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4linos · 2 months ago

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across the street pt. 1

bang chan x fem!reader, lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: life is finally falling into place for you and your daughter, but a new neighbor could turn your world upside down, bringing unexpected challenges along the way.

wc: 2178

[across the street pt. 2, across the street pt. 3]

(a/n: skz as a group don’t exist in this universe but 3racha does & some of the members will make special appearances!)

- flashback -

You had tried so hard to make it work. For so long, you were patient. You understood that Chan’s career was demanding. Being in a group like 3racha meant that there would be long hours, late nights, and endless commitments. But when it started affecting everything else the quiet, repeated disappointments that kept stacking up, something shifted.

It wasn’t even about the big moments anymore; it was the small ones that mattered. The times you asked if he could come home for dinner, to share a moment together like you used to. He always said yes, but it was a lie. He rarely came. And when he did, it felt like he wasn’t really there his mind was elsewhere, his body distant, as if even when he was physically in front of you, he was still unreachable.

You understood him more than anyone. You knew that when he was on a tight schedule, he couldn’t help it. You tried to convince yourself that you just needed to be patient, that everything would come back to normal. You reminded yourself that it was only temporary, that things would settle after the next comeback or the next tour. But as time went on, it started to feel like the promises didn’t mean anything.

He’d tell you he’d spend more time with you, he’d tell you he missed you, but he never did. You began to wonder if it was something more than just bad timing. Maybe this was who he had become now someone who cared more about his schedule, about his work, than the person he promised to love.

And then the pregnancy test came back positive. You weren’t expecting it. You hadn’t been trying to get pregnant, but life had a way of throwing things at you, and this...this felt like a sign. You kept the news to yourself for a while, not sure how to handle it.

The excitement you should’ve felt was overshadowed by the dread of knowing you didn’t have the kind of relationship you wanted to have with him anymore. You couldn’t help but wonder if this pregnancy would change things, would make him change. You tried to believe that it could, that maybe it would bring you two closer. Maybe this new chapter would be the one where he realized how much you were slipping away from each other.

But despite the shock of the pregnancy, you held onto that hope. You gave him one last chance, thinking that this might be the catalyst. You texted him, telling him you had a surprise and asking if he could come home early. For once, you wanted him to choose you, to choose the life you two had started together.

And for a moment, his response seemed to make things feel hopeful again. He said he missed you. He promised he’d come home early. The words seemed like everything you'd been waiting to hear. You prepared the dinner, set up the table with candles and soft lighting, trying to recreate the intimacy you missed so much. You bought a small gift, a box with the ultrasound picture, a onesie, and some tiny booties. It wasn’t grand, but it was everything you felt you needed to say. You were ready to share this new chapter with him.

But he didn’t show up. Hours passed. You tried calling, but he didn’t answer. You texted, no reply. At first, you kept telling yourself that maybe something important came up. He was stuck in the studio, maybe there was a meeting he couldn’t get out of. You waited, and waited, and waited. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that it wasn’t about work.

When he finally came home at 3 a.m., his exhausted face was the last thing you wanted to see. You had stayed up, trying to prepare for a future that felt uncertain, and he came home with no recognition of what you had done. You felt invisible. Not just because of the lack of a proper response, but because even in this moment, when you were offering him something that would change your lives, he was too tired to care. Too tired to even ask about the dinner you’d prepared, too tired to notice the soft glow of the candles that symbolized the hope you’d been clinging to.

“Hey, baby,” he mumbled as he walked past you, barely sparing a glance at the table. His exhaustion was written all over him, and you felt a bitter pang of resentment. You tried to ask him, to make him see you, to make him realize how much this had hurt you. But his apology came without depth. "Sorry, I didn’t think much of it. Just... so tired."

He threw himself onto the bed, not even attempting to check if you were okay, not even considering that you might need him right now. His indifference hit you like a wave, and the weight of everything you’d been carrying started to crumble. It wasn’t just about the dinner or the surprise anymore, it was the realization that no matter how many chances you gave him, it was never going to be enough.

You didn’t even feel angry. Not anymore. You had spent so long being patient, so long hoping for something that never came, that now you just felt empty. You were done. Done with waiting for him to change, done with asking for his attention, done with hoping he’d finally see you as his priority.

“I’m done, Chan,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with finality. It was the end of a long chapter that you’d been holding onto in the hope of something better, but now you knew. There was nothing left to fight for.

When he didn’t respond, when he didn’t reach for you or even acknowledge what you said, the silence between you became deafening. He was too tired, too caught up in his world to see what was crumbling in front of him, and you realized, in that quiet moment, that you had already been alone for so long. The table with the candles, the onesie and booties, the ultrasound, all of it was just a reflection of what you had been trying to salvage: a dream that was never going to be real.

And as you turned off the lights and curled up in the bed, away from him, you could almost hear the faint echo of your heart breaking.

The morning after you told him you were done, you woke up to the heaviness of reality. He had already left for work. The silence between you both felt suffocating, but you didn’t regret your decision. You had made up your mind. You couldn’t keep living in a relationship that had drained you for so long. Your heart ached, but there was a sense of finality. You were no longer willing to wait for someone who couldn’t meet you halfway, someone who had neglected not only your relationship but also the future you had been imagining together.

With shaky hands, you called your family. You didn’t want to do this alone. You needed support. Your mom’s voice on the other end of the line was full of concern, but you didn’t have to explain much. She knew. She’d seen the toll it had taken on you for months. She had been a quiet witness to your pain, the way you kept waiting for Chan to come home, for him to keep his promises, and how he always let you down. She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll come over. We’ll help you, honey.”

It felt like a blur, the way everything shifted in the span of hours. Your mom arrived with your dad, and they both wasted no time, helping you pack up your things. The house you had once shared with Chan now felt foreign to you, as if you were walking through someone else’s life. The space that had once been filled with laughter and hope was now just a shell of memories you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You moved through the process mechanically, packing your clothes, your personal items, everything that was yours. Your mom’s hands were gentle on your back, a quiet comfort as she moved alongside you. It was hard to see through the blur of tears that welled up in your eyes, but you knew deep down that this was what you needed to do. There was no other choice. You were done.

As the afternoon sun began to set, the last box was packed, and you were ready to leave. You had spent the last few hours in a daze, but now, standing in the living room, you could feel the weight of the decision pressing on your chest. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead felt terrifying, but it was yours. It was your decision, and it was the only one that made sense.

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Chan. Not yet. Not after everything that had happened. So instead, you wrote him a letter. It wasn’t a letter that explained everything, nor did it mention the pregnancy. You didn’t owe him that, not anymore. The letter wasn’t about him, it was about you. About your broken heart and how you were finally putting yourself first.

You poured everything into the letter. Your pain, your frustration, your sadness. The tears that had stained the paper were a testament to how much you had tried to hold on, how much you had hoped for something different. You wrote that you were no longer happy, that you were done being pushed aside, that you could no longer live in the shadow of promises that would never be kept.

When you finished, you placed the letter on the kitchen counter. It felt like the final piece to closing that chapter. You didn’t need to confront him. The words you’d written were enough. The letter was the closure, even if Chan never got the chance to read it or understand it.

Your mom held you close as you cried, her voice soft and comforting. “You’re strong, honey. This is the right choice. You’ll be okay.”

And as you left the house, walking out of the door for the last time, you felt a strange mix of fear and relief. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t keep living in a relationship that wasn’t serving you, that wasn’t giving you what you needed.

Once you were settled into a new place with your family’s support, you took the final step. You blocked Chan’s number, along with anyone else who was still tied to him, friends, other members, managers. You had to completely sever the ties in order to heal. You were walking away from the life you had once shared with him.

The journey ahead wouldn’t be easy. The pregnancy was just beginning, and you would have to face it alone, but you weren’t truly alone. You had your family, your friends, and most importantly, you had yourself. And as a single mother, you would find your strength. Even if it was a struggle, even if it meant stepping into the unknown, you knew you could build something better for yourself. You could create a future that was filled with hope, not disappointment.

It was time to move on. And this time, you were doing it for you.

Five years had passed since you walked away from Chan, and those years had been full of growth, healing, and finding new happiness. You had Nari now, a beautiful 4-year-old daughter who brought so much light into your life. And then there was Minho, your boyfriend, your rock. The one who made you feel safe and supported in ways that Chan hadn’t. Life had been peaceful, stable, and full of love.

You'd found comfort in your new normal. Every morning you woke up next to Minho, helped Nari get ready for school, and lived a routine that felt comforting. There were no more unanswered texts, no more broken promises. Just a life you could finally enjoy.

That morning was like any other. The sun streamed in through the kitchen window as you prepared breakfast for Nari. You could hear Minho coming down the stairs, fresh from his early gym session, towel draped over his shoulder. He looked over at the window, his eyes scanning outside.

“Hey,” Minho said, his tone casual. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors.”

You paused for a moment, looking up. “New neighbors? Did you see who they were?”

Minho shrugged, wiping sweat off his forehead. “No, just a moving truck. Didn’t catch a glimpse of them, but I’m guessing they’re settling in.”

Nari, hearing the mention of "new neighbors," perked up immediately. "New friends? Are they my age?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement.

She loved the idea of new kids to play with, and after her busy day at school, she’d probably be ecstatic to meet anyone close to her age. You and Minho both joked about how she’d probably be the first to knock on their door.

“Maybe you’ll have new friends to play with, sweetheart,” you told Nari as you handed her a plate of breakfast.

Minho went to freshen up, while you made sure Nari had her things packed up for school, everything felt normal. There was a sense of peace in the small things your daughter laughing, Minho humming in the background as he brushed his teeth, the comfortable sounds of your family living in harmony.

After you made sure Nari ate her breakfast and finished packing her bag, you and Minho both got ready to take her to school. You put on a jacket and headed out the door, holding Nari's hand while Minho walked alongside you. It was a crisp morning, the sun rising slowly, and you felt at ease, the weight of your past completely gone.

As you drove to Nari’s school, the world outside seemed so familiar, yet a strange sensation stirred in your chest as you passed the house with the moving truck.

A tall figure was standing near the front of the house, talking to the movers and directing them. Your first instinct was to brush it off, as it was a simple sight you’d seen a hundred times. But something about that figure, the way they moved, felt eerily familiar.

You stared for a moment, trying to place it, but the thought was fleeting as you focused on getting Nari to school.

You quickly pushed the thought out of your mind. It couldn’t be. This was a new chapter in your life, a chapter you’d carefully built, and you couldn’t let anything, especially someone from the past, take that away from you.

"Okay, sweetheart, here we are. Have a great day!" You helped Nari out of the car, giving her a quick hug and sending her off with a kiss on her cheek.

Minho stood beside you, watching Nari wave as she ran toward the school entrance. When you both returned to the car and drove back home, a sinking feeling started to grow. Something about the morning seemed off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Minho parked the car in the driveway, but before you even got out, your eyes instinctively went back to the house across the street, the one with the moving truck. And that’s when you saw him.

Chan.

It was unmistakable. The familiar figure was no longer just a shadow in the distance, but a real, tangible presence right there in front of you. He was standing on the porch now, hands on his hips, directing movers as they carried boxes inside. It wasn’t a mistake. It was him. The same man who had once been your world, your heartbreak, your past.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You had tried to move on, to leave that chapter behind, but here he was, right across the street, as if nothing had happened. As if the past hadn’t torn you apart. You stood still, unable to move, processing the shock that had just hit you like a wall. You had never expected this.

Minho saw your reaction immediately, his eyes following yours to the house across the street. He didn’t need to ask anything. He saw the change in you, the way you froze, the way your breath caught.

“Is that…?” Minho began, but didn’t finish the sentence. His voice was softer now, knowing the weight of the situation, knowing that something was stirring in you.

You nodded, your throat tight. "It’s Chan."

For a moment, you didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Shock? Fear? It was as if your past had just collided violently with your present, and you were trying to make sense of it all. You didn’t want him back in your life. You had built something better, something real, with Minho and Nari. But there he was, standing on the porch, like he had every right to be there, like he hadn’t shattered everything you had worked so hard to put back together.

Minho, sensing your tension, stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm and reassuring, an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let Chan ruin what you had.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Minho asked softly, his voice steady but filled with concern.

You shook your head, not sure where to even start. "I don’t know what to say," you whispered, still staring across the street at Chan.

Minho kissed the top of your head gently, grounding you. “You don’t have to talk about it right now. I’m here, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

You nodded, your eyes still locked on Chan as he walked into the house across the street, carrying a box. Everything you had worked for, all the peace you’d built for yourself, suddenly felt fragile, as if one glance at that house could unravel it all.

But then, something inside of you shifted. You weren’t the same person you had been back then. You had Nari. You had Minho. You had a life that was strong, filled with love and stability. Chan was a ghost of your past, someone who was no longer part of your present. He might be back in your neighborhood, but you weren’t going to let him back into your life.

“Let’s go inside,” you said, your voice steadier now. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Minho didn’t say anything else. He just nodded, understanding that you needed space to process the situation. You both went inside, and as you closed the door behind you, the weight of what had just happened hung in the air.

You didn’t know what Chan’s return meant or why he had moved across the street. You didn’t know if this would change everything, or if it was just another random coincidence. What you did know was that you had built something real, something lasting, and you weren’t going to let the past come crashing in and take it from you.

You and Minho had a future together, and that future would not be defined by someone who hadn’t cared enough to be there when you needed him the most. No, you were stronger than that. You had built this life from the ground up, and no amount of unexpected moving trucks or familiar faces would change that.

And so, you focused on the love you had now, the love that was real. That was enough.

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raytoebiter · 10 days ago

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xv. young blood spills tonight (written work)

It's a really, really beautiful fucking day. That's no doubt. Like, at all.

Why's that, you ask?

Well, simply because the endless sea above you is winking at the little organisms with their clear blue skies devoid of the usual cotton white. Then, there’s also the breeze that has been blessing (bugging) everyone's asses by flipping skirts and sending papers flying.

And well, yeah, those are the usual signs that your day is going to go well.

The biggest catch, whatsoever?

Shitty Asshole (Scaramouche) finally decided to stop acting like there was a permanent stick up his ass with every interaction he had with you.

Or in simpler terms, he stopped bothering you.

And hey, going by your definition, it really means that he hasn't called you names nor did he prolong a conversation by unabashedly acting like a fuckboy to grind your gears.

And, well. That? That's really fucking strange.

Some people (Hu tao) may suggest going to the person, and asking, “hey, are you okay?” considering that the asshole looks like he got hired by a shitty animation studio and was overworked during the weekdays, but considering how much he irritates you on a normal day?

You would dare say; hell, no. You don't have any damn plans in crossing the lines of rivalry just to reignite the spark of hatred that's holding your relationship with him. You also don't got any damn clue if he stopped simply because he felt guilty for pushing you down (which, going by your interactions with him on Monday, doesn't seem to be the case at all) nor if he stopped because his ginger friend is finally shooting his shot (which also doesn't seem to be the case since it's unreasonable as hell).

Either way, you'd rather enjoy this blissful predicament rather than finding the catalyst behind it.

(You completely, and resolutely ignore the gnawing itchy bitch inside of you that keeps moaning about the fact that you haven't had a proper argument with the Asshole since Monday.)

And besides, it's not like it's any of your business to pry on his personal problems, right?

So yeah, the angel on your shoulder (that annoyingly sounds a lot like Hu tao) can fuck off, and the beautiful day you spoke of can continue on without any grape-hair bothering you.

A giggle left your lips, the sound utterly high. If you were in the right state of mind, you would've been nauseated with how you're acting.

But.. right now? You’re quite literally bouncing off from, holy shit, I'm gonna go on a date with Childe—to—Oh my god, what am I even gonna wear!?—to—He’s such a flirt, god, he's so attractive–

—and then, finally—wait, hold on, I need to fulfill that damn request, fuck!

With that, disgust burns your esophagus and you're instantly upset, because fucking hell. You have to hang out with the guy that's been avoiding you for.. what? A fucking week? Just ‘cause of some shitty obscure reason?

Like, seriously, come on. Pushing you off the stairs is nothing but a damn stepping stone for your hatred to go onward, right? It's really nothing, so why the fuck is he doing this cold-shoulder thing?

You scoff as you turn on your phone, opening the contacts app, then scrolling until you see the infamous, “the insufferable asshole whom i shall not dare interact”.

God, the nickname was such a great idea.

The conversation that lit against your face brings some sort of annoying churning in your stomach, and you scowl at the feeling. Don't tell me I'm feeling sentimental about this shit.

Then, as you shudder from the prick needles poking at your skin, you instantly chuck the thought to the murkiest depths of your mind; hoping to never be seen again because, holy fuck.

Deeply sighing, you clicked on the call button, index finger lightly tapping and making circles on the counter as you pressed the phone to your ear.

The phone luckily rings until it makes a familiar clicking sound.

“What—”

“Shut up, where are yo—actually, no, scratch that. Come here early, like right now, ASAP.”

A notable silence on the other line. You briefly wonder if you should've let him finish, but then again, any pleasant business the other had could fucking wait.

“Yeah, no. I'm on my way to the entrance road, dipshit,” the other bit out after a moment. There's light sweeps of air in the background, and a fleeting thought occurs to you that the Asshole might be walking considering the lack of engine noise.

You cross your legs, squinting at the door because wasn't the entrance road atleast 3 miles away from the café? isn't that so far?

“...Don’t tell me the Grand Scaramouche is actually walking? Whatever happened to your Porsche, hm?”

Scaramouche simply chuckled, the sound reverberating through your spine, sending shudders along the way. You end up reaching for the blanket that, fuck, was currently perched on a damn desk chair a feet away from you.

For a few seconds, the words simply hung in the air.

You have half a mind to ask what the fuck was up with him, only to absolutely shrug it off as you finally snatch the blanket, fabric warm and just so fucking perfect, goddamnit.

It's then the Asshole finally makes a noise and—

“Well, might as well enjoy the shitty scenery before I quit, right?

Your entire world stops. Not in the sense like those shitty romantic scenes, of course, but in the sense that you just discovered something so fucking shocking that your world quite literally stops functioning for a second.

Because, seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

Don't tell me I fucking did something wrong? I didn't even do anything. Like, shit. But didn't we just have a talk in monday? didn't we, like err, fucking.. glare at each other in wednesday? What the fuck is up with this guy? Is he jealous? Wait no, that's not really reasonable. Is it Childe? Is he avoiding me because Childe told him to just so he could shoot his shot? Wait, maybe it was the push—no, fuck, wait. What was all that talk about, ‘wanting to stay here a little bit fucking longer, then—

A snort. A really, ugly and mocking snort, “you do realize you've been muttering all that like a stupid ass ESPN commentator, right?”

And right now, as tempting as the idea of screaming, “what the fuck do you mean!? what was all that beating for then!?” to him really is: you, a beloved fuckin’ saint, instead, made the very difficult and extremely mature decision to not push your luck.

And that is to hang the fuck up, LMAO.

Might be an overreaction considering that you once chanted a whole ass pseudo-manifestation on Scaramouche quitting for some inexplicable reason but..

..It's an embarrassment to your dignity to admit—but, fuck it, anyway.

You'd rather take a barrel of a sailor’s vocabulary ebbing out of his mouth rather than this odd silent treatment he's been doing with you.

It's not that you missed him or anything—god, no—it’s just.. really anticlimactic considering that the only connection the two of you have is your rivalry with him; with all the shitty remarks he makes, the brawls you have with him, and the constant bickerings that happens on a daily basis now that you were coworkers.

At some point, you've always kept the notion of having a relationship more than just hatred in the damn Pandora’s box, simply because you couldn't really fathom something stable and promising with him, especially with the Asshole’s personality being equivalent to having a fire up your buttcrack.

Not only that, there's no fucking way that asshole is getting away after pushing you off down the stairs (1), doing a whole pep-talk about wanting to stay in the café longer (2), offhandedly showing up to the first day with his goddamn porsche whom you haven't seen in a few days now and you miss it so bad (3), get into a brawl only to have your beloved grandmother see it and force the two of you into a 30-minute lecture on why fighting brings bad benefits (4), and be one of the sole witnesses of you having a panic attack (5) only to fucking leave?

Well, atleast he's got the fucking balls.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, you pocketed your phone, the initial plan of changing out of your clothes completely and utterly forgotten as you hurriedly scurried to put on your shoes and bursted out of the room.

Your grandmother furrowed her brow at the sight and sound of the door slamming against the wall, “dear? where are you headed to? why are you still in your clothes?”

You grabbed your necessities (phone, check, money, check, food.. nah, scratch that), and sent a reluctant glance at your confused grandmother, “can I take the shift off today? I.. need to catch up with a friend super, duper quickly and apparently the ass—ass.. something is leaving today. And they didn't even tell me about it so—”

“Alright, alright,” Your grandmother gently interjected, attention now fixated on whatever was on the counter, “you ought to tell me these earlier though, okay? I'll call Xiao to help out.”

A groan left your lips, hand already twisting the knob as you turned one last time, “tell him to not act like a stuck-up dick though!”

And distantly, “make sure to bring an umbrella!” along with the cracked laughter resonating in the air as you took off.

–

The wind howled through the trees, sending chills up your spine. Your grandmother was fucking right. You should've bought a damn umbrella.

You rubbed at your arms, slowly contemplating whether to go back to the café and just endure the agonizing back pain for a couple of days, or wait in the goddamn bus stop since most likely, the Asshole will probably go through there.

The latter is so, so fucking tempting, especially with how there's light rain dotting the pavement now—

Wait, light rain?

Panic strikes, you cautiously and hesitantly glanced up at the sky, as if it was some blood-curdling demon drooling at the sight of a frightened prey. Fuck, you should've known it was going to fucking rain cats and dogs the moment you saw the skies being abundantly clear as fuck.

And, holy shit. The café is atleast a mile away and the bus stop is still at least 3 blocks down, fuck wait, what do I do!? Should I call the Asshole? Surely, he brought a fucking umbrella, right? Hold on, shit. Fuck this motherfucking—

Just as you’re about to curse the entire fucking mother nature bloodline, the featherlight droplets tapping onto your shoulders turns into something much, much more overwhelmingly heavier, soaking your head then your clothes.

A fleeting thought of jumping off the river near the café crosses your mind, but you immediately shrug it off.

Eventually, an exasperated groan left your lips, gaze now facing forward as you stared at the foggy mist that now started to descend on your way. Your back still aching even after a few days doesn't help, and the heavy rain patting your clothes, gradually soaking it certainly doesn't fucking help either.

God, a sick leave on Monday doesn't really sound like a happy-go-lucky choice, doesn't it? Sighing, you reach for your skirt pockets, rummaging through until you find the familiar device.

Immediately just as you take it out, it gets drenched.

Am I really going stupid?

You annoyingly frowned, slightly lowering your body to cover it from the rain as you frantically pressed the power button and—

Fucking voila! It's fucking dead! The bright 0% winking at you like a delicious fucking meal on the table!

For several fucking seconds, you frigidly stood there, hand loosely clutched around the jackshit motherfucking device, with your nervous system going haywire, and the absolute urge to snap your spine in half coursing through your body like blood flow.

Oh, and there's also the impending chill down there that holy fuck, you're going to get sick.

What a fuck-up day this is. All because of that damn Ass—

Okay, that's too unreasonable. You did choose this, after all.

Still. You shouldn't have fucking gone out. Hell, you should've listened to your grandmother.

A crackle above snaps you out of your thoughts, all suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin with the coldest motherfucking sensation, and you shudder, pocketing your phone.

Right. Shelter.

–

After squeaky shoes, near-death instances (one of which being almost tripping over a damn dead toad in the middle of the street), and the occasional middle fingers from Mother Nature, you finally reached the bus stop. And as per usual, it's devoid of the crowd that used to piss you off when you were a kid.

Muscle movement from all over the years has you reaching out to the bench and lightly dusting it, only to realize what you were doing, deadpanned, then reluctantly sat at the wet bench. An embarrassing squeak of your shoes bringing heat to your cheeks.

Years ago, these roads, now looking as if they've been deserted, used to be the lone passageway to Qingce Village. A small, remote town near the Inazuma borders. However, because there were a shit ton of animals running around bare-assed (take the shitty toad as an example), the officials or whatever had to force the roads to shut down.

Now, it's officially been recognized as a restricted area.

Well, not really. Considering that some kids can still do shitty hide n’ seek once in a while, but it's often discouraged.

Well, fuck the discouragement, you can do whatever you want. Besides, it's not like the Liyue Qixing actually gives two fucks about it, especially now that Qingce village looks more like an abandoned town rather than an actual village.

Though, some tourists and occasional students seem to like the idea of abandoned places, so they’re often seen in the area doing whatever.

Your eye twitches when a drop falls just right in front of your nose, thoughts immediately halted. Fuck, should you really wait here for Scaramouche to show up? The biting cold fabric against your skin is really, really not comfortable. But in some way, it does kind of help with your back ache, so there's some benefits to that.

A shiver. Then, a sneeze.

Man.

You're so dead the moment you come back. You don't even know what time it is for fuck’s sake! But guessing from the time you left and the time you walked to get here, it must be around 4:35PM already. The rain is still moderately heavy, and the shitty roof, that's basically worn out rust, has holes in it, so it barely just does the job right.

The faint pattering of the rain against your shoulder feels soothing in some way, and the slight fog seems to disperse from all that shitty walk so now, the area is a bit visible.

And man, what a fucking calming shitshow. You ought to thank Scaramouche for this.

Wait, hold on, speaking of Scaramouche, hasn't it been at least an hour since you called him? And 3 miles is atleast..

You nervously chuckle, no way, right?

No way he reached the café while you were out here, shivering and dying from the rain, right?

It's been an hour. A full fucking hour!

No way. Yeah, nope. Nope. Nope, no, fucking nope.

There's just no way. You’ll see him in the street, wave him over, reprimand him until he stays, then force him to hang out to fulfill the request.

Yeah. Definitely.

And, anyway. What the hell was the Asshole up to? Out of nowhere, he just wants to.. quit?? What is up with that? You certainly know it's not about the environment, or anything. So, what the fuck was it? Not only that, he seemed casual about the ‘pushing’ incident too, so, really, what the fuck is he really up to—

A hand. A shadow of a hand creepily loomed over your form, creating a shadow just below your toes, and you jolted, heart suddenly skipping a few beats as you hastily turn around and holy shit—

“Scaramouche!?”

He carefully surveys you, the seconds feeling like an eternity as his hand idly floated mid-air, before he leered in disgust, “god, you look so fucking horrible right now.”

A dull ache throbbed in your temple, already feeling the Scaramouche-Induced-Migraine settling in the hypothalamus of your brain, “yeah, no shit. I look terrible, and ugly. Ever wondered why that is?”

Right now, the Asshole is clutching a beautiful, useful umbrella and there's a plastic bag hanging off of his forearm. A droplet falls right on top of your head, kindly reminding you once again of the beautiful, useful umbrella in his hold.

“Are you going to stop looking at my umbrella, or what? I'll share with you, don't worry.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “you didn't bring an extra one?”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side, then to you, “are you stupid? your granny chased me out of the café to ‘find’ you. what idiot even goes out in a weather like this?”

His head tilts slightly upward in gesture, while you spiralled down in the fact that, fuck yeah, I was right. He really did reach the café first.

“Well?”

“Got bored,” you easily lied, shrugging your shoulders for the extra effect, “I didn't think it'd rain this.. hard.”

“So, you really are stupid.”

"Shut up! I just got bored, okay?"

“Well, blah blah, anyway. Let's go back to the shitty café,” he turned sideways, reckoning you over with his head like you were some shitty dog.

It only struck you as your eyes drifted to his in pensiveness that—this was the first conversation you've ever had with him since Monday. And, he was going to leave. Just like that.

And, god. You've gone two years. Two years without talking to him except the occasional blistering arguments on social media that still pissed you off to this day. Hell, you even went on four days without having a proper conversation albeit the fact that you saw him everyday in that.

You've managed just fine. Felt no difference. Felt nothing.

But.. fuck?

Why does it feel different when he's talking to you, then?

Why the fucking motherfuck does your heart feel the fucking need to feel fucking restless to the fucking point of fucking beating so fucking loudly?

You suddenly, and viciously regretted locking gazes with him, considering how there was now a huge ass stretch in silence as you two stared each other down; the gaze neither intense nor did it ebb hatred.

Though, the way his eyes settled over to yours do feel like he's stripping you down from your skin to your heart, and oh fuck, don't tell me he can hear my heartbeat? holy fuck, this is embarrassing, what the fuck do I do? why is he staring at me like that? don't tell me I have a leaf over my head?? wait, hold on. should I break the stare or what? this is so fucking embarrassing—

An amused sound between a snort and a laugh. Presumably an involuntary one as he covers his mouth in reciprocated shock.

“What's so funny?”

An slight smirk creeps at his face “you're such a mumbler.”

A frown, “that's not even a word—”

“Are we going back to the café, or are you going to keep standing there like an idiot who just got dumped? Because you really look like you got stood up by a piece of shit right now.”

Okay. Calm. One, two, three..

You tried not to let the indignance take over your face as you held up a pseudo smile in agreement. Scaramouche eyed you for a moment, and then sighed before turning around.

There goes my plan in taking him to hang out. Maybe I'll ask him after school tomorr—

Wait. Hold on.

“Wait, uh. Do you—”

His feet halted, just right in the center of your vision and only then did you realize you were looking down like an idiot. God, this is so embarrassing.

You hesitantly looked up, confidently glared at him square in the eye (since glaring has always been your forte with him) and blurted, “hang out with me. like, right now.”

Silence. You can already feel the regret creeping in when all he does is fucking watch, and watch with those shitty fucking ass purple motherfucking eyes with the imperceptible fucking glint shining in them and—

“What on the fucking earth,” his expression was flat, but he did have that aghast-amused tilt to his eyebrows.

That's how you knew it was a success. All doubt and humility instantly drained out of you as you grinned, the mean and confident one that you knew made your features look devilish, “what? it's gonna be your last shift anyway, and I had to take a shift off—don’t give me that look and don't ask why—so, why not just hang out with me? I'm sure grandma would let you off.”

“O..kay?” he drawled in incredulity, a brow curiously quirking up as he turned to you fully, “so, what the fuck are we doing today, Dora the Explorer?”

“Uh, we could—erm,” you tried. you failed, “I don't know! I haven't thought that far!”

“Okay, jack-ass. We're going back to the café—”

“No!”

“And drink some shitty warm water—”

“Nope!”

“And—”

Before he could fucking finish because it really was starting to piss you off, you tore the beautiful, useful umbrella from his hold, stumbling him forward as you slowly took a step back.

You watched the realization slash amusement crawl over his pale features, twisting it up to a scowl, “give it back.”

A blink, then an idea came to you along with an impish grin, “well.. you'd just have to get it from me, then.”

And with that, you took off.

Scaramouche gaped at you, looking absolutely debauched as he realized what you were the fuck up to. And at that moment, you smiled.

You give it at least three counts.

One… his head swerves left and right.

Two… his gaze locked onto you.

Three… then, he made a break for it.

A wet ass road isn't really a good place to run a marathon in along with the (still) heavy rain blurring your vision as you dashed to who-the-fuck knows where, but right now?

As the cold nips against your skin like some sort of fucking leech and the Asshole few meters away from behind you chasing like a madman..

It feels like a whole otherworldly experience.

You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people.

–

“You're a real fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Okay. Maybe you are a fucking idiot by, what? Running into the rain with what you presume was one of the best experiences you've ever had but had the shittiest fucking consequences? Yeah.

Presently, the two of you are fortunately situated on a cliff with a bench. Totally I-Know-a-Spot vibes with an abandoned ass gasoline station just right off the side. Though, how did the two of you manage that? Well, your dumbass decided to run off the forest and somehow managed to end up here.

At some point during your whole life living in these parts, you've always seen the cliff in your peripherals but never had actually gone through the effort of going to it. So, yeah more or less, it's really your first time being here and, holy fuck is it divine.

The sun kissed the area with gold, blessing the two of you with the warmth it gives. The scenery is really the fucking catch though; with the sun infront of you, half of the village seen just below, café being literally quite just under the cliff and whatnot.

Oh, and yeah. The rain stopped mid-way as the two of you ran, so right now, you're currently dying with the left-over chill.

A shiver runs through your body, and you breathed out a sigh, “you enjoyed it, anyway. you can't really complain, you know?”

He glares at you, awfully looking like a stray hissing after being dumped with water, “fuck, no. I almost tripped twice. Heard that? Fucking twice, [Name]. That was not fun.”

As if he didn't stifle a laugh when you accidentally dropped the umbrella, “yeah, sure, Mr. Nonchalant. Also, I stepped on a dead toad on the way here, so.. again. you can't complain, I've had it worse.”

A roll of his eyes, and god, one more roll and I swear to the universe, I'm gonna make that permanent, “okay, piss grenade.”

“Piss—excuse me, what?”

“You know, explosive and lethal piss? Stuck in a grenade, and when you throw it, it becomes a piss shower?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” a scowl formed on your face as you conjured an image, “that's not really..”

He narrowed his eyes, “don't kinkshame me.”

“What—”

“So, when is the hang-out actually gonna start?” you can see the shiver creepily crawling over his body, and he tensed like a cat.

Ha, cat. Cat…

You awkwardly cleared your throat, murmuring, “I don't know.. actually. Wanna—uh. Wanna stay here and like, I don't know, watch the shitty sunset, or something?”

And again, his face comically deadpans. You can probably see the iconic SFX behind the background as he watches you with keen, fucking purple eyes.

“Is this really the same [Name] [Last Name] that told me to fuck myself on Monday?”

A snort escapes your lips as you nudge him by the ribs, “haha, very funny. Yes, I am, you asshole. God, you really do have a derogatory kink, don't you?”

His eyes glint in mischief, voice raising a playful lint, “oh, yeah? don't tell me you have a praise kink? Come on, don't get turned off, I'll praise you just fine.”

Your jaw gapes, like absolutely gapes and drops, before dramatically scooting further away from him, “yeah, no. I'd rather eat my own hand than have you praise me like that ever. Please stop the harassment.”

“Sure, fruitcake. And we're soaking up the entire bench, and it feels so fucking disgusting. When are we gonna get back?”

Oh. That's right.

“Are you…” you gulp, heart fucking doing somersaults, “are you actually going to resign?”

And at that—a glimmer in his eyes caught your attention as he turned to you; a permission to open up, to spill whatever bullshit he wanted, and you? Well, who are you to refuse?

“No,” he answers, “well, after today and that shitty run, I decided to shove the middle finger to my mom and maybe ask to postpone the offer.”

A hum left your lips, swaying your feet back and forth, “what’s the offer about anyway?”

“A modeling offer. I was given a chance to undergo some sort-of fuckin’ teaching class about modelling—which, I don't fucking want, by the fucking way. But. Ugh, my mom forced me. After that, I'll probably inherit her company or some shit.”

That doesn't really..

As if reading your mind, he continues, clutching the edge of the bench a little tighter, “and the reason why I don't want to take it is because it completely fucks up my schedule; after-school hours? fucked, cowgirl style. weekends? fucked, missionary style. Hell, even holidays? fucked, mating press style.”

He sharply chuckled as you gaped at him, and you mumbled, “your mom is too..”

“Selfish? Annoying? Fucking overbearing? Yeah,” he interrupted with a scoff, the sound laced with so much bitterness, “and anyway, I think I'll postpone it until I'm done with Senior High School. I have plenty of reasons anyway.”

You slowly blinked, still trying to process how.. weirdly dictatorial his mom was. You don't really give a fuck in that part of the industry, considering that you're way too focused on school to actually give a fuck about anything else other than being a barista (and speaking of school, fuck, you still had that physics assignment that's due by 11:59PM).

And, anyway. Holy fuck, you're absolutely going to have a hard time processing the fact that you just had your first ever official uninterrupted emotional conversation with Scaramouche. Or anything that involved non-rivalry things at all. The others are definitely going to have a field day with this and, ugghhh, you can already feel the undeniable burn in your eyes and the sting in your throat—

“Okay, thanks for listening,” he states dryly, eye-judging you as a droplet from his hair falls, “so awesome of you to go on a mumbling tirade while I was pouring my whole shitty sou—”

“Shut up, you asshole! Jeez, my grandma’s gonna kill me after this. I left without saying anything, I didn't even bring the umbrella she gave me! All because I chose to hang out with you, ugh."

“Aww, scared I'd be out of your sight, fruitcake? you must love me that much, huh.”

“No,” you bluntly say, “absolutely fucking not. Gross, by the way. I was just worried about you since we stopped talking for a week, and now you're dipping? no way, you're still my rival and I'm not letting you go until I see you in second place in the final rankings.”

He raised a brow, “we could still be—”

“Shut it.”

“..Okay, you sap.”

“Gross.”

And for the first fucking time ever, a comfortable silence settles in and goddamn, you missed the sunset. Slowly though as you watched from above, the blue-ish fog dissipated from the sky, leaving an endless sea of ink with dotted white.

And of course, as usual, the Asshole opens his gasbag mouth with his gaze transfixed on the skies above, “I really don't like stars.”

Just as you're about to retort, or atleast shove him to the sides and tease him, he continues, eyes still fixed to the sky but this time with a frown, “it looks so unreal, sometimes. Like, what the fuck do you mean those are just huge balls of hot gases winking at us like we're some useless specimen? I'm not useless, goddamnit.”

You blinked slowly, then levelled the Asshole with such a deadpanned look, “are you really saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course, it would involve your ego. Of course. At this point, it's probably as big as the whole space.”

Scaramouche smugly smirked, “Yeah, ‘cause the fucking space is as big as my dic—”

“—Well, how else do you spend your time than just.. sit and not contemplate about life then?"

“..I don't fucken know? I don't spend my time looking at shit like this and going, “oh! I'm gonna think about my life and how utterly depressing it is!” like most people do. I just do whatever shit that is worth my time.”

You gave him a blank look, “so pessimistic. You must be so fun at parties. And, hey, we don't just immediately start thinking about life and all that. Sometimes, we just, you know, come here to relax.”

“If we're talking about that, then I’d rather look at city lights from above.”

A shrug, “guess that's more like you.”

He scoffed with a smirk, “makes me feel like I'm the star looking down in all those shitty specimens.”

“Ooh,” you cooed absentmindedly, “okay, city-boy.”

That familiar scowl settled in and you jolted, not expecting the nickname to hit a nerve, “oh, fuck off!”

A blink. Then, another blink before the drawl of the nickname left your lips with a higher lint, “city-boy!”

“One more and I swear—”

“City-boy!”

“Fuck—”

“City-boy likes to look at species below and—”

“Fuck the fucking hell off, you fucking mumbling gnome!”

You two didn't share a laugh that night, but you did continue the relentless teasing until, until he had to forcefully drag you down all the way back to the café at Eight-Something in the Post Meridian hours.

Needless to say, the lecture that came after was as warm and soothing as chocolate milk with cookies, after a whole evening of teetering between just outrightly dying of hypothermia, or having to go on because life still wants you in its grasp.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - into the night by benny mardones

• notes - i've been planning to use this exact song for this chapter for MONTHS like i swear it was one of the first ideas that came to me when i first started the drafr outline for this smau LIKE UGHHH

• "i'd take you into the night," [name] taking scara to the cliff

• "and show you a love like you've never, ever seen," [name] and scara hanging out there and talking about life and silly shit hajdnsjn

• "it's like having a dream," cue "You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people." HELLO??? I COOKED CHAT I FUCKING COOKED

so yeah that shit above was what i wrote in the draft LMAO

authors' notes - hey freaks guess who's back😝 supposedly, i was gonna post this like two days ago but then BUT THEN a shitty migraine fucked me ten times over the course of two days leaving me absolutely dead ass on my bed so. yeah. and anyhoo, any comments about this is SO much appreciated considering i spent the last week making this while in writer slump (5,3k WORDS BABYYY) and holy shit chat??? we're 50-notes away from??? ONE THOUSAND??? WHATTTTTTTT that was so fugkcing fast HRLP ME thank you for all the support regardless tho😞

p.s - might update more now since WOOHOO SUMMER BREAK IS FINALLY FUCKING HERE

(ask to be added or removed)

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senditcolton · 1 month ago

Text

January Gloom

...you're like the sunshine in the lazy days of June

summary: You and Anthony have been friends for years. That long friendship means that you know each other probably better than anyone else. So that means that Anthony notices when you start to pull away. It also means that he will drop everything to help you. song inspo: January Gloom (Seasons Pt. 1) by All Time Low word count: 5.7k warnings: implied feminine reader, non-specific mental health struggles, minor reference to suicide, playful innuendo filled banter, and fluff! a/n: Finally getting back into the Wake Up Sunshine series with a super self-indulgent fic. Dividers within indicate a perspective shift.

Anthony’s hand connects with the wooden door of your apartment, knocking in gentle but rapid succession.

Again.

And you still aren’t answering.

That was reason enough for Anthony to realize that his concerns might have some level of truth to them. That he wasn’t overreacting. There had been a nagging feeling that something was wrong forming in the back of his mind for a few days now.

Even though he was busy – with both the continued efforts to meld with his new team and the end of the regular season – he wasn’t blind his best friend pulling away. It had started small; the circles under your eyes growing darker, which turned into absences from his games, which then turned into shorter and shorter text messages shared. It wasn’t until you didn’t respond to Washington’s playoff-clinching win that the quiet nag gave way to genuine fear.

From an outsider perspective, the lack of congratulations being the catalyst for Anthony standing outside your apartment might have seemed selfish; like he was upset that you weren’t giving him enough attention. But if those outsiders really knew the relationship you two shared, they’d understand. The two of you always celebrated each other’s accomplishments. It was one of the foundations of your friendship.

He was the biggest supporter at your college graduation back in New York. You screamed with joy over the phone when he told you he was traded to Washington, happy to share a city with your best friend since his departure from Long Island. That was why the radio silence from you led him here.

He knocks again, hoping that maybe this is the time you’ll answer. Fifth times the charm, right?

From the gap under the door, he can hear muffled voices on the other side, but none of them have your clear cadence – a sound Anthony memorized ages ago. Which meant the noise was most likely the TV. You never left the television on when you weren’t home so, you had to be in there. But there is still no response.

The nerves that had been steadily growing over the weeks finally reach their peak as Anthony reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keyring. He flips through the collection of metal until he finds the spare key you had given him for emergencies – something he’s had since he first stepped foot in DC. He holds the key between his fingers, hesitating for a moment, wondering if this situation really constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant entering your apartment without permission. But he rationalizes that this utter lack of communication – something he never experienced in the nine years of friendship you shared – was enough.

The key is inserted into the lock, the doorknob now turning with ease and Tito enters your studio apartment.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the space, your shades are closed tightly, blocking out the afternoon sun. The only solid light in the room came from the glow of the laptop screen perched on your nightstand. The voices that he had heard previously were indeed coming from the device, currently playing a series that he knew you had seen a thousand times. Once his eyes get used to the darkness, Anthony’s gaze rakes over the room, attempting to locate you. Waiting to see if you are indeed at home or if he was about to be the biggest idiot in the world. But his eyes finally land on your bed, noticing the texture of your hair peeking over the covers, and when he wanders over for a closer look, he notices the way your body rises and falls with your gentle breathing.

Anthony can’t stop the small smile that plays at his lips when his eyes find your face, nestled against your pillow. Your hair is disheveled, most likely tangled, some of the strands obscuring your features but apart from that you seemed fine. Anthony let that knowledge flow through him, relaxing his body.

You were okay.

You were, however, still asleep in bed at almost 2pm on a Wednesday, which caused a little bit of concern to linger in his body. Finally, Anthony’s eyes tear away from your sleeping form and return to glance around your apartment, fully taking in the space.

It was a disaster. Anthony knew that you were not a neat-freak by any means but this… it was worse than he had ever seen it. Dirty clothes piled on your couch and scattered around the floor, trash on multiple surfaces: your coffee table, your mantle, your bookshelf. Curiosity and worry continue to pull at him as he walks towards the kitchen and when he peeks inside, he sees your small trash overflowing, a pile of take-out bags sitting next to it, before his eyes connect with the sink and the counter next to it, filled with dirty dishes.

Tito can feel his eyebrows furrow, body turning to once again take in your sleeping form. You look peaceful, deep in slumber. Anthony’s gaze rakes over you, the rumpled sheets, and your nightstand. That’s when he spots the pill bottle. His heartrate increases as his hand reaches for the container, fearing the worse. The relief that he feels when he sees that it is just melatonin boosters is incomparable.

But the presence of sleep aids causes more questions to form in Anthony’s head. You were the type of person that could fall asleep anywhere, so much so that it became a recurring inside joke between the two of you. You never needed help sleeping so why did you need it now?

Anthony’s eyes dart around the room again, taking in the disarray.

You were in a bad place. He didn’t know why or what caused it. But that was what all the clues lead him to believe. You were going through something, something that caused you to disappear into your apartment, into your bed, into the reprieve of slumber.

You needed help. You’d never admit it, a personality trait Anthony noticed when your friendship first began, a trait that he instinctively knew could turn destructive. But he never thought it could lead to this.

You needed someone. You needed a friend.

And here he was.

Anthony sets down the bottle, his eyes glancing over you, a pang appearing in his heart at your distress. He wanted to take care of you. He would take care of you. It’s all he could do.

He leans in, pressing his lips against the crown of your head in a gentle kiss before he steps back, figuratively rolling up his sleeves before getting to work.

You are awoken by the sound of running water.

The initial instinct that moves through your body is to just bury yourself deeper in the sheets. Part of you nags that the sound could mean a leak in the kitchen or bathroom. Just your luck if it was. Another thing piled on top of literally everything else.

You’ve had rough patches before – you wouldn’t deny it. But this one… this one felt worse than all the others combined. Finances, career, friends, relationships. Every aspect of your life seemed as if it was imploding. Granted, you knew that you held the blame for some of those things – you shouldn’t have bought so much take-out, you should’ve been more proactive in finding a job you actually enjoyed, you shouldn’t have pulled away from your friends no matter how shitty you felt. But it was difficult.

You wanted to relax but how could you when the problems would still be there the next day? You wanted to clean and cook but how could you when every day you came home, your energy was completely drained?

It felt like a never-ending deluge of awfulness. And now, water was running somewhere in your apartment.

With a groan, you lift your body upright, hands pressing against your face as you prepare for the worst. But when your eyes open and your gaze darts around the space, the first thought that passes through your mind is that you must still be dreaming. Because your apartment – something that once looked like the wreckage of a tornado – looked… better.

It wasn’t perfect but the trash was gone, the pillows on your couch and knick-knacks on your shelves a little neater. And once your mind fully comes to, you can still hear water running but underneath the sound was the clink and clang of metal and ceramic.

Your gingerly remove yourself from the bed, your hands keeping a hold of one of your blankets. You wrap the fabric around your body for a sense of security as you gingerly walk through the threshold of your kitchen. Your eyes first notice the absence of trash once again before connecting with the tall frame of someone standing in front of your sink. The panic of a random man in your apartment never has a chance to fully sink in, recognizing the chocolate curls of your best friend Anthony with a quickness that could only be contributed to your long friendship. A sigh escapes you, thankful that some weirdo didn’t break into your house to clean… but it was still odd that Anthony was here.

You aren’t sure if he heard your soft sigh or if Tito just managed to sense your presence because his head turns to look behind him, his eyes meeting yours. You watch the small smile tug at his lips before his voice sounds out over the running faucet.

“Go back to sleep. I’m almost done.”

Your only response is a nod as you turn around. You aren’t sure if it’s just what your body automatically wanted to do or if you were in such a fugue state that you couldn’t help but comply or if you were actually still dreaming. Whatever it was, you do end up returning to your bed.

You don’t follow Anthony’s orders completely, however. Instead of burying yourself into your sheets and falling back asleep, you sit on top of the mattress, blanket still around your shoulders and eyes still glued to the kitchen entrance. Waiting for Tito to come back or waiting for this entire thing to dissipate, confirming that you were indeed dreaming.

Turns out the first possibility prevails, Anthony appearing in the doorway, wiping his hands on one of your towels. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there bewildered. Instead, he walks straight to your closet, fishing out your overflowing laundry bag and lugging it over. He stands at the foot of your bed, hands fishing out bunches of clothes and placing them on the mattress.

“I was doing to do this first but I know you’re particular about your clothes so I decided to wait until you were awake so you could help,” he explains as cooly and as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“Tito,” you say, your voice not as sharp as you wanted but perhaps the mere sound of it was enough for him to pause and look up at you. “What are you doing?”

The jovial grin tugs at his lips before he returns his attention to the pile of dirty clothes.

“I told you: we’re doing laundry. These don’t get dried, right?” he asks, holding up a pair of your leggings.

“Anthony,” you say again, using his actual name instead of his nickname, indicating both your confusion and your seriousness. “What is going on?”

“I was worried about you,” he replies with a shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal but you can hear the genuine concern lacing his words. “Came in using the key you gave me just to check on you – sorry about that by the way – but then I saw this and figured you needed help. So, here I am helping.”

The flood of emotions that hit you was far too much and far too conflicting for you to fully register with the haze of sleep and the cloud of confusion still hanging over you.

You felt happy to see him after a long period of no contact. You felt guilty that you made him worry that much about you that he felt he had to check on you. You were peeved that he felt so comfortable waltzing into your apartment and rummaging through your things. You were grateful that he was willing to do all this for you. You were mortified that he was seeing you at such a low point.

Anthony doesn’t seem to notice the storm of warring emotions within you. Instead, he just continues to lift clothes out of your laundry basket – some of which you recognize had been laying on your sofa previously – until a practical mountain forms at the end of your bed. The sight of it makes another pang of shame surge through you, your body scooting forward as you reach out to grab Anthony’s wrist, temporarily halting his movements.

“You don’t have to,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual even though you can feel the heat flooding your cheeks. Anthony just playfully flicks your hand off him, his hands reburying themselves in the pile of laundry.

“Of course I do. What else are friends for?”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, your head finding a place in your upturned palms.

“Why?” Tito teases. “Do you have a little lacy number in here that you don’t want me seeing?”

His quip – a quintessential bedrock in the foundation of your friendship – makes you lift your head to connect your eyes back to his, a wry smile on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The bright smile that twists onto Anthony’s lips makes your heart soar, happy to see him so happy. Happy in yourself that you had managed to dig out a little playfulness from the abysmal black hole that had currently taken up residence in your life.

However, the joy is short-lived when your eyes dart back to the pile of dirty clothes – a reminder of just how bad it had gotten. And at the fact that Anthony was almost elbow deep in the mess.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… this – it’s so… I don’t know. Embarrassing!” you attempt again, still not quite able to succinctly put your emotions into comprehensible words.

“Really?” Anthony asks, one of his eyebrows raising. “More embarrassing than the time you got food poisoning in Vancouver and I held back your hair as you puked your guts out at 2am? Or that one time your bikini bottoms got launched from your body when you failed at wakeboarding? Or the time, in Nashville when we went to that karaoke bar and - ”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut him off, a hand lifting to cover your face. In annoyance or embarrassment, you weren’t quite sure.

Anthony stops his rummaging for a moment, reaching out to grasp your hand, pulling it away so your eyes reconnect with his. You can see the care expressed so clearly on his face, his eyes soft and a gentle smile on his lips.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’ve both seen each other in much more embarrassing situations than this one, yeah?”

You nod your head in agreement, the memories of nine years of friendship flipping through your mind like an old film reel.

“I just want to help. That’s why I’m here,” Anthony continues, hand still holding yours. “But if you’d like me to leave, I’ll respect that.”

You let yourself sit with his offer. You allow all the emotions to run through you, trying to organize and catalogue them. There was still a hefty amount of guilt and chagrin that existed within you; at both yourself for letting it get this bad and for dragging Anthony into your disaster. But above all of that, there was a stronger sense of relief and appreciation. Relief at having someone who cared for you so deeply that they took the time to check on you. Appreciation that Anthony was here wanting to help you – that he wasn’t doing this out of some sense of obligation or anything like that.

This was just Anthony – your Anthony – proving to you yet again why you were best friends.

The soft squeeze of his calloused hand around yours, him patiently waiting for your answer, is the final nail in the coffin, your eyes darting up to meet his. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you playfully shrug your shoulders.

“I guess you can stay,” you mumble, the hint of a chirp in the words letting Anthony know you were being serious and not just resigning yourself to whatever fate he had planned. A grin appears on his face, giving your hand another squeeze before releasing his hold on you, turning his attention back to the laundry piled between the two of you.

“Awesome. Now help me organize this stuff.”

You roll your eyes at his playful demand before helping him sort your clothes into two piles of ‘can go in the dryer’ and ‘has to air dry.’ It goes quickly with two pairs of hands helping sort through the mess. Anthony shoos you off as soon as the laundry is sorted, saying he found your detergent when he was looking for your dish soap. You let him lug the clothes back into the kitchen where your machine was located and you finally find the strength to unfurl yourself from the bed.

You arms lift over your head, stretching your body as you fully observe your apartment. Anthony did a damn good job. Some of your knick-knacks were a little askew and the blankets thrown over your couch were haphazardly folded but it looked miles better than it did before. It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

The sound of your washer rumbling to life draws your attention back to the kitchen doorway, seeing Anthony step back into your main room.

“Alright, now that that’s started, you can… I don’t know. Sleep some more if you want? Take a shower? Help me clean some more?”

“What else do you have left to do?” you question, looking around. He already did the heavy lifting with the dishes and laundry. Plus, the trash was taken out and surfaces were picked up.

“Thought about wiping down your counters and tables. Changing your sheets if you aren’t using them anymore. Stuff like that.”

“Tito,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done so much.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Anthony replies, shrugging off your dismissal.

“Do you even know how to use a bottle of Clorox?”

The tease comes easily from your lips and makes Anthony laugh, his eyes playfully rolling at your insinuation.

“I haven’t lived like a bachelor for seven years without learning how to do basic cleaning tasks, you know?”

“Whatever you say, Tito,” you hum, another chuckle coming from your best friend. You take a deep breath, your hand lifting to comb through your hair. The movement is halted by your fingers catching tangles, a small grimace crossing your face at both that and the oily feeling of buildup that had now transferred from your strands to your fingers.

“Now that I think about it, I really do need a shower.” You turn to face Anthony, your head cocked to the side in an expression of resignation. “You know where the cleaner and rags are?”

“Same place as your detergent.”

“And replacement sheets?”

“Top shelf of your closet.”

You nod your head, turning to walk to the bathroom before you are halted by Tito’s voice ringing out.

“I’ll take everything off your body.”

Your body spins back to face him, your eyebrows furrowed even as the playful grin twists your lips.

“I’m flattered Tito but I don’t think we have that kind of friendship.”

The confusion passes over Anthony’s expression and you can practically see the gears turning as he processes your response and recalls his previous words. The potential innuendo hits him suddenly, his cheeks flushing making you let out a cackle – the first genuine unfiltered laugh that had escaped you in what felt like ages.

“I meant for the laundry. Like, you can throw them out here before you get in the shower so I can add them to the next load,” he mumbles, the embarrassment still clearly flowing through his body. You just let out another soft chuckle before resuming your path towards the bathroom.

“If you wanted to see me naked that bad, Tito, you should just ask,” you call out to him, closing the bathroom door before he has a chance to respond.

It takes for the sound of the shower starting to snap Anthony out of whatever trance he found himself stuck in. He was still 100% embarrassed about the way he phrased his previous words, the innuendo being entirely unintentional. But there was another glimmer of something underneath all that.

A flash of hope brought on by your departing words.

Part of him was ready to chide the voice of his boyish crush surging forward, saying that you were just joking – a similar joke he made about the possibility of lingerie in your hamper. But that logical reasoning would fall on deaf ears. He told himself that so many times, every time your playful banter tiptoed over the line into something potentially more.

It was stupid really; falling for his best friend. He knew that. The biggest cliché found in every Hallmark movie and BookTok romance. But it was easy. You made it easy.

It wasn’t just your looks – although he would have to be blind to not notice how attractive you were. But it was all the little parts of you, parts that he got to see and discover and grew to love in the multiple years you’ve known each other. If anything, your long-term friendship contributed to his feelings for you developing from platonic to romantic. A friendship that lasted nine year, two countries, and multiple cities didn’t just happen without both work and natural chemistry. Hell, he knows married couples that had been through less than you and him have.

He never acted on these feelings though. It was harder when you were both living in Long Island and he saw you almost every day but when he was traded to Vancouver, the distance helped him keep a hold of his emotions.

He did think about confessing to you the night he left, though. If it blew up in his face and he ruined the friendship you shared by doing something stupid, it would be easy to leave it all behind and get over it. Couldn’t get further away than an entirely different coast.

He didn’t do it, however, and now with hindsight, he’s glad he didn’t. Your friendship spanned both time and space. And his crush on you never diminished. Every time you visited him or vice-versa, those feelings resurged with the strength of a thousand suns. Turns out distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

And when he got the news that he was traded again but this time to the city you called home, it felt like fate. Much like it felt like the universe’s hand that kept both of you single this long; like some higher power was conspiring for the two of you to get together.

Anthony shakes his head, fully snapping himself out of his reverie. It was just a silly crush. Would he ever get over it? Who knew? But he told himself long ago to just let things progress naturally. If it was meant to happen, then it would happen.

He had to believe in that. It was the only logic that kept him sane.

So, instead of continuing to wallow in his feelings, he turns back to the kitchen, fishing out the multi-colored rags and Clorox bottle from underneath your sink before turning his attention to the still dirty marble countertop.

This shouldn’t take him that long: he only had the kitchen, coffee table, mantle, nightstand, and bookshelf to do. And when the laundry currently tumbling in the washer had finished, he would hang those out to dry and start another load before he stripped and made your bed with fresh sheets.

That’s what friends did for each other.

That’s what he would do for you.

Because he cares about you.

Because he loves you.

The shower was much needed. You had felt your body relax as soon as the steam filled the room and stepping into the warm water just multiplied that feeling. You took your time, slowly pampering yourself after a multitude of quick in-and-out showers you had forced yourself to take to maintain a base sense of hygiene. The conditioner in your hair felt heavenly and the subtle vanilla of your body wash helped the entire experience feel luxurious even though you weren’t adding any major steps to your routine.

You had even managed to find the energy to go through your entire skincare routine and deep clean your teeth. Standing in front of your sink, your body clad in your fluffy bathrobe and your hair still damp, you allow yourself the opportunity to take a deep breath.

The mere fact that you were able to slow down, to take a moment to enjoy this reprieve in the shitshow that currently your life was a blessing. Part of you knew all your problems weren’t instantly solved by a shower and a clean apartment. But it helped. It definitely helped.

And you had Anthony to thank for that.

You owed him. Big time. Hell, in nine years of friendship, you were probably indebted to him already but this… this was different. He didn’t have to do what he did.

He didn’t have to come over to check on you. He didn’t have to stay. He didn’t have to spend his time and energy helping dig you out of your sadness when he could’ve been doing much more exciting and productive things. But he did. He chose to.

That part. The fact that this was his choice… that meant so much to you.

You stretch again before grabbing the fresh pair of pajamas that Anthony had brought to you while you had been applying lotion to your face. The soft, still somewhat warm cotton against your now clean skin increased your happiness and you hang your robe back up before pushing out into your living room.

The smell of lemon and linen greet your nose as your step from the tile to the hardwood, your eyes perusing the space. It didn’t look much different but your nose tells you that Anthony did indeed keep his word about cleaning the surfaces and you can see the color of new sheets stretched across your bed. The man in question was currently perched on your couch, hunched over and scrolling through his phone, your laundry hamper sitting next to him.

His attention lifts as soon as you clear your throat, shooting you a grin.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“Of course. Clothes are on your drying rack and I just put your old sheets in the dryer,” Anthony explains, vaguely gesturing to the wall behind him that separated your kitchen from the main room.

“Awesome. What’s with the hamper?”

“Oh, I didn’t really know what to do with your other clothes. I found your pajamas but I didn’t know what was hung or folded or anything else like that,” he tells you, a hand raising to scratch the back of his neck – a telltale sign of his nerves.

“No problem,” you reply with a hum, silencing any of his anxiety before grabbing your hamper and dumping the clean clothes onto the newly made bed. “I can put these away.”

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“Tito, you’ve already helped so much. I’ve got the energy now, thanks to you, so let me do this while you finally relax,” you laugh. “Besides, I have a whole system that I know you would just mess up.”

“Figures you have a system for clean clothes as well as dirty ones,” Anthony quips, to which you reply by throwing a coupled pair of socks in his direction. He catches the fabric with ease – damn his hockey reflexes – and places the bundle on the coffee table. “Fine, then I’ll order pizza. You want your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you work, Anthony only interrupting your flow with little quips and comments that you return with ease. The relaxed atmosphere coupled with the bliss that natural came when you hung out with Anthony lifted your spirits indescribably higher. He was like a breath of fresh air, the sunlight in the lazy days of June. He was just what you needed after feeling like you were trapped in the gloomiest Mondays of a never-ending January.

You managed to completely put your clothes away right as Anthony came back from picking up the pizza from the cute little shop down the block. He even had the foresight to grab paper plates and napkins so the two of you didn’t immediately dirty a pair of dishes.

You and Anthony come to settle on opposite ends of the couch, a blanket thrown over both your legs and pizza in your hands, the two of you eating in silence. Eventually, Anthony finally clears his throat, wiping his hands off on a napkin before fixing his blue eyes on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t have to elaborate what ‘it’ was. You’d be an idiot to pretend like you hadn’t seen the concern and question hanging over him ever since you woke up, even though he hid it well. You respond with a sigh before putting your own plate down on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you confess, the statement being as close to the truth as you could get. “It was just one thing after the other, all of them effecting each other until it became too much, y’know?”

The silence falls again as you sigh. Some of your problems still weren’t solved; your job still sucked; you didn’t suddenly inherit a million dollars. But this was a start. You look back to Anthony, his own eyes distant as if he was going through the past weeks, wondering if he could’ve done something different. You reach your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“I’m sorry for not telling you. Making you worry.”

Anthony’s first reply is a gentle shake of his head, those eyes softening with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“No need to apologize. I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”

Your brows furrow, not fully understanding his logic, leaving Anthony to explain it to you.

“Would I have liked for you to tell me? Yeah, of course. But you could’ve just as easily lied to me and then I might have never known something was wrong. I wouldn’t have known you needed help.”

“You don’t have to rescue me, Tito. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“I know. But I’ll always be here if you need me. That’s what friends are for.”

You smile, his genuine words continuing to melt your heart. How you managed to survive before Anthony Beauvillier came into your life, you’ll never know. You were insanely thankful that the two of you were once again in the same city. A wicked smile appears on your face and you can see Anthony’s eyebrows quirk in a question as he takes in your change of expression, even though a similar smile appears on his lips.

“Yeah,” you say in response to his statement. “That is until you get traded again.”

The teasing lilt of your voice makes it obvious that you were poking fun at him, something that Anthony reads with an ease and responds to immediately, his hands lifting to his chest to press against his heart like you actually wounded him.

“Ouch,” he says, the sarcastic whine falling from his lips making you laugh.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re probably right. But hey,” you continue, nudging him with your foot again. “Congrats on making it to the playoffs with your brand-new team!”

“Thanks. We all know they never could’ve made it without me.”

“Oh, of course.”

“You have a guaranteed ticket to the first game,” he tells you, those beautiful blue eyes sparkling at you, the sight of which makes you smile soften, your next words holding a stronger sense of sincerity.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Anthony just grins again before the two of you focus back on the pizza in front of you. When you were done, the leftovers wrapped in foil and placed in the fridge, Anthony lays down on the couch with you snuggled into his side as he turns on a generic romantic comedy to fill the now evenings quiet. About halfway through the movie, you look up to him, your eyes taking in his strong side profile, letting your heart swell with affection and appreciation for the man next to you. He must feel the weight of your stare, his eyes turning to connect with your gaze, a silent question painted on his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the low-lamplight of the room. “Again. For doing all this for me.”

You just watch a gentle smile wash across Anthony’s face, the genuine expression of utmost care and… love he was directing to you making a small part of your heart – one you had kept under lock and key – flutter. Anthony doesn’t speak immediately, instead choosing to lean his head down and press a soft kiss onto your forehead. The action causes you to melt further into him, your body moving impossibly closer to his warmth. Your sunlight, your joy, your Anthony.

It isn’t until the two of you a proficiently tangled in each other does Anthony’s voice finally fill the space.

“Always.”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @solros-world @svexhenthusiast @jjgsunflower

#nicole writes #wake up sunshine series #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier fluff #washington capitals fic #washington capitals imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #dividers by saradika-graphics

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mysterialistic · 4 months ago

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Is Cheng Xiaoshi's death a paradox?

Why do I say this? Because of this specific line of dialogue said by Vein:

Specifically, I’m talking about about the “grandfather paradox.” This paradox is one of the most common dilemmas in time travel stories and scenarios. It illustrates a problem arising from the effect of time travel on causality—the principle that a cause must precede its effect. The paradox suggests that a cause is eliminated by its own effect, preventing its own existence and creating a loop of reverse causation. For example, if someone were to travel back in time and prevent their grandfather from meeting their grandmother, they would never be born, which would make it impossible for them to travel back in time in the first place.

In this case, Vein knows that Lu Guang altered the past, so he arrives at the photo studio and shoots Cheng Xiaoshi. However, Vein is probably unaware that this very act will ultimately be the catalyst for the time-traveling events in the first place. This creates a classic “chicken-or-egg” problem: Did Vein kill Cheng Xiaoshi first, or did Lu Guang change the past first?

The actions, effects, and consequences are all interlinked, trapping them in a paradox that Lu Guang is desperately trying to break. Yet, his efforts are inherently contradictory—attempting to prevent Cheng Xiaoshi’s death is the very thing that ensures it happens. This vicious cycle highlights the core dilemma of the grandfather paradox: any attempt to change the past creates a self-defeating loop.

And to support my crazy theory, here’s what Vein’s character description says:

Vein knows what will happen. How? I’m not sure, but my guess is that it has something to do with Liu Xiao—perhaps he provides the information, and Vein acts as the executor. Or maybe it’s connected to Vein’s own powers.

[This is a mess. I might be wrong, and maybe this scene isn’t the first time Cheng Xiaoshi died, but I like paradoxes, so I had some fun writing this lol].

#link click #shiguang daili ren #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #shiguang #vein #yingdu spoilers

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thefandomsfervent · 3 months ago

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JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 22) - Cobalt Blue

Ft. Lovey Dovey Jayce perspective, reader stupid yearning, and a visit from Mel <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

As much as daily chapters were fun to do, not feasible with my current work schedule. It may move to 2-4 days between releases now. stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3

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Jayce had woken up first, light filtering in through the sheer curtains and thinly slatted blinds. It is bright, almost white in the darkness of the room. The day had to be farther along than it usually was when he awoke, but they had no meetings today. No need to be up early. No real reason to go to the lab right away. So he watches the beams tinged yellow dancing on the blankets covering him and Viktor. He watches as the lines move with each slow breath from his partner. Savoring this moment.

A different tiredness fills him this morning. Muscles not aching by any means but loose from exertion. Viktor’s neck and shoulders littered in lovebites. All that could be hidden by their regulated attire, a kindness that Viktor did not listen to when marking Jayce. Harsh nips from the night before were caught on Jayce’s ears and jaw, welts he was sure would be visible on his throat too. In all their time together Jayce didn’t take Viktor to be so… passionate in his bedroom endeavors. After months of dancing around each other, carefully crossing and redefining boundaries, of pushing and pushing and pushing it took your arrival and your questions to get them here. Jayce could kiss you for that fact alone had he and Viktor not already planned on doing that and much more.

Jayce lets his hand trace Viktor’s face, fingers trailing lightly over the features you called royal. That nose, his lips, Viktor’s jaw, his thick brows. As his finger tips graze each part Jayce recalls every kiss he’s placed there. Thinks about what he loves most about Viktor. Intelligence, his resolve, his snark. His hands, his voice. Thinks about those golden amber eyes that follow his every movement, how Viktor only shows him parts that no one else gets to see. A possessive gnawing at the back of his neck that makes Jayce want to wake Viktor up now and continue their night. But he doesn’t, thoughts straying to you.

Because Viktor also shares some of those parts with you. It was what got them here in the first place. Maybe one day they would have finally acted on their not-so-hidden desires. Him and Viktor were drawn to each other like magnets, it would have happened eventually. Yet your arrival was a catalyst. Being observed meant being aware of their observable behaviors. Made them think through their actions more, at least for Jayce it did. And it made him consider things that he had let the rush of Hextech sweep away. The lingering hands and teasing words that he and Viktor had shared, nights of arguing and soothing that became heated in many ways without crossing the lines they refused to define. And that first day in your studio, where he had seen Viktor look at you the way that he himself knew he had looked at Viktor. Soft smile, adoring eyes, relaxed shoulders. A look he rarely caught Viktor giving him because Viktor kept his walls high. Always on alert.

Realizing that through Viktor’s affection for you that Jayce also had grown to want you by his side. He had admired your drive to work, your creativity, and your passion. All things that he knew that three of you had in common. Jayce knew for certain that after your first week there he wanted to be friends with you at the very least. Proximity was one hell of a drug for fostering any kind of relationship. Something he had to rely on with every aspect of his life. Making a life for himself, for his mother, after his father’s death meant that there was no time for frivolous friendships. Even if he craved them. Even if he desperately wanted to be close to people. But there was the forge, the family business, there was the Academy, there was always something that required his time and his focus. Here in Piltover where he had become entrenched in its way of life it always confused him how people acted. It was difficult to navigate the Academy where people kept their distance to protect their work, where one became set against the world until they needed something.

Then there was Viktor. There was Mel. There was you. All three of you he had wanted something with. Friendship certainly, but there was also a need for this deeper connection. To know. To really know a person. Jayce’s hand stills, at some point he had moved to those tousled locks and he pulled it away to rub his own face. A soft grumble bubbles up from Viktor at the loss.

“Jayce?” Oh how his heart swells. How it beats faster at that tired voice.

“I’m here V.” He can hear the grogginess tinging his own words. A hum is the only acknowledgement he gets from Viktor before he feels that lithe body pull away. Cool air billowing in where the covers are lifted, poofing up the blue blanket. Viktor’s movements are slow and uncalculated, hair flattened on one side and a fluffy mess on the other. That bed head that Jayce could never grow tired of. His back unveiled and Jayce can’t help but sit forward too. Wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist, pressing his chest to his back, wanting the morning moment to last just a little longer. Another hum, one that Jayce can feel the vibrations of when Viktor leans his head back into the crook of Jayce’s shoulder. Nosing into Jayce’s neck before pulling away.

“What time is it?” Viktor’s question hangs in the air briefly as he starts to get up. And with that Jayce had to concede to the passage of time, had to let Viktor go because it is definitely later than he would be happy with. But the promise of tonight, of tomorrow, of more time together wherever they go soothes the small hurt.

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You’d been at the lab for a couple hours. Usually one of them would have been here by now. “A late night,” you think to yourself while painting, “the coffee is definitely cold now.” As were the pastries and breakfast meats you had brought. It wasn’t the first time they had taken their time getting to the lab. But you had grown used to the unofficial schedule that the three of you had stuck to. Although, it did mean that you wouldn’t have to deal with all those feelings they had stirred up yesterday. Seeing them right away might’ve honestly set you farther behind. Who needs to deal with intimacy issues and guilt when you can throw yourself into your work? Work that was of their lab. In their lab. With them. In the work.

You huff. Work that needs to be done. Your own personal issues aside, there was a job to do. You can look past your feelings for them to do this. Their relationship with each other, with you, won’t make doing this any easier or harder. You just needed to be objective, observational. So what if you noticed the glittering adoration in their eyes or the way their shoulders relaxed around each other. All you had to do was paint that. No need to get involved past the nice and easy friendship you had fostered together. The tell-tale signs of the door opening pulls you from the canvas before you. You hate it, the way that you can feel yourself turn before thinking. The way your chest tightens. Excited to see them. Because you’d been waiting.

The door scrapes along the floor and when it pushes open you’re greeted with a familiar face. But not faces. Councilor Medarda is who comes into the lab. You try to bite back the immediate disappointment. And the shame that follows. “Waiting for them like a dog, ready to wag your tail.”

“Mel, it’s good to see you! Viktor and Jayce aren’t in yet.”

“As I can see. Left you on your lonesome today?” Her graceful steps keep an even time on the floor. Cla-clacking against the tiles as she walks towards you. “Oh if she only knew.”

“Easier for me to work without them anyway,” You don’t even mean to say it. The frustration of your morning making its way out in words that weren’t meant for the audience that received them. She quirks a brow as she sits, a smile lifting up one side of her full lips. You continue to try and save face, “because it’s hard for me to focus. I mean, it’s hard to paint someone one when they’re right there. I. I don’t want them to not like it?” Mel settles by your station before she speaks, taking in your obvious attempts to hide your panic.

“Ofcourse,” is all she gives you. And then a slight chuckle when your shoulders slump in defeat. You were behaving like a love-sick student, a child, not a grown adult meant to work for a living. “They are fond of you. It’s been quite the interesting thing to watch develop.” This time it’s you who looks to her with a question on your face. “Surely you are aware.”

“Aware of what?” You don’t even have time to speak the words before the door pushes open a second time. Mel and you both turn to see Jayce and Viktor walk into the room. Viktor was moving slowly, but still with a pep in his step. And Jayce smiles at the both of you when he trails behind. His collar barely popped in a poor attempt at hiding… hickeys? Lovebites. You give them both a wave hello before facing your painting. “I am aware.”

Mel hums in response, mirth still present when she takes in the men. “Good morning you two.”

A polite “Councilor” from Viktor, and returned “Good morning” from Jayce.

“I was just checking with y/n about schedules. There’s an upcoming gala that is supposed to be for young inventors such as yourself. Could be good if you made an appearance.”

“Wha-?” You didn’t know about their schedules for things like that, much less that there was a gala. It takes a second for you to catch on that she’s providing a conversation. “What day is it again?” It earns you a soft tap from her well-manicured hand. The jewelry she always wears clinking softly with the movement. She lets her hand rest on your shoulder.

“A month or so from today, I’m sure you boys can expect an invitation soon. Wanted to give you ample time to set up something to show.” Mel stands, her hand bracing against you. A gentle squeeze as she leaves to move across the lab.

“Ample time?” Viktor turns to face her, annoyance already coiling in that throat. Jayce is pressing a hand against Viktor’s back before he speaks. Eyes following where she walked to the door.

“What exactly should we be showing? The travel prototype is nowhere near public-eye ready yet.” He does a better job at keeping his voice kind and even. Although his posture is rigid.

“You’ve done more with less time before. Afraid of a challenge?” Her words are directed to them, but her gaze is on you. Eyes twinkling when she steps into the hall.

“A month is barely enough time for a proto-type. Why do they always think that our work appears in the blink of an eye?” Viktor’s disgruntled huffing and Jayce’s soothing words fill the lab while you think. Too many smart and cunning pretty people around. Too many confusing thoughts and feelings to keep track of. Frustration starts bubbling in your gut as you hear the two men talking. Mutterings of alloys and delivery times, materials and work hours. In one ear and out the other, breathing while you try to cool yourself. There was work to be done. Pastries to share.

“You’ll need brain power to get through whatever this weird deadline is.” You gesture to the food and drinks on the table nearby, regretting how closely you had set it up to your station. Jayce wanders over, looking at the meager selection. His charming grin thrown your way as thanks. Viktor himself grabs his coffee first, patting your chair as he walks by.

“You take such good care of us broučku.”

It was going to be a long day.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 21-.-Part 23.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .----------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

#mel my wife #personal pigments #arcane #viktor arcane #fanfiction #viktor league of legends #fanfic #x reader #viktor lol #jayvik #jayce talis #jayvikmel #jayvik x reader #jayvik x you #mel medarda #mel arcane

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yourname-exee · 29 days ago

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Chapter Four: Whispers of the Unforgotten

SatoSugu!reader

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12

It happened suddenly.

A shift.

A pull.

An ache in the very core of their beings.

Two souls, separated by fate, yet bound by something far beyond their understanding, felt it at the same time.

A presence.

A heartbeat.

A flicker of something long thought lost.

Satoru stood on the rooftop of Jujutsu Tech. The sun had begun its descent, bathing everything in hues of orange and violet, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. His fingers clenched around the edge of his sunglasses, heartbeat unsteady.

It had come out of nowhere.

A wave of something- something warm, something familiar.

His chest tightened, breath catching as flashes of memories flooded his mind.

Laughter ringing in his ears.

Soft fingers threading through his own.

A voice calling his name, teasing, so soft and sweet.

A smile meant only for him.

His stomach twisted, throat suddenly dry.

No. It couldn’t be.

You were gone.

He grieved you, was still grieving.

It had destroyed him- he had sworn to protect you both of you.

He was the strongest. wasn’t he?

He was supposed to be untouchable. But in that moment, as he took in the gruesome news, all his strength had meant nothing.

Losing you had changed him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He has laughed louder, spoken bolder, pushed himself to be more—but it was all a facade. A way to mask the fact that a part of him had died alongside you that day.

Because no one had ever made him feel the way you had.

And now, for the first time in years, he felt you again.

A name hovered on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, too afraid that speaking it into existence would make it shatter like glass.

What the hell is going on?

Miles away, Suguru sat in the dim glow of his studio, fingers absently rolling a small bead between them, Mimiko and Nanako’s giggles echoing in the room over.

But he didn’t hear them. Not really.

His mind was somewhere else.

A breath hitched in his throat, an unfamiliar tension gripping his body as something washed over him.

Something he hadn’t felt in years.

Something he shouldn’t be feeling.

His hands trembled, memories bleeding through the cracks of his consciousness, fragments of a life he’d tried to bury, a life that had been stolen from him.

Gentle hands brushing against his cheek.

Soft laughter at the edge of his senses.

A whisper of his name, tender, loving.

His jaw clenched. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could banish the phantom sensations.

But they remained.

The past had never left him—not really.

Losing you had been the final thread that snapped, sending him spiraling into the abyss. Riko’s death had cracked something within him, but yours?

That had shattered him entirely.

Because if you had lived, would he have fallen this far?

Would he have looked into the faces of innocent people and seen nothing but obstacles in his way?

Would he have turned his back on everything he once believed in, drowning himself in hatred and conviction?

Would he have let go?

He had told himself it didn’t matter. That the pain had forged him into something greater, stronger.

But if that was true, then why, after all these years, did it still haunt him?

Why, now, did it feel like you were standing just beyond his reach?

His breathing was shallow, fingers digging into his palm. He refused to believe it, refused to entertain the idea that fate could be so cruel.

Because if this was real, if this wasn’t some twisted illusion, then it meant…

No.

He wouldn’t go there.

He couldn’t.

But still, in the solitude of his room, with only the shadows as his witness, a single, broken whisper left his lips—

“…Y/n?”

For both of them, your death had been the catalyst for everything.

For Satoru, it was a wound that never fully healed, forcing him to walk forward alone, pushing himself to be better, to never lose again.

For Suguru, it was the loss that convinced him the world was beyond saving. That if he had to burn it down to rebuild something better, then so be it.

And now, for the first time in years, the past was clawing its way back to the surface.

The question remained—

Was it a cruel trick of fate?

Or was destiny finally bringing them home?

(a/n two chapters in one day, I know .. I'm just excited about this series!)

tags: @sleepykittyenergy , @sarcasticbitchsblog

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jjk fic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #satosugu reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu #gojo saturo #geto suguru

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totallyhextra · 2 years ago

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People? In MY computer?? It's more likely than you think!

The following is a fanvertisment and is not connected to the show. ****Yet.*** *Also yes, this is the fourth time I'm posting this because TUMBLR WONT LET ME EDIT SPELLING MISTAKES!

ANYWAY,

Once upon a time, back in 1987, Dire Straits put out this music video for “Money for Nothing”, which, as you know, was a song about wanting my MTV.

youtube

The video was made by two guys (Gavin Blair and Ian Pearson) on a very moody computer. After the video went out, these two guys went to a pub:

Ian: “Hey, we should make a whole show like this!”

Gavin: “Dude, making three minutes almost killed us.”

And so it was decided!🎉

The two guys were joined by two other guys (Phil Mitchell and John Grace) and created the Hub, which then became Mainframe Entertainment. They got even more people, and then they all holed up in this hotel.

They were mad lads with a dream: a whole cgi animated show, and they made it happen a whole year before Toy Story!

Behold! ReBoot!

(Yes that fever dream was real)

Now before I get any of this:

Let me lay this down. If you can’t with the animation of the first season because it was CUTTING EDGE IN 1994, you can close your eyes and listen to it. ReBoot wasn’t just a CGI gimmick. The characters are fully developed, the voice actors are peerless, the plot is sharp, and there’s so many easter eggs that you’ll never find them all.

Never

(And yes the episode "Bad Bob" was the actual catalyst for Fury Road. Look it up)

ReBoot is about what life is like in a computer (in the 90s, because it was the 90s) called Mainframe (because of course it is). People are sprites, the guys that look like 1s and 0s are binomes (which represent 1s and 0s). Bad guys are viruses, and the good guy is a Guardian named Bob, who is a certified cinnamon roll.

In the first season the eps are light and self-contained, mainly because there was constant friction between the Mainframe studios and the Board of Standards and Practices.

They still got away with some pretty dark stuff, like Megabyte (virus) making Enzo (the kid) watch his dog get sliced open (dog got away, obviously) , Dot (sprite) have a hallucinatory breakdown, and the fridge horror of realizing the thousands of worm things (nulls) that plunged off a bridge to their death were actually people.

And Hex's (virus

best girl) scary face single-handedly traumatized an entire generation. 🙂

But busting through a window was a no go, because WhAt If tHe cHiLdReN dID iT tOo?

Anyway, halfway through the second season, ABC cut them loose, so they were like, fuck it, we’re going to start going hard. The story shifted from episodic to arcs and things start to get serious.

Third season the show moved to YTV in Canada, which gave no fucks about shielding the innocent children.

So it got DARK

How dark?

The UK refused to show the entire season, so the audience there had to wait until pirated copies made it across the pond to see how it ended.

Also by 1997, the animation was gorgeous. (Best example of third season animation I could think of that didn't have spoilers)

youtube

The show was green-lit for a fourth season on Cartoon Network, but halfway through production Warner Bros took over and the same fucking thing happened.

Because Mainframe was halfway done, they decided not to scrap all of it, but knowing they wouldn't be able to finish it correctly, Mainframe stripped anything that would hint at Season Four's true ending, then left what remained on a cliff-hanger of angst.

FOR 22 YEARS

(It's also why the last four eps of season four seem to make no sense)

And so it was.

Other crap happened, the soul left Mainframe, and its animated corpse spat out “The Guardian Code” in 2018.

But never say die! The year is (almost) 2024, 30 years later. ReBoot shall rise from the dead, because here come the documentary!!

youtube

Do you dare see what you’ve been missing?

What the (UK) government doesn’t want you to know??

Then come on down to ReBoot!

We got:

Magnificent bastards with sexy voices!

youtube

(Tony Jay at his best)

Kickass women who could probably crush your head with their thighs and you’d enjoy it!

Innuendos in a kid's show!

youtube

💗 This adorable cinnamon roll!! 💗

Insane third season glow-ups!

YOUR NEW GOD

These guys!

(Gay roller-skating binome is my boi. I named him Jerry)

Nonstop cultural refs (You'll never find them all. Never.)

(There are literally videos dedicated to trying)

So many computer puns!

Body Horror!

Existential Crisis!

HAVE I MENTIONED YOUR NEW GOD?

youtube

This is it, folks! The real thing, the gem hidden in the moose-filled forests of Canadia!🌲🌲🌲

Take a trip inside a mid-90’s computer!

See the World Wide Web! (omg):

Witness the original purple Gamecubes that randomly fall from the sky when the owner of the computer (OUR GOOD LORD THE USER) wants to play a game. If it lands on people and they lose, they dissolve into mindless energy leeches, fated to tormented by their former bretheren for all of eternity.

Just like in real life! 🙃

So watch the eps! They on YouTube!

youtube

I think they're on Pluto, Hulu, Sling, and Tubi too! Also DVDs for people who have the patience to wait for them!

WATCH! BELIEVE! SUFFER THE SOUL-CRUSHING RAGE OF THE SEASON 4 CLIFF-HANGER!* (come on, its fun!)*

HYPE THE DOC!

The more people hype, the better the chances of actually getting it finished.

NOW SHARE THIS WITH EVERYONE!

And now I will leave you with this screenshot from the ep "Painted Windows", where dicks can clearly be seen drawn upon the wall behind the fleeing anthropomorphized television.

(PS: If you heard the clown pic at the top of the page in your head, you're welcome)

IMPORTANT UPDATE

This message is now approved by Gavin Blair! He's an awesome guy. Show him some love on TWITTER (fuck you musk) at @TheRealMrSweary Also, if you want to share this with non-tumblr friends, here is my attempt at a webpage version:

theseventhstarprojects.com/REBOOT.html

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unabashegirl · 9 months ago

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my best friend's dad | part 2

/N and Scarlett Styles are best friends in college. They share everything even their plans for Spring Break. They have a trip to Bahamas planned. Everything takes a turn when Scarlett is unable to fly, and Y/N is forced to coexist and interact with Scarlett's dad.

Author's note: I initially decided not to post this part on Tumblr, but people began having issues with me because of that decision. I received rude messages in my inbox, but I'm going to posting it—not because of the rude messages, but because my Patreon subscribers asked nicely for another part. I want to be very clear: I WILL NOT BE POSTING THAT PART ON TUMBLR. No matter how many insults I receive in my inbox, this will not change. i hope you enjoy.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all the one shots and much more :) thank you beforehand!

word count: 2.4K

warnings: smut

part 1

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

Harry, determined to keep a respectful distance from Y/N after that morning’s perverted thoughts. He dressed in a freshly washed swimsuit and headed straight for his studio, a serene space filled with natural light and a calming view of the beach and pool below. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing background as he settled in at his drawing table.

He immersed himself in his work, focusing intently on finalizing the layouts for the new building project. The creative process helped clear his mind, and he found solace in the familiar rhythm of sketching and planning. Occasionally, he glanced out onto the balcony, where he could see Y/N below, absorbed in her book.

She looked peaceful, the morning sun casting a soft glow around her. He noticed her occasionally reaching for a piece of fruit from a bowl beside her, her expression content as she turned the pages. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight.

By midday, Harry had completed the layouts he set out to finish. He stretched his arms and stood up, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Glancing out at the balcony once more, he caught Y/N turning herself onto her chest and untying the top of her blue bikini. She slipped on the top and threw it beside the sunbed. She was topless and Harry tried to hold his composure.

“How is Bahamas?” Jeff, Harry closest friend asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

“It’s fine” Harry responded as he sat down and took off his reading glasses.

“It doesn’t sound like it. How is Scar?”

Harry sighed, knowing Jeff could read him like a book. "Scar's doing well," he admitted, leaning back in his chair and glancing out at the tranquil ocean view from his study. "But... there's something else."

"What's going on, mate?" Jeff's voice held concern.

Harry hesitated, unsure how to articulate the conflicting emotions he'd been grappling with since Y/N arrived. "It's Y/N," he finally confessed. "She's Scarlett's friend, and she's... she's a guest here."

Jeff remained silent, sensing there was more to Harry's unease.

"I find myself thinking about her more than I should," Harry admitted quietly. "She's smart , funny, and..." he trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the attraction he felt.

"You've got it bad, haven't you?" Jeff said knowingly.

Harry chuckled ruefully. "It's complicated. She's much younger, and I shouldn't be thinking about her like this."

"Maybe it's just a crush," Jeff suggested gently. "It'll pass."

"I hope so," Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I just need to focus on work and keep my distance."

"Or you could test the waters. What if she's also interested?" Jeff suggested, knowing that his friend always played it safe and never ventured into morally gray areas. He believed Harry needed to embrace life more, and perhaps Y/N was the catalyst he needed.

Harry sighed again, torn between Jeff's suggestion and his own reservations. The idea of pursuing something with Y/N was both exhilarating and unsettling. He valued Scarlett’s feelings and didn't want to jeopardize them or make things awkward between them.

"I don't know, Jeff," Harry finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "She's Scarlett's best friend, and there's an age difference..."

Jeff interrupted gently, "You can't control who you're attracted to."

Harry nodded slowly, considering Jeff's words. He knew his friend meant well and understood his perspective, but the thought of complicating things weighed heavily on his mind. He had always been cautious, preferring to maintain boundaries and avoid unnecessary risks.

"I just don't want to mess things up," Harry admitted quietly, his gaze drifting back to the view outside. The ocean shimmered under the afternoon sun, a peaceful contrast to the turmoil in his thoughts.

Jeff nodded understandingly. "I get it. Just see how things unfold. You'll figure it out."

As they ended the call, Harry leaned back in his chair once more, reflecting on their conversation. He knew he needed to tread carefully, balancing his growing feelings with his respect for Scarlett and Y/N’s feelings too. He just wasn’t sure if he just wanted to sleep with her or something else.

Harry hadn't been in a relationship for years. He had devoted his time to work, ensuring his daughter had a comfortable life. If he thought about it that way, he felt he deserved to have some fun. However, he still didn't know if Y/N felt the same way toward him.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Harry?" It was Y/N, holding a bowl of fruit. Her hair was wet but pulled back by her sunglasses. Harry noticed she was already getting a bit sunburned and looked tanner than she had just three days ago. "I just thought you might like a snack," she said sheepishly.

Harry smiled, touched by her thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Y/N. That's very kind of you," he said, standing up and walking over to her. He took the bowl of fruit from her and placed it on his desk.

"So, this is where the magic happens," she said with a grin, walking over to the drawing table.

"Yep, this is it," Harry replied, his heart racing slightly at her presence. "Come, take a look.”

He led her to the table, where his latest project was spread out. Y/N leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his as she examined the intricate designs. Harry could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and he fought to keep his focus on the work in front of them.

“Oh! Look at that” she said, her voice full of genuine admiration. “The detail is breathtaking”.

"Thanks," Harry said, his eyes flicking to her face.

As Harry explained his vision for the project, he couldn't help but notice how close they were standing. The small studio felt even smaller with her beside him, and the tension between them was palpable. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the proximity was making it difficult.

At one point, Y/N reached out to touch a section of the blueprint, her fingers lightly grazing his hand. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he glanced up to find her watching him intently. The air seemed to thicken around them, and for a moment, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to dispel the growing tension. "So, um, that's the main living area," he said, pointing to the layout on the paper.

They stood there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Harry's mind raced, torn between the desire to close the gap between them and the need to maintain the boundaries he'd set for himself. He could see the same conflict in Y/N's eyes, and it only intensified the pull he felt toward her.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "I should let you get back to work," she said, stepping back slightly, though her eyes lingered on his.

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “I was thinking of taking a break and going for a swim. Do you want to come?”

She gave him a small, smile. “Yeah”.

They both made their way out of the studio and down the path towards the private beach. The sun was burning hot as it neared lunch hours, and the air was filled with the sounds of seagulls and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. The crew was starting to prepare the table for lunch, setting out plates and utensils under the shade of a large umbrella.

As they walked, the soft sand crunching beneath their feet, Harry stole glances at Y/N. She looked radiant in her bikini, her skin glowing under the sunlight. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

They waded into the water together, the cool waves lapping at their legs. Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration as they moved deeper into the ocean, the water enveloping them in its refreshing embrace. The sun glinted off the surface, creating a dazzling display of light and color.

As they swam, Harry found himself drawn to Y/N, their laughter and playful splashes creating a sense of intimacy and connection. They floated on their backs, gazing up at the clear blue sky, the worries and tensions of the world seeming to melt away.

"I think my face is getting burned," Y/N said as she stood up near the shore, the water lapping at her waist. Harry swam over to her, concern in his eyes. He stood up beside her, leaning in to check on her more closely.

"Let me see," he said softly, his voice full of genuine concern. As he leaned closer, his eyes scanned her face and cheeks, which were definitely flushed from the sun. The close proximity made Y/N's heart race, but she couldn't help staring at his lips, her breath hitching slightly.

Harry noticed her gaze, and his heart pounded in response. He could see the nervous anticipation in her eyes, and it was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly, deliberately, he closed the gap between them, his eyes locking onto hers.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "Harry," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gently cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her sun-kissed skin. The world seemed to stand still as he leaned in, his lips finally meeting hers in a tender, lingering kiss.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she responded, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but quickly grew more passionate as they both gave in to the emotions they'd been holding back. The warm ocean water swirled around them, adding to the sense of intimacy and connection.

Harry's hands wrapped around her waist as the waves nudged them deeper into the water. With the sea current interrupting their kiss, Harry lifted her off the ground. Y/N instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tightly.

Their lips met again with renewed passion, the sensation heightened by the cool water surrounding them. Harry's grip on her tightened, anchoring her against him as the waves swayed them gently. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Harry kisses her again but the softness if gone and now there is a sense of urgency. Y/N lips moved to his jaw and then to the side of his neck. Harry hand coming to grip her jaw to stop her.

“Are you sure?” He asked, not wanting to take advantage of her. She was younger and with less experience than him. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her into having sex. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want”

“I want to” Harry didn’t question her any further. Perhaps because of his own selfish reasons. He untied her top and released her breasts, he tend to them, putting one of them in his mouth as his other hand massaged the other. He bit her softly, earning a whine from her.

“Harry” she moaned as she watched him devour her breasts. His hot mouth against her cold skin was a different sensation. Y/N was surprised that she had deliberately agreed to have sex at the beach, in the ocean. However, the desire was too intense to make it back to the house.

Y/N’s feet started pushing his swimming trunks off his body wanting to feel and see him.

“This is wrong” Harry said as he started to make his way out of the water and towards the shore with her still wrapped around him.

“So wrong” Y/N said as he laid her down on damp sand. Harry’s hand went to her sides and untied the sides of her bikini. Something had taken over him. He was ravenous for her.

“Spread your legs baby. Wider” His face was quickly buried between her legs.

“What if someone see us?” She asked though it quickly converted into a moan as Harry pressed his tongue on her, his nose brushing her clit. Harry hummed at the taste of her, she still tasted salty from the ocean water.

“Just like I imagined it” His finger drawing circles over her clit as he continued licking her and sucking her sensitive folds. “Don’t cum yet. I want to be in you when you do” he warned, his English accent raspier that usual.

“Then fuck me” Y/N begged, to which almost made Harry cum in his swimming trunks. It was such a stark contrast from who had arrived a few days ago. His hands frantically pulled down his swimming trunks. Harry’s head teased her entrance for a second before he sunk into her. He filled her up completely and for a second Y/N was worried that she wouldn’t be able to take it.

“God” She whined, throwing her head back, her hair getting covered with sand. Harry stayed still as he allowed her to adjust. He also needed a second at the newfound sensation.

“Fuck” he groaned as he pulled out of her and back into her. Her wet walls around him clenched up, as she looked at him drunken eyes. “You are so tight”.

She was overheated. The sun, the hot sand, and the way he looked at her as he pounded into her was too much. They were starting to get sticky. Harry hands gripped her hips, helping him to keep the constant pace.

“Cum f’me” he exhaled between thrusts as he felt her clench around him. Harry watched her come undone as she whimpered his name over and over again. Harry followed right after her before dropping right beside her.

Y/N looked over at him as they both tried to recuperate after their orgasms. She could see his skin covered with sweat and salt from the ocean and he still managed to look incredibly attractive.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy” He said with a smirk with his eyes still closed.

She didn't feel an ounce of regret...yet.

part 3 | sneak peek

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