#snow=hashes

[greenisms]

[coca-tbilisi-ganjaa]

Tbilisi marijuana tbilisi Georgia crystal batumi marikhuanana herb tbilisi

[classyrbf]

DO I LOOK LIKE HIM! #2 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...all his life it was just him and his mother, his father nowhere to be seen or found, vanished, a ghost. No one ever spoke a word of him, he didn’t even know his name. But deep down he begs for answers as his mother always said that he looked just like ‘him’

INFO...megumi x mom!reader, toji x reader, angst, family issues/trauma, absent father, implications of suicidal thoughts, talks of depression, toji is an assassin/in a gang, implications of murder, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

part 1

It was a chilly Saturday morning. The birds chirped as snow fell from the sky, laying a thick blanket across the trees and ground. Megumi was still asleep while you cooked breakfast for him like you always did. His favorite being eggs, hash browns and bacon. Two weeks ago you could’ve sworn your relationship with your son was ruined, came crashing down when he found out about his father. Toji Fushiguro. Though, it only seems like the situation only brought you closer than ever. He kept asking you about him, what he was really like, how he talked, what he used to wear, did he play any sports. He asked everything. And you told him everything.

You didn’t forget one detail about Toji. From the fifteen years that he’s been gone, you still remember every detail on his face like it was just yesterday. You remember the exact clothes he was wearing the night he left and you remember the look in his eyes when he walked out the door while you pleaded for him not to go. Fifteen years and it still breaks your heart to remember. Sometimes you wished you forgotten about him. Every since then you haven’t been with anyone else. You’ve tried and failed. Went on dates, went out to clubs and bars, whatever it was, but no one was him. No one was your Toji.

Some of your high school friends live happy lives, married, nice house and car with a big family and of course the family pet. But you never got your fairytale ending. You didn’t get the easy way like everyone else. It was just you and your son the entire time and whatever hardships you endured, it was for him. After Toji left you fell into a depression. You never left the house unless it was to get groceries or other essentials, but otherwise you were cooped up. It was just you and your son. Crying yourself to sleep every night seemed like the only option you had at that time. Wasting hours trying to call Toji only for it to go straight to voicemail. You prayed he come back for you two. But he didn’t. Years and years went by and you lost hope. You believed he was dead and maybe he was.

You loved Megumi so much. Everything you did was for him, every battle fought. He was the reason you kept going. He couldn’t grow up without a mother and a father. He doesn’t know that he’s saved your life.

“Mom?” You hear your sons groggy voice as he walks into the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder and laugh at the way he stands there, his hair messy and one of his eyes barely open.

“Morning, Megs. I’m just making you breakfast.” You smile. He hums in response, turning back around and dragging his feet into the bathroom. Even down to the mannerisms he acts exactly like him. You shake your head with a laugh, turning the stove off and grabbing his plate to toss the scrambled eggs on top. “Megs, your food is on the table when you’re done!” You shout. You run over to the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and pouring him a glass when the doorbell rings. “Hold on!”

Putting the juice away, you walk over to the door with the glass in hand. “Who is it?” You ask.

“It’s me.” A voice speaks. It almost sounds recognizable, but not. Your brows furrow while undoing the locks and when you open the door, the frigid air cuts through the warmth of your house and surrounds you.

“You must have the wrong—” As you look up, your eyes widen and the glass drops from your hair, shattering against the wooden floor. Your mouth opens to say something but not a word comes out. It was like you were stuck, frozen. Tears filled your eyes as you took in the man who was standing in front of you. “Toji…?” You utter, bringing a shaky hand up to your mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He grew slightly taller, his hair shorter and you can see the slight wrinkles in his face. He was a lot more muscular too, but nonetheless he still looked like him.

“Oh my god!” You jump into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Toji!” You sobbed. Being in his embrace felt so natural despite how long it’s been. He hugged you back, clenching his eyes shut as he breathed in your scent.

“Mom?! What was that?!” Megumi came rushing out the bathroom running towards where he heard the glass break. Instead, he halted in his steps when he saw the familiar face he only recently learned from photos. “Dad?”

Toji opened his eyes, his expression dropping when he saw Megumi standing there in front of him. You removed yourself from his arms, turning to see your son standing there with tears in his eyes. “Megs, it’s your dad.” You smiled, wiping your tears.

And Toji couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was like he was looking at a younger version of himself. But he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He knows it’s been fifteen years, but he was still expecting to see his two year old son walking towards him. Toji stepped into the house, slowly walking towards Megumi, hesitating to say or do anything until Megumi jumped into arms. “Dad!” He cried.

Toji clung to his son, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He muttered against his hair. “Please forgive me.” He breathed. You stood there with pursed lips watching the two of them reunited, but hearing Toji’s apologies broke your heart. “I never wanted to leave you. You understand me?” Toji pulled Megumi away so that he was looking at him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Ive missed you too.” Megumi nodded his head wiping his tears. “Mom told me. She told me everything. I don’t blame you, dad.” He sniffled, shaking his head. Toji looked towards you his eyes softening. It’s like you could see everything within him. All the regret, the sadness, the anger he’s been holding within him for all this time.

He stepped towards you, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “You still look so beautiful.” He smiled. “I never once stopped thinking about you.” He said, holding back tears. “You and Megs were always with me. I’m sorry for leaving you, baby.” He hugged you.

It was hard not to cry. You couldn’t hold in your emotions. Not anymore. Everything that you’ve been holding back was finally letting out. You missed him. You missed seeing him with Megumi. You missed his voice, his scent, his everything. “It was so hard, Toji.” You cried. “I needed you. We needed you.”

“I know, I know.” He kissed the top of your head, gently rubbing your back. “Be angry with me, do whatever you want to me. I’m just happy to have you both back.”

You could never hate him. That was never a thought in your head. You could never hate the man you love. All you could do was understand him and his pain. He was hurting just as much as you. He left to protect you and your son. “I thought you were dead.” Your voice broke through your sobs. “I thought…”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m here now,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” He kissed you again. “Come here, little man.” Toji opened his arm, allowing Megumi to hug him.

Toji thought he’d never live to see this day. He began losing hope, drowning in his fears and bad choices. When he left, he remembered your cries, carrying that hurt in his heart for years. He only dug himself into a deeper hole trying to get out of it. Trying to protect you and Megs, he did unspeakable things, shit that left him traumatized. The amount of blood on his hands was staggering. But it was all just to have his family back.

That life was well behind him now. It’s been behind him for months. All this he’s been looking for you, jumping through hoops to even get a glimpse of you and Megumi. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you moved on, if you found someone else and replaced him, deciding to leave this hellish place. But you stayed. Despite everything, you stayed.

“You’ve gotten so damn big.” Toji eyes scanned over Megumi. “About as tall as me.” He laughed.

“Yeah, well, I do look exactly like you.” He shrugged, smiling. “I’ve been hearing it my whole life. It’s finally nice to see the original.”

“The original, huh? I ain’t that damn old,” he scoffed.

Seeing them already get along and bicker with each other like it came naturally gave you a warm feeling in your chest. You’ve never seen Megumi’s eyes so full of life, like he found his other half. And in a sense, he did. You did as well. All of you did.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” Toji ruffled Megumi’s hair. “A lot.”

“I know. But can you promise me one thing?” Megumi asked.

“Of course.” Toji was quick to answer.

“Please, don’t leave me again. I don’t care what it is. Promise me you’ll never leave me, dad.” Megumi nervously began biting the skin off of his bottom lip.

Toji stared at his son. “I promise.”

a/n: a lot of you wanted a part 2 so I made one. I hope it lived up to the expectations tbh cause I wasn’t really sure what y’all wanted to me to write

[thoughtfulfiction]

Slippery Slopes

Author’s Note: I’m back?

Memorial Day weekend wasn’t usually something you ever had circled on your calendar.

But in recent years, it has become something special. It was one of the rare times you and Justin could actually get away together without work pulling you in opposite directions. You had time off for the holiday, and he had a few days free before starting OTAs, so the timing (and the stars) aligned perfectly for a long weekend in Aspen, Colorado. Just the two of you…plus a house full of your favorite people.

You’d even convinced Simi and his wife, Bailee, to join, knowing full well Justin had been missing him since their brutal separation when the Fehokos moved to Arizona.

“Uh oh,” Justin called from across the room, phone in hand. “Charlie, Tate, and Bree just got to the house. Bree made them take the early flight so she could scope out the best room. After ours, obviously.” You laughed softly to yourself because of course she did, the girl barely stayed in hotels with less than four stars.

He walked into the master and tossed his bag over his shoulder while reaching for your suitcase, following you down the stairs. “You do realize we’re only going for four days, right? Why does this feel like you packed for a two-week expedition?”

“I didn’t want to forget anything,” you said, grinning. “Besides, snow gear takes up more room. You know that.”

He rolled his eyes and started loading the car, stacking the bags like a life-sized game of Tetris.

Three hours later, you were standing in the giant rental kitchen with Bree, stirring spiked hot chocolate while the guys yelled obscenities at each other over some chaotic video game. The cabin smelled like pine, chocolate, and whatever cologne Justin had worn on the plane that still lingered on your sweater.

Simi and Bailee arrived about forty-five minutes before dinner, just as the sun started to dip behind the mountains. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed them until they walked through the door.

But more than anything, it was nice seeing Justin like this: relaxed, recharged, and free from the constant weight that came with being the face of the franchise. A little breather before the season came roaring back and tried to eat him alive again.

Over Spanish rice and chicken enchiladas, everyone started debating the weekend plans. You, Charlie, Tate and Bree really wanted to ski. It had been a while since you'd gone but after a few lessons back in LA you felt comfortable getting back on the slopes. Besides, what was an Aspen trip without it?

“Simi and I can’t ski,” Justin said, patting your leg like he knew exactly where your brain was going—which he did. You’d been talking about skiing pretty much nonstop since he first suggested the mountains. “And neither can Bailee. But you guys are free to do your thing. We should have a family dinner one night though, somewhere nice.”

"I love that idea," Bree pipes up. "I'll start looking at places, especially if...you're buying?"

“Yes Bree, it’s on me,” Justin said with a laugh as you shook your head. The second she got the green light, she took off for her room to start planning like it was her Olympic sport.

Simi mentioned wanting to walk around town and do some shopping while Bailee offered to head to the slopes as the group's designated photographer. Just because she couldn't ski, didn't mean she wanted to miss the views. Charlie and Tate started tossing around ideas for yard games and a chill pizza night at the house after skiing, texting Bree to make Sunday night the fancier dinner since they knew they'd be too tired to dress up any earlier.

Once the plans were semi-hashed out, everyone slowly began trickling upstairs. You stood too, stretching a little, ready to follow the natural flow of the night, until Justin gently grabbed your hand.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

You looked at him, slightly confused. “Everyone headed off to bed. So, I was gonna do the same?”

He shook his head, already standing up and grabbing his keys, still holding your hand. “It's not time to sleep yet. We’re going for a little drive.”

