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jincapableoflove · 3 months ago

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the lunchbox delivery | drabble

A PART OF 'THE HOUSEHUSBAND DIARIES' DRABBLE SERIES

pairing: jungkook x (f.) reader

genre: househusband! jungkook, corporate office worker! reader, established relationship, flufff.

summary: jungkook, your soft yet badass househusband, goes on a city-wide mission—apron and all—to deliver the lunch you forgot in your morning rush.

word count: 2.1k+

warnings: flustered husband!jungkook, soft domestic moments, jungkook in a manbun (a warning in itself), office gossip, pda, shy but devoted husband, theyre so in love with each other.

inspired by: the way of the househusband (manga)

a/n: i have so many wips but i had to upload this 😭 i'm working hard on hoc and tggpp i promise. writing this reminded me of jungkook saying he'd make a great housewife while washing dishes in that one weverse live. requests are open for this couple! feel free to send in what ifs and drabble ideas!

the kitchen is bathed in soft golden light as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. it’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rhythmic chop of a knife against the wooden cutting board.

"when i see your face… there’s not a thing that i would change, ‘cause you’re amazing… just the way you are…"

jungkook sings along to just the way you are by bruno mars, his voice a little raspy from sleep but still effortlessly smooth. his lips curl into a small smile as he sways lightly on his feet, the melody slipping from his lips as he focuses on the task at hand.

your lunch.

he carefully scoops a mound of warm, fluffy rice into his hands, the heat seeping into his fingertips. with practiced ease, he shapes the grains, pressing and molding them until they take form—two perfect little bear faces, their tiny ears rounded just right. he sets them down gently into the bento box and tilts his head, inspecting them with a critical eye.

something’s missing.

jungkook reaches for a small sheet of gim, the dark seaweed paper crisp under his fingertips. with a tiny pair of scissors, he delicately cuts out little circles for the eyes, a small curve for the mouth. he sticks them onto the rice bears with chopsticks, making sure they align perfectly.

he grins in satisfaction before moving on to the rest of the bento. rolled eggs sit neatly beside the rice bears, their golden layers stacked just right. a handful of heart-shaped strawberries adds a pop of color, followed by small sausage octopuses lined up like tiny soldiers. the finishing touch, a few neatly arranged kimbap rolls, sliced precisely.

he carefully closes the sanrio-themed lunchbox, running his fingers over the pastel blue lid where cinnamoroll smiles back at him. he knows how much you love this lunchbox you picked out, giggling over how cute it was in the store.

jungkook double-checks everything, making sure it’s perfectly packed before setting it on the dining table. he even places a pair of your favorite chopsticks next to it, feeling proud of his work.

"when you smile… the whole world stops and stares for a while…"

bam watches from his spot near the couch, his head tilted in curiosity.

"you think she’ll like it, bamie?" jungkook asks, ruffling the dog’s ears. bam wags his tail once in response.

jungkook chuckles. "yeah, she better."

meanwhile, in your room, everything is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the distant chirping of birds outside. the warmth of the blankets wraps around you, and the pillow beneath your head is impossibly comfortable.

suddenly, your phone alarm blares.

your eyes snap open. there’s a beat of silence and then there’s sheer panic.

"shit, shit, SHIT!"

you bolt upright so fast that the blanket tangles around your legs, nearly yanking you back down. your heart pounds as you grab your phone, squinting at the time.

7:45 am.

OH MY GOD.

your early morning meeting.

the realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water.

you fling the covers off and practically hurl yourself out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. toothpaste, face wash, a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair, it’s all done in record time. you throw on your blazer, barely managing to shove your arms through the sleeves as you stumble back into the bedroom.

jungkook, still in his apron over his pajama pants and a loose white t-shirt, leans against the doorframe, watching you with a frown. "you okay, baby?" he asks, his voice thick with confusion.

"no," you groan, hopping on one foot as you struggle to put on your shoe. "i forgot i have an early meeting today—i’m so late!"

jungkook opens his mouth to remind you that you still have fifteen minutes but you’re already dashing past him.

you snatch up your bag from the couch, nearly knocking over the cushions in the process. your blazer is half-buttoned, your hair is still slightly damp from your rushed washing, and you’re 90% sure you forgot to put on perfume.

jungkook barely gets a chance to say good morning before you spin around, eyes wild, and grab his face between your hands.

his lips part in surprise just as you press a quick, rushed kiss to his mouth.

"i love you—BYE!" you say in a single breath, already turning toward the door.

jungkook blinks. "wait, baby, did you—"

but you’re gone.

the door slams behind you, the sound echoing through the apartment.

for a moment, there’s silence. then, with a small sigh, jungkook resumes his everyday tasks, putting on gloves before turning to the sink. once the last plate is set on the drying rack, he moves on to the laundry, gathering the neatly folded clothes into a basket.

woof!

bam, lying on his stomach near the couch, lifts his head and barks toward the dining table. his ears twitch, and his gaze flicks toward jungkook as if expecting him to do something.

jungkook follows his dog’s line of sight.

and there it is.

your cinnamoroll lunchbox, still sitting exactly where he left it. untouched. forgotten.

for a moment, he just stares at it, blinking in disbelief.

then, panic sets in.

"oh, shit."

without wasting another second, jungkook moves. he grabs the lunchbox with one hand and snatches his helmet with the other, practically sprinting toward the door.

within seconds, he’s outside, straddling his harley davidson, the engine roaring to life beneath him. the wind tugs at the loose strands of his tiny man-bun as he pulls his helmet on, securing it hastily before gripping the handlebars.

the city blurs past in streaks of neon and morning sunlight as jungkook speeds through the streets, the deep rumble of his harley davidson cutting through the early rush hour buzz. he leans into the curves with practiced ease, the sharp black of his leather gloves gripping the handlebars as he weaves between cars. the wind tugs at the loose strands of his hair, his tiny man-bun slightly coming undone beneath the helmet. he looks every bit the part of a street racer, dangerous and intense.

except.

there’s a pink apron still tied snugly around his waist.

and strapped to his back? a cinnamoroll lunchbox filled with rice bears and heart-shaped eggs, all carefully prepared for his wife.

the contrast is almost ridiculous but jungkook doesn’t care. his only mission right now is getting this lunch to you before your day gets too hectic and before you end up skipping your lunch due to your deadlines.

a few pedestrians stop to stare as he flies past, some doing double takes at the sight of a broad-shouldered, tattooed man speeding through the city with a pastel-colored lunchbox clutched under his arm. at a red light, an older woman on the sidewalk squints at him, eyes flitting from his dangerous-looking bike to the cute apron still tied neatly around him.

jungkook pretends not to notice.

but when the guy in the car next to him rolls down his window, giving him a once-over and raising an eyebrow, jungkook lets out a slow sigh before muttering under his breath,

"it’s for my wife, bro."

jungkook strides into the lobby of your corporate office, the heavy glass doors sliding open as he steps inside. the sleek modern interior, polished marble floors and employees in crisp suits moving with purpose make him stick out like a sore thumb.

not because he’s out of place.

but because he looks like the world’s softest yet baddest househusband all at once.

the contrast is undeniable. his back boots echo against the floor, tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his t-shirt, his posture confident. but then there’s the pink apron still tied snugly around his waist, its soft fabric a stark contrast to his sharp jawline and leather gloves stuffed in his pocket. in his hand, a cinnamoroll lunchbox, clutched almost too carefully as if the very fate of the world depends on its safe delivery.

the receptionist, bright-eyed and clearly entertained, has to stifle a giggle the moment she looks up.

jungkook notices.

his grip tightens slightly around the lunchbox as his ears start burning, a telltale shade of pink crawling up his neck. he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and raises a hand to awkwardly push back the loose strands of his man-bun.

“uh—” he clears his throat again. “i—i’m here for my wife.”

the receptionist blinks, amused. “your wife?”

jungkook nods, shifting uncomfortably. “yeah. y/n, she, uh… forgot her lunch.” he holds up the lunchbox like it’s exhibit a. “can you, um… call her?”

the receptionist definitely giggles this time, eyes flicking between jungkook’s sharp features and the adorable lunchbox in his hands. she doesn’t even bother to hide her amusement when she picks up the phone.

"of course, sir. one moment."

jungkook exhales slowly, standing there, trying so hard not to fidget. his fingers twitch against the strap of the lunchbox, his gaze flicking around the office, avoiding eye contact with passing employees who definitely noticed him.

he swears this is the longest minute of his life.

the moment your receptionist notified you, you practically sprint to the lobby, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you weave through your coworkers.

jungkook stands near the reception desk, looking utterly adorable despite the fact that he should look completely out of place. his man-bun is slightly messy from the wind, a few strands escaping to frame his face. his fitted shirt clings to his frame just right, tattoos peeking from the sleeve. but then there’s the apron, still snugly tied around his waist, the soft fabric completely at odds with the harley davidson keychain dangling from his fingers.

and in his other hand? your cinnamoroll lunchbox.

your heart melts on the spot.

"jungkook," you breathe, slowing down as you approach him. his big, round eyes lift to meet yours, relief flickering across his face the second he sees you.

"you forgot this," he murmurs, holding out the lunchbox like it’s the most important thing in the world.

something about the way he says it makes your chest ache with warmth. without thinking, you grab the lunchbox and then, before he can react—

you kiss him.

right there.

in front of everyone.

jungkook stiffens instantly, his brain short-circuiting as your lips press against his. it’s quick but firm, filled with gratitude and affection, and when you pull away, his expression is priceless.

his ears are so red.

actually, scratch that—his entire face is red. his doe eyes blink rapidly, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but can’t.

a few feet away, the receptionist giggles. several coworkers definitely noticed. someone even lets out a low whistle, murmuring, “damn, wish my wife loved me like that.”

jungkook malfunctions.

“i—y-you—” he stammers, gripping the back of his neck. “y-you didn’t have to—uh—”

you grin up at him, amused by the way he’s physically incapable of forming a proper sentence. “i did have to.” you shake the lunchbox playfully. “you came all the way here just to bring me this. what kind of wife would i be if i didn’t thank you properly?”

jungkook sputters, still blushing furiously. “b-but—”

you kiss his cheek this time, just for good measure.

his soul leaves his body.

the moment jungkook steps out of the office, the gossip erupts.

“oh my god, that was adorable.” “who knew your husband was such a softie?” “damn, does he have a brother?” “i swear, that was straight out of a drama.”

you shake your head, grinning as you make your way back to your desk, ignoring the knowing looks and teasing winks from your coworkers. no matter how much they tease, you don’t care because honestly? you love how much they saw. you love that they know just how sweet your husband is.

as you sit down, you run your fingers over the lunchbox, warmth blooming in your chest. jungkook had woken up early just to make this for you, chased you down just to deliver it. it wasn’t just about the food, it was about him, the way he always thought of you, always made sure you were taken care of.

at lunchtime, you carefully open the box, and the sight of the tiny bear-shaped rice makes your heart clench. he even arranged everything neatly, just how you liked it.

with a giddy sigh, you pick up your phone and type out a quick message.

you: you are the best husband in the world i love u sooo muchh 😭💖

a few seconds later, your phone buzzes.

kookie 🎀🐰 : damn right i am. you better eat all of it.

you roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself as you take your first bite, savoring the meal he made with so much care.

yeah. you were so lucky.

taglist open!! lmk ur thots <3

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buckysleftbicep · 9 days ago

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glitter and pancakes 𐙚 b.b

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nothing but fluff

summary: bucky never expected to be dad, but with glitter on his arm and both his best girls, he's never been more sure he’s exactly where he belongs.

word count: 692

author's note: hi loves! it’s father's day and i wrote a little something on the train home! 💓 also, i am 100% sure bucky is a girl dad! i just know it! 😭🫶🏻 love ya guys and stay safe out there!

The kitchen smelled like coffee and pancake batter—a little too toasted on the edges, the way Bucky always made them, no matter how many times you’d tried to teach him otherwise.

But you weren’t about to complain. Not when the sunlight was spilling through the windows just right, painting everything golden.

Not when you were standing there barefoot in one of his old shirts, warm mug in your hand, watching the man you loved shuffle into the room looking like a mess and a miracle all at once.

He was shirtless, hair sleep-mussed and sticking up at odd angles. His vibranium arm shimmered beneath a layer of glitter stickers and marker drawings, crooked stars, tiny hearts, a very enthusiastic attempt at a dinosaur.

You raised a brow over the rim of your mug.

“You forgot to wipe it off again.”

He scratched the back of his head, already grinning. “She said I needed armour for daycare drop-off. Who am I to argue with tactical advice?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away.

Before you could say more, the sound of sock-slapped feet padded down the hall, followed by a sleepy little voice calling, “Daddy!”

She barrelled into the room a second later, dragging her stuffed rabbit by one ear.

Her hair was a nest of soft tangles, and her cheeks were still pink from sleep. He caught her mid-sprint, lifting her effortlessly and blowing a raspberry into her tummy that made her shriek with laughter.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek.

“Your stickers are still there,” she said proudly, examining his arm. “You’re ready for battle.”

“Think they’ll help me win against the traffic?”

She blinked at him. “Only if you wear the lucky socks.”

Bucky set her down and crouched so she could rummage through the laundry basket you hadn’t gotten to yet.

She emerged with two wildly different socks—one neon green with flamingos, the other purple with stars, and handed them over like sacred artefacts. He took them solemnly.

“Perfect for combat.”

You were still laughing when he slid past you at the stove, his hand ghosting over your hip, warm and casual and familiar. He kissed the side of your neck just soft enough not to draw her attention.

“I made breakfast,” he said.

“I can tell,” you replied, eyeing the slightly charred pancake on the plate.

“It's not about flavour, it's about love,” he argued, already packing her lunchbox with a note and a crooked drawing of a smiling stick figure that may or may not have been you.

He even tucked in one of her favourite snacks, the ones he always claimed were “too sugary” but still kept hidden at the back of the pantry.

She climbed into her chair, legs swinging, biting into the burnt edge without complaint. “Daddy’s pancakes are my favourite.”

“See?” he said, tossing you a wink as he plated another slightly-too-crispy pancake. “Culinary genius.”

You snorted. “Bold claim.”

Before you could say more, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, warm, a little smug, just the way he always did when he was proud of something ridiculous.

“Ewwww,” your daughter groaned from the table, covering her face with both hands. “You’re always kissing!”

Bucky grinned. “Can’t help it. Mummy's too pretty.”

She giggled, peeking through her fingers. “You’re so gooey.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Gooey, huh? Like pancake syrup?”

She nodded seriously. “Exactly.”

He crouched beside her, tying her shoes with practiced ease before lifting her backpack over one shoulder.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

She nodded, reaching up to take his hand.

“Bye, Mummy!” she called over her shoulder, waving the stuffed bunny by one floppy ear. “Love you!”

“Love you more,” you said, heart aching in the best way.

Bucky lingered for half a second, met your eyes like he always did before he left.

“Bye, babe,” he said softly. “We’ll see you soon.”

And then they were gone, mismatched socks, glitter armour, bunny in tow, and the house felt quiet in the way it only did when the people you loved most had just walked out the door.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it, leave a comment or reblog if you did! it helps motivate me!

