a lot about writing (especially whump), and proved to myself that I can do hard things like this!! I've adored doing daily challenges since, though I haven't done it in a while. I look forward to this year's whumptober though!

I really like the table of contents in the first chapter—it makes things easy to find. I know individual works are probably more accessible, but I was still getting to know AO3, and those big numbers are fun. XD I have a hard time picking favorites, because I really went off on these, but I'd say a couple of them are:

Chp 3, "Right Here" about Sky

Chp 7, "Proof of Life" about Four and Shadow

Chp 18, "I'm onwy a babey :(" about Wind

Chp 21, "6:13" about Hyrule and Time

Chp 26, "Silence is Golden" about Wild

Chp 31-32, "The Worst Thing About Earth" about Legend, but kind of more specifically the rewrite/expansion I did last year... haha...

The Marvelous Misadventures of Wind and His Merry Band or Maybe-Human Heroes

It's been a while since I updated this story (56k, 6/8 chapters), but it's constantly on my mind. I've started chapter 7 twice, and I know what I want to happen, but I am easily distracted by the siren call of some other whump fics. XD

I freaking love this story, though. I really want to finish it. It's kind of an... experiment? I guess? I want to get published someday, and I picture myself writing middle-grade novels. This story is sort of my attempt to hit that tone. Also I just love Wind so so so much. Let him be cool!!

Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School

56k Four Swords completed story! I wrote this in a frenzy of like two or three weeks, then took another two to edit. It takes plot points from a vampire novel I enjoyed and twists and applies them to a story about Shadow and the Four Swords manga boys. I'm very proud of what I accomplished here, and that it's a complete story! I think it worked out really well. I learned a lot about plotting and handling larger stories, and it helped that I had the half-remembered structure of an existing novel to use as training wheels.

I love the worldbuilding in this story! The premise is that Shadow is an evil soulless vampire from a (rather abusive, not that he sees it) family of the same, but then he gets the ability to walk in the sunshine. He's assigned to go to high school for a while to get a feast for the vampire gala, but meanwhile he's developing a conscience and getting very attached to these human boys. I think I did a good job. I love rereading this, every scene is just so fun! :)

Counterbalance

55k exactly of a stupid LU darks AU. This started life as a series of oneshots and then the plot progressively got more and more convoluted and I love these stupid boys so much. The plot is very much not tight, in contrast to Blood-Sucker's Guide, but I learned a lot about how I write and how I like to plan with this one, too.

The characters are stupid and the plot is just kinda silly and there is both a bathhouse scene AND a spa scene. Legend blows up multiple things, my lovely nasty little Dark Links need smacks and therapy, and Prince has a legitimately emotional moment at the end. I love how it turned out, it's like an ugly little stuffed animal I made and hug until the eyes pop out.

That's five but I would be extremely remiss if I did not also mention something from Shatterproof:

The Incredible Shrinking Chain

About 10k, this is entry 31/68 in my series Shatterproof, which is a close-canon AU in which each of the boys has a different physical disability. This series also plays into my publishing ambitions, because whatever I publish will very likely have some disability representation. I'm rather passionate about it, actually! Shatterproof is close to my heart, and I'm so honored that so many people seem to love it too. :) I need to work on the next entry again!!

This entry in particular is so much fun. In it, the whole Chain sans Four is stuck mouse-sized, and Four has to travel out to Twilight's castle with them to get Dusk to help break the curse. They all have to figure out how to navigate while tiny, and Four pulls some very silly stunts. I love them.

Anyway, there's my list!! I've written a lot over the last like two and a half years, and I'm so so glad that I get to be here and part of this community. The LU fandom as a whole (or at least the parts I've seen!) is so welcoming and positive and I try to give back where I can! I'm going to suggest looking through my bookmarks and ultimate rec list collection to find some new favorites from some very talented authors! :) (oof I need to update the collection soon!! I've been seeing some awesome stuff!)

[velvetwyrme]

So Flipping Fate is my favorite Underfell Papyrus fic but what is your favorite UF! Papyrus fic?

AH 🥺❣️❣️ First off, thank you so much!! I'm glad you're enjoying Flipping Fate! :D!!!