Justin’s idea of a little drive took almost an hour, winding up a snowy road with no clue where you were headed. You kept throwing questions at him, all of which he expertly dodged, until he finally pulled in somewhere and parked.

You squinted out the window.

“Iron Mountain? How did you even get this booked after hours?”

He grinned and climbed out of the car, grabbing a backpack you hadn’t noticed he packed. “Let’s just say, I pulled some things together.”

Inside were both of your swimsuits.

The place was completely empty except for one hotel employee standing by with a platter, two glasses of champagne and a tower of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Mr. Herbert and guest,” the employee said with a smile, “welcome to our hot springs. Please enjoy all 32 pools. The entire place is yours for the next three hours. If you need anything, just press the service button to your right, and I’ll assist. Enjoy your stay.”

You turned to Justin, stunned. “Oh my god, when did you even have time to plan all of this?”

“I just wanted to have some time to ourselves for a bit, couldn’t think of a better way to get you alone,” he smirked, grabbing your hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Let’s get changed. It’s freezing out here.”

The changing rooms were heated and quiet, tucked away behind a wall of glass that looked out onto the steaming pools. You slipped into your swimsuit quickly, heart thudding as the reality of the moment sank in. You and Justin. Alone. In a private hot spring resort under a blanket of stars. No cameras. No schedules. Just time. Precious, uninterrupted time.

When you stepped out, Justin was already waiting, shirtless, barefoot, his swim trunks slung low on his hips and his hair looked extra dark with the haircut. His eyes scanned over you once, slowly, and then again with a quiet sort of reverence.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Do I officially win boyfriend of the year?”

“Absolutely.” You smiled at him, pulling your robe tighter as you followed him down the steps into the pools. The water was warm, mineral-rich, almost too hot at first, but within seconds it melted the chill right out of your bones.

The two of you found a quieter pool tucked in the corner, surrounded by rocks and pine trees. Justin leaned back against the edge, arms sprawled out on either side like he owned the place. You swam over and settled beside him, the steam curling around your shoulders as the silence settled in.

Not awkward silence, the good kind. The kind that feels full and safe.

“This is absolutely insane,” you whispered, your head resting on his shoulder. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, turning slightly to press his lips to your temple. “Just be here with me.”

You let your fingers trail under the water, skimming across his thigh. He inhaled sharply, the kind of inhale that made you smirk.

“So,” you said, not-so-innocently. “All 32 pools, huh?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded, eyes closed like he was definitely not thinking about the way your hand was still touching him. “Not saying we have to hit every single one, but…I’d say we try a few.”

You could feel the heat of the water rising between you, mixing with the adrenaline humming low in your belly. His skin was slick beneath your fingertips, the scent of pine and champagne hanging in the air. You weren’t sure if the shiver running through you came from the chill in the air or the way Justin’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth.

You shifted to face him, your legs brushing against his beneath the surface. “I feel like you’re trying to behave right now.”

“I am trying to behave,” he said, eyes opening, meeting yours. “You think I planned a surprise like this just to act like some guy trying to hook up in public?”

“I don’t know, Justin. You’re looking at me like that and your hand is definitely on my waist.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling you closer until you were nearly sitting in his lap.

“It’s not my fault you look like that,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “You know I love spending time with you. Real time. Not phone calls between practice or rushed dinners or quick weekends. This. I needed this.”

You brushed his wet hair back from his face, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. “Me too.”

The first kiss was gentle, but there was nothing casual about the way his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there like he didn’t want the moment to end. It deepened with a hunger you hadn’t felt in weeks—months, maybe. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been starving for it. For you.

His other hand was at your waist, then your hip, then lower, pulling you flush against him with a low groan that vibrated in your chest. It wasn’t rushed, but there was urgency. Heat. A need he was no longer trying to hide.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his breath ragged. “I swear, I’m trying to be good.”

You didn’t answer—just kissed him harder, hands exploring the cut of his shoulders, the dip of his back, the way his body tensed beneath yours like he was walking a tightrope.

“You think this is behaving?” you whispered when you finally came up for air, your voice wrecked and uneven.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, up your spine like he couldn’t decide where to settle. “No,” he admitted. “But I’ve got about ten percent of my self-control left, and I’m trying to use it wisely.”

"Then don’t waste it,” you said, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “Save it for later. When there’s no water. No time limit. No clothes.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he might lose it completely.

“You are dangerous,” he said, his voice low and ruined. “You know that?”

“Only for you.”

He kissed you again—deeper, slower, more deliberate. A promise. A prelude.

You laughed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He tilted his head to meet your eyes again. “You deserve it. Every bit of it.”

You didn’t say another word. You just kissed him again, and let the night stretch endlessly ahead.

17 pools and a warm midnight swim took it out of you. And you didn't actually open your eyes until 11am when Justin walked in with breakfast. The expansive room with an impeccable view of the snowy scenery was something you'd never get used to. The room had it's own tub and fireplace in the corner and the bed felt like it stretched from one end of the room to the other. You happily sat up as he laid out the food before you, several plates filled with eggs, fruit, fresh bread and orange juice. "You're really pulling out all the stops this week aren't you? One more fancy surprise I might actually get down on a knee and propose."

Justin looked up from the bowl of kiwi he was sticking his fork in to give you a serious look, "you'd rather mop the ocean than propose. So we can probably leave the knee bending to me, you just eat and get ready to ski your heart out today. Are you guys heading out soon?"

"Yeah we're probably gonna get there around 1, hang out for a few hours and let you guys explore and then meet back here for pizza tonight? Maybe around 7:30?"

"That sounds good," he sighs, standing up to clear some of the empty plates, "don't have too much fun without me."

One by one, the ski crew brought their stuff out to Charlie's car and got situated. Simi and Justin saw everyone off, the quarterback reminding you to be safe and to call if you need anything. Bailee kissed Simi goodbye and told him to stay within his self appointed budget, which they both knew he definitely wasn't going to do.

Charlie drove up to the mountain and everyone got checked in. You and Bree had matching goggles and Bailee proudly took a group picture before everyone headed up to get their skis on. One of the employees ushered Bailee where to stand to take pictures and gave her a guide guy to ride around with so she didn't freeze waiting for everyone to head up and down the mountain.

The slopes were absolutely perfect. It was everything you wanted and you picked it back up with ease. Charlie and Tate tried to race you, losing badly. You and your crew took several selfies and got prime GoPro footage of Tate wiping out. You were absolutely in your element, being out there was the adrenaline rush you needed, it made you feel so powerful. So, in control. Bailee was there every second taking candid shots and visiting the gift shop to get her son something the toddler would think is fun.

Right before you all called it a day, you just wanted to go one more time. The day had been too good to end. You just needed one more ride down the mountain.

"I'll go with you!" Bree says excitedly, "this might be our best ski day ever. Let's go again."

You held hands with her as you went up on the ski lift, noses getting a little runny and starting to lose feeling in your fingers and toes but also feeling like you were on top of the world, which you technically were. The clouds were rolling in just slightly, soft flakes starting to drift again, making visibility a little fuzzier than it had been earlier.

Admittedly, you started a little faster than you should have. Bree was just ahead of you, laughing and calling your name over her shoulder, her voice carried by the wind. The cold stung your fingertips, but your face was flushed with heat—the rush, the altitude, the high of being alive.

You could’ve done this forever.

And then—

A sharp jolt. A sickening tug at your foot.

A rock.

You didn’t see it—you felt it, like the earth itself pulled out from under you. Your left ski caught, your body pitched forward, and suddenly gravity betrayed you.

“Oh fuck-”

You barely heard Bree’s voice before the white blur of snow turned into the stark, unmoving brown of a tree trunk. You twisted, trying to slow your momentum, poles digging into the powder—

Too late.

The impact cracked through your body like lightning.

Then—nothing.

Silence.

A void.

Noise, like the world was underwater. Your heartbeat pounded in your skull, your ears ringing as consciousness came creeping back.

You were facedown in the snow. You couldn’t move. Cold seeped into your bones. Everything felt heavy and far away.

Then...hands.

“No, no, no—” Bree’s voice cracked as she gently turned you over, breathless and terrified. Her goggles were on top of her head, hair wild, cheeks flushed with panic as she dropped to her knees. “Hey. Hey, babe—look at me. Come on, open your eyes—”

You blinked slowly. The world shimmered. The sky above you spun.

“Oh my god. You’re bleeding—” She was ripping off her glove and using it to apply pressure to the area. “Charlie!” she screamed, voice splitting through the air. “Call ski patrol! Right now!”

“I’m doing it!” Charlie shouted from somewhere behind her, already fumbling with his phone. “I’ve got ‘em—just hang on—”

Your mouth tasted metallic. Blood from your nose? Your lips? You didn’t know. You tried to speak, but it came out as a choked breath.

“She’s trying to talk,” Bree said, crouching lower, her hands cupping your face as she scanned for more injuries. “Don’t move, okay? Don’t try to move.”

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind her. Tate, pale as a ghost, his expression stricken. “They’re sending someone now. Ski patrol’s on the way. Five minutes.”

"Shit,” Bree whispered, staring at the cut on your forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep looking at me, alright?”

Your chest ached. Your side throbbed like something inside you had torn. You couldn’t feel your fingers anymore.

Then Bailee was there, sliding into the snow beside you, her camera tossed somewhere behind her, long forgotten. Her hand gently pressed to your chest, grounding you.

“Stay with us,” she said softly, trying to sound calm even as her eyes welled with tears. “Help’s almost here.”

Bree didn’t move. She gripped your hand tight in hers, whispering your name like a prayer, like if she just said it enough times, she could will you back to being fine.

Ski patrol arrived in record time, assessing your injuries. Everything was hurting but your head was swimming and your hair was wet?

"Definite head trauma. She may need a few stitches. Possible concussion too, we gotta move. Is someone riding down with her?"

Bree didn't even say anything, she just climbed in, grabbing your hand.

"Where are you taking her, so we can meet you?" Charlie says, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Aspen Valley. About 20 minutes away from here."

That was all they needed before rushing off to the car.

Charlie puts the keys in the ignition. “So... which one of you two is calling Justin?”

Tate stares at him like he’s just suggested amputating a limb. “What do you mean you two? I don’t remember your phone being broken.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta focus on driving. Can’t exactly give him all the info while navigating the goddamn mountains.”

Bailee groans. “You’re all pathetic.” She pulls out her phone and dials without another word. Her hand shakes slightly as she lifts it to her ear, like she knows exactly how this call is going to go.

Meanwhile, Justin had just spent twenty minutes listening to Simi argue with a sales associate about the difference between two shades of off-white. The boutique reeked of cologne and money, and his patience was wearing thin.

“This is the worst store on earth,” Justin muttered. “No way in hell I’m buying $900 sneakers so you can say drip in your caption.”

Simi snorted. “Yes you are. You’re gonna miss me and my fashion wisdom in a few months when we’re both back in grind mode.”

