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[sabjolelectronics]

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[allurilove]

Teenager Yandere Husband x teenager you

“What would happen if you went to the same school as him?”

Rated 16 + — regular ol’ short content !

Teen!Yandere Husband had a major scene phase starting sophomore year. It was his way of saying ‘fuck you’ to his old man, and he started to grow as his own person. He was finally able to express himself in a way his father tried to repress. His father was interested in fashion, creating multiple pieces and clothing that had made it to the runways, but he made sure teen!yandere husband looked proper. Not dressing him in the eccentric and world stopping outfits his father was known for, but the cookie cutter boy you see in those movies about snobby rich people. His dad thought his new bright hair was hideous, and when he started to cut up holes in his jeans— he got a whooping that night. That didn’t stop teen!yandere husband, it only fueled him to go all out. He had black eyeliner on his waterline, multiple rhinestone belts on his hips, and wore long striped socks with his boots. He donated all of his old polo shirts, cream white sweaters, and traded his name brand shoes for a pair of converses.

Teen!Yandere Husband enjoyed listening to My Chemical Romance, 3OH!3, and Get Scared. He had all of their latest music downloaded onto his mp3 player, and he listened to it with his girlfriend at the time. They both shared an earbud, and his arm was around her shoulders. She was just the type of girl he liked: she had those skunk extensions in her hair, long eyelashes, fishnets on her arms, and she smelled like a record store (idk if that’s a compliment). But alas, all mildly good things came to an end when he was broken up with. She wanted an alternative man by her side, and he wasn’t enough for her.

Teen!Yandere Husband started to grow out his hair junior year. He had to constantly brush his bangs out of his face, blowing at the strands whenever they poked at his eyes. He was this tall six foot two guy, bumping into people in the hallways with his wide shoulders. And he had an attitude. He didn’t apologize, just grunting out a ‘watch it’ before he stomped his way to his class. Teen!yandere husband also picked fights with anyone that tried to comment on his appearance. He knew how to throw a mean punch, and he learned it all from his great aunt. Breaking peoples noses and fingers were easier than he thought, and getting away with it was just as sweet than the thrill he felt. His father made constant excuses for teen!yandere husband, saying that it was just a phase and he was just a boy, and if that didn’t work… well a gracious donation would be sent to the school.

Teen!Yandere Husband got his dick pierced the summer before senior year. It was a risky move, his father was already on the brink of snapping at him and kicking him to the curb. But, thankfully his aunt was cool about it, and signed the paperwork. While he was at it, he got his ears and belly button done too.

Teen!Yandere Husband noticed you around senior year. He was cleaning up his ‘bad boy’ act, trying to get on people’s good side before the year ended. While he was on his apology tour, he saw you sitting at the library alone. He doesn’t remember if he had done anything horrible to you, and if he did, he would absolutely beat himself up for it. He was about to approach you, but then he suddenly remembered his appearance, and was self conscious about the way he looked. Who would love to be with a mess of a man like him? Surely, you already had people lining up to be with you.

Teen!Yandere Husband made his first move by asking you to sign his yearbook. You had made him nervous. Just your presence alone was making him sweat. He held brief eye contact with you when he asked, leaning against the white bricked wall with a blush to his cheeks. His voice soft and yet baritone, and he held up the yearbook for you to write your name in.

“Ah yeah… I think we had like one class together? With that really grumpy man that’s about to retire soon.”

You smiled, a little snort coming from you. He watched you add a little heart into your name. “You’re gonna have to be specific. That’s like half the teachers here.”

“You know,” he was totally talking out of his ass, “the teach that shakes his fist whenever he sees teens running down the halls.”

“Really? That’s odd. I never had a male teacher.”

“W-What? Oh-“ he gulped, adverting his eyes towards the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and he awkwardly shifted between his weight. “Maybe I’m misremembering things.”

“If we took a class together… I definitely would have remembered.”

That left him speechless. Did you mean that in a good way?

“You’re sort of hard to forget… you kind of look like Sam Monroe from Life as a House.” you bit your lip, and your eyes took in the sight of his dark but colorful clothing. He had this scent that made him smell like fresh rain and wood.

He hadn’t seen that movie, but he was gonna guess on a whim that might’ve been your way of saying he’s … cute?

Teen!Yandere Husband got your number and followed you around all summer. He was actually shy when he got to hang out with you outside of school. Hours before he met you, he walked back and forth in front of his mirror, trying to give himself a pep talk before the hangout. He wasn’t this nervous before, and he started to fret about his appearance. He had put on his best jeans, clean shoes, and the classic sort of fancy tee. He picked you up in his red corvette, playing music from the radio incase you didn’t like what he usually listened to. He was determined to make this “hang out that’s totally not a date” perfect.

Teen!Yandere Husband casually paid for your things, and opened all the doors for you. He totally thought he was winning in the ‘gentleman’ department. He gave you compliments that teetered between the lines of flirtation, and just being friendly. He actively listened to whatever you had told him, making mental notes to bring them up in later conversations. That seemed to make you happy. You two had stopped by a carnival he coincidentally had tickets for. He tried his hardest to help you at any game, and he was pretty good at throwing darts. He happily smiled for whatever photo booth you brought him into, not once complaining when you wanted to use props.

Teen!Yandere Husband had genuinely smiled whenever he was around you. You just made life better. You were his little comedian, his best friend that’ll he never forget.

Full fics: these fics are an aged up version of yandere husband obvs, and it contains smut.

#1 #2 #3 #4 (coming soon)

Allure: this would be soo him if he were to text reader.

[deansbeer]

✷ ◟ LAZY DAYS & LOADED TENSION ৎ᠀

library introduction minors do NOT interact!

SYNOPSIS. a lazy day with dean takes an unexpected turn when the tension ignites into an intense, passionate moment between you.

WARNING(S). heated make out session | f!reader | grinding | telepathic!reader | playful banter | ass squeezing (?) | domestic fluff | best friends to lovers / idiots in love trope | reader's a HUGE britney spears fan | older!dean | movie date | mentions of the DEAN CAVE | mentions of a gun | filthy semi-smut.

KARI'S 🗒️ NOTES. this was all heavily inspired by bree's & nat's lil monster <3 who i oh so love sososo much❗️get ready for some actual smut between these two on dean's bday (JAN 24) so for the next three days u will only be getting the cutesy awkward stuff (except for this one).

it's a lazy day in the bunker, one of those rare moments where the world outside seems to pause, letting you all take a breath. sam had gone out for his usual morning run, leaving dean behind, who you know is likely at the table cleaning his guns. bolt is curled up in his crate by your nightstand, fast asleep, his little nose twitching occasionally as he dreams.

you, on the other hand, are in your own little world. britney spears' gimme more is blasting through your earbuds, taking you somewhere far from the dimly lit bunker. your feet are bare, toenails painted a soft baby pink, and you're swaying to the music as you tidy up your cluttered room. you're wearing light blue high-waisted mom jeans, slightly loose around the ankles but hugging your hips perfectly, and a white baby tee with nothing underneath. the cool air in the room makes it so your nipples peek through the thin fabric, but you don't care—it's just you, after all.

your hair is set in pink plastic rollers, bouncing slightly as you move around, shimmying your hips to the beat of the song. you're lost in the lyrics, mouthing along as you pick up bottles of hair products, tossing them into a little basket by your tiny vanity.

the door to your room is open, but you don't think much of it. it's just dean here, and he's doing his own thing. you spin around slightly, half-dancing as you grab another bottle of mousse from your bed, when you feel it—a slight rub against your hip.

your body freezes, your heart jumping into your throat. instinct kicks in immediately, and you yank the earbuds out of your ears, the sound of britney's voice cutting off abruptly. your hand flies to the drawer of your tiny vanity where dean's gun sits, the weight of it familiar in your hands as you whip around, aiming it at whoever—or whatever—is behind you.

"whoa, whoa! easy there, sweetheart!"

the voice is low and familiar, and it takes you a second to realize it's dean. his hands are up in mock surrender, a calm look on his face as he steps closer, gently lowering the gun in your trembling hand.

"dean!" you scold, your voice coming out in a mix of relief and irritation. "what the fuck? you scared the crap out of me!"

he smirks, clearly amused by your reaction, though there's a softness in his eyes that lets you know he didn't mean to startle you. "sorry. didn't think you'd pull a gun on me."

you huff, setting the weapon on your vanity as you glare at him. "what do you want?"

he shrugs, leaning casually against the vanity like he doesn't have a care in the world. "finished cleaning my guns. thought we could watch a movie or something."

you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at him. "you interrupted my britney spears concert for a movie?"

he chuckles at that, the sound low and warm. "yeah, well, figured you could use a break from… whatever this is." he gestures vaguely to the rollers in your hair and the half-empty bottles of hair and makeup products scattered around your room.

you roll your eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "fine, but give me a minute. i need to take these out and clean up."

"don't take too long," he says, pushing off the vanity and heading out the door and over to the dean cave.

once he's gone, you shake your head in amusement, pulling the rollers out one by one. your hair falls into soft, bouncy curls, the kind that make you feel like you've stepped straight out of an '80s movie. you run your fingers through them, fluffing them up a bit as you glance at yourself in the mirror. satisfied, you clean up the rest of the mess in your room before heading out, walking barefoot down the hall toward the dean cave.

you walk on your tiptoes, your curls bouncing with each step as you run a hand through them, feeling lighter than you have in days. when you step into the dean cave, you stop short, your mouth falling open slightly.

dean has gone all out.

the coffee table is covered in snacks—your favorite peanut m&ms, kettle corn popcorn, and a glass of wine poured into one of the fancy glasses you love so much. there's beer for him, of course, and a few of his own snacks off to the side. the couch has been replaced with a new, large u-shaped one, big enough for the two of you to sprawl out comfortably.

he's already sitting there, legs propped up on the coffee table, a beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. his other arm is draped casually across the back of the couch, and when he sees you standing in the doorway, his lips curl into a smug smirk.