Secondly, there's no need to apologize- my fav/s are definitely in the list you mentioned, but I'm more than happy to answer again here :]!! My favorite UF!Papyrus fic has GOTTA BE Thunderstruck. Absoluuuutely killer characterisation and development, delicious interactions and writing... I love it dearly 💖

Other notable fics (probably also in the list lololol) include; A Smile from the East and Roadside Attraction. ASftE made me fall in love with UF!Pap back in the old days of fandom, and Roadside Attraction made me adore him once again when I returned.

And since you asked so nicely, here are some more (sfw) UF!Pap/Reader recs that. also may or may not be in the list idk I didn't actually go back and check lol

Becoming Edge is a fic all about finding yourself and your identity through fashion and was instrumental in me doing the same. Really sweet!!! Pastel goth Edge... my beloved.

And speaking of pastel goth- My Soulmate is a Pastel Goth (And Other Concerns) is a enemies-to-friends-to-lovers fic with the added elements of Soulmates ✨! Love me some tempestuous soulmate fic. (Note: this fic also features Fem!Frisk as Sans' soulmate in the bg, so if you're not a fan, that's something to note ^^! Fr//ans isn't quite my thing, but tbh I'm really interested in seeing how things turn out for them here!)

Between a Rope and a Wrench, or; this skeleton is buying a lot of really weird, suspicious stuff but you will help him get it because it's your job and later because you're his friend. (Also, you choose his friendship over the possibility that you may become an accomplice in murder.)

Sound of Blooming... MAFIAFELL 💥💥!!!! It's been a bit since I read it but it's in ny bookmarks so... :3c!

A Home for Mending Souls is actually a UF!Bros/Reader, but it still counts. It's really good!! Healing from trauma! Soft moments! Slowly opening up to one another!

Till it Brews Over is a coffee shop AU where you purposefully misspell the name of your asshole regular, who just happens to be one edgy skeleton.

Also for additional fics that star UF!Pap that I enjoy/have enjoyed:

While I was looking for one of these fics it led me to realise that I STILL haven't read Fight Me! (by MsMk- not be confused with Fight Me! by Little_old_lady, which uses the same premise and is also really good, but it features FS!Sans instead of UF!Pap) Anyway, this is truly a travesty because they're a fantastic writer and I can only assume it got lost in my various open tabs >>"!! [Addition while drafting: I LOVE IT he's so sulky... I'm staring warily at the chapter count though. So much time for things to Go Wrong]

I actually really like UF!Pap in Bitty Hunt- his characterization is very much... reminiscent of that era of fic, but all the scenes with him in it are ones that have been seared into my brain !!

Another new-ish fic that I'm enjoying UF!Pap in is Honey Lemon Tea, which the summary succinctly describes it as "Papyrus finds his Grillby's... in the form of a very plain coffee shop.", and which I will less-succinctly describe it as "Anti-harem with a delightfully mysterious barista, with the obligatory awful gf"

Edit: I cannot figure out why for the life of me but the formatting looks REALLY weird on my end, but in the editor it's fine?? So if it looks weird/out of order to you please excuse this post, it seems to be some Tumblr Fuckery

[phoenixtakaramono]

OPERATION BABYLON - PART VIII

aka the butchlander sugar baby AU.

Tumblr Navigation (note I have not shared the prologue here with its premise setup; I’ve only started sharing this twitter threadfic on tumblr starting from the 2nd 🔞 scene): I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII

Update Schedule: weekly/ biweekly

Although Billy initially didn’t know what to make of the whirlwind Manhattan high-rise house tour Homelander insisted on bringing him on, he thinks he’s figured out Homelander’s game and the unspoken rules by the time he’s carted off to the second flat. So he settles into the routine of making the appropriate “ooh” and “ahh” noises hearing the Yank regale him, the foreigner, about the supposed history of each place.

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

Keep in mind, all of my AU Butchlander threadfics on Twitter are the unpolished first draft versions of what’ll eventually be polished up into long fics on AO3 under the Shock and Awe series. So you may regard this threadfic as an experimental first prototype and exclusive preview whose contents may or may not be changed in the future final draft version. We’re just loosely playing around with ideas and concepts for now!

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

TBC

(A/N) - Place your bets on which location Billy’s going to choose as his base of operations y’all voted for it so…. From this update, if there’s things I’d probably change from the threadfic in the edited AO3 version is going more into detail about the fascinating lore of 432 Park Avenue (here’s the tl;dr vid of why it’s the most hated building in NY), draw out the scene of the g0ry reveal to heighten the tension of what Billy had just missed out seeing, and provide a better description of the architecture of Hudson Yards shops. Alas I am constrained by Twitter’s character limit per tweet, haha, and this is the first prototype so I’m not too worried.

[azullumi]

“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage 

fear not

never look back.)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[practically-an-x-man]

TST! Catch me up on your WIPs? Who's stuck, who's flowing, anyone got any new ideas percolating?

Oh man.... this question hurts a little bit (not your fault, just me) because I've been stuck on a lot of my writing lately. It's not exactly a full-on writer's block, since I've been able to tinker around with things like that new Eris piece I just posted, but I've just had so much trouble putting new pieces together - and especially getting my longfics updated.

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself, I know that I shouldn't be forcing myself to write and that it's normal for fanfics to go months or even years without updating sometimes because people have lives. But by that same token... it's been almost a year for a couple of my longfics, and I feel bad about that.

But here's the rundown:

Longfics:

WWFA?: I did start working on the next chapter finally, it still needs some work before it'll be ready and will likely be a slightly shorter chapter, but I'm trying to get things gradually moving into the third act.

Heartstrings: Been a while for this one too, but I've got the next chapter outlined and have just been trying to get it started. Got a bit of a block on this one since it'll arguably be the most emotional, climactic chapter in the fic, and that's made it hard to start.

Taking Flight: In theory the next chapter will keep us moving into the third book plot, and I have notes jotted down for the order of everything and how Kestrel fits into it, but I'm still trying to sort out what the next chapter specifically will contain. I've got a whole book's worth of plot ideas (and then some; there's 2 more books as well) but need to block out where that falls into each chapter

Heart in Your Hands: I've got a pretty comprehensive outline and I know what the next chapter will be, just need to start it. That's true for a lot of these fics, I think. Once I get started I'm usually better about getting things moving, but it takes me a while to start

Smoke and Mirrors: Similar story to WWFA?, I've got some ideas for the next chapter so I can move into the last stage of the fic with the final few chapters, but I need to get working on it and find those emotional beats.

Desert Song: I'm a little more lost on this one. I've got an outline for the overarching plot points of the fic and where I want it all to go, but I'm struggling to figure out where I want to place this next chapter - how much needs to happen, how much time has passed since the last chapter, etc.

____

Oneshots:

I've got part 3 of the Gia Werewolf AU in the works, managed to write a thousand words or so for it in one session but haven't touched it since then. Might be introducing a new OC alongside that fic but haven't fully decided yet, which could be the hangup I'm having with it

Ruin (the final part of my Prometheus series) has been stuck at about 70% finished for months now, and I physically haven't been able to get a word on the page. In theory I do still want to finish it and post it, just for my own satisfaction and completing a story, but since everything's come out about NG I've just had an absolute block on everything related to his works.

I've been working on another Vivienne/Wojchek fic in which the Demeter must sail through a den of sirens, got a decent amount of that written and I'm liking it so far, but I need to get back into it

I also have a standalone Madison/Alex piece in which the X-Men visit Madison's hometown, a real emotional piece, but that's been stuck in my tumblr drafts for a long time and I need to decide whether I'm finishing it or tossing it

Still got that Rae/Warren Void AU that I started after Deadpool & Wolverine first came out, but honestly I've grown less interested in that idea and might not finish it.

I've got an IndiHux angst piece in the works, still playing with that amnesia/reconditioning premise but this time with Hux being victim to it, but that's another one that I started and just haven't picked back up

I've got a couple ideas for Eris on the back burner, but I just came up with a mythology-inspired angst piece that I might try to add to the whole timeline with Scars and Crane Feathers, don't have anything written down for it yet but I'm intrigued by the concept

And as always, I've got an assortment of other oneshot ideas floating around here and there (a Gia sickfic, a Terra&Pluto supplemental piece, a few ideas for Eris and Nikoletta, etc.), but I haven't worked on those in a while and haven't really had motivation to continue them right now.

I know it's not the end of the world, and I know I still am writing even if I'm not spreading that energy consistently across all of my projects, but it still hurts a bit to look at all the projects I've started and just haven't been able to continue in so long :/

Thanks for the ask, though! Maybe this will be the kick in the pants I need to get back to those longfic chapters!