Justin laughed. He would. He already did, in some ways. These were the last quiet months before training camp swallowed them whole again. It wasn't often that the starting quarterback befriended a fifth round pick with one career receiving touchdown on his resume. But Justin knew that he had a brother in Simi for life and he was going to really miss having him around. They had been talking about how sad it was that their teams wouldn't face each other this season, making way too early bye week plans to try to see each other.

Then Justin's phone buzzed. Bailee.

He froze.

“That’s weird,” he said slowly. “Why’s Bailee calling me? Did you miss a call from her?”

Simi checked. “That is weird. She hasn’t called me today.”

Justin’s stomach dropped.

He hadn’t even hit the answer button yet, but he already knew. Something was wrong.

“Hey, Bailee, what’s going on?”

No small talk. His voice was low, taut, sharp with unspoken urgency.

“Something happened when we were on the slopes,” Bailee began. Her voice cracked. Not a lot, but enough for him to notice.

Justin’s entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, knuckles going white.

“She fell. It was pretty bad. Bree is with her now and they’re in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

No. No, no, no.

His mind reeled. What does ‘bad’ mean?

Broken leg? Broken spine? Is she bleeding? Is she okay?

“Which hospital?” he demanded, already striding toward the door.

“Aspen Valley. About twenty minutes from the slope. She—she hit a tree, Justin.”

He stopped short. His heart punched against his ribs. Hit a tree. That wasn’t just a fall. That was a crash.

“Was she awake?” he asked, voice tight. “Was she talking?”

Bailee hesitated. That pause felt like it lasted hours.

“She was conscious, yeah. But...out of it. She couldn’t really talk. She was bleeding. Her face—” She cut herself off.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut. He could see her face in his mind—laughing, teasing him over morning coffee—and now it was smeared with blood in Bailee’s voice.

“We’re on our way,” she said quickly. “We’ll meet you there.”

“No. I’ll meet you there,” Justin said. “We're leaving right now.”

He hung up. Stood still for a beat, phone shaking in his hand.

“She hit a tree,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

Simi grabbed the car keys off the counter. “Let’s go.”

Justin didn’t say anything after that. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Every cell in his body was screaming to do something, but there was nothing to do except wait. Get in the car. Pray the roads were clear. Pray she was still awake when he walked through those hospital doors.

She’d just been fine this morning. He’d kissed her before she left, teased her about bundling up like a little marshmallow. He’d offered to go skiing just to be with her. And now he was completely powerless.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking until Simi looked over from the passenger seat and said quietly, “She’s tough, bro. She’s gonna be okay.”

Justin couldn't answer.

He didn’t know if he could believe that until he saw her himself. Alive, talking, moving.

Until then, he would hold on by a thread.

A grade two concussion and five stitches on your forehead. By all accounts you were incredibly lucky. Other than the fact that you were nauseous and exhausted and your vision was still a little blurry and you were cold, yeah everything was great. Bree held your hand while they stitched you up and promptly grabbed you some water when everything was done and you had a bandage on your head. The plastic surgeon said that the scar wouldn’t be noticeable, which helped. But you were still dizzy. And tired. Too tired to even think about the fact that you haven’t talked to Justin since your fall.

And then suddenly—he’s there.

The door bursts open with a force that startles even the nurse. Justin strides in like he owns the damn building, eyes scanning your body like he’s expecting to see blood. His hair’s a little messy, probably from dragging his hand through it too many times. His eyes—stormy, wild, terrified.

Bree takes that as her cue to head out and give you some privacy. She gives your hand a squeeze and whispers that she’ll be right outside giving everyone an update. All you can do is nod. Her hand is quickly replaced by Justin’s much larger one, kissing your knuckles and letting out a deep breath he’d been holding since he got Bailee’s call.

“Hi baby,” he says, in the softest voice you’ve ever heard, “how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good honestly, all things considered.”

“What happened?”

“Um…memory is a little fuzzy but I was going and I think I hit a rock or something and I couldn’t regain control of my skis and I hit a tree. And then everything after that is a little gone. So you’d have to ask Bree, she saw the whole thing.”

He looks visibly uncomfortable at the retelling of events, trying not to physically flinch when you mention hitting the tree. Bree’s description is even worse and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let you out of his sight again. The doctors recommend you stay in the hospital for the night just because of the head injury and they give you the all clear the next morning.

You wake slowly.

Not from pain this time, though it’s still there, a dull throb behind your eyes and the itchy tightness of the bandage on your forehead, but from something gentler.

Warmth.

A hand wrapped around yours.

Justin.

He’s slumped in the plastic recliner next to your bed, head tilted back, lips parted slightly, fast asleep. His legs are too long for the chair, one is kicked out, the other folded awkwardly under him. His hoodie is bunched up around his shoulders as a makeshift blanket, his hands still loosely tangled with yours.

And there’s a paper coffee cup, half-crushed, resting precariously on the window ledge. Definitely hospital coffee. Probably cold. You stifle a laugh.

He didn’t leave.

You squeeze his hand lightly and he stirs immediately, jerking upright with a soft grunt. His eyes are still hazy with sleep, but the second they land on you, he’s wide awake.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough from sleep. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake.”

“You okay?” His hand comes up to brush the hair from your cheek. His fingers linger at your temple, tracing the edge of the bandage with infinite care. “Does your head still hurt?”

“A little. Everything hurts a little.”

His face falls.

“But,” you add, “waking up to you helps.”

That earns a small smile. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Even if you look like you fought a vending machine in your sleep.”

He glances down at himself, groaning at the way his limbs are tangled. “That chair’s definitely not regulation size for someone who is six-foot-six.”

“Your dedication is noted.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere.” His voice drops, steady and certain. “Not after yesterday.”

You watch him for a second. The bruised look under his eyes, the worry still faintly clinging to his expression even now. You realize he probably didn’t sleep more than a few hours.

“Did you stay here all night?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts your hand again, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “But you’re here. And I’m here. That’s all I care about.”

A soft knock sounds at the door before the nurse peeks in to check your vitals. Justin stands aside but doesn’t let go of your hand. You think he might never again, and honestly? You’re okay with that.

When the nurse leaves, Justin looks around.

“Alright,” he says, stretching. “Let’s talk about priorities. You need food, pain meds, and something to cheer you up. What’s first?”

“Honestly? Real coffee. Not that crime scene on the windowsill.”

He grins. “That’s fair.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, right beside the bandage.

“Back in five,” he promises.

And somehow, even with a pounding head and half your memory still scrambled, you feel… safe.

Like you’re already healing.

Because Justin showed up.

Because he stayed.

Because he loves you in a way that feels like peace.

That peace was a little disturbed when you got back to the house. The first day Justin barely sat down. After reading that green tea helped with concussion recovery, there was a fresh mug of it waiting for you every two hours. Pillows were fluffed, blankets were on standby, snacks were provided before you could even ask. Everything was done so you didn’t have to lift a finger.

It progressively got worse.

He was always in the room but he wasn’t with you. Not mentally anyway.

Tea was made—not because you asked, but because it’s been a while since your last cup and you might want another. He sets it down, perfectly aligned with the coaster, and murmurs, “Careful, it’s hot,” without even looking at you.

He’s sleeping on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly when you’d usually be talking or cuddling. He kisses your forehead but pulls away fast. He sits next to you but stares at the wall or out the window like he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you reach out and link your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t squeeze back either. Just let your hands rest there, like he’s too tired to pretend to be relaxed.

He quickly changes the subject when you bring up the accident, downplays his feelings, or deflects anything too real.

“You okay?” You ask gently, watching him set another bottle of water on the nightstand.

“Yeah. Just trying to keep you comfortable.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He pauses, hand still on the bottle cap. “Do you need anything else?”

And just like that, he’s gone again, in the room, but nowhere near you.

You feel the difference but can’t name it. He’s there, but you miss him.

He hasn’t left your side in days. But you’ve never felt so alone.

He keeps touching you, a warm hand on your back, rubbing your ankle under the blanket—but every touch feels like he’s checking for signs of life, not giving love.

It’s uncomfortable and makes you feel like a problem to be solved. At this point you can’t wait to be back in Oregon.

The flight home is quiet.

Not peaceful quiet. Not the kind where your fingers are laced and your heads rest against each other, but the stiff, brittle kind that makes your skin crawl and makes you want to scream.

Justin’s beside you, his knee just brushing yours, but it feels like he’s in another row entirely. He only speaks to ask if your seat’s okay. If you need water. If you’re cold. You nod. Say thank you. He nods back. And then it’s quiet again.

He scrolls through his phone without really looking at it. The window reflects his profile, jaw tight, eyes shadowed and you wonder if he even knows he’s clenching his fists in his lap.

The ache in your side pulses dully. You shift in your seat and catch him glancing over. He sees it, the wince, and immediately reaches for your bag.

“You want the meds? I can get them,” he says, already unzipping the pouch.

You put your hand over his. “Justin. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t relax either. His fingers tighten around the zipper and stay there, like he needs to do something to keep from saying what’s really on his mind.

You both fall silent again.

The house is still when you return. Everyone’s gone. The bags are dropped inside the front door and Justin helps you to the couch like you’re made of glass.

He gets you a blanket. Water. Your phone charger. He asks if the temperature’s okay. If your head hurts. If you’re hungry. If you want to watch a movie.

“Justin,” you say, before he can rattle off another question.

He freezes. Slowly turns back to face you.

You stare at him—really stare—and it hits you how present he’s been physically, but how far away he’s really felt for the last few days.

“You’re mad at me,” you say. Quiet. Certain. “You haven’t looked me in the eye since we left the hospital, and every time I ask how you’re doing, you change the subject or ask if I need more water.”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

“I need you, Justin,” you say, voice cracking just a little. “Not more Advil. Not another blanket. I need you to talk to me. So if you’re upset, say it. Tell me what's going on.”

His chest rises sharply and runs a hand down his face and paces to the window like he needs to physically walk off the anger radiating from his body. “I just can’t help thinking about it. You could’ve broken your neck. Did you even think about that? I mean, I know you were excited about skiing but we talked about it and you promised—you promised me you wouldn’t be reckless. And you still went out there with no regard for your safety. I mean god, you hit a fucking tree. Do you know how horrible that could’ve been?”

You let him speak.

All of it.

The pacing. The hand in his hair. The cracks in his voice. You let him pour every ounce of fear and guilt and helplessness onto the floor between you, watching as it piles higher than either of you knows what to do with.

And when he finally stops—when he finally lets silence settle back into the room, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot—you nod once. Calm. Even. Too even.

“Are you done yelling at me like I’m a child?” you ask softly.

Justin’s head jerks back like you slapped him. “I’m not yelling at you.”

“You kind of are,” you say. “You’ve been holding that in for days and now it’s all just…” You gesture between you. “Coming out.”

His face hardens in an instant.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child,” he snaps, “maybe don’t act like one.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t stop.

“You could’ve died. And I’m sorry if it pisses you off that I care enough to be upset, but you had no regard for your safety. You pushed too hard, went too fast, and now look where we are.”

You nod slowly. A tight, bitter smile pulls at the corner of your mouth.

“Right. Well,” you say, standing before he can see your hands shake, “I hope you feel better after that. I’m gonna sleep in the guest room.”

“Wait—” he starts, reaching for you, but you take a step back.

“I get that you’re scared, Justin,” you say, voice calm and cracking all at once. “But you don’t get to punish me for getting hurt. You don’t get to scold me like I’m some irresponsible kid who did this on purpose. I fell. It was an accident. And if you can’t talk to me without making me feel like a burden, then I don’t really want to hear it.”

His expression breaks—shame flickering under the frustration—but you’re already walking away.

And the silence that follows is the loudest it’s been all trip.

Justin didn’t sleep.

Not for lack of trying—he headed upstairs to lay down when you walked away, stared up at the ceiling for hours, counted the shadows stretching across the walls as the moon shifted outside the window. But his chest wouldn’t stop aching. His jaw stayed tight. And his mind replayed every word he’d said like a highlight reel of regret.

He’d meant it when he said he was scared. He just hadn’t realized how much of that fear had turned into anger, misplaced and sharp and aimed at the only person who didn’t deserve it.

Even Nova left him.

She curled up at his feet at first, her warm little body some quiet comfort in the dark, but by 2 a.m., she got up and padded out of the room. He didn’t need to ask where she went.

He pictured her curled next to you on the guest bed, protective, loyal, knowing instinctively where she was needed.

He wanted to do the same. Wanted to check on you. See if your head still hurt, if the nausea had passed. If you’d stopped replaying that fall in your recovering mind.

But he didn’t go.

Because after everything he’d said, after treating your fear like an inconvenience and your accident like a mistake, he wasn’t sure he had the right to be in your space. Not yet. Not when you needed distance, peace, safety. And he had been the opposite of all three.

So he stayed in bed, silent in the dark, and tried to understand the ache behind his ribs.

And it hit him.

This is what she feels every time I go down.

Every time he limped to the sideline. Every time you had to grab him an ice pack or sit beside him in silence while he pretended the loss didn’t gut him. Every hit, every stumble, every late night icing his shoulder while the world slept.

You’d been here. Quietly. Strong. Present.

And you’d never once made him feel like a child for it.

He rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow that still smelled like you, and shut his eyes against the sting.

He’d say something in the morning.

He had to.

Because if you could show up for him—again and again and again—the least he could do was find the words to say I’m sorry.

And thank you.

And I get it now.

The house was still dark when Justin finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His chest felt too tight, the silence too loud. He couldn’t take another minute lying there and pretending he didn’t want to be somewhere else.

With you.

He padded down the hallway in his sweats, pausing outside the guest room door. Light flickered faintly under the crack, the TV was on. He raised a hand to knock, then stopped. What was he even going to say?

But before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the door open.

You were awake. Sitting up in bed with a blanket pulled to your waist, one arm loosely draped around Nova, who immediately perked up at the sound of the door. Your eyes were tired, but not surprised. Like maybe you'd been waiting for him too.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like if he was too loud the moment might vanish. “Can I come in?”

You looked at him for a beat, then gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Justin crossed the room slowly and stood at the edge of the bed, hands in his pockets. Nova hopped down with a soft huff and found a new spot on the rug, curling into a ball like she understood her work was done for the moment.

Justin sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress and looked at you. Not your bandage, not the bruises or the shadows under your eyes. Just you. Safe. Alive.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost before you could brace for it. “The way I talked to you was unacceptable. I—I lost it. And that’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything, just blinked at him, waiting.

“That call was…” He exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair. “It was the worst feeling I’ve ever had in my life. Not knowing how bad it was. Or if you were even conscious or—if it was your spine or your head or if you could still talk or walk or—just, not knowing if you were okay. If you could even talk. I was sick with it. I kept thinking about everything that could’ve happened—almost happened—and I couldn’t do anything to fix it. I just had to sit there and wait and hope someone would call back and say you were alive.”

He paused, voice thick. “I think I carried that fear around with me all week. I didn’t know what to do with it. And I just…exploded. I’m so sorry for putting that on you. For lashing out when all you did was survive something terrifying.”

Your eyes softened, but you still said nothing. Just listened, taking in every syllable like it meant something. Because it did.

Justin glanced down at his hands. “I think I finally get it now. All those times you were the one sitting in the stands or the hotel room or the locker room waiting for me to walk out okay? I get it. I hate that I do. But I do.”

There was a beat of silence, and then you whispered, “It sucked.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“While I do appreciate you being honest and saying what you feel, you need to understand something. Just because you’re scared doesn’t give you permission to control me.”

“You know I’m not stupid. You know I don’t take risks lightly. You’ve seen me wrap your ankle, ice your shoulder, sit with you through weeks of bruises and headlines. I’ve been terrified every single time someone blitzed and you didn’t get up as fast as you usually would. But I never made that fear your fault.”

Justin reaches for your hand. This time, you let him hold it.

“I never want to make you feel like I did tonight. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You deserve someone who supports you when you’re hurt, not someone who kicks you while you’re already down.”

You let out a breath and lift both of your hands so you can kiss his knuckles.

“We both scare each other sometimes. That’s part of loving someone, isn’t it? But we’ve gotta learn how to handle that fear without turning it into something ugly.”

You shifted under the blanket, just a little. “You can sit closer if you want.”

So he did. He leaned in, slowly, giving you time to stop him, but you didn’t. Your legs brushed under the covers, and he reached for your hand, hesitated—then finally wrapped his fingers gently around yours.

“I missed you,” you murmured.

“I never stopped being with you,” he said, voice rough. “Even when I was being an asshole about it.”

A pause. Then, “can I stay here tonight?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

So he did. He crawled under the blanket next to you, pulling you close without putting pressure on your bandaged head or bruised ribs. You curled into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for the first time in days, Justin felt his heartbeat finally start to slow.

Neither one of you said much else. You didn’t need to.

Because you were here.

And so was he.

Finally.

You woke up tangled together, limbs looped, faces close, your cheek pressed into the curve of his chest. The kind of closeness that only came from surviving something. Nova jumped up on the bed like she hadn’t spent half the night there already, tail thumping against the comforter as she nuzzled between them like a proud little guard cat on duty.

Justin blinked against the morning light spilling through the windows, golden and forgiving. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel like he was holding his breath.

He looked down at you, still tucked safely against him, and smiled. A genuine one from the depths of his being.

“Hey,” he murmured, caressing your face.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice gravelly from sleep.

“You want coffee?”

You nodded, still half-asleep. “With that cinnamon oat milk you hate.”

He smirked. “Only the best for you, babe.”

He kissed your lips and climbed out of bed, grabbing one of his oversized hoodies and helping you into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. You winced a little when you stretched, and his hands instinctively steadied you.

“Sore?”

“Like I got hit by a tree,” you deadpanned.

He snorted. “Too soon.”

“In my defense, it hit me.”

Justin shook his head but kissed the top of your head before heading to the kitchen. You followed slowly, Nova glued to your side. By the time you made it to the living room, he had your coffee ready in your favorite mug—the obnoxiously large one with the handle shaped like a football.

“Ski trips are officially banned,” he said, handing you the mug.

You blew on the steam and took a careful sip. “I’m going to petition the NFL to ban you from throwing into double coverage.”

“Wow,” he said, feigning offense. “You’re really going to bring up the playoffs right now? You know some of those picks weren’t my fault.”

“Just keeping you humble.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. It felt like normal again.

You sat down together on the couch, Nova curling up between your legs. Justin slipped his hand into yours, fingers laced, firm.

“I love you, you know,” he said, voice quiet but steady.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Even when you’re bossy?”

“Especially then.”

You smirked. “Good. Because I’m never letting you get away with treating me like glass again.”

He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “And I’m never going to stop protecting you. Even from myself.”

The mug was warm in your hands. His fingers were warmer.

And for the first time since the mountain, it didn’t hurt to breathe.

[mortalfaerie]

here's some more snowbaird capitol power couple notes:

corio's descent into tyranny is slow. while he's become hardened by the end of tbosas, he's not yet autocratic and still has a long uphill battle to fight in order to reach his goal of the presidency

i think this scenario works best if he was never found out for cheating, and plays up the angle of lucy gray as a glamorous victor and a tool for capitol propoganda, maybe even bringing her on the first victory tour

he recognizes the way she dazzles on the tour and has a natural charm she adapts to situations and sees in her - in addition to the physical attraction he feels for her already - the makings of a shrewd politician's wife

on the tour he suggests marriage to her and they hash out the "terms" of it. lucy is a survivor and won't enter into it blindly, she wants her demands in writing (the covey to be allowed to travel again between districts once his political star rises, a stipend for them back in district 12, her own protection and freedom to do as she pleases in private). after they come to an agreement, they publicly stage their engagement on their victorious return to the capitol. they public eats it up - the darling victor who nobody expected to win and the capitol boy who believed in her.

with the plinth prize money, the snows again live in luxury in the restored penthouse. while the wedding is prepared for, lucy stays with the plinths for propriety's sake - since image is everything for a patrician family like the snows

they marry and it's the event of the season, covered on the capitol news and everything. while coriolanus attends university, lucy crafts her image as a kind, soft-hearted girl from humble origins, engaging in philanthropic efforts in the city and performing at events

behind closed doors, their marriage isn't just one of convenience, though. love is fickle for someone like coriolanus but he undoubtedly admires lucy gray and prizes her like a jewel. she's the only person he can truly confide in and the physical attraction he feels for her is undeniable. their marriage is definateky a passionate one in those early years.

the fulfillment of legacy is everything to coriolanus, and he's eager to start a family with her. lucy sets her own timeline on this, and they plan to have their first child five years into their marriage after coriolanus graduates from university and had successfully found a place in the capitol legislature - maybe not as an elected official yet (he's only 22-23) but definately as a rising star often covered in the news.

when their first child is born (patrician first name and a color middle name in concession to lucy's covey origins), his image is one of a young, new voice in government, favored by the younger generation for his perceived liberalism that flatters their posturing while never truly breaking the status quo (speaking of charitable efforts in the districts, scholarships for capitol citizens affected by the war, environmentalism, etc.), and lucy provides a glowing, humanizing element to him as his unlikely wife and mother of their child, the fairytale ending to their star-crossed lovers narrative.

lucy's existence as his wife and darling also helps to build the mythology of the games as a "tournament of honor," whereby the victor is "redeemed" and transcends their district origins. moreover, it places coriolanus as part of that mythology.

despite his cunning and sometimes cruel political tactics, coriolanus's patrician origins and social class would probably mean he views marriage and family - the cult of domesticity - as a symbolic and aspirational institution. for that reason, divorce is off the table and lucy is to be venerated and respected in public as his wife and the mother of his children - a part of the snow family and legacy. moreover, his own mother's gruesome death probably means that lucy's role as the mother of his children has an almost deity-like quality. in the first 10-15 years of their marriage, he'll probably indulge her every whim because she's given him children.

speaking of children, i think they have a lot of them. not so many that it's gauche in capitol terms, but enough that is projects his image as a "family man" and satisfies his own desire for a reborn snow family dynasty. i think lucy would be in favor of this for her own reasons, one being that she always grew up with cousins and a large family in the covey, and another being that each child endears her more to him and gives her leverage in their relationship.

and i think coriolanus would be a surprisingly involved father. his children are an extension of him, but his own childhood loneliness probably makes him a more indulgent father than her would have otherwise been. toys, games, clothes are always the best and he'll come home from the legislature as shift from cool, cunning politician to father of several small children reading to them before bed or laying on the ground building block towers with them.

as they grow older his expectations of them become more strict so that they live up to his standards, but they never doubt that their father cares for them and takes pride in them, in his own way.

lucy is a very involved mother. she likely doesn't have a formal career - she performs occasionally and still has a reputation as a beautiful singer - but she values her personal freedom to do whatever she wants more than that. she's often in the capitol taking their children to museums or parks or zoos, vacationing in some of the wealthier districts (since we know there's a tourism industry) and taking them to meet their cousins and extended family when the covey band is in town (and she gets to perform with them, too). their children see her as their clever, fun/loving mother who'd always slip them a sweet or pull a face to make them laugh when others weren't looking. and being seen publicly with their children builds coriolanus's family man appearance.

when coriolanus wins the presidency, they play up the angle of lucy gray as first lady of panem - she's like their jackie kennedy in a way.

when corio becomes president (young but not too young, probably in his early to mid 30s) this is probably when the cracks begin to appear in their relationship. he wants lucy gray to take an active role in the hunger games, perpetuating the glorious victor narrative and probably "crowning" the victor ceremoniously after the arena. while she fulfills this role publicly, she rages about it in private and begins to internally resent him for it.

even as their relationship deteriorates from a strategic but passionate match of comfort and admiration to one of public unity and love and private coldness and businesslike interactions, coriolanus won't discard her. while he'll kill political adversaries and is cruel and calculating in his governance, to kill lucy or divorce her is unthinkable because it would stain the snow legacy both publicly and privately. and even if he could make her death look like an accident, he would be tormented by having done it, remembering the way his father callously treated his mother and how she bled out in front of him. so she's safe, but in a gilded cage.

and while lucy gray might grow to resent him and even hate him at times, they have a codependent loyalty due to their "us against the world" relationship from the games to now. they are eachother's closest companions and confidantes, and more importantly, allies in the protection and assured success of their children. they are too deeply intwined in each other by then to be parted.

[cottagecore-raccoon]

Since the Christmas season is upon us, I thought I'd recommend some of my favorite Good Omens fics that put me in the holiday spirit:

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve by theshoparoundthecorner (40k)

“Bit of an odd tradition, if you ask me,” he said, if not to get his mind off the longing that had settled in his chest. Aziraphale shrugged. “I think it’s rather sweet. A kiss for good luck. Seems a nice way to start the year. Very human.” Crowley nodded. “Can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, that lot. Always finding excuses. First it’s mistletoe at Christmas, then it’s luck for the New Year…” “Well there’s no need to be so grouchy about it,” Aziraphale said. “I think it’s lovely.” Crowley’s heart ached a little more as he watched Aziraphale smile up at the glowing numbers on the building above them. Yeah, he thought, lovely. Five times Crowley thought about kissing Aziraphale on New Year's Eve, and one time he did.

Snow Angel by Vagabond (14k)

Human!AU. Aziraphale needs a date to his brother's Christmas party to avoid getting set up with someone. Anathema suggests Crowley, the office bad boy. They go, get snowed in, and have a heart-to-heart that ends in a Happy Christmas. From a prompt: Human!AU: Aziraphale needs a date for family Christmas. He invites the office rebel/bad boy, Crowley.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks (14k)

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. --- Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this? But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia. However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.

Shelter from the Storm by AppleSeeds (13k)

They're coworkers in town for a conference, but a storm has knocked the power out in the hotel where they were supposed to be staying, so Crowley and Aziraphale brave the storm and find their way to a charming little B&B, which has one room available, and it's the honeymoon suite, which only has one bed, and now Aziraphale is injured and needs to be looked after, and oh no now the power's out here too but at least they have the soft flickering glow of the candlelight but OH NO the heating's gone off too and it's getting VERY cold and Newt's the one trying to fix it... whatever will Aziraphale and Crowley do? AKA, what happens when I try to squeeze as many tropes as I possibly can into one story.

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (67k)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year. The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs. But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right? Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

I could definitely use some more recs, so reblog with your favorite holiday fics! Self recs more than welcome :)

[queuestarter]

static

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: explicit language, mentions of prostitution, angst

link to the request → reader and finnick get into an argument

open to submissions/asks !!

You watch the television with blood shot eyes. You’ve been staring blankly at the screen since President Snow announced the Quarter Quell.

You’re not sure how long it’s been- maybe six hours? All you know is that Caesar isn’t on the screen anymore, which is a shame.

You kind of like Caesar.

“Can you acknowledge me now? Or do you need to stare at the screen some more?” You hear Finnick ask you from where he stands in the doorway.

You didn’t realize he had come back home.

Your eyes snap away from the television to him. He looks disheveled. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red but not from overuse like yours are. You can see the lines going down his cheeks from where tears have dried.

“I didn’t realize you were going to come back so soon. Thought you would want to spend the rest of the day with Annie.” The words come out snarky, which you don’t intend for. You’re just stressed out and it seems that now is the perfect time for all of your pent up frustrations to make their way out.

“Oh, of course, bring her up,” he scoffs. “At least she can admit that she needs me around.”

You clench your fists in your lap, true anger forming. “And what does that mean?”

He lets out a deep breath through his nose. “I’m just saying that maybe my time today was better spent comforting someone who actually needed it.”

“I didn’t need your comfort?” You scream, standing to your feet. “I didn’t need you when my entire life just got turned upside down again? You know, Finnick, sometimes it would be nice to  have my own boyfriend here!”

“What was I supposed to do for you when you get in your own head and refuse to speak to me? Sit there and stare at Caesar fucking Flickerman smiling on the television for the entire day like you want to do? No- I’m going to go comfort my best friend when she needs me!”

It’s your turn to scoff. “Have you ever considered the fact that maybe the reason why I don’t ask for comfort from you is because I’ve learned not to expect it? You spend all your time in the Capitol, these days. Forgive me for leaning on myself.”

Finnick stalks closer towards you but you refuse to back down. This fight has clearly been a long time coming and you want to hash it out, now, before the tensions get any worse.

“You can’t blame me for being in the Capitol. You know why I’m there,” he hisses, poison lacing each word. 

You laugh. You actually laugh at that. “I’m not blaming you, Finnick, I’m just sick of this. In case you forgot, I also experience the same shit that you do. But at least I actually come home at the end of the day.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “So what does this mean for us?”

You blink. Your fists unclench. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Part of me feels like maybe this relationship has run its course but I still love you more than words can describe.”

He reaches out and grabs your hands, running his fingers over your knuckles. “I love you too.”

“We need to get our shit together,” you laugh without any amusement, tears suddenly welling up in your eyes. You’re not really angry anymore, just upset.

“We do,” he agrees.

“I don’t want to go into the Quell with this looming over me, I just want us back,” you continue on.

His grip on your fingers tightens. “You’re not going into the Quell.”

You can’t help but laugh in his face. “Don’t be stupid, Finn. It’s either Annie, Mags, or me and you have to know neither of them would have any chance of making it.”

“Don’t say that. You’re not going back in. What if I get reaped, too? I can’t watch you die,” his voice breaks.

“There’s so many other men here who have a chance to get picked,” you whisper, gripping his hand back just as tightly. “Besides, Annie’s gonna need someone to keep her sane.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he whispers back, fresh tears pooling under his eyes.

“We’ll get through it. Let’s just… let’s just promise to never let things get this bad again.”

He kisses your forehead before smothering you in a hug. “I promise.”

-

[rebelfell]

look at this stuff, isn’t it neat?

Hey! Who has two thumbs and took an in-depth inventory of all my WIPs? This guuuuuuuuy!

Thought I would put them up, mostly for me, but also in case anybody wants to peruse them and then pressure me into making some headway.

(lmao, good luck with that)

The further down on the list they are, the less recently I've opened them (if that makes sense?) And they’re going under a cut because there’s—jeeeeeesus—36 of them 😅

18+, MDNI for some of the content.

swap - your bff chrissy invites you to hang out with your former hook-up Steve, and her ex-boyfriend Eddie. what could go wrong?

smut blurb, hesitant - eddie wants to try out somnophilia, but he's really anxious and worries it'll be too much.

smut blurb - eddie isn’t letting you go down on him because he's worried he’ll blow his load if he sees you doing it. so you blindfold him.

for your viewing pleasure, vol 2 - you and eddie trying to navigate both your working relationship and your personal relationship; visiting Hawkins for the first time and meeting Wayne, etc.

neighbors au - you and eddie's first friend date, and your first date-date; domestic laundry fluff (pun very much intended)

pollen - exactly what you think it is.

hold your peace in pieces - long since neglected engaged!rockstar!eddie fic

american engine - steve truck smut

missed connections - modern!eddie WCIL companion series.

choose your own adventure - eddie comes home and overhears you having sex with your boyfriend (his roommate) Steve—nothing out of the ordinary, until you moan Eddie's name.

this summer is the apocalypse - eddie attends a faculty party with you, he gets jealous about your past with another professor. posted

tsita, 2 - eddie and steve in berlin finally hash out the details of your summer (literally).

tsita, 3 - valentine's snow day fluff extravaganza

special delivery part ii - waking up with Eddie the morning after, you guys keep getting interrupted.

striptease - eddie is nervous about going to a strip club for the first time. you show him what to expect.

dad!eddie & bad-at-kids!reader - you meet Eddie at a housewarming party thrown by your bff Nancy and her husband Steve.

argyle & ace!reader - argyle helps you learn how to smoke and you wind up confessing something.

so familiar - immoral reader hooking up with ex!eddie while he's 'with' someone else. sort of…

sick blurb - steve shows up while you're delirious from a cold and accidentally confess you like him.

never have i ever - a drinking game at a party reveals Steve has never been skinny dipping. you try to remedy the situation.

untitled - eddie shares you with steve for the night, so long as he gets to be in charge.

untitled 2 - when picking up weed for your boyfriend, you try to offer eddie an alternative form of payment.

blind date - robin tries to help you with getting over your ex by setting you up on a blind date. but you already know him…biblically.

the boy is mine (sarah's edition) - my entry for carolmunson's writing challenge that is so sweet it makes me wanna throw up.

first kiss - you run into eddie one night he's behind the bar at the Hideout and end up talking about your first kiss ever. Eddie offers a do-over.

ghost!eddie - joint venture with littlexdeaths and andvys that has lost steam, but has never left the back of my mind.

bath - ramble-fic about eddie learning to love baths (with and without you).

frenemies part ii - the morning after your edible confession followed by karaoke night with Robin and Steve hosting.

shelter from the storm pt ii - blowing eddie on your porch in the middle of the storm. (possible steddie if steve shows up trying to take refuge under eddie's roof?)

jealousy - pissing off steve when you smoke up with some guy in the boathouse at a reefer rick party.

coffee - exes to ??? with eddie, songfic based on "coffee" by chappell roan

with the band - harrington!reader secretly joins corroded coffin after eddie hears them singing in the shower.

camp steve - king steve is banished for the summer and finds himself working at the camp you've spent every summer at since you were a kid. him taking your virginity results in you and he having a secret relationship at school in the fall.

gator ii - follow up to cold dry stone where you're on a date that is interrupted by law enforcement. who would have thought?

friends with romance - modern!neighbor!eddie comes up with an arrangement with you where he provides some much needed romance, similar to FWB, except you don't engage physically.

beach - you meet eddie when he tags along on a beach trip with you and one of your friends.

if anything strikes your fancy, drop me a line, I’d love to chat!

love you, mean it! 🌠

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Thoughts on this as a Sterek AU?:

The vibe of the children librarian is definitely stiles but I think it would be cute if Derek was the children librarian so instead we have this:

Stiles wanted to work with children like his mother did, and the library was the best place. It had become his safe refuge during his mother’s sickness and he hoped to make it a safe place for other children. But he was also hired to keep track of the more magical books.