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shelovesosa · 15 days ago

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BEST PARENT WARS

art credits to jj59u on X

Pairing : singledad!Satoru x singlemom!reader

Contains : FLUFF, pretend megumi is gojos Biological kid…, domestic vides, Nanami cameo, dilf gojo , chaotic, idiots in love, he want that cookie BAD, slight enemies to lovers

Summary!! A petty rivalry ignites when Nobara complains about Megumi’s perfect lunches — made by his smug, sunglasses-wearing dad, Satoru. You fire back with your own over-the-top lunchbox masterpiece, launching a full-blown schoolyard cold war of snacks, supplies, and sarcastic notes. The kids are over it. The teachers are watching. And neither of you will admit you’re starting to enjoy the battle a little too much.

Part 2 >>>

The morning began with the hollow clink of a spoon in a mug, the scrape of chair legs across the linoleum floor, and a faint yawn echoing down the narrow hallway of your small but lived-in apartment.

Sunlight filtered through the mismatched curtains of the kitchen window, striping the breakfast table in honeyed gold and dusty shadows. A faint breeze passed through the open balcony door, carrying the smell of early spring—wet sidewalks, soft pollen, and the hint of cherry blossoms that hadn’t yet bloomed.

You stood barefoot at the stove, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and leggings, trying to stay awake as the eggs sizzled in the pan. The electric kettle behind you clicked off, steam rising in a slow coil. A familiar pair of feet padded into the room behind you.

“Morning, lovebug.”

A mop of dark brown hair peeked around the corner. Nobara’s eyes were barely open, her pink pajamas rumpled and sliding off one shoulder.

She rubbed her eyes and mumbled something into the sleeve of her shirt.

You turned the heat down and set her plate at the table. “Food’s ready. Toast’s got the jam you like—the one with the berries and the tiny seeds.”

Still half-asleep, she clambered into her seat and stared at the plate like it offended her.

Then, slowly, her shoulders slumped.

You noticed it right away. She didn’t swing her legs like usual. Didn’t hum or complain about the egg’s edges being too brown. Just sat there, silent, picking at her toast.

You took a seat across from her, concern rising.

“What’s up, baby?”

She didn’t answer right away. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. Then, with a sudden surge of quiet frustration, she dropped her toast and crossed her arms.

“There’s this boy in my class,” she muttered, almost like she regretted bringing it up.

You tilted your head, already bracing yourself. “Go on…”

“His name’s Megumi. He’s weird. He always has his bangs in his face like a video game character.”

You covered your mouth to hide a smile. “Okay…”

“And yesterday,” she said, sitting up straighter now, voice rising with offense, “he brought this ridiculous lunch. Like, full-on restaurant style. There were little flags in his rice, and his food was cut into tiny shapes. He had an actual bento box with layers. Layers, Mom!”

You blinked. “Wow.”

“That’s not the worst part.”

You waited.

“He had strawberries. But not like the ones from the store. They were… they were fancy. Like peeled or cut or something? No green. Just soft and perfect and shiny. And everyone in class lost their minds. Even the teacher said it was adorable.”

You laughed softly. “That sounds kind of cute.”

Nobara’s lips twisted in fury. “It was a power move.”

“A power move?”

“Yes. Because after that, all the girls were like, ‘Ohhh Megumi, you’re so lucky!’ and they were sharing with him and trading bites and asking to sit near him. And I was just sitting there with my regular sandwich and a juice box like a total nobody.”

You frowned, your heart twinging. “Sweetheart, you are never a nobody.”

She glared at her plate. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t even eat half of it. I was too mad. I just drank my juice and stared at the window like I was in one of those sad dramas you like.”

You blinked. “Okay, I feel personally attacked.”

She cracked the faintest smile, then went back to sulking.

You leaned across the table and gently pushed her hair out of her face. “You know what I think?”

Nobara didn’t look up.

“I think if some boy is going to show off like that, then we should show off even harder.”

Now she looked at you. “What?”

“I’m saying tomorrow… you’re walking into that classroom with a lunch so good the whole school talks about it.”

Her eyes widened, cautious. “Really?”

You nodded. “Rice flowers. Maybe heart-shaped egg rolls. Dessert. Sauce containers. The works.”

She leaned forward. “Can we do those baby sausages with the octopus legs?”

“I don’t know how to do those.”

“Please?”

You smiled. “Okay. For you? Anything.”

She beamed so brightly you could practically feel the pride returning to her little shoulders.

You leaned back. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“No fighting in the cafeteria.”

Nobara shrugged. “No promises if he brings peeled mango.”

You spent the rest of your day like any other — a balancing act between deadlines and errands, bills and groceries, switching from work mode to parent mode in five-second intervals.

But that night, once Nobara was asleep, curled under her fluffy pink blanket with a stuffed rabbit under her arm, you stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared down your enemy: the rice cooker.

“You’re going to work for me tonight,” you muttered, pressing the lid with authority.

It hissed to life.

You chopped vegetables with a dedication you hadn’t felt in weeks. Molded rice into neat shapes using a set of cheap plastic cutters from a forgotten drawer. You arranged the food like a tiny puzzle: carrots curled into spirals, broccoli tucked into a corner, baby tomatoes skewered with little picks shaped like animals.

You even made a tiny egg roll with cheese inside.

When it was done, you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand and smiled down at your masterpiece.

Then you drew a quick doodle on a sticky note — a bunny in sunglasses, giving a thumbs-up — and wrote:

“You’ve got this. Show them who’s boss. <3”

You stuck it under the lid.

A proud warmth bloomed in your chest. Take that, Megumi, you thought, turning off the kitchen light.

The next morning started with nervous energy.

Not Nobara’s — yours. Your hands were sticky with leftover rice and your bangs clung to your forehead as you triple-checked the lunchbox. You’d woken up a little earlier than usual — okay, a lot earlier — and skipped your usual five-minute scroll in bed to boil the eggs and heat the mini sausages again.

You’d even wiped down the bento box with a microfiber cloth like it was going to be inspected under a microscope.

Nobara, for her part, was calm. Too calm. She sat at the table in her school uniform, sipping her milk with quiet confidence. Legs swinging. Hair brushed and tied into her usual side ponytail with the bow she picked last night. A smug grin on her face.

“You think he’s going to be jealous?” she asked.

You slid the bento box into her backpack with dramatic flair. “Jealous? He’s going to cry.”

“Good.” She drained the rest of her milk like a villain toasting their evil plan.

You chuckled and handed her the lunch bag. “Just… be gracious about it, okay? We don’t need a bento-themed civil war in your classroom.”

“I’ll try,” she said innocently. “But if someone cries, that’s their problem.”

You pinched her cheek. “Who raised you?”

“You.”

“…Fair.”

Outside, the weather had warmed just enough to trick you into forgetting it was still March. The street buzzed with life — the hum of school vans, barking dogs behind low fences, the whir of a scooter passing too fast.

You held Nobara’s hand as you approached the school gates, slipping into the stream of other parents and kids. There was the usual chatter, backpacks bouncing, jackets slipping off shoulders. The cherry blossom trees lining the school yard were just beginning to bloom — delicate pink petals clinging like secrets to every branch.

Then you heard it.

“Megumi, wait up! You forgot your scarf!”

A loud voice rang out across the courtyard like someone had plugged a mic into the morning.

You turned instinctively toward the sound. There he was. Tall. Carelessly stylish. Sunglasses on his face like he was walking a red carpet instead of a sidewalk.

The man behind the pudding smiley face.

He was holding a striped scarf in one hand and a bright yellow lunch bag in the other. You watched as he crouched down beside a dark-haired boy — Megumi, presumably — and wrapped the scarf gently around his neck, fussing over the knot like it mattered.

Megumi stood there like a statue, arms crossed, letting it happen with the expression of someone who had accepted his fate long ago.

You stayed where you were, watching in silence as Satoru adjusted the kid’s collar and then, with zero shame, ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“Be good,” he said.

Megumi mumbled something. Probably “stop it” or “you’re embarrassing me,” though the words were lost in the wind.

You felt Nobara tug your hand. “There he is,” she whispered like you were scouting an enemy encampment. “That’s the bento boy.”

Your gaze flicked between the two of them. Satoru spotted you before you could look away. He grinned. And then he waved. A big, full-arm wave, like he was greeting a long-lost friend.

You blinked. Your eyebrows raised on instinct. You gave him a polite little nod. He started walking toward you.

“Uh-oh,” Nobara said under her breath.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Uh-oh.”

“Hey!” he said, cheerful like caffeine in human form. “You’re Nobara’s mom, right?”

You nodded slowly. “That’s me.”

“Satoru Gojo,” he said, offering a hand like this was a networking event. “Resident lunchbox tyrant.”

You laughed in surprise and shook it. His hand was warm, his grip light. “So you admit it?”

“Oh, completely. Megumi hates the attention. I live for it.”

You looked past him to where Megumi stood with his class, stoic and still. “Seems like he’s handling it well.”

“He’s a tough kid,” Satoru said. “Raised by the best.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “I saw the bento.”

“And I saw yours.” His smile widened. “Smiley face on the rice. Bold move.”

“Carrot stars,” you said. “Respect.”

“I didn’t know we were playing a game,” he said, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Well,” you said, smirking, “you started it.”

“True,” he nodded. “But I think you escalated it.”

“You brought pudding for the whole class!”

He gasped. “You saw that?”

“It was in the group chat.”

Satoru laughed so loudly that a few parents glanced over. “You’re right. It was a bit much.”

“Are we… doing this again today?” you asked, curious.

“Only if you are.”

You looked at him — at the tousled white hair, the half-zipped hoodie, the ridiculous sunglasses, and the way he smiled at you without a hint of self-consciousness. Then you grinned back.

“Round two,” you said. “Bring it.”

By lunchtime, the group chat was exploding. A mother uploaded a new photo of the bento display in the classroom — this time featuring not one, but two spectacular lunches.

Yours had made a splash. Heart-shaped onigiri, grilled vegetables shaped into flower petals, the rabbit napkin Nobara insisted on, and a tiny handwritten note folded into origami.

You felt proud. Giddy, even. Until you saw his.

Satoru’s creation was a monstrosity of love and chaos: a three-tiered bento box with tiny rice animals wearing nori bowties. There was a cartoon version of Megumi's face made out of seaweed and cheese. There were hand-cut apple rabbits. A slice of cheesecake with gold sprinkles.

He even included a tiny menu card. You stared at the screen in silence.

Then typed:

“This is getting out of hand.”

Satoru replied within seconds:

“Don’t hate the player, hate the lunch.”

You stared at your phone and let out a laugh so loud it startled your coworker across the room.

That evening, when Nobara burst through the front door, she was glowing.

“MOM,” she shouted, dropping her backpack like it owed her money. “They LOST THEIR MINDS.”

“Yeah?”

“Everyone said my lunch was better than yesterday. And that little origami note? That’s going in my pencil case.”

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Mission accomplished.”

“But…” she added, serious now. “Megumi brought dessert again. He said his dad likes to experiment with toppings.”

You blinked. “Did he now?”

“So,” she said, eyes gleaming. “What’s for tomorrow?”

You stared at her. At her spark. At this ridiculous little game you and another parent had started without meaning to — and how now it had become something that made your kid feel seen. Confident. You grinned.

“We make cookies tonight.”

The kitchen smelled like sugar and war. You were bent over the baking tray, carefully spacing out spoonfuls of dough as Nobara hovered next to you, holding a bowl of M&M’s like it was rare treasure.

“Do we add the candies before or after baking?” she asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“Before. Just press them in lightly so they don’t melt into weird blobs.”

“Like that time you made chocolate chip lava?”

“Okay, first of all, that was an accident,” you said, pressing an M&M into the soft dough. “And second, you still ate three.”

“I was being polite.”

You looked at her flatly.

She grinned. “And hungry.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugged at your lips anyway. It had been years since you’d baked like this — not just for sustenance, but for fun. For your daughter. For her pride. For something petty and strangely sweet that had grown between you and Satoru without either of you saying it out loud.

He was… charming, in that ridiculous way. Confident. Cocky. Endearingly extra.

And if you were honest with yourself — and that wasn’t always your strong suit — you’d started looking forward to his texts more than you wanted to admit.

Not that you liked him. Not like that. Probably.

You pushed that thought aside and slid the tray into the oven.

“Alright,” you announced. “Operation Cookie Overkill has begun.”

The next morning, Nobara practically skipped to school.

She held the clear box of individually wrapped cookies like a trophy. You’d let her decorate the labels — bright marker hearts and gold star stickers that looked like they were made by a seven-year-old with a grudge.

“Remember,” you said as she waved goodbye. “Share.”

“I’ll generously distribute,” she said, puffing her chest. “Like a queen.”

You watched her run toward the gate, weaving through backpacks and familiar faces.

Then, from across the lot, you saw Satoru again.

This time, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Just a gray hoodie and jeans. His hair was as chaotic as usual, but there was something different in how he stood — a little straighter. Less performative. He looked… handsome.

And unfortunately, he caught you staring. He smiled. No wave this time. Just a small nod. You gave one back and quickly busied yourself with your phone.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the flicker in your chest.

By noon, the cookie war had become a school-wide event.

You were at work, halfway through a salad, when your phone buzzed.

📸 Photo from PTA Chat Caption: “Nobara brought cookies for the whole class today! Adorable! And delicious! ❤️🍪”

You smiled. Scrolled.

Another parent chimed in:

“Satoru’s cinnamon rolls yesterday were amazing, but these cookies?? We’re getting spoiled!”

And then…

“Someone get these two a bakery already.”

You blinked. Re-read that one twice.

Before you could type anything back, your phone buzzed again — a private message this time.

From… Satoru.

Satoru: Okay. You win today. The cookie with the little smiley face in chocolate chips? Ruthless. I’m down. But I’m not out.

You stared at the screen, warmth creeping up your neck. You typed, then backspaced. Typed again.

You: I accept your surrender. But I expect retaliation.

Satoru: You will regret that.

You stared at your phone. Grinning like a fool.

That evening, just as you were unpacking Nobara’s bag, there was a knock at the door.

You opened it, only mildly surprised to see Kento Nanami standing on your porch. Crisp shirt. Jacket. Tie. Always dressed like he’d just stepped out of a finance meeting. Even after all these years.

“Kento,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He offered a small, polite smile. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

You stepped aside. “No, come in. She just finished dinner.”

He nodded and stepped inside. You could feel the shift in the air immediately. A little heavier. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

Nobara lit up the moment she saw him.

“Daddy!”

He crouched as she ran into his arms. “Hey, sweetheart.”

They hugged tightly. Her hair spilled over his shoulder. And for a moment — just a moment — you could see the family you once were, like a photo you hadn’t meant to keep in a drawer.

Kento stood, brushing her bangs aside. “How was school?”

She lit up. “Mom made cookies! I passed them out and everyone went wild. Even the teacher said we should open a bakery.”

Kento smiled. “Did they now?”

“Megumi said we were being dramatic, but I think he liked them too. He ate two.”

You froze slightly at the name. You hadn’t mentioned Satoru to Kento. Hadn’t meant to.

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t ask.

Instead, he turned to you. “She’s doing well.”

You nodded. “She’s… thriving, actually. Which is new.”

He paused.

“I’m glad.”

You both stood in that silence, not quite awkward — just old. Worn. Familiar.

Then he asked, “Do you want me to take her next weekend?”

Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Sure. Yeah. She’d like that.”

“She misses the cat.”

“She told me.”

You both chuckled softly.

He looked at you for a long moment before saying, “I’m glad she has you.”

And even though it was quiet, and simple, and deeply Nanami — it made your stomach twist a little.

He still cared. You knew that.

But love, in the way you both needed, had slipped through the cracks long ago.

