#and spending all my time worrying if I was palatable enough to make them love me basically

[m4sc4r4]

More on bad relationship habits in the tags

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay wait! We need more fae farm Sans please! that was too good! What would it look like when Sans's secret is revealed?

HFKDSJ okay, here's some more.

I really don't think he'd be too worried about it, when you discover his otherworldly nature. Because neither would you. Everyone already knows he's kind of strange, rumours of him not being 'normal' are abound. At that point, you would've already spent many moons getting to know him, being vulnerable without even realising - and you'd be living in a world where fae aren't uncommon at all. He's already proven himself a trustworthy friend. Why would you be scared of him?

... Especially since you have no reason to believe he's anything other than normal fae.

What you (a human) might forget is that the fair folk are not a homogeneous group. Some fae even other fae fear. He's one such entity.

It's difficult to tell if he's more powerful than Dream or Nightmare, considering he spends all his time... well, farming. It's also difficult to compare them because while all three are very ancient, they trace back to very different lineages. Dream and Nightmare are fae of butterflies, flowers, mushrooms, trees, seasons. Farmer is of ferns - of bogs, of gingkos, pine and moss.

Yall remember my Forest God AU? He's like if a Forest God got its act together, and just decided to settle down in a humanoid form. He's lived long enough to know what really matters... things like soft socks, a place to call home, the eyes and lips of a human you love.

He calls you "chickadee". It's his favourite bird.

People from the nearby village will giddily ask if you and Farmer are 'courting'. The delightful but mysterious bachelor finally has someone he likes? Everyone's rooting for him!

You have a very important role, on his farm. Very very important. You're his preserves tester. How is he supposed to know his jams and chutneys are any good, without someone of refined palate to assist him?

He has a really wonderful singing voice.

Old habits die hard; he still likes to trade. But the trades are silly, and often just an excuse for him to play. You want to hear him sing again? Better 'trade' by agreeing to cuddle up by the fire with him. You want another song, because the last sounded so ancient and beautiful and unlike anything you've ever heard? Try his spiced rice pudding, then he'll think about it.

His favourite food is roasted chestnuts.

His farm rests on the boundary between the fae and human worlds. You can enter from either side - and if you're not careful, leave on the wrong side. Farmer always walks you the right way, but if someone he doesn't like decides to make their leave, he might not be so attentive to where they're going.

You can stay at his farm without turning into fae. Alternatively, if you enter his property from the fae side, your transformation into fae is paused.

Wouldn't be surprised if he can reverse an incomplete transformation.

He talks fondly, but in the past tense, about a brother.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Clavell/Bachelor/Wan

🧇Waffles and Strawberry Baby🍓

By now it was almost 11 pm. After they had arrived, Pauline briefly put her luggage down. Then she carefully took his hands and looked into his eyes with a tired smile. “Thank you…that i can be here again."/ ‘Yes, well, as I said, I want you to spend your pregnancy stress-free’. Pauline had to smile a little. “You're worried about me, hn”. He raised his eyebrows a little and looked a little sheepishly to the side. “Like I said, I just want…"/ ”That I'm okay, yes, that's fine. Tomorrow I'll make us some nice pancakes, and this time with real eggs and milk.”

“Yes, with the new stove it's quite possible… You can sleep in my bed, but I'll take the sofa for now, all right?”. Pauline shrugged her shoulders a little. “mh, I thought…"/ ”I know what you were thinking. And I told you not to rush things…"/ ”hh, fine. I'm incredibly tired anyway.”. Even though she would have liked to press a kiss to his lips, she went to bed without this tender touch for the time being.

What else is there to do when there is no real place to sleep? You lie down on the couch and try to get a good night's sleep there. “I hope she doesn't see it as a punishment. It's not a punishment, just…if we were lying next to each other right now, she'd want more, I know her…hormones are playing tricks on her at the moment. No, it has to be like this for now”…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's still quite early in the morning when Pauline gets out of bed. She's pretty hungry, so she gets to work on the pancakes early. And she takes great pleasure in preparing them. “We still had a lot of flour, but with just water and a bit of cornflour, it doesn't taste good at all. Now the dough has the right consistency again. The children will love it”..

When you haven't eaten something good for a very long time, it's almost as if you're preparing this dish for the very first time and spoiling your family with it. And, above all, your own palate. in order to be able to use the still-functioning stove, it was connected to one of the exposed power lines outside. Only with the help of the others, of course, so as not to injure themselves. “Oh my God, that smells so fantastic! I bet they'll all be in the kitchen in a minute.”.

And just as Pauline had suspected, it happened. "You're back?" It was a real surprise for the children. Pauline looked at Xander briefly, almost questioning whether she was even allowed to answer that. But he just smiled. "Yes, I... I was allowed to move back in. Is that okay with you?"/ "Yeah, sure, oh man, are those really waffles?"/ "Mmm, made from fresh eggs and fresh milk. I actually wanted to make pancakes, but the dough was too thick, I didn't have enough milk."/ "I can get some later, but first I have to try a waffle."

They sat down at the table together almost hastily. Everyone looked at the warm, steaming waffles on the plate. “It's really a difference like night and day. Better than that ready-made stuff from the bag.” Pauline smiled with satisfaction. It was nice to see the children's eyes light up. “Then enjoy it. I can hardly wait either"/ ‘That's fantastic… Thank you, Pauline’/ ‘You're welcome’.

"Michael said you're having a baby, is that true?"/ "Mmm, yes, that's right, sweetie"/ "Will it live here too?" Pauline looked briefly at Xander again, who was eating his waffles without showing any emotion. "Well, I… I think so, unless I find another house"/ "but the other houses are all broken"/ "yes, that's true…"/ "So you have to stay here, then the baby will be nice and warm and we'll get fresh waffles every morning".. Pauline had to smile a little. Apparently her company is more than welcome now.

After a good meal. “How big is the baby now? You don't have a big belly yet"/ ‘well, it's… The size of a strawberry, I think’/ ”a big one or a small one? They all look different”. Pauline had to laugh. “Bella, why don't you go and play outside for a bit,” Xander said. “It's okay, she can ask questions…”. But Bella realized that the adults probably should to be alone for a while . “No, it's fine, I'll go and get dressed and then I'll try to swing a hundred times, hnhn”.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover :)

[wings-of-ink]

Hi! (this got a bit long, sorry for that,,)

I just finished reading the update and wanted to let you know I absolutely loved it! It was such a pleasant read, even if it wasn't packed with drama and action to the brim—I feel like a palate cleanser like this was appropriate after such an eventful start to the story.

I loved all the interactions between the characters, the dynamic between Oswin and Nathanael is especially fun. Actually, Nathanael by himself is fun. The oats sowing euphemism made me laugh more than it should have because, yes, I'm childish like that. What a dork; I love him. (I'm imagining now a scene in an alternate universe where MC stumbles up to Oswin dazed out of their mind after they shared a pipe with Nathanael, which is immediately followed by Oswin grabbing the merchant and shaking him until he spills out what it is he smokes—because we all know it ain't just plain ol' tobacco—and how could he let MC of all the three other people gathered take a drag, all while MC and Zahn sit by the fire, watching a looney tunes cartoon unfold before them.)

Oh, and Zahn! Oh man. Can I just say if they asked, I would give them anything? (the world, the universe, the stars; you name it.) Actually, no, scratch that—they don't even have to ask; I would just bring them all the yummy food and warm blankets and pamper them until they accept they are worth it, because they! are! not! a bad! person! Also, I don't know why, but before they were introduced, I had this image of them being a character that would only appear here and there (you know, like every story has a character that just doesn't get enough screen time), but knowing they'll be tagging along for a while longer makes me really happy! Right now it feels like a circus lol we have a horse (maybe also a mule), an elk, a cat and a golden retriever✨.

I also found it particularly interesting how you implemented the hobbies! To be honest, I haven't read the flavor text for all of them yet, but I picked sewing as soon as I saw it as an option (no reason, I just liked the idea). My MC chose to be a healer, so learning that they were the most trusted with stitching up wounds was a really nice touch. (Not to mention they can—and will—make/mend clothing for Zahn in secret and then surprise them while they least expect it… >:P) Once their journey is over and the MC comes back to Stonebrook, they're going to wait for Nathanael to pass by with his cart and give Shadow a little kitty sweater💖.

This is already too long, sorryy; I just get very excited when I find a story that pulls me in and refuses to let go. Seriously, I keep thinking about it way too much lol. I'm usually a simple lurker and nothing but, however, I do believe there's never enough praise and encouragement! You've done amazing so far, and I know it's only going to get better. (Can't wait to meet the rest of the cast; I keep daydreaming about Rune.. it's getting serious)

Thank you for your hard work, and I hope you have a nice and cozy rest of the weekend! <33

No worries, Anon, sometimes you just have a lot to say! ^_^

I am so glad you enjoyed the chapter! I am hoping to update it soon. I'm adding a few extra optional moments to spend with all three of your camping companions. Fingers crossed for more shenanigans.

Nathanael cracks me up too. I find fun in writing for all of them, but I feel like he gives me more liberties. I wrote the oats line and made myself crack up, but thought most wouldn't find it quite as funny so I'm glad you did! Also, your imagination is pretty much spot on with that scenario!

The hobby section was fun, but also a little bit of a slog for me to write since it was huge, so you won't find a ton of differences. The exception is the singing hobby. I really want to incorporate original music in some way, but I have zero - absolute zero - skills in it, including writing lyrics. I went a little extra, and I found a small artist to help me out, though the type of song I asked for was like waaay out of their normal wheelhouse, lol. I think they did a wonderful job. They are listed in the credits too.

I can't wait to give you a chance to spoil Zahn a bit! They need it and will adore you for it! Well, they will adore you pretty well regardless, lol. Shadow does not like clothing, but he's also getting attached to MC - best bed he's tried probably ever - so he'll make an exception to wear the little sweater.

I am so glad that you are living a bit in my little world. I can't wait for you to experience more! Thank you so much for the wonderful message, it lit up my day! As someone who usually just lurks as well, your reaching out warms my heart. ^_^

[lemon-grey]

You're completely valid to read Hubert as having a complex relationship to food but to answer your question about why you might be having a hard time finding that content: If I remember right you didn't play Hopes? He's established as having a younger sister and a younger brother, and that he sneaks vegetables into the distributed rations of pickier members in his service and into Lysithea's meals specifically. Additionally that he helps make bitter things more palatable for her. So people likely think he has a good handle on managing his own dietary needs, though obviously it would be really easy for someone like this to not be able to manage their own meals.

Hubert: Then they've not noticed?

Imperial Soldier: Not at all. While preferences vary, there tend to be many people who love meat and dislike vegetables. But to think we found a way to hide the vegetables in all of that delicious meat and broth! Haha! Those who ate it found it delicious without being any the wiser—and of course, she did as well.

Hubert: That is splendid news. Pray continue, then.

Lysithea: Wait... Did I just eat a bunch of vegetables?!

Hubert: Goodness, Lysithea, you look positively gobsmacked. Did you have yourself a recent surprise, perhaps?

Lysithea: So many vegetables... Augh! Hubert! Uh, it's nothing! I'm busy! Gotta go!

(Lysithea runs away)

Hubert: It really is sad how much time I spend trying to make vegetables palatable for people... Ah, well. I suppose I should just consider it part of managing our soldiers' health.

-----

Hubert: Well, I suppose one with a youthful tongue would not care for it. Yet the bitterness, the deep richness, the subtle acidity... Oh, and I'm not treating you like a child here—I am merely discussing different palates.

Lysithea: I'm not a child and neither is my tongue. Now give me some of that coffee!

(scene fades to black)

Lysithea: Blech!

Hubert: Are you all right, Lysithea? Here, wipe your mouth.

(scene fades back in)

Hubert: I fear that attempt was ill-advised. If you wish to enjoy coffee, you must first modify it to your liking. Perhaps we might try adding sugar and goat's milk? It would mellow the flavor and add sweetness.