"what do you think?" he asks, his voice teasing but with an undertone of pride.

you shake your head, a giddy laugh escaping your lips as you walk over to him. "you really know how to spoil a girl, winchester."

"only the best for you, sweetheart," he says, his tone half-joking but his eyes soft as they follow your movements.

you sit down beside him, tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for your glass of wine. the two of you settle in, the movie starting up on the screen as you sip your drink and munch on popcorn.

a few minutes in, you realize you've unconsciously gravitated toward him, your shoulder brushing against his as you lean against the couch. his arm stays where it is, draped across the back, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

and then, somehow, everything shifts.

you're not sure how it happens, but one moment you're watching the movie, and the next you're straddling him, your fingers tangled in his flannel as his hands grip your hips.

his lips crash against yours, the kiss messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue as the two of you lose yourselves in each other. your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his t-shirt, while his hands slide down to your ass, squeezing firmly as you grind against him.

the friction is almost too much, denim against denim creating a delicious pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. his tongue tangles with yours, the kiss growing more heated by the second, and you can feel the slight scruff of his beard scraping against your skin in a way that only makes you want him more.

your breathing is heavy, your lips swollen as you pull back for a moment, but his hands keep you in place, his grip firm but not rough.

"you're so beautiful, baby, so fucking gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire.

you don't respond—not with words, at least. instead, you crash your lips against his again, pouring everything you’ve been holding back into the kiss.

saliva drips down your chins from the intensity of it all, but neither of you care. all that matters is this moment, the weight of his hands on your body, the taste of him on your tongue, and the way he's making you feel like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

and for now, that's enough.

SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @fallbhind @beausling @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @lustagel @rafespreciosa @jasvtsc @voidsuites . . . ☆

[windixie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ out of touch ♱ soccer player! gojo x alt! reader pt.1

summary : gojo is the university's most popular boy and soccer player. he can get any girl he wanted to warm up his bed, so why did he catch feelings for the girl who looks like she just woke up out of a coffin?

warnings ☠︎︎ this will contain smut throughout the story. reader is implied to have a smaller chest! gojo is an asshole :( so angst, profanity, insecurities, p in v, creampie, comfort, fluff, slight breeding kink, light choking, jealousy, ill prob add to the list as the story progresses!

word count : 1.03k

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list !!

you knew gojo. hell, everyone knew gojo. annoying, loud, obnoxious, ah should I go on? that's how you described the so called star player on the soccer team. his ego reached all the way towards the clouds by how much he was admired in the community. you on the other hand, not so much. sure you were known by many but not in such a positive way. you were intelligent sure, but the way you dressed wasn't entirely accepted. you were always getting bothered by other students, one of them being no other than satoru gojo. although, it seems that you two have grown into a friendship lately.

"hey pretty" you heard an awfully familiar voice come up behind you. the white haired boy was still in his blue and white soccer jersey covered in grass stains and some of his sweat from his practice that he just came from. you gave him one of your small sweet smiles."hi gojo" you mumbled back.

he looked down at your figure. the pretty black blouse fit you so perfect as well as those mini grey jean shorts that cupped your ass so deliciously. gojo took notice of you wearing your earbuds which he took one of them and placed it in his ear. "whatcha listening to?" you faced him slightly annoyed as you looked at how his face scrunched up in disgust.

"seriously? how can your ears support all that screaming?" he grimaced as he heard the loud singing.

he let out a chuckle at that before his eyes lit up as he realized something. reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper handing it to you. you blamed the shot of arousal that traveled towards you as you took notice of how veiny his arms were. you glanced down to see it was a ticket. a ticket to his upcoming soccer game, to be exact.

your eyebrows picked up as you turned to him. "you want me to go to your game?" the question made the blue eyed boy nod. "want you there on the stands baby, if you can, then I promise to play even better than I usually do." you were shocked to say the least. the satoru gojo inviting you to his game personally even after countless months of relentless bullying was not something you could see coming.

but you couldn't help yourself from nodding. "yeah sure ill be there!" the feeling of your heart beating against your chest brought a scary but not unwelcome feeling. You stared at him for a moment, unsure if you were hearing things correctly. The blue-eyed boy, a walking angel blessed by God himself, smirked down at you with a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn't the usual cocky smirk. It was different—something warmer, maybe? Or maybe you were just imagining it.

"I'd like that."

"great, ill see you tomorrow after school then?" he asked in which you let out an mhm in return. "okay pretty, try and get some sleep. you need some just by judging off your eye bags" he teased. "shut up!"

you watched the taller boy walk off. his use of the sweet and loving names made you feel a little awkward, but you shoved it down. You had a feeling that this was just another one of his ways of throwing you off. It wasn’t like he was being sweet. Not Gojo. He never was.

As you walked off to the other side of where the dormitories where taking note on how the night was now awakening due to time change. as you reached for your AirPods case to put back your earbuds your fingers stopped on your left ear. your earbud was missing.

gojo didn't take notice of the music cutting off. he was in a completely different world thinking about none other than you. he didn't understand how he caught feelings. no matter how many times he reminded himself it was you and how he could do some much better that that. he only gave you to ticket to his game only to be nice, is what he told himself. a friendly gesture friends do all the time!

"yo Satoru!" one of his friends called out to him. gojo turned to look at the boy with long black hair and big ass gauges walking up to him along with some other boys from the team. a smile crept up on his face dabbing them all up. "hey you all did well at practice today"

"yeah man that's what we came to say as well but we saw you talking to that emo freak uh whats her name, y/n?" this made gojo slightly embarrassed on how they caught him. "don't tell me you hitting on that emo pussy, it can't be that good" one of the other teammates chuckled making the white haired boy slightly uncomfortable.

"nah man, too busy with uraume" Geto patted his back "good good, lets keep it that way. she's got a better body anyways. let me burrow her sometime yeah?" the blacked hair boy received a nudge at that making him chuckle.

you looked around you trying to find the taller boy to retrieve your airpod. sighing in relief as you saw him. "gojo!" you called out making the boys turn around.

"ah she came back for round two?"

you walked up to him. "hey uhm you still have my AirPods." you said pointing to his ear. "give back your friend her AirPods satoru" his friend teased.

"we're barely friends. acquaintance is a better term" he mumbled out. as you received back your airpod, you stopped. eyes widening as you heard what he said. "acquaintance? thought we were-"

"friends?" he cut you off. "cmon I pay attention to you two or three times and now suddenly we're friends?" he scoffed. why was he acting like this? that's right, because he's satoru gojo. you were nowhere as close as him. you never will be. your face turned serious before you reached into you pocket handing him the ticket he gave you. "here, you dropped this" you mumbled.

gojos eyes fell down to the ticket in his hands. his heart broke a bit. "wait.. y/n-"

"forget it" with that you retrieved back to the direction to your dorm fighting back tears as you left the boy stunned.

"looks like you hurt her feelings, gonna go apologize?"

"nah."

© 2025 windixie. All work belongs to windixie . please do not copy, repost, plagiarize, any of my works as your own.

[konjiang]

Cumplane Library au

Sy was in the Library studying when he saw that PIDW just had a new update, he almost couldn't contain himself and started fuming from anger. Thankful no one else beside the library staff was here right now.

He quickly craft up the most vile and disrespectful review post, and hit send before anyone else even left a comment. Some may say his dedication to hating on Airplane was obsessive and unhealthy, but his hands shake with fury every time he read a new chapter. If he didn't do something, he would probably get sick from the repressed feeling.

After spurring out all his hatred towards Airplane in the post, he resumed studying for his class. Right when he was about to put in his earbuds and to start playing some lofi, he heard a quiet chuckle from behind him. The quiet library staff was staring at him and trying to hide his laughter.

The burning in his face was sure to set the library on fire with how hot he felt. He couldn't believe that someone witness him in his lowest form. He quickly got up and packed his laptop away, planning on dying from embarrassment in the safety of his room.

'This is all that fucking dumb hack author's fault!' He practically ran to the door, but the door wouldn't open now matter how he pulled or pushed. He had no choice to turn around and pretend like nothing happened.

He tried to nonchalantly go back to his seat, but a pair of brown eyes followed his movement. When he crossed over the front desk, the guy abruptly stand up and smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you like that. It was that you were so funny getting mad at the novel you were reading." He had brown curly hair, dimples on both side of his face, a ponytail, and a innocent looking face. Sy thought that this guy looked exactly like what he thought LBH looked like.

"That door is currently shut because of construction. A lot of people have been trying to open it all day, but they never read the sign I put up." the LBH lookalike sighed, and SY turned his head and saw that there was indeed a piece of paper tape to the door, but in his flustered state, he couldn't bother to read it.

"Oh. Thanks..." Sy mumbled out, this day was getting worse by the second.

"What were you reading?" the innocent looking guy asked. Sy couldn't tell him, he couldn't be the one to ruin this guy's innocent.

"Just some webnovel." SY deflected, wanting this conversation to end already.

"Oh really?" They guy bounced a bit as he leaned forward causing his ponytail to sway slightly, "I like web novels too, which one were you reading?" SY stared at the guy's doe eyes, noting that he was definitely not as tall as LBH, since he was shorter than SY.