Satoru walked into the classroom on Thursday morning carrying a giant box of craft supplies, his sunglasses pushed into his hair, and a confident little bounce in his step.

“You volunteered for class decorations?” the teacher asked, bewildered.

“Art is passion,” he replied smoothly, laying out glitter markers, limited edition washi tape, and a mechanical hot glue gun that looked military-grade.

You stood in the doorway behind him with a tray of cookies you’d baked for the class. You smiled politely.

“Satoru.”

He turned. “Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there, Miss Martha Stewart.”

“Crafts and snacks?” you mused. “How generous. Overcompensating?”

“For being better?” he asked. “Always.”

You leaned in with a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t trip over your ego. The kids might need the glue gun.”

By Friday, the teachers knew.

So did the kids. One of the parents whispered, “Are they fighting or flirting?” The answer was unclear.

Satoru had started writing messages inside his bento boxes. Not to Megumi — to you.

Today’s note:

“If food is the language of love, then you’re grammatically incorrect.”

The whole lunch table laughed.

Nobara rolled her eyes. “He thinks he’s funny.”

You snapped your chopsticks. “He thinks wrong.”

That night, you stayed up sketching a meal plan for next week.

It included:

* Onigiri shaped like your face.

* A thermos of miso soup that would spell “LOSER” in seaweed letters.

* A sweet treat shaped like a crown. Because, obviously, you were winning.

The next morning, you packed it all with a note.

“Didn’t realize ‘obnoxious’ was a flavor. Hope you like eating your words.”

Nobara shook her head in awe. “You guys are crazy.”

You kissed her forehead. “Crazy never loses, baby.”

Later that night, after the dishes were done and Nobara was asleep with her arm flung over her stuffed rabbit, you sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath you.

Your phone buzzed again.

Satoru: So. About Monday . Have you ever seen a bento shaped like an aquarium?

You laughed. Softly. Quietly.

Then you typed back.

You: I’m not scared. Bring the fish

It was the kind of Monday morning where everything felt too still.

The sky was pale, streaked with soft morning hues. You could hear birds chirping through the cracked window, the slow rhythm of life starting outside — but your apartment held an anxious buzz. The kettle hissed on the stove. Nobara munched toast loudly from the kitchen table.

And you? You were sweating over seaweed.

“Okay, okay—what does a goldfish even look like in rice?” you muttered, fingers trembling slightly as you tried to press a cutout into shape. You’d watched two YouTube tutorials. You’d used a cookie cutter. You’d begged a god you didn’t believe in.

All for one reason: Satoru Gojo and his threat of an aquarium bento.

Well, no. Just Satoru now. And he’d made it clear in his last message: this was war.

“You're acting like he’s your boyfriend,” Nobara said, watching you from the doorway as she chewed. “You should just ask him to come over and make lunch together.”

You dropped the rice mold.

“Excuse me?”

She grinned. “It’s obvious, Mom.”

You stared at her, flustered. “What’s obvious?”

“That you’re into him.”

“I am not into him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You stayed up to boil eggs at midnight and print tiny edible labels.”

You pointed a spoon at her. “You’re grounded.”

“I’m eight.”

You sighed dramatically and turned back to the bento. “This is for you, you know.”

“Sure. Totally. For me.”

You paused. “Is he… talking about it at school?”

Nobara shrugged. “Not really. But Megumi said his dad was ‘up all night yelling at seaweed.’”

You smiled, despite yourself.

You arrived at school just as Satoru did. He had one hand on Megumi’s shoulder and the other holding something under a cloth cover like he was revealing a masterpiece.

He wore a soft blue sweater today. Simple. Gentle on his frame. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d only just blow-dried it, and his sunglasses were pushed up into his hair.

He looked… softer than usual. You lifted a hand in greeting as you approached, and he smiled—wide and genuine.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Born ready.”

Megumi groaned beside him. “You two are embarrassing.”

Nobara gasped. “Us?! You’re just mad because we have better food.”

Satoru laughed and pulled the cloth off his creation.

And there it was. A full-blown underwater-themed bento. Blue-tinted rice shaped into waves, seaweed coral fans, cheese-starfish, and tiny carrot octopi with sesame-seed eyes.

You blinked.

He grinned. “Still not scared?”

“I respect the craftsmanship,” you said, peeking into your own container. “But I think my jellyfish dumplings are going to win.”

You opened the lid. Satoru leaned in.

“Oh my god—are those noodles shaped like eels?”

“You bet your sweet seaweed they are.”

You both burst out laughing. Megumi and Nobara sighed in perfect harmony.

The school principal sent a message at noon:

We love your creativity, but please tone down the lunches. The other kids are starting to get upset.P.S. We would love for both of you to volunteer at the spring festival next month.

You stared at the message. Then your phone buzzed again:

Satoru: We’ve been punished. But… group punishment? Are we officially in this together now?

Your heart skipped.

You: I think we’re lunch criminals.

Satoru: Does this mean we finally grab that coffee? Or are we keeping it competitive?

You: Coffee. But only so I can interrogate your rice fish technique.

That weekend , you found yourself standing outside a quiet café near the park. The sun was warm on your shoulders, and your coat hung open as the breeze tugged at the hem of your shirt. It had been a long time since you'd waited for someone like this — not for a meeting, not for a kid’s event.

Just… a coffee.

With him. When Satoru arrived, he didn’t greet you with a joke. He just smiled. Quiet. Warm.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled back. “Hi.”

He held the door for you, and the two of you slid into a booth. The smell of espresso and baked sugar filled the space between you.

He looked different without the performative chaos. Less shiny. More real.

You ordered lattes, and neither of you spoke until the cups hit the table.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say yes,” he admitted, stirring sugar into his drink.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

He smiled. “Megumi’s been sleeping easier since this whole thing started. He hasn’t said it, but… he’s happier.”

Your heart tugged. “Nobara too. She feels seen. Even when she’s pretending she doesn’t care.”

A pause settled between you.

Then he asked, quietly, “Are you and… Nobara’s father still close?”

You blinked. “He’s still in Nobara’s life. Always will be. But no, not… not like that.”

Satoru’s jaw flexed for a moment. Then he nodded.

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not.”

Another pause.

Then you added softly, “He’s a good man. Just not the right one.”

Satoru looked at you — really looked at you.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “sometimes the right one just shows up late.”

Your eyes met. And for a moment, the air felt too warm, too close, like the café had shrunk around the booth and the silence between your cups had turned into something fragile and hopeful.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Petals drifted from the trees like confetti. Satoru walked you to the corner, hands in his coat pocket, and you hugged your arms close.

He glanced over at you. “You cold?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

But he stepped closer anyway. Just enough that your sleeves brushed. And you let them. Just like that.

You never meant for it to be a date. You told yourself it wasn’t. That it was just coffee again. Just… hanging out. For the kids. For the bento truce. For your own sanity.

But as you stood in your hallway that morning, staring at your reflection — wearing your favorite blouse and those jeans that hugged you just enough — you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

You wanted this to be a date. You wanted him.

It was Satoru’s idea to meet at the local farmers market. You found him there just before noon, leaning against a vendor’s tent with two drinks in hand and sunglasses perched in his hair.

“Peach iced tea,” he said, offering you a cup. “I remembered you said you like sweet things.”

You blinked. “I didn’t realize you were listening that hard.”

“I’m always listening,” he said, then smiled like it cost him nothing. But his eyes didn’t move from yours for a beat too long. And your heart… did something traitorous.

You walked the stalls slowly, sipping tea and talking about everything except the kids.

He told you about the worst haircut he ever had — a childhood mullet, by the sound of it — and you told him how Nobara once shaved her eyebrows trying to “look fierce.”

You passed a flower stand. He paused.

“Pick one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting me choose?”

“I want to see what you think is pretty.”

You turned to the rows of fresh-cut blooms and carefully plucked a tulip — not the flashiest, not the rarest. Just… soft. Quiet.

He watched you hold it for a second, then said, almost too softly, “Figures you’d pick the gentle one.”

Lunch was shared on a shaded bench by the pond. You split a wrap and laughed too loud over how many ducks tried to steal your crumbs. One brushed his foot and he shrieked like a child.

“Nope. That was it. I’m done with nature.”

You were still laughing when you stood, brushing off crumbs — and his hand hovered just slightly at your lower back. Not quite touching.

But close.

So close.

That week, everything returned to routine. Until it didn’t.

You were waiting near the school gate for Nobara, arms crossed against the spring breeze, when a car pulled up quietly beside you.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. The silver sedan. The clean lines. The precision of it all. Kento Nanami.

He stepped out in his usual beige coat, hair combed neatly back, his presence like a book you’d once memorized: predictable, comforting, closed.

“Hi,” he said, voice even.

“Hey,” you replied, offering a small smile. “She’s almost out.”

He nodded. Then — his eyes shifted. Past you. To the figure walking across the lot.

Satoru.

He was laughing, something bright and easy in his expression as he walked Megumi toward the gate. He didn’t notice you at first — not until his eyes lifted and caught yours.

Then… he saw Nanami. And Nanami saw him. A flicker of recognition crossed both their faces. Not quite surprise. Not quite hostility. Just something… cautious. You felt the temperature shift.

Satoru approached, nodding politely. “Hey.”

Nanami gave the smallest incline of his head. “You must be Satoru.”

“I am,” he said, easy smile still in place. “You must be Nanami.”

You could feel the tension threading between them — not loud, not aggressive. Just loaded.

“Thank you for walking her in the mornings,” Nanami said to you, eyes on Satoru. “Nobara tells me you’ve been packing some… interesting lunches.”

“Guilty,” Satoru said. “Though she started it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make me separate you two.”

They both chuckled — polite, tight.

Just then, the doors opened and kids spilled out in waves. Nobara ran straight for you, waving wildly. Megumi followed behind, quieter but smiling as he saw his dad.

You crouched to hug your daughter, the men standing like mirrored statues above you — each holding half your past and present.

“Weekend plans?” Satoru asked softly once Megumi had taken his hand.

You glanced toward Kento, then back to him.

“Just a little rest. And time with her dad.”

“I get it,” he said, offering a soft smile. “See you Monday?”

You nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

As he turned to walk away with Megumi, Nanami glanced at you, voice low.

“He seems… interesting.”

You glanced at him sideways. “He is.”

He was quiet a moment.

Then: “I’m glad you’re smiling again.”

Your breath caught.

“Me too.”

You didn’t plan to invite him over.

Not that week. Not that day. Not while your apartment was cluttered with stray socks and half-eaten fruit cups and you hadn’t even remembered to light a candle to cover the scent of Nobara’s slime experiments.

But it just… happened.

Satoru had been waiting outside the school, balancing Megumi’s backpack on one shoulder and Nobara’s art project in the other — because she’d “forgotten it in his car.” You knew she hadn’t. You’d seen the way she smiled when she said it.

And you’d seen the look Satoru gave you when he said, “I owe you dinner now, don’t I?”

You could’ve said no.

But the thing was — your daughter had already run over and asked if Megumi could come up to play. So you said yes.

He took off his shoes the second he stepped inside, toes wiggling against your mat like he owned the place. Megumi walked in behind him, wide-eyed, cradling a small bag of LEGOs like a peace offering.

The kids disappeared into the living room.

You found yourself standing beside Satoru in your kitchen, hands brushing once as you reached for the same drawer.

“Oh,” you murmured, pulling back. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said, “I liked that.”

Your breath hitched.

You laughed softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he said, smiling as he leaned against the counter. “You do make this place feel warm.”

You tried not to stare. Not at the way his hair had flattened from the car. Not at the way he’d rolled his sleeves up, or how his voice had gentled around your daughter’s name.

You reached for a pan. “You cook?”

“I reheat.”

“Well then,” you said, trying to sound smug. “Prepare to be amazed.”

You made a simple meal — grilled salmon, soft rice, sautéed greens — but the way he watched you do it, you'd think you were crafting art.

Satoru offered to cut the vegetables, and you handed him the board with a quiet warning: “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

He pretended to be offended. “I have knife skills.”

You smirked. “Bet.”

The conversation stayed light. Easy. Familiar.

You’d never had this with Nanami — not because he was cold, but because everything with him had always felt structured, purposeful. Like it had to be done right the first time.

With Satoru, nothing was perfect. But it was fun.

You turned around to catch him stealing a cucumber slice.

“Caught you.”

“I’m sampling. It’s quality control.”

You reached to swat him, and instead — your fingers brushed his jaw. Just for a second. Just enough. And then the front door buzzed.

You knew who it was before you checked. Nanami stood there in his pressed shirt, tie slightly loosened, holding Nobara’s overnight bag.

“Thought I’d grab her early,” he said.

“Of course,” you answered, suddenly too aware of how quiet the apartment had become.

Satoru appeared behind you a beat later. He didn’t say anything at first, just raised a hand in polite greeting.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change.

You cleared your throat. “Come in for a second?”

He stepped in.

The warmth from dinner still lingered. Plates on the table. Soft music from the speaker. Laughter trickling in from the kids’ room.

Nanami scanned it all. His gaze landed last on you.

“Looks like you had company.”

You nodded. “Just dinner.”

A pause.

Nobara came bounding out, face lighting up when she saw her father. “Daddy!”

He crouched to hug her, strong arms catching her easily, pressing his lips into her hair.

“I missed you.”

She giggled. “You saw me two days ago.”

“It’s too long.”

She waved to Megumi. “Bye, Megu!”

Satoru nodded at her with a warm smile. “Don’t forget your slime.”

“I never do.”

Nanami helped her into her coat and grabbed her bag. But before stepping out, he turned to you.

“Could we talk? Just us?”

Satoru looked between you. Then nodded, quiet.

“I’ll keep the kids busy.”

You followed Nanami to the small bench just outside your building, where the streetlamps flickered and the chill evening air kissed your skin.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did you.

“I didn’t come here to interfere,” he said finally, voice low. “Or make you feel guilty.”

“I don’t.”

“I just…” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “You look happy.”

You nodded.

“I always wanted that for you,” he said. “Even if it wasn’t with me.”

Your throat tightened.

He looked at his hands. “I think I spent so long trying to build something stable, something lasting, that I forgot it also had to be… soft. And I’m sorry for the ways that made you feel invisible.”

“I was never invisible,” you said. “You just loved in a way I couldn’t hold.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s a beautiful way of putting it.”

A pause passed.

“I don’t regret loving you,” he said quietly. “I still do, in a way. I think a part of me always will.”

Your eyes stung.

“But I’m not here to win you back,” he said. “I’m just here to say… I hope he knows what he’s getting.”

You smiled. “He does.”

“Good,” Nanami said, rising to his feet. “Because I’ve never seen you glow like this.”

When you returned upstairs after kissing Nobara’s forehead before she left with her dad, the house smelled like soap and oranges. Megumi was asleep on the couch under one blanket, tangled in a mess of limbs and LEGO bricks.

And Satoru… he was sitting on the floor beside them, eyes closed, head resting back against the couch.

You didn’t wake him.

You just sat beside him quietly, your shoulder brushing his. And this time, you didn’t pull away.

You hadn’t meant to plan a family outing. Not when the word family still made your chest feel tight, uneven. You weren’t trying to blend anything. You were just trying to let the kids have fun.

But somehow, by the time you found yourself holding two park tickets and a paper map to the zoo, with Nobara’s hand in yours and Satoru carrying Megumi on his back, it felt… a little too perfect to call it just a playdate.

“Did we really just spend sixty dollars on entry and ten on a giraffe magnet?” you muttered, eyeing the stuffed animal in Nobara’s arms.

“She named it Sato,” Satoru whispered behind his palm. “Which I take as a sign she’s developing excellent taste.”

You elbowed him. He grinned.

The day stretched out like honey. You saw flamingos, lions, capybaras. Satoru bought all of you ice cream, then tried to juggle the cones and dropped his own on his shoe.

Megumi, with a rare smile, offered him a bite of his instead.

“I’m being generous,” the boy said, serious.

“You’re being perfect,” Satoru replied, ruffling his son’s hair.

You saw the way Satoru looked at Megumi — all pride and softness, a quiet ache in the space behind his smile. And the more you watched it, the more you started to wonder.

Where was her? The mother behind those eyes.

Later, the four of you found a shaded table near the panda exhibit, the air sticky with sunscreen and the squeals of nearby children.

The kids were coloring a shared map with highlighters when Nobara, suddenly, without looking up, said, “Dad, can Megumi come over again tomorrow?”

You stilled. So did Satoru. Megumi glanced up too. No one corrected her. Not at first. You looked over at Satoru slowly. He didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled — a small, breathless sort of smile.

“Maybe,” he said. “If his mom is okay with it.”

Your heart jumped.

But you just nodded, cheeks warming. “I think she’d say yes.”

The ride home was quieter. The kids knocked out in the back seat, your daughter’s cheek against Megumi’s head.

You stared out the window until Satoru finally asked, voice low, “You want to know about Megumi’s mom, don’t you?”

You looked at him carefully. “I do. But only if you want to tell me.”

He exhaled, the sound worn.

“She was someone I thought I’d love forever,” he said. “But I never got the chance to know if I actually would.”

You stayed silent.

“She left before Megumi turned two. Said she couldn’t do it — the parenting, the mess, the tether. She wanted freedom. I don’t hate her for that. But I don’t… admire her, either.”

You reached for his hand without thinking. And he let you hold it.

“She’s alive, somewhere,” he said. “But we don’t talk. Haven’t in years. I never wanted to tell Megumi anything that would make him feel unwanted.”

Your heart ached.

“Does he remember her?”

“Only in pieces. Mostly questions. I try to give him enough love for two people, but…” His voice trailed off. “Some days, it’s hard.”

You squeezed his hand.

“You’re doing a good job, Satoru.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Like he’d never seen someone say those words to him without expecting something back.

You whispered, “You’re a really good father.”

A pause. Then he leaned over. Pressed his forehead to yours.

And in the quiet, you could feel something shift between you — slow and warm and blooming. Not rushed. Not forced. Just real.

When he walked you upstairs that night, Nobara still sleeping in your arms, he didn't try to kiss you.

He didn’t ask for more.

He just looked at you, like he didn’t want to leave.

“Tell me next time you’re making bento,” he said.

You smiled. “I always do.”

And he turned and walked away — but not without one last glance over his shoulder, that quiet, boyish grin pulling at his lips.

And for the first time in years, as you closed the door behind you, the silence in your apartment didn’t feel lonely. It felt full.

You’d never seen where he lived. You’d seen the car, the way he dressed, the subtle signs of someone who lived more freely than most single parents. But his home?

It was a mystery. Until that Friday.

Part 2 >>>

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pap03 · 23 days ago

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Yknow I don't think enough people in general give this scene enough credit as to like

What it means

I think this is one of the few times we get to see Kris be really genuine with Noelle

The Maice only seem to attack Noelle because they like her

We know this from the ACT dialog and the little hearts that pop out after they hit a wall and run towards her

Hell the Maice even save Noelle from falling to her doom during Maus Puzzle 3

So this statement then is true, but there's another layer to it looking at the pair's history

Growing Up, Kris was known for pranking Noelle, seemingly constantly

Noelle has story after story, both in-game and on her blog, of Kris "attacking" her

And why they always did it is because they liked her, and liked spending time with her, even if it sometimes came off as mean-spirited

So then, like now, Noelle misinterprets the actions of those that like her, in this case the Maice, but historically, Kris, in favor of her own preconceived notions of romance

She specifically calls out the lunchbox, so tunnel visioned on Susie that now all forms of affection are filtered through her crush

I wonder how Kris feels about it, given that it's one of the few times they express Longing for Noelle like Noelle does for Them

#deltarune #noelle holiday #noelle #noelle deltarune #kris dreemurr #kris #kris deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #kriselle #they make me so crazy #sosososo crazy #I hope Toby uses them well

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finelinefae · 1 year ago

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sick bug [tattooH x innocenty/n]

synopsis: y/n works too hard and harry just wants her to be okay

word count: 3.5k

contains: fluff

a/n: hope u enjoy the first of many blurbs for flower !!

. . .

Y/N never ever, ever gets sick.

Ever since she was a little girl she had always had a strong immune system and even when she had the slightest hint of a cold, she’d gulp down a few pills and get on with her day.

It was a trait within her family to never let anything stop you from working, not even a sick bug. She distinctly remembers the first and only time she had caught something during high school. She had been one of the last people to catch a bug that had been travelling around groups of students and it just so happened to be during exam season.

Despite the hammering headache and the constant shivers, she went straight to school to complete her exams after her mother had given her herbal medicine she couldn’t seem to name- that she believed had some kind of magical healing properties- and a packet of ibuprofen.

Now that she ran a flower shop most days of the week, getting sick was a total inconvenience. There was always too much to do and not enough days in the week, so getting sick would just be a waste of time that could be used to get things done.

That’s what she kept telling herself, over and over, as she blew her nose into a tissue for the third time in the last ten minutes and swallowed two headache pills to ease the throbbing in her skull.

She was arranging flowers into vases as customers wandered around the shop. Her eyes could barely focus on the flowers she was cutting and arranging; she was constantly taking them all out and starting again. What was meant to be four vases of perfectly arranged flowers, was only one.

She was uncomfortably warm. Even though she had layered herself with three jumpers, she did so only because there were moments when she would suddenly feel cold and shivery. The heating was constantly up and down despite the fact it was the beginning of spring.

This was another reason she couldn’t allow herself to get rest. Spring was the busiest season, flowers were beginning to bloom and people were rushing to buy new flowers for the season to decorate with or send to loved ones.

There was just too much all at once and being sick was not allowed.

The morning had gone by in a blur - literally. Y/N couldn’t seem to remember who walked in and out of the shop too busy thinking about not throwing up every five minutes. It seemed the only person who could gain her attention as he walked past the shop window, was her tattooed boyfriend next door.

She quickly pulled out her purse and took out a pressed powder to powder her nose with, hoping it would hide the redness of it. She stretched her cheeks and forced the biggest smile she possibly could when the bell rang and Harry stepped in through the door.

In his hand, he had her bento lunchbox that he had prepared for her the night before like he always did because she seemingly always forgot to eat whenever she worked. “Hi flower,” His voice was like warm soup that soothed her belly.

“Hi Harry,” She walked into his arms and nuzzled her face into his soft, fuzzy sweatshirt. He smelt like pine and ink and all the things she loved that made her feel warm and cosy. Her arms wrapped around his middle as her eyes fluttered shut, she could have drifted off as his hands pressed against her back, playing with the ends of her hair.

“Y’ tired sweet girl?” He murmured, “Working so hard?”

Y/N squeezed him tighter, wanting to mould herself into him so she’d never have to leave the comfort of his warmth, “Not really,” She lied, finally looking up at him.

Harry held her face in his hands and brushed the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone, “Remember we’re going out tonight so don’t work too much,” He warned her, knowing she was prone to working herself too hard and passing out once they stepped into his or her apartment.

Y/N’s stomach plummeted. She’d completely forgotten that Harry had asked her to come with him to a birthday dinner down at a bar that evening. She had made a mental note earlier in the week to pick out an outfit but had completely forgotten about the entire thing. She felt awful especially since Harry had been looking forward to introducing her to some of his friends and just spending time together in general. It was all the more reason why she had to hide her sickness, just until the end of the night.

“I won’t,” She forced a smile, “For the rest of the day I’ll sit right here and won’t move a muscle,”

Harry chuckled, “Yeah? Sit there and look pretty? Tha’s not so hard for you m’love,” His lips pressed against her forehead. She hoped he couldn’t feel how warm she was. “C’mon flower, made y’ favourite for lunch.”

By the end of the day, Y/N had hoped she'd feel a bit better, enough to join dinner at least, but she felt even worse than she did in the morning.

Her movements were slow as she closed the shop for another day, trying not to move so much or she’d feel her stomach turn. The mere idea of going out, let alone eating something with her upset stomach, made her feel queasy but she’d push through for Harry.

She had little energy to tidy everything completely so she pushed it all to one side and switched the lights off before locking up. Harry wouldn’t be finished with work for another hour which gave her some time to pick out an outfit before the dinner party.

With laboured breaths, she ascended the steps to her apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last, until finally, she reached her front door and pushed it open. Marshall rubbed against her leg as she tried to kick her shoes off of her aching feet, “Hi Marshy,” She mumbled, stumbling over to her bedroom and straight to her wardrobe.

She plucked a few things off of the hangers, none of them matched or looked fancy enough for dinner, but she wanted something comfortable. Her eyes glanced at her bed as she held the dresses up before the mirror. It looked so inviting, all made up and cosy. She'd been longing for a nap all day and maybe if she took one now she’d gain some of her energy back for dinner.

With a sigh, Y/N dropped the clothes on the floor and succumbed to the temptation of her bed. She pulled out her phone and set a timer for twenty minutes, knowing Harry wouldn’t be back before then.

As she slipped under the covers, the warmth and comfort of her bed enveloped her. It was what she had been seeking all day - to cocoon herself in blankets and fall asleep so she didn’t have to deal with being sick. Her eyes fluttered shut and it wasn’t long before she drifted off into a much-needed nap, hoping it would ease the discomfort she had been feeling all day.

. . .

“Flower,” His voice was in her dreams, “Can y’ wake up f’ me a sec?”

Y/N frowned, feeling something cool and damp pressed against her forehead. Soft kisses press against her exposed arm, “Harry?” She mumbled, her eyes slowly opening only to realise she wasn’t dreaming of him at all.

He was right there in front of her, sitting on the edge of her bed and pressing a damp cloth against her forehead. “There’s m’ pretty girl,” He cooed.

“You’re here,” She sighed, her eyes groggy from sleep and her head heavy against her pillow. She reached for the hand that wasn’t holding the cloth, clutching it to her chest.

“M here, lovie,” He sighed, “I wish y’ would have told me y’ weren’t feeling good.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N lies, her eyes falling shut again to block out the light in the room.

“Y sure about that flower? Found you up here passed out when I came to pick y’ up for dinner,” The word seemed to trigger Y/N’s memory as she shot up in bed, ignoring the pulsing of her head and the way the room spun.

“The dinner! Harry, we can still go, I set an alarm and we still have time, I made sure of it.” Her head whipped in the direction of the clothes she had left on the floor.

Two hands curled around her wrists to pull her attention away from the thoughts that were whirring in her mind, “Baby,” He murmured, “The dinner started an hour ago. I told them we couldn’t go as soon as I found you lying here all feverish.”

Y/N’s lips parted, registering his words as he waited patiently for her to respond. Suddenly, her eyes burned until tears began falling from them, rolling down her cheeks. Harry’s eyes widened, cupping her face in his hands and wiping away her tears before they could even fall onto the duvet. “I-I’m sorry Harry,” She cried, “I know you were so excited to go to dinner with your friends. I never get sick, I don’t understand why this is happening.”

Harry’s eyes softened as she clung onto him, “Flower,” His heart was hurting for her. He always knew she worked hard, he saw it every day with his own eyes, but not to this extent. He figured this was from more than just a sick bug and that she’d been over-exhorting herself to the point where her body was turning against her to get some rest, “Hey, what are these tears for hmmm? No more cryin’ m’love.” He kissed her tears away, tasting the saltiness on the tip of his tongue.

“‘Course I was excited for dinner,” A fresh set of tears filled Y/N’s eyes but Harry quickly continued, “But only because I like spending time with you. M’ friends will still be there but you are always, always, my first priority in everything.”

“You’re not mad?” She whimpers, feeling more angry at herself than anything.

“Not about tha’ but I am a little angry y’ didn’t tell me y’ weren’t feeling good. Never seen someone so warm in m’ life flower, scared me half to death.” He was trying to be stern with her but he couldn’t help but also show his worry for her. “Think you’ve been working yourself a little too hard hmmm?” He stroked her head, pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

“I haven’t been sick in so long,” She admits, “I was hoping it would go away by the end of the day but, honestly Harry, I feel terrible. M’ throat is all scratchy and my tummy hurts too.”

“Think y’ body jus’ needs a well-needed break from all tha’ running about you do. Honestly Flower, never seen anyone work as hard as you do.” He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Gonna let me take care of y’ tonight?”

She nods, relaxing at his words of comfort, “Okay Harry,” She whispers.

The corner of his lip twitches, “What am I going to do with you?” He sighs, completely in love with her. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, not minding the warmth radiating from her in fact he welcomed it, “You’re everything to me. Can’t have y’ getting sick.”

Her eyes fluttered shut feeling his cool breath blow against her lips like he was trying to breathe new air into her to get rid of the sickness, “I really am sorry for not being honest and for the dinner.”

“S okay but y’ tell me from now on? Everyday okay? Tell me the truth about how y’ feeling,” He needed that from her and she promised she’d give it to him.

He smiled when he received a quick nod in response to his request, “Alright then, are y’ hungry? Want something to eat?” He asked.

“Not really,” Y/N pouts, the thought of food didn’t exactly appease her stomach right now.

“Y’ don’t want soup? I make a mean cup of soup, flower. I hear it can cure even the worst of sicknesses.” Her eyes squint and he’s desperately holding himself back from rubbing his thumb over the dark circles under her eyes.

“What kind of soup?” She questions, her eyebrows furrowing.

He leans forward, puckering his lips against her top lip, “S a secret.” He murmurs.

“Can I help make it?” Her eyes round because she knows it will persuade him - it always does.

“You can sit down and keep me company but I don’t want you up and about.” She sighs but accepts the answer and holds her arms open. Harry smiles and lifts her up, his arms under her butt as her legs wrap around his waist.

He walks to her kitchen and places her on the kitchen counter, moving around to the different cupboards as though he owned the place. He knew exactly where she kept everything, gathering ingredients to create the delicious soup he knew she would love because it had all her favourite things hidden in the recipe.

Once the soup is cooked, he pours two servings into pink, china bowls and places them at the coffee table in front of the couch. He helps Y/N, carrying her over and sitting her in her spot and tossing a blanket over her legs. “Want me to put on y’ show, love?” He asks, referring to her comfort show Gravity Falls.

“Yes please,” She replies, politely.

Y/N picks up the spoon that feels like it weighs more than it does and sips some of the soup she watched Harry make. “Mmm Harry, it’s delicious!” She hums, taking another spoonful.

“Yeah?” He grins proudly at her reaction.

“I already feel much better,” She nodded. He knows she’s feeding his ego but he accepts it all the same.

When they’re both finished eating, he takes both of their bowls and goes to tidy them up, leaving Y/N lying on the couch under a blanket he’d put over her. He hears her tired giggles when something funny happens on the small television, his heart aching at the raspiness of her voice but he’s happy she’s no longer upset. He also cleans up the dishes from this morning and does some of her laundry too, wanting her to rest as much as possible in the upcoming days.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. A notification appears from the group chat he was in with the friends they were meant to go to dinner with. Pictures of them at dinner pop up, his eyes glancing over to his girlfriend as he sends a quick reply. He walks over to her and finds her no longer in the sweater she was once wearing but completely stripped down to just her underwear. Her eyes gaze up at him, “S too hot,” She sighs, her cheeks bright pink.

He tugs off his shirt and pulls it over his head, nudging her over to lie in the spot beside her. The couch was much too small so she ended up laying half on top of him, her head resting over his heart and her palm over his chest. His thumb slides under the waistband of her panties as it brushes the skin on her waist.

She mindlessly played with the chain around his neck and his lips quirked every time he’d spot the small inking on her arm whenever she moved it a certain angle. “I love you,” He murmured, kissing the top of her head. He couldn’t remember if he had told her already but either way, he wanted to tell her.

Y/N craned her neck to look up at him, his palm pushing back the hair from her face, “I love you too,” She puckered her lips and he leaned forward to kiss her.

Halfway through the first season, light snores fell from the girl lying across his chest. Harry carefully manoeuvred himself to grab the remote control and switch the TV off. He gently moved her enough so he could stand up and hooked his arms around her to carry her to her bedroom.

“Harry,” Y/N mumbled as he lay her on her mattress. She reached out for him, needing his close proximity to stay relaxed.

“M right here, lovie,” He reached for her hand that she held out for him and kissed the back of it, “I’m just gonna get you a glass of water.” Y/N liked having a glass of water on her bedside table in case she got thirsty in the night. He remembered the first time he stayed around her apartment and she forgot to grab one before she went to sleep. She woke Harry up in the middle of the night to ask him if he could come with her to the kitchen because it was too dark for her to go by herself.

“You’ll come back?” She pouts, half asleep.

“I’ll be back in thirty seconds, flower. Y’ can count if y’ want to.” He chuckles when she starts counting, whispering softly as he walks to the kitchen.

He comes back before she reaches thirty with a glass of tap water clenched in his fingers. He places it on her side of the bed - because they have those now and he was obsessed. Hers was always the right in both his and her bed and his was always the left.

“Told you,” He says as he lays beneath the blanket in the bed beside her.

“You did,” She hums, curling into his side once he’s settled, “How come you’re always right?”

He cradles her in his arms as she buries her face in his neck, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “M not always right but I think M right about you most of the time. You’re all I know, flower, I know how to love you and take care of you.”

She sighs blissfully, he can feel her eyelashes against his neck as they flutter open and close like she’s trying to fight off sleep, “There you go again, right as always.”

He laughs, “Rest now baby, you’ll be back t’ watering y’ flowers and being my noisy neighbour in no time.”

He knows she’s asleep from the lack of sassy responses he gets.

. . .

“This is pretty,” Harry tugged on her skirt as she walked past him sitting on the chair at the front desk holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked beautiful every day but after days of being sick and in bed, she was practically glowing with fresh energy as she moved around the shop. Her hair was in a high ponytail with a white bow secured around it, she wore a dress with puffy sleeves that swayed as she moved, and her heels clicked against the ground with every step she made.

The flower shop had been closed during the time Y/N was sick. She was beyond stressed about it the first few days, worried that she would be so behind on her work the longer the shop was closed, but Harry made sure everything would be alright. He suggested she keep the shop closed for the whole week so that she could work on the things she needed to before opening it again.

As much as he wanted to stay with her, Y/N insisted he go to work in the day, especially since the most she would be doing was sleeping. He worried about her often in the day, he couldn’t help it, and he hadn’t realised how big of a presence she was until she wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t hear the chiming of the bell as people walked in and out of the flower shop and he missed the clicking of her heels against the floor as she walked into his shop to eat lunch with him or sneak around the back buildings to kiss him.

“Thank you, I bought it online a few days ago,” She gleamed as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

“Ahh,” He smirked, “So y’ were buying pretty dresses instead of sleeping whilst I was down here working?”

“Something like that,” She shrugged, biting her lip.

He yawned his head falling forward to rest against her stomach. She ran her fingers through his curls, “Are you tired?” She asks.

“Hmmm,” His eyes flutter shut at the sensation of her hands in his hair.

“Harry?” She frowns, holding his face in her hands as she tilts his head back. Her hand cups his forehead, “You’re burning up.”

“I am?” He sighs.

Y/N’s eyes soften, “You are,” She replies, “Seems as though it’s my turn to take care of you now,”

Harry grins lazily, “I like the sound of that, Flower.”

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic rec #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #fanfiction #fanfic rec #writing #harry styles writing #harry styles blog #harry styles one shot #one direction #harry edward styles

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 months ago

Text

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Four ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, Mark’s just down bad okay – bro’s never gonna be okay again

Word Count: 2,253

Synopsis: By some grace of God, Mark’s found that he’s fallen into a lunch routine with the most beautifully sweet woman he’s ever known – you. When you bump into each other at the grocery store, you take pity on his tragic shopping cart and decide to cook for him. Mark is absolutely floored (and possibly already planning your wedding). He gets ready for the night like it’s the most important event of his life. And for him, it really is. This isn’t just dinner—it’s destiny.

a/n: Rrrr probably gonna do a time skip after this to them being in a relationship – thoughts?

read part three ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

It’d been a few weeks since that first muffin under the tree.

And somehow—miraculously—you were still sitting with him.

Not just once. Not just out of politeness. Every day.

Sometimes William was there, sometimes not (Mark couldn’t decide which was worse), but no matter what, by the time lunch rolled around, you were always in your usual spot beneath that wide old tree, pastel lunchbox in hand, blanket smoothed out like something out of a storybook.

And every time, Mark tried to play it cool. Tried not to act like his entire day revolved around that thirty-minute window. Tried not to count the seconds until you looked up and smiled at him with that sunbeam expression, like he was the one brightening your day.

(And he failed. Every single time.)

He even tried to contribute one day—showing up with a Tupperware container of his own, full of something vaguely resembling “lunch.”

That had been… an experience.

“Oh, you cooked this?” you’d asked, looking at the charred, unevenly-seasoned spaghetti with genuine interest.

Mark had puffed up, weirdly proud despite the fact that it looked like it had come from a gas station vending machine.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean—I tried. Figured I’d return the favor. You’ve been making all this great stuff for weeks…”

You’d taken one bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

Then looked at him with nothing but gentle pity in your eyes.

“Oh, honey,” you said, all sweetness, not a trace of judgment. “Thank you. That’s real thoughtful of you.”

A beat.

“But don’t you ever do that again.”

And Mark just sat there, blinking.

He should’ve been mortified. Was mortified, technically. But also?

God.

You were just… so sweet. Even when you were delivering a culinary execution, you sounded like you were singing him a lullaby. Like you couldn’t stand to hurt his feelings—even if his food had just assaulted your taste buds.

Mark stared at you, heart fluttering with something dangerously close to full-blown infatuation.

She’s so nice, he thought, nearly dazed. She is literally the best.

And then, like it was nothing, you reached into your tote and started assembling an entire plate from a spread that could feed a small family. A mini Tupperware of mac and cheese. A warm biscuit wrapped in wax paper. Two slices of honey ham that smelled like love.

You set the whole thing in front of him, added a folded napkin like the final touch on a gift, and smiled like this was just what people did.

“Here,” you said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “No use lettin’ you starve on account’a your pride.”

Mark looked down at the plate. Then up at you. Then back at the plate.

Yep. That was it. That was the exact moment he fell in love.

—

Mark didn’t expect to see you at the grocery store.

He especially didn’t expect to see you in full southern regalia, standing in front of a pile of bruised tomatoes like you were about to write a formal complaint to the produce manager.

He stopped dead in his tracks, cereal box halfway to his cart, and just stared.

Because there you were—ruffled dress in soft, fluttery layers, tiny pink ribbon in your hair, pastel tote slung over your shoulder like you had to be at a picnic in five minutes. You looked like the opening scene of an old western that took place entirely on a wraparound porch with lemonade in crystal glasses.

And Mark?

Mark’s brain blue screened instantly.

It was like seeing a butterfly at a gas station. You didn’t belong here, under this soul-sucking lighting and mind numbingly dull music. You belonged in a meadow. Or a painting. Or maybe just his life, permanently.

You looked up, eyes lighting up as soon as you saw him.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite lunch date!” you called, waving him over with that same sunshiney smile that had been haunting his dreams for weeks.

He stumbled forward like he was being summoned.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” he said, already mentally kicking himself because—of course you shopped here. People ate food. You were a person. He was a moron.

You tilted your head, amused. “Well I gotta eat outside’a school too, darlin’. I’m not a cartoon character.”

Mark laughed too hard. The cereal box actually fell out of his hand. He pretended it didn’t happen.

You turned back to the tomatoes, frowning delicately.

“Everything in here’s so sad,” you sighed, poking one with a careful fingertip. “Not a lick’a freshness to be found. Back home we had roadside stands, you know? Where the vegetables still smelled like dirt and sunshine. These…” You wrinkled your nose. “These look like they’ve been sittin’ in the back of a truck since last week.”

Mark just blinked at you, dazed. Sunshine. Dirt. Truck beds. It was poetry. You were poetry.

Then came the kill shot.

“There was this one farm near my granny’s,” you went on, adjusting your little purse like you weren’t saying the most devastating sentence of Mark’s life. “This farmboy worked there every summer—Lord, he could haul a crate’a cantaloupes like nobody’s business. Always smelled like hay and honeysuckle.”

Mark, who had never smelled like anything other than deodorant and despair, felt his soul ascend.

Farmboy??

Cantaloupes???

HAY AND HONEYSUCKLE???

Mark’s entire life plan reshuffled in real time.

“…I could do that,” he mumbled.

You blinked. “Hm?”

“What? Oh—nothing. Just. Farming’s… neat.”

You gave him a strange little smile. “You alright, sugar? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Nope. Just the produce. Lot of… vibes in this aisle.”

You narrowed your eyes at a zucchini. “They sure ain’t good ones.”

You glanced down into Mark’s cart.

It was… bleak.

Frozen taquitos, an alarming amount of microwaveable mac and cheese, two different brands of soda, and a box of cereal so sugary it could be classified as a biohazard. The only vegetable in sight was a sad little plastic bag of pre-cut carrots, and even they looked ashamed to be there.

Your hand went to your chest like you were catching your breath. “Oh, baby,” you murmured. “No.”

Mark looked down at the cart like he was seeing it for the first time. “What? It’s not that bad…”

You turned to him slowly. “Mark Grayson, I know for a fact your mama didn’t raise you to eat like a raccoon in a vending machine.”

Mark, whose mom had actually tried very hard to teach him to cook, looked appropriately shamed.

You tsked under your breath and gave the mac and cheese box a little pat, like you were comforting it before it got yeeted from the cart.

“This won’t do,” you said, already steering your own cart toward a nearby aisle. “You need somethin’ fresh. Somethin’ made with love. You need…” You turned over your shoulder, all glimmering eyes and righteous purpose. “…me to cook for you?”

Mark forgot how to breathe.

“I—yes? I mean. Sure. If—if that’s a thing. That could happen.”

You just smiled, slow and sweet. “Well good. ‘Cause you’re one sad lasagna away from a medical emergency.”

Mark once again found himself desperately trying to play it cool, and once again failed horribly. If he’d had a ring, he would’ve proposed right there between the canned beans and the chicken stock.

You didn’t even hesitate. You just pushed your cart onward with purpose, ruffles swaying as you marched back toward the good aisles.

“Come on, then,” you called over your shoulder, motioning for him to follow like he was a lost duckling. “If I’m gonna feed you, I gotta make sure you don’t go bringin’ home the wrong flour.”

Mark blinked. “Wait—you’re serious? Like, you’re really gonna cook for me?”

You gave him a look like he’d just asked if rain was wet. “Of course I’m serious. Someone’s gotta save your arteries, sugar.”

He trailed behind you, still not entirely convinced this wasn’t a hallucination. “I mean—just so I’m clear—you mean like, actually cook? For me?”

You rolled your eyes, but it was all fondness. “Yes, Mark. I’m not gonna throw a TV dinner at your head and call it a day.”

Mark’s brain: She’s making me dinner. I’m meeting her family. We’re naming our kids after her great-aunt Magnolia. This is happening.

Meanwhile, you were already tossing things into his cart.

“Self-risin’ flour,” you said, dropping the bag in with a practiced hand. “None’a that all-purpose nonsense, y’hear?”

Mark nodded dumbly. “Yes ma’am.”

“Buttermilk. Real buttermilk—not that watered-down junk. You don’t got a cast iron skillet, do you?”

“Uh—no?”

You clicked your tongue. “We’ll fix that.”

He watched as you built a grocery list out of pure instinct—cornmeal, baking soda, bacon grease (which you somehow had in a tiny mason jar in your own cart???), and a bunch of other ingredients he could barely pronounce but would now kill for.

“And I hope you like greens,” you added, eyeing a bundle of collards like you were evaluating a prize hog. “’Cause I make a mean mess’a 'em.”

Mark had officially stopped blinking. “You’re incredible,” he blurted.

You just laughed, breezy and sweet. “Lord, you city boys really don’t know what to do with a hot meal, do you?”

To you, it was simple. Southern courtesy. Feed the boy, show him a little kindness, make sure he doesn’t keel over before midterms.

To Mark?

This was courtship.

This was destiny.

This was love.

—

Some hours later Mark was lingering awkwardly near the kitchen counter, freshly showered and suspiciously well-groomed.

Debbie didn’t even look up from the cutting board. “So… who is she?”

Mark froze. “What? Who?”

Now she looked up, a single eyebrow raised in that mother knows all way.

“I gave birth to you, Mark. You think I don’t notice when my son suddenly starts brushing his hair before dinner?”

He tugged at his collar. “Okay, first of all—rude. Second of all… I mean, yeah. There’s a girl.”

Debbie leaned on the counter, full of quiet, smug mom joy. “Mhm. And?”

“She—uh. She invited me over. Tonight.”

A pause.

“...For dinner?”

Mark nodded.

And Debbie, knife still in hand, gasped like he just announced his engagement. “Oh my god, she’s cooking for you?”

Mark blinked. “Is that—like, a big deal?”

“Mark!” She set the knife down like she needed both hands to fully express the moment. “Do you know how rare that is? In high school?”

Mark shrugged, clearly trying to play it off. “She’s just… like that. Super sweet. Southern. Real southern. She called my cooking a crime but somehow made it sound like a compliment.”

Debbie tilted her head, heart full. “She sounds lovely.”

“She’s kind of… amazing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m meeting her soul every time she opens a Tupperware.”

Debbie smiled. “You better be polite. You offer to do dishes. And you tell her thank you like you mean it.”

Mark nodded solemnly. “I already mean it.” Then, after a beat, he breathes, “…What do I wear?”

Debbie chuckled, soft and knowing. “Something clean. Something nice. You’re not just eating dinner, sweetheart. You’re being fed. That’s love.”

—

Mark stood at the bottom of the porch steps, staring up at the house like it had materialized from a daydream.

It was all soft wood and warm light. A pale blue door. White trim, slightly worn in the corners. There were flower boxes under the windows, each one blooming with cheerful, slightly unruly color like even the plants had a drawl.

The front porch was deep and wide, with a swing swaying lazily in the breeze and a pair of boots tucked beside the welcome mat. Wind chimes clinked gently above the door, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked like it was guarding the edge of the world.

Mark swallowed hard.

Of course this is where you lived. Of course.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a setting. A vibe. He could already picture it: summer afternoons, mason jars full of lemonade, the sound of water trickling from a backyard creek where hypothetical children with wild curls and big imaginations would go looking for frogs.

He checked his shirt—button-down, navy blue, not too fancy but definitely not casual. Slacks. Actual slacks. He hadn’t worn slacks since the last funeral he attended, and somehow this felt just as intense.

And in his hand?

Flowers.

Just a small bouquet from the nicer section of the grocery store. Pale yellow daisies and soft pink something-or-others. He wasn’t a botanist. He just hoped they looked like he tried.

Mark stared at the door.

Then the flowers.

Then back at the door.

“Okay,” he muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “Not a date. Not a date. It’s just… dinner. With a girl. Who invited you to her actual home. And is cooking for you. Who you think about constantly. Who may or may not be your entire future. Not a date.”

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

Then climbed the steps and knocked.

A second passed. Then two.

And then the door opened, and there you were.

Ribbons in your hair. Apron tied around your waist. That same slow, sweet smile that knocked the wind out of him every single time.

“Well hey, sugar,” you beamed. “Right on time.”

Mark forgot every word he’d ever known.

“…Hi.”

read part five ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic

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dr-chosenberg · 5 months ago

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Moral Orel Bloberta-Centric AU

@neverfilth and I have come up with an alternate universe that has blossomed in to a layered world in its own right, at least we feel that way! (She of course drew the images below)

We’re calling it the Spinster AU as it involves a Bloberta who never got to marry, but through her hobby of sewing has weaved a rich tapestry of life for herself and the young girls of Moralton. The story highly focuses on the female experience of Moralton in Bloberta’s youth, a time where things were even more regressive than they are when the show takes place.

When her father passes he leaves her the house which makes her the first woman in Moralton to own a business and her own home. Her brother, Lunchbox, has become the Mayor of Moralton. Clay is not in the picture as he lives happily in Sinville with Danielle, but his twin sister Claurine is the First Lady of Moralton. Modella follows in her mother’s footsteps and becomes a domineering matriarch with a hint of humanity that was seemingly lost in Sherry.

As such, Bloberta has a colorful cast of suitors (including the charming Dr Chosenberg and the once bitten twice shy Roger Papermouth). Between the guys and her experimental situation with good friend Dolores Stoopdown, she has her hands full.

But she is focused on her career and her role as a den mother of sorts to the little girls of Moralton.

Most important of all is a young Stephanie Foamwire who acts as the Orel for this timeline. Already questioning her faith at a young age she seeks comfort in the home of a woman who she senses is different just like her. Bloberta also mentors a young Dolly Forghetty, Kim Harebrain, and Terra-Cotta Potterswheel. Karl Latchkey hangs around them too as he has a budding crush on Kim, but he looks down the things the girls are learning.

Bloberta doesn’t just inspire the little girls but the big ones too. Her friends Dolores and Millie are right by her side, on the tails of their own divorces they’re encouraged by everything their best friend has accomplished.

Thank you to our wonderful and ever inspiring artist friends @sinvilles and @lthawkeyess for assisting us!

#spinsterau #bloberta puppington #moral orel #clay puppington #bloberta hymentact #roger papermouth #modella hymentact #lunchbox hymentact

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coquettebeautiful · 8 months ago

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#Lunch Box#Bento Box#Bento Boxes#Japanese Bento#Microwavable Bento#Microwavable Bento Box#Lunch Box Microwavable#Stacking Lunch Box#Adult Lunch Box#Layered Bento Box#Layered Lunch Box#Microwavable Container# Box Organizer#Stacked Lunchbox#Japanese Lunch#Urishi Bento#Stackable Bento#Stacking Lunchbox#Bento Box Insulated#Layered Lunchbox#Bento Lunch Box Strawberry#Microwavable Lunch Container#Stacked Lunch Box#Bento Lunch Box#Wood Bento#Lunch Box with Utensils#Gifts for Her#Gift Ideas#Gifts#Stackable Bento Box#Food storage#Lunchbox#Adult Lunch Box#Lunch Box Japanese Wood#Bento Box Kitchen & Dining#Bento Box 3 Layer#Bento Box Totoro#Bento Boxes Adults#Cherry Blossom Bento Box#Bento Box Large#Shokado Bento,Green Bento Box#Bento Box Japan#Back to School.

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mycoolapparel · 1 year ago

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https://backdropqueen.etsy.com

Bento Lunch Box,Wood Bento, Lunch Box with Utensils,Gifts for Her,Gift Ideas,Gifts,Stackable Bento Box,Food storage,Lunchbox,Adult Lunch Box,Lunch Box Japanese Wood,Bento Box Kitchen & Dining,Bento Box 3 Layer,Bento Box Totoro,Bento Boxes Adults,Cherry Blossom Bento Box,Bento Box Large,Shokado Bento,Green Bento Box,Bento Box Japan,Back to School,

Enjoy fresh food on your own terms, whether at work, at school, or at a picnic. This bento-style personalized lunchbox comes with smart compartments to keep your food separate. The stylish wooden lid can double as a handy plate while the 7.6" x 4.8" size makes it a convenient choice that easily fits into any bag or backpack. .: Materials: 100% silicone (tray), 100% wood (lid) .: One size: 7.7" x 4.7" x 2.4" (20 x 12 x 6cm) .: Two moveable compartment dividers (one loose, one stable) .: BPA free .: An elastic band and cutlery included

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kiss-me-muchoo · 6 months ago

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𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ you find a thong on Joel’s backpack and you don’t know what to think, turning things awkward just before the holidays.

warnings_corny Christmas pick up lines, AGE GAP (20s/50s) but not specified, smidge of angst (reader’s fault) , fluff, chill mom!reader, pervy hubby! Joel, Christmas shit and a silly argument. NO PROOFREAD YET SORRY

notes_ fallacy family having their first Christmas together omg, it’s almost two years since I started the series and yet here we are, brb I’ll go cry.

• Fallacy series m.list (recommended to read)

♫ ♪ Pedro playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆

Celebrating the holidays in the apocalypse was not easy. In fact, the world had forgotten about holidays. For twenty years, days like Christmas or New Year’s Eve had no longer meaning.

But not in Jackson. Right after thanksgiving, the town would start preparing for the lovely event. According to Maria, children received a little present and a big dinner was made. In the previous weeks, the town dressed up with ornaments, mistletoe everywhere and the smell of ginger and mint was all around. Almost like outside the world hadn’t change. But for you and your family, that came from a lot of suffering, you would not allow them to complain.

You had picked up your decoration’s box. One was given to each house of Jackson, to add more personal decorations. However, you picked up yours a little late, since it was your first Christmas in town.

You finished teaching early, giving you time to arrive home, meet your daughter and decorate the house with Ellie.

Cerise was about to turn three months old, she was growing, getting curly hair like her father, but she remained tiny, fussy and adamant. She kept doing the famous newborn scrunch and Joel often made fun of her farts, making you roll your eyes and criticize him for making fun of his daughter.

“Ellie, you’re home?” You asked taking off your boots and coat, placing your bag in the entrance. “Yup, Maria left like ten minutes ago”

Ellie appeared carrying Cerise, who was sleeping. The teenager handed you the baby and you smiled at her.

“Thanks. Hey, I got the decoration for the house, Wanna help me?” Ellie was not excited for Christmas but you could tell she loved being around you and Cerise.

“Sure”

“But-!” Then she rolled her eyes. “You must show me your costume for the charity”

“Oh f- you, y/n” you started laughing, trying to remain calm to not disturb Cerise “I look like shit in it!”

“Please!”

It was past midday when you were done making dinner. A warm soup made the whole to smell like winter and tranquility. Cerise had taken a bath, even Ellie was already in pajamas. It was then, while cleaning the kitchen, that you found Joel’s lunchbox in the little shelves you had beside the refrigerator.

“Silly man” you mumbled to yourself, grabbing the lunchbox.

In the living room, Ellie was reading a comic while Cerise was in her little baby gym.

“I’m dropping this to Joel. Mind if you stay here with Cerise?” The girls shrugs, eyes never leaving her comic. “Yeah, go on”

“Thanks, Ellie. I’ll be quick”

…

That day, Joel was working to build a new layer for the gates that protected Jackson. The team started the new layer before summer ended, even before Cerise was born. And now, near Christmas, it was almost done.

At the sight of your old man, you smiled. He went back to his short hair, just like when you met him in Boston. His belly was gone and his back pain diminished. Joel was in his best form, shape and condition.

“Hey, Texas!” You called him, making some of his buddies to look as well.

At the sight of you, the youngest started doing silly things to make your husband uncomfortable but truth is, Joel was only smiling at the sight of you. But soon turned worried.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” he asks, taking off his thick gloves, offering you a playful smile. “Are you alright? Cerise and Ellie?”

“We’re fine, dear. You just forgot your lunch…”

You brought him a sandwich and cranberry juice, it’s was cold and since your old man couldn’t get up early because he was so warm under the blankets with you, he missed his lunch.

“I thought- never mind. Thanks, baby”

Joel sighed, relieved. He grabbed the lunchbox and looked at you so lovingly, that it made you chuckle.

“What now, Texas?” You ask rolling your eyes, crossing your arms.

“God, I just want to get home, shower a you to give me a blowjob”

“A snowjob!” He glares at you with disdain and rolls his eyes before chuckling, catching the Christmas reference.

“Good lord, shut up” he had grown used to the age gap, but sometimes he remembered how full of life you were compared to him.“C’mere, baby”

He kissed you as usual because nobody was around. He would never hide his feelings for you again, but he remained reserved and preferred to be private when it came to you. Either way, everyone in Jackson knew he married you and had a baby together.

Cerise was a famous baby after all.

“There’s soup and flourless biscuits for dinner. I’m almost done with the Christmas decorations. I’m just saving the tree because I want to do it with you” Joel smiled, something you genuinely loved.

Ever since you gave birth, Joel had changed drastically, being open towards you and very understanding. Things had never felt so good.

“I’ll be at home before the sunset” you nod at him, standing on your tip toes, which he immediately understands and leans over to give you a big kiss. You felt relived and happy. Lucky you to stick along a grumpy unstable senior that turned out the most humble and loving husband.

“Don’t be late, Texas” he rolls his eyes to then kiss you again. “I won’t, baby”

As you walk away, you hear some chattering from Joel’s workmates, probably making fun of him for being a sweetheart towards you. And you don’t miss the female laughter calling him.

There is no reason to mistrust. Joel would never. The last time you both had a similar argument was when Freya, the town’s nurse, actively tried to make some moves on your already husband.

Either way, there are some days where you feel that too much positivity has a price. Like it’s not normal for you to be completely happy and in peace. Perhaps it’s the years of suffering and misery that remain haunting you. Making you believe that Joel would one day walk out, towards complete freedom like he once wanted.

…

Well, Joel was late indeed. You got mad and you started eating with Cerise and Ellie. You placed a plate with a big portion of food for Joel and then you sent your kids to sleep. As you were cleaning the dishes, you didn’t think too much about Joel being absent. Anything could happen at work, your take was that they had finished the new layer and decided to take longer than needed just to be done.

Whatever, you kept cleaning the dishes and didn’t hear your husband was entering the warm house.

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. We finished the layer…”

Bingo.

“That’s okay, honey” you simply say without looking at him. “I thought of it…”

“Let me eat and then we can decorate the tree” Joel says, trying to make it up for his absence, standing behind you and softly caressing your shoulders.

“Just eat, Joel. You haven’t eaten anything after I dropped your lunch…” your hands finish cleaning the dishes, you dry up and finally face your man. “You sure? I’m up for the Christmas tree…”

“No, I’m tired. Let’s go get warm in the bed…” he nods, smiling at the sight of his wonderful wife. The same woman he met years ago, yet, so different.

“Hmm, then I’m up for a holly jolly

“Yeah? stuff my stocking with your big North Pole, Joel?” he bursted in laughter, trying to be quiet but miserably failed, making you start giggling as well. “Joel, shut up!”

“Well, baby… You’re bein’ a flirt” rolling your eyes, you had to go straight to hug him.

“Get my backpack, please…” you nod at him, approaching the entrance of the house, where Joel’s backpack was discharged in the floor.

You bend over to grab it and the soft sound of a box of band-aids falling makes you sigh.

“Close the fucking backpack, Joel” you try to be quiet while he distantly says sorry. And then you spot a sparkly red ribbon tangled in a zipper. When you pull it out, you realize it’s not a ribbon.

It’s a thong. And lurking from the inside, there an egg nog powder mix.

You have so many questions. You could’ve laughed. But you didn’t. Instead, your head starts questioning why he had a thong on his backpack.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You ask when he arrives at your side. “You have a whole festive fucking pack in your backpack?”

“Darlin’, Are you bein’ serious now?” He asks tiredly, which makes you sigh. “What? Do you think this is not for you and belongs to somebody else?”

“I don’t know!” You spit out frustrated, crossing your arms and realizing you had snapped. “I’m sorry, Joel. I just don’t know how to feel about it…”

You knew it was stupid getting mad over something so silly and immature. It could’ve been a joke from a mate, perhaps Joel actually got it for you. But why slip it like that?

That night you leave your husband all alone in the darkness of the living room wondering what he did wrong.

He stares at the empty Christmas tree and sighs, rubbing his eyes.

…

The next morning, it was Christmas Eve.

Joel got up only to find out kids had school. It was a short day and basically an excuse to gather all the kids and avoid interruptions for any final details to work on. Joel did not have any problem with having Cerise the whole morning. In fact, it made him slightly forgetful about the argument with you last night.

Ellie was gone, Joel heard her cursing as she was leaving, saying how shitty she looked with her elf costume.

Cerise and Joel had a good morning together. He made breakfast for her, then he bather her to avoid getting her later with lower temperatures. Then he paid Tommy a little visit to ask for advice and finally felt confident to face you and ask questions.

He felt hurt by your reaction and was eager to understand why you took things in such way.

He pushed the stroller carrying a sleepy Cerise through the streets of Jackson. Everyone seemed ready for the holidays, happy families everywhere. It made Joel to feel a bigger urge to run towards the little school. There was no point in having a silly fight during a special night.

So when he arrived with Cerise at the school, children were walking out, everyone holding a handcrafted ornament, others had snowflakes, others tried to do paper ginger-man cookies. It made Joel to think how would Cerise be in a couple of years while attending school.

When he entered the old building, he saw that there only were four classrooms. Only one was open. And as Joel pushed the stroller through the hall, he was able to see that the open door was decorated with little stars that had the name of some students. In the center, a baby pink paper that said “Mrs. Miller” and it made Joel’s heart to melt.

Everyone knew that kids loved you. The youngest always said hi or even hugged you, asking if they could see Cerise.

When he entered the room, it was empty, only you sitting in your desk. When you looked up to see, you quickly had to stand up upon seeing your husband and baby.

“Is Cerise okay?” You ask worriedly. “She’s fine, y/n. I just needed to pass by”

You nod, already understanding what he meant. You stare at his red sweater, the color resulting foreign on him, yet, welcoming.

“It was silly and-“ you try to start saying but Joel shushes you. “I’m the one talking darlin’…”

“Earlier in the morning, Tommy and I went to the mall” you only can tap your index finger against your desk, starting to feel completely embarrassed. “We passed by the store and thought it would be silly and fun to grab a pair of festive underwear along the eggnog. I also grabbed a pacifier for Cerise….”