Lysithea: Yes, please.

-----

Hubert: I...have a younger sister. One the same age as you. The pair of you have similar personalities, so perhaps I end up doting on you for this reason.

This is fair enough—I haven’t played Hopes but I have dug up all of Hubert and Ferdinand’s dialogue and supports because I’m very normal about them lmao so I have actually read these before!

I guess I just—speaking as someone with disordered eating myself (altho not a full blown eating disorder fwiw) it is wayyyy easier for me to prepare a balanced meal for someone else (like my partner) than it is to make myself eat well on my own so I just kind of absorbed this into the greater Hubert headcanon aha

I see a guy who has fewer “liked” foods than everyone else, who talks about not liking to eat in front of others, and worries about what’s in food, and I think ok, disordered eating!

But it’s okay if the fandom disagrees lmao it’s just sort of my take on things! I will rub my grubby little headcanon and projection hands all over my favs forever—

[outeremissary]

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Balthazar and Tristian!

I hope all is well in the once-Stolen Lands! The hardest part of moving back to Cheliax away from Mendev is the distance between my old diplomatic allies turned friends. On this day of love and friendship, I extend my most cheerful of celebrations to you two! Please take it easy today, the kingdom can afford one day of a break, Balthazar. I promise it’s not going to all fall apart. You’re lucky Tristian has the patience of a saint. 

Hopefully these gifts will give you an excuse to step off the throne for a little bit! The wine and cheese is local to Cheliax. Of course, I don’t know how it compares to what you guys produce over there, but I hope it at least is palatable enough for a date night! I’ve also sent along some books on ancient arcane rituals that might interest you - Regill would’ve insisted they be thoroughly examined for anything dangerous… which technically you can do. We won’t tell him. It’s wrapped in the fashion magazines last I picked up from Absalom - I hope I didn’t bend their pages doing so! I remember you also being really into that sort of stuff.  

I also sent along some balm I found when I was there for feathers. I can’t believe how soft it’s made mine, I really just had to pass it along to you too! I know what a huge pain it is to care for them, especially with your wings. Hopefully you find it useful! I’d love to come visit sometime - if you have any other world ending cataclysms, I’m just a Sending away!

-Warm regards, Minovae!"

My dear Minovae,

Though this letter falls into your lap a touch late for me to properly wish you well for the holiday, I can certainly send my hopes that you spent it pleasantly with that husband of yours. Though duty never takes a holiday, I must say you more than earned the rest. I can only hope you enjoyed a long and indulgent vacation for the holiday. Perhaps at the spas you have told me so much about, or maybe enjoying that evergreen Chelaxian theater scene (though I confess I can’t imagine Regill sitting through an opera without making his displeasure quite known). Tristian sends regards as well, and is with me insisting on knowing what I put down. He has doubts about some of the books, Minovae- you will have to reassure him when next you write.

As for us, you needn’t have worried. The toil of the realm is ceaseless, it’s true, but I do still know how to enjoy myself. Spending a day like that bent over petitions and tax documents… if that ever happens, I’ll be the first calling for revolution. No, we didn’t do even a little work on the date, I’m happy to say. Tristian even came back to bed after dawn prayer- the closest to sleeping in I think we manage. It was a fairly quiet affair this year (no travel or shows this time around), but the time in was well spent. I’m sorry to have missed your gifts on the day! I do miss the cuisine of the Inner Sea- the wine and cheese would have been an excellent addition to the evening. You speak far too modestly of your gifts. It will be a long while before anything as fine emerges here.

At any rate, between the fine southern vintage and the news of Absalom, you’ve awoken something of a nostalgia in me. You’re in danger of playing host rather than visitor if this continues. I only half jest- I’ve been playing with the idea of some “diplomatic tour” as excuse for a while now. But I suspect you can tear yourself away from your post somewhat easier than I, and we would be happy to have you again even sans cataclysm. Here- I’ve sent some things along that might tantalize you. That pendant should be a lovely complement to your eyes- though it’s been some time, I should think I remember their color well enough. It was crafted by one of the artisans near Lake Silverstep, who sought to capture the silver-blue of the mountains not only in the frame for the gem but that thread-thin chain as well. What a lovely coincidence that hue is also counted among your scales! The music box is Pitaxian and is from both of us- there have always been renowned instrument crafters in the city, but what a delight to see the songs themselves captured, yes? And speaking of the region… a lovely Sarain white. I’ve no local cheese to send to pair it with, sadly. At times like this I wish that Jubilost were still here. Much as he could be an insufferable ass, if you could sit through his scoffing at your ignorance there really was no one better at finding the right local complement for any vintage (Tristian wishes you to know he strongly objects to my word choice, though he cedes Jubilost could be “somewhat overbearing”). At any rate, the vintage is citrusy, a touch dry, and pairs well with something salty but mild. If you’re near enough to Westcrown, I’ve also heard it works splendidly with oysters.

Yours truly,

Balthazar and Tristian

P.S. The balm really is a marvel. You’ll have to tell me where you got it, as I’m already sure I’ll mourn its absence when it’s gone.

(author's note: I wrote the tags before the letter and now I'm too scared of them to change them whatever's happening down there is happening)

[demonsandco]

hi!! i was wondering if you could do a headcannon of the brothers + dia, barb and simeon reacting to mc asking if they could do it in their demon/angel forms?

I sure hope that by “demon form” you meant my version of their forms, because only after I finished writing, did I remember that they have canonical demon forms, too, woops! But Simeon doesn’t have a non-human form in-game so hopefully I was right gjhfkfjh

Lucifer : It’s a rare occurrence to see Lucifer speechless, yet somehow they���ve managed to stun him into silence with a single request. Being intimate in his demon form isn’t something that’s even crossed his mind before, not seeing his true form as anything more than a tool for intimidation. With too many eyes, elongated limbs, and crisscrossing scars highlighted by patches of missing feathers, he truly doesn’t understand what they see in him to pick that over his much more palatable, human form. Yet, despite his initial shock and hesitance, he can’t find it in him to deny their request. If they really want to see his true form, especially in such an intimate setting, then he’ll humor them, but the entire time he’s preparing himself for some sort of rejection, expecting them to flinch away from his touch or to ask him to switch back. He’s astonishingly vulnerable in this form, and craves a positive reaction from them.

(cont under the cut)

Mammon : When he hears their request, Mammon’s relief is palpable. Having sex in his human from has always felt distant to him, as though he were wearing a costume or a skin tight suit. He’s desperate to feel their hands on his demon form, often fantasising about how their hands would feel running across his wings or buried in his feathers, but, while he may have not so subtly hinted at his desires in the past, he’s never had the courage to initiate such a thing himself. He’s immensely excited about their request, so excited in fact that he’s prepared to stop whatever he was doing and drag them off to somewhere private to have his way with them. It also encourages him to spend more time in his demon form around them, now that he knows that it won’t scare them away.

Leviathan : Levi’s knee-jerk reaction is to say no right off the bat. As much as he trusts his partner, he can’t help but think that there’s some sort of ulterior motive behind the request, refusing to believe that anyone would actually want to see his demon form, much less touch it in such an intimate way. While his true form grants him confidence and immeasurable power, in a relationship, it becomes his biggest insecurity. It takes a lot of patience and encouragement to convince him to go through with it, and even then he’s hesitant to even touch them, worried that they’ll think he’s creepy or gross and change their mind. It doesn’t help that he’s practically useless on land and that they’d need to join him in the water to comfortably have sex. He’s understandably nervous, but praise and affection go a long way in easing his worries, and once he gets a taste of how nice it feels, he finds himself asking them to be intimate in his demon form more often.

Satan : Satan isn’t all that surprised by their request. In fact, he’d been expecting it to come up sooner or later. After all, he wants to know every intimate detail about his partner, to see them in their most vulnerable state, so he assumes that they’d eventually want to get to know his true form intimately, as well. He feels some anxiety, of course, his demon form not exactly being human friendly, all rough skin and sharp edges, but he does a good job at keeping his fears at bay and enjoying the moment. It feels freeing, in a way, to have them accept him so readily, to allow something as monstrous as him so close in such a vulnerable moment. With every soft touch of their hands and kiss from their lips, he finds himself falling in love all over again. He craves their acceptance, and the fact that they can see him at his worst and still show him love speaks volumes.

Asmodeus : As much as he wants to tease his partner for having such a lewd suggestion, or to think of it as a chance to introduce them to something new and pleasurable, the only thing Asmo feels at their request is genuine fear. There is very little that he’s afraid of, but the idea of them rejecting him is terrifying, and he’s convinced himself that no one could possibly love him if they saw his true form. He’s very calculated in what parts of his demon form he lets people see, making sure he looks cute and unassuming at all times. He has no problems showing those parts of him to his partner, but the rest of his demon form isn’t anywhere near as cutesy, and he doesn’t want them to associate him with such an “ugly” appearance. Yet at the same time, he wants to be able to be himself around them, to have them see the parts of him that he’s kept hidden. It takes a lot of worry and hesitation, before he finally shows them his true form during sex, the shared lust giving him the push he needed. He’s so prepared for a negative response that their positive reaction is enough to make him melt against them.

Beelzebub : It’s not uncommon for Beel to be seen in a not quite human form around the house, his wings and horns unconsciously coming out while he eats or works out. Knowing this, he’s surprised that his partner has seen those parts of him and instead of being scared, they want to see more. He’s not the type of person to hide who he is to make himself more palatable. He trusts them to know what they want, and he takes their request at face value. At first, he didn’t think too much of it, but the moment he feels them touch his true form, watches them search for his most sensitive areas, he becomes addicted to the feeling. The fact that he’s even bigger than normal in this form excites him more than he thought it would, too, his massive frame making his partner seem tiny in comparison. Needless to say, he finds himself letting his demon form out during sex more often, both because he wants to feel their touch again and because he finds it more comfortable.

Belphegor : Belphie is genuinely surprised that they’d want anything to do with his demon form after how badly things went the first time they saw it. Hearing that they not only want to see it again, but that they want to see it in such a vulnerable moment is a relief to him. He’s always thought that actions speak louder than words, and he sees their request as a sign of trust, something he values greatly. He’s more than happy to show them his demon form, to let them explore his body and create new, much more enjoyable, memories. He also takes it as an invitation to show his demon form more often, taking every opportunity he can to let out his horns as he cuddles up to them or conveniently resting his tail within petting range. Now that he knows they’re not scared of his appearance, he wants them to associate his form with positive and intimate moments.

Diavolo : Diavolo is positively ecstatic to hear their request! He’s wanted to don his true form while being intimate with them since the start of their relationship, but he’s held back out of worry, not wanting to risk frightening them. Truthfully, he’s not too fond of maintaining a human appearance for so long, and he’s almost too excited to let out his demonic features. Hopefully, they had nothing else planned for the day, because he’s already got them wrapped up in his many wings, with his scaly face pressed against their neck. He plans to take his time with them, practically acting as though it was their first time together again, treating them like a priceless treasure in his clawed grasp, showing them everything he can do in his true form that a human could never hope to accomplish.

Barbatos : Barbatos has been waiting for them to ask this for quite a while, and he can’t keep the small smile off his face when they finally do. While he’s perfectly comfortable in his human form, he feels as though it greatly limits his abilities in the bedroom, and he hates to think that he’s not pleasing them to the best of his abilities. He knows that his true form isn’t something a human would be used to, though, so he waited until they were confident enough to bring it up themselves. He sees it as taking the next step in their relationship in a way, knowing that they not only are willing to accept him for what he is, but that they embrace it. With his extra limbs, slick tail and long, powerful tongue, he’s more than happy to show them how much more skilled he is at servicing them in this form, and he’s also surprised to realise just how sensitive his demonic appendages are.

Simeon : It’s rare for Simeon to feel the need to turn his partner down, but he finds himself initially denying their request when they first ask, coming up with some half baked excuses in an attempt to avoid hurting their feelings. Humans never seem to react well to an angel’s true form and he can’t bear to see them regard him with fear, especially not during such an intimate moment. While his angelic appearance may not be as monstrous as a demons, the extra limbs, many eyes and inhumanly tall frame are more than enough to make him look rather disconcerting. Yet at the same time, he doesn’t like the thought of hiding his true form from them, leaving him conflicted. With enough reassurance, he eventually feels comfortable enough showing them bits and pieces of his angel form at a time, and each night they spend together his human form slips away a bit more. At first it’s just his wings, letting his partner run their hands over his sensitive feathers and getting used to the extra limbs, before slowly showing them more of him. Soon enough, he reaches a point where letting out his angel form around them is like a habit, feeling like it makes their time spent together feel more intimate, especially now that he knows his looks alone won’t scare them away.

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part fourteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Tom explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Tom haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Sam, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Tom, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

He nodded and took his dough back to continue kneading it. You noticed his jaw clenched subtly in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else. You watched as he rolled the pasta dough with a little more force, maybe a little too much.

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Tom’s, even though Sam had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Sam had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Tom was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

You were starting to sweat with effort, you were so out of shape that even cooking had you catching your breath. You had thought this was going to be fun, but instead you were having flashbacks to high school P.E. class.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Tom. He took over for Tom and instructed Sam to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Sam assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Sam whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Sam’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Tom set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Tom said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Tom put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what's the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Making the fillings for the pasta was a much simpler process than making the dough. All you had to do was mix certain ingredients together. It didn’t matter what order you added them, if you whisked fast or slow, the only important thing was that everything made it into the bowl one way or another.

You worked in pairs for this step. Sam mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Sam explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Sam ended up having to help you and Tom because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Sam warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Sam was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you said, remembering all the times you had teased him for stressing out over his ‘soufflé final’ or ‘crepe labs’. “I would much rather be writing a paper right now.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Tom snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Sam’s family, even if they had a... complicated relationship.

When the class finally settled in the dining room of the restaurant to eat you were sweaty, sore, and exhausted. You could feel your skin sticking to the leather seat, and you felt severely underdressed. Back in the kitchen you hadn’t been so self-conscious. But now you couldn’t stop thinking about your appearance.

The atmosphere was much more sophisticated. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. All of the other guests were following an unspoken black-tie dress code while the fifteen of you were still wearing your disposable aprons, only now they were covered in flour and egg yolk.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Sam to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Sam wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Sam was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Sam’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hollands chat with other students at the table.

You weren’t a huge fan of wine, but the one served with dinner was palatable, and to be honest you weren’t one to turn down complimentary alcohol anyway. It tasted more expensive than anything you had ever drank, like the equivalent of velvet on your tongue. You finished your glass and the rest of Harry’s.

-

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hollands like a dog, worn on Sam’s arm like an accessory.

You had known what you were getting into, and you were trying your best to enjoy the experiences- because who the fuck knows when you’ll ever get to go on such a nice vacation again, but pretending to be in love with your best friend was a harder feat than you had thought.

It felt like being in a school play. Every move and phrase had to be intentional. You tread the lines of your relationship with rehearsed expertise. And you had to watch what you said, because everyone’s eyes were on you. At least that’s what it felt like.

Sam’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Harry, though. Tom was the problem. Tom was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Sam had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Harry was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Sam, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Sam explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Sammy.”

You had dinner in the restaurant attached to the hotel lobby. Nikki passed around her Canon for everyone to look through the pictures from the day while a bottle of limoncello was passed around the table.

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Sam went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Harry, and Tom. You told Sam you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Sam. Back at school you could always find Sam in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

When he moved out of the dorms and into an apartment he bought a keyboard, and you’d spend nights together in his room illegally pirating sheet music for him to learn new songs. He’d play whatever you requested, and if he didn’t know how to play it he’d teach himself.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Sam always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Tom dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Harry said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Harry groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Harry,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Tom wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Tom, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You had to act uninterested, you couldn’t let on to- but he was staring back. His eyes were intense, and almost impossible to read in the darkness of the room. You knew you should look away, knew you had to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Sam but then suddenly Tom was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

logging off before i get yelled at but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[trueshellz]

Hello! Can I request Osamu and Kuroo finding out their S/O has trouble functioning recently. Like usually they're working a lot and being productive but now they're burnt out – no motivation, skipping meals, can't sleep, etc. If this is too much, please feel free to ignore! Thank you!

Thank you for the request! 💜

Osamu

You had always been good at hiding your stress from your family and it was no different when you started dating. Work had been more stressful than usual, there had been lots of looming deadlines and the change in management meant that the new person was trying to leave their mark on the company. Being a perfectionist, you didn't want your work scrutinised and had taken to working long hours with little sleep.

Osamu was aware of this, knowing to keep his distance when you had lots to do. Not because he didn't like your job, but more so that you would get little done, instead playing games or making out. You had planned to see him properly but he would always pop in during the early evening to drop off some food for you.

What you hadn't shared with him was how stressed you had felt. Instead of eating, the food had been piling up untouched. You were up most of the night working on the changes coming through from the new manager and relied on coffee and caffeine pills to help. When going into work had become too stressful, you had taken some time off to recover and focus on yourself. But this had just made you fall into a dark hole. You spent all day in pyjamas, barely eating still and slept most of the day. You didn't know how to tell your hardworking boyfriend how you felt, especially since he was so busy with the shop. If he could manage a business you should be able to do your job right?

It was the second week of not seeing you daily, Osamu was starting to get worried. You had told him that you were staying with family for a bit as you had been stressed with work and didn't want to take time away from him setting his restaurant up. You still spoke everyday, less so on video or the phone but your text conversations went on for ages.

"Osamu! How are you?"

Glancing up, he saw your parents approaching the shop as he was putting up a notice board. They had known for a while that you had been dating, being supportive of you both and the relationship between you had been great.

"I'm ok. How are you both? How's my lovely girlfriend doing?"

The shock on their faces was almost palatable, they both looked at each other confused before turning back to him.

"We've not spoken to her for about 3 weeks. She said she was staying at her apartment as she had deadlines to meet and needed to focus. You know how her siblings are when she's home."

"But..."

Osamu felt his heart stop as your parents told him what else you had said. The worst thoughts going through his mind as he listened half-heartedly to them. There was no reason to lie to him or your parents. He couldn't think of why you had spun this story to lie to everyone.

Waving farewell to your parents, his thoughts swirling around his head as he finished work and tidied up the shop. By the time he locked up, he was just angry at you. How dare you lie to him? You knew how much he valued truthfulness and honesty.

Storming to you apartment, he planned his conversation in his head. He was going to confront you about lying to your parents, lying to him and about not spending time with him. If you didn't want to date him, you should have just said. Knocking on your door, he waited for you to answer but there was nothing, the lights were off and he couldn't see inside. He didn't like using the spare key you gave him, not wanting to be that boyfriend who didn't trust their partner. But it seemed like he had no choice.

Unlocking your front door, he was shocked to see your post on the floor, more than would accumulate from a day or two. Walking through and calling our your name, he could see the apartment was messy too. The food he had been sending on the worktops, work papers all over the floor and your curtains were all closed too. He kept calling your name until he reached your room, hoping to hear you reply. Were you unwell? Why hadn't you told him? He would have helped you, looked after you.

You had been in bed all day, apart from a quick shower and eating a banana, the energy you usually had had completely depleted. Everything hurt. Arms. Legs. Head. Back. Your eyeballs hurt. How was that even possible? You thought you heard your name being called but figured it was just your mind playing tricks on you. It wasn't until your bedroom door opened and Osamu's face came into your peripheral vision did you really start to panic.

"'Samu... I... what?"

All thoughts of reprimanding you flew straight out the window when he saw you. Osamu actually felt his stomach drop. Your usually bright and cheerful face was dull, your eyes were sunken and you had bags under them, he was sure you'd lost weight and didn't even want to ask when you had last eaten.

"Baby."

That one word was enough to have you breaking down into tears, not pretty ones, loud and gut wrenching sobs as he rushed over and pulled you close. Yep, definitely lost weight. His chin resting on your head as he shushed you, arms wrapped around you tightly as he rubbed your back. Your tears soaking the front of his jacket, hand curled in his top as if he'd disappear. You hadn't realised how much you missed him until he appeared in front of you.

"Baby, why didn't ya tell me? I woulda come sooner."

You shook your head, unable to form words he he climbed into bed with you. Pulling you forward so you lay on him, his arms wrapped around you as you lay there. For a long time neither of you spoke, content to lay there while your breathing settled back down and eventually falling asleep again. As you did, he couldn't help but shed a few tears at the sight of seeing you so exhausted and broken, especially after he thought the worst, made him feel like shit. How could he have been so blind? He should have seen something was wrong?

"'Samu?" He felt you move and sit up, instead pushing your head back onto his chest, he cuddled you close and squeezed you lightly.

"I'm here, baby. Don't worry."

"'M sorry."

"For what?"

"Lying."

If he hadn't cried already, he was sure you were going to make him cry again. Closing his eyes against the tears, he propped you up so you could look down at him. Brushing the hair behind your ears, he thumbed your cheek lovingly before kissing you softly.

"I wish ya'd told me, baby. I woulda helped. I woulda checked on ya more and-"

"I didn't want to burden you. You've been busy with the shop and I just... didn't want to seem like I couldn't manage. And then it just got so much and I didn't know how to fix it."

Sitting up, Osamu pulled you into his lap so you were say sideways and rocked you gently as he spoke.

"Ya never have to be sorry for shit like this. If I'd known, I woulda come sooner. Baby, ya had me worried. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to ya. Listen to me, ya never gonna be alone ok? Let me help ya baby. Lemme take some of the burden ok?" When you shook your head, he smiled and continued. "I love ya baby. It's my job to help ya."

"How?"

"Come stay with me for a bit? Even if ya never leave ya room or wanna stay in bed, ya won't be alone. I'll be there to help."

"I don't-"

"Please baby. If nothing else, I'll know that yer OK. That yer not alone and sad. All by yerself thinking that no one cares. Please?"

Kuroo

It was the autumn term and you were struggling. You weren’t sure what it was about this weather that just drained you of energy, the lack of light or the cold seeping into your bones. The idea of having dark mornings and dark evenings made your mood sour and no matter what you did, it wasn’t getting any better. You knew you had work that needed doing, your to do list steadily getting bigger and your will to donit getting smaller.

You had been off school for a week now, with Kuroo away at traing camp he was none the wiser. You were able to hide your troubles from him, he would call in the evening which would he the time you got home. He was always so cheerful, face lit up with his stories about his day and games. Often you would have his teammates crash the call and hear the mayhem as he tried to wrestle the phone away from them.

Last night, Lev had stolen the phone and started complaining about being picked on. As much as you loved your boyfriend, Lev was a sweetheart and you had a huge soft spot for him. Kuroo had wrestled the phone away from him and you watched the fight ensue in the background. With so much going on, it was easy to divert the attention away from yourself, load all the focus on his team and their game today.

Glancing at the clock, you knew the team would be on their way back by now. It was the afternoon and school was still in full force, the homework from last week still on your desk and your phone full of messages from friends asking where you were. Soon you heard Kuroo's special ringtone light up your phone. He would always message you after a match and meet with you, walking you home at the end of the day while filling you in about the camp. You would pick up snacks on the way and the lounge around on the sofa watching movies together. But today? You just couldn't do it.

Kuroo was confused and worried. Not only had you not answered your phone but you weren't in your class. Your friends hadn't heard from you in a while and that wasn't like you. Dialling your number again, he waved goodbye to his teammates before making his way to your house. He was almost there, turning back at the last minute to grab your favourite flowers and food from your local shop.

Arriving at your house, he could see that the lights were off but your car was parked outside. Calling you again, he could hear your phone ring from inside the house but you made no attempt to answer it. Banging on the door, he waited and waited. Tension growing by the minute when you didn't appear.

"Kitten! I can hear your phone ringing. Answer the door."

You knew you should answer it, you phone had rang about twelve times and you had about twenty messages as well as four voicemails. Dragging yourself out of bed, you went to your window and peered out, seeing his dark hair as he bent over his phone. The image tugged at your heart, you could see his brows furrowed as he bounced on his toes. A sure sign that he was anxious and worried.

"Kitten. Open the door. I can see your shadow in the window."

You tensed as he said that, begrudgingly walking to the door and bracing yourself against it. Tears forming in your eyes as you thought about how you worried everyone, how much of a letdown you were and how unreliable.

"Baby." His voice was softer now, closer too. "Open the door. I'm worried about you. Lemme at least see you ok? If you wanna be alone afterwards, I'll leave."

Cracking the door open a few centimetres, you peered through and saw Kuroo's face. It instantly softened, you felt your eyes fill with tears as he reached across and ran his thumb under your eyes, most probably seeing the dark circles you had. Letting him push the door open further, you let him pull you into a hug. His arms wrapping securely around your body as you fell into him, his voice a low shushing in your ear and it was then that you realised you were crying. Tears tracking down your face and soaking his jersey as you stood.

"Kitten, I gotcha. I'll always be here for you. Shhh. Don't cry baby. You're breaking my heart here. Let's get you inside yeah? I bought some food and we can lounge around like always." He pulled away and a look of panic crossed his face. "If that's what you want. If not, I'll go. I don't wanna intrude or-"

"No, Tetsu. I'd love to have you here... but, I'm not in a great place. I don't wanna-"

"Baby listen, my heart is wherever you are. If you're hurting, I'm hurting too. We'll get through this together ok? Let's stay in bed, watch some movies and eat our body weight in junk. If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, we'll organise things yeah? School work. Homework. Whatever. I'm back now, you don't have to do this alone."

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Weasley support system

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Summary: Y/N takes the position of a subtitute teacher at Hogwarts; her and George’s eldest son comes out as gay Word count: 1465

warnings: pretty emotional, but I wouldn’t say sad? supportive parents and siblings

a/n: This is based on the concept from my last post. I didn’t spend too much time working on it so I hope you like it?  I couldn’t decide on a title so this one might be rubbish. It was a good palate cleanser while writing the next chapter of little steps as it’s long and my mind started going in loops. Which is why if you have any request, send it my way. I know I haven’t shown much yet, but I’m open peeps

Feedback encouraged!

14th May 2020

Dear Y/N,

            The reason I am writing to you is to make a request.

            I have recently received news of our current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor’s plan to retire. I’m afraid this has come as a bit of a shock to me and I won’t be able to find a suitable and competent successor in time before September. I don’t suppose you would be willing to take that position long-term, however, I’d like to offer you the position of a substitute teacher for one year, time in which I’m sure to find somebody good enough.

            I am giving you time to think the decision through, but I hope to see you at the start of September.

 Minerva McGonagall Headmistress Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

  You finished reading the letter and placed it on the table next to your coffee mug and the breakfast leftovers. George took your hand and you looked up at him, both of your facial expressions in a mix of excitement and uncertainty. “What do you think?” He asked after a bit of silence, softly caressing your hand with his thumb. “It’s an interesting opportunity..” “It is..” you trailed off “I would see the kids more” he nodded.

You got a bit happier at the thought, and your mind once more went to how soon they’d finally be back home for the summer. You got used to being apart from them, last September even your youngest left for Hogwarts, meaning you and George were left alone at home. You got used to it, but you still missed your babies, who were not babies anymore.

Your eldest, Lucas - now finishing his fifth year, was an introvert with a heart of gold. The twin girls – Ruby and Vivian – although different from each other, both took after their dad – but to your luck with less interest in mischief. The youngest – Jacob, had a natural talent for driving his sisters insane.

You knew being apart from George for months after nearly twenty years of being married would not be easy, but you decided to go through with it, hoping this interesting experience would prove worth it.

Riding on the Hogwarts Express brought a familiar sense of excitement, but you weren’t a student anymore. It was strange, passing the compartments and seeing your children and their many cousins chatting with their friends just as you have all those years ago.

As a professor, you were determined to make your students comfortable and interested in what they were learning. They often asked questions about your work and sometimes about Weasleys’ Wizards’ Wheezes (as a Mrs Weasley it was inevitable) which served as a treat.

 “Luke, could you stay behind, please?” you called after your son one day, right after a N.E.W.T. level class with 6th years. He gave his friends a look and walked up to you. “Could you pass me your textbook for a second? I think there were some changes between editions and I’d like to check it with the one I have before my next group…” You said as he reluctantly took the book back out of his bag and put it in front of you.

You flipped through a few chapters and started skimming through one you needed to check. You saw some doodles around the text, along with a few signatures from the same person – Dylan. You did not give it much thought – you knew Dylan, he was Luke’s friend and visited your house a few times in their first years.

You also didn’t notice Luke’s change in expression when you reached that page. His whole body tensed up and breath hitched. He didn’t listen to you ramble about the change in the description of non-verbal spells, he wiped his sweaty palms in his trousers and studied your face, waiting for something.

“You should invite him over around Christmas, baby. It’s been a while.” You said closing both of the books. “Who?” “Dylan” “Why?” asked with a shaky voice, starting to feel slightly sick. “Well, you mention him so often. He’s still your best friend, isn’t he?” you looked up to see your son in a state you’ve never witnessed before and you didn’t understand why. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his eyes started to shine. “He’s not really my friend, mum.” you waited for him to continue, “I like him.” his voice barely audible, yet you still didn’t understand what was going on. You brought your hand up to caress his arm as his lip began to tremble, “I know, baby, it’s-“ “No, mum, you don’t get it!” He bit his lip holding back his tears. “I- I like him…”

You pulled him into a hug and cursed yourself for taking so long to catch up. You embraced the boy as tight as you could. “I’m sorry,” he said between weeps. “No, baby! You have nothing to be sorry about” You brought his face to your shoulder and caressed his head. He took his height after his dad and was already taller than you, but right now felt so small in your arms as you wanted to protect him from the world. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you sooner” “It’s my fault you didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me.” You said, now crying with him. You stayed like that for a bit, kissing the side of his head from time to time. “I’m not sure you could’ve done any better, mum. You’re pretty great,” he laughed softly. “I try.” You chuckled. “Could you.. could you not tell dad?” he said pulling away. It slightly worried you. Was he afraid of coming out to George? You didn’t know how he’d react, but it couldn’t be bad. He loves his children, no matter what. “I- I just want to tell him properly, face to face. I’ll do it during Christmas break.” “Ok, baby,” you said, relieved, pulling him down to place one last kiss to his cheek, to which he rolled his eyes. Back to normal, that means.

It wasn’t easy hiding it from George when you saw him next weekend, but you managed. Luke soon came out to his siblings (Jacob replied with ‘so?’ and the twins claim they knew).

Before you knew it, George was picking you all up from Kings Cross and you were heading home for Christmas.

The next day, you spent the early afternoon at the Burrow to Molly’s delight. Back home, you planned to decorate the house and most importantly – the Christmas tree, after dinner which you were now preparing in the kitchen. It was open to the lounge room, where you could hear George mumble mostly to himself while reading a magazine. You had missed that.

Lucas walked down the stairs inconspicuously and walked up behind the couch. “Can I talk to you, dad?” he asked and you tried to stick to your cooking and let them have their moment, but it was hard not to listen in. “Sure, champ, what is it?” George looked up from behind the paper for just a second, and Luke sat down. “I- I gotta tell you something.”

George put the paper down, confused by the sudden seriousness. “..You’re not making me a granddad yet, are you?” he tried to lighten the mood, but when Luke only looked at his feet, George straightened up completely with raised eyebrows. “No, I’m not,” George’s face relaxed a bit, before his son continued, “that’s unlikely.” he paused for a bit and took a deep breath. “I’m gay, dad”.

There was silence for what felt like hours when in reality it lasted just a few seconds.

George’s face showed pure shock. His back fell against the couch. “Dad?..” Tears started to well up in Luke’s eyes and you wanted to run up to him when you heard the shakiness in his voice. But then George looked up at him.

The warm, reassuring smile you saw on his face reminded you again why you love that man so much. He opened his arms and your son entered his embrace. “I love you, son. And I’m proud of you.” “I love you too, dad.”

That evening, decorating the house with your family made you happier than ever before. You watched the kids bicker about the placement of the ornaments when an arm snaked around your waist. “The rascals will always find something to fight over, won’t they?” he said with a smile and kissed your cheek. You looked up and placed your hand on the side of his face and whispered “I love you” “I love you back,” he said and kissed you softly. When he pulled away, you saw that familiar smirk and he turned to the kids.

“So, any boy you’re gonna introduce to us soon?”

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Emotional

(Lyric free vers.)

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1800ish

Content warnings - light angst, lots of cuddles and comfort

Prompt/inspiration - anon request, based on “Emotional” by Diana DeGarmo

Summary - After a terrible day at RAD, you hide out in your room while Mammon tries to figure out what’s wrong.

AO3

NOTE - My husband reads all my stories, and as soon as he finished this one he immediately told me the pacing was bad because of the lyrics. Which, man, harsh 😭. But that’s what he’s there for - to give me feedback even if I might not want to hear it. So here’s a second copy of the same story, just with the lyrics removed. ☺️ You can find the original version here.

Today had been a long day. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for whatever reason, anytime someone so much as looked at you funny, you felt like crying. The voices in your head whispering to you that they were watching you, judging you.

Mammon had tried on several occasions to pull you aside, but you successfully managed to slip away each time. Normally you were so grateful for his company, but today you just knew that if he asked you if you were okay you were going to lose it.

And you absolutely did not want to lose it in the middle of RAD.

You flopped onto your bed, now in the safety of your room, curling up on yourself and pulling your comforter around you. Finally you were able to let out all the stress that had been holding onto. And just as you started to cry, a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on your door shocked you back to your senses.

“Hey, open up! You’ve been avoidin’ me all day.”

It was Mammon.

Not even taking a moment to think about what you actually wanted, you snapped at him.

“GO AWAY.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Your tone was sharper than you had intended, but not only that, you didn’t really want him to leave. Part of you wanted him to wrap you up in one of his hugs and just hold you while you fell to pieces in his arms. However, you learned a long time ago that only babies cried. If you were strong, you wouldn’t cry so much. That crying was a burden on and an annoyance to everyone around you.

The silence that followed made your heart break. You couldn’t tell if you were more sad at the idea that you had hurt Mammon’s feelings or more hurt that he seemed to have just left you without even trying to figure out what’s wrong. If he cared, surely he would have been more persistent, right? And you knew that was a ridiculous thing to think, manipulative even, but you couldn’t help those feelings that coiled around your heart.

Resolving to spending the evening alone, you laid back down, curling up as small as possible once again. As your thoughts wandered, and your tears fell, you slowly started to drift off to sleep. You didn’t notice when your bedroom door opened. You didn’t notice the smell of hot chocolate wafting into your room. And you didn’t notice the dip in your mattress as someone climbed in beside you.

In fact, it wasn’t until you felt an arm slip around your waist and a kiss on the exposed skin of your neck that you finally started to become aware of what was going on around you.

“Hey,” Mammon whispered as he settled down in your bed, spooning you from behind.

Your breath hitched, and you felt your body stiffen involuntarily. Why was he here? Had he seen your face? Did he know you had been crying? Tears silently slipped down your face again as you started to panic internally. What was he going to say when he realized?

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere until ya tell me what’s wrong.”

“I...umm…” you wanted to answer him. Make an excuse. Offer some sort of rational explanation for why you were hiding in your room and had been avoiding him all day. Something told you just saying “there’s something in my eye” wasn’t going to fool him.

“Tch, always gotta be so difficult,” Mammon said. You felt his arms release you as he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. If you thought you had been anxious before when he was laying beside you, it was nothing compared to the feeling of him leaving, with the words “difficult” echoing in your ears.

“Here. Sit up.”

But before your thoughts got to turn too dark, Mammon was sitting beside you again. Poking you with his elbow as he nudged you in the back. So surprised were you to find that he was still there and hadn’t left, you turned around immediately to look at him.

Despite his dark skin tone, you could tell he was blushing, and even if you couldn’t, his refusal to look at you would have been more than enough to confirm that he was feeling embarrassed. Your gaze slowly traveled downward until it landed on the tray he was holding in his outstretched hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, puzzled at why Mammon was offering you a mug of hot chocolate, and what appeared to be...cookies…? Only they were slightly burnt, and you weren’t sure you recognized the ingredients he had added in lieu of chocolate chips.

“What’s it look like? I had some extra and thought you might want some. But if ya don’t appreciate it…”

Not wanting to discourage Mammon, you quickly sat up, wiping whatever tears remained on your face away, and took the tray from him.

“...thanks.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as you studied his gift, smirking at your response.

Once you were situated with your back against your headboard, you placed the tray in your lap and Mammon sat down beside you. He grabbed his mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip as he waited for your reaction. He was pretty impressed with the results of his baking skills, and was certain the treats would put a smile on your face.

You reached for one of the cookies, a soft smile playing on your lips as you took a bite.

“So? How was it? Good right?”

When you didn’t answer, Mammon gave you another nudge with his arm.

“Right?”

Without a word, you returned the cookie to your plate, picking up the cup of hot chocolate instead, taking a deep gulp in an attempt to cleanse your palate.

“Mammon...honey...that was awful…” you looked at him over the rim of your mug, taking another deep swallow. At least the hot chocolate was delicious.

“Whattya talkin’ about?! They’re perfect!” Mammon replied, quick to shove what remained of your first cookie into his mouth. You continued to watch him while sipping on your beverage, slowly now that the initial foul aftertaste seemed to have been gone.

You tried your best to hide the smile that was threatening to spread over your whole face as Mammon froze mid bite, glancing at the plate of cookies, then at you, then back to the cookies, before finally chugging down what remained of his own mug of hot chocolate, desperate to rid his mouth of every last crumb.

When his mug emptied, you offered him your own, laughing at his reaction.

“Shaddup,” he snapped, eagerly taking the cup from you and polishing off its contents. But he wasn’t mad. Not at all. He was relieved and overjoyed to see you smiling again, interacting with him and no longer pushing him away.

When he finished what remained of your drink, he took the tray from you, sitting it on the floor beside your bed, before turning back to you and wrapping you up in a tight hug. Now much more relaxed than you had been, you wrapped your arms around his waist, returning the gesture and burying your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“It's fine. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you, “Are ya gonna tell me what happened now?”

You nodded against him, tightening your arms around him as you clung to him.

“I just...I don’t know...had a bad day, I guess. Everything made me just want to cry. And I know it’s ridiculous. I’m an adult. I should…”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Huh?”

“With cryin’. What’s wrong with that? Ain’t ya the one that told me it was ok to let it all out?” Mammon had leaned back now, resting against your headboard, pulling you up against himself as he began to rub your back, pressing an occasional kiss to your forehead.

“I...uh...well, I just...I’ve always been told I cry too much. I’m too emotional. Like little things that wouldn’t bother anyone, upset me. And I didn’t want to annoy you...so I…”

“Dummy. I dunno know why you’d think I’d feel that way. You never act like that with me.”

Mammon gave you a reassuring squeeze, and yet another kiss to the top of your head. All you could do in response was hold him tighter, pulling your legs up so that you were practically sitting in his lap by now.

You weren’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to you before. You honestly never saw the connection. And if you stopped and thought about it, Mammon had easily cried more times in front of you since you had arrived in the Devildom than you had cried at all (in public or private) during your stay.

You always reassured him, and comforted him. You never laughed at him, or thought for one second that he was a burden for opening up to you. In fact, you never felt more loved than when he would let you see that sensitive, emotional, side to himself because you knew how much it meant that he trusted you.

Why did you ever think he wouldn’t treat you with the same love and care you had always shown him?

[yandere-daydreams]

darling escapes from atsumu & runs to osamu for help, not knowing that the twins share the same feelings for her

I try to keep my Reader-Inserts gender neutral as often as possible, but I /love/ the idea of escaping from one brother, only to fall into the loving arms of another. At least Osamu’s a little nice, or, he can be, at least. He tries to be. Sometimes. Maybe. If you’re really, really lucky.

Title: Trade Off.

TW: Kidnapping, Captivity, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Dehumanization, and Slight Infantilization.

~

Osamu greeted you with a hug.

From anyone else, it wouldn’t have been surprising. What kind of friend wouldn’t hug you - a missing person, a victim of something awful with the evidence littered all over your skin, in burns and cuts and too many bite-marks to count, but Osamu had always been reserved. A hug from him was like rain in the desert, snowfall in the tropics, and despite everything you’d done to earn something more than just a stiff embrace and a moment of uncharacteristic affection, you’d cherished it. You’d fallen into it. You’d wanted it and you’d loved him for it, if only because it was something Atsumu’d never do. If only because it reminded you how different he was from his twin, despite their identical appearances.

If only because, from that point forward, you’d been sure you made the right choice by running to him, before friends and family and a dozen more reasonable choices. You were still sure.

It’d proved he cared about you, and that was something his brother could never do.

Even now, his protective fondness hung in the air, laying over you and keeping you warm like a blanket of worried glances and soft touches, Osamu taking any excuse to rest his hand on your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, little things to reassure himself that you were there and you were real, even if hours had already passed since you turned up on his doorstep. You’d already told him about Atsumu, how he’d turned into a monster overnight and the more palatable parts of your captivity, and he’d sat across from you in the cramped living-room, nodding occasionally and letting you speak, getting you a cup of something hot and herbal when your eyes went cloudy and your hands started to shake. You drank it down, thankful for the excuse to stifle the words you found pouring off of your tongue, despite your best efforts to hold them in.

Osamu took your story in stride. With his chin resting on his fist, he scanned over you, his gaze lingering passively on Atsumu’s shirt, the only piece of clothing you’d been able to grab before you fled, and a particularly bad bruise over your shoulder, dipping down until it reached your collarbone. “Want to use my phone?” He offered, his voice flat, but the question itself full of concern. “Your folks must be worried sick. I wouldn’t blame you for wantin’ to get out of here sooner than later.”

You should call someone, your parents, the police, someone, but a selfish, exhausted part of you just wanted to curl up on Osamu’s couch and spend a few more days in denial, pretending the past few months of your life hadn’t happened or dismissing the fact that they’d continue to take a toll on you. Embracing the idea wouldn’t be a good idea, but it couldn’t hurt to indulge it. Get a few hours of sleep, see if you could find a decent pair of pants. Take in Osamu’s hospitality rather than try to tell yourself you didn’t need it. “I need a little time,” You said, shaking your head idly. “You don’t mind if I hang around for a while, do you? I just… I’d like to get my story straight. Saying ‘my famous boyfriend locked me in his basement because he loved me’ might not go over well with the police.”

That earned an airy chuckle. Osamu stood, taking you by the hand to help you do the same. “C’mon. I have a spare room I’ve been fixin’ up, you can stay there for as long as you need to.”

You smiled up at him, and he smiled back. You weren’t sure whether it was relief, joy or gratitude that flooded into your body before you could remind yourself to be cautious, but you let Osamu guide you through his home without complaint, only letting go of his hand when he came to a white door at the end of a long hall, and Osamu had to fish through his pockets to find its key.

‘Fixing up’ had been an understatement.

You weren’t sure if Osamu and Atsumu had a younger sibling, any cousins they favored, but if they did, those kids must’ve been spoiled rotten. The walls were painted a rich, pastel pink, the desk and the bed both new and trendy and absolutely covered in trinkets and toys, things that fell somewhere between decorative and unnecessary. There weren’t any windows, but with a flip of a switch, a small army of lamps lit the room with a soft glow, making you want to fall onto the plush rug that covered most of the floor and lose yourself in the unadulterated homeyness. You couldn’t say you were difficult to impress - with Atsumu, your ‘room’ was either an empty, darkened closet or a crate, sometimes big enough to accommodate you, sometimes not. This felt… extravagant, in comparison. More than you deserved. More than you could accept without paying a price.

It made sense when you heard the door close behind you, a lock clicking into place and Osamu’s key slipping back into his pocket. Your heart still froze into your chest, your pulse slowing down and racing at the same time, but it made sense.

You swallowed your nerves hastily, forcing yourself to turn around and cross your arms over your chest. A futile gesture, considering Osamu’s height and your blatant frailty, but it was too early to grovel. If he wanted to push you around, you’d prove you could push back. “Let me out, now. I don’t know if you think this is funny, but--”

“I started putting this together the day after ‘tsumu got to you. It was already too late, no one knew what ditch you’d died in, but what the hell, right?” He walked past you swiftly, not bothering to acknowledge your rebellion. He didn’t speak loudly, nor was he any more imposing than he’d been a minute ago, but what he was saying, how casually he was saying it, was enough to render you speechless. Absentmindedly, he slid open the closet’s mirrored panel, rummaging through its contents as he went on. “It wasn’t hurting anyone, and if I was gonna get my hands on you eventually, I’d have a plan. He’s too impulsive, never had to wait for anythin’ in his life. I was worried he was gonna break you, for a few weeks.” He paused, pursing his lips as he found what he was looking for. Clothes were thrown at your feet, a full outfit too sheer and too minimalistic to be for your enjoyment. “Change. I’ve wanted to rip those fucking rags off of you since you got here.”

You didn’t bother responding to that. You had a feeling it would only fuel his smoldering hostility. “This isn’t--” You bit your tongue before you could finish. ‘It’s not fair’ was something a child would say, and you were an adult, a capable, independent adult. Clearly, you’d already done something to make the Miya twins think otherwise. “You have to let me go, Osamu. I just got away from your brother, I just got free, you can’t take that away from me. We’re supposed to be friends. You’re supposed to care about me.”

“I’m doing this because I care about you.” On their own, the words might’ve been kind, empathetic, but whatever warmth his gaze held was balanced out by the way his lips curled back, how his tone turned into a snarl so easily. “What would you do if I opened that door? Run off and tell the cops? Knock on doors until you find someone willing to believe that a celebrity and his twin both tried to kidnap you, back to back? Or, would you go crawling back to ‘tsumu, see if he still wants you after you let his brother put his hands all over you?” He had a way of laughing at his own jokes, the noise so arrogant, so confident, so annoying, it was hard to believe he’d ever found anyone else funny. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. “I’m trying to be nice, but if you make this hard for me, I’ll make it hard for you.”

You grit your teeth, but your body betrayed you, eyes flickering down to the cloth at your feet. “I can manage on my own--”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers were in your hair before you noticed he was moving, forcing your head to bow as his blunt nails dug into your scalp. “You’re helpless, and you know you are. If you aren’t in ‘tsumu’s bed, you’re gonna be in mine, and you’re smart enough to make the right choice. Fucking change, before I start to think it’d be easier to throw you out myself.”

You stiffened, going rigid under his palm. Then, you kneeled, taking up the silken fabric and casting him one last glare before retreating to the other side of the room, turning your back to Osamu as you slid Atumu’s shirt over your head. 

 Just exchanging one kidnapper for another.

~

Silently, Osamu watched as you fled and regrouped, facing away from him to hide the way your shoulders trembled, your body shaking so violently, Osamu couldn’t be sure whether or not you were trying to make him pity you. He didn’t mind, though. He’d been waiting months for this. Years, honestly, but Osamu’s teenage daydreams hardly centered around taking in his brother’s wayward brat. If Atsumu had tried to train you, he’d done a piss-poor job. You were as obedient as you would’ve been fresh-off the streets, and now you knew all the tricks and tactics of a well-worn captive.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he was disappointed. Already, a collection of incentives were burning holes in his mattress, tucked under his bed and waiting to be used the first time you acted-up with something more aggressive than words. Luckily, you were too preoccupied to notice his mouth moving in a silent prayer, words of thanks that you’d turned down his offer to use his phone. If you thought to go through his messages, his call history, you wouldn’t have liked what you found. He was already planning for how… distressed you’d be, at the next trade-off.

If you were this fussy to fall into Osamu’s care at all, he couldn’t imagine how you’d act when Atsumu’s next turn came around.

[buglife]

Quirrel properly introducing Ghost as his partner to survived!Monomom? :3c

(Again no beta sorry for errors!)

“Well Quirrel, I’ll admit that this is quite lovely.”

Monomon lounged on the plush chair, decadent pillows and silken throws made it unbelievably comfortable. Colors in blues and greens decorated the snug little abode, making her think of her home in Fog Canyon. Perhaps this room was chosen for that very reason, Monomon didn’t have much love for the royal whites and opulent reds decorating most of the city. She rather liked the soothing cooler colors, it made her less antsy. She reached with a tentacle to snag another biscuit from the heavily laden tea table, the array of sandwiches and sweets already mostly eaten. Her other tentacle delicately held a cup of tea which she sipped from here and there. The room was private and out of the way, perfect to catch up a little with her son.

Her son had certainly changed, but she figured it was for the better. Before she left for the long sealing sleep, Quirrel had been depressed. He know what was to become of her and despite the palatable sadness, he still bravely soldiered on with the plan. She regrets it so much now, so much time lost due to that damnable wrym, but when she surprisingly awoke again she was glad to see that the first person she saw was him. It had been a blur of years, making up for lost time and adjusting to a much more agreeable ruler. Her little pillbug had gone from a tiny little creature, munching on trash, to a stately and powerful bug. The nail he carried at his side was forged into a pure nail, one of the few in existence. His previous kerchief had been traded out with one of silk and lovely embroidered patterns. It was the only things he accepted to show his status and it suited him nicely. This time he sat before her unburdened by scroll cases and tablet boxes, just sitting like he used to before the Infection. It was good to see him smile. It was good to see such an air of confidence and strength in him, she just wished he didn’t have to go through what he did to get it.

“I know, It’s why I picked it out.” Quirrel was leaning back in his own chair, a picture of relief she could even feel as he relaxed. After all, he is now the Royal Scholar, he is a rather busy bug these days. “It’s just, nice to have a bit of comfort and quiet away from...you know…”

“The ass kissers.” Monomon finished with a wink.

Quirrel groaned and for a moment, held his eyes in his hands as he leaned forward. “They won’t leave me alone! And they are so, so stupid! They ask me things knowing they don’t want to hear the answer I give!”

“That’s what happens when you are so close to the Sovereign.” She tutted gently as she took a sip of tea. Quirrel sighed in response.

“That could have been you, ya know. If you decided to take that position.”

“You know as well as I do, my little scholar, that it was the Sovereign who chose you for it. They basically told me that I have free reign to do as I please, as long as it somehow would benefit the kingdom. I need no titles to do the job I have always done. And you know I would certainly take the position most likely to remove nobles from my sight entirely.”

Quirrel narrowed his eyes a little as he looked at his mother. “And that is because they know that nobles will start to vanish if they had to interact with you.”

“It’s not my fault my body needs acid and nobles are notoriously clumsy.” Monomon faked indignation as she sipped more of her tea. “They also like to look in places where they shouldn’t. I did put up signs, you know. But accidents do happen.”

He couldn’t help but snort, inhaling bread crumbs and having to cough them back out. “Mother!”  She reached over a limb to pat him on the back.

“Don’t choke, love, or our Ruler will be without their Royal Scholar.” She teased gently.

“As if they’d let me die from something as indignant as choking to death on a sandwich.” He coughed up the last of the crumbs and took a deep breath.

“Are they that possessive now?” She questioned.

He sifted a little, and his antenna began to twitch. She could instantly tell he was blushing under his mask. He was trying so very hard to not cover his eyes and bury his head in his lap again.

“Quirrel.”

“Well...yes...but because well...you see….” He let out a held breath and sank lower in his chair. He was drawing his legs up, preparing to roll up just like he used to always too when terribly embarrassed.

“Quirrel.”

“The more time you spend with a bug and um...you know. Things happen and well...”

“Quirrel. Don’t roll up on me now.”

He made a pathetic squeak in response.

She was going to comment further, but there was a shifting of the door curtains and a regal horned head poked their way through. She was going to snap at whoever it was to get the fuck out and let her tease her boy some more, but then she noticed just who it was attempting to come in.

“Oh, hello, your Majesty.” She gave a polite nod. “You have caused my son no small amount of embarrassment, I’d like to know why.”

Ghost struggled with the curtains for a second, looking very undignified as they had to untangle their long pronged horns from the thick fabric. Once fully inside, they bowed to her and Quirrel. If there’s one thing she liked the best about Sovereign Ghost was that they showed respect to everyone, well, those that deserve it. They had also changed greatly since she saw them all that time ago. They were so wee, so adorable, and then they had to catch up on growing and stop being so cute. They still were, if she had to admit. They were distinct enough that they didn’t need anything like a crown or anything else, they just had their pure nail and a heavily fluffy mantled cloak. They were now about a head taller than Quirrel and she didn’t know if they would end up the huge size of their sibling, Hollow, or have finished growing. Size wasn’t everything, Princess Hornet was smaller but had NO problems beating those that challenged her into submission. It was amusing to watch.

Monomon watched as their head turned to Quirrel, tilting their head in a sign of worry.

“You’re...you’re late.” He squeaked, trying his damndest to unroll himself.

Ghost signed back in a flurry of hands. <”Sorry. I got caught up in something.”>

“So, you were supposed to be here to begin with? To what do I owe this pleasure? More gossip?” Monomon smiled, oh she just loved it when she could pick the ruler’s brain for gossip. Juicy, juicy gossip.

<”No, but later If you like. This was Quirrel’s idea.”>

“Oh really.” She leaned over to her still flustered son. “Why is that?”

“Because...because well...we…” He stuttered on his words.  “We…”

Ghost took the initiative to kneel before her, stunning both into silence. It wasn’t just the polite kneel one takes, it was full on on the floor, pressing their head into the ground In front of her.

Monomon watched in silence as they rose up from the kneel, reaching into their cloak to withdraw a bouquet of beautiful, slightly glowing flowers. The colors rippled in the light as she took the bundle.

<”Lady Monomon.”> They signed once she took the flowers from their hands. <”I ask your permission to court your son.”>

Her eyes flickered over briefly to Quirrel, he was practically swooning. She darted them back to Ghost, their ruler, a literal god of the void, fidgeting in nervousness like a teenage schoolchild as they awaited her answer. Oh this was awesome, this was great.

“So this is what this is all about.” She exclaimed, grasping the flowers to her chest in utter glee. “No wonder why you are being bothered by the nobles, my dear...you’re fucking the sovereign!”

Quirrel gasped and nearly fell off his chair. All traces and feelings of romance were now completely squashed. “MOTHER!”

Ghost just stood there, blinking.

“Your majesty, my son is his own bug. You don’t have to ask me permission to do anything with him as long as he consents to it!”

Ghost relaxed in relief.

“BUT,” She reached a tentacle outwards to poke them directly in the middle of the head.

“If you hurt him in anyway, you will die. I’m old. I don’t care if I die and drag a god down with me, but you will go down with me, I can promise.”

“MOTHER.” Quirrel twisted, trying to get to his feet as he watched her technically assault the ruler of an entire kingdom, and then threaten them.

To Quirrel’s relief, Ghost mearly nodded.

<”I accept those terms. I would rather risk death than to be apart from Quirrel. I promise he will not want for anything and if it should come to it, I would lay down my life for his.”>

Monomon clapped her tentacles together. “Wonderful! Wonderful! Now, come sit!”

Ghost eyed Quirrel, who turn shook his head. “Sorry love, but you’re trapped now. Sit, and it’ll all be over soon.”

Ghost sighed, resigned to thier fate, as they carefully sat with Quirrel. Quirrel wrapped an arm around their carapace in support, as they both looked upon the now giddy Monomon.

“Now,” She said, glee in her voice. “Tell me everything.”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Sparkle

Genre: Fan Fiction (Sand Castle)

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: It’s so fluffy!

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: thank you @rmtndew​ for the edit of Sy in glasses :D More Sy and Wispy? Why yes! 

Henry Cavill Master List

“Uncle Sy,” Annie giggled at her uncle, as he pulled a face. “Sit still.” Her voice going firmer.

Beside her, Willow had her hand on her hips shaking her head at their uncle. “Uncle Sy, we need you to stay very still.”

“Fine, fine.” He gave in sitting statue straight, still as could be.

“Close your eyes, please.” Annie instructed.

Doing as he was asked, Sy closed his eyes and leaning against the couch to support his back. Cross legged on the floor, a mound of pillows under him, he fought the smirk that kept threatening to creep onto his face. The two little girls painting the floral scented mud, clay, paint? Whatever the cool, thick stuff was onto his face. Around his beard, across his cheeks and forehead. Sy felt the soft brush that Aimee had handed them against his skin.

“You know Sy,” Aimee's voice greeted him, yet his eyes remained closed, “this stuff is actually pretty good. It might even help brighten that complexion of yours. Tired and sunburned was so last year.”

Snorting, Sy shook his head, both nieces scolding him for moving while they tried to apply the mask. Directing him to pucker his lips, Willow stood in front of him, a glob of lip moisturizer on her brush, she slapped it on spreading it thickly against his red chapped lips. The girls were taking good care of their Uncle Sy.

At least they wanted to do it at home this time. Sy was unsure of the product quality, but the service was far better and cheaper than when he'd taken them to an actual spa. Now that had been a sight, the look on the woman's face when the giant, bearded man in boots strode into the salon with the two little girls in tow. Despite the initial shock, Sy had to hand it to them, those ladies were magical.

He'd left feeling like his hands, feet, and face had been kissed by angels and butterflies. Hell, he'd even let Willow and Annie pick out a polish for his toes. Sitting in the chair chatting with the woman painting his toes, while his nieces had watched from their own pedicure chairs, Sy learned that men coming in to dote on their daughters and nieces wasn't really all that uncommon. He, however, was one of the first to ask for Pompeii Purple toes. The shade had really brought out his eyes.

In his sister's living room, Sy chuckled when Willow announced that he absolutely needed to trim that scraggly beard of his. In their life time, neither of his nieces had ever bore witness to their uncle without his beard. He liked it too much to part with it. Besides, the women loved it. Clearing his throat, Sy opened his eyes, a mocking frown on his face.

“Don't you dare touch my beard, understood bub?” He smirked. Willow nodded and Annie, standing just out of sight giggled. “There will be no cutting of my beard, until I say so.”

“Oh come on, Sy.” Aimee teased from the kitchen. “You could use a trim,” she winked at Annie.

“I would prefer to do it myself, thank you sister dearest.” He winked at Willow, a near impossible task with the clay beginning to set on his face.

“What if we just make it pretty?” Annie piped up, shuffling into the room with a hairbrush and bows in her hands. “Can we?”

“Please, Uncle Sy.” Willow pulled out the puppy dog eyes. Bouncing on her tip toes with excitement.

Playfully grumbling, Sy waited a minute or two. Letting the little girls get antsy before agreeing. Under some conditions. Nothing but a comb and some pink sparkly bows went into his beard. If they so much as tugged the wrong way, Sy was combing it himself. His beard was his pride and joy, right after his Wispy. He'd worked hard over the years to grow this bad boy.

“Gently,” He reminded them, lifting his chin for Willow to gingerly take the comb through his thick beard.

Climbing onto the couch behind him, Annie sat with her legs crossed gently rubbing a hair brush through his growing curls. A full out pamper day wasn't entirely bad. Enjoying his “spa treatment”, Sy winced when he heard Aimee giggling like a child on too much sugar. He knew his sister well enough to know that this was not going to be good.

“Aim, what in the hel-ck are you doing?” Sy asked glancing at his sister. Her phone poised as she giggled and shrugged.

“I thought ma might like to see. Maybe fire one off to the boys. You still in touch with the Major? Show him what retirement does for ya?”

“You wouldn't dare,”

“Send one to the Major? No. But I would send it to ma and everyone else we know. Come on Sy, you're adorable. You should let me share this on that mommy blog, it would be a hit.” She laughed. “Former Army Captain attacked by Girl Scouts.”

Sy replied with a grunt. More than one single mother, and a few not so single, on that damn blog Aimee was part of had themselves hot and bothered for the youngest Syverson. Every time Aimee mentioned her brother, at least one woman would ask if he was seeing somebody or how he liked children, who weren't his. Sy liked children fine, but he had no interest in taking on any to parent.

“Leave Uncle Sy alone,” Willow pouted, as she put the last bow into his beard. “Don't be mean, mommy.”

“I wasn't being mean, baby girl. Uncle Sy and I were teasing. Now, why don't you finish up those bows and help him wash his face. You can't leave the mask on too long, remember.”

“Oops,”

“It's okay bub,” Sy pulled away from the hair styling by Annie. “You ladies clean up a bit out here and I will go clean my face off.”

Striding down the hall, Sy could feel the clay on his face hardening and drying. If nothing else his pores would be flawless for a few days. Chuckling as he went, he could hear Annie and Willow in the living room. No doubt discussing their next plan for their uncle's beauty treatment. If he had to, there was a lovely yellow nail polish that he'd been eyeing in the box of tricks. It may not be the right season for yellow, but it would surely make the hair on his big toes really pop.

In the bathroom, he grabbed a wash cloth and turned the taps. Allowing the water to reach a nice, warm temperature he began scrubbing the dried clay away from his face. The bows in his hair and beard were a sight to behold. Admiring the handy work, Sy stood for a few seconds looking at the man in the mirror. The one grizzled, gruff, hard as nails and fearless Captain was reduced to a soft and gentle giant.

He loved spending the time with the kids, allowing them to have their fun, before Uncle Sy packed up and drove back across town. It was no wonder people were forever asking him when he'd have his own. Ah well, it was better this way. Sy enjoyed the company of the kids, but all the time and he would be even more grizzled and cranky than he was when he was stationed over in the desert.

Being home had it's perks, like getting to be with his family whenever he wanted. Having sleepovers with the kids, whenever Willow decided that he was lonely in his house. Or how she was forever trying to set him up with any woman they came across, while he had her out. That one was less and less cute, especially as she had somehow been targeting only married women lately.

The last thing Sy wanted was to get his ass kicked by some woman's husband or wife, for hitting on their wife because some kid said she was pretty. Shaking his head, he finished checking himself in the mirror to make sure he had all of the clay off.

Cleaned up and refreshed Sy joined the girls in the living room.

“Ladies, what's next?”

“Lunch!” “Make up!”

Laughing at their very different ideas, he nodded to Annie. “I agree lunch is the much better idea, make up can be after.”

“But mommy said we could go out for lunch. You can't go out unless you have a proper face on.” Willow pouted. Annie sighed. Her cousin had a point.

“Girls,” Aimee spoke, she was about to do everything in her mom power, to get Sy out of this one. As amused as it would be, seeing her brother go to lunch in a full face of make up.

“No, no she's right.” Sy nodded in agreement. “Aim, why not let Annie do your make up and Wispy can do mine. Then we'll all be ready for lunch, hel-ck, I'll even pay. Treat all of my girls.”

“Yeah!” The cheers went up from the girls.

Aimee, rolling her eyes and making a mental note to kill her brother later on. She would never forgive him, nor forget. Some day, she would get him back.  This is when she should suggest wearing their best dresses – Sy included. Instead, she'd pay him back when he least expected. Maybe the next time, she'd insist they go for lunch wearing some over the top princess costumes.

Sy chuckled, what did they have to lose? At 11 years old, Annie was more than capable at putting together some make up. Willow was eccentric with her colour palate, but Sy wasn't worried much about that.

“Mommy, please. Please, we can all do our make up and go for lunch.”

“I hate you,” Aimee whispered passing her laughing brother, sitting down on the floor. “Okay, girls, let's get to it. Then we can make Uncle Sy take us for the best lunch, we've ever had.”

“Drive thru at Burger King isn't that fancy,” laughing, Sy nudged his sister with his elbow.

“Oh, but Sy if we have our best faces on, we need something better than cheap burgers in a bag. I was hoping maybe we could go to Janet's.”

It was Sy's turn to roll his eyes and stifle a groan. Of course Aimee would insist they go inside to eat. Saturday was the busiest day of the week for the small diner. Whatever, Sy was man enough to take it. With more confidence than anyone had ever seen, he would walk into that diner, head high, and his beard bows sparkling. The things he did to keep these children happy.

If it meant buying a hundred ponies, wearing full make up, and walking across a floor of legos – Sy would do it all to see these kids smile.

“I love Janet's!” Willow squealed dancing on her tiptoes, nearly poking her uncle in the eye with the eye shadow brush she was using. The hot pink creme shadow she had chosen for him was really going to pop with his dark beard. “Uncle Sy, please. Please can we go? You said that you would take me there the next time we went for lunch, you said that I could have a big sundae and...”

“Sy?” A sideways glance at her baby brother, Aimee puckered her lips for Annie to apply some lipstick. Offering the kids ice cream as a meal wasn't a crime, but it would explain why they sometimes came home bouncing around like mad hornets in an old coke can.

“Wispy, you're not supposed to tell your ma that I let you at ice cream as a meal.”

“Sorry, but can I?”

“Maybe for dessert, you can Annie can shade a giant sundae.” Aimee reasoned.

“Fine, but the next time we go....” Staring at her uncle, Willow pouted.

“Whatever you want, bubs.” Smirking at his sister, Sy conveniently pointed to the blush in the bag, asking Willow if she thought the orangeish colour would work for him.  “Whatever you want.”

[kingsofneon]

"If I'm being honest, it's wildly fun to dress up in your things."

The plastic snaps, gloves conforming to Sabo's wrists, and he grins. With the coat on and his smile showing all teeth, he looks entirely like a mad scientist.

Maybe he is a mad scientist - he's eccentric enough, greedy enough, wild enough, and what sane scientist would strap the epitome of health to their medical bench and advance with a wicked gleam in their eyes? Marco gulps.

"I heard you haven't had a check-up in years, Phoenix."

Impersonal words, but his hands less so - they fall, so gently, to tease at his chest, featherlight touch leading to a pinch at his nipples. Marco takes in a sharp breath, and Sabo hums thoughtfully.

"Were you always sensitive, or is this new?"

Marco can feel his face flush, but Sabo is waiting for an answer this time, watching his face, cold hands barely grazing skin.

"Always?" he offers, proud for not stammering, and Sabo tuts.

"But how can we know for sure? Your medical records are so lackluster."

"I don't need-"

"I think the doctor gets to decide what you need," Sabo interrupts smoothly. "Since we have no proof of your original baseline, I guess I'm going to have to do a full body check up."

His smile returns, all sharp edges and delight.

"Say ah," he orders, and after a second of hesitation, Marco complies. Sabo's fingers taste like latex; like plastic, no comfort to the rigid way he smooths his fingers over Marco's teeth, dipping in deep to reach the molars and making Marco drool. It makes Marco squirm, faintly uncomfortable at the probing touch, but then Sabo grabs his chin with his free hand, and movement becomes an impossibility.

Fuck, the strength in his fingers, in his hands, though; Marco swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth as Sabo continues his exploration, fingers dipping into Marco's throat, patting his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut, wanting so badly to reciprocate, but instead just feeling drool slip down his chin as Sabo probes for a gag reflex.

He doesn't choke till Sabo's whole hand is nearly in his mouth, and even then it's a result of wanting, his tongue pressed up to lick against Sabo's fingers, a whine slipping free. Sabo makes an approving, impressed noise.

"No gag reflex. I suppose we'll never know if that's natural or if you trained it out of yourself, but it's very impressive nonetheless." Sabo's face gains a hint of wicked delight. "Good boy."

With Sabo's hand still shoved in his mouth he has no way to talk. Marco simply whines again, embarrassed by the praise and at the way Sabo takes his time teasing his fingers along Marco's soft palate and tongue, his jaw aching.

Sabo's fingers are slick and shining by the time he pulls his hand free of Marco's mouth, saliva dripping off his fingertips. A few droplets fall to Marco's cheek, and he clears his hoarse throat, his face burning.

"Sabo," he tries, soft, "let me-"

"The only thing you're going to do is stay still," Sabo says, and Marco wants to fucking whine, some pathetic mewl of protest slipping from his lips.

"But-"

"Still." Sabo insists, his hand pressing down on Marco's collarbone, threatening for the throat, and Marco leans into it, feeling as though he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He knows that's probably what this is for - Sabo loves to drive him wild, loves to force himself against the things Marco's comfortable with until he's putty, but-

"Phoenix, where's your baseline, huh? You spend so long taking care of other people - what happens when someone has to take care of you, and has nothing?"

Sabo's posture stiffens, almost imperceptibly. If Marco wasn't attuned to every shift, to the way Sabo is acting right now, he might've missed it. As it is, Sabo's tease has revealed more than he'd wanted, showing his cards far earlier than he planned. Sabo likes him out of it, incognizant or tired, before he bares open his secrets, and Marco's needy but not yet lost to Sabo's probing tests.

What if he has nothing? Sabo never knows what to give, how to help, and sometimes Marco forgets that Sabo has spent years seeing him as a cool, untouchable figure. Most people do, after all; he's long since gotten used to awe, even from his family, who treat him with more comfort than most. Marco's always in control, but Sabo has lost so many unbreakable, undefeatable people. To test Marco's limits-

He settles back on the table slowly, body still vibrating with need, and Sabo pokes his tongue out with a scowl.

"Whatever you're thinking is too nice for me, stupid," he says, and Marco lets his own teasing grin flicker to his face.

"I don't think doctors are meant to belittle their patients. Would you mock me if I was in pain?"

"Yes," Sabo says with a sneer, but his taunting aura has recovered, confidence pulled back to cover his insecurities. "And this doctor thinks you're shit at saying when you're in pain, anyway, so I should mock you constantly."

"Oh no, whatever will I do with this great deviation in your behaviour," Marco drawls, and Sabo wipes his drool-covered fingers on Marco's neck.

"Put up with it, asshole."

Marco splutters at the touch, nothing arousing in how Sabo has decided to smear saliva all over him, but before he can add further protests, Sabo has his hands braced on Marco's pecs, cupping them together and pulling upward viciously, so Marco's words are lost to a strangled moan. The grip hurts, wonderfully so, Sabo pinching at his nipples and sending flares of bright pain and pleasure through him. Marco jerks into the touches, each eager twist making him whimper and beg, useless for it. Sometimes it's embarrassing how sensitive he is; right now, he has no thoughts in his head beyond his throbbing cock and Sabo's talented hands.

"I think everyone should know what nice tits you have," Sabo says, almost mocking, almost proud, the brief flare of haki in his fingertips making Marco arch off the table, head thrown back as he moans. "Pretty Phoenix with his sensitive body. It's so hard to build up tolerance to pleasure when nothing ever hurts, huh?" Marco whines out a no, and Sabo clicks his tongue, the grip he takes on sensitive skin making Marco almost cry, whimpering. "People can just keep pushing till you break."

Marco’s words are broken by his harsh panting, by his unsteady trembles, but he still manages to offer, "You want that?"

"I already know how to make you break," Sabo says dismissively, lip curled. "Everybody else should just know every way."

Marco shakes his head, half a movement, pressing his cheek to the cold sheets for a moment to brace himself. "Thought you were- healing. Doctor."

"Breaking you down and building you back is healing too, isn't it?" Sabo says, “That's what you do with bones, when you don’t know how they healed the first time.”

Some strangled noise escapes him, the headlong rush of pleasure summoned so easily with Sabo’s knowledge of him, but then Sabo’s hands are gone, a biting fire left in his wake. He groans, angry, but Sabo merely grins, gloved hands skimming down Marco’s abdomen. It’s almost worse than having his orgasam denied, the impersonal plastic of those gloves instead of Sabo’s calloused hands, and Marco doesn’t bother stopping his scowl.

“Told you that you make me too nice,” Sabo retorts, but he leans in to press a grazing kiss against Marco’s open mouth. It’s sweet, nice, even without deepening the touch, and Marco feels his irritation fade, eyes falling closed.

“I know you,” he murmurs, and Sabo scoffs and turns his attention back to his slow exploration, his careful investigation of Marco’s body. His gloved hands trace Marco’s hipbones, following the dip of muscled skin against his bone, evidence of a youth when his fruit kept him alive but not healthy. It can heal a lot, but he’s long since learned every limitation of it - he’s had time.

His pelvis is next, and Sabo presses his hand down flat, feeling each of Marco’s shuddering breaths. The pressure makes him shift, Sabo’s fingers digging into his thigh and grazing far-too-sensitive skin, and he can hear Sabo’s grin.

“God you’re just nerves everywhere, aren’t you?”

“Wasn’t this a checkup?” Marco says, adding a hint of impatience to his tone, and then - because he knows it’ll make Sabo amused - he adds, “perhaps you could do a check up on my dick, Doctor. It’s been hard for so long.”

Oh the reward of such a stupid line; Sabo sputters, then laughs, the sound shocked out of him before he cuts it off, barely suppressing the noise. “The two minutes it normally takes for you to cum isn’t long,” he retorts, but his hand slips low, firm against Marco’s cock.

He almost fucking sighs at the touch, the edges of tension from his earlier denied orgasam leaving as Sabo carefully strokes him, but the gloves- oh they don’t feel right, and a longing for Sabo’s proper hands fills him, the friction of flesh instead of smooth rubber. A click belies a bottle opening, but Marco still isn’t prepared for Sabo squeezing lube against his ass.

He jerks with a yelp, and Sabo snickers, fingers probing the wet slick inside him. It’s always weird, that first touch, the steady press of someone’s hand, and with Sabo’s gloves on it’s even weirder, human warmth dampened by the latex. Unlike the few times they’ve used a condom, there’s nothing about this to draw his attention away from the odd sensation.

“Sabo-” he whines, trying not to squirm at the perfunctory stretch, the difference between how Sabo normally makes it ache, like penance for giving up control, “the gloves, come on, take them off-”

“That’s Doctor, phoenix,” Sabo says. “And I can’t believe, as a fellow medical professional, that you’re advocating for such malpractice. Shove my fist inside you without a glove? A prostate exam is messy business.”

“A-?” Marco’s eyes come open, narrowed, “Sabo.”

“Heard you haven’t had one of those in ages,” Sabo continues, completely ignoring the tone that Marco’s using, “but not to worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Marco jerks again, this time with a moan, as Sabo’’s probing fingers press against him. Stars burst in front of his vision as Sabo takes his fucking time rubbing over that stupid spot, a soft hum coupled with the movement. Sabo’s grin, through Marco’s slitted eyes, is predatory.

“Mostly. You’ll have to forgive my mistakes. I’m not nearly as good a doctor as you.”

“Aren’t a-” Sabo thumbs over him hard, the pressure enough to make Marco’s cock jerk, tears springing to his eyes at how quickly pleasure has swamped him- “fuck!”

“Hey, looks like this still works,” Sabo says, but the bare movement he makes is merely to press another finger into Marco, searching again until Marco writhes on the table, breathless. “I should probably double-check though, right? What’s that thing you say all the time, once is an accident, three times is a pattern?”

“Three?” Marco says, his voice dragged pathetically high as Sabo rubs against his prostate again, his limbs shuddering as pleasure climbs and climbs and hovers at the crest, pressed against his body’s limitations.

“Oh, is it more?” Sabo responds with a curious hum. “Well, I can do more.”

“Sabo, I can’t-” Marco shudders through another orgasm, a mewl dragged from his lips, and Sabo slows, tauntingly grazing just the edges; enough to make him shake, restless energy pulling at his limbs, but not near enough to drive him to incoherence. “Hands,” he whispers, the odd touch of elastic barring him from touch, from Sabo’s warm, wonderful skin.

To be bereft of touch - he’s starved of it, a drawback of awe that he never normally contemplates, and having it denied this way makes his eyes sting, a useless hiccup catching at his breath. He knows Sabo’s delighted at the expression on his face by the way he coos, thumb pressing against Marco’s entrance.

“I’m just trying to be a professional,” Sabo says, smoothing his free hand over Marco’s heaving stomach as his third finger pops inside, the stretch making Marco groan. “But I guess, sometimes for the comfort of the patient-”

As his fingers circle Marco’s prostate, a hypnotic thing, Sabo brings his hand up to his mouth and peels off the glove with his teeth, tossing it to the side as soon as it’s off. Marco’s babbling almost as soon as it touches him, praise falling from his lips as Sabo’s warm, scarred skin smooths up his stomach and rubs a circle against his diaphragm.

“I’ve rewarded you,” Sabo says, every word as deliberate as his dragging touches, “now you reward me, yeah?”

Reward him with Marco, weak, pliant, human, and he wants so badly to give Sabo what he wants, but everything already aches, a solid hook dragging the last dregs of pleasure into his gut. Sabo can play him like a fool, but knowledge of what he’s being asked for doesn’t stop Marco from trying to fight back. Sabo’s touch is a fissure of electricity, a livewire inside him, and his skin is thrumming with oversensitivity.

He knows what Sabo’s asking for, what he’ll give, and Marco rocks against Sabo’s fingers, trying to make him angle them properly, to press against a spot already aching with sensitivity. Marco’s thighs are a mess, sticky and wet, but Sabo’s touch has kept him half-hard, and Marco’s always been a sucker for pain - and for his partners. Sabo grins gleefully.

“Don’t worry, Phoenix. I’ll take care of you.”

[hoe-doroki]

a start

warning: eating disorder, food restricting, food withholding

pairing: Izuku x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 1.2k

a/n: This is the third of four attempts to answer this ask. This is a story with a reader who is food restricting, so everyone  be careful to take care of yourselves! The other three attempts are Trust Yourself, Gratitude, and Picnic.  All parts are unrelated to each other.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Your phone was shaking in your hand. After a few failed attempts to dial the numbers you needed, you activated the voice command on your phone and said, “Call Izuku.”

As the phone began to ring, you realized belatedly he was probably busy. He was always busy when he wasn’t home and you knew well enough that he wasn’t home. You shouldn’t call him unless it was an emergency. And as you stood in the kitchen, you felt, rationally, that this wasn’t an emergency. You weren’t injured, there wasn’t an intruder, you hadn’t received any dire news. It was not an emergency. But, at the same time, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hang up. And, in the time that you hesitated, you heard a breathy, “Hello?” on the other side.

“Izu?”

God, your voice was breathy too. You sounded weak, you voice shaking the same way your hand was. You wondered if the phone’s mic would pick it up.

“Is everything okay?”

“Um.” Yes, it was fine, you were fine. This wasn’t an emergency—not on the level of a hero working his patrol, at least. “No, yeah, it’s fine. We can talk after work. Sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

His voice was firmer now. You weren’t sure if it’s because you were such a bad liar or if he had picked up on the tremolo in your voice, but he knew. He could always see right through you, even from the other end of a telephone.

“I…” Your voice cracked. It cracked and your breathing grew heavier and even though inside your head you were screaming, your voice could only come out in a whisper, “Izuku, I don’t think I’m okay.”

“Where are you?”

“At home, but—”

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Izu—”

But he’d already hung up, the screen changing to show the call had ended as you pulled the phone away from your ear and dropped it on the table.

The guilt rose immediately. This could have waited. Izuku would get in trouble for abandoning his shift. What if something happened in the area he’d been patrolling while he was rushing home to your sorry behind?

As your thoughts spiraled, your shaking got worse and even though it felt like hours, you were surprised how soon it felt that the door swung open, Izuku’s heavy-soled shoes smacking the floor.

“Y/N?” he called.

“Here,” you tried to say, but even though your lips moved, the word didn’t come out. Not even a whisper. Only the breath left you, with nothing more to offer.

He spotted the half of you visible over the countertop and ran the few steps to the kitchen, putting a hand on each of your arms, looking you up and down to ensure that you weren’t bleeding out. “What’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. You didn’t know what to say. Every word that threatened to come out of your mouth sounded stupid, inexcusable, and you shoved it back down to swirl in the bile of your stomach. Something ought to go in there.

You felt some of the tension leave Izuku’s body; his grip on you became less tight and more tender. You risked opening your eyes and saw him looking at the bread you’d left on the counter, knife still halfway through the shokupan—right where you’d given up.

“Oh,” he intoned. “Can’t eat?”

You shook your head, the shame dousing you.

You’d been hungry—you’d felt the familiar squeeze of your stomach and the occasional gurgle had made itself known. So you’d gone to the kitchen, sure you could honor your body’s request. Sure that you could find something. You’d scanned the fridge, and nothing had looked good, discouraging you immediately. You’d been ready to give up, and wait until later when you truly couldn’t put it off anymore when you’d remembered how important it was that you do this. The food didn’t even have to taste spectacular; you just had to eat it. So you’d reached for the shokupan. It wouldn’t fill you for long, but it would be easy. It should have been easy.

But as you’d grabbed the knife and began sawing into the soft bread, you imagined eating it and your throat had closed up. You could feel your soft palate falling, rejecting the food even before you’d let it pass your lips.

You didn’t want to eat it. It didn’t sound good. It wouldn’t taste good. And then your mind had frozen.

It was like a tug of war. One side was trying to convince you that you needed food. It didn’t matter what it was, but you’d need sustenance to get on with your day. It was simple and you could do it. But the other side said no. The other side, increasingly strong as the first grew fatigued, eager to let the rope fall from its hands, said you could do without. And, what’s more, you would do without. And you’d been stuck in the middle, paralyzed for God only knew how long.

“Come here,” Izuku said, letting his hands slip past your arms and reach behind your back as he pulled you against his chest.

He was sweaty, smelled of musk, but you didn’t mind. You breathed it in, comforted in the scent of him. There was the faded fragrance of his shampoo still lingering in his curls and you pushed your nose into them, feeling the dripping sweat on his hairline.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“Don’t be,” he said emphatically. “I’m so glad you told me.”

“But I interrupted your work.”

“Ingenium is still there and he’ll call if he needs me,” Izuku assured you. “We were just walking the beat, hanging out with some joggers. Just image stuff, nothing pressing.”

“It’s still important,” you insisted.

“Not as important as this.” He squeezed you tighter and you finally felt your shaking subside. “Nothing could be more important than this.”

“You’re crazy,” you said. And maybe he was, but one of your favorite things about Izuku was how much he cared. Like it or not, you were one of the focuses of that. “Are you gonna make me eat the bread now?”

“Of course not,” Izuku said. “I missed you at work and I haven’t hugged you for nearly long enough yet.”

Your throat tightened for a totally different reason than before. You gulped down the sob or the squeal or whatever it was that threatened to escape your mouth and hugged Izuku as tightly as you could. You couldn’t get a fist around the fabric of his hero costume, so you dug your fingertips into the rippled muscles of his back, wishing you could pull him closer.

“Here’s the plan,” Izuku said, still talking into your hair. “We’re going to find something for you to eat for right now. If it’s in the city, I’ll find it. Then I go back to work so that you don’t spend the rest of the day worrying about my job, and then we get started on working this out tonight, okay?”

“What if we can’t find anything?”

Izuku pulled back and you missed his smell, but were happy to see his grinning face. “Y/N, you doubt me?”

“No, I just doubt myself.”

“Hey, you’re talking about the person I love,” he said. “You know I won’t allow your name to be blasphemed like that.”

The corners of your mouth tilted up. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was a start.

A start was just fine.