Derek has hired by the sweet old lady, Ms Beatrice, who ran the beacon hills library. Derek was pretty sure she was immortal. She took one look at him and decided to ignore all the gossip surrounding his name. He was put to work on the front desk because Ms Beatrice thought that would help the rumours and force Derek to interact with people. But also as a werewolf he would how to direct other supernaturals on what research they would need.

When stiles was hired Derek was definitely curious. As there was this bright eyed human who had the softest voice when working with children, but could turn around and insult you with the most venom Derek had ever heard. Stiles wore the most outlandish outfits but somehow looked absolutely ethereal in them. Not to mention seeing the stunning man working with children with his neck on display was ruining Derek’s control of his wolf. Beatrice thinks this this is completely hilarious.

Stiles knows how he acts compared to the other librarians, where he worked. Especially Derek hale, who brightest outfit that stiles had seen him wear, was a medium grey shirt. Not that he looked bad in it. Stiles had struck up a conversation with him a few times, but Derek alway responded with one or two word answers before he turned away. Most people would be off put by this but not Stiles.

Stiles had seen the way that Derek would interact with the quieter kids who didn’t feel comfortable enough around Stiles. With his small smile and bunny teeth, Stiles was so completely over his head. He also saw how Derek would curl in on himself when parents rushed their children away from him with nasty glares - or how his eyes would go blank when a women came on to strong. Stiles was an observer and knew he could be overbearing but there was something about Derek that made it so he couldn’t stay away.

Derek never knew how to answer stiles when he tried to make small talk. His tongue got tied standing so close to stiles in a small area; where all he could smell was ink,snow,home,lighting cinnamon, mate that made his chest hurt. Derek fleas from their conversations before he could embarrass himself by saying something like “hey, I’m a werewolf and I’m pretty sure you’re my mate do you want to get married”

This comes to head when there is an attack on the library, some dumbass tried to get to the magical section and summons a demon (this is beacon hills what did you think would happen). Derek is badly injured after saving Stiles and some of the kids there. Stiles manages to exorcise the demon despite being in shock that his coworker derek hale is Derek Hale, with a capital W. So Stiles, being Stiles decides to big him back to his apartment and heal him with his spark.

(Fuck yeah, getting to the good stuff). Derek wakes up the next morning, just wrapped in Stiles scent, warm and the most well rested he’s been since he was 16. Derek hears stiles in the kitchen and is prepared for judgement, disgust, fear and the worst reaction. Cue his surprise when stiles brings him a tray stacked full of food with a worried look on his face. His wolf goes insane at the sight of his mate courting him and Derek breaks.

Stiles was beside himself when Derek wasn’t waking up. He wasn’t sure how long it takes and werewolf, Alpha werewolf??? To heal from injuries given by a demon. So he made pancakes, everyone loves pancakes right?? He also made hash browns, bacon, eggs and waffles but that wasn’t important. He stacked the tray with as much food as he could carry and hoped Derek would wake up soon. So sue him if he was a little shocked to see Derek, sitting up (Awake) looking at him like Stiles was the greatest thing to happen to the earth since Star Wars.

The two of them end up talking (over each other in the beginning, but a+ for that communication)

“I’m a werewolf / spark”

“WHAT”

Once they both calm down they actually manage to have a conversation and Derek confesses that he was too scent drunk on stiles to have a conversation and stay in control. This makes stiles blush bright red and Derek is obsessed. He really wants to know how far down the blush goes. And it that moment, Derek just upfront asks to court stiles.

Stiles is an absolute gay mess right about now. He tries to tell Derek that he shouldn’t feel obligated to “reward” him after Stiles saved his life. Completely missing the point. Derek sees how insecure Stiles is in this moment and lays everything out on the table.

“No stiles, you’re my mate”

“Oh, Oh”

“Yeah, so please let me court you, let me take care of you.”

Stiles of course says yes!! They court for a week and a half before stiles breaks and demands that Derek has his wicked way with him. So Derek does.

Repeatedly.

The next morning they are officially a couple. Beatrice is so proud. She goes around beacon hills telling everyone that she single handedly got them together. She also goes around telling everyone that she is super excited to be a grandmother.

The sheriff is not amused.

Stiles and Derek get married three years later. Beatrice walks Derek down the aisle. She also tells an embarrassing story of the time when Derek got jealous over a child who declared that they would steal Stiles away from him and stiles would marry them instead. She cries over “her children” getting married and reminds them she wants grandchild before she to old to play with them. She spends half the evening snipping back and forth with the sheriff.

When Beatrice retires, stiles and Derek become known as the heart sickening couple who runs the library.

Thanks for the ask!! This was super fun to right!

[greenisms]

Travels

[mxtantrights]

WHAT IF: you were Helion's niece, and the only child he's ever really had to take care of. while almost all the fae day court know you to just be an ambassador of stability, Helion's closest allies know who you really are. but that circle is about to become larger with the introduction of Lucien being Helion's son and your first meeting with the night court's inner circle.

tags: azriel x fem!reader

note: this is NOT a series. it's more like a compilation of blurbs that can be read in order. things will happen outside of them that will be explained very quickly so they can be short pieces of work.

day court!reader disagrees with Helion about ongoing tensions with the night court

day court!reader has a dream about Lucien

day court!reader barges in on a meeting with the inner circle

day court!reader sets foot in the night court, without permission

day court!reader meets Azriel

day court!reader attends a joint meeting of the night and day courts

day court! reader runs into a member of the IC

day court!reader reveals part of the truth to Azriel

day court!reader has a secret meeting

day court!reader meets Lucien

day court!reader has another dream and a visitor

day court!reader has a difficult conversation

day court!reader (officially) steps foot into the night court

day court!reader hangs out with Lucien

day court! reader reaches a dead end

day court!reader gets closer to the truth

day court!reader connects the dots (she hasn't connected shit!)

day court!reader learns more about the secrets of her past

day court!reader and Cassian come to an agreement

day court!reader hears a harsh truth

day court!reader meets Eris in real life

day court!reader learns other people's secrets

day court!reader finds out about her lineage

day court!reader does something reckless

day court! reader has a dream (again)

day court! reader has an unexpected visitor

day court! reader and Azriel hash it out (mostly)

an old friend who knows old magic

day court!reader and Azriel find a new mystery

day court!reader returns to the night court

day court! reader finds the missing piece

day court! reader talks with Feyre

Helion tells reader the truth

An unlikely friend

the shadow in the autumn

the shadow in the autumn (Azriel's pov)

day court!reader has an unusual request

day court! reader and Eris see a beautiful sight

day court! reader has another dream

day court! reader has two grunts as crushes

day court! reader is presented a choice

day court! reader tries to run from feelings

day court! reader has a snow day

[locsandletters]

ᯓ words unsaid; j.musiala

──one shot

pairing ➜ jamal x black!fem!reader

word count ➜ 1k

warnings/notes ➜ a christmas fic on january 1st, who says no?

summary ➜ it's christmas eve, in the middle of nowhere, germany. you and jamal sit across from each other, the coffee cooling between you, and the words he’s too scared to say hanging in the air like mistletoe.

you're sitting across from him in the corner booth of some hole-in-the-wall diner that doesn't even try to pretend it's more than what it is. the kind of place that smells like burnt coffee and hash browns, with vinyl seats that stick to your thighs and holiday decorations strung up so carelessly, they look more like an afterthought than a celebration. there's a fake wreath hanging over the window, lopsided and shedding little bits of plastic snow onto the windowsill. outside, the world is white, the snow falling thick and relentless.

it's christmas eve, but it doesn't feel like it. not really.

you stir your coffee too much, the metal spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. jamal watches you pour in another packet of sugar, his lips twitching like he wants to say something about it but doesn't. instead, he rests his chin on his palm, elbow propped against the table, and just... looks at you.

the warmth of his gaze feels heavier than the heat coming off the mug between your hands.

you glance up, catching him staring, and your brows raise just slightly. "what?" you ask, tilting your head. your voice is soft, like you don't want to disturb the quiet that's settled between you two.

he shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. "nothing," he says, but it's a lie. 'nothing' isn't quite right, because it's everything, isn't it? it's the way your hair frames your face, the way the light from the flickering bulb above your table makes your skin glow. it's the way your laugh lingers in his head long after it's gone, like an echo he can't let go of.

it's the way he's been wanting to tell you for weeks now—months, maybe—but the words never quite make it past the lump in his throat.

"you're a terrible liar," you say, smiling a little, and it hits him like it always does.

he doesn't even bother to deny it. instead, he picks up the balled-up straw wrapper sitting by his plate and flicks it at you. it bounces off your wrist and lands in your lap, and for a moment, you just stare at him like you can't believe he's done it. then you're laughing, and it's the kind of laugh that fills every inch of the tiny diner, so bright and warm it feels like summer in the dead of winter.

he swears he could live off the sound of it.

"real mature, jamal," you say, but you're still laughing, and he grins, leaning back against the booth like he's won something. maybe he has.

he doesn't tell you, though, that he only did it because he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to say. doesn't tell you that every time you look at him like that, like he's something more than just a boy who plays football, it makes him want to grab your hand across the table and never let go.

he doesn't tell you that he loves you.

instead, he watches you take a sip of your coffee, your nose scrunching up because it's still too bitter, even after all the sugar and creamer you've poured into it. he knows you'll keep drinking it anyway, though. you always do.

outside, the snow keeps falling, blanketing the streets and the rooftops in white. the faint sound of christmas music plays from the diner's old jukebox in the corner—something slow and soft, the kind of song that makes you think about things you're too scared to say out loud.

"you ever think about where you'll be next year?" you ask suddenly, your voice quiet. your gaze is fixed on the window, on the snow swirling in the glow of the streetlights.

he hesitates, his fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. "not really," he admits. "i mean... sometimes. but it's hard to think that far ahead."

you nod, and there's something in your expression he can't quite read. something that makes him want to reach out and touch your hand, but he doesn't. instead, he says, "why? do you?"

you shrug. "sometimes. i just... i don't know. it feels like everything's moving so fast, you know? like one day, we're here, and the next..."

you trail off, and he knows exactly what you mean without you having to say it. he feels it too—the way time slips through your fingers like sand, no matter how tightly you try to hold on.

"i get it," he says softly, and when you finally look at him again, there's something unspoken between you, something heavy and fragile all at once.

he thinks about saying it then, the three words that have been sitting on the tip of his tongue for what feels like forever. but he takes too long, and the moment passes.

instead, he leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and smiles at you. "you know," he says, his tone light, "you could always just stay here. next year, the year after... forever."

you laugh, rolling your eyes. "in this diner?"

"why not?" he says, shrugging. "they've got great coffee."

you snort, looking down at your mug. "this coffee tastes like dishwater."

"well, yeah," he says, grinning. "but you make it worth it."

you roll your eyes again, but you're smiling, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

he thinks he'll have all the time in the world to tell you how he feels. thinks he'll have another chance, another moment when the words come easier.

but for now, he lets the moment linger, lets the sound of your laugh fill the space between you, and it's enough.

for now, it's enough.

[novelconcepts]

In watching more interviews with Liv about Van and the escalation of Van's pragmatism to such dark degrees, I find myself genuinely baffled that anyone could ever think Van the bad guy. I mean, I'm perplexed at finding ANY of these girls The Bad Guy. The bad guy is the situation. It's being lost. It's freezing. It's starving. It's being scraped down to the barest bone of being alive. They make choices that might be snippy, or cruel, or hard-headed, sure--Shauna refusing to just hash it out with Jackie; Jackie being too stubborn to come inside; Taissa refusing to discuss her situation plainly; etc--but by the time we reach the end of season 2, it doesn't even matter. Petty bullshit doesn't matter. Jealousy doesn't matter. Those things are still going to be present and complicated, because--for all their choices, for all the distancing they're trying to do--these kids ARE still human beings. But it isn't the point.

The point is survival. Plain, simple, straightforward. Van's pragmatism is survival. It is the difference between living another day with blood on your teeth or dying pretty. It is the difference between fighting forward through the fire and the snow and the hell of it all, and laying down to die. Van knowing, in watching the ritual violence of Shauna beating Lottie nearly the death, that they will be killing and eating one another soon. Van coming up with the cards for the hunt. Van not blinking when the moment comes, Van choosing a weapon that doubles as a tool to bring the body back, Van refusing to apologize for staying alive--it's not evil. It's not Bad Guy behavior. It's purely about survival, because there is nothing else left to her--or to any of them. They can play the pretty little Sweet Angel Girl game and die, or they can get dirty, bloody, horrific and fight. Van chooses the fight. Van chooses to fight for herself, for her lover, for her team, even knowing not everyone is going to make it out...because the alternate path there is that no one makes it out. Van knew the baby wouldn't live. Van knows the rest of them won't, either. Not unless they start making the hard choices.

And, honestly, the fact that Van sees this narrative coming. Comes up with this plan. Brings out the cards. To me, that is the opposite of Bad Behavior. That is as close to justice as anyone can find in the wilderness. If someone else came up with an idea, maybe it would have come down to voting--but that would have had such a human element to it, with bitterness or hostility or whatever ultimately petty shit always comes of humans selecting who to Other. The cards don't leave room for that. It isn't fair, because the situation isn't fair, because Man vs. Nature isn't fair, but it's as close to a just system as they could possibly find. It's the kindest solution to an unwinnable game. Not to bring it back to American Gods again, but all I can think is "it's easy, there's a trick to it: you do it, or you die." Van gave them that.

[kedsandtubesocks]

🎄Decorate my tree🎄

I’m so sorry I’m so late to this but I’m beyond grateful for the cute snow angels that tagged me @eupheme @quinnnfabrgay-writes @pedgito @sp00kymulderr ily

and yes it’s a dodger blue tree I had too LOL 💙

🫵 IF YOU HAVE A TREE PLS TELL ME SO I CAN DECORATE YOURS 🫵

no pressure tags: @stellamancer @willossom @burntheedges @perotovar @pastelle-rabbit @seiwas

@ofmermaidstories @hauntedhowlett @hash-slinging-slasher-trash @fairy-writes @kimkaelyn @julesonrecord @jolapeno @ahauntedcowboy

@andypantsx3 @startcarvingdarling @lowlights @almostfoxglove @toomanytookas @gasolinerainbowpuddles @chronically-ghosted @nothoughtsjustmeds @beigepajamas

Oh my goodness there’s so many more of you I want to tag so if you see this then PLS MAKE A TREE (if you’d like of course) SO I CAN DECORATE & TELL YOU HOW GREAT YOU ARE 🎁

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack short take (43)

Coral: I’ll be honest, our Menders-

Lucy Gray: Mentors.☺️

Coral: *glares at Lucy Gray* Our Menders might be a bunch of drunk idiots, but their gift baskets and cookies were delicious.

Otto: True. I can’t seem to stop eating the blueberry flavored ones.

Mizzen: Hey, does anyone want to donate their shares to me-

Panlo: For the last time, 4, we are not giving you our shares!

Mizzen: Why?!

Panlo: You know why!

Mizzen: Seriously, I don’t-

Ginnee: You literally stole and ate half of our goods already!

Dill: You also stole and ate Wovey’s last cookie.

Mizzen: That was Brandy!

Brandy: No, it wasn’t! I was too busy stealing and eating Reaper’s-

Reaper: That was you, 10?!

Brandy: See! I told you I was committing a totally different crime at that time.

Mizzen: Fine. It was me.

Reaper: You heartless little shi-

Mizzen: But you guys weren’t eating them!

Treech: Obviously, we were saving them for later!

Mizzen: But I’m hungry.🥺

Reaper: How are you still hungry?! You literally stole all of Lamina’s cookies!

Mizzen: But I thought she didn’t want them-

Reaper: Look at her! She’s still crying over them!

Lamina: My cookies!😭

Mizzen: Well, we can always wait for pretty boy (Coryo) and his rich boyfriend (Sejanus) to give us more food-

Marcus: Please stop mentioning idiot Plinth in front of me and my stale bread.

Treech: Why, Marcus? Are you embarrassed to see your friend again-

Marcus: Idiot Plinth is not my friend!😠

Lucy Gray: But you still ate the cookies he gave you-

Marcus: I ate them out of spite!

Coral: And you’re also invited to their upcoming wedding-

Marcus: Don’t remind me!

Circ: I’ll go to their wedding if you don’t.

Lucy Gray: Me too!

Mizzen: Free food is free food.

Marcus: Ughhh! Why are you supporting crazy Plinth and his pretty blonde boyfriend?!

Lucy Gray: FYI, Coryo’s hair is not blonde. It’s white as snow-

Marcus: You’re even using his stupid nickname!

Lucy Gray: We’re best friends.☺️

Marcus: Since when?!

Lucy Gray: Since the moment I promised Coryo and Sejanus that I’ll sing ✨Snow On The Beach✨ and ✨Lover✨ on their wedding day.😌💅

Marcus: Don’t say his name!

Lucy Gray: Sejanus.

Marcus: I hate you-

Sejanus: Hi, guys!😊

Tanner: What the heck?!

Jessup: How did you get in here?!

Coryo: My fiancé payed the Peacekeepers to let us in.

Coral: That’s allowed?!

Lucy Gray: Hi, Coryo!

Coryo: Hey, Birdy.

Sejanus: Hi, Marcus!

Marcus: I ain’t Marcus!

Sejanus: But-

Lucy Gray: I thought you guys were punished by your Dean for ruining your fancy school’s reputation?

Sejanus: We were!😀

Coryo: And this is our punishment.

Treech: To annoy us?!

Coryo: Unfortunately, no. But we were ordered by ✨The Academy✨ to bring you guys some food and supplies.

Lucy Gray: How did you even get your fancy school to support us?

Coryo: ✨Ravinstill Nepotism✨.

Reaper: Ravinstill?!

Coryo: It’s the most powerful name in the Capitol.

Coral: So where are they, Blondie? Where’s my cheesecake and burgers?

Coryo: Well, I was thinking about asking you guys what you want to eat because Sejanus said that we could order takeouts today.

Dill: What’s a takeout?

Coryo: Basically, you order the food that you want to eat and someone will deliver it here for you.

Lucy Gray: We can order anything?!

Coryo: Anything. My boyfriend is rich AF.

Sejanus: Order what you want, Coryo, my love, my Snow Angel!😍

Coryo: See. I told you he’ll pay for it.

Tanner: Must be nice to be Plinth’s sugar baby-

Coryo: Boyfriend.

Tanner: Sugar-

Coryo: Boyfriend.

Tanner: Baby.

Lucy Gray: Fiancé!😀

Sejanus: Husband!😘

Mizzen: I want a stuffed salmon with lemon sauce on the side!

Coral: One roasted lobster and hash browns for me!

Tanner: Baby back ribs with fries!

Dill: Green Bean Casserole!

Jessup: One stuffed turkey!

Panlo: A grilled cheese sandwich!

Lucy Gray: Smashed Potatoes with love on the side!😘

Lamina: My cookies!😭

Brandy: Chicken! A whole ass chicken!

Coryo: Slow down! I can’t keep up with all of you shouting at the same time!

Wovey: Can we order a whole serving of Apple Berry Pie?

Coryo: Anything for you, sweetie.

Sejanus: How about you, Marcus?

Marcus: I’m on diet.

Sejanus: But-

Coryo: Babe, let me do it.

Sejanus: Ok.😞

Coryo: How about you, Marcus?

Marcus: Give me a hundred chicken nuggets. I’m hungry.🥺

[luckydecay]

A Day Worth Remembering

Synopsis: To him, it's just like any other shitty day. But you think it's worth celebrating, even if just in a small way.

Reader x Dabi

Warnings: none

Squatter era

2k

A/N: I wrote this on my lunch break, so please excuse any errors! I haven't written in a hot minute and I am RUSTY.

“There you are.” Turquoise eyes glance lazily in your direction and Dabi raises a questioning eyebrow in response.

You hoist yourself up the last few rungs of the rickety ladder that lead to the rooftop of the hideout, balancing a little paper bag carefully between a half-clenched fist. “I figured I’d find you up here.” “Needed some quiet,” comes his raspy, flat response. “They’re too fucking loud.” You know Dabi is referring to the other League members and, yeah, he’s not wrong. Downstairs, the group is rowdier than usual, coming off the collective high of a post-mission success, even if the mission in question was nothing more than bringing home a haul of stolen goods. The goods in question are mostly food-related, but Twice made sure the heist involved copious amounts of alcohol too. After having nothing to do but squat in the dank and crumbling little warehouse with little to eat for the better part of a month, he decided on behalf of everyone that they deserved to indulge a little. And, with nothing to entertain themselves but each other, the others had started a loud and slightly-drunken game of poker, followed by an even louder game of Rummy. Between Toga getting distracted and changing the topic every few seconds, Twice yelling conflicting rules and Spinner taking the game seriously enough for everyone, it was nothing short of chaos. Compress’s contribution was feeding the others increasingly strong drinks (save for Toga, who loudly complained about not being allowed any) while trying to show off magic tricks. This only distracted Toga more, which caused Spinner to snap at her to pay attention, Twice to yell at Spinner about yelling at Toga and around and around and around they went. It only took a few minutes of this before Dabi, who looked less than enthused at the whole bonding thing to begin with, threw his cards down and slipped out the door. If the others noticed he was no longer there, they didn’t say anything about it. Dabi was the resident enigma of the group and as such, the League didn’t question it when he stalked off. Wherever he went, they knew he’d be back eventually. You noticed it, though. You always did. It was a cold night and it had started to snow, dusting the ground in white. On the outskirts of town like this, there were no city lights to give anyone the illusion of warmth making it feel even colder than it was. The flimsy jacket you wore didn’t do much to help, even as you curled it around you tight as possible. Your breath was visible in the night, a hash line contrasting to the way smoke was currently curling around Dabi’s form.

He was leaned up against the crumbling stone wall, a cigarette hanging loosely from mismatched lips.

If he didn’t vanish from the hideout completely, you usually found him up here. It wasn’t the first time you’d gone looking, but you were the only one who ever seemed to.

“You too?” he asked.

“We haven’t even gotten through one round,” you say with a grin. “It could be another twenty minutes before the turn changes. If everyone's attention can hold that long, anyway,"

This was sort of the usual with you and Dabi. It was your thing. When things felt like too much, when you needed a break or you just wanted some less overwhelming company, the two of you often sought each other out. It started subconsciously and then became an active choice, at least on your part. Sometimes the two of you would talk. Sometimes you just sat in comfortable silence. Out of everyone in the League, there had always been a bit of an unspoken thing between the two of you. You didn’t have a name for it, but it felt like understanding. It felt like kinship, though you can’t totally explain why. It’s not like the two of you have ever had any deep, soul-searching conversations with each other. It's not like you even really know anything about him. But something about the two of you just seemed to feel natural.

And, when you really sat with that feeling, you realized there was something growing there. Something that felt more than kinship when your eyes would occasionally lock and linger for a little too long or when you’d feel his gaze on you from across the room.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks, nodding at what you're holding.

“I have something for you.”

Dabi raises an eyebrow. It’s hard, at times, to gauge his expressions under the tight scars and patchy flesh, but you can see a rare hint of curiosity cross his features.

“That so?” he says. “And what's that?”

He watches as you move closer, taking a seat on the hard concrete opposite him.

Then, with a little more nerves than you expected, you reach Inside the little bag and take out a small vanilla cupcake with a dollop of icing topping it. On top of that is a single candle in the center.

At the sight of it, Dabi goes still.

“Got a light?” you ask, half-joking. “Something that won’t immediately ignite the entire thing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling the cigarette from his lips. “The hell is that for?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. And how the hell do you even know that?”

Dabi himself didn’t even know what day it was. It wasn’t like it was easy to track the days when you were hiding out in the middle of nowhere, keeping as far off the grid as possible. Half the time he didn’t even know what fucking month it was, much less the day. When you lived on the streets as long as he had, everything just started to blend together. In his world, the only indication of passing time was how hot or cold it got.

“You mentioned it once,” you say. "It was a long time ago.”

It had come up randomly, really. In an effort to try and learn a little more about each other, Toga had asked one day when everyone’s birthday was. Dabi had either been in just enough of a good mood to play along or he’d plucked a random date out of the air just for the hell of it. Either seemed likely, but the fact that he’d said ‘how do you know that’ instead of ‘how would you know that’ makes you feel a little bit confident that it had been a rare moment of seeing behind the curtain.

Dabi didn’t talk about himself at all. Nobody knew his real name or anything about him other than what he crafted for them to know. But there were little things you picked up on and you filed them away because when it came to Dabi, you couldn’t help but want to know him more. And then, when you caught sight of a calendar earlier that afternoon, the date jumped out at you and before you knew it, you were making one extra stop.

There’s a long beat of silence. Dabi stares at you with an unreadable expression and you clear your throat and wiggle your fingers again.

“Light?” you repeat, flashing him a little smile. His expression is unreadable and you find your courage faltering.

“I’m not going to sing,” You promise.

“Good. Neither of us wants to hear you do it.”

“C’mon,” you prod. “It’s already here. Can’t let food go to waste, right? We’re villains, not animals.”

“This is stupid. I don’t give a shit about it, you know.”

“I know,” you say. And it’s true. Dabi doesn’t seem like he cares about much of anything outside of his own personal vendettas. “But times are shitty enough as it is. And it's not like any of us have anyone else to celebrate these things with.”

“Let me fill you in on something,” Dabi says, flicking ash from the tip of the cigarette. “There’s nothing to celebrate.”

He shakes his head lazily, and his expression is so blase, bordering on mocking, that you’re pretty sure he means it. “Nothing. Birthdays don’t mean anything. It’s another fucking day, just like Christmas, just like New Years. All that shit.”

“Well, it’s here anyway,” you say, holding up the cupcake towards his face. "Might as well, right?"

He makes a sound of annoyance as he takes the cigarette out of his mouth. It’s burned so far down as it is that hardly anything is left of it. After a moment of consideration in which he gives you a do-I-really-have-to-do-this look and you give him a yes-you-do back, he holds the tip of the cigarette against the wick until it starts smoking.

“You could do this faster,” you point out with a smirk. "The quicker you do, the quicker you're put out of your misery."

The tip finally ignites. The single, solitary flame glows softly atop the white frosting and you smile at the smallest of shadows it casts across his patchwork face. Out here, there's no light save for whatever is in the sky, and the tiny flame might as well be a beacon.

“If you don’t want to celebrate, that’s fine. I’ll just do it for you. But you do have to make a wish and blow this thing out. It’s bad luck if I do it for you.”

“That so?” he asks, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“No idea, but we’re the last ones who should be playing with the possibility of bad luck right now.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. Then, after one last inhale, he throws the butt of the cigarette a few feet away and leans in closer to you.

“Make a wish,” you say hurriedly and he pauses only a few inches away, gaze flicking up to meet your eyes. The proximity and weight of his stare makes your stomach do a sudden flip and you feel your cheeks warm. Or maybe that’s just the heat that constantly radiates off of him.

He holds your gaze as he exhales the smoke he was holding in his mouth, slow and deliberate, the same way he does everything. The little flame is snuffed out as quickly as it came.

Dabi doesn’t move back, however, and even in the dim light, you can see the way the soft snowfall catches on the metal rings in his face before melting.

“Now what?” he asks you, never breaking eye-contact.

“Now, you enjoy your treat,” you say, a little more breathlessly than you'd like. You hold it out for him. “Preferably before it gets soggy.”

He takes it and you pull your legs up to your chest and curl your arms around them, watching as he lazily peels back the paper liner of the cupcake before that too gets tossed to join the cigarette. “I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I went with the safest option.”

The truth was, you didn’t really know what Dabi liked to eat, period, because anything resembling vulnerability--which even came down to eating in front of others--wasn’t something Dabi did. Even now, as you watch him stare at the little cupcake, you wonder if you should give him the privacy he probably wants and you move to stand.

But then he stops you by ripping the cupcake unceremoniously in half and holding half out for you to take.

“There’s probably some stupid ass rule about bad luck if I eat it all by myself,” he says.

You don’t try to hide the smile as you reach out and take the second half. Taking it as an invitation, you sit down again, but this time, you move to sit beside him so you can lean your back against the wall. You shoulders don’t touch, but you can feel the heat of him mere inches away and you have to fight the urge to lean closer.

The cupcake is fine. It tastes sweet and artificially store bought. Cheap. You wish it could have been better quality, but it wasn't like there were any gourmet bakeries around. Just whatever you could loot from the corner store.

Wiping your fingers on your sleeve, you cross your arms again over your body and tilt your head back to look up at the sky, watching the silent snowfall around you. Frankly, you’re freezing, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to sit out here with him, even if neither of you say much. It’s worth it to simply exist in a space with Dabi, in the secret hovel of a rooftop. If you listen really closely, you can still hear the faintest of sounds coming from down below, but it’s not as loud as the sound of Dabi’s breathing next to you, and that's comforting in ways that scare you. For a while you two just sit like that. And it's nice. And then it's him who breaks the silence, much to your surprise.

“I don’t remember the last time I had a birthday,” he says, which makes you realize he must have been thinking about it now. "Couldn't tell you a fucking thing about it." You glance sideways at him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s staring off into the dark distance. He doesn’t look wistful or regretful or even remotely sentimental. He says like a fact, but there’s something in his expression that makes you wonder what he’s thinking about, what he’s seeing behind his eyes that you can’t. You think about what to say, tilting your head to the side.

“Well,” you start slowly. “Now you’ll have something to remember.”

He looks at you and the corner of your lips curls upwards in a smile.

“I don’t have any presents for you, though,” you continue. “Maybe next year.”

He scoffs. “Next year,” he repeats. “What makes you think there’s gonna be a next year?”

“Won’t there be?”

Dabi shifts, reaching into his pocket to take out a second cigarette. He produces the smallest of blue flames and lights the tip. He doesn’t answer the question though and it makes something in your chest clench. You don’t know whether he means there might not be a League or a you or a him but his words feel weighted somehow and it pulls your attention fully to him. The cigarette hangs loosely in his hands and he hasn’t made any move to smoke it.

You run your tongue over your lips. The cold air has made them dry and chapped.

“Then…” you begin slowly. “I guess we’ll just have to make this one count."

“Guess so.”

And then Dabi is moving. He reaches for the side of your face with the hand holding the cigarette and leans in. You move, too, because somehow you knew that this was inevitable between you two.

He doesn’t ask permission to kiss you, he doesn’t wait to see if you pull away. Maybe he knew it was inevitable too or maybe he thinks he’s got nothing to lose. But when your lips meet, heat ignites in your chest and you feel yourself reaching for him, tugging him closer.

Your lips are cold and chapped. His are burned and uneven. And they slot together absolutely perfectly.

It’s soft at first. Softer than you ever expected Dabi to kiss someone, and it feels purposeful. You feel the thank you behind it before you feel his hand tip your chin up and his teeth catch your lower lip. Your hand moves automatically to his face and you curl your palm against the rough, patchy skin. He tastes like ash and artificial icing and it's good. It's so good.

When you break away, it’s just far enough that your eyes meet and a single breath is shared between the two of you. And you're not sure you've ever seen him look quite like that before. You wouldn't call it soft, but you'd say, for just a moment, he looks like he's a little less haunted than usual.

“Happy birthday,” you say softly and his lips quirk upwards. You lean back in and capture his lips again and you feel him toss the cigarette somewhere to the ground behind you, forgotten and unneeded.

You don’t feel so cold after that.