“Now what the fuck? I completely overreacted” you admit avoiding his gaze.

“Do you really think I could possibly cheat on you?” he asks, sounding very hurt, which made your twist in remorse. “Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough to just fuck up everything for nothing?”

Your eyes water and you have to look down, ashamed.

“God, I’m so sorry, Joel. I know it was stupid…” He sighs, crossing his arms, also looking away, to the window of the little classroom. “I normally feel so confident about us and our life here. But occasionally my mind goes back to the beginning and it terrifies me that someday you’ll get tired of everything and just be free. But alone…”

Joel eyed you as you were speaking, and it broke him. Sometimes he forgets you also went through traumatic experiences along the way. You love him unconditionally, yes. But that doesn’t mean sometimes those traumas will not try to arise. And it’s okay to have doubts, the world was broken.

But Joel would give his life to never see you broken as well.

He pulled you closer, holding you tightly. His chin finding a home at the top of your head. And it made you feel safe. Like you weren’t insane for causing nonsensical arguments.

“I’m sorry” you repeat and he shushes you softly. “Having doubts is valid. But I can promise you, my darlin’… that I would do everything again if I had know since the beginning that my reward was you. And I will never get tired of it…”

“Intrusive thoughts aside, everything is perfect. I will let you know whenever I’m feeling odd and hopefully we’ll talk” he nodded, making you feel even more safe. “Of course, baby”

“And I love you, Joel. Like you have no idea” you hear him chuckling, then kissing your hair. “Oh, I think I do. I think we both know we’re down bad for each other”

“Even Cerise knows it. She stares back and forth between us whenever we start talking and she’s fully awake” at the comment, Joel chuckled, looking aside where he left the stroller, noticing there was movement inside.

“I think she’s already doing it” you say smiling.

Joel uncovered the stroller and indeed, Cerise was fully awake, her chocolate eyes scanning the place before landing on her parents. And upon looking at you and Joel, she started cooing.

“Aww, my baby, come here” it would never be not amusing for Joel to finally seeing you as a mother. As you peppered Cerise’s face with wet kisses all over, she seemed to be laughing. The moment the three of you started sharing were foreign, a little over a year ago, everything was so different. Joel was unable to admit that he loved you, you were extremely insecure, Ellie was a stranger. You had zero hopes of a family.

The odds were in your favor. Very much.

“I think she’s growing your nose” Joel said, softly pinching one of the baby’s cheeks. Cerise was in heavy, sandwiched between the warmth of her parents, in a red onesie that had a reindeer in the center and stars in her tiny foots.

“Well I think she’s growing your hair. Messy and curly…” Joel smirked and then kissed you.

“Let’s go home. I want to try that eggnog mix even if it kills us”

“I don’t think syrups and fake powder will kill us, y/n” he took your hand and lead the way out of the school.

…

It was very cold when you got out of the shower. The smell of turkey and butter was filtering through the small gap of your open window. At the dinning hall people were slowly gathering to share a meal and celebrate the night prior to Christmas. And as per usual, you were slightly late.

You had a brown dress that you carried since Boston’s QZ. You had never worn it and you had a second pair of boots reserved for special occasions, which were waiting for you at the foot of the bed along your coat and some thick black thighs. It wasn’t elegant, just classic. An outfit that even in the apocalypse seemed decent or fair.

“Cerise is ready…” Joel says entering the room. His smile grew at the sigh of you, which made you blush and shyly look away.

“No, don’t look away, darlin’. You look like a little doll” he hurried to give you a little spin and kiss your cheeks.

“Calm down, Texas” he steadies his hands around your hips, smiling again “Now, gimme that nasty thong before I change my mind”

“What?” Joel completely forgot about the thing. But soon he went to the basket of clean clothes and handed it to you.

The asshole had washed the thong.

Under the lamp of the room, you were able to appreciate the details of the thong. It was bright red, with some lace details in the crotch, shiny beaded sequins and a fine embroidery.

You slipped into the fabric, hunching the dress around your stomach. Joel let out a little gasp after finally seeing you with the lingerie.

“Merry fucking Christmas” you had to laugh loudly after seeing him almost poking out his tongue, then, you are pulling down the dress and sitting on the bed to put on the thighs.

“That’s lewd, Joel”

“Shut up. I’m getting what I deserve after dinner”

“Your first present to unwrap” you say rolling your eyes.

It is then when you look at Ellie passing by the door and after hearing you burst out laughing, she huffed, standing on the doorway.

“Can you please stop?” The girls asks, but it’s very funny to see her with the elf costume and silly hat.

“Why I was forced to do this?”

“Because you are a pain in the ass for Tommy and Maria” she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, it’s getting late. Let’s go, everyone” Joel leads the way downstairs, where he picks up Cerise from her baby gym and wraps her in blankets before getting her into the stroller.

When he approaches you to help you put on your coat, you can’t stop smiling at the sight of him.

And he notices it, offering back another smile.

Ellie walks out with Cerise in the stroller and turns back to ask who was the keys, but rolls her eyes after seeing you two lost in each other’s eyes.

“HEY!” Both of you snap out of the moment and turn to look at Ellie. “Yeah, yeah, we all know both of you are so in love. But who has the keys?”

“Joel” you reveal, chuckling at the girl’s words and moving away.

Joel locks the door and walks out to the street. He follows closely bu he prefers to savor the moment of you and Ellie making Cerise to babble and coo from inside the stroller. With all the Christmas decoration and the snow falling, Joel wants nothing but a camera to capture the moment. But his old ass would always remember that type of moments.

__________

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal smut

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reneki · 29 days ago

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If You Ask, I’ll Deny It

Aged up! Damian Wayne x Reader

Authors Note; Welcome to the first part of “If You Ask, I’ll Deny It” my take on a slow burn, childhood rivals to lovers fic featuring our favorite broody Robin, Damian Wayne. This story will unfold over multiple parts as Reader and Damian navigate their complicated history, bickering chemistry, and unbeknownst to Reader Damian’s secret double life as Robin. Expect plenty of banter, angst, and eventually… feelings neither of them will admit. Thank you for joining me on this journey! Feedback and theories are always welcome I love hearing your thoughts!

••••••••••

You met Damian Wayne on the first day of second grade, and you decided by lunch that you absolutely hated him.

It wasn’t just the way he sat there, pencil in hand like he owned the world, refusing to share his markers with anyone, or the way he corrected the teacher when she mispronounced his last name. It wasn’t even how he kept his lunchbox neatly arranged, each sandwich and fruit placed like tiny soldiers ready for battle.

No, it was because the moment you sat down next to him, he looked you dead in the eye and said, “Your shoelaces are uneven. It’s… distracting.”

You hadn’t realized it at the time, but your cheeks were pink for the rest of the day.

By the time middle school rolled around, the crush had morphed into something more manageable—mostly because you couldn’t stand the sound of his voice. He was smarter, faster, better at dodgeball, and always right. You’d argue over everything. You’d stay up the night before group projects just to make sure you had the upper hand.

And yet, you noticed the little things. The way he always sat on the bus alone. How he’d glare daggers at anyone who tried to cheat off his paper. How, during one school trip, he stood between you and a group of bullies, fists clenched and teeth bared.

You never said thank you. And he never mentioned it again.

Now, years later, you sat across from him at a too-fancy restaurant, grown-up clothes and all, trying not to fling your napkin at his perfectly smug face.

“I’m just saying,” you snapped, tapping your glass. “You could admit you were wrong about the grant proposal. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’m not wrong,” he said smoothly, leaning back like the world couldn’t touch him. “You just have a tendency to overreact.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is wanting to save an entire neighborhood overreacting?”

He smirked, and for a brief, traitorous second, you noticed how his smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. That same corner you’d sworn you’d stopped staring at years ago.

It was infuriating. It was familiar.

It was… dangerous.

And you had no idea just how dangerous it would become.

“Damian, for once in your life, can you just—”

The sharp clink of your glass interrupted the sentence as he reached across the table, resting his hand briefly—too briefly—on your wrist. The touch was electric, a jolt of static between skin and bone.

“I’m not wrong,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now. “And you’re not going to convince me over pasta.”

You yanked your wrist back, ignoring the way your pulse skittered beneath your skin. “Fine. But don’t expect me to pull your ass out of the fire when your plan implodes.”

His smirk widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, the space between you felt thick with words you wouldn’t say. You hated how familiar it was—the push and pull, the near-constant bickering that felt less like fighting and more like breathing. This was how it had always been between you two.

Ever since you were kids, this had been your language. Arguments sharp enough to draw blood, but never quite going for the kill. Sarcasm layered over unspoken truths.

You stabbed at your food, the tension buzzing between your shoulders. “I don’t even know why we’re doing this,” you muttered. “Why do we keep meeting like this?”

Damian was quiet for a beat too long. Long enough for you to look up and catch his eyes—green, sharp, and focused in a way that made you feel like the rest of the restaurant had blurred into static.

“Because we can’t stay away,” he said, so softly you almost thought you imagined it.

The air left your lungs in a rush.

Before you could think of a reply, his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a text. He glanced at it, jaw tightening in a way you’d seen a hundred times—the I have to go look.

“Work?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Something like that.” He stood, smoothing down the front of his jacket, and for a second, you caught the hint of tension in his shoulders. “You’ll walk home?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not twelve anymore, Damian. I can handle myself.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “Old habits.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you staring at the empty space across the table, your heart beating a little too fast.

The streets of Gotham were never quiet, not really. Even as you walked briskly down the sidewalk, the hum of traffic and distant wail of sirens served as a constant reminder that this city never slept.

You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the familiar ache in your chest—the one that always surfaced after you and Damian clashed like this.

Why do we keep meeting like this?

You weren’t sure if you’d meant it rhetorically. Maybe you’d been hoping he’d have an answer, something simple and clean that would explain why you could never quite cut him out of your life. But his response had rattled something loose in you.

“Because we can’t stay away.”

The words echoed in your mind, each repetition a quiet pull on something you’d buried years ago.

You sighed, tilting your head up to watch the scattered city lights flicker against the night sky. Somewhere above the clouds, the moon was probably bright and full, but down here, it was all shadows and sharp edges.

A sudden chill crept up your spine, and you glanced over your shoulder. For a moment, you were certain you weren’t alone. But the sidewalk was empty just the faint whisper of wind rustling through the trash cans and the click of your own footsteps.

Get a grip, you told yourself, shaking your head. Still, you quickened your pace, pulling your phone from your pocket and thumbing through your contacts. You hesitated on his name Damian before locking the screen and shoving it back into your coat.

You’d handled worse than a walk home alone. You didn’t need his help.

As you crossed the street, you didn’t notice the shadow that peeled away from the alley, watching you from the darkness. You didn’t see the faint glint of metal, or the way the figure moved with silent, predatory grace.

You didn’t see any of it.

But you would. Soon.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Enemies to lovers vibes? Check.

Secret identity? Oh yeah.

Slow burn and unresolved tension? You’re so not ready.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #aged up au #gotham #dc robin #dc damian wayne #damian al ghul #batman #batboys #dc universe #robin x reader

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staenless · 1 year ago

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STEDDIE OMEGAVERSE LUNCHBOX FIC PART 2

He put the kettle on to boil, then set the ingredients out on the counter. Kiwis, left over chilli from last night, a wrap, quarter of a cabbage, cheese, the special trail mix he has to travel across town for, yogurt. Was that enough protein? Carbs?

The kettle finished boiling. He steeped his teabag in silence, eyes fixed beyond the kitchen window to that small patch on the lawn. He had taken a hand shovel to it yesterday, swung up and down and chopped up the kikuyu until a neat square had revealed itself to him. The back of his neck stung from sunburn when he'd lain down beside Tommy last night. Today he'd hack and slash a second square, then buy the seeds and sow them before Tommy could get up in arms about it'd look to the neighbours-colleagues-friends that they were growing their own vegetables. How it would look, common and subsistant, and that store bought was fine, better actually, since it came with a label and price tag. He should stick to store bought tomatoes.

Steve thought about the note in the lunch box. Tommy hadn't brought a note back since Steve had started making him lunch, when their parents decided on their courtship. Steve had once thought Tommy kept them, saved them in a memory box like the lovesick fool Steve thought they could both be. He'd felt sick watching Tommy crumple it up without reading from across the cafeteria, had left in a fuss and a hurry to stare at himself in the school bathroom mirror and drown himself in self loathing. He had been stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. And stupider still when he wrote the notes every morning since, unable to give up on the charade to himself or others. If he couldn't have that life then he'd fake it.

He drained the last of his tea, then rinsed the mug. He began to chop the cabbage. The note, safely tucked in his grandma's recipe book, heated the burn on the back of his neck. Tommy had given his lunch away. He'd done it before, no doubt, but for some reason the Alpha who'd gotten it this time returned the note. Had scented the note and returned it, and Tommy hadn't even noticed when he'd tossed the lunch box onto the breakfast bar when he'd returned last night. He layered the cabbage onto the centre of the wrap.

He began to grate the cheese. Steve wasn't mad at Tommy, for passing on his lunch or not noticing the other Alphas scent. Tommy had probably been passing off his lunch for years, Steve wasn't so naive to think Tommy cared about handmade lunches. And in a twisted way Steve was glad the note had traveled safely to his kitchen, had sat patiently till Tommy was in his office having a tumbler of whiskey before making itself known. Had told him someone ate his meal, and had enjoyed it. If the only acknowledgment he'd get was from a stranger, he'd take it. He layered the cheese over the cabbage, then the chilli over that. He folded the wrap closed, sliced it in half, then neatly packed the two halves in the first tin.

The kiwi needed peeling, and he slowly worked his knife round and round under the soft furry skin. Tommy complained about the hair on kiwis the same way he complained about the hair on Steve. Got stuck in his teeth, was offputting and disgusting and had no place covering up something - someone - so sweet and meant for his consumption. The kiwi was neatly sliced then stacked and tilted into the second tin. The trail mix went into a reusable cupcake shell, and the yogurt into a small Tupperware next to it.

Steve's notepad sat patiently on the counter, pen poised above it and tensed with thought. The alphas scent had been soft, likely from scent blockers, yet unmistakably peppery and dry. It reminded Steve of the dry grasses in fields beside his grandma's old farm house. In autumn, when hot dry winds beat the land dry in preparation for winter. Hed run out to the fields, uncaring for the cuts the sharp grass left, and huffed the scent up. It smelt different from anything in the suburbs, more alive than the rickety farmhouses thatch, but ancient in comparison to prickly autumn lawns. Beneath that dry grass sat a distinct peppery smell, like spices heated in warm oil. Pepper and... Lemon rind? Steve wanted to fetch the note out and sniff at it again, but reigned himself in. It was still early morning, he was still packing Tommy's lunch and he was still a doting hustband.

His notepad stared up at him, large and white and questioning his hesitation. He could write anything, Tommy wouldn't read it and there was no guarantee the other alphas would get it. Still, as pen went to paper and he carefully looped his letters, he hoped someone would read the note. Would acknowledge him and his effort, his love that went to strangers and came empty and uncaring home. Just for someone to read his note, to know that he existed, somewhere out there, and he made this lunch with his own to hands. He slipped the note into the tin, then clipped them together with a clack and set them aside for Tommy to grab on his way out. Time to make breakfast.

Sorry this took forever to get out lol, I was lazy and avoided writing. As someone who hasn't written creatively since highschool launching myself into a full multichapter fic was probably kinda a bad idea... But I always was more of a deep-end kinda person so I will persevere.

Taglist: @xxbottlecapx @goodolefashionedloverboi @stevesbipanic @monsterloverforhire

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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dolliels · 10 months ago

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I’VE BECOME THE FIANCÉ OF THE VILLAIN?! pt4

synopsis: going to bed after reading a horribly self indulgent romance novel, you seemed to wake up as an extra of the series. what stories will unfold while on a mission to find a way out?

author’s note: freaky ass chapter lol

[one] [two] [three] [four] [epilogue]

"why do you come over so often?" you asked leaning back against your couch.

leona was comfortably resting his head on your thighs. "you said you liked your house better than the palace." he replied.

"ohhh so that's what the question was for." you said to yourself out loud. leona just grunted and leaned in closer.

it had been about a week since what you would call 'the incident.' (the kiss. don't be embarrassed!) and you found that leona really did enjoy lounging around your house. it was like he was living here again, except he went home after dinner because after disappearing for months (and hiding at your place) he was apparently scolded very hard and had two sets of guards follow him everywhere.

they were the two royal guards that asked you about leona's whereabouts before. it seemed as if only those two and leona were the only ones who knew (and figured out) that you had been unknowingly hiding him and keeping the royal family very vulnerable with leona’s disappearance. (oops!)

you've heard people whispering about the second prince's whereabouts, which was why you were so insistent that he goes back home to the palace. which he did. way later than he should've.

the two guards were named ruggie and jack. you kinda felt bad that they had to stick around waiting for leona all day so every time you cooked a meal, you'd prepare little lunchboxes for them to enjoy, and gift them books you think they might like, free of charge.

jack, apparently, was new to the job. he looked very righteous, definitely a guy who trained to work for the royal family his entire life. he did not look at least one bit bored waiting around for leona all day long. he was also reluctant to eat the food you made, but after seeing leona wolf it down and snag a few from your plate when you weren't looking, jack started to take them a lot more comfortably.

ruggie, on the other hand, seemed to be a seasoned veteran. not in battle though. just dealing with leona.

apparently, ruggie had been on leona's ass since they were teenagers so everyone thought it would be better to just let ruggie stick with leona even after he was promoted to knighthood.

ruggie was fine with it. he claimed it was easy money and he didn't mind sticking with leona. he said it was a lot easier now that you could take care of him (you flushed at this comment) and greedily took the food you offered without a second thought.

you laid your head back. the fire was cackling and the hot cocoa was letting out steam. winter was really near, and the house was often cold so you mostly stayed around the living room or bundled up tightly in bed. you were too scared to leave the fire on overnight to warm the house, so it got pretty chilly at night.

these were the days you really missed modern living with their heaters and air conditioners. summer was pretty hard to deal with as well, heavy heatstrokes hitting your house every second of every hour. but the cold days were the worst. you could just wear less layers during the summer, but the winter meant you had to be prepared. you thanked the heavens that leona was warm and toasty, as you started to often hold onto him for warmth.

you weren't sure what you'd call whatever you and him had. a relationship? a couple? your boyfriend? you shook your head. you had no idea if this world had some sort of courting tradition and leona just threw away the rules and kissed you right then and there, but you didn't really care. you still had intentions to leave this world, even if that seemed to be way far out of your reach.

sometimes, you'd compare the leona who was hogging your thighs right now to the leona you read in the novel. in the novel, leona rarely showed any physical contact with roselia, nor did he kiss her until the very end of the story, where it was left to a happily ever after. he was often shy with his advances and would rather show his affections and love through the sidelines, doing things for her ambiguously. this leona, however, was very, very handsy. the moment you guys kissed, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off of you. hand on your waist, holding hands, little pecks on your face, a hug, you name it, he's done it. he had zero shame.

"hey, do you want to eat out tonight?"

"sure. i'm tired of cooking. where?"

"isn't there a branch of mostro lounge nearby."

"what? that place costs so much!"

"did you forget who I am?"

there was one thing that the novel got right about leona's preferred way to show affection.

both versions of leona loved to flaunt their money.

a month into whatever the hell was going on between you and leona, you were skimming through a book about transmigration. the hope of leaving never really left, even if you seemed to be pretty settled (and even in a relationship)

sometimes, when the body's owner wake up in a completely new body in a completely new life without their consent, they tend to almost never find a way out, no matter what they try.

hah, you'd been there.

however, some speculate that the only way to go back home in those situations is through feeling alone. if the transmigrator doesn't have a 100% unchangeable desire to go back home, the chances are zero to none. this is why those who end up settling down at a life in their new world usually have a hard time getting back. especially those who form meaningful bonds. those who are stuck in the middle are called to have a 'transmigration conundrum.'

you thought to yourself. do you truly like it here? like, before you met leona and started liking him like that. were you truly content? you were mixed with emotion.

if the transmigrator really does have a strong desire to go back home, they find themselves suddenly awake in their beds as if no time has passed and no changes had happened at all. those who claimed that they have experienced this state that they were usually able to go back home after they resolved some complicated feelings they had with those in the other world.

your eyes were starting to get droopy. you were relaxed, lying down on your bed, leona right next to you, snoring as loud as a person would possibly be. it was nearing dark and you wanted to wake leona but you got distracted staring at his face.

for a prince, he looked pretty unguarded. but then again, he did have two royal guards standing right outside of your door.

you kissed the top of his forehead and looked up at your ceiling.

attachments… what were you attached to in this world?

leona, for starters, was very special in your heart. the bookstore was quite special too, you guessed. you've come to grow fond of the smell of vintage yellowed paper pages or the way fresh ink would glide smoothly from your quill.

you were also a little fond of ruggie and jack, and the fresh produce you were able to get (you eventually became friends with the grocer after bargaining with the guy so much) and the delicious foods you were able to make with it.

but you were also fond of the extremely processed, sugar snacks, and the easily accessible internet, transportation, phones and your bedroom.

you truly did have a transmigration conundrum.

you were getting sleepy and felt like dozing off, but you knew leona couldn't sleep over so you slowly shook him.

"hey. leona, wake up."

he growled and turned to sleep over you. you groaned and smacked his back. no reaction.

"leonaaaa wake upppp you know you're not allowed to sleep over and i don't want ruggie or jack to bust into my house again. if they break my door again you better buy me a nicer one."

you sniffed. something was burning.

"leona. do you smell that?"

you saw him scrunch up his nose, then open his eyes.

"something's burning."

leona stood right up and you followed behind.

your house was fine, so you had no idea where the burning smell was coming from. leona probably thought the same as he grabbed your hand and proceed to head to the back door. the door connected to the bookstore.

the moment he opened the door, a rageful fire bursted through and he immediately closed it back. you eyes widened. the books!

letting go of his hand, you ran out the other door to walk out and see your bookstore in full. it seemed as if both jack and ruggie had just noticed the fire as they scurried right behind you.

the entire bookstore… it was in flames. but how? never mind that. you needed to put the fire out!

you had never felt so desolate in your life.

by the time you managed to stop the fire (with the help of ruggie, jack and leona– jack especially) the entire placed was screwed over. the books were pure black in ash, the supports were fallen off and the roof was just, not there.

the fire somehow transported itself to your house as well, so some of the area was burnt off. but you still had a livable house, luckily.

leona offered to pay to rebuild the place but you just shook your head. the words transmigration conundrum echoed in your head and you had a subtle urge to try and let go of this place you've come to love.

you still had some books lying around your house. thank the sevens you had stacks of them at home.

but the comfort of a leatherback storybook wasn't there. just a pitted void of what you used to do. you also didn't have a job anymore. so what now?

leona was beside you once again, this time wide awake. he still did look sleepy.

"i have no job, and i'm deadbeat broke most of the time… what am I to do now?" you laughed weakly. you could still see the hints of burnt wood creeping on your walls and you felt even more devoid.

"you could live with me. then you won't have to work at all. or work at the library archive." leona suggested, leaning his head onto your shoulder.

"living with you? in the palace? me? with the royal family? that's insane. you'd need a good reason to house someone perfectly healthy and fine like me."

"what about amalgamation?"

"amalgamation? like marriage? haha."

"yea."

you turned your head. he looked dead serious.

"...what?"

"i'm saying we could be engaged, or something. then you could live in the palace."

that's right… roselia had no reason to worry about food or housing, because the palace took care of that for her… the pros of being a prince's fiancé.

but you had to be smart. you were just a commoner. the royal family didn't know you, the kingdom's people didn't know you, you didn't even know yourself.

you also weren't sure if people would take it to liking when leona randomly announces a wedding engagement.

the words transmigration conundrum still echoed loudly in your head. the desire to go back home seemed to have been ignited brightly once more.

"...no." you decided.

leona genuinely looked surprised. "no?"

"i can't… i just can't." you fumbled your words. you couldn't bring yourself to explain why. you wanted to spill your guts out with reasoning, but you could not find the right words.

"so if i asked you seriously and proposed, would you say no?"

you felt tense. "I… I guess so…"

leona straightened up. "then you should've said so in the first place. then i wouldn't have bothered with you or this relationship at all."

he walked out the door, his tail swished left and right rapidly. he was upset, you could tell that easily. but you didn't have the strength to get up and chase after him. you were tired. tired of this world, tired of somehow having the worst luck, and being struck with guilt over everything.

huh, so did leona intend to marry you in this relationship?

that wouldn’t be a good idea. right?

you probably wouldn’t be able to fully commit to it— considering your position right now.

were you not able to or did you just simply not want to?

you saw snow fall outside the window.

transmigration conundrum.

it had been two or three days since you last saw leona. you couldn't remember, as you laid in bed all day, mourning over who knows what (you felt as if you got over the whole bookstore thing– the responsibility of running it did take a toll on you. so what was making you so miserable now?) (you knew. it was because leona wasn’t there.)

he visited nearly everyday. this was the longest time you've gone without seeing him since the beginning of your relationship.

relationship? what relationship?! what even were you two? he just kissed you and got all touchy with you. and you, being touch starved and miserable without your friends or family, probably just leaned into the attention! and- not even two months in and he asked about marriage. what is this?! is this world really that weird or is leona just a freak?

you groaned into your pillow. being welled up in your own home was suffocating. this entire world was suffocating. you needed a breath of fresh air.

it was nearing sunset, and you decided you wanted to take a quick walk on a whim.

bundling up in your warmest clothes, you stepped outside to experience winter in this universe for the first time. it was truly beautiful, with its flawless, untouched and pristine white snow, the way the sun dimly makes the shadows appear in dark and warm hues of blue… you wished you weren't so frustrated so that you could appreciate it properly.

stomping in the snow, you huffed and breathed in the cold winter air as it entered your lungs. you were suddenly starting to feel better, and your mind was emptying.

however, due to your enjoyment of simply taking a breather outside, you realized it was nearing nightfall. you have to go home as soon as possible, you had no light source with you.

stomp, stomp you could hear your shoes step into the snow as you trudged through them like the total athlete you are.

you could barely see ahead of you, as it was dark at this point, so you were just following the footsteps in the snow you left. but it was snowing again, and your markings were fading away. you had to hurry.

stomp, stomp, stomp…

gotta hurry home…

stomp, stomp, stomp….

transmigration conundrum?

stomp, stomp, stomp…

you laughed at yourself. no way you're stuck in the middle. what conundrum is there?

stomp, stomp, stomp…

you just want to go home. done deal.

stomp, stomp, stomp…

who cares about anything else?

stomp, stomp, stomp…

who cares about leona king- OOF!

you were too engrossed into your thoughts that you ran into someone.

“I’m sorry.” you said, not bothering to look up. the shoes the guy was wearing looked fancy.

“y/n.”

you finally realized what you were doing and look up in hurry. it was leona.

“why are you here?”

“i followed the footsteps from your house.”

“oh. okay then. bye, i guess.”

psh. you didn’t care about leona either. you lost interest in everything. you wanted to go home.

“wait.”

transmigration conundrum.

leona grabbed your wrist. you turned around, both your faces fleshed in red from the cold. you didn’t want to see leona anymore. the more you looked at him, the more the guilt grew.

ultimately, the only thing keeping you from leaving this so called ‘conundrum’ was him.

if you decided to stay all for the sake of him, like roselia did, instead of going home, then you wouldn’t be able to go back. you’d lose everything you’d ever known. your friends, your family… although you were pretty boyfriend-less in your world, you were still happy because everyone and everything you loved was still there.

you missed your bed, your parents, your friends. you missed fast food and sodas and reading comic books. you missed having a cool AC to fight against the summer heat, unlike now where you had to just deal with it while withstanding a wrist-pain inducing fan.

leona was here, but everything else was there. you just couldn’t give it up.

leona’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving up and down as the winter fog surrounded you both.

“i love you.”

you blink.

“y/n. y/n i love you.”

you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“i-“

“i love you. i love your tryhard cooking, your shitty medical skills. the books stacked around your house— i did enjoy reading them. i love you. why can’t you understand that? what is blocking you from being with me? is it because i’m a prince? is my status scary? i’m not even after the throne. i have no interest. i just want to be with you.”

wow. so your guess was right. you thought that leona maybe lost interest in going after the throne. this was a red flag.

leona lost interest in all his evil schemes when he finally settled and accepted his feelings of roselia. which meant only one thing— he accepted his feelings for you. from how early on he stopped caring for the throne, he’s accepted his love for you a long, long time ago.

“i— i don’t mind settling down in a small town. i don’t care if my reputation crashes. we- we could rebuild that bookstore together. and not through my family’s money. we can actually work for it.”

this was bad. he was willing to lose everything. the leona kingscholar, who only cared about the throne, was now showing the most emotion you’ve ever seen, in person or in novel— for you.

you heart tightened. you truly did believe that leona could work something out. that you guys could work something out together and live happily, a happily ever after, like he originally did with roselia.

no. he didn’t deserve you. going home was still at the very top of your mind now, more than ever before. he deserved someone like roselia, someone who was willing to loss it all for him, like he would for you.

except you weren’t roselia. you could never be her, and you would live the rest of your life with a huge hole in your left because you lived feeling unfulfilled.

you had to put a stop to this. his desperation tugged at your heart. you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“you don’t know me like you think you do.” you started. you let go of leona’s grip on your wrist.

“i’m not from here.” you sighed. “i can’t explain it. but I’m not from here, and i need to leave. that was my objective from the very beginning.”

“i can’t… i can’t be with you because i don’t belong here. not because of you, but me. it’s because of me.”

leona seemed to understand the situation. perhaps your mannerisms, the way you speak, all the books about transmigration, your current avoidance, it seemingly all connected.

he grabbed both your hands.

“i… okay. i understand. at least, i think i do.”

the crisp winter air danced between you two.

“thank you. for everything.” leona said.

you laughed weakly. ‘you’re saying thank you now? what gives?”

“just because. it feels like i’m never going to see you again.”

you wrapped your arms around leona’s back, hugging him tightly. the soft, fluffy clothes protecting you from the cold smushed between you too.

and then you woke up.

to be continued...?

a.n: thanks for anyone who stuck around all the way to here !! if this was ao3 i would expand on it more but i feel like the romance got a little too rushed (i tried to make it evenly paced as possible but that added the whole doc to 20k words my phone cannot handle all of that i WILL lag and screw something up) so i hope its not too negatively silly!!

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst fic #twst wonderland #twst x reader #x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #savanaclaw #isekai au #isekai

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