'He would look great cosplaying white lotus LBH.' Sy thought, but he didn't want to entertain that idea at all because his brain kindly provided him with all the sex scenes from varies chapters of PIDW.

"It's not really popular, so I don't think you'll like it." Sy stood there in agony when the cute guy looked at him disappointedly.

"Oh...okay. Sorry for bothering you."

'Fuck! Why can't god just strike me down right now.' Sy impulsively ripped out a piece of paper from his binder and wrote down his number.

"Here, I can recommend you some better novel. Just text me your preferences." Sy said coldly, trying to regain his composure.

"Really? Thank you!" The guy excitedly whispered as a group of student walked in. Sy took this chance to blend in with the crowd and leave when the guy was preoccupied with others.

'Ah fuck. If I ever met that dumbass author. I'm beating the shit out of him.'

--

As a university library worker, he seen a lot of things throughout his shifts. But he would never expect to find Peerless Cucumber reading the latest chapter in the library. Is it shame on him for posting it when he was working or shame on Cucumber for reading it in a public place.

He type in the phone number and saved it in his phone. His shift was about to end and he could fully plan out how to mess with Cucumber afterwards.

"Luo Binghe, you're free to go."

"Thanks" Luo Binghe, or more infamously known as Airplane, skipped out of the library while humming to himself.

[vee-crytraps]

Hiii vee! Just out of curiosity... what do you think each batboys ideal way to ask bb to be their valentine ? Hope you have a wonderful rest of your day <3

Hi!!! Omg this is such a cute question!! Looong post but hope you like! <3 Happy belated Valentines Day to all!

Dick Suave. Shameless. Thoughtful. You don't really pay that much attention to Dick's presence in the manor. There's no point of perking up like a bored puppy when you see that flash of striking blue and inky black, stretched across the strong chest that was the unfortunate source of your earliest 'tinglings'. Entraced in your upside down doomscrolling session on the sofa, you don't even notice the frown that tugs the corners of his lips when you fail to greet him with your usual enthusiasm. Or at all, really. He clears his throat once, and then twice- which finally gets you to drop your phone and right yourself. "Hi." "Hey," he grins, setting a duffel bag at your feet. "Sooo, you're gonna wanna get dressed. And...I kinda can't tell you why." You don't know what you're expecting- but it isn't the Rouge Astronomers Gown and a matching domino mask. "Dick-" "Please, little wing?" You have literally no idea why you're wearing noise dampening earplugs, or how no one saw two distinctly dressed figures grappling into the rafters of Gotham Square Garden- but you do know what it's like to see Juno performed live, soaking up the vibrations of Nightwing's own humming as you lean into his chest. "Will you?" "Huh?" The whites of your mask convey confusion, and then understanding. "Oh." You snort, glancing back down to the dancing Sabrina Carpenter. "What? Let you make me Juno?" "No," he laughs, and you can feel his arm tuck you closer into him as the other fishes for a heart shaped card. "My puns aren't that bad." BB Mine? "You sure about that, Nightwing?" Jason Jason in my head has the capacity to be an old school romantic (even more of a romantic than Dick) but he doesn't have the confidence to do something as overt as he'd like. Jason's desire to look cool and his history of comparing his game to Dick's makes for a storm of overcompensating via nonchalance. But it's super obvious because the romance still comes through in the end. So he'd: - ask BB if she was free 'on Friday' (Valentines Day) - if she wanted to go to 'this bookstore opening' (it's a romance only bookstore such like Lovestruck in Boston). - if she's hungry, they can 'grab something to eat' (it's a picnic. He made the ice tea pink) You'd lay together tucked away in a corner of Robinson Park, full on little treats and pastries and ice tea. You'd share his earbuds, the short wires forcing you into close proximity as you listen to an audiobook together. "Jay?" "Mm." "Is this a date?" "...Do you want it to be a date?" "Jace." "Princess." "Be my Valentine?" You ask, prodding a finger right over his heart. "Is that all I'm worth to you, BB? No card? No Hoizer? No heart shaped- ow!" He groans dramatically as you shove him, and the playfighting that ensues ends with him allowing you to pin him. "Well, if you're gonna beat it out of me," he sighs. "Yeah, sure. I'll be your Valentine." Tim "Whose the lucky guy?" Silas asks as he pushes off the gates marking the entrance to the academy. Students huddle together, whispering behind their hands and doing full 180s to glimpse you in the courtyard. Arm thrown around your shoulders, Silas guides you to your locker. It's stickerbombed with motifs of glitterfied conversation hearts toting classic phrases like 'Luv U', 'XOXO' and 'UR Cute'. There's no note on your locker. You side-eye Silas, who raises his hands in full surrender.

"Learned my lesson last time." He announces, but not to you. He's glancing at Damien, who leans against his own locker looking more displeased than with his usual resting Bat face. The final straw is when you open your locker, shutting your eyes out of reflex as an air cannon full of rose petals and glitter kindly decorates you and a few curious peers. You don't even have to look at your phone to know whose calling.

Fishing the vibrating device from your blazer, you scowl as the screen goes pink, save for some text. BE MINE? -TIM YES | NO (will brick ur phone </3) Damien You think next year, you're gonna ask Bruce if Jason was left out of the Christmas cards by choice. When he first started wearing the bat again, he'd vehemently denied any non-life threatening get togethers with extreme prejudice, but it's been years. Maybe all he needed was another push. You'd hate to think you all have been excluding Jason all these years on an assumption. As Dick, Tim and Bruce help the photographer finish the last of the set up, Damian hands you Ace's brush. You two have been tasked to be the animal wranglers this year (and every year), which involves making sure the handsome black dogs not only look their best, but are pumped full of enough treats not to mind the excessive repositioning. "Do you still check your google calendar?" Damien asks, running Titus' brush down the dog's neck. "Uh, yeah. Why?" "I need some...assistance. With an engagement." "Vague. When?" "Nine weeks from now. You'll recieve a reminder a few hours beforehand."

[dabisqueen]

Relax (It'll hurt less)

Yandere!Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 2.3K

⇢ plot: Dabi only knows of one way to make you remember his name

⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, NONCON, use of fire quirk, arrogant and cocky Dabi who is a virgin (fight me over it) and fucks for the first time, user is tied up (bondage/rope play?), size kink, no prep, unprotected penetration, Dabi is a bit rough towards the reader, creampie, lots of cum

⇢ thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta again!

⚠️This fiction contains yandere-themed dark content! Proceed and read at own discretion⚠️

If you'd known that the night would take this turn, you'd have chosen to stay home.

After missing the last bus home due to running late and then not having enough money to call a cab, you are forced to walk home. As a gust of wind blows some leaves across your path, you imagine what might happen if some thug jumped out with the intent to rob you... But stuff like that only happens in movies, don’t they? You quietly laugh. The thought is a bit silly. You'll probably just continue walking alone down the murky street like you always do, with nothing happening. Reassured, you stick your hand into your pocket and focus your attention on the pavement below, occasionally checking on the map to make sure you're still heading the right way. 

You blindly follow the directions on your cell phone, completely oblivious to what part of town you are passing through. It’s not like there are any signs warning you "Stay the fuck out, villains ahead!"

You make the foolish decision to try and comfort yourself during the tedious walk home. Popping your earbuds in, you put on your favorite music to drown out the sounds of the night around you.

A quick movement ahead catches your attention. Your eyes snap up, your heart suddenly beating frantically as you spot the cause of the abrupt motion. A man stumbles backward from a door with a terrified expression on his face, followed by an enormous blue flame billowing towards him which engulfs him completely within seconds. The force of the sudden combustion knocks you right off your feet and you fly backward, a weightlessness encompassing your body before gravity cruelly pulls you back down.

Your back and head crash against the blacktop street and everything instantly fades to black. You don't know how long you'd been unconscious, but as you open your eyes, all you see is darkness and streaks of blue. The stench of burnt flesh creeps up your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You struggle to get up but your body doesn't respond. Instead, you hear a man's husky voice speak near you. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? Such a pretty little thing."

His voice sounds muted like he’s talking through a wall. That's all you hear before nausea and pain take over and the world around you fades again.

You stir awake with a jostle, a thin mist clouding your vision. Your body is cradled against another. It’s warm, but smells of burnt hair and smoke. It would be comforting if only you would know whose arms you are in. You try to move, but a pain instantly shoots up your spine, overwhelming you until your vision goes dark again. 

As you regain consciousness this time, your eyes slowly adjust to the low light, dimmed to almost nothing. Your head still slightly throbs, but the worst of the pain is gone. Blinking a few times, the foggy veil lifts from your eyes and you start to take in the details. You're in a small room. Despite the lack of any decoration, it is very tidy and clean. 

Then you notice him and freeze, the fog in your mind instantly clearing. 

He stands a few feet away. He is tall, dressed in black pants with stitching and a white shirt. Raven hair standing in spikes, marred skin under his eyes and from his cheeks down to his chest. The tip of a cigarette glows an eerie red as he takes a drag and slowly exhales again. His teal eyes, bright in the dark light, pierce through the smoke, taking you in.

"Finally awake, huh?" He rasps.

Frantically, you try to get up but a sharp pain shoots through your arms as the ropes around your wrists dig painfully into your skin. To your horror, you realize that you're tied up to the rods of a rusty bed frame, immobilized with your wrists pulled taut, lying on a shitty, sunken mattress.

"Just some precautionary measures, sweetheart." He cocks his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Please, untie me!" You stammer but he just flips the bud of his cigarette across the room and ignores you.

"Man, killing always makes me so tense." Interlocking his fingers, he raises his arms, his obliques tightening and biceps bulging as he stretches until his knuckles crack.

Cocking his head left and right, he slowly lowers his gaze. His bright azure irises focus back on you as a cheeky smirk starts to form on his face.

"Sir, please let me go.” You whimper as your hands tremble violently against the bonds. 

"Sir?!" A brow quirks as he clicks his tongue. "I think you know my name."

He takes a few steps, closing the gap between you and him. Leaning forward, his long finger trails along your cheek with false affection. "Say it."

You writhe, eyes pricking with tears. "Mister, I-I can't–"

"Don't piss me off." His expression turns sour. "You seriously don't know who I am? Don't you watch the news?"

"I-I don't have a TV," you stammer, your cheeks burning at his harsh tone.

"Well, that's too bad." His hand slips into your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your gaze to meet his. He's so close, that you smell the stale cigarette tainting his breath, the faint scent of burnt flesh on him is almost nauseating.

"I'll tell you, then. And I’ll make sure you never forget it." He spits, crystalline blue eyes so cold that they send a shiver down your spine.

It's then that a pertinent memory comes flooding back to you– you’d overheard some people chatting on the train. A villain. Black spiky hair, scars all over his body, and eyes like the endless depths of the ocean. One with a quirk that summoned blue flames so hot they melt the flesh right off of bones. His name–

–Dabi.

Your throat tightens, and you gulp as your eyes widen in recognition. 

Dabi notices, causing his lips to curl into a smug smirk. "Ah, so you’ve figured it out, huh?"

"Y-yes Sir–or, no– Dabi!" You almost scream out his name, "I promise, I'll never forget, please untie me!"

But he doesn't seem to hear your words, his gaze is far away, an impassive expression on his face.

"Man, I really need to unwind." Lolling his head to the side. "Sako always says the best way to blow off steam is to shoot a load."

His eyes fall back to yours while his smirk widens, showing his canines. A pit forms in your stomach as it dawns on you where this is going to lead.

"I know of a way to make sure you'll never forget my name–" Dabi kneels beside you, the cheap bed dipping and squeaking under his weight. He's looking down on you in a way that makes your hair stand on end. As he reaches for your legs, you're trying your best to keep them closed. But he is much stronger, spreading them with ease.

Positioning himself between your legs, he moves his body close, his hips pressing against your core. It's then when you feel the heat from something huge – a bulge – in his pants, right underneath the stitches. You gulp in disbelief.

"I have to admit, I've never done this before," he chuckles, hooking his thumbs under the seams of his pants, slowly pulling them. "So, cut me some slack, will ya?"

A thick, pierced cock slaps against his abdomen, enormous in length and girth. Your eyes feel like they’re bugging out of your head as you look at his engorged member. Shaking your head, you plead, "It's too big, it won't fit!"

Dabi's gaze drops to evaluate his throbbing dick and he laughs. "Yeah I know, the Doc kinda went overboard with the replacement."

His eyes snap up to your face, his smile vanishes as he hums in that sickly sweet voice. "Regardless, better too much than too little, right?"

His large calloused hands wrap around your hips and you fidget and try to squirm out of his grip but it only strengthens as he pulls you back towards him. Your arms straighten out, painfully so, straining against the ropes cutting into your skin. 

Panic sets in, making your blood rush and your limbs shake, as he lays a hand flat on your mound, blue flames starting to flicker across the fabric of your pants and then undies, incinerating them. The pain from the burn loosens the tears as they start streaming freely down your temples now.

Accompanied by your sobs, he takes his thick length in his palm, his free hand sliding over your now exposed folds, calloused fingers spreading your cunt. 

"Damn, what a sight.” He chuckles as he aligns himself at the entrance of your quivering cunt. "Hope I'm doing this right." 

You sob as he drops a gob of spit on his cock and edges against your entrance, shushing you. “Relax, I know you can take it.” 

Without further warning, he plunges the fat tip of his cock into you. You cry out at the stretch, your dry walls burning without any preparation. You try to get away, to lessen the stretch, but he has your petite body pinned beneath his larger, muscular one. 

With an enraptured expression on his face, he watches his dick inch its way in. His thick, rough fingers dig into your squishy waist, as he continues pushing his way into you. You whimper when Dabi stares at your soft tummy, admiring the bump that forms where his dick bullies against your cervix. 

"Well, fuck me, ain't this the shit?" he chuckles, slightly breathless already.

The grip on your waist remains firm as he pulls out his cock, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. But before you have time to react, he’s slamming himself back into you again. 

Then his hips start moving at a slow and gradual pace, pulling you back each time to meet his thrusts. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. your whimpers seem to only spur him on as he continues thrusting into you.

"Oh fuck, this is amazing. I'm gonna—" Dabi groans, slamming his cock into you even faster, "—shit, if you keep gripping me like this, I’m not gonna last."

“Please, stop!” You sob, but he is beyond listening. With his eyes closed, sweat dripping down his temples, he is lost in delirious pleasure.

“You're so tight, taking me so well, doll." He laughs when you whimper in response.

Involuntarily clenching down on his cock, you squirm each time he bottoms out. He makes sure you can feel each barbell of his piercings, every pulsing vein of his thick cock. The harsh force of his quick, rough thrusts makes your mind go blank.

"Gonna cum soon. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I won't be able to pull out." He groans, smooth and deep, admonishing you as if any of this is your fault.

All you can do is respond with a whine, your body completely helpless.

“I’m close, baby, look at me,” he digs his fingers into your flesh, pulling you even closer. "What's my name? Say it!"

"Dabi– please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but you're hurting me!" You beg between sobs.

He doesn't hear your words, or he doesn't care. He's slamming into you now, his thrusts growing deeper and harder.

"Oh yeah, take it –fuck– I'm gonna fucking fill you up so good–" Dabi gasps, groaning unabashedly.

Then he tosses his head back, and with a low growl and a last stuttering thrust, he shoots his white release inside, coating your inner walls with his cum. You feel him twitch inside you, feel his warmth filling you up and seeping out, it's so much.

Dabi collapses on top of you, breathing hard. His head falls forward to rest against your cheek, the sweat from his forehead mixing with the tears on your damp skin.

After his breathing evens out, he pulls back to face you, strands of his black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. "Shit, that was so fuckin’ good.”

He stays like this, his cock slowly shrinking inside your sore cunt, while his hot cum drips down your ass.  The feeling of it creeps through your spine, making your face glow with hot shame. You turn your head away, closing your eyes in defeat. His weight on you suddenly feels suffocating, adding to the crushing, inescapable heft of anxiety on your chest. It feels like an eternity, with him draped over you, both of your breathing starting to even out. Eventually, you muster the courage to speak.

"C- Can I go now?" You whimper, hopefully. 

"Yeah, yeah…" he sighs and moves to pull out. Using the bedsheets to wipe the remnants of his release from his skin, he continues by tucking himself away.

Finally, you think of going home, for this nightmare to be over and to forget this god-awful night. A sharp-edged euphoria washes through your limbs and your eyes flare with excitement as hope spirals up inside you.

"On the other hand–" he stalls, contemplating. "This definitely helped me wind down."

Stepping close, he lowers his face to brush his lips against the rim of your ear and dashes whatever hope you had left with a final, whispered sentence. "I think I'm gonna keep you."

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

heyy cash!! i can say in full confidence you’re the only one on this app who actually characterises katsuki PERFECTLY (imo), what do you think katsuki’s clothing style would be?? 💗💗💗

stop stop omg ill pass out....THANK YOU SO MUCH???? Yall rlly love to spoil me with these types of comments omg i'm so glad :<<< thank youu!

and OUUU I LOVEEE THIS QUESTION !! i've been itching for someone to ask me this lololol i have a whole pinterest board of what i think he'd dress like actually ! (im very normal)

i think he's very casual, he loves hoodies and baggy tee's or tee's with sleeves. baggy pants are a must for him too ! and ive mentioned this before but i feel like he's a big shoe guy, so i think you'll catch him with dunks on all the time i think he really likes those ! i feel he'd also like wearing converses and i feel he keeps them pretty clean, but they're a bit beat up and the white part is always faded and yellow-ish (despite him spending hours wiping at them lol he'd crash out) i do think he likes to keep his shoes very tidy n clean, you'll NEVER catch his dunks dirty tho ever, and if someone steps on them they get a blast to the face LMFAOOOO

OH OH to add i think he likes him a graphic tee as well, very stylish boy from a family of designers so yaknowww,, i think he likes 2000s styles as well but thats for another time

i don't think he'd wear hats Uber often unless its cold, and he'd love wearing headphones like..everywhere tho i feel like he likes to carry earbuds around as well i dont think he'd constantly want to wear headphones in general,, he loves him some music tho (and he can ignore people when he has them on LOLOLOL)

sorry for the rambling i love him, i added some images at the bottom to reference what i mean :33 much luv !!! and tysm for the ask !!

[ahqkas]

♯WICKED GAME ; tate langdon

PAIRING! tate langdon x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! the world was on fire and no one could save you but him

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, angst, kissing, mention of tate’s past, reader is described to have hair

NOTES! the first song is ‘lavender moon’ by haroula rose , the second one is ‘wicked game’ by chris isaak . all credits to the pretty devider below belong to @menschenopfer !

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN FILTERED THROUGH THE CRACKED BLINDS, casting golden streaks across your room. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, caught in the dying light. You were sprawled out on your bed, headphones in hand, scrolling through your playlist for something that matched the mood. Tate was beside you, perched on the edge of the bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He'd become a fixture in your life, as constant as the house itself, though infinitely more complicated.

You pressed play on a random song and handed him one of the earbuds. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver up your arm. The touch was brief but electric, a reminder of the strange, magnetic pull that had drawn you to him from the start.

❛ White walls always weep

When I try to fall asleep

In this city by the sea

Walk the memories

Just me and the lavender moon

She knows

My heart belongs to you ❜

There was something about Tate — something dark and dangerous, but also deeply comforting. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know what you were thinking before you said it, or the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world who truly mattered. It should have scared you, how easily he got under your skin, how effortlessly he'd slipped into your life and made himself at home. But it didn't. If anything, you welcomed it, welcomed him, because with Tate, you didn't have to pretend. You could just be.

❛ Filled with secrets like these

Haunted by long gone dreams

She bends down low

Walks me home

Just me and the lavender moon

She knows

My heart belongs to you ❜

The music played softly between you, the familiar rhythm of a song you'd heard a thousand times before. Tate closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, and for a moment, you just watched him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way the fading light softened his features. He looked almost peaceful, like this was where he belonged — right here, beside you. Like an angel.

A few more songs passed in comfortable silence, the kind you'd grown to cherish with him. No need for words, no pressure to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter. Just the two of you, together, in a world that often felt too big and too empty.

❛ The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do ❜

You glanced at Tate through your lashes, wondering how he'd react to the song, but his expression remained unreadable, his eyes still closed as if lost in some distant memory.

It was impossible not to think of Tate when you heard those words. Impossible not to think of the way he'd become your world in such a short time, the way you were drawn to him despite the warnings in the back of your mind, the ones that whispered that this was dangerous, that Tate was dangerous. But you ignored them, like you always did, because nothing else mattered when he was around. Nothing else made sense without him.

You felt his gaze on you before you opened your eyes, a slow-burning intensity that made your heart skip a beat. When you finally looked at him, he was watching you with that familiar, unreadable expression — part longing, part sadness, all wrapped up in a kind of quiet desperation that tugged at something deep inside you.

"Do you think," he began, his voice hesitant, "it's wrong to want something you can't have?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You knew what he was asking, what he wasn't saying. You knew him well enough by now to recognize the way he danced around the truth, always skirting the edges of it, never fully diving in. It was as if he was afraid that speaking it aloud would make it real, would make it hurt more.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I think . . . we can't help what we want."

His eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his features, and for a moment, you thought he might look away, might retreat back into that guarded place where you couldn't follow. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I want you," he said, the words raw and unfiltered, like they'd been torn from somewhere deep inside him.

You should have been shocked, maybe even scared. But you weren't. You'd felt this moment building between you for months, a sweet burn that you couldn't have stopped even if you wanted to. And you didn't want to. You wanted him too, even if you weren't ready to admit it, even if the thought of it terrified you.

Tate reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and you leaned into his touch like a starved animal without thinking, without hesitation. His hand was cool, but the warmth in his eyes more than made up for it. He watched you with a kind of reverence, like you were something precious, something fragile that he was afraid to break.

"I know it's wrong," he continued, his voice trembling just slightly, "but I can't help it. You're . . . you're everything."

The music swelled, Chris Isaak's voice echoing through the room like a ghost. ❛ What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you . . . ❜

You reached up, covering his hand with yours, holding it against your cheek. The connection between you was undeniable, an invisible thread that pulled you closer even as your mind screamed at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, about what this meant.

But you couldn't stop. You didn't want to.

You were already hooked and Tate was the one reeling.

"Tate," you whispered, your voice shaking as much as his, "I want you too."

The admission hung in the air, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying. Tate's eyes widened slightly, something unreadable flashing in their depths — hope, maybe, or fear, or something darker that you couldn't quite name. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him close the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was desperate.

It was a kiss that spoke of everything you both felt but couldn't say, a kiss that was filled with all the longing, all the fear, all the desire that had been building between you for so long. His hand tangled in your hair, his fingers tightening as if he was afraid you might disappear, might slip away like a dream.

But you didn't pull away. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring all your confusion, your need, your want into that single, fragile moment. The world outside the room didn't exist — there was only Tate, only the way he made you feel, like you were the center of the universe, like nothing else mattered.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The song was still playing, the final notes fading into silence, but neither of you moved to turn it off.

"I don't want to lose you," the boy whispered against your lips, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way you'd never heard before. "I can't lose you."

You squeezed his hand, trying to ignore the way your heart twisted at his words. "You won't. I'm here, Tate. I'm not going anywhere."

When you made the promise that day, you meant it.

Weeks after, you step into the room, the weight of the house pressing in on you like a too-tight garment. The air is thick with history, with secrets embedded in the wallpaper and worn into the grooves of the wooden floorboards. Every creak beneath your feet echoes in the silence, a reminder that this house is alive in ways it shouldn't be.

And then you see him.

Tate Langdon stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the dying light of the afternoon that reminded you of the old time all too well. The sun bleeds into the room, casting long shadows that stretch toward you, but they don't touch him. He's like a figure from another time, a ghost etched in shades of grey, all the life drained from him except for his eyes. Those eyes — honeyed and haunting — lock onto yours, and the world narrows until it's just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels like it could last forever.

You can't move. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your own mortality. You wonder if he can hear it, if the sound cuts through the heavy silence that wraps around him like a shroud. His gaze is intense, unwavering, and it draws you in, pulls you closer despite the chill that crawls up your spine. You know you should be afraid — everything about him screams danger, from the way he stands too still, to the way he looks at you like he's trying to unravel all your secrets with a single glance.

But you aren't afraid. Not of him.

You've heard the stories from Moira a while ago, the whispered rumors about the boy who died too young, who left behind more than just memories. She said his spirit haunts this house, trapped in the echo of his own sins. But the boy standing before you now — he doesn't seem like a monster to you. Not really. He seems . . . lost. Like he's searching for something, or maybe someone, to bring him back to life, if only for a moment.

You step closer, drawn to him despite the voice in your head screaming for you to turn back, to leave this place and never return. But you can't. Something in his eyes, in the way he watches you, holds you captive. It's a wicked game, this dance between you — dangerous and intoxicating, with no clear end in sight.

He doesn't speak, but you feel the pull of his presence, the magnetic force that tugs at something deep inside you. You reach out, your hand trembling as it crosses the space between you. When your fingers brush against his, a shock runs through you, like touching ice and fire at the same time. You've never questioned the lack of warmth in his touch before. His skin is cold, too cold, but there's something warm in his touch, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

For a moment, the world around you fades. There's only him, only Tate, standing so close you can feel the faint whisper of his breath against your cheek. He's not like anyone you've ever met, not like anything you've ever known. He's darkness and sorrow and something else — something tender, hidden beneath layers of pain and regret. You feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his eyes search your face as if he's trying to memorize every detail.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't want this. But you do.

The song plays in your mind, a haunting melody that echoes in the empty spaces between your thoughts. ❛ No, I don't want to fall in love . . . ❜ It's a lie, you think, because you're already falling, slipping into the abyss with no way to stop yourself. There's no safety net, no promise of salvation, only the cold comfort of his presence and the unspoken connection between you.

Tate moves closer, his other hand lifting to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, reverent, as though he's afraid you might be the one to disappear if he presses too hard. His gaze drifts to your lips, and you wonder if he's thinking the same thing you are — that you could close the distance between you with a kiss, that you could taste the darkness on his lips and make it your own again.

But you know better. You know this game is dangerous, that it can only end in heartbreak. And yet, as he leans in, you can't bring yourself to care. The world outside this room, outside this moment, doesn't matter anymore. There's only Tate, and the way he makes you feel — alive, despite the coldness of his touch, despite the fact that he isn't really alive at all.

It's ironic how a ghost can make you feel.

When his lips finally brush against yours, it's like a spark igniting in the darkness, a flame that burns bright and fast, consuming everything in its path. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though he's afraid of what might happen if he lets go. But you can feel the desperation beneath it, the hunger in his actions.

And maybe that's what you want. To be drowned, to be consumed by him, by this feeling that defies logic and reason.

The kiss deepens, and you lose yourself in it, in him, until there's nothing left but the two of you, entwined in the darkness. You don't know how long it lasts — seconds, minutes, an eternity — but when you finally pull away, you're breathless, your heart racing in your chest. His eyes are still locked on yours, and you see something in them that takes your breath away. It's not just desire or longing — it's something more, something raw and real, something that terrifies you because you feel it too.

You're falling, and there's no one to catch you.

You're not dreaming. This is real, as real as anything else in this house, as real as the boy standing before you, a boy who's more ghost than flesh but who makes you feel more alive than anyone ever has.

And as you stand there, your hand still in his, you realize that you don't care about the consequences, about the danger, about the inevitability of heartbreak. Because in this moment, with Tate's cold fingers wrapped around yours and the memory of his kiss still lingering on your lips, it's all worth it.

Even if it's just a wicked game.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part Four - Baker Steve/Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU - Final chapter/complete

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

The kids are quiet in the back.

There ended up being ten of them. Once Steve realized that eight people would not fit in his car, he talked to Nancy. Nancy sighed out of her nose the way she does, but Steve already knew she was going to say yes, especially with Mike ready to literally throw himself at her feet to beg.

And then obviously Jonathan had to come along. Turns out he actually, really, genuinely likes Corroded Coffin and was as excited as the kids to learn Steve had tickets. Well, excited in that understated, no energy for anything ever way that Jonathan has about him.

So yeah, Mike went with Nancy and Jonathan, which meant Dustin and Will got pushed in that direction. Steve could breathe a sigh of relief; that left him with Max, El, and Lucas. The sensible ones. The nice ones.

If you ignore how scathing Max could be. So the girls have an earbud each from Max’s phone and Lucas seems to be content to stare out of the window while Max stoically pretends they aren’t holding hands.

It’s cute.

Robins’ looking at the side of his face, Steve can feel it. He raises an eyebrow, ‘what?’

Robin raises both her eyebrows tips her whole head in question, ‘how you feeling?’

Steve shrugs, tilts his head dismissively. The he rethinks his answer for a more honest one, lifting one hand off the wheel to, out of sight of the kids, make a rocking gesture, ‘so-so.’

Robin nods sympathetically, seeming content with his answer, ‘that’s fair.’

He’d told Robin, obviously, that he’d hit it off with a customer and developed a monster crush and hopefully fingers and toes crossed that customer liked him back. He had not told her who Eddie actually is though, because even though it’s Robin and Steve did once get her to look at his dick because he thought something looked weird, (“It looks weird Steve, it’s a dick.” “Yeah, but weird like, see a doctor weird?”) and they have literally no secrets between them...this isn’t his secret.

Until tonight.

And Steve had to tell her just because tonight he might...actually get to meet Eddie. For real.

Once she’d finished squealing and beating him with a pillow, she’d understood.

So.

Steve’s kind of got a hurricane worth of butterflies in him.

Steve has detailed instructions and a QR code in the form of the email he printed from Eddie. All the kids laughed at him because ‘no one prints tickets any more, Steve’ but he was nervous, okay? And phone batteries can die or the internet could not work or. Yeah. He wanted a sure thing.

So they all go to the gate that the email says, and when the QR code gets scanned the woman with the scanner points off to the side, “can you wait there please,” and then pulls out a walkie talkie and speaks into it, “Steve Harrington has arrived.”

There’s a blast of static which, presumably, she understands, and then she goes back to doing her job. Less than five minutes later, five minutes filled with everyone but Robin demanding, “what the actual fuck, Steven,” someone else arrives. A guy with a tablet, a headset, and a very, very 100% done look on his face shows up. He’s wearing Corroded Coffin merch and asks the group to follow along. Which they do.

They’re led along white washed corridors, clearly under the stadium, and get dropped off in a room. A room with a TV on, and snacks and drinks, “this is all for you, go for it, I’ll be back before the support goes on.” And the dude leaves.

The girls, priorities sorted, lay into the snacks. Dustin and Mike are insisting again, “what the fuck is going on?” and getting ever more obnoxious about it.

Steve, very smugly, informs them that he, “knows a guy,” and settles down with the girls and a bag of Cheetos. He’s going to enjoy this while it lasts, watching Dustin splutter over it is very satisfying.

Steve wasn’t expecting any of this. He’s playing it as cool as he can, but he was expecting to get tickets, see the show, call Eddie after and maybe get to see him. He wasn’t expecting to be perched in seats the have been put at the side of the stage, just for them. Someone keeps checking on them, to bring them drinks and snacks.

He’s probably, right now, less than fifty feet from Eddie Munson. Eddie, who's wearing torn up skin tight jeans, shit kicker boots and nothing else. Eddie, who has his guitar slung at his back as he roars into the microphone.

The crowd are going batshit.

Steve’s slowly going insane. When the stage lights finally, finally go down, Steve thinks, this is it. He’s going to meet Eddie. Now is his moment.

The lights come back up, they play an encore. It’s four fucking songs long. Steve’s pulling his hair out as is genuinely concerned he might be sick.

The kids don’t notice; they’ve all just been given gift bags brimming with merch.

The band come over, once they’re finally done. They’re red faced and sweaty and the kids are all vibrating with excitement but Steve doesn’t care, he just doesn’t, because he can very clearly see Eddie leaving the other way. Disappearing off the other side of the stage. Away from Steve.

Well, fuck that.

Gareth is standing practically right next to Steve, signing the kids merch and talking to them, “where is Eddie?”

All the other members of the band look at Steve, and all of them look sheepish as fuck. “He’s, uhm, you know, busy.”

“Busy,” Steve replies, deadpan. And then it occurs to him. Eddie doesn’t know, so they don’t know. They think they’re keeping Eddie’s secret. “I know. I know it’s him. I want to see him.”

Every member of the band visibly relaxes, “see, I fucking told you he’s worked it out-” Jeff starts.

“Eddie is such a shitty liar,” Gareth agrees.

“Yes, he is. And I know it’s him, and I’ve known for ages, and now he’s…” Steve gestures weakly in the direction Eddie disappeared in.

“Having a meltdown in a greenroom because he thinks you’re going to hate him when you realize he’s been lying to you,” Jeff supplies helpfully.

“What the fuck is happening??” Dustin screeches. Steve pushes him away with a hand on the forehead.

Gareth laughs, “come on man. One way to settle this and honestly, I am so ready for it. I am done with his pining.”

Steve perks up immediately, jogging along after, “he’s been pining?”

Steve is left with a thumbs up, standing in an empty hallway, looking at a very, very unassuming door. He lifts his hand to knock but...can’t.

It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like...like them. So after a few moments of indecision, Steve jogs a little way along the hall and then pulls out his phone, calling Eddie.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Eds.”

“You enjoy the show?”

“I did, yeah, thank you, so so much. The kids loved it too. And all the, you know, extra stuff, it was all amazing...but I had, kind of hoped I’d get to see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” Eddie starts slowly. Painfully slowly, “about, about that-”

“Look,” Steve sighs, now genuinely terrified that this is it, and it comes out a little sharper than he means it too but, he's...kind of scared that this thing is going to die before it even starts, “if you don’t want to meet up, I get it.”

“No. No Steve, it isn’t that. It really, really isn’t, it’s just...I might have, withheld something from you. Slightly.”

“Is it that, you're Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin’s front man?”

“You see, the thing is, I’m actually, Eddie, like the lead singer guy of-wait. Wait. Hold up. You- Steve. Stevie. Honey. What?”

“I know who you are Eddie. I’ve known for a while. I’m outside. The room. Like, I'm standing outside the door.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. And then...nothing.

“Eds?” Steve asks, tentatively.

“I was just...you don’t know what it’s like Steve. To be this famous. No one just...treats me like a normal guy. Not ever. Everyone wants something from me, you know? Everyone just thinks I’m rich and famous and I can do things for them. They only ever want to talk about the music and the shows and the fame and...I just...I’m...someone to fuck for bragging rights, not because anyone actually cares...no one. No one ever treats me, like, well, like a person. And you have, Stevie, this whole time you’ve just...been normal. I want someone who likes me for me... And I missed normal so much, and I thought, I was scared that once you found out I’d loose that but...you’ve known this whole time?”

Steve’s heart is kind of breaking for Eddie, and he wants to comfort him, show him nothing’s changing, but he isn’t going to force anything on him, this is Eddie’s choice, “yeah. I’ve known...pretty much the whole time yeah. You’re a...well, absolutely atrocious liar, Eddie Munson.”

“Yeah?” and Jesus he sounds like he’s laughing and crying a little, “are you, did you say you were outside? Are you still-”

“I’m here, right outside the door.”

“I. I, okay. Yeah. Yeah.” And then Eddie hands up.

And for a really long, really long minute, Steve worries that’s it. Eddie’s not going to open the door and-

The door opens slowly, Eddie peeking out at Steve. Steve can’t help laughing. And then Eddie laughs, coming the rest of the way out, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. His eyes are red rimmed, like he’s been crying, and Steve’s desperately trying to blink back the tears himself, “can I hug you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice is rough from the gig, much more noticeable now in person, “yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate, throwing his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him tight close. Eddie’s more tentative, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and then...nuzzling into the side of Steve’s neck. Eddie takes a deep breath and...relaxes against Steve.

They stand there, hugging, Steve’s face buried in Eddie’s sweaty curls, swaying gently together in the quiet hallway.

@steves-yellow-cardigin @melodymeddler @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

@superduckmilkshake @she-collects-smut @paintsplatteredandimperfect @resident-gay-bitch

@bestwifehaver @estrellami-1 @vampireinthesun @clumsiluni @swimmingbirdrunningrock @uwujinniee @heartdinosblog @overhillunderhill @noodle-shenaniganery @carlprocastinator1000 @danni-phant0m @wxrmland @steddie-as-they-go @i-have-three-feelings @space-invading-pigeon @antonymeanonyme @steddiedreamer @dragonmama76 @honorarybrit81 @punctualhowell @mojowitchcraft

@melodymeddler @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @co5m0 @tinyplanet95

[springgirlshowers]

How about the reader and Joost are childhood friends that get split up, but reunite because Joost wants them to be apart of his eurovison team. They realize they miss eachother a lot and confess and happily ever after (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

It’s So Sweet

Paring: Joost x GN!Reader (no pronouns used!)

CW: none!

A/N: ahhhhhh this one is so cuuuuuute! i love the childhood friends to lovers trope so much! thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy it <333

masterlist!

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Joost and you were never seen apart as kids. Always walking in the school hallways together, sitting and partnering up in the classes you had together. Constantly hanging out after school and on the weekends. You two were basically connected at the hip.

Until your family gave you the news you would be moving to Sweden. Something to do with a better job opportunity. You begged for them not to, to move somewhere where you currently were at least. Though you knew your pleas wouldn’t do much.

Before you left, Joost and you exchanged emails. To keep in touch while you two would be apart.

You did for awhile. But as you both got older, your emails to each other took longer. It would be weeks, months, before you replied to each other.

Until they just stopped completely. You two had gotten too caught up into your adulthood. You hadn’t returned to your hometown since you moved away.

Joost fell into a successful career as a musician. You getting yours as a dancer.

It’s been years since you and him talked.

Your heart nearly stopped once you saw the notification when you were on the bus after a rehearsal.

joostklein has requested to follow you.

His profile picture was a picture of him as a toddler. The one you’ve seen so many times before, hanging on the wall in his living room when you went over to hangout after school.

You looked through his account, he almost looked the exact same as he did when he was a preteen. Only his body was scattered in tattoos, he had grown a mustache, much taller, and his hair was dyed into a nearly white color and cut into a mullet.

His most recent posts were a reel revealing how he’d be representing the Netherlands in the next Eurovision competition, and another video revealing the date his song for the event would be released.

Minutes after you accepted the request and followed him back, he messaged you.

It was a simple question, asking if you were the same one he knew as a kid. You responded, telling him you were.

The texts following after that were a little bit awkward. Soon the tension between you both was gone, you told each about what you’ve been doing for the past years, how they’d gone, what you’ve been doing now.

After exchanging phone numbers, the texts turned into calls, then video chats.

You listened to his songs, almost going through every single one of his albums in one night.

You were surprised by a lot of the lyrics, by how the innocent boy with a side swept haircut you once knew, was now singing about having sex with women to a mario kart remixed beat and saying “suck my dick bitch” multiple times in another song.

You honestly found them catchy, however you realized they were better to listen to with earbuds in or alone, rather than in any public place.

However, the lyrics in other songs were more heart breaking. God, soul shattering even.

“Maybe it was wrong. But I miss us, I miss home.”

“My dad who was laying there, seen but no authority. We'll see by the days, we don't say goodbye. My mom who was laying there, I often think about that day.”

“Hey, I have a disease, it's a very specific one. I always panic and they have no therapies.”

“But still it hurts. Am running from myself. Cry the entire day for "help"

Joost would show you his tattoos, the ones he already had and the ones he wanted to get in the future, drawings he made, but he refused to show you the idea concepts for his Eurovision costume.

He told you he wanted it to be a surprise.

The day before he revealed his outfit to the rest of the world. He called you during a work break, telling you he had to show you something.

You opened the video call to see him standing there in a big bright blue suit with extremely pointy shoulders.

You felt bad when you let out a laugh, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle it.

“You like it?” He asked, posing goofily.

“Yeah. It’s very…silly. Very big.” His grin only grew larger at your words.

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I was aiming for.” He smiled and sat down.

“So, your other friends, one of them is gonna dress up as a bird? And the other is gonna wear a clip on ponytail?”

“Yep!” He pipped. You just laughed and shook your head. He cleared his throat, his face on the screen looking nervous all of the sudden.

“So, you told me you still dance.”

“Yeah! I do group shows and stuff.” You nodded, placing your head on your fist.

“That’s great, very great. Um, do you still hakken?” You were a bit taken aback, confused by why he was asking about that specific dance.

“Uh yeah. But usually jokingly, like when I’m with friends.” You bit at your thumbnail. “Did you ever learn?”

“Yeah! I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” He chuckled, going silent for a minute after. “I’m wondering if you would perform with me, like on the stage. I need another back up dancer. And you’ve always been so talented at it.” His words made you blush, but you were still a bit unsure on what he was asking you.

“So, um, you want me to do the hakken dance with you? At your performance?” You felt nervous, when you did the dance you usually did it after a night of drinking to make your friends laugh.

“Only if you want to! I mean, we could meet up, I’m in Sweden now.”

“What?” You shouted, cringing at how loud it was.

“Yeah, i’ve been here to do interviews and all that stuff.” He scratched at his arms, a bit embarrassed he didn’t tell you earlier about this.

“You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He spoke, “Its free of charge for you, you’ll get paid for it. If that persuades you.” He added on, joking.

“I’ll do it for free.” Maybe your answer was a bit too quick, maybe it was impulsive. But you really wanted to see Joost again, you’d jump at any chance you could see him.

The both of you agreed to meet up a few days later at a park not far from where you lived.

The park was quite empty, most likely due to the fact the sun was already going down, an orange gradient filling the sky.

You nervously walked up to him, he was sitting on a bench. He looked so familiar yet so different. It gave you a strange sense of nostalgia.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He immediately grinned as he saw you. You sat down next to him.

The sunset cast a golden glow on his face, making his blue eyes so much more prominent, his face was so gorgeous.

“So you’ll really dance with me?”

“Yeah, why not.” You shrugged, completely unbothered by his question.

“You’ll be on a giant stage in front of thousands of people. You’ll be on TV with the entirety of Europe watching.” Joost felt nervous, he didn’t want to pressure you into doing this, he really wanted you to be there with himz But he wasn’t gonna force you into something you had no interest for.

“I’ve never been one for stage fright.” You smiled, the sweetness in your expression made his worries begin to drift away.

“Perfect.” He looked down at his feet, smiling so hard his cheeks begin to hurt, “I’ll text you the schedules and everything you need to know.”

“Cool.” You looked down at your shoes as well. Enjoying the comfortable silence and soft breeze of the air.

“I really missed you.” He spoke out, added your name to the sentence, making it more impacting. You looked at him, jaw ajar in admiration.

“I missed you too.” You said softly, placing your hand over his. Soon wrapping it around his. You both sat there for a few minutes like that.

“I’ve been thinking of moving back.” You broke the silence. “To the Netherlands, that is.”

“Really?” Joost looked at you, a mixture of amazement and shock in his face.

“Yeah. A company reached out to me, giving me a job opportunity. Really good pay, positive reviews, a safe workplace.” It felt funny, you were thinking about coming back to your hometown for the same reason your family made you leave.

“That’s great! You should take it!”

“I probably will. It seems promising.” You squeezed his hand. “And it’d be nice to be close to you again.” You added on, pursing your lips to try and hold back a smile, it failed.

“Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.” He murmured,“Um, I should get going, early TV interviews tomorrow.”

You nodded, getting up before he did.

“Just text me what channel you’ll be on, i’ll make sure to watch for you.” You said, a little bit too excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I will! I’ll see you later.” He chuckled.

“I’ll be in the Netherlands in a month most likely, just so you know. See you, Joost.” You turned, only getting a few steps in before his voice stopped you, causing you look back at him.

“There’s this really great ice cream parlor that opened up there, maybe we could, uh, go there when you’re back, if you’d like?” He cleared his throat.

“I’ll be going back in a month too, just for a little bit before I have to come here again.” He fiddled with his fingers.

“Awesome then, it’s a date.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

[flowerchild28]

Black and White

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: fluff

1.3k

The Beginning

The coffee shop buzzed with quiet chatter, but you were focused on your laptop, the untouched cappuccino beside you cooling quickly.

Louis entered, scanning for a seat. His usual spot was taken, so he hesitated before approaching your table. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked with a small smile.

Startled, you nodded. “Sure.”

You quickly returned to your work, but his presence was impossible to ignore. After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Work stuff?”

You looked up, flustered. “Yeah, kind of.”

The conversation started awkwardly but soon grew natural. He was charming, witty, and had a knack for making you laugh. Days turned into weeks, and his presence at the coffee shop became routine. He'd sit across from you, making every mundane detail seem interesting.

One chilly afternoon, Louis leaned back, his gaze softer than usual. “I keep coming here for the coffee… but mostly for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’d like to spend more time with you. If you’re up for it.”

A smile spread across your face. “I’d like that.”

And just like that, the start of something beautiful began.

A Year In

It had been a year since that first coffee shop conversation, and the warmth between you and Louis had only grown. Tonight, you were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket and a bowl of popcorn as a romantic comedy played on the TV.

Louis laughed at the over-the-top wedding scene on screen, nudging you playfully. “Think you’d ever go for something like that? A big, dramatic entrance, doves flying everywhere?”

You smirked, tossing a popcorn kernel at him. “Please, I’d trip walking down the aisle. And doves? They’d probably attack someone.”

“Noted,” he said, grinning. “Low-key wedding it is. I’ll wear sneakers.”

“Wait, you’re planning our wedding now?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his blue eyes sparkling. “Maybe. You’d look pretty good in white, though.”

The comment hung in the air for a moment, light yet full of meaning. You laughed, trying to play it off, but your cheeks flushed.

“Well,” you said, nudging him back, “you better make sure you don’t trip either. I’d hate to marry someone with a bruised nose.”

Louis chuckled, pulling you closer. “Deal. But only if you’re the one at the end of the aisle.”

The future suddenly felt closer than ever.

Kitchen dances

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the window as Louis wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the faint sound of music and the scent of something cooking. There you were, in the middle of the floor, twirling and singing along to Black and White by Niall Horan, completely lost in the moment.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. He waited until you hit the high note with exaggerated passion before chiming in.

“Didn’t know I was dating a backup singer for Niall.”

You froze mid-spin, whipping around to see him watching you with amusement. “Louis!” you exclaimed, yanking out an earbud, your face instantly flushing. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re really into this song,” he teased, stepping closer. “What’s the deal? Secretly a big fan of his or something?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. He’s your friend!”

Louis chuckled, gently prying your hands away. “Relax, love. I think it’s cute.”

“It’s just… it’s such a good song,” you admitted, your cheeks still warm. “I love, love, love it. The lyrics, the vibe—everything about it feels so perfect.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “So, you’re telling me you’ve been having a little Niall concert in here every time I’m not home?”

“Maybe,” you muttered, crossing your arms but unable to hide your smile.

Louis couldn’t stop laughing now, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into a spin. “You know I have to tell him, right? ‘Hey, mate, my girlfriend’s your number one kitchen dancer.’”

“No, you absolutely do not,” you said, poking his chest, but your laughter betrayed you.

“Alright, alright,” he said, smirking. “But only if you admit that, as good as the song is, you’d pick dancing with me over Niall’s voice any day.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Fine, you win. You’re the better dance partner.”

“Damn right I am,” he quipped, swaying with you in time to the music still playing softly from your headphones.

The Wedding

The venue was a dream—an open garden bathed in the golden light of early evening. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting a soft glow over rows of friends and family, all waiting eagerly. At the altar, Louis stood in a navy suit that perfectly fit his cheeky yet charming demeanor. His trademark grin softened into something deeper as he fiddled with his tie, sneaking glances down the aisle.

Then the music began.

Every head turned as you stepped into view, your dress flowing gracefully, your smile nervous yet radiant. Louis froze, his breath catching in his chest. For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath too. As you reached him, your hand found his, his touch grounding you.

“You’re lucky I didn’t trip,” you whispered, a playful glint in your eye.

“You’d still be the most stunning person here,” he murmured, squeezing your hand.

The officiant welcomed everyone, setting the stage for a ceremony filled with love and laughter. When it came time for the vows, Louis went first, his voice steady but brimming with emotion.

“Y/N, I knew I was in trouble the second I saw you in that coffee shop. You were too focused, too smart, and way too good at ignoring me.” The guests laughed, and Louis smirked. “But you let me sit with you, and that one moment changed everything.

“In the past year, you’ve made my life brighter, my jokes funnier because you actually laugh at them, and my kitchen dances so much better. I promise to keep making you laugh, to save you the last slice of pizza—even if it kills me—and to always remind you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, endlessly.”

You laughed through your tears, shaking your head at his perfect mix of humor and heart. Taking a deep breath, you began your vows.

“Louis, from the moment you scared me half to death by asking to share my table, you’ve been unforgettable. You’ve made every day feel special—whether it’s with your silly jokes, your endless support, or that ridiculous way you sing Niall’s songs off-key just to annoy me.” Louis raised a brow, grinning as the crowd laughed.

“But more than that, you’ve made me feel safe, seen, and loved in ways I didn’t know I needed. I promise to always dance in the kitchen with you, to put up with your terrible driving directions, and to remind you every day how much you mean to me. I love you, endlessly.”

The officiant pronounced you husband and wife, and as Louis dipped you for a dramatic, laughter-filled kiss, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Later at the reception, just as you thought the night couldn’t get any better, Louis grabbed a microphone, flashing that mischievous grin. “Alright, love, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Before you could ask, the lights dimmed, and a familiar voice filled the room. Niall Horan himself strolled onto the stage with a guitar in hand.

Your jaw dropped as he smiled at you. “Heard this one’s your favorite,” he said, winking.

The opening chords of Black and White filled the air, and Niall’s soulful voice swept through the crowd. Louis pulled you onto the dance floor, holding you close as you swayed to the song.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked up at him. “You did this for me?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice warm. “Anything for the girl who makes me believe in forever.”

I hope you like it. If got a lot of requests lately and im trying my best to write them as fast as possible.

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Imaginary Concerts: Logan Howlett - the one when Logan comes home to an amazing sight

─➭ pairing: lumberjack!Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ prompt #14: They pull them close by their waist and whisper in their ear "You had no business looking that good back there."

─➭ content warning: non-mutant au, tooth-rotting fluff, abrupt ending(?)

─➭ a/n: the lyrics are from "Love Today" by MIKA and "Cosmic Love" by Florence and the Machines; this was requested from @kellyxo1 link here

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

You pulled out the duster and other cleaning supplies from one of the hallway closets. It was finally your day off from a chaotic work week and cleaning was something you’ve been wanting to do. You then grab your phone and earbuds to help you wind down and let loose.

“Been cryin’ for so long! Fightin’ tears just to carry on!” your voice rang throughout your home as you swayed to the beat of the song.

 It felt so good to let go of your crazy dance moves while you wiped off the counters in the kitchen then vacuumed the whole house. And now, you’re finishing up with dusting. You were jumping, swaying your hips and head to the beat of one of your favorite songs, all while holding the swiffer duster in your hand. 

“But now! But now, it’s gonna wait!” you continued to sing out loud.

You had the music near blaring into your ears as you continued to clean and sing to your heart's content. Being lost in your own world had you forgetting that your husband comes home around this time from work. 

Logan had just pulled up and parked in the driveway of your home. He let out a sigh as he unbuckled his seatbelt then exited the car. Today wasn’t particularly a hard day but throwing an ax into trees thicker than rawhide is very tiring on the body. Especially knowing that you’ve been home without him all day was dragging him down to.

Even after smothering you with kisses before he left the house wasn’t enough. But he’s home now and he’s about to smother you in kisses again. 

He unlocked the door with another heavy sigh before freezing with an amused look on his face. There you were jumping on the couch and singing (screaming) out a bunch of lyrics while you dusted the wedding pictures on the walls. A sweet smile graced his lips as he continued to admire you and your wonderful dance moves while he took off his boots and set down his tool bag right next to them. 

You still haven’t noticed him being busy with the imaginary concert you got going on with yourself yet. He moved closer to where you are in the living room, stopping just close enough so he can continue to watch you. As he leans against the wall with his armed crossed you let out a particular high-pitched sound as you sang out loud.

“The stars! The moon! They have all been blown out!” you sang, “You left me in the dar-r-r-k!”

Logan’s eyebrow raised with an impressive look on his face as he watched you use the duster as a microphone as you sang the lyrics. You jumped off the couch still dancing to whatever beat you’re listening to as you continued your dusting endeavors over to the bookcase. He loves coming home to this part of you. Don’t get him wrong, wanting to smother you in wet kisses all over your face makes his day but seeing you like this; still with bed head hair, lounge shorts, and one of his white t-shirts, all while singing to your favorite music is heaven itself. 

You were spinning as you jumped to the song before you lout out a startled yelp seeing your hunk of a husband standing against the wall with a real smile on his face. 

“Fuck, Logan,” you giggle as you pull your ear buds out, “You can’t just scare me like that.”

A breathy laugh comes out as he continues to stare you down with admiration, “Keep dancin’ baby,” he nods to your phone in a teasing tone.

A wave of embarrassment rushed through your body and into your cheeks. He’s been watching you this whole time. How long has he been home? 

“Oh my- ugh!” you laugh with a groan, “You’ve been watching me this whole time?”

Logan laughs as he moves off the wall to walk towards you. “Well, not the whole time,” he says with a smile, "Just long enough to see you throw your hips back."

You groan in embarrassment again as he reaches towards you. “That is something I’ve never wanted you to see,” you laugh as you run your hands up his chest. 

“We’ve been married for over five years. I will always want to see you dancing like that,” he chuckles, feeling you playfully push him away to walk away with a roll of your eyes and a sweet smile, “Hey, where you goin’, huh?” he smiles as he grabs your waist and pulls you back to his chest. You giggle, feeling him nuzzle his face into your neck with feather-like kisses leading up to your ear. “You had no business lookin’ that good back there, you know" he whispers. 

“You’re a stalker for staring at me for that long,” you say sarcastically while you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. Logan hums brushing your comment away as he continues his kisses along your shoulder. Your fingers run through his hair as you take in a deep breath. “You smell,” you murmur before kissing his cheek, once, twice, then three times.

You felt Logan’s body shake from his laughter before he pulled away just far enough to look at you. His eyes rake over your bare face with a smile. “Take a shower with me then. Show me those moves,” he says.

“God you’re annoying,” you laugh with a shake of your head. 

"Come on, sweets," he smiles ashe runs his hands up and down your back, "That was quite the concert you were throwin' there."

You groan again but louder this time and walking away from his embrace. "I'm never doing that again", you bite your smile.

"No, no. Dance for me again, sweets. Come on," Logan chases after you.

[remlionheart]

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

Marinade

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ when i first decided that i wanted to write some yuuji angst, i had a v vague idea in my head of what it might look like, but when i tell you that this fic took me for a ride, i mean it. angel boy yuuji itadori finds himself mourning his 22nd birthday rather than celebrating it. sitting alone at a bar, overwhelmed by grief when he's suddenly greeted by the one part of his past that doesn't hurt to look at. 4.9k words. hurt/comfort, angst, smut, fluff, slice of life, shonen, literally everything and anything going on here. i was crying and smiling and rooting for these characters and i'm not sure that i'll ever emotionally recover from writing this, but i'm really happy w the outcome so lemme know whatcha think, luv you ♡ (also shoutout to my girl @bratbby333 for always being my biggest hype-woman and proofreading for me when i've looked at a fic for too long and start to hate it) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

now playing: marinade by dope lemon

Yuuji hadn't seen you since middle school.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He remembered you as the girl who had pretty handwriting and a serious affinity for the color blue. The girl who would leave pastel origami hearts on his desk without ever saying why. The girl who'd hide away in the library during lunch instead of eating with the rest of the class. The girl who he'd watch on the bus ride home with a sinking feeling in his stomach, catching the way your eyes glossed over each time the driver stopped in front of your house.

He learned how much you loved to read and write that year. Glancing at you from across the study hall room, secretly jotting down what number was printed along the spine of your book so that he could get you the next one in the series. He'd leave it on your desk before class started, the same way you did with his origami hearts. Never saying a word about it.

He watched you fill countless journals, your face always so concentrated as you poured your thoughts into them. