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mywritersmind · 2 days ago

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pookieeee how are youuu 💗 I'm in NEED of a Franco fic where the reader is João Félix's little sister...

So she obvi speaks Portuguese and English (maybe some Italian in there too) butttt unlike her brother her Spanish is rusty. So when reader drags her brother (and of course some of the guys from the team) to support her best friend at a race, he's listening in to every little comment Franco makes about her in Spanish and trying to subtly give hints to reader that he likes her, and of course some good brother teasing! Just hardcore fluff, friend pining and good old family banter!

HE CAN UNDERSTAND - FC43

listen up : i used google translate don’t come for me. not proofread! super cute and fluffy! loved this request sorry if i didng execute it well😭

word count : 2281

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Franco!” I jump into my best friends arms as he laughs. The moment I asked for three Grand Prix tickets, he sent them over immediately and went on a rant of how excited he was to see me.

“Y/n!” He grins widely at me, “I’m so happy you’re here!” He's in his race suit, his hair messy and extra wavy. I run my hand through it, fixing it a bit.

“You’re a mess.” I laugh as he pushes my hand away and rolls his eyes, “Oh!” I suddenly remember that my brother is standing behind me. “This is my brother, João! I can’t believe you two haven’t met!” I smile at both of them as my brother shakes Franco’s hand.

Oddly professional for someone he knows I love. “Nice to finally meet you. Y/n never shuts up about you.” I slightly blush at his words as Franco lets out a laugh.

“Good to know…” Franco gives us a mini tour. I'm so beyond happy for him. This has been his dream since forever, the first time I met him he even jokingly flirted and said I could be a WAG.

Franco is charming and hilarious so my brother likes him instantly. We end up in the William’s garage, everyone scrambling around and talking in languages I can’t understand.

Since it’s race day, i’m genuinely surprised Franco had the time to see us. Especially since Qualifying was earlier today.

But my best friend works in magical ways.

⋆༺

FRANCO

I watch Y/n talk to Alex’s girlfriend. I watch as her hair flows down her back and her hand covers her mouth as she laughs. “So,” João turns to me, sort of intimidating for his height but so far I think he approves of me. “You’ve known Y/n for a while, huh?”

I nod, “Yeah, she hasn't been able to shake me yet.” He laughs, nodding his head.

“You care about her?” Why do I feel like i’m getting interrogated?

I nod, “Of course. She’s my best friend.”

“I mean as more than a friend.”

I laugh uncomfortably, joking with him, “Are you asking me my intentions?” He does not find this funny. I clear my throat and breathe out, “We’re just friends.”

Y/n comes skipping back over to us. I’ve always been taught to not lie, but i’m not about to confess that I like her to fucking brother.

“J, you’ve got to see his car!” She takes his arm and pulls him away, “You coming, Fran?”

I’m about to follow after them but my engineer taps my shoulder, “Gimmie one second! Don't touch anything, Y/n, I know how you are!”

She gives me one of her signature smiles, making my pulse quicken and my smile falter. I catch her brother giving me an odd look before I sit up and wave.

I turn to my engineer who’s smiling, big, “Dios mío, te estás sonrojando.” (My god, you’re blushing.) I roll my eyes at him, turning to see Y/n point to my car and start asking questions to someone in blue.

“¡Cállate por favor!” (Shut up please!) Her Spanish is more than rusty. I've tried to teach her some but she gets distracted and she always ends up persuading me into something different. Still, it’s weird talking about her when she’s right there.

“Vamos, ¡te gusta! Es la forma en que la miras... como si fuera el sol.” (Come on, you like her! It’s the way you look at her… like she’s the sun.) I push his shoulder at his words. Christ, is it that obvious?

“Actúas como si fuera un cachorrito enamorado.” (You act like i’m some lovesick puppy)

“¡Porque lo eres! Siempre hablas de ella, tu pantalla de bloqueo es ella, ¡siempre le estás enviando mensajes de texto! Admítelo.” (Because you are! You always talk about her, your lock screen is her, you are always texting her! Just admit it.)

I cross my arms at him, not daring to glance back at her. “No voy a arruinar mi relación con ella…” I shake my head and tease him, “¡Ahora vuelve a trabajar!” (I’m not ruining my relationship with her… now get back to work!)

I join Y/n and João again, smiling and doing my duty as a tour guide. João gives me another weird look and i’m hoping it’s not because i’m losing his trust. I know i’m not her boyfriend, but I still want him to like me.

They are soon asked to step into the visitors area as I warm up for the race. Y/n kisses my cheek before she goes, “Good luck, Fran. Be careful!” I know my cheeks are red but all I can focus on is her so close to me, her lips on my cheek.

I nod, “Thank you. Have fun watching.” I wink at her and turn, getting ready.

⋆༺

YOU

“I’m so nervous! It’s so rainy!” I bite my lip as the cars go out on track in a second formation lap. The race hasn’t even started and someone’s already out!

My brother eyes me, he’s been acting weird all day and I hate it. He suddenly turns to me, “You don’t like Franco?”

It catches me off guard, “Uh… of course I do?” He rolls his eyes.

“I mean can you see yourself with him? I think you’d be cute.” I laugh out loud.

“João, when have you ever wanted me to date someone?” Especially Franco. I mean, maybe i’ve thought about it.

Okay maybe I've fantasized about it… a lot.

But what am I supposed to do? Confess to my best friend who’s always been there for me that I think he’s irresistible and criminally hot? No.

“I just think if you’re gonna date anyone… He’s a good option.” My cheeks heat as I shake my head, “You’re blushing! Come on, Y/n, why not?”

“Just shut up, the race is starting!”

The next time he brings it up is at a yellow flag, “He’s definitely nicer than your ex.” I give him a death glare and attempt to tune him out, “And who did you go crying to after he broke your heart….?” Franco. The answer is Franco because he’s always there.

It’s been hard recently because of his races, but he’s constantly texting or calling me. I think he just wants someone to gossip with.

“Again, he’s my friend. Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn’t mean you know everything!”

“No but I know everything about you, and you don’t look at your other friends like that.” I hate that stupid smug smile on his face. And I hate that he’s right.

My stomach drops when Franco goes into the wall. I grab onto my brother's arm who doesn’t look concerned at all and more happy that i’m so worried! I slap his arm, “You have no empathy!”

I cross my arms, biting my lip as I watch him exit the car. Thank god he’s okay.

Franco gives me a small thumbs up when he’s back in the garage. I can tell he’s absolutely gutted, the air is awkward and thick with tension since Franco’s crash meant that the whole team's weekend is over.

The race is long and honestly scary. Still, all I can think about is Franco.

Maybe this weekend, his attention to me, my brothers comments, and how Franco’s been looking at me, has finally sealed what I've been dreading.

I’ve known I like him for a while, but I don’t want to ruin us. I can’t be embarrassed by my closest friend!

I’m not an idiot, I see how he flirts with interviewers or even fans. Part of me wants to believe that’s just his personality, but the other part is screaming at me that he doesn’t like me.

His eyes though, he looks at me so deeply that sometimes I feel like I'm apart of some big trick.

“Hey,” My brother nudges me, “Race is over.” I snap out of whatever daze I was in and nod, “I gotta pee, go talk to Franco!”

When I look to where he points, Franco’s already looking at me. His race suit is unzipped and he looks so tired. “Hi.” He smiles softly but I can tell it’s forced.

“Sorry your first race with me sucked.” He frowns, leaning against the little barrier from the garage and friends and family.

“Hey…” I touch his arm briefly, “It did not suck! And It’s not your fault. It was scary though…”

His eyes look sad and I know it’s not just because he crashed. Franco feels so deeply and this weekend has been especially hard for him. I can tell he sees the worry on my face, “I'm really really happy you’re here. We’re getting dinner later, right?”

I go to the hotel with João first. We change and meet back at the restaurant. “I’m so hungry!” I groan as we sit down, Franco said he would be here soon but I am not above ordering early.

João sits across from me, “Gotta wait for your boyfriend.”

I eye him, “You better not say anything in front of Franco. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” He laughs a bit.

“I really don’t think I will.” He’s so ominous today. “I can tell i’m making you uncomfortable though. My only question is… why?”

“Why?”

“Why can’t you accept that you like him? He’s obviously not going to turn you down. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes when he talks to you.” The waiter brings water which I gulp down immediately.

“I- No! I can’t like him. He’s my friend.”

“So you’ve said… but the best relationships start out that way.” Why is he pushing this so much?

“I just… I don’t want to ruin our relationship.”.

“Funny…” he mumbles something, “That's what he said too.” but I can’t hear him because Franco sits and starts saying hello.

Our dinner is amazing, the food is perfect and I can’t stop laughing at Franco and João. “You’ve gotta come to a match sometime!” My brother laughs, “The team would love you.”

Franco grins, “I would be honored! Y/n always talks about your games, you’re pretty good apparently.” This boosts my brother's ego far too much and we end the night while talking about football and childhood stories.

“He always teased me with his friends!” I roll my eyes at the memory, “They were all learning Spanish in highschool so I never understood them!”

Franco laughs as João shakes his head, “Why didn’t you take spanish in highschool?”

“I did! I just never caught on. Plus João became fluent after school anyway so his schooling barely helped.” I shrug as Franco’s expression turns odd.

He blinks, looking to João, “You’re fluent?”

“Si.” He looks almost smug about it as Franco nods slowly, swallowing.

“Así que escuchaste…” (So you heard…)

“Todo.” (Everything) Franco’s smile drops completely at my brothers words. But my brother still carries on with a smile, “Eres muy obvio, pero lo apoyo.” (You’re very obvious, but I support it.)

I frown at their communication that I can’t understand, “Okay, can you two stop gossiping? I’m ready to leave.” Franco smiles at me, nodding slowly as we stand.

Our walk back to the hotel is short and luckily no fans interrupt it. The warmth of the inside makes me smile and the ding of the elevator makes me yearn for my bed.

“Uh, Y/n?” I look back at Franco as he talks, “Could I speak to you for a moment…” I look at my brother who nods, a smile still on his face as he disappears behind the elevator doors. “Let’s go outside.”

It’s no longer raining so we venture out into the hotel's garden. It’s beautiful with tall plants and trees, a small path that we walk on, and flowers that I've never seen before.

“What did you walk to talk to me about?” I turn to him, he looks oddly scared and a bit chilly. He starts to speak but then closes his mouth and thinks, “Franco…?”

“I like you.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, I freeze, “I really like you and not just as a friend… like way more than that.”

I blink, “You’re kidding?”

The panic on his face is immediate, “No?”

“Shit. Okay!” I realize i’m so caught up in my own world that he probably thinks I don’t like him, “I feel the same.”

He breathes out, stepping closer, “You fucking scared me.”

I smile, not believing this is even real, “You really like me? Because my brother has been making me feel delusional all day!” He takes my hand in his and I swear my heart skips a beat.

“He heard me talking about you in spanish…” I raise a brow, “My engineer was teasing me and I didn’t know he spoke it!” I laugh, shaking my head at his story, “But I'm glad he did. I probably would be sitting in my room all alone if he hadn't.”

I grip his hand tighter, stepping closer, “I’m really glad too. I didn’t want to ruin anything but fuck I really like you.”

He grins and leans in, He paused before I nod. Franco presses a kiss to my lips softly, “I can’t believe you have a crush on me.” I whisper as groans and rolls his eyes, trying to walk away.

“No! No taking it back now!” I laugh, pulling him back to me, my hand going to his neck and my lips meeting his, “You’re stuck with me now.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto

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dcxdpdabbles · 23 hours ago

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KENDRICK DROP ANOTHER DISS TRACK( why ten?) AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSS!!!

"Are you my son?"

Damian nearly throws himself out the window when he hears his father's voice. It is finally the night for dinner with the Waynes and Clockworks/Fentons. He has been going insane trying to prepare everything for the night, starting from the early hours of four a.m. Now that it is nearly seven p.m., it feels like everything is still out of sorts. He disputes the fact that he has been helping Alfred clean and cook nonstop.

Severant's work. Daniel Fenton has reduced him to doing servant work, and Damian isn't upset. What has he become?

He had been texting Daniel almost all day after their date last night- and wasn't it a shock to find out that he had been at the start of the courtship with his first school friend?- but it did nothing to ease the fear boiling in the pit of his stomach. If anything, the little dig from his phone only made him want tonight to be perfect.

Then, Father had been called away to a Justice League emergency and came back with a concussion. Again.

"No sir, I'm Danny Fenton. Damian's boyfriend." Daniel says in that perfect melodic voice. There is an easy smile on his lips, the same one he wears around the school, like he's laughing at a joke no one else is worthy enough to hear.

Damian is so busy admiring Daniel's confidence that it takes a moment for his words to catch up to him.

"Boyfriend!?" he shouts into his hands, turning away from his friend- boyfriend!?- so he does not see Damian shaking hands and excitedly silently babbling in the air.

He knew that the night before had turned out to be a date, but he never hoped that it would turn out so well. I mean, Damian was less than graceful. Water came out of his nose, he ran into a door, and at one point, he stabbed his gums with his fork because Daniel had smiled at him like he was a piece of cake he wanted to eat instead of the dessert the waiter had brought them.

Damian had been in tears as Daniel helped him hold a napkin to his bleeding mouth.

How Daniel walked away from that, thinking Damian was even remotely attractive, was a miracle in and of itself.

That's why today had to be perfect. Alfred had thankfully been with Damian when he answered the door, whisking away the glaring Mr.Clockwork before the man could intimidate the young Wayne. The butler had led the man into the room where dinner would be served, chatting about his time in the royal army.

Mr. Clockwork's face was without emotion, but Damian sensed he was captivated by the tales nonetheless.

If only the butler had waited a few more seconds, he could have taken Father with them. Instead, the man who dressed up like a bat in his twenties and made that everyone else's problem had stumbled upon the two teenagers as Daniel leaned into Damian's space, his head slightly tilted and his eyes half-lid.

He wasn't sure what the other planned on doing, but Damian just knew it would have changed his whole life had Father not spoken.

Father stumbles his way towards them without any of his usual grace. He must have taken quite the hit. Honestly, it's surprising that Alfred hasn't tried to put him in a medical bed in the Batcave. "Are you sure you're not my son? I should have nine, and I only counted eight up there."

Daniel makes a point to look around the seemingly empty grand hall. Damian is too busy trying to stop his heart from escaping his rib cage to worry about all of Father's brood hiding in the ceiling rafts.

They were making a poor attempt to say hidden, at least for anyone with proper training.

Daniel likely couldn't see them, but Father could despite his injury.

"I'm sure, sir?" Daniel says with a tightness in his voice. Damian glances at his friend and realizes he's regarding his father like one would a man screaming in the street about the world ending. "I'm not your son."

Father squints quickly as a wip throws out a hand and grips Damian's suit jacket. Yes, he wore a suit. He wanted to look nice for Daniel, and nothing looked better than a well-done suit. It didn't matter what Frake or Brown thought.

" What are you-" His words are cut off by the expensive fabric covering his father's chest as the man smoothers him in an embrace.

Right. In. Front. Of. His. Boyfriend.

Damian's face turns a quick red shade that would generally be hard to notice on his tan skin, but that embarrasses him even more. He hates it when he blushes, especially this hard because he looks utterly ridiculous with how quickly it spreads down his neck and to the tip of his ears.

"Father!"

"You're my baby," the man mutters, ignoring his youngest's attempts to get away. He hears a smother of chuckles from the rafts. My little itty baby with his little itty boyfriend. Wait, are you allowed to date? You're so small. You still need a booster seat in the car."

Daniel cackles, and Damian feels like he's dying. "I do not need a booster seat! I know how to drive!"

"I can see where you get your humor from, Beloved." Daniel chuckles, and everyone in the room gasps, including the unwanted audience.

"What did you- am I-did you?!" Damian tries to string a sentence together while pushing against his father's chest. The man's arms were like iron; why was he so strong!" "Me? I'm Beloved!?"

"Yeah, remember, you said that your mom called your dad that, and you wanted to one day have the same nickname when you got into a relationship," Daniel chirps from where he is waiting for the hug to end. "Is that....okay?"

He sounded uncertain, and for some reason, knowing Daniel was just as nervous as him about their new relationship helped Damian be at ease. "Of course! I am honored you even remember that conversation ."

"Bruce!" Richard yells from the grand stairway, having jumped out of his hiding place and pretending to have come from upstairs. "I'm so glad I found you! I need you to let Dami go now and help me with something. Come on!"

"But-"

"Now, Bruce."

In a whirlwind that Richard Grayson can only do, his father was escorted out of the room. The soft thumps of his other siblings leaving went with them, leaving Damian with his Beloved.

Good heavens, Damian had a Beloved.

"I—" Damian starts, only to choke on his spit. Daniel springs forward to pat his back, laughing like an imp, and really, this is the worst. "I apologize this is-"

Soft lips pressed against his. The world came to a standstill, where Damian could focus on nothing but the gentle press against his mouth, the smell of a rainstorm, and the warm hand on his back.

When Daniel pulls back, his lovely skin has turned red, far darker than Damian's, and he isn't looking him in the eye.

Bashfully, his Beloved confesses, "I've never kissed anyone before....was that okay?"

"I do not have a reference to compare it to...." Damian breathes. "But it was the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

In return, he gets a gorgeous smile, and Damian knows he is in deep trouble.

#dcxdpdabbles #Why Ten?#part 4 #Danny is making his move #Damian is somehow stumbling into successes #Bruce got hit bad #First romance and love #dead serious

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utterlyazriel · 2 days ago

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @bobbyisbored

@historygeekqueen @roseodelle @assriels @rem-ie @storiumemporium

@lovingkelj @itsswritten @breadsticks2004 @marina468 @sapphena

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aritsukemo · 3 days ago

Text

There goes my baaaabyyyy | Multiple Characters

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, and Sae Itoshi

Summary: After seeing an abundance of tiktoks about the Usher trend, you decide to try it out on your unsuspecting boyfriend after a while of not seeing him

Warnings: This is the author's attempt at being funny so crack ahead. I apologize in advance.

A/N: Idk what came over me today, but I decided to waste my time writing this anyways after getting inspired by this amazing slideshow on tiktok talking about how each Haikyuu character would react to you doing the Usher trend. This is also my first time writing for Sae ( and I also know virtually nothing about him as I've only seen season 1 of Blue Lock ) so I'm sorry if he's ooc. I just realllyyy wanted to add him as I've been thirsting over edits of him ( and Reo ) for the past day or so.

A sigh of relief escapes through the chapped lips of the soon-to-be world cup competitor Isagi Yoichi. After hard fought battles during the preliminaries and all the stress and trials that come with it, it was finally the time for Isagi to return to his safe haven. He was hesitant for a time as he was still riding the adrenaline rush and wanted to stay back and train with some of the others, but since Bachira was returning to Japan to visit his mom and celebrate with her, it reminded him that he also had someone to return home to; you.

And so, after the longest thirteen hour flight of his life, he was now walking, suitcase in hand, alongside his best friend as the two of them exited the baggage claim and was nearing the lounge where you were allegedly waiting for him.

It had been so long since he's seen you, touched you—held you.. He finds himself wondering, how much has changed? Has your laugh changed at all? Have you switched up your sense of style? Maybe your hair? Do you still taste like the honeyed, buttered pancakes you used to make him every morning? Is your smile still so wide that it creases your cheeks and makes them pudge out more? Do your eyes still gaze at him as if he was made out of gold like they used to?

As he dwells on his thoughts, the yearning for you seeps in more and more like oil filling up a tank. It's heavy and it's only when he's just about to succumb to the weight of it all that he realizes just how much he's truly missed you.

And it seems that he wasn't alone in this feeling.

As he stepped into the lounge, he's met with his first and only warning. A warning that came in the familiar tune of the audio of a certain tiktok you had sent him a week prior before you came sliding his way on your knees. Your voice raised to match the exact pitch of the audio as you sung the infamous lyrics until you came to an abrupt halt when you collided with his stomach, nearly knocking him over with the force you hit him with.

And the only thing he could fathom to do was to stare like a deer in headlights and say, "Uh...what in the world?!"

Bachira couldn't possibly hope to contain his laughter any longer after that.

After seconds of Bachira's wheezing and airless chuckles, it was only when he was beginning to grip his stomach from the pain of his amusement that Isagi finally realized what just happened. And when he did, his entire face flushed a cherry red.

"What- Why are you doing this right now of all time?" He asked, semi-shouting as he grabbed the upper part of your arms—which were wrapped around his waist.

"I missed you, baby~!" You said in a sing-songy voice. And, as you looked up at him with your eyes shining with the familiar gleam he knew just as that same trophy-awarding smile stretched across your face, he found himself faltering for a moment. His shoulders slumping as he began mumbling shyly..

"I- I.. I missed you too.. But please, get up! People are starting to give us weird looks.."

Three months. That's how long it's been since you've last seen him.

Well, that's technically not true. If you wanted to be less dramatic, you could admit that you saw your boyfriend just last week on tv doing his signature dribbling moves and if you wanted to really be frank, you had seen his gorgeous face up close just the other day when he facetimed you and informed you that he'll be home that following afternoon. You could also make it sound much less extreme by simply confessing that you had regularly spoke to Bachira throughout these three months via text and that he'd facetime you at least one a week.

But you didn't want to count any of that.

I mean, sure you got to see him, but you didn't really get to see him. You weren't able to kiss his cheek whenever they perked up and flushed pink. You couldn't run your fingers through his layered hair and watch the satisfying transition of his brown strands turn yellow between your fingertips. You weren't able to hold his chin and watch in awe and fondness as he laughed toothily like a baby kitten..

You haven't seen him, not in all his glory which, to you, was like not seeing him at all. That said, three months of that torture was unbearable.

But all of that pain was forgotten in a matter of seconds at the odd sound of drums playing in the distance.

You didn't have any time to react to—or rather, process—what was happening or prepare yourself before Bachira got a running start towards you and soon dropped to his knees, sliding the rest of the way up to you with the biggest smile on his face—all while Usher's voice boomed behind him from his back pocket.

You had no choice but to accept fate and allow the love of your life to crash into you and completely knock you to the ground.

As the biting cold of the airport's tiles crept up your skin and all the air was just about knocked from your lungs from unexpectedly hitting the flat surface, Bachira stared down at you from above, cheeks dusted pink which made him look like an excited little kid.

"Hey, babe! It's been so long!" He chirped before coming down to press all his weight onto you as he caged your torso with his arms, his face immediately nearing yours to press a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

If it had been any other situation that he had done this in, you'd probably be annoyed from the embarrassment of having basically half the airport staring at the two of you like you were a bunch of buffoons or, at the very least, the fact that his team was laughing up a storm in the background...but having been as starved of him as you were, all you could do was laugh while relishing in the feeling of his warmth consuming every part of your body as he leaned down again to plant a feverish kiss to your lips.

Feet tapped against the small tile floors of the elevator, thumping against the marble in a rhythm that embodied the very dread of its owner.

After months of dreading this day, Sae had, once again, stepped foot in Japan; a notion he refused to even utter aloud from just how much he despised it.

For a man with such negative opinions about his homeland, his reasons for coming back were quite frivolous in comparison. Though if asked, he lie and say that his passport expired—which wasn't wrong—but deep down he knew the real reason for his return; his partner who he was too prideful to call the love of his life.

It had took some time, and for a while, Sae was forced to come back here every other year or so in secret to visit them per their request, but at last, they had decided that so much time waiting for his semi-yearly visits were too much for their poor heart and that they were ready to take the next step and leave with him to Spain.

Sae had pushed the thought to the very back of his mind, but he was more than glad—overjoyed, even—when you told him of your decision over the phone as he himself was starting to grow restless without you by his side at times.

He had already went through the process of renewing his passport so all that was left was to pick you up and drive to the airport—well, get driven to the airport—where he could finally leave this horrendous country, this time with you snuggled up by his side.

But he should've known that you wouldn't have let things be so simple.

As the doors to the elevator opened and allowed him to, at last, step foot into your lavish home, the symphony of his demise began to rang throughout it and bounce of the walls. Sae paused, face contorting into one of visible perplexment before his eyes widened at the sight of you sliding on your knees towards him, mouth opened as you sang to the beat of the music blasting throughout your home.

Your performance was short, glorious, and came to an end when your face was buried into the smooth fabric of your boyfriend's clothing and you smoothly wrapped your arms around your boyfriend's waist.

And it was only a full minute after such an amazing performance that it finally dawned on him what you were doing. And to that, he simply sighs disappointedly.

"I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere with me," He said, and despite the blunt tone he douses his words in, it does little to your dazzling smile as you knew full well his words held little weight to them. You find yourself playing into your own bullshit anyways, though, as you begun to whine out in a high pitch you just knew he couldn't stand.

"Aww, but why? All I did was greet my pookie--" "Finish that sentence and I will actually leave you in Japan for another ten years."

You promptly shut your mouth after that, much to Sae's relief.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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bestofmultiverse · 1 day ago

Text

Between the pages || 2

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

" I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. "

- J.D. Salinger, The catcher in the rye

Part 1

Y/N blinked, trying to get her bearings in the soft morning light streaming into her bedroom. She wasn’t on the sofa anymore, and she certainly hadn’t fallen asleep in her bed last night. But here she was, tucked neatly under her comforter, and beside her, separated by a few pillows, lay Aubrey. She was asleep, her face softened by rest, her features even more striking in the early morning calm.

A smile crept across Y/N’s face as she studied Aubrey’s peaceful expression. She was undeniably beautiful—not just beautiful for her age, but in a way that felt timeless and grounded. It made Y/N’s stomach flutter, and a slight pang of insecurity hit her; Aubrey was everything Y/N admired—confident, talented, and effortlessly alluring.

Feeling her heart race at the thought of Aubrey waking up to see her staring, Y/N slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, padding to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she returned, she busied herself in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. The faint hum of the radio kept her company as she toasted bread and scrambled eggs, relishing the simple, cozy act.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice murmured, soft and sleepy, breaking Y/N out of her thoughts.

Y/N turned, catching sight of Aubrey leaning against the doorway, her hair still mussed from sleep. She looked comfortable, yet somehow effortlessly poised, even in Y/N’s small kitchen. Y/N blushed, realizing how close they were.

“Good morning! Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asked, smiling. “I don’t really drink coffee, but I can go grab you some from the café around the corner if you’d like.”

Aubrey’s lips curved into a warm smile. “No need, this is perfect. I’m just happy to be here.” She stepped closer, glancing at the plates Y/N was setting up.

“So… not to rush you out, but I have a mountain of work today,” Y/N said with a small, guilty grin. “You’re welcome to stay, but just a heads-up—I might be a little boring.”

Aubrey laughed, her expression softening. “That’s okay, I get it. I have some things to get to anyway.” She hesitated, then continued, “But… I’d love to see you again, if you’d like that.”

Y/N’s face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. “I’d love that too.”

From then on, their connection only grew. They read together, taking turns with books y/n recommended, and spent hours talking about everything from their childhood dreams to favorite movies. After their third date—a late-night visit to a bookstore followed by a stroll through a quiet park—Aubrey walked Y/N home. They held hands, a shared warmth between them, and when they reached Y/N’s door, Aubrey leaned in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her lips. It was careful, as if reading Y/N’s shyness and matching it with tenderness.

As the days turned into weeks, they grew more comfortable, falling into each other’s lives seamlessly. Aubrey was patient, taking her time to get to know Y/N. She made Y/N feel safe, and Y/N adored every minute they spent together. Soon, they were FaceTiming in between meetings, texting about little things that made them think of each other, and finding moments to be together whenever they could.

When they finally crossed that last boundary, sharing their first night together, it was both gentle and passionate. They communicated, both eager yet considerate, learning each other’s wants and needs. Aubrey’s natural confidence took over, her assertiveness balanced by her desire to make Y/N feel loved and respected. Y/N, in turn, was just as attentive, savoring every moment with Aubrey, discovering a balance between playful and deeply intimate.

Two months into their relationship, it wasn’t just the two of them who noticed how special their connection was. After a dinner date, a paparazzi photographer managed to capture a candid shot of them leaving the restaurant hand in hand. By morning, the image was everywhere, spreading faster than Y/N could have imagined.

Aubrey’s publicist called with the news, explaining that the story had already taken off. Y/N knew Aubrey was a public figure, but she hadn’t expected their private moments to become public conversation so suddenly. Their little bubble was shattered, and suddenly her face was online, next to Aubrey’s in articles and tabloid stories speculating about their relationship.

The attention was overwhelming. Y/N’s friends started teasing her about dating “the Aubrey Plaza,” while her family’s reaction was more complicated. They had always known she was queer, but the age difference gave them pause, making them wonder if Y/N was really ready for such a serious relationship.

As the media frenzy grew, it was hard for Y/N to brush off the harsh comments online—insinuations about why Aubrey would date someone younger, or assumptions about Y/N’s motives. It felt as if the world was intruding into their private life, prying apart the joy they had found together.

But Aubrey was her anchor through it all. Late one evening, after Y/N shared how overwhelmed she felt, Aubrey wrapped her arms around her and whispered, “Forget them. I know who you are, and you know who I am. The rest… it doesn’t matter.”

They held each other close that night, letting the world outside fade, finding comfort in each other’s presence. And as they lay there, Y/N knew that, no matter the scrutiny, what she shared with Aubrey was real, something worth fighting for—even if they’d have to face the world together, one step at a time.

Sure, here’s how the story could continue:

As days went on, the intensity of the media attention didn’t exactly die down, but Y/N and Aubrey learned to adjust. Aubrey handled it with practiced ease, guiding Y/N with little tips on how to ignore the comments and dodge prying eyes. Despite the pressure, they found solace in each other, learning to carve out quiet moments that felt like their own little world.

One evening, they decided to stay in for a movie night at Y/N’s apartment. Y/N had loaded up a few of Aubrey’s favorite old films, trying her best to make it feel special—a few candles, some popcorn, and a cozy blanket they could share.

“You know,” Aubrey said, settling down next to Y/N, “I don’t think I’ve had a better night in ages.” She glanced around, smiling at the thoughtful touches Y/N had put together. “You really went all out.”

Y/N blushed, nudging her playfully. “It’s just popcorn and candles. Hardly a red carpet.”

Aubrey smirked, tilting her head. “It’s the thought, and you, that make it perfect.” She reached for Y/N’s hand, entwining their fingers, and squeezed gently.

As the movie started, they fell into a comfortable silence, Y/N nestled into Aubrey’s side. The world outside felt far away, reduced to nothing more than the faint city hum in the distance. Halfway through the film, Aubrey leaned over and softly kissed Y/N’s forehead, her lips lingering just a little longer than usual. Y/N looked up, her heart skipping as she met Aubrey’s gentle gaze.

“Thank you for sticking with me through all of this,” Aubrey murmured, tucking a loose strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear.

Y/N’s hand found its way to Aubrey’s cheek, tracing the soft lines of her face. “I’m not going anywhere. I knew this might be hard, but… you’re worth it.” She offered a small, reassuring smile. “And I’m learning. I mean, I’ve got the best teacher.”

Aubrey chuckled, pulling Y/N closer. “Flattery will get you everywhere, just so you know.”

They spent the rest of the night laughing, sharing stories, and talking about the little things they hadn’t yet told each other. Y/N felt a kind of warmth she hadn’t felt before—a love that was both grounding and freeing, as if Aubrey had opened up parts of herself she didn’t know existed.

A few weeks later, they decided to spend a weekend out of the city, heading to a secluded cabin by the lake. Aubrey had rented it on a whim, sensing that they both needed a little time to breathe away from the constant hum of the city.

On their first morning there, Y/N woke up to the smell of coffee and soft music playing. She wandered out to find Aubrey on the deck, wrapped in a flannel blanket with two mugs steaming in her hands. The sun was just rising, casting a soft pink glow over the lake.

Aubrey turned when she heard Y/N approach, her eyes lighting up. “Morning, sleepyhead. Thought you’d like to join me for the sunrise.” She handed Y/N a mug of tea, remembering she didn’t drink coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb slowly above the horizon, casting a shimmering path across the water. It was quiet, almost surreal, and Y/N felt the weight of everything slip away, replaced with the calm of being completely at peace in the moment.

After a while, Aubrey shifted, turning toward Y/N. “You know,” she said softly, “this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Y/N looked at her, her heart swelling at the sincerity in Aubrey’s eyes. “I feel the same way,” she whispered. Then, unable to resist, she leaned in, capturing Aubrey’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

As they pulled away, Aubrey grinned, her eyes shining with something close to wonder. “I don’t care about the noise, Y/N. As long as I have you, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Y/n beamed at her

"So, what are we reading today?" Aubrey asked after a few seconds of comfortable silence

"I thought maybe 'the catcher in the rye, its a classic"

Aubrey nodded before pulling the younger woman into another soft kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other and the quiet beauty of the morning, with their book and hot drinks, feeling as if, just for that moment, they were the only two people in the world.

_____

Just a quick note:

i dont really think itll be a series, maybe a bunch of chapters that might actually work as a full story or at least the same like universe, but im not sure if ill continue to write it regularly or not so just an heads up.

Also im in love with Aubrey plaza.

#fic writing #aubrey plaza x reader #aubrey plaza #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agathario

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heesimp · 1 day ago

Note

hiii can I be 🦢 anon!

I was thinking maybe reader sexing prof heeseung

swan is saved for you! enjoy this drabble xxx

“Aren’t your students coming soon?”

“I hope so.” Heeseung smiles down at you wickedly but it doesn’t stop you from looking up at him from where you sit on his desk in the empty classroom. It’s a free period for him and he’s called you in under the guise of revising a paper, but you know better than to believe that. You smack his chest at his innuendo.

Everybody knows who Heeseung is: a great professor who is as passionate about teaching as he is when it comes to literature. He started as a TA at this university before obtaining his PhD in literary studies and passes on his love for knowledge to his students.

You sit in the third row just shy from the center in your pretty dresses that are modest enough to wear to class but stylish too. Unlike the rest of your classmates, you aren’t afraid to answer Heeseung’s questions and raise your hand to give you input either. He likes that about you and it’s what made you his favorite student.

Heeseung loves ambition in people because he sees it in himself. He loves it when his students have that drive to them and loves reading papers and grading test scores from his brightest pupils. It makes him so proud.

You fit in his life somehow in ways he hadn’t imagined. You, with your supple skin and bright mind enticed Heeseung the first time you took advantage of his office hours. You’d been the first student to visit him and talk about the course material, and it didn’t help that you were wearing a short skirt on a hot day with your thighs sticking to the leather seat below you. He went home that night and touched himself to the thought of gripping your thighs as he fucked you in his office.

The first time the two of you were alone at a late hour on campus was by accident. You couldn’t make it to his office hours and asked to schedule for a time after classes were over and spent an hour discussing the lesson plan and your favorite authors. The second time was by accident too, as he had run into you at the library during the evening and offered to walk you to your car since it was so late at night.

The third time was by accident as well, except neither of you cared that clothes weren’t involved. Now, he conceals kisses with you in between your classes and his, and keeps his doors locked when you come in to have lunch with him.

“I have thirty minutes before my next class starts and you, baby, have an hour before your exam. Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Stayed up all night just so I could do this with you now,” you say, pulling Heeseung closer to you by pushing your legs around him. He holds your waist and you position your crotch right against his. He’s hard already. “Besides, I perform better after I cum.”

“Mm, is that right?”

“Yes, professor. Haven’t you ever wondered why I test well with your cum sitting inside of me?”

“So dirty for me.” Heeseung dips down to press his lips right on top of yours like he’s been dying for a taste all morning. “Makes me wanna fuck you real hard.”

“You have thirty minutes.”

Your sultry voice lures him right in. He doesn’t have enough time for foreplay and fears that someone might need him before he’s set to begin teaching so he pulls his cock out of his pants before shoving them down until they reach his ankles. You did him a favor by wearing a dress today and when he pushes a hand underneath to push your panties to the side, he groans when he realizes you aren’t wearing any.

Heeseung pushes the tip inside of your wet hole and looks you in the eye. “You’re trouble.”

“You like that though, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, pushing himself further inside of you until you’re arching your chest into him, “I really do. My naughty girl.”

His hips thrust in and out of you at a nice pace. You feel him within your walls and push yourself off of the table with the palm of your hands to angle yourself towards him better with his wet dick sloshing around you. It seeps down onto his balls and Heeseung puts his own hands on the desk beside you in order to kiss you.

“Did you complete your online assignment?”

“Really, Hee? You’re asking me that now?”

Heeseung smirks and pushes himself in and out of you faster until you’re yelping against his lips. “Yeah, I am. Don’t want my best student to fall behind just because she’s drunk over some cock. Did you finish it, Y/N?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Do you think you did a good job?”

“I did!” you whine against him as Heeseung kisses your neck. “I double checked my references!”

“Perfect student with a perfect pussy.” He pulls back far enough to see his cock disappearing inside of you. “Wooooow. Would you look at that?”

“Wish you would come fuck me in my dorm,” you whine. “I hate fucking in your office.”

“You like my bed though, don’t you? My bed is much bigger than the pathetic twin the university gives you.”

“Yeah, but think about it. It’s really hot when you know we shouldn’t be fucking there.”

He shakes his head and kisses your lips to silence you. “Can’t risk getting seen by other students, baby. Fucking in my office is risky enough.”

“Then you should make me cum so we don’t get caught.”

Heeseung heeds your warning and uses the strength in his legs to push you onto the desk until your legs are in the air. His hands come to your calves to keep your legs apart just how he likes you to be, watching your silk-like pussy folds envelope him like you’re a siren waiting to ruin him.

You come when he comes. That feeling of sudden warmth in your hole makes you go insane every time he does it. Heeseung pulls out enough to watch as the rest of his cum drips onto your folds until he’s soft enough to clean the two of you up. He wipes you down with a spare tissue before he leans down to lick one strip up your pussy and kissing your clit before closing your legs for you.

“Same time tomorrow?” You bat your eyelashes at him and he laughs.

“I have a faculty meeting, unfortunately…Why don’t you spend the weekend with me?”

“Oh? And do what professor?”

“I think you know what.”

He wills himself not to get hard again.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #heeseung #hard thought #🦢 anon

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sugawhaaa · 21 hours ago

Text

SAN X READER

⚝₊ ⊹˚Scented feelings⚝₊ ⊹˚

Warnings:: mentions of SA and harassment, suggestive at the end

Genre:: friends to lovers

Pairing:: gym bro!San x fem!reader

A/N:: I've been cooking this up for a long time so I am PRAYINNN to the gods above this does well 🙏

San was a somewhat new friend but the two of you clicked like magic and nothing was too embarrassing to admit between the two of you. You met at the gym when you first started working out frequently and he gave you some tips. One thing led to another and now you work out together multiple times a week. He's always so encouraging, helpful and understanding.

If you explain to him that you're having kind of a rough day or not feeling well he won't try to push you like he normally does and he will respect the fact you want to keep it chill. All in all he is the best gym bro you could've asked for.

Today you came in a bit earlier than usual and started warming up with your regular stretches and light weight exercise to get your blood moving. As you did that you noticed two guys looking at you quite frequently and occasionally talking to each other. You chose to ignore them and listen to some music until San arrived. It wasn't too long after that you noticed San come in through the door with his bag and massive water bottle in hand. He smiled when he locked eyes with you and came over to you.

“You got here early today,” San smiles as he looks down slightly to meet your height.

“Yeah my schedule was clear and I just felt like coming by early,” you shrug and San nods. The two of you then get to work, following your usual routine. However you noticed the men from earlier were getting bolder and were much less obvious than before. You sigh softly as you go back to lifting some weights and Sans brows furrow. He hadn't noticed the men yet so he decided to ask what had been bothering you.

“You seem…frustrated?” San says as he comes closer to you, talking softer than usual.

“Yeah it's just those guys over there. They've been looking at me since I got here,” you tilt your head over to where the men were standing and talking. Sans brows furrow again as he looks at them.

“Want me to talk to them?” He offers but you shake your head.

“Nah I don't want to make a scene,” you set the weights down again and stretch out your arms above your head. San watches you carefully as you stretch before looking back at the men. He seemed to be more conscious of them than you were.

“I'm gonna go talk to them,” he said as he started to storm over to them. You put your hand over his chest.

“Don't, they're not worth it. Let's just keep going,” you smile at him and he sighs.

“Alright, but if they keep annoying you I'll talk to them. Formally,” he smiles innocently, too innocently. You continued working out and ignored the men and they seemed to stop staring at you…finally. However once you finished your workout San gave you a fist bump and I little sit hug while patting your shoulder. “You did good today,” he smiles, his eyes momentarily invisible, and you headed over to the girls change room. Upon approaching the door you were interrupted by the two guys from earlier. One blocked the door, it wasn't very deliberate but it was obvious, while the other stood more to the side talking to you.

“Could I get your number?” He asked straight up and you blush, not because you felt butterflies in your tummy like he probably thought, but more because you were so confused and embarrassed.

“Oh I uhm,” you shake your head and chuckle awkwardly. “I'm not interested,” you smile, still wanting to he polite because what if they really did have good intentions? It was doubtful but still. When you refused the man's face contorted with anger and what was this other emotion you could see in his eyes? You couldn't put your finger on it before he started getting mad.

“Oh come on just give me a chance baby,” he started getting closer to you and your body froze up. You weren't quite sure what to do in this situation; the man was much bigger and taller than you and you didn't want to cause a scene but you needed to find a way to get out of this situation.

“What's going on here?” San steps up next to you and puts an arm around you, smiling warmly to the man.

“Just friendly conversation, you know what I mean,” the man chuckled and San arched a brow at him, not very amused by his excuse.

“I see, well me and my girlfriend have some plans for the rest of the day so we'll be off then,” San pats your shoulder before kissing the top of your head. You felt your heart skip about a thousand beats.

The way his body pressed against yours, every inch of his muscles pressed against yours, including his arm muscles that were quite literally the size of your head and the kiss was so gentle and…sincere?

“Haha, have a good day you two,” The man chuckles awkwardly and backs up as the two of you turn to leave. San brings his hand down to your hand, interlocking your fingers, as he picks up your bags and leaves the gym. As you walked down the sidewalk you glanced back at the gym then at San.

“You can let go now,” you say as you look up at him, his cap hat shading in his eyes.

“We gotta sell the act or they may make a scene,” he leans down to whisper to you and your heart skips again. He was so close to you, so close to the point you could feel his body heat radiating onto you, and it got you excited. You thought you just thought San was you know a good looking guy, no romantic feelings, you just appreciate his beauty but after that insanity back there? The way he whispered to you made you freeze up to the point your jaw clenched to hold in all the things you were feeling.

San turned the corner, dragging your frozen presence along, and let go of your head. “They're way out of sight now, we're good to go,” he pats your back and you blush softly with a smile.

“Y-Yeah, we're good,”

“I'll take you back to my place so you can shower, in peace this time,” he laughs softly. “But in all seriousness I had to hold myself back from clocking those guys. No woman should have to deal with disrespect as much as they do these days,” he huffs as he crosses his arms, walking steadily with you. “Like God forbid a woman tries to get fit or take a shower,” he sighs while shaking his head, looking like a disappointed father. “Do you deal with that behavior often?”

“Uhm…not overly,” you shrug and he nods.

“If you ever find yourself in danger call me okay? I couldn't think of a better use for these muscles other than to clock a bastard bothering you,” he says as he pretends to box the air. You chuckle softly but nod.

“Thanks San, I'll call you,” a brief moment of silence fell upon the two of you when you realized you weren't sure where you were going, you were just following San's lead. “Where are we headed?” You ask as you trot along beside you.

“My place, so you can shower in peace,” he chuckles and you find yourself blushing. You had been at his house a few times before but showering in someone else's house feels like the next step in a friendship. When you get to his place you take your gym bag to the bathroom and San shows you how to use his shower just in case you didn't know. “This is temperature obviously and on the shower head there are four settings, the further you go to the right the higher the pressure goes and stuff,” he shows you before setting the showerhead back on its little perch. “You good?” He gives you a little thumbs up and you nod.

“Yes, thank you Sannie,” you smile and he blushes softly at the nickname.

“Sannie,” he repeats and laughs softly before leaving the bathroom. You sigh softly and begin to undress but just as you start San comes back in. “Sorry, here's a new towel and you can set your clothes on the counter here,” he hands you the towel and takes the old one off the rail. You thank him as he leaves you alone.

You undress and turn on the shower, making sure it's the right temperature before hopping in. You take your shower relatively quickly but as you water down your body you notice his body wash…he wouldn't mind you borrowing just a little bit right? Maybe? What's the worst he could do? Get mad at you for using it but meh he'll get over it. Unless he thinks you're a weirdo or creep for him. But that's way too far, he probably won't even notice unless he's sniffing you which would make him a creep and without thinking any further you grab the pale blue bottle and squirt a little bit of the soap into your hand, since there were no clothes nearby you had to result to just your hands which is fine, but as soon as you squirted out the soap Sans scent filled the room.

Whenever he'd spot you or help you get into good positions he'd get close enough to you that you could smell him and this is exactly what he smelt like…obviously. But it made your heart flutter. The scent was so indescribable. Coconut mixed with vanilla and maybe a hint of that fresh air smell. Oh, it was so good. You lathered the soap over yourself as you watched the suds bubble up before washing off of your body. Before you could even think you were smelling all of his soaps, like a fucking weirdo. But he'd never know so what's the harm? His shampoo was overwhelmingly strong. It had a very fruity smell, like a deep cherry or strawberry. He wouldn't mind if you borrowed it right? Either way you used just a little bit before getting out and drying yourself off.

The towel was nice and warm and very freshly scented. His laundry detergent was also very pleasantly scented, smelt like fresh air, and filled your head with images of clouds in a blue sky. You finished drying off and threw on your dry clothes before brushing down your damp hair. You put everything back the way you had found it and went to go find San.

You found him out in the living room on his couch and he turned to look at you. "Hey," he smiles as he looks you up and down very quickly. "Have a nice shower?" He asks to distract himself from your body.

"Very nice," you laugh softly before sitting next to him. When you sat down he got a whiff of his bodywash. He was surprised, the shock showing on his face for a split second, but he didn't mention it.

"So...are you gonna stick around or carry on with your schedule?" San asked very light-heartedly, he wouldn't be offended if you wanted to leave.

"I'll stay for a bit but I need to run some errands today," you say as you check your phone and San nods. The two of you hang out for a bit before you continue on with your day. That evening you get home and realize you left your bag at San's place. Your hairbrush, deodorant, pads, chapstick, and much more were in there. You decided to text him about it and he instantly found it in the bathroom.

You• would it be okay if I swing by after dinner to get it?

⛰️• ofc, I'll be here 👍

You• thank you 😭

After texting him you began to cook dinner before, of course, eating it. You then went down to San's apartment again and you couldn't help but feel excited to see him again. Even though it had only been a few hours you always craved to be near him...in a friendly way of course. When you came by he had your bag ready for you by the door and you wanted to ask if you could hang out for a bit but...you couldn't.

"I think everything's in there," San says as he hands it to you. You take the bag and smile, thanking him, but San could see you were thinking about something. "Y/N, you okay? You seem...distracted," he leans against the doorframe and you feel your heart stop at your face heating up.

"W-Well there was a complication with some of the pipes in my apartment and we were told to leave but I haven't found anywhere I can crash for the night," you make up a lie to stay at his place and he looks surprised.

"Oh well you can stay here for as long as you need. It gets lonely here by myself and my cat," he smiles, his dimples showing and you look at him surprised.

"You have a cat?" You chuckle softly and San laughs. He takes you into his apartment again and goes to his bedroom, encouraging you to follow. He then picks up a big long haired white cat.

"This is Muffin," he holds the cat up in his arms and encourages you to pet her. She's extremely fluffy and doesn't seem to mind being pet, she kinda just sits there. San also shows you his spare room. "There's not a lot here, not even a bed, so you might wanna sleep on the couch instead,"

"Thank you so much for letting me stay over," you smile at him, feeling a tinge of guilt but it was buried down by your excitement to spend the night with him. San shrugs.

"No problem, you hungry?" He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks out to the kitchen. You follow after him, Muffin following you as well, to the kitchen.

"Not overly, ate before getting here,"

"Right," San nods but makes you have a snack with him anyway. He sticks on a movie to entertain you but you end up talking to each other the whole time, the movie now out of question. The two of you got to talk on a deeper level than usual, things like relationship struggles and internal battles you've fought growing up. San always looked up at you so sincerely. His eyes were filled with sincerity and interest, he didn't just hear your words he listened to them, a trait many men fail to hinder. But something about his gaze so focused on you made you feel...excited. You felt like you were gonna flutter away at any given moment.

The two of you then go quiet, staring into each other's eyes, San then clears his throat. "Would you like a blanket?" He offers you a blanket and throws one on for himself. You snuggle up into the blankets and are overtaken with his scent again. You go back to watching the movie and then...you feel a sex scene approaching. Your body tenses as the girl on screen seduces the man and you chuckle softly but San remains focused on the show.

Eventually the two characters get down and dirty and you for some reason feel the need to turn away. Just a second ago you had so much to talk about but now...

"What a nice...ceiling you have," you chuckle and San laughs.

"If it's too tense for you we can skip this scene," San tilts his head at you but his words made your mind flicker for a moment. It was different from him saying "we can skip this scene" he said "if it's too tense," you thought of how to respond.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

"Why don't we just pause it?" You suggest and San nods with a little shrug before pausing the movie mid-moan. You turned your body to look at him and he did the same, slightly man-spreading as he lifted a leg on the couch and held his arms open on the head of the couch. That's when you noticed the tent in his pants. You were excited at the sight but disappointed in the fact you weren't the cause of his arousal.

"Do you...have a boyfriend?" He asks softly and you look at him shocked. "Or girlfriend," he chuckles, breaking the ice a little. "I don't judge," he confirms and you think for a moment.

"N-No, I'm single," you smile. "But you surely must have someone in your sights," you giggle and San smirks slightly, chuckling under his breath.

"You could say that," he tilts his head up before looking you up and down. "What about pets? Got any furry or scaly friends at home?" He smiles light heartedly.

"I do actually. I have a fish and a cat, kinda ironic isn't it?" You laugh softly and San smirks.

"So where are they staying tonight?"

You freeze at his words.

"W-What do you mean?" You laugh but you knew you weren't getting through to him. Your face starts to turn red as you realized you've been caught lying.

"Well you have to stay here tonight because your apartment is having "complications" right? So, where are your pets?"

"They're at my...they didn't have to..." you try to make an excuse but your mind goes blank as you become flustered. San then leans forward.

"I don't mind you staying the night but if you wanted to spend time with me you could've just asked baby,"

To be continued...

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #san ateez #san x reader #san smut #choi san #ateez of san

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maybejj · 3 days ago

Text

The Beginning of Us. Part 1

babydaddy!rafe x sweetheart!reader

summary: You and Rafe were high school sweethearts that continued into college however Rafe went down the wrong path and you found out you were pregnant. 3 years later finds you and Rafe trying to navigate co-parenting your 2 year old son while overcoming life’s obstacles and past experiences.

warnings: mention of drugs, I think that’s it?

word count: 1.1k

“Mommy look at my tractor!” You hear your two year old son call to you from the other side of the room. You were distracting yourself from the fact Rafe was coming over to pick up Asher, the son you shared.

You turn towards him and gently smile. Asher was a spitting image of his dad. The only thing he inherited from you were your green eyes, everything else was all his father. The dimples, the blonde hair, the little smirk he got on his face right before he was about to do something he shouldn’t, his attitude. God, it was all Rafe. It use to make you emotional after you and Rafe broke it off but you’ve had time to move on. It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore.

“I see your tractor baby. It’s your favorite color.” You grinned at him and he returned it with his own goofy grin. Everything you did these days was to provide for your son. Making sure he had the best of the best and Rafe made sure of it as well. Your relationship with Rafe may have ended but you two try to put your differences aside to take care of Asher.

You and Rafe got together when you were 15. High school sweethearts, the power couple, the relationship everyone envied in high school. You were great together in high school. You were the couple that loved public displays of affection, always all over each other no matter the setting. Rafe was always so attentive to you, always so sweet and caring. You always listened to him and helped him express his emotions and feelings, especially when it came to his dad. There was never any arguing. Disagreements were common in any relationship and you definitely had those but you both never yelled at each other. You would work through any problems calmly to come to a solution. College was a different story.

You both went to UNC Chapel Hill and the first 3 months were unreal. The freedom of moving away from Kildare felt so good. You had your own dorm room, as did Rafe. You were both freshman at the time so your plans to have an apartment together was ruined by the college rules but you still made time for each other. Rafe was studying business, you were studying art. You thought you had the world at your fingertips. That was, until Rafe got into a fraternity. It didn’t take long at all until you noticed the shift in him. The staying out later than normal, lying to you about where he was, going to parties every night, ditching plans with you more often than not. When he did make time to come to your dorm to say sorry for the night before, he smelled like liquor and his eyes were red around the edges. He constantly rubbed his index finger under his nose, almost rubbed raw. He wouldn’t look you in the eyes when he spoke to you. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was getting into stuff he shouldn’t and you told him as such. He immediately would blow up on you saying it was none of your business. It was a never ending cycle that went on for months. One night it become too much when you found two bags of Coke in his truck glove box.

The front door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Rafe entered the apartment with several bags in his hands. Asher immediately dropped his tractor and ran to his father, grabbing onto his pant leg and jumping up and down.

“Hey little man, you look like you’ve been busy today.” Rafe gently smiled down at him while holding the bags in his hands away from the little toddler attached to his leg.

Asher only nodded multiple times and continued hugging his leg. Rafe didn’t move from his spot in the doorway, just gazing down at his son with a soft smile on his face. You watched silently from the other side of the room. Rafe only let his guard fully down around Asher, his son bringing out the best in him. You truly believed Asher was the only thing that saved Rafe from an overdose.

Rafe looked away from his son and met your gaze. The smile left his face and the solemn expression took over again. He nodded in your direction and lifted his hand holding the bags, “Got some stuff from the store I thought you might need.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You shook your head. Every time he came over he would bring bags of stuff he thought you or Asher might need; baby wipes, deodorant, your favorite shampoo, Asher’s favorite snacks, your favorite candy. He did it every time and every time you told him he didn’t have to do it. Rafe would just give you a flat look, shake his head, and change the subject.

Rafe exhaled softly and said your name which had you swallowing thickly. The way he said your name after all these years still caused butterflies in your stomach.

Asher seemed to be getting bored of not getting attention and detached himself from Rafe’s leg. He reached his chubby hands above his head to grab one of the bags Rafe was holding, “I take it Daddy. I strong for mommy.”

You and Rafe laughed as he took one of the bags and set it on the chair in the living room. Rafe followed Asher’s steps and laid the rest of the bags down for you to go through later.

“You got your bag ready, little man?” Rafe raised his eyebrows in Asher’s direction and the toddler quickly scrambled down the hall to his room. You waited until Asher was out of sight until you turned back to Rafe.

“I know I don’t have to say this but I feel better when I do,” You made eye contact with Rafe. “Please be careful.”

Rafe nodded slightly, raising his hand to run across his jaw. Rafe knew you worried a lot about Asher, he’d gotten better with dealing with it and not getting so frustrated. It use to piss him off because he thought you didn’t trust him with his own son but it was deeper than that. You and Asher had been through a lot and Rafe knew firsthand what it did to you. You knew Rafe would protect Asher with his life, he’d done it before. You just couldn’t help but think about past experiences every time Rafe took him for an outing but you were trying to get better.

“You know we will. I’ll bring him back before dinner.” Rafe promised before you both were interrupted by the bundle of energy barreling through the living room with his Spider-Man backpack dragging behind him.

“Let’s go daddy!” Asher grabbed Rafe’s hand and drug him to the front door. He waved his hand half heartedly in your direction and pulled his father out of the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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anadiasmount · 2 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/anadiasmount/766146994146295808/could-you-write-something-about-jude-realising

I loved the only jude pov idea so could you write something about jude telling his (and/or your) parents that he wants to marry you and he’s been thinking about it for a while and that he’s convinced you’re the love of his life and he will do anything he can to prove it to you every single day

this might be a little rough but hubby jude has my heart… 😕😕

“here’s your morning juice and vitamins, don’t forget we have a dinner tonight,” you half understood jude as he spoke quickly, he was late for training like usual, but he never left without saying goodbye. whether you were awake or not, a kiss on your cheek and he was gone for the day. though today seemed different, felt different but you brushed it off.

jude was running late to his appointment, he had no training today but you didn’t have to know that. he went to a small yet very popular jewelry store in downtown madrid, where he had picked out your dream engagement ring. he needed your friends help and they were more than willing to make that trip and helping out a nervous jude.

the ring was set to pick up, and he would ask for your parents blessing tonight when you visited them. you were oblivious, they were oblivious. only your friends and him knew about this. yet all he wanted was the scream that he was closer to marrying you. he had no doubt that you’d say yes. jude knew you wanted to get married, with him. you had drunkenly confessed after a night out and reminded him weeks later when you said your first “i love you’s”.

so jude was ready. you were ready.

you had graduated and landed your dream job. he considered you as his wife already. you knew him from the back of your hand but with jude, he wouldn’t fail to answer any questions related to you. whether it was from your favorite foods, to a movie, to a makeup product, to a favorite memory, he knew all of you. inside and out.

your friends had gasped and covered their mouth, eyes tearing up when jude showed them the ring. they all were in awe, jude especially since it was getting real for him. he couldn’t deny that feeling in his chest, getting choked up with his own emotions, knowing you were his forever home. the only home he wanted to be in, in this life and the other. “it’s absolutely gorgeous jude!” one of you friends reclaimed.

“our y/n is going to love it!” replied your other friend to while jude let out a breath of fresh air. “when do you plan to pop the question?” they asked, “after international break, we have a couple days together and i want to take her on a small getaway. but i want to get her parents blessings first, which we’re doing today because we’re going over,” jude nodded, hearing them let out a small squeal of excitement.

“look mom…” jude whispered, his dad sitting down next to her as jude pulled out the red velvet box from his back pocket. “is this what i think it is?” she gushed, opening the box gently, her hand resting against her chest as she admired the ring. “having this around me is so tempting you don’t understand. all i want is to ask her to marry me,” jude smiled, immediately thinking of you.

“i don’t even have to ask if you’re sure, your eyes and smile say it all,” his dad said making jude look at them. “we’re happy for you both. there’s no doubt in my mind that the two of you are made for each other. while marriage can be hard, it’s also the most beautiful thing that’s ever been created. she’s your soulmate, protect that forever,” his dad continued, standing up to give jude a hug. where he couldn’t contain his emotions.

“thank you guys for everything…”

on the way back, jude had picked up a few groceries and snacks for you. along with his bouquet of flowers since it was time to get a refresh. making sure to stock up on waters and different beverages as well.

after a while jude had returned back to your house, immediately looking to see where you were. “y/n? darling?” he asked, “in here! i’m in the study!” you yelled, meeting jude by the doorway where he engulfed you into his arms. “god i missed you so so much,” he murmured, smelling the sweet scent of your hair. you tippy toed and pressed a small kiss on his lips.

jude laughed at the small state you were in, hair in rollers, and he was guessing setting powder beneath your eyes and nose. “i’m almost done getting ready, i just had to quickly take a call because they needed me to give authorization for something. do you know what you’ll wear?” you say as you walked into the kitchen and drank water.

“yes i do…” jude couldn’t stop staring at you, that look he gave you full of love and respect. “i know i look funny but it’s just the powder,” you laughed, “stop! why are you looking at me like that!” you exclaimed walking over to where he sat. “because i love you, but you do look a little goofy with this on,” he joked feeling the playful slap on his shoulder. “go get ready! now before we catch traffic!” you said seriously while jude just nodded.

while jude anticipated to be nervous, he wasn’t. the sense of comfort yet worth filling his head. this was a huge deal, asking your parents for their blessing. but jude could radiate the answer from a mile away. the love you had together was so traditional and old school, the two of you loved that. it didn’t exist much these days, but the love you and jude had made everyone around you feel alive and happy.

as the night filled with laughs and talks of the past, you had taken over and helped your sister in law with the babies. jude knew this was his chance so he booked it, watching as you disappeared and went upstairs. “could i talk to you both?” he whispered seeing how their faces pulled into confusion but followed him either way. the three of them sat in the living room, jude pulling the ring back out from his back pocket.

“i’ve never in my life been so tempted to risk it all for a person. y/n is my person. my happiness. my home. my all in this world. i never knew if i’d find that. but with y/n it was a quick and undeniable feeling. i feel like i’ve known her my whole life. she knows me more than i know myself, and i knew she’s the one for me since she’s stood and sacrificed for our love…” jude said, your mother letting out a few tears as she looked at the ring.

“it would be an honor if i could have your blessing to marry your daughter. i promise you now i will take care of her forever. not just for marriage, but it’s because im giving you my word. because i love her with my entire heart…” jude asked shakily, knowing how much this meant to you and him. knowing this is just a step closer to finally having your happy ever after.

“you have my blessing jude,” your dad said, standing up and hugging him deeply, knowing there’s no hesitation because jude has never given them the reason. that he knows jude isn’t lying and will stick to his word. “yes you can marry my little girl,” your mother gushed going to jude and hugging him tighter, the two men laughing. “you did an amazing selection with the ring… she will love it,” she said.

“i’m willing to prove whatever it takes to show her how much i love her…” jude sealed. “what are you all doing without me,” you came back with a huge smile, joining your parents and boyfriend.

“i want in on whatever it is…”

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader

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teastyun · 2 days ago

Text

¨༺ the sweet taste of submission

arcane sevika x female reader pirate au (nsfw)

being blackmailed into piracy, you never expected anything less than cruelty to encounter you in your foreseeable future. but what happens if you become best friends with the captain's quartermaster? are you able to prevent any further feelings from developing?

a/n: happy release of season 2!! i'm watching the first arc at a public viewing event in my city with my closest friends and hope to win all the plushies hehe,, update: i did not win any plushies but i got a vi voodoo-doll from the series made by jinx and several other things including a coin with sevika on it 🥹

mastlerlist

walking into your crews' favourite tavern called The Last Drop, the hot and stuffy atmosphere immediately hits you as you're able to only her the chatting and brawling of your crew mates. the tavern is filled with almost your whole crew drinking and singing popular sea shanties as one of two guys would drunkly wrestle in the farthest corner of the wooden tavern, but your eyes only caught on Sevika at the biggest table through the dimmed lights talking to her mates despite all the commotion surrounding her.

Sevika is in her usual thin black linen shirt, where a few buttons were missing and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her slightly damaged prosthetic arm from today's battle. her other biological muscular arm looks taken up by scratches and bruises, which also coats her collarbone and cheek with hints of dried blood and forming bruises. her revealing muscular cleavage is layered with sweat, making it hard for you to look away from someone who was once only a close friend to you.

"y/n! you're in a for round or not?" your best friend calls over the loud noises of the crew from the table they managed to claim. your eyes left Sevika and followed the voice, where your friend held up a tankard of rum and deck of cards which were about to spill all over the table due to your already tipsy friend.

grinning, you pushed yourself through the crowd, desperately hoping no one saw you gawking at Sevika a minute ago. battling the hot and damp temperatures of the room, you opened a few buttons of your linen shirt beneath your leather vest before you sit down on the seat your friend saved you.

"at least try to not gawk at her like a nasty dog," your friend murmurs as they filled your tankard with rum and eye you with playful eyes. "eyes on the drink," you counter your friend who was about to spill your tankard.

you take a silent gulp of your drink and a mouthful of bread, before y'all's night officially start with your first round of poker, trying desperately to forget Sevika, who is plaguing your mind.

only a few weeks ago, you and Sevika were inseparable from the day you two were blackmailed to join piracy with Slico as your Captain. at first, you two started as mere sailors, but Sevika eventually became the Captain's trusty quartermaster. you, on the other hand, voluntarily remained the chef cook of the ship, loving your own big quarters that was daily filled with most of the crew eating whatever you managed to provide that day. Sevika would always stay in late in your kitchen, eating with you after the crew left and helping you wash up the mess of the day. you two were always touchy, especially when you two were alone in each other's quarters, separated from reality. she would always put her lower hand at your back when she reached to grab something next to you and rest her arm on your shoulder as you tell her your most private thoughts on anything. as much as she liked to touch you, you would always massage her sore muscles she requested after any battles (aching to hear her rare small moans casually escaping) and help her fix her mechanical arm anytime she's too tired for it.

the problem is, your liking for her didn't stop just there. recently, you've noticed the uneasy feeling in your stomach whenever she was with you, which you desperately tried to get rid off in order to save your friendship. you tried to put as much distance between you and Sevika as you could, which she slowly but surely noticed over time. confused by your actions, she also distanced herself from you. your once close friendship turned into confusion and slowly into unaccounted hatred. not only did you loose your friendship, but the romantic feelings for her grew even stronger due to the lack of interaction with her. and fuck, you hated everything about it. you're hyperaware of her presence anytime she's near you and you can't help but grow agitated at her presence that fills any room you're in.you even tried to fuck your horniness out of your system with several other women, but nothing hindered the constant thoughts you have of Sevika plaguing your mind. the image of her touching, groping, fucking you eft your knees weak at the mere thought of it.

as you sip from your tankard and relish the sweet burn in your throat, a gaze lingering on you burns into your consciousness. your first instinct is for your eyes to wander to Sevika, who's eyes seemed to be fixed on anything but you. as your eyes wanted to wander back to your group, all of a sudden you notice the tavern girl sitting down in Sevika's lap. her lacy white straps of her garment fell off her shoulders, revealing her bust to Sevika's sight, who grinned at her before her eyes knowingly set on you. questioning your gaze, her eyebrow arched as she kissed the woman's shoulder. her grey piercing eyes never leave yours as her lips trace her collarbone.

your breath starts to quicken up, not able to leave your eyes off of her kissing the woman's bare breasts as she moans and throws her head back, unaware of the game you and Sevika were playing in that moment with each other.

"i need to go," you tell your best friend, before you leave them the rest of your deck and finish the last drop of the tavern's burned rum, desperate for any numbing of the storm of emotions that were risking to bust inside of you. your friend stops mid-action to examine your unclear gaze.

"don't do anything stupid," they tell you with affection in their eyes, but respecting the distance you seem to need. you smile before you wave at your crew to call it a night. you desperately try not to throw another glance at Sevika as you exit The Last Drop and enter the humid night.

inhaling the smell of sea, you push the sweaty strands of hair off your face and exhale shakily before you try to process whatever happened inside the tavern.

desperate to feel the deck beneath your worn leather boots, you walk away from the loud tavern and head to your ship.

arriving at the docks, a mate on night watch nods at you before he returns to his duties. his gaze towards the vibrant town. the slight sway of the ship immediately calms your senses as you walk further on the ship.

stopping at the worn wooden railing, you rest your weight on your forearms and link your fingers to stop them from trembling. the sea always mesmerised you since you work for Captain Silco. it's truly the only place in the world that calms you merely by it existing. beneath the silver moonlight the sea glitters magically in reflection to it. the only sounds audible are the waves hitting the shore and the rafts of the ship occasionally flapping with a hue of wind, leaving you at ease.

the heavy creaks of wood beneath someone's feet rip you from your peace as you immediately recognised the person behind the sound, but your eyes maintain fixated on the waves dancing around the ship.

the person joins you as she turns to lean against the railing with her back to the sea, watching you as you still avoid eye contact with her.

"why are you avoiding me?" Sevika crosses her arms and cocks her head closer in your direction. her grey eyes slice you open and all the peace you just restored was instantly destroyed.

"why would you look at me with someone's tits up your face?" you counter bluntly, still avoiding any eye contact with her.

she chuckled merely at your response, "why, would you have preferred them to be your tits?"

shocked, your eyebrows furrow and you loosen your hands to grab the railing, "what? fuck, no!" your voice rises.

"then why would you care about whose tits are in my face?" her voice sounds unusually calm, sending you into a spiral of emotions as you turn to finally make eye contact with her for the first time since the incident at the tavern.

your hand automatically grabs the hilt of your sword tugged into the leather scabbard around your waist, needing any support as you try to challenge the grey eyes piercing into yours. Sevika notices your motion but chooses not to comment on it.

"answer my fucking question," she takes a step towards you and you can feel her breath mingling on your skin. "tell me, why are you avoiding me?" she says slowly, watching every move of yours closely.

unsure about how to react, you maintain the tense eye contact with her. you're trembling on the inside and your grip on the hilt of your sword hardens to avoid your muscles from starting to shake.

"because i can't stand your face," you lie to her. "i can't stand your presence anymore," you continue. taking a deep breath, you whisper with only truth "and i don't know how to feel about you anymore."

her eyebrows furrow as she comprehends your words. she seems to look for any signs of emotions on your face, before she bluntly says "i don't believe you."

"prove it." she pushes you with her biological arm, "fight me, love. show me how much you can't stand my presence."

you stumble a step back at the nickname, gripping your sword even tighter as you free it from its hilt. she pushes the sleeves of her shirt up as she stretches the sharp pointy fingers on her mechanical arm, watching every move of yours. you are a skilled fighter, but you prefer to not fight your beloved ones, especially those who you secretly adore to an extend that's slowly killing you inside.

Sevika flicks the blade of your sword against her mechanic arm, but you were quick to dodge her swinging her arm back. it only results in you two going further into the fight, leading her to leave several small cuts across your torso as you managed to dodge any of her attacks on you. across her eyebrow sat a small deep cut from the tip of your sword, the blood dripping down her face. the fight becomes more serious and deadly with each second you fight.

the eyeing of night watchers expands into a crowd including half the crew watching the ongoing fight. "looks like we've got an audience," Sevika mumbles as she smears the blood off of her eye with her bare hand.

catching your breath, you turn to examine the audience around you two. "i assume our fight has became more interesting than their gambling games in the tavern?" you say in a low tone only Sevika could audibly understand. she grins at your question before she counters, "how sweet of you to think that we haven't become their new gambling game, love."

"what?" you exclaim in surprise as she arches an eyebrow at you and her grin deepens. "Renni?" she calls into the audience, revealing a tall guy with a mechanic nose and green vibrant cords attached to it. he's handling any gambling games in your crew.

"yes, quartermaster?" he responds, resulting the chatter in the audience to silence immediately. "how many people bet on me winning the most rounds?"

the gambling master grins at her question. "the whole crew, quartermaster. all but one," he calls, eyeing the girl in striped red trousers and long blue braids dangling as she spins to him. her dirty gunpowder-covered hand shot into the air.

grinning, you watch Sevika narrow her eyes at the girl who's showing nothing but pride in her evaluation of you winning.

huffing, Sevika turns to you and mumbles, "don't get your hopes up, the Captain's daughter never won a bet in her life."

cocking your head at her damaged ego, you whisper with a wicked smile "i don't care," before Jinx intervenes with a pointed finger at you two, "actually, i've won several bets concerning you guys."

you watch Jinx with curiosity as Sevika only narrows her eyes at her again.

"several?" you question in confusion.

"how many times have you guys bet on us?" Sevika asks, her eyes wandering through the crowd as she watches everyone's reaction.

"i lost count." Renni states simply. "but it was usually whether you guys would fuck or kill each other." the crew laughs at Renni's blunt truth. you blankly stare at him as you loosen the grip on the hilt of sword. Sevika chuckles at the situation as she whispers to you, "so, they actually believe we'd fuck each other rather than kill."

"what's your take on that, y/n?" she continues as the tip of her sharp finger trails your jawline. the sensation of the light pressure clouds your mind and no words can be formed in your head all of a sudden. she knowingly smiles at your reaction and her finger travels beneath your chin as she guides your eyes to look at her, her breath mingling with yours.

your unoccupied hand pulls your hidden dagger out of your vest as you press it against her throat. her grey eyes darken as she grins at your unexpected move. she holds her hand in the air, showing any submission that was left in her.

"do you actually want to know?" you whisper as your eyes move between her narrow eyes and full lips despite her grin, the tip of your dagger pressing into her dark skin as a drop of blood runs down her neck.

her eyes darken at your question and the next thing you felt was her hand at your lower back pulling you on the hard wooden deck. your sword loudly slides across the wooden deck, hitting several obstacles of all kinds on its way.

she straddles your hips as her mechanic hand squeezes your throat and the biological one pins your wrists above your head, the dagger still in a tight grip in your dominant hand. "fuck," you murmur but wouldn't dare to break eye contact with her. "that was a dirty move."

"you can forfeit now, if you want." she suggests. "and why the fuck you wouldn't even dare to look at me all those weeks." she moves closer to whisper in your ear, "Jinx will loose her bet either way, may as well save your energy."

you gasp as a shudder ran down your spine as her breath tickled your sensitive skin beneath your ear. gathering all your strength, you try to pull your wrists out of her grasp. "i never yield," you say as she looks at you with the wicked smile of hers. your conversation was so quiet, only you two were able to hear each other as the crew chatted and the waves were dancing.

"i strongly recommend you to yield, love. save yourself some embarrassment," she tells you, but you're not having it. you try to lift your hips, but her core presses you even harder into the wood. "if you want me to yield, you have to make me," you whisper with a shaky breath that escapes mouth as you feel heat shooting down your core at the position you two are in. she quirks her eyebrow at you as she watches you writhe beneath her. your eyes wander down her neck to the her buttoned down shirt, revealing heavy breasts and pointy nipples through the thin linen. wandering down further, you see the swell of her core pressed into yours and you feel your breath becoming uneven.

"you're obviously loosing," she whispers. you squirm beneath her and your movements seem to affect Sevika as well. she presses her legs even harder against your waist, but can't help the heavy sigh that left her mouth as the scabbard around your waist seems to graze her core. "just yield," she said breathlessly as her eyes darken.

a shaky breath escapes your lips and you stop your squirming, visibly satisfying Sevika as her grip on you loosens. you immediately start fighting again and almost knock her off, but she grumbled "fucking stop," before she readjusted her grip on you and slid her leg beneath yours.

her mouth corners pull into a sly grin as she watches your reaction. your eyes went wide as you gasp, your warm and soft core directly pressing onto her knee. still, you try to push her off by trying to lift your hips, but the thin cotton of your brown trousers didn't do you any justice. your clit pulses at the friction and you try not to roll your eyes. she leans down to whisper, "what's wrong, love?" as her eyes switch between your eyes and your lips. "yield," she commands as her shining grey eyes pierce yours.

"no," you whisper and you feel her mechanical hand tighten around your throat. her knee pressed upwards and your head falls back as your eyes flutter closed from the friction you're experiencing down in your core. you name rolls of your tongue as you moan, arching your back as she readjusts her knee against you.

"i can basically feel your heat through your trousers," she whispers breathlessly, "you must be so wet right now."

shocked if anyone would hear you two, you gasp and tried to wiggle your wrists free, but miserably fail again. "what if anyone hears us?" you ask, but your eyes wouldn't leave hers to look around. that piercing gaze of hers results in another rush of heat spiking through your legs right into your core. "so, go on and yield," she tells you as she's grinning again, "so we can finish it in your quarters."

exaggerating her point, she presses her knee upward, sending your back arching. you almost forgot where you are, until crew mates were chanting Sevika's name. despite the crew's chanting, she keeps her gaze fixed on you as she closes her eyes to whisper against your lips, "please."

"yield, so i can finally fucking kiss you," she whispers breathlessly and you feel her lips grazing against yours. exhaling, you look at her with such intensity in your eyes, wondering if she really just said what you heard.

"fine," you murmur. smiling, she finally releases her hold on you as you push yourself up to yell, "i yield!"

standing, Sevika reaches out to help you stand up as the crowd cheers as if they've just won a triumph in a battle. you swear you heard a frustrated Jinx trotting off, leaving you chuckling in disbelief. the crowd disperses over the whole deck and Sevika whispers "i'll make it up to you, love."

"just," you start, "just shut up and hurry." you go to grab your sword as you push through the group of people. you hear her chuckle somewhere behind you and you can't suppress the smile that's growing on your lips. pushing your sword back into your scabbard, you walk down the stairs to your kitchen quarters with Sevika close behind you. her real hand rests on your lower back until you reach downstairs, away from any noise and other drunk pirates.

you turn around to pull her into an aching, hot and longing kiss. fuck, her full lips felt so soft compared to the rough and deep kiss, leaving you moaning as she bites your lower lip.

your sword hits the wooden table behind you as Sevika hoists you up on it. the kiss grows more frantic with every second, both of you sighing and moaning as the other would occasionally bite at the others lip. your arms slip behind her neck and her mechanical arm pulls you even closer to you as she stands between your thighs, which are hooked around her waist.

moaning, you grind against her trousers' seam, which you felt her press onto your core a few minutes ago. you break the wet kiss as your head falls back, feeling the perfect angle pushing against your clothed clit.

she grunts before her hands slip to hold each side of your hip to stop your frantic movements.

"fuck, i'm about to come undone if you won't stop, love," she says as she rests her forehead on her shoulder to catch her breath after she manages to stop the grindings between the two of you. before you could respond, she kissed you rough and messy as her hands slide over hips up to your waist.

her name spilled out of her lips after her real hand moved further up to cup your tit beneath your leather vest. her thumb teases your still clothed nipple as both of your hands softly pulled her hair, urging her on to continue. "Sev-," you gasp as her index and thumb pinched your nipple.

she's watching every single move of yours like you're the most beautiful person she ever witnessed. your eyes hazily fix on hers and you feel the emotions rising in all of a sudden. looking at her, you’re reminded of the feelings you’ve recently developed for her and the fact that you still owe her an explanation for your behaviour the last few weeks.

nonetheless, she smiles at you as you’re seemingly lost in your own thoughts. "Sev," you say again, trying to start whatever coherent sentence you were about to voice, but her lips on the shell of your ear interrupted the last string of thoughts you had.

"go on, love," she whispers and a shudder runs down your spine from her warm breath tickling your nerves. inhaling, you try to not concentrate on her lips that were moving down further and further with every wet kiss she presses on your skin. not to forget, her hand was caressing your tit, although it already moved on to your other one.

"i‘m sorry," you say, your hands playing with her hair to calm yourself. "i‘m so sorry, Sev," you continue, in- and exhaling to calm yourself "i really didn’t want to treat you like an enemy the last few weeks."

Sevika stops in her kisses as she expands her posture to look eye-to-eye with you. her mechanical hand still rests on your lower back as your hand drive off of her. continuing on, you look away almost in shame, "i don’t know why i haven’t communicated my feelings with you from the start. i hope you can forgive me for the last few weeks."

a smile grows slowly on her lips as she’s lost in her own thoughts, "so you have feelings for me, love?"

surprised by her reaction, you answer "i mean, isn’t it obvious considering what we’re doing right now? you’re hand is still on my tit!"

laughing, you shake your head at her surprised face but the smile on her lips never left. her mentioned hand moves up to your neck to pull you into a heartbreakingly loving kiss that you never want to stop.

"i forgive you, love," she whispers against your lips, "under one condition."

breaking the kiss and looking at her expectingly, she continues, "promise me to always come to me if something is in your mind. i don’t want us to end in a fight again."

smiling, you answer, "i promise." hooking your arms around her neck again, you say with a grin on your face "speaking of our fight, you still owe me something."

"you don’t have to remind me," she says with a laugh before her lips find yours again before her hand finds the opening of your scabbard. skilled with only her mechanical hand, she opens your trousers and traces the lines of your underwear.

"just so you know," she says as the sharp tip of her index finger slides down your pussy, "when we grew apart, i slowly realised that you mean more to me than a best friend."

she presses a kiss on your forehead, then on your cheek and lastly on your lips before she pulls away to react to her finger circling your clit over the cotton of your underwear. sighing from the sensation and love at the same time, you smile at her through hazed eyes as your hand slides down to trace her suggestive cleavage you were eyeing the whole night before you pinched her pointy nipple underneath her shirt.

exhaling in pleasure, her movements quicken on your clit. your breathing grows more rapid with every bolt of sensitivity you feel in your core. realising how close you were, she releases her hold on you and swaps her mechanical hand with her biological as she slips two fingers into your fold underneath your underwear. you whimper when she enters you with both thick fingers at the same time, but her kisses around your throat soothe the sting, which quickly turned into pure pleasure. moaning, you feel her curling her fingers to test your g-spot, making you see stars as she sucks and bites hickeys on your neck.

grasping for any hold on her, one hand fists the back of her shirt as the other one pulls on her hair as her movements quicken with every moan that escapes you. the table beneath you creaks loudly with every thrust of her, but when you come, the only thing you were able to process was the stars you were seeing and the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. you scream her name as your long orgasm takes several seconds, leaving you panting with tears in your eyes.

when you're able to recognise your surroundings again, you see Sevika watching you with unsteady breaths and clouded eyes. "fuck, my soul left me for a second," you indirectly praise her and she immediately smiles at your sentence. again, she leaves several kisses around your face.

"i'm so glad to finally call you mine."

#➶ jules' anthology #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #sevika smut #arcane league of legends #wlw #queer #lesbian #sapphic

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hardlyinteresting · 2 days ago

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love's never lost when perspective is earned

Jake Seresin x Reader

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” Peter Pan, J.M Barrie

Peter by Taylor Swift S P E Y S I D E by Bon Iver Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov Smother by Daughter

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, Parentification of eldest siblings, bad first date experience, gets a little spicy towards the end (no smut), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please)

This one shot was written for @arcane-vagabond Fairy Tale writing challenge with the inspiration of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, and the use of the word Scintilla.

Word Count: 6.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

She remembers that summer wrapped in a golden glow. Back when hot, humid days were spent bathed in the sun’s vivid orange. Their fingers were sticky with jammy pie fillings, stolen from his mama’s kitchen. Cold water from the garden hose always tasted better after a day of chasing themselves around the properties.

What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jake had asked her as they lay in the grass behind his house.

“I haven't decided yet,” she told him matter of factly, “But, I’m gonna have a nice house, and I’m going to go far away from here”.

“I'm gonna be a pilot,” Jake said, “And I’ll fly wherever I want”.

She knew he was entirely serious, even as a little boy he’d never failed to accomplish what he put his mind to. The gentle waiver is his voice as his statement teetered around the edges of his true feelings and fears. “I wish I could fly away,” She told him, watching the clouds shift across the bright blue sky above them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me,” Jake promised. And back then, a promise had felt like enough.

They were seven; her shins were always bruised from climbing trees and tackling the Seresin boy during their daily football scrambles; his cheeks were always sunburnt, and he lied every time his mother asked if he had put sunscreen on. In many ways, she thinks those two months running after Jake Seresin had been both the peak and the plateau of her childhood wonder.

September meant returning to school; finishing supper and homework before being allowed out to play, and with the autumnal turn crept in early sunsets and earlier curfews. In November, her stepdad moved in, and her mother told her to expect a little brother in the spring. The days of scraped knees and make-believe slipped away before the winter frost set in.

When he thinks about her now, he pictures her laughing like she did when they were ten years old. He misses the days when she had the freedom to forget herself.

At ten years old Jake Seresin couldn’t understand why his friend wasn’t as fun as she used to be. He watched from his kitchen window as she sat on the front porch with her little brother, settling next to her and feeding him from tiny jars of baby food. At a distance, it'd be easy to mistake her for any other girl playing make-believe with one of her dolls. But Jackson wasn't a doll, he was fussy and gassy, and he needed to be fed and put down for his naps before she had a moment of spare time to spend with her pal Jake.

Her little brother had been followed by a new baby girl two years later. Tire marks on the dirt driveway highlighted where her stepfather’s truck should have been most days. Jackson had finally gone down for a nap but Olivia had been teething and her wailing could be heard from a mile away.

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked her as he made his way up her porch steps to sit next to her on the stoop. “I want to fly away,” she told him.

Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand as he took off running, down the stairs, across the lawn and into the field behind the house. The long grass tickled at their ribs as they ran as fast as possible, their arms outstretched on either side of them.

Circling, and jumping, hooting and hollering they made their way across the flat land with boisterous laughter bubbling from their lips. By the time they stumbled to a stop at the fence line their breath came to them in quiet gasps, their cheeks warmed by the exertion of their activity.

The sound of his pulse fell in time with her carefree giggles as she twirled around mimicking some kind of bird. Had it not been for the physical boundary of the wire fence he thinks they could have kept running forever, the promise of freedom they didn’t yet understand beneath their wings. In that moment he knew he’d chase that feeling for the rest of his life.

At sixteen she felt more like a substitute parent than she did a teenage girl. Her mind and her soul had aged beyond her years and stayed wrapped in a youthful vessel. School had become an escape from the responsibility she felt at home. While Olivia and Jackson clambered onto the school bus excited for first and second grade, she climbed into the passenger seat of Jake Seresin’s restored F-150. Each morning he'd pass her a wrapped sandwich made in his kitchen with his mother's fresh-baked bread. A replacement for the meal he knew she sacrificed to divide the last of the breakfast cereal between her siblings. He filled her with servings of farm butter and homemade jam, or ham and cheese. Their silent dialogue in brushing their knuckles during the exchange, as he always chose to ignore how she saved half for her lunch later in the day.

Pulling into the parking lot at school she had been keenly aware of the way the other girls looked at her as she walked hand in hand with Jake; the glares shot her way when he kissed her cheek as they parted ways to head to their classes.

Their jealousy rolled off them in waves, and she heard how they spoke about her in the locker room after gym class. Whispers about his gorgeous green eyes and boyish charm. What could the hottest guy in school possibly want from the strange girl in her secondhand clothes and studious persona? Surely he'd have more fun with a girl who wanted to party.

It was true. In the span of one summer, he'd grown 6 inches, towering over her now. His shoulders broadened. The lanky awkward limbed boy she'd known in her childhood grew stronger and more defined as he learned better how to pull his weight on his family’s farm. His masculine stature and maturity softened only by his flushed cheeks, and childlike grin.

And yes, he snuck beers from his father’s garage fridge and did handstands for ovations at parties hosted by the school football team. An absolute joy to be around. To know Jake Seresin was to love Jake Seresin, but didn't know him the way she did.

They didn't know he was terrified of thunderstorms until he was 12. They weren't there when he split his pants open trying to climb over a fence when they were 9. They had never had the privilege of listening to him read aloud from all his books about aircraft; his 11-year-old fingers tracing the letters as he sounded out the big words, the fear of being held back in 5th grade hanging over his head.

They had never held him as he tore into himself. The golden boy, raised in the shadow of an older brother who hadn’t lived long enough for him to remember; so deeply loved, but not enough to fill the ache in his parent’s hearts.

No one in those school halls would ever be able to tell the difference between his happiest days, and the smirk he plastered on always aiming to be better than what he believed himself to be.

He was so stubborn and far more clever than he ever let himself sound; she scolded him almost daily as he tried to shrug off his homework. “You'll need math and science if you ever want to fly a jet,” she would remind him, accepting the glass of sweet tea he offered her. Their textbooks and notes would lay spread across his kitchen table while Jackson and Olivia occupied themselves with blank paper and wax crayons, offering Jake scribbled drawings of airplanes, “wow! That's amazing, thank you,” he'd say every time.

She hadn't asked Jake to worm his way into her soul, and yet even now she knows some part of her soul belongs deeply to him. Their games of tag had slowly become time spent talking about their parents and watching the clouds; their hands intertwined between them as they listened to each other's dreams and desires for the future.

And on the nights when his life just didn’t seem to fit quite right, he’d tap on her window, willing her to join him in the bed of his truck a couple of miles from their homes; and she’d remind him who he was. The bright boy with a heart of gold, and a laugh that reminded her of everything good in the world. She’d rest her head on his chest, his fingertips tracing aimless shapes across her back, as she convinced him he was more than a collection of hand-me-down dreams.

His eighteenth birthday crept up to him before passing in a blur of candlelight and buttercream icing. His mother cried in the kitchen when she excused herself to ‘take care of the dishes’. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Their two sets of hazel-green eyes met as the older man offered a nod. The action itself did not speak to a relationship of closeness or specific affection, but still, it managed to convey a message of approval, apology, and love too difficult to speak.

She had knocked on the door shortly after dinner had been cleared from the table, the remaining half of his birthday cake being ushered into the refrigerator under a cling wrap film. Shivering in the night air, her hands clutched a package of brown paper with a shiny blue ribbon, his name scribbled in her careful writing. Quickly, he’d pulled her into the house greeting her with a kiss as deeply passionate as she deserved. “Happy birthday,” she’d whispered, pressing the gift she’d brought into his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he’d told her. “I wanted to,” she insisted. With steady hands, he unwrapped the box. His question was silent, but the shocked expression on his face must’ve conveyed enough for her to be able to answer him anyway. “It’s the one from the antique store,” she grinned, “Mister Abbot let me pay for it in instalments”. He tipped the brass nautical compass into the palm of his hand, staid in his evaluation of both the physical and emotional weight of the gift. “This is too much,” he spoke after a moment.

Her eyes went wide, her smile dropping. “I love it,” he was immediate in his attempt at reassurance, “but, you’re saving for school. I don’t want you spending your money on me, darlin’”. He tried to pass the compass back to her, a woebegone ponderosity settling in his stomach at the very idea of rejecting any part of her. Insistent, yet patient, she curled her finger over his. The digits were so much smaller than his own, cracked and raw from washing dishes and cleaning tables at the local diner. The painful reminder of how hard she’d been working to climb her way out of her own life. “I want you to keep it. Selfishly,” she said, “I want you to always be able to find your way back to me”. How could he have argued with that?

Politely, she’d popped into the kitchen to see his mama, accepting a Tupperware of cake slices to take home for the kids to enjoy. His father met them at the door as Jake shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you kids off to?” he asked out of curiosity more than any concern. “Just going for a drive,” Jake told him, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble, ya hear?” he warned her with a teasing grin, the humour evident in his voice. “Yes sir,” she had agreed easily, knowing Mr Seresin’s penchant for faux sternness in the moments between his genuine stoicism. Seemly satisfied to see her smile grow, he had turned to Jake with an immediate pivot back to his natural sternness, “You make sure you get her home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night”. Jake’s compliance echoed her own, with no room for jest, “Yes sir”.

Parked in their usual spot, at the edge of a cleared field he wrapped layers of blankets around her shoulders, before settling down next to her. Their biggest dreams breathed between them and the night stars. “I love you,” he said. The statement was resolute, and immovable in its honesty. “I love you too, Jake,” she told him. Her words were spoken like a promise she desperately wanted to keep.

“When we graduate, I'll drive us across the country,” he tells her, “I'll buy us a house. You can go to school and I'll fly”.

“It’s a nice dream, baby,” she says.

Their drive home is silent.

She spent her nineteenth birthday sleeping in his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been home in months but the sheet still smelt like him. She scraped her knees climbing up the trellis to his window, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d laughed to herself examining the superficial wounds, enjoying the familiar bite of nostalgia. Memories of her childhood long since passed left tears at the corners of her eyes. Near manic laughter faded into a melancholy exhaustion.

Her eyes focused on the small book collection Jake had managed over the years. They had all been perfectly aligned in their homes on his bookshelf; set in alphabetical order by author. His need for structure despite his free spirit had been amusing until it became mildly concerning. Routine, crafted to satisfy the need to stay completely distracted from an overwhelm of feelings he had always been sure he didn’t have the capacity to express. The hope in her heart had always been that he might learn to hone his particular brand of presentiment. He’d always been so rough-and-tumble, so hard to worry after; determined to never let the mask slip as he raced through life with a smile.

1400 miles away she ached to be beside him; so lonely in her knowledge of him. She worked to comfort herself by tracing the titles on the spines of the books he’d left behind. Over and over. Over and over. With blurring vision and an unfocused mind, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep. The sun streamed so gently through the window of Jake’s room. A touch of light tugging her from her slummer had been a welcome change from the jarring wake-up call she had at home. Two siblings who had yet to figure out how to make themselves breakfast without bickering or clattering plates. The smell of fresh coffee and pancake batter wafted up from downstairs.

The bedroom door squeaked as she opened it, and underfoot the floorboards in the old farmhouse creaked, each step down the staircase punctuated with the sonance of more than a hundred years of life. In the Seresin house, the noises reminded her of the generations who had come and gone, it was easy to imagine the lives that had been lived within the walls. Across the yard, the similar shifts and groans of her childhood home echoed like ghostly calls; the whispers warning of a life liable to be wasted if she stuck around.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Mrs Seresin smiled, setting an extra spot at the kitchen table. His mother had always been the kindest person she’d known. Despite the undisputable reality that her son’s girlfriend had all but broken into her home, she welcomed her with open arms, asking if she wanted blueberries in her pancakes.

The longer they went without mentioning the elephant in the room the easier it became for her to slouch a bit in her seat, appreciating each bite of the breakfast that had been offered to her. Nineteen years of being in rooms out of necessity rather than desire had made it difficult to trust other’s interest in her well-being.

Feeling her shoulders drop in relief left her feeling something like a stray cat brought in to shelter from the storm; glad to accept Mrs Seresin’s kindness, but uneasy all the same. She had grown used to being weary of tenderness and generosity; always waiting to hear the conditions of the beneficence.

Sipping her coffee, Mrs Seresin smiled over the lip of the mug. “If you want to stay a little longer, you could help me go through some of Jake’s old clothes. Some of them would probably fit Jackson now”. Her words reached like an olive branch across the table, and for a moment she understood that perhaps the older woman wasn’t just benevolent for the sake of it, not on this day at least. With her only living child out of the house she had been lonely in her need to mother someone, and glad just for the company as unorthodox as the circumstances may have been. She’d been glad to learn that some glint of selfishness lingered in everyone, and in a strange turn, it only made her trust the woman more.

She hadn't expected a pile of folded sweatshirts to make her cry, and yet in a blink of an eye, she found herself sobbing. A flicker of hurt rushed through her with the realization that some things will always matter more to her than they do to anyone else. Just another piece of clothing to Jake, another part of her task for the day to his mother. But she was holding the world in her hands.

She remembers that sweatshirt well, red and worn out by time, always just a bit too tight in the shoulders, the seams stretching at the sleeves. He was wearing it the night he picked her up from her first date.

Bobby Dunbar had been two years older than her, and had no idea of the meaning of the word ‘no'. She left him alone in the movie theatre after he'd tried to creep a hand up her skirt for the second time. With a quick call from the closest payphone, Jake was on his way to pick her up without questions.

Together, they drove out of town and past their homes the sun dipping down below the seemingly endless horizon. Overhead the stars had begun to make themselves appreciable against the backdrop of the darkening sky. Parked, they lay in the bed of the truck looking up at the sky ahead. He took care to trace the constellations for her, naming them as he went. In the meantime, her fingertips copied the shapes with invisible lines across his chest. The well-loved red sweatshirt was soft beneath her cheek.

He kissed her for the first time that night. Not her first kiss, but the first one that mattered. Jake always had this ability to make her world stop spinning, even if just for a moment. Sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing into the sweater she wanted nothing more than to be near him, to hear him tell her everything was going to work out for them in the end.

“I got my scholarship,” she told Mrs. Seresin, “I'll start in the fall, and I'll be able to live on campus”.

“That's amazing news sweetheart,” her affirmation, so much like her son’s.

“It's a lot farther for Jake to drive. I won't be here to check on Jackson and Olivia. My mo--”

“They'll be alright. It's high time you live your dream, honey”.

At nineteen years old, she struggled to understand that sometimes the beginning feels like the end. A pit growing in her stomach, she clutched the bags of hand-me-down clothes as she headed home. The sky above was dotted with the same stars Jake had taught her about years ago, she stood still for a moment trying to remember the feel of his lips, or the comfort of his hand in hers, but only felt the cool evening breeze.

Twenty-one felt like wearing a costume. Joining the Navy. Getting good grades. Helping on the farm whenever he had an ounce of free time. Being a good son, being a good boyfriend. He was playing dress-up in a life that wasn’t built for him, and yet he found himself so desperate to play the part.

The first few months away had been excruciating. Most nights he chugged Pepto-Bismol before going to bed, hoping that the tearing feeling in his chest was just heartburn, and not just his soul stretching across four states. It had been the longest they’d ever been separated; smashing the previous record of the one week he spent with his aunt and uncle when he was ten.

He won’t blame her for the divide that grew between them, but he knows that the ache in his chest cracked into a chasm sometime after she moved onto her college campus.

The commute to see her was longer, his back was stiff, and his eyes were tired after driving hours, and crisscrossing state lines. The time they spent together was almost exclusively spent sleeping or skipping around their desperate need to return to what they once were, all while refusing to give up their dreams.

Two years into her degree he was exhausted. On base, his bed was assembled for practicality, not for comfort. Hard, uneven mattress and nights spent cold beneath the covers without the warmth of her body tucked against him. His bunkmates all snored, and the hustle and bustle of those still working during his allotted sleeping hours kept his mind alert even as his body dosed. In her dorm room, her duvet was plush and cozy, her pillows smelt like her shampoo, and she snuggled as close to him as physically possible on the nights he managed to make it to her. But her roommate was nosy and made it almost impossible for him to love on his girlfriend. Unable to touch her as freely as he yearned to-- and even worse, unable to speak as freely as he needed to, his feelings threatened to choke him. Lost without the level of communication that had become their life preserver for years, he felt as though he was drowning.

At twenty one he asked his father for his grandmother’s engagement ring. A family heirloom he’d always known he’d propose with one day. He would make good on the promises he made. They would get married and he’d buy them a house-- he had already managed to save quite a bit. It was not a lack of love that broke them, but perhaps an excess of it. A shared desperation to do more, and be better; both of them hell-bent on clawing their way out of the ruts they’d found themselves stuck in. And with so much to prove it had been impossible to climb without letting go of each other.

He was down on one knee when his heart was ripped from his chest. For a moment he felt it was impossible to breathe. His mind was silent, too stunned to think and too confused to speak. She was still shaking her head when he finally found the strength to look up at her again. “No,” she said. “I thought--”

“I’m sorry-- I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair,” she told him. Certainly not fair, he thought desperate to understand. But when had life ever been fair? “I can’t,” she repeated. He watched, hopeless, as she shrunk in on herself. The bright, brilliant girl he’d spent more than half his life loving shied away from him, hiding behind a shame he couldn’t find a source for.

As he slowly made his way back to his feet, with the ring box shoved back into his coat pocket, she spoke again. “I think it would be better if we spent some time apart”. That he had not been expecting, and the words nearly had him keeling over; a brutal blow that knocked the air from his lungs. He found himself helpless, unable to do anything but nod. All his fight sat on the tip of his tongue, pinched between his teeth, betrayed by his pain, and misunderstanding. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. For anything. For everything. But the words never came out. “I’m sorry,” she wept as she ushered him out of her dorm room.

With one hand, and no force he held the door frame for a moment, one last longing look at the girl he knew he’d love forever. “One day we’ll be enough for each other again”. He hoped that was true.

She carries a spark of regret in her chest, it grows when she thinks of him, and it shrinks when she remembers she freed him too. She thinks now that her denial of Jake Seresin may have been hasty. Fifteen years older, and with more perspective than she had at twenty-one, she thinks their lives could have been different if she had been brave enough to talk things out.

Her fear of stagnation had been her only motivation for so much of her life. His proposal had been on the surface a desperate attempt to cling to a bond they had begun to outgrow. And while his intentions at their core had been pure, getting married would not have saved their relationship. She had only begun to live for herself, and he still didn’t understand that his life was his own. Their marriage would have only served as a new way to masquerade and play pretend; years of running away from the fears that kept them both up at night. He would have grown to resent her inability to live without planning, and she would have hated his unintended absenteeism. Being married would not have kept his side of the bed warm, nor would it have given him any new ability to quell her anxieties.

She still thinks of him often. From her apartment on a clear day her view of the sky seems to span for miles and miles. She pictures him up there, carving through the clouds with the dedication and precision she’s always known he’d be capable of. She imagines him happy, living his dream. She hopes he’s proud of himself, and she prays that he knows that she’s proud of him too.

Sometimes, she lets herself wonder if he ever settled down; offered his grandmother’s ring and his heart on his sleeve to some other lucky girl. She’s tried to move on herself a few times, but never made it close to feeling like she was in love. The last guy had been a year ago now, he was nice enough, handsome, had a good job, and a good sense of humour. On paper he was flawless. He’d take her out for dinner, and walk her to her door. Sometimes he spent the night. He bought her flowers, and held her hand. But on one too many occasions she felt inexplicably lonely sitting next to him. He complained that she wasn’t any fun. She struggled to explain the sense of responsibility she’d never been able to shake. She asked him about his dreams. He never seemed to have any.

And so the hint of any spark that had been there fizzled away into nothing.

She tells herself she’s happier on her own and decides to keep moving forward, ignoring the cracking of her heart. She uncorks a bottle of wine, dancing alone in her kitchen, looking out at the vast evening sky and the setting sun. As much as she enjoys the view from her rental, she’s been in California long enough that it might be worth buying into the housing market. Nothing fancy, but something she can truly call her own. She’s been making good money for a while now, and her siblings have made it through college themselves. Jackson moved to New York with his sights set on being an architect. Olivia moved to Austin and became a nurse. Her mother hasn’t bothered to call in ages. Her shoulders relax without the added pressure of caring for others. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is quiet--it’s finally time to write the last chapters in her own story and stop running.

He keeps an old photograph of her in the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart. He’s living his dream, and he won’t allow himself to forget that she’s the reason why. Driving home from base at night he passes houses much larger than the bungalow he’s been renting. He wonders where she went after she graduated, and what kind of job she has now.

He chooses to picture her happy even at the expense of his feelings; a devoted husband coming to wrap his arms around her while she stirs a pot on the stove. A scintilla of guilt makes itself known as he grows somewhat jealous of this life he's envisioned for her. The truth is that he knows she was right for turning him down. They were too young, too naive, and too frightened. Breaking up with him may have been the first time he had seen her truly put herself first, and in hindsight, he’s glad she did. He knows he’d never have been able to live with himself if he had been what stood in the way of her making her dreams come true. It took him a while to understand the gift she had given him when she sent him away. The freedom to be the man he wanted to be, and not the man anyone else needed him to be.

He’d fucked it up more than once along the way. At work, he had become too brash, too cocky, too full of himself. He put his walls up and wore the self-assured mask he thought people wanted to see. Unwavering confidence, and determination. His return to Top Gun had been a wake-up call. He’d been forced to adapt, to let his guard down and learn how to let people in again. And for the first time since he was a teenager he appreciated the difference between being valued and being important. The realization had come with a sense of belonging and camaraderie that he hadn’t expected but couldn't afford to forget.

In his personal life, he had failed time and time again to form long-term bonds. One-night stands didn’t hurt, but the idea of waking up next to someone left him nauseous. But the truth is he yearns for that connection. He wants to be seen. He wants to be understood. He stopped going home to visit his parents two years ago, the weight of self-placed expectation chewed through him and left him hollow; guilt filled its place.

Last week he stood back straight, with his heart full of pride as he accepted his promotion. The new rank came with a new role, and a new more permanent position. He'd be stationed in San Diego for at least five more years. He called his mother. He booked a flight home for his next break. He started browsing real estate pages. It’s time to stop running.

She’s only made it to a couple of open houses so far but she hasn’t been able to find anything she likes yet. Most of the houses she’s seen are out of her price range. Others have been too modern, some too outdated.

She remembers the Seresin’s kitchen, the buttery yellow walls and linoleum tiles. Their house wasn’t flashy, nor had it been renovated anytime in 1980, but it was cozy. She can remember the smell of Mrs. Seresin’s baking. In her mind's eye, she recalls the feel of the cabinet doors that Mr. Seresin had built himself when they moved in, and his wife’s initials carved into the bottom corner of the cupboard over the sink. In every way possible they had made that ordinary farmhouse a home, and she wants the same for herself now. Like everything in her life, she decided her house has to be perfect. She’ll know it when she sees it.

The house is a two-story craftsman, built circa 1935. The siding is a garish kind of coral colour, faded by the sun, and the trims stand out in a soft vanilla colour, chipped at the edges. She’s driving home from work when she sees the sign for the open house standing proudly on the front lawn. Without a thought she pulls over, throwing the car into park. Inside, it smells like freshly baked cookies-- a real estate trick she’s learned over the last few weeks. It’s easy to imagine a house is your own when it smells so inviting. She's come to expect this, and won't let it blind her.

Her heels click across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house. She moves past the stairs into the surprisingly spacious living room. A large window looks out onto the quiet cul-de-sac, and the room sits bathed in the soft glow of the street lights outside. She imagines the room furnished, with soft drapery, a plush sofa, tv hung above the fireplace, and she can imagine herself unwinding here. The dining room is a fair size, and the kitchen has a sliding door that opens up to the backyard. The cabinets are brand new, and the owners have spent time renovating while staying true to the charm of the house. On the countertop, she picks up the real estate agent’s pamphlets about the home, amenities and nearby schools are listed, and she wonders if she might have the chance to raise a family here.

Overhead the sound of steady footsteps, and a pair of heels make their way down the hall and then the stairs. “If you decide to put in an offer, do not hesitate to call, in this market the early bird gets the worm,” a woman speaks. “I appreciate it, thank you,” a man replies in a low southern drawl, “do you mind if I take a look at the backyard before I head out?” “Not at all! Take your time, I’ll be out front just getting my signs if you need anything else”.

He’s barely stepped into the kitchen when he hears his name. “Jake?” a familiar voice wonders, her arms coming immediately to wrap around him. She hits his chest with a thud, but it does move him an inch. Her name is sighed into her hairline as he holds her close. “You made it-- all the way to California,” He smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her. She’s as gorgeous as he remembers, if not more so. Her features have sharpened over time, and he thinks her hair might be darker now, but she’s glowing. Her grin is wide and her shoulders relaxed as she reaches to trace his name and rank on his uniform. “You’re flying, Jake,” she all but whispers. He nods, his eyes softening as his hand comes to rest over hers, his heart racing beneath her palm. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it,” he jokes, and is rewarded with his favourite laugh.

His free hand lowers to rest on her hip and she steps closer, familiarity allows them to skip out on formality. He’s missed this; a shared closeness loud enough for them to speak without saying anything. He knows her like he knows the back of his own hand, and even with years passed between them, he’s able to fill in the gaps. Her clothes are well made, and well fitted. Office wear. Her shoes leave her standing tall, reminding him of senior prom and the time they spent slow dancing. He knows what she’s overcome, and he’s never had any doubt about where she would end up. Clearly successful, and if the way her smile meets her eyes is any indicator, she’s happy too.

In all honesty, she’s not sure who leans in first, but she knows she’s kissing Jake Seresin for the first time in fifteen years. He kisses with hesitation at first but allows himself to give in to a passion grown with time. He’s more skilled than he was the first time they kissed, and she tries her best not to flush with jealousy. His cropped hair is soft where her hand reaches up to hold at the back of his head willing him closer.

One step at a time he backs her across the room until her back meets the wall. With fingers gripping the collar of his shirt she begs him to crowd her space. She swears he’s taller now. His shoulders are broader, his arms far more defined. He’s always been handsome but the boyish charm has been replaced by something far more deadly, and she’s convinced she’d die happy if it was him stealing her breath away.

She melts beneath him. His hand moves across her hip, down to feel the round of her ass, before his grip tightens at the flesh of her thigh, warm in her cute little dress slacks. Neither of them bothers to suppress the moans or sighs that leave them when begins to kiss down his neck. His knee slots between her legs, thudding when it makes contact with the wall, startling them both.

“Careful. You break it you buy it, Jake”.

“I think homeownership will be good for me,” he grins catching his breath.

“Not if I buy it first,” she quips, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she blinks up at him. He groans, his knees weak as her smile grows. “Let’s talk it out over dinner,” He manages his counteroffer.

***

Their house smells like chocolate chip cookies, made from the recipe Jake’s mother passed down. The window in the master bedroom offers a gorgeous view of the San Diego sky. On weekends, she wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing, and Jake sliding back into bed, his hands greedy as he pulls her from her sleep with warm kisses and the promise of breakfast if they manage to make it down the stairs.

The floorboard creaks when he comes home at night, the weight of his day shed at the door. He greets her as if he's been gone for months even when it’s only been a few hours. And he holds as if he’ll never see her again when he returns from a deployment.

The gentle breeze that blows through the open windows of their little home carries away their lingering anxieties, and they allow themselves to soften in each other’s presence.

They lay in the grass in their backyard, paint smeared across their clothes, brows sweaty from a hard day's work. The siding is now a fresh, pale green, the trims glow in a soft white. Above them, the stars shine. The same stars they watched as children, and loved as teens. He watches her, enamoured, as she points to the North Star tracing her way around the night sky, recalling the stories he told her about each constellation. He wonders how many lifetimes are painted in the sky above them, how many lovers have admired the stars as they have.

She pulls him from his thoughts, rolling to settle with her knees at either side of his hips, her left hand resting on his heart. He looks at her as if he’s in awe of her, his wedding band cold on her back as his hand slides underneath her shirt. Leaning down to kiss him she’s certain this is the life she’s always been running towards.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin #FTWC #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun hangman

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l-starsz · 2 days ago

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i got a new jellycat and my billie shoes yesterday i’m so happy ngl:)

it all started in the morning. billie woke up and decided that today, she was gonna tease me all day. by the end of the day, i was so needy.

i woke up and felt her hands gliding over my body, moving slower over more sensitive areas before moving her hands away again to wrap around my waist. i whined and moved back against her, trying to get her to carry on what she was previously doing. of course though, she didn’t, she was in the mood to tease me.

once we’d got ready for the day, she told me that we needed to go out to run some errands. i knew this was gonna be a long day. we first went to the shop to pick up a few things we needed, and whenever i was looking at something, she’d come up behind me and place her hands on my waist, slowly moving up and down as i felt her head on my shoulder, lips getting closer to my neck.

she was really testing me. after that, she thought it’d be a good idea to take me out for lunch. now don’t get me wrong, i was grateful, but she knew exactly what she was doing and she knew how needy i was starting to get at that point. i thought she would’ve taken me home by now. i thought wrong.

the teasing still didn’t stop. when i was telling the waiter what i wanted, i felt billies hand move to my thigh, moving closer and closer to where i needed her before she’d move it back down again. she was purposely sat with her legs spread and that cocky look on her face, knowing exactly how i felt. i acted like her actions didn’t affect me and talked to her as normal, but we both knew i was desperate.

after about an hour of sitting there, wishing that she’d just take me home and fuck me already, she finally said the words i was wishing to hear.

“you wanna go home now baby?”

i quickly nodded and stood up, grabbing her hand and leaving in a rush after we’d paid. she drove me home, and as soon as we got there, she just sat down and started watching something. if she didn’t hurry up i felt like i was gonna explode. i’d never been so horny in my life.

i watched tv with her for a bit before i decided id had enough. i placed my hand on her thigh and quietly whined, looking towards her. when she just looked at me and smirked, that’s when i lost it. i pressed my lips against hers and buried my hands in her hair.

we began making out as i moved to straddle her lap, beginning to slowly grind against her thigh. what felt like seconds later, she pulled away.

“ah ah.” she smiled and grabbed my hips.

i felt her lift me up and carry me upstairs, straight to our bedroom. she laid me down on the bed and straddled my waist, pulling my shirt off and unclipping my bra, pulling that off too.

“you’re so beautiful baby.” i heard her whisper as she placed gentle kisses on my neck, eventually leaving hickeys down to my boobs.

“please.” i whimpered, getting even more needy.

she didn’t answer, just moved off of me and began pulling my shorts and underwear down. i lifted my hips up, desperate for her to do anything at this point. i felt her move her hands up my thighs, towards my stomach before moving back down, so close to where i needed her.

“please touch me baby.” i mumbled, probably absolutely soaking from being teased so much.

she smirked once again and finally ran her finger through my wetness before pushing two fingers inside of me. i immediately moaned and arched my back, practically begging for more. her fingers were quick to find a steady pace, curling in just the right spot and giving me exactly what i’d needed all day.

the feeling got better and better as i got closer until she felt me tightening around her fingers. then she stopped. right as i was about to cum. i groaned and glared at her.

“just be patient for me gorgeous.”

i then felt her run her thumb through my wetness, all the way up to my clit, rubbing small circles. i whined and moaned, doing anything i could to convince her to just let me come, of course that wasn’t gonna happen though. i felt like she was gonna leave me horny all night, and honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

my legs opened wider for her as i felt myself getting close again. surely she’d let me after how much she’d teased me today, but it seemed like now she’d moved onto edging me. great. she pushed one of her fingers into me whilst her thumb continued moving on my clit. i was just about to cum and obviously she stopped again. i was getting so frustrated.

“billie please just let me cum cmonnnn.” i whined and closed my legs.

“i know pretty girl it’s okay, sh shhh.”

i pouted and just started at her whilst she was spreading my legs back open, i was trying to get her to let me cum. i needed it so bad. i needed her so bad. she spread my wetness around and i closed my eyes. soon enough they shot back open though when i felt her tongue push into me before she moved to my clit again, sucking and licking it.

loud moans left my mouth and my back was arching off the bed when i felt her fingers push back into me once again.

“please..” i whined. so desperate.

“what is it angel?” she smirked at the state i was in, i was practically begging for her.

before i could reply to her, i tightened around her fingers and a loud moan came out of me as i came over her fingers and mouth.

“right there. don’t stop.” i whimpered, slowly coming down now.

“that’s it baby.” she smiled at how intense my orgasm was, and helped me come down before pulling away and also pulling her fingers out before coming up to kiss me.

my eyes were squeezed shut, but i opened them as i felt her presence and quickly kissed her. i pulled her down into my arms and held onto her, i was exhausted.

“i didn’t say you could cum.” she whispered in my ear, before moving down to kiss and suck my neck.

“you teased me all day and edged me like twice i deserved it.” i giggled.

“you did deserve it.”

i head her giggle too before she got up and carried me to the shower, helping me wash my hair, body, and face. once we got out after around 20 minutes, i was pretty much asleep against her as she helped me walk or carried me. we finally got into bed and ended up having a movie night followed by us asleep in eachothers arms.

also i might not really be in the mood to write for a bit because idk life isn’t the best rn😭 i just wanted to post so yeah:)

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #fanfic #fanfiction #billie eilish smut #smut #wlw smut #wlw #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader

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delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

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Childhood

Description: Childhood friends to...? Geto Suguru x Reader

TW: ANGST, NO HAPPY ENDING, Mentions of abuse (physical and implied sexual), Blood, Bullying. Reader dies.

WC: 6.6k (yeesh)

A/n: I love a good childhood friends to lovers trope for Suguru. It just fits him. I might post the draft where reader lives, but I might just keep that locked away, who knows.

You remember the first day you met Geto Suguru.

Your next-door neighbor with boyish charm, he wasn't shy by any means. He didn’t have the long, flowing hair he does now; instead, he sported a short buzzcut for the summer, a style that made him look mischievous and carefree. His violet eyes, striking even then, seemed almost too bright for the hot days when the cicadas sang their relentless chorus, a contrast to the warmth of his presence. You remember how he would grab your hand with an excitement that buzzed through your skin, dragging you around the playground, his laughter breaking through the sticky summer air like a sudden, refreshing breeze.

You also remember the rainy days that painted the world in shades of gray, days when the air smelled of damp earth and rain pattered softly against your small umbrella. Suguru would stand in front of you, brows furrowed in concentration as he tied your raincoat around you. He would bite his tongue, the tip of it peeking out, as he fumbled with the stubborn knots and clasps. You were both in kindergarten, small and unbothered by anything except the world you built together. He’d let out a triumphant sigh, eyes crinkling as he said, “There, now you won’t get sick!” His voice carried a blend of childish authority and genuine care that made your heart flutter even then. Before you could respond, he would take your hand, smaller and warmer than the rain-slick world around you, and pull you toward the river stream where frogs waited like emerald treasures.

You recall how gently he’d scoop up a tiny green frog, holding it as though it were the most delicate thing in the world. His eyes would widen in wonder, as if seeing magic for the first time, and he’d look back at you with a smile that spoke of shared secrets. “Don’t touch it, we only look...okay?” The sincerity in his voice left no room for argument. He was always protective, even in the small things, a guardian of moments that only the two of you would ever understand.

You remember that Geto Suguru is kind—deeply, quietly kind in a way that echoes through your memories.

One rainy afternoon, you and Suguru were walking along the canal on your way home from school. The cold wind from the early spring nipped at your cheeks, and your fingers felt icy even though Suguru held your hand as tight as he could, his small fingers interlaced with yours. His little face was scrunched up, his nose bright red like a cherry. It made you giggle, but the rain was louder than your laugh.

You liked his laugh.

Suguru’s eyes were so bright, like the shiny marbles you liked to collect, and they matched the rainy day with their deep, pretty purple. They always crinkled when he laughed or got big and round when he was surprised. But today, they looked different—wide and scared. It made your tummy feel funny, like something was wrong. Before you could ask him, your foot slid out from under you, and suddenly the cold water was all around you. The world turned blurry and loud, and you felt the current tugging at you, pulling you down and making your heart race.

You could see Suguru’s eyes through the splashes and the rush of water. He was screaming something, his little hand reaching for you but not close enough to grab. Everything else was a cold, rushing blur until someone—a big person, a stranger—was there, strong arms lifting you out of the water. You gasped and coughed, shivering and soaked, as Suguru ran to you, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hugged you so tight it felt like he was trying to hold all of you together. His crying was loud and messy, and you thought it must be so hard for someone so little to cry that much.

That was the first day you ever saw him cry. Perhaps, the only day too.

The kind stranger walked both of you to Suguru’s house. You were cold and still dripping, and Suguru didn’t let go of your hand the whole time, even though he kept sniffling and staring at the ground. When you got to the front door, he was still holding on, you feared he wouldn’t let go.

Suguru’s mother opened the door, and her eyes—just like Suguru’s, reminding you of violet hydrangeas drizzled with rainwater on a humid summer day, but a little softer—widened when she saw you both. You always liked her; she smelled like flowers and tea, and her hair was dark, long and shiny, like the princesses in your favorite stories. She bent down to look at you, and you noticed her makeup again. It was funny how she wore it—big, purple spots on her arms and a greenish-yellow patch peeking out from under the powder on her face. You always thought it was just a grown-up thing, like how some moms wore bright lipstick or funny dresses. Your mom said it was rude to ask questions, so you didn’t. You just smiled up at her, hoping she would fix everything. You remembered that she was a nurse, nurses always make everything better.

Suguru stayed quiet as you both stepped inside, still clutching your hand, and you felt safe, at least a little bit, with his mom there, her voice soft and warm, promising that everything would be okay.

“Suguru, go change and grab a few spare clothes for Y/N, okay?” she said softly, her voice warm and gentle, as she noticed the way you were trembling. “You’re going to catch a cold. Are your parents home?”

You shook your head. Your mom was out with her new boyfriend. He was strange, and you didn’t like the games you played. Games you didn’t really understand until much later.

She paused, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful line. Then, as if brushing away her concern, she smiled—a gentle smile that reminded you of the delicate fox statues at the temple gates, calm and knowing. A smile that was so like Suguru’s.

You thought Suguru looked so much like his mother.

A few moments later, Suguru returned, his arms loaded with clothes—a soft frog-print t-shirt and a pair of pajamas. He handed them to you, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink. He didn’t quite meet your gaze, eyes drifting to the ground as if embarrassed, but the way he passed them over made your heart flutter with a warmth you couldn’t quite place. You giggled, both at his shyness and at the oversized shirt he was offering you.

You didn’t give the shirt back, though. Not then. And Suguru never asked.

That night, you don’t remember the details—how you fell asleep or how things had progressed—but you do remember getting sick. A cold that left you bundled up in bed while your mother scolded you for not being more careful. You weren’t allowed to play with Suguru for a while. Not until you were well again.

The first summer of fourth grade rolled around, and you found yourself at the park down the street from your house, sitting on the swings. The air was warm, the sky stretched out in soft pastels as evening approached. The hum of cicadas filled the air, and the distant sound of honking cars blended with the laughter of other children playing nearby. You could feel the breeze against your skin as you swung back and forth, watching the world pass by.

Suguru approached slowly, his head lowered, and you noticed immediately: his hair had grown out, longer now, and it looked darker, shinier. It hung just past his shoulders in silky waves. You liked it. It suited him. He looked like his mother—like the fox statues, elegant and a little mysterious.

But as he came closer, you saw the red mark on his cheek—a faint bruise, but it stood out against his pale skin.

“What’s that, Sugu?” you asked, hopping off the swing and reaching for his face before he could pull away. He flinched slightly, his cheeks flushed, and your hand hovered near the mark.

He didn’t speak right away, and when he finally did, his voice was quiet, almost like he was unsure whether he should even share. “My dad came home... Ma says I should play outside until he leaves. I don’t like him very much.”

You felt a knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard him talk about his father this way, but hearing it again still made something twist inside you. Almost like a tummy ache. You wanted to say something. To ask something.

Instead, you offered him your hand, tugging him gently toward the sandbox where you’d set up your toys. It felt like the right thing to do. To share this quiet moment, away from the things you couldn’t understand, after all, you weren’t an adult. This seemed like an adult thing.

“That’s okay,” you said softly, settling down in the sand “I don’t like my mom’s boyfriend either. We play weird games... but sometimes he buys me a new toy or takes me to McDonald’s if I win.”

Suguru’s eyes widened slightly. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he understood more than you realized. “I wonder if boys get weird when they grow up,” you added, your voice a little quieter now..”

Suguru didn’t take long to reply. He blurted it out, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I won’t turn out weird!” His face went bright red as he stood up, almost defensively. “I won’t! I’ll take care of you, and we’ll get married!”

Your laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. It wasn’t a mean laugh—just a joyful one that caught you by surprise. You laughed so hard you almost thought you might fall over.

“We’re getting married?” you asked, trying to catch your breath through your giggles. “Okay, Sugu. When we get older, we’ll get married.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you both let your imaginations run wild. You talked about what your future would look like—what it would be like when you were married. A beautiful, traditional house, like the ones in downtown Kyoto, with a sprawling garden and a giant Sakura tree where you’d have picnics in the spring, drinking tea together. You pictured a big, airy bedroom with futons laid out beneath the window so you could wake up to the soft light of the morning sun.

“And I’ll get you a ring,” Suguru said, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’ll be big and shiny, with lots of jewels. You’ll see.”

You shook your head with a smile. “I want a gem like your eyes,” you said as you carefully packed sand into your bucket, forming the base of your sandcastle. “A violet one, so when I look at it, I’ll always think of you.”

Suguru’s face softened. He looked away, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he muttered, almost too quietly.

The two of you played for hours as the sun began to set behind the trees. The orange light stretched across the sky, casting long shadows on the ground. Suguru lingered a little longer than usual, clearly reluctant to leave, but eventually, he stood up, a small sigh escaping his lips. He gave you a brief, almost shy hug before pulling away, offering you that familiar, soft smile.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he promised, his voice quieter than usual.

When school started, Suguru came to you one morning, to walk with you to school and asked, his voice tentatively, “Is it okay if I take a different path sometimes?” There was something in his eyes that made you pause. He didn’t say much, but you knew there was more to the question. “I see things,” he added softly, almost as though he was unsure if he should even speak it aloud.

You didn’t see them—but you nodded, instinctively reaching out to hold his hand as you walked beside him, past places and shadows he pointed out. There were things there you didn’t understand, creatures in the corners of your vision, too fleeting to hold onto. But Suguru saw them clearly. His eyes would follow the shadows, his gaze sharp and focused, and you'd squeeze his hand, hoping to be part of his world, even if you couldn't see what he could.

"Are they like... yokai?" you asked one afternoon as you both sat on the playground during lunch. The warm air wrapped around you, the sound of distant voices fading in the background.

Suguru paused, a little surprised. “Maybe? Can you not see them?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder, as if it baffled him that you couldn’t.

“My parents can’t see them either,” he added with a sheepish laugh. “My dad says I’m going crazy, so I guess I must be,” he murmured, his words trailing off as if he truly wondered if he was losing his mind.

You didn’t hesitate. You blurted it out without thinking, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to reassure him. “No! I don’t think you’re crazy! Maybe you have super cool powers! Maybe you can be the one to protect the weak!” You giggled, swinging yourself higher on the monkey bars.

Suguru’s eyes widened in surprise, and before you could swing too far, he quickly stepped forward, catching you just in time to keep you from falling flat on your face. “Careful!” he muttered bashfully, his hands steadying you as his cheeks flushed pink.

“Protecting the weak, huh?” he said to himself, half in awe, half amused. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping the sand from your calloused hands with a soft tenderness. “I think I can do that,” he said with a smile, that gentle, endearing smile of his that made your heart skip a beat.

Suguru became your first crush, though you hadn’t the words for it at the time. It was a soft, quiet thing, like a secret blooming in you, one you weren’t yet ready to name.

By the time middle school came around, it wasn’t just you. Suguru had become the object of affection for nearly every girl in your class. It was easy to see why. He was handsome, effortlessly so. His dark hair, now tied into a messy bun, framed his face in soft waves that made him look older, more mature. He was athletic—president of the martial arts club—and the classroom representative, always steady, always reliable.

Girls would swoon whenever he walked by, their hearts practically in their eyes. You’d seen it all unfold countless times: a bashful girl, clutching a love letter, standing beneath the cherry blossom trees, her face flushed as she handed it to Suguru with trembling hands. And Suguru—sweet, gentle Suguru—would always take the letter, smile shyly, rub the back of his neck, and apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he would say, his voice quiet, his eyes soft but firm. “I can’t return those feelings.”

And yet, even after he rejected them, the girls would smile, too—somewhat bittersweetly, but they would smile. Because they understood, in their own way, what made Suguru special. It was the kindness in his rejection, the way he always apologized, the way his heart seemed so gentle, so full of care.

But while the other girls admired him from afar, you became the unspoken resolution to their quiet heartbreaks. It wasn’t long before everyone in your class noticed the way you and Suguru always walked home together, how you always arrived at school side by side, or how you waited by the gates after his martial arts club practices.

It wasn’t long before the jealousy started to manifest.

At first, it was small—innocent, even—little things that were easy to dismiss. You’d find your bento box missing, or your textbooks mysteriously soaked or torn. Harmless pranks, the girls in your class would say when you complained, their voices light, too light. They never did it in front of Suguru.

But the notes? Those were different. The messages scribbled hastily, then slipped into the folds of your books or tucked into your desk when no one was looking. They were direct, a threat veiled in a veneer of sweetness: “Stay away from him, or else.” And though you never showed Suguru the notes, you felt them—each one like a small, sharp stone lodged in your chest.

Suguru noticed, though. He always did, didn’t he? It wasn’t uncommon for him to ask about the scuffs on your textbooks or the faint marks on your arms, or why you always seemed so distracted when he talked. One day, after another prank—this time a textbook torn in half—you stood in the local bookstore’s quiet aisle, searching for a replacement. Suguru, ever observant, was beside you.

“What happened to your books?” he asked, his voice quiet, but his gaze unwavering. “Didn’t you just get that one last week?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain. His expression softened, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced by your usual excuses. “A friend in my class needed it,” you murmured, a soft lie spilling from your lips. “Her family is really poor… so I figured, why not?”

Suguru paused for a moment, his lips curving slightly as he nodded. “That’s nice of you,” he said simply, his words brief, but thoughtful. You weren’t sure if he knew you were lying—or if he suspected—but you didn’t correct him. His words were always warm, gentle, as though he never doubted you, and that was enough.

You never confessed to him. Not once throughout middle school. You kept it buried—your feelings, your heartache, the quiet ache that pulled at your chest when you watched him walk away from the other girls, always with that same shy smile. You kept it hidden, even as it grew stronger, deeper. Even as Suguru unknowingly became the center of your world.

High school was just around the corner, and it seemed like everything was changing. One late summer evening, as the air began to cool and cicadas buzzed in the distance, you and Suguru sat on the porch of your house, the smell of ripe watermelon lingering in the warm night. The gentle weight of the fruit in your hands was a comfort, but there was an undercurrent of unease—of things left unsaid.

“So, you’re really going to that religious school?” you mumbled between bites of sweet watermelon, your eyes flicking to the sky as if avoiding his gaze. The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.

Suguru leaned back against the porch railing, his eyes gazing out at the street. He nodded, though there was something uncertain in his posture. “Yeah. It’s where my mom wants me to go. She thinks it’s best.”

You frowned slightly, pausing to wipe the juice from your chin. “But... you aren’t really religious,” you pointed out quietly. It wasn’t an accusation—it was more of a statement, one you’d thought about a lot. Suguru had always seemed so different from the others, always more grounded, more practical. Religion wasn’t really his thing, and you knew it. You weren’t sure if it was his mom’s wish, or something else that pulled him in that direction.

Suguru gave a small laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked at you, then, his gaze soft but distant. “I’m not,” he admitted, “but sometimes, I think... maybe I should be. Maybe I need something to believe in, you know?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just took another bite of watermelon, chewing slowly, as if trying to process the sudden shift in his tone. He was changing, wasn’t he? You could feel it—the same way you felt that distance growing between you both. It wasn’t something either of you had asked for, but it was there.

And for a moment, as you sat there together, in that soft quiet of the evening, you wished you could say it—everything. The way you felt about him, the way your heart would skip a beat every time he smiled, the way your chest ached at the thought of him slipping away into a life that might not include you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Tears welled up and fell silently as you chewed on your watermelon, the juices almost too sweet, too sharp against the lump in your throat. Suguru noticed, his confident demeanor cracking as he stammered, those fox like violet eyes softening with concern.

“Hey, hey, I’ll still come to visit. I won’t be far… you’re still my best friend.” That’s all you were to him. Just friends. The words should have comforted you, but they only twisted deeper into the ache in your chest. You wished you had done things differently that night. Wished you hadn’t let the fear win.

Before you could stop yourself, the bowl of watermelon slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor as you pushed against his broad chest, the frustration bubbling up like a storm. You bit your lip, bowing your head to avoid the confused look in his eyes. The space between you grew colder, wider.

“You idiot,” you mumbled, the words meant for yourself but landing heavily between you. His expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face, but he didn’t say anything. That night ended in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. When he left, there was no goodnight text, no familiar ping of a morning message. By the next day, he was gone.

Suguru went off to some mysterious religious school, one so obscure that even searching for it yielded nothing but blank pages. You stayed behind, navigating your typical Japanese high school, blending into the background. You weren’t at the top of your class, not even close. Just ordinary.

The girls from middle school remembered you, and they hadn’t forgotten how to sneer. Their mocking smiles followed you down hallways, whispers cutting sharper than any blade. You wished, sometimes, that you’d been sent away too, anywhere but there. But it was fine. You learned to like the quiet, your solitary lunches at the top of the school building.

When the school year ended and summer painted the skies in gold and blue, Suguru came home. You saw him one day, taller and somehow changed, walking with another boy. This one was just as tall, leaner, with stark white hair that stood out like a beacon. His eyes were bright and blue, the kind that drew you in, reminiscent of the ocean under the midday sun. His name was Satoru.

You and Suguru never spoke about the night he left. The silence between you was now familiar, like an old song whose lyrics you’d forgotten.

Suguru introduced you to Gojo Satoru, his friend from the religious school. Satoru didn’t understand the meaning of personal space, it seemed. You watched as Suguru’s eye twitched when Satoru casually slung an arm around your shoulders, a playful smirk hidden behind his glasses.

“Wow! Suguru never told me he had a pretty friend like you waiting at home for him,” Satoru teased, his voice light and teasing. Your cheeks flushed crimson at the unexpected compliment, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“What happened to going home, Satoru? I thought you wanted to train or something,” Suguru said, his tone edged with something you couldn’t quite place, his eyes narrowing at the arm draped over you.

“I wanted to see what a commoner’s life is like,” Satoru said with a casual shrug, his smile unfaltering.

Suguru’s eyes met yours for a brief, fleeting second, filled with something that made your chest tighten. But whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it came, swept away by the playful banter and the summer breeze.

Summer days passed slowly, drenched in the heat of the sun and the chatter of cicadas. Satoru quickly became a regular part of your small circle, his presence impossible to ignore. He was loud, boisterous, with an infectious energy that made the quiet afternoons seem brighter and heavier all at once. And Suguru—he stayed close, always hovering just at the edge of it all, watching with those deep violet eyes that you couldn’t read.

There were moments when it felt almost normal, like nothing had changed between you and Suguru. The three of you would sit by the riverbank, Satoru’s laughter ringing out as he tried to skip stones and failed spectacularly, the smooth rocks plopping into the water with each throw. Suguru would smirk, his usual calm disrupted by the smallest hint of a smile. But then, there were moments when the silence would settle again, a reminder of everything unsaid. You’d catch Suguru’s gaze, his eyes searching yours for a heartbeat before he’d look away.

One afternoon, as the sun began to dip behind the hills and the sky turned a soft, dusky purple, Satoru sprawled out on the grass, hands behind his head. “You know, it’s strange,” he said, his voice light but his eyes serious as he stared up at the sky. “Coming here, seeing how different it is from how I was raised, how the school is- this is peaceful.”

Suguru didn’t respond, just watched the sun dipping lower, shadows stretching long over the ground. You glanced between them, feeling the familiar tug of curiosity. You wanted to ask what their lives were like, what they did in that school that seemed so far removed from anything you knew. But before you could speak, Suguru broke the silence.

“Different is good sometimes,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His expression was unreadable, and something in his voice made your heart twist.

Satoru turned to you then, a mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Hey, we should do something fun before the summer ends. What do people around here do, anyway? Festivals? Fireworks? Don’t tell me all you do is sit by the river.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Suguru beat you to it. “There’s a festival next weekend,” he said, his gaze finally meeting yours. “You should come.”

It felt like an invitation wrapped in layers of meaning, and for a moment, the air between you felt fragile, something you didn’t want to break. Satoru’s grin widened, and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect! I love festival snacks.”

The week leading up to the festival passed with a strange, buzzing anticipation. You spent your days replaying that moment by the river, wondering what it meant, hoping for something you couldn’t quite name.

When the night of the festival arrived, the streets were a whirl of lantern light and laughter, the scent of grilled food mixing with the sweetness of candy. You wore your favorite yukata, its delicate patterns of blue and white mirroring the summer sky. The moment you spotted Suguru and Satoru waiting for you near the entrance, your heart did a little flip. Suguru looked at you for a beat longer than usual, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You however thought Suguru always looked more handsome in traditional wear. You'd never tell him that thought.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear. Satoru, never one to miss a moment, whistled dramatically. “I think you look hot,” he teased, winking at you.

Suguru shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. The three of you walked through the festival together, surrounded by the glow of lanterns and the hum of excited voices. You felt the brush of Suguru’s sleeve against yours, and each accidental touch sent a thrill up your spine.

As the night went on, you found yourselves near the edge of the festival grounds, where the noise softened into a quieter backdrop. Suguru turned to you, eyes thoughtful. “I never told you, did I?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why I left that night.”

Your breath caught, the world around you fading as you looked up at him. The question, the hurt, all of it surfaced in that instant. But before he could say more, a firework burst in the sky above, scattering colors across the night, and Satoru’s voice called out, breaking the spell.

“Hey! You two, you’re missing the show!”

Suguru’s expression shifted, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers. But his eyes lingered on yours, as if to say tonight wasn’t the night.

You never did get to hear what he wanted to say. But you always remembered the way the fireworks lit up his eyes, turning them into pools of shimmering violet and gold. Suguru was beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal.

After that summer, you saw less and less of Suguru and Satoru. Every time you reached out, you were met with the same response: “Busy,” or, “I have a lot of work.” You tried not to dwell on it, though the ache of distance settled deep in your chest.

One evening, as you studied for an upcoming exam, the summer heat pressed against your skin like a suffocating blanket. The windows were wide open, the occasional breeze doing little to ease the stifling air. The sky outside was a blanket of deep indigo, scattered with stars that twinkled above the quiet street.

Then, a cry cut through the silence from next door. It wasn’t the first time; Suguru’s parents had always been a source of hushed whispers and dark looks. You had grown to understand that his father’s anger was more than just a temper—it was violence. The beatings, first directed at his mother, had eventually reached Suguru when she could no longer shield him. You wished you had known when you were children, before he disappeared to that unreachable school. Maybe you could have done something. Maybe you could have held on to him just a little tighter. But, you reminded yourself that you were both just children, juggling things that a child shouldn't be going through.

A sudden creak jolted you from your thoughts. The front door. You froze, straining to hear past the thundering of your heartbeat. Your mother wasn’t supposed to be home, and the last boyfriend she brought around—the one who had a temper of his own—had vanished weeks ago, leaving you with a sense of uneasy relief.

“Mom?” you called out, voice shaky as you peered into the dark hallway. Silence.

You took tentative steps down the stairs, flicking on the light. There, standing in the dim glow, was Suguru. His face was pale, hair disheveled, and on his clothes—was that blood?

“Suguru?” His name came out as a whisper, tinged with fear and disbelief. Your eyes darted over him, searching for injuries or some sign that could explain the scene before you. But he didn’t move. He only looked at you, a gentle smile cracking the grim line of his mouth as he stepped forward and opened his arms.

“I can finally say it, I love you,” he said, the words hanging in the air like a confession and a plea. The room seemed to close in around you as he pulled you into an embrace. The scent of smoke and blood invaded your senses, sharp and suffocating. Something wet dripped onto your head, and you realized his whole body was trembling.

“I love you,” he repeated, voice soft, almost fragile. “You looked so beautiful that day... in your yukata... you’ve always looked beautiful.” His words tumbled out in a quiet ramble, barely holding together. “I love you so much it hurts... it hurts so much to know that...”

You tilted your head up, eyes wide with questions you didn’t know how to ask, and before you could speak, his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle, desperate, and tasted of salt from tears and the metallic tang of blood. Your body froze, caught between the shock of the moment and the familiar warmth of his touch.

The world outside was silent, but in that moment, everything screamed.

The kiss left you breathless, and for a fleeting moment, you felt like a child again, back in the days when Suguru was just your best friend with laughter that lit up your world. But the metallic taste and the tremor in his body pulled you back to the present, where the Suguru in front of you was someone different—someone haunted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. There was a depth of pain there that you couldn’t comprehend, an abyss of sorrow that twisted his beautiful features into something almost unrecognizable.

“Why—” you started, but the question choked in your throat as his hand brushed your cheek, fingers trembling against your skin. The warmth in his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could react, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he said, a tear rolling down his face, mingling with the blood that stained him. “I can’t let them take you away from me. I can’t let this world twist what little good we have left.”

Confusion morphed into a sudden, chilling realization, and your breath caught in your chest. “Suguru, what are you—”

“I love you too much, the higher ups will kill you after what I did. They'll find you, use you as punishment” he interrupted, voice breaking as if the words themselves were ripping him apart. His arms wrapped around you tightly, too tightly, and panic surged in your veins as his embrace turned suffocating.

“Suguru, wait—” you gasped, struggling against him, but he held you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this world. The wetness against your head spread, the metallic scent growing stronger as you fought to breathe. His strength was overwhelming, something you had never felt from him before.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, almost reverent. The room spun, a whirl of dark shadows and star-speckled sky visible from the window behind him. Pain flared through you, sharp and sudden, and your vision blurred with tears.

The realization was slow, creeping in like ice. His hand, once gentle, now pressed against your side where warmth spread in a crimson bloom. Your strength faltered, and Suguru’s face swam in your vision, eyes glistening as he cradled you. His lips moved, speaking words that sounded far away now.

“It’ll be over soon,” he promised, as if trying to convince himself more than you. His voice was soft, desperate. “We’ll be together one day... no one will take you from me.”

Your limbs grew heavy, your body slumping against his. The pain dulled, replaced by a chilling numbness that seeped into your bones. Suguru’s face hovered above yours, tears streaking his bloodied cheeks as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

The room dimmed, the noise of the world fading into the distance. Suguru’s whispered, broken words were the last thing you heard, “I love you. I’ll keep you safe now.”

Darkness folded over you like a shroud, and the last image in your mind was of the boy you had known, standing in the light of a summer day with violet eyes full of wonder. Suguru, your friend, your everything, who now held you in an embrace.

The warmth of Suguru’s arms faded, replaced by a numbing cold that seeped into your bones. When you slipped away, Suguru was still holding you, his body shaking with quiet sobs as the reality of what he’d done settled over him like a suffocating blanket.

Minutes felt like hours as he knelt there, your lifeless form cradled in his arms. The weight of his actions bore down on him, a crushing force that stole the breath from his lungs. The room was silent now, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. His violet eyes, wide and unfocused, glistened with tears that refused to stop falling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room, the words a broken mantra. “I’m so sorry.”

The night stretched on, the stars above unblinking witnesses to the scene below. Suguru’s mind spun with memories—your laughter by the riverbank, the way your eyes lit up when he said something that made you smile, the warmth of your presence that had anchored him through so many storms. And now, that warmth was gone, snuffed out by his own trembling hands.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, the world outside moving on without him.

Suguru’s hands clenched, nails biting into his palms until they drew blood. He lifted his gaze, eyes red and swollen, and looked at you one more time. The peaceful expression on your face was almost unbearable; it made it seem as if you were merely sleeping, ready to wake at any moment. But you wouldn’t. And that truth cracked something deep inside him.

He stood slowly, legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and grief. The blood on his clothes had dried, stiff and crusted, but the scent still clung to him, sharp and unforgiving. Suguru took a shaky breath and glanced at the front door, the place that once symbolized safety and warmth now nothing more than a reminder of what he had lost.

As he stepped into the night, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, the cool air bit at his skin, carrying with it the distant hum of cicadas and the faint rustle of leaves. Behind him, two little girls followed, their small steps quiet and cautious. Their eyes, wide with a mix of fear and trust, never wavered from Suguru’s figure as they walked together into the night. There was much to do.

In a few years, Suguru had built that traditional house you both dreamed of as children. The structure stood proudly, nestled in the serene embrace of the countryside, with a wide veranda and sliding paper doors that creaked softly in the breeze. In the garden, the large sakura tree bloomed each spring, its petals drifting like whispers over the spot where your ashes were laid to rest.

He sat in the bedroom, the one where his futon lay by the large window so the first rays of morning light could touch his face, waking him gently—just as you had always imagined. The light bathed the room in a warm glow, but it could not reach the shadow that lingered in his heart. He was fulfilling the dream he had stolen from you, keeping it alive with each passing day.

Suguru’s gaze shifted to the Sakura tree, its blossoms swaying in the morning air. He closed his eyes, feeling the ache of longing bloom anew in his chest. He had much left to do, so many things to set right before he could allow himself to rest. Before he could find his way to you, wherever you might be waiting.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still and only the rustle of petals filled the silence, he spoke to you. Promises, confessions, hopes whispered into the air with the wish that somehow, you could hear him.

One day, he would join you beneath the shade of that Sakura tree, where time and separation could no longer reach. Suguru held onto the hope that you both could be together once again.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto blurb #geto suguru x reader #geto angst #suguru x reader #suguru angst #jjk angst

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crguang · 2 days ago

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violinist kafka x her pianist accompaniment reader, courtesy of my 🎹 anon and @shalomniscient’s beautiful brain <3 we’ve been going crazy over this AU since i received the ask today.

R and kafka are childhood best friends who have been playing together since their respective instructors discovered their potential and made them work together on a piece, very much young prodigies in the making who do nothing but hone their skills with the dream of becoming the best in their field. one day, when they’re around 16 years old, R moves away. this bus ride is the last memory kafka holds of them together and she remembers it viscerally whenever she brings an especially complex composition to life, which eventually becomes the source of her recognition and success. this is a goodbye she only understands once she’s lost them.

607. i miss you.

You held her hand that early evening on the way to the bus stop on the corner street four minutes from the music academy; your pinky finger loosely looped with hers and in the chill of February, she could feel the rough material of your knitted glove against her own, the one gifted to you by an aunt she doesn’t remember the name of. Fingertips linked like an implicit promise, she spared you a questioning glance at the unusual gesture and you avoided her gaze, making a show of scrolling through a playlist on your MP3 player with your free hand. She thinks of it as holding hands now, because despite your palms not touching at the time, your bodies were connected through that fragile bridge between your fingers and your hands swayed in the air with your unhurried steps. Each of her exhales were made visible by the cold while you kept yours within the confines of the scarf around your neck, you always despised the drop in temperature. Even with the bottom half of your head hidden by the soft fabric, she could read the reservation on the lines of your face. You were keeping something in and it was obvious to her who had known you since that Wednesday you sat in her every-day rehearsal room, patiently waiting with her violin instructor and a faraway look in your eyes. Back then, it had been eight years. Perhaps that isn’t accurate, she has known you a total of eight years up to the present day. That is the only constant between you, whoever you are today she does not know.

Kafka chuckles lowly to herself, a self-deprecating sound. After all this time, she still needs this moment of reminiscence before she dares put the bow to her violin’s sacred strings. If this is what puts her in the state of mind necessary to perform this composition flawlessly, so be it. She inhales long and slow, then exhales quietly through her mouth. She raises her right hand and in one controlled motion, slides the bow over the first note of her instrument.

The 607 bus was half empty when you stepped on it first. You paid the bus fare and she followed you to the back after doing the same. You took the seat next to a window tainted with water streaks and silently took the violin case from her hands to lay part of it on your thigh, the other half rested on her leg the entire ride home, its small weight shared like the rest of your burdens. She took the earphone you handed her and pressed a little closer to you to see what you were showing her on your MP3. The bus started moving a second later.

“I don’t want something too loud this time,” you said, scrolling down the music app where you’d created playlists for each other a year prior.

“Lame.”

“You chose the playlist yesterday, you don’t get to complain. This one is nice.”

You pressed play on a slow song and lifted your head to meet her eyes expectantly as the first melodies reached her ear. She conceded with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You smiled, a soft edge to it, and didn’t tear your gaze from hers for a moment that Kafka now wonders if it lasted seconds or minutes. You looked into her eyes, searching for something she didn’t have the guts to confess, and she looked back at you with the words on her lips. They were often there, sitting just past her lips like they’d fly out of her mouth the instant she opened it, but she found that they were anchored to her tongue and had no plan to leave the warmth of their comfort zone. Her eyebrows twitched in question for the second time that hour, an unsure smile on her face in response to your stare.

“What?”

Her attempt to glimpse into your mind broke the suspended moment. You shook your head somewhat ruefully.

“Nothing.”

You lowered your MP3 and followed the movement with your eyes, avoiding hers once again. She could see something brewing inside of you since that morning, guilt you couldn’t admit to her, maybe, but she didn’t push thinking you would speak up eventually. Instead, she playfully nudged your side with an elbow.

“Practice used up your last brain cells or what?”

“Ha, ha. Like you weren’t the one struggling to keep up with the tempo.”

“Try again, maybe the next lie will be more convincing.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot Kafka The Prodigy could never make a mistake, ever. I’m only the accompaniment, what would I know?”

“That’s more like it.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, but the smile that replaced the weird one you were previously giving her was much more brilliant. You glanced at her, then turned your head to the window. An older couple were quietly chatting to themselves a few rows to the left in front of you, their heads leaning against each other, and she spent a minute looking at them while the next song played in your earphones. With the music, it was impossible to catch what one was saying to the other, but that didn’t matter. Their bodies were pressed together like yours with hers, as if huddling for warmth, and the woman was talking with her hands the way you would when you were passionate about a new album you just discovered. She didn’t notice it then, that she was looking for you in others even as you sat next to her. Her world was so small; you and music, music and you, and those hours where the two were one and the same.

To this day, you are the music she plays. Your harmonious smiles and dulcet voice, they are all within the melodies she borrows from other composers and in a sense, you are always on stage next to her during a performance. In the practice room, Kafka furrows her brows. She feels it mounting in her, that feeling that makes her great, akin to a pulsing heart ascending to her throat until it lodges itself between her vocal chords and she lets the violin speak for her. The climax approaches steadily, she knows that part like the back of her hand.

She lost interest in the talking couple. You were still looking outside the window at the swaying tree branches and passing cars, and she wondered what was so interesting out there that you couldn’t look at her. She watched your eyelids droop, though you stayed awake and kept staring at the world beyond the two of you. The song in her ear had a bass that followed her heartbeat. It wasn't sad, but you were. Streetlights had come on to balance out the rapidly vanishing sunlight and each one illuminated your features in fleeting rays of yellow, your eyes were hazy and your lips no longer smiling for her, and strands of hair brushed your temple whenever you adjusted your head on the glass. She followed the smooth lines of your brows down to the bridge of your nose, then to the curve of your upper lip. On her lap, her fingers twitched and curled into a loose fist. Her gaze went unnoticed, you were entirely enticed by the world beyond her reach and she was enthralled by the sadness on your face that added years to your current age of merely sixteen. You knew something she didn’t, she was sure of it, but no sound came out of her mouth after she parted her lips to ask. You swallowed, and her eyes flitted to the lump in your throat before settling back on your fluttering lashes. She suddenly perceived a distance between you that made her deeply uncomfortable and that feeling sat on her chest until your bus stop approached and you finally straightened up to look back at her. You smiled weakly, and Kafka spent years regretting not saying anything as you hesitantly patted her closed fist and placed the violin case on her thighs so you could prepare to stand, ringing the bell to announce your stop. She searched your eyes and found nothing but apologies.

“Playing with you makes me so happy,” you said out of the blue, holding up her stare intently. “You’re really great.”

“I know,” she replied lamely, half-jokingly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound weak and breathless. It made her smile nonetheless.

“You’re gonna be so great, and I’m gonna be great, and we’re gonna be great together. We’ll perform on stage just like we talked about, and in ten years, we’ll be the best in our field.”

“It’ll take me less than ten years. But I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

You gazed at her for the half minute it took for the bus to pull over, searing her playful cockiness into your mind, then you stood and she moved her legs out of the way for you to reach the aisle.

“Bye, Kafka.”

“See you M…” Her goodbye was interrupted by the soft press of your lips on her cheek, a quick gesture before you rapidly turned away from her and walked out of the bus. “...Monday,” she muttered in confusion.

She turned to the window as the bus started up again and you waved at her with enthusiasm that felt out of place. Still, she made a disgusted face that made you smile wider, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue like she was going to puke from the uncharacteristic display of affection. Your figure got smaller and smaller, and she lifted a hand to her cheek to wipe the skin where your lips had been.

The piece is coming to an end. The hardest part has passed and all that is left is a clean finish that Kafka executes perfectly. The final note rings out in the empty room. Her head hangs low for a moment, eyes shut and exhaling slowly through her mouth. She is great and she’ll perform on stage in two weeks. She is not the best, not yet, she’s missing the soothing notes of piano keys to accompany her violin. Kafka chuckles to herself, the irony of this thought is laughable. She smiles, raises her head, and starts the piece from the top.

#kafka x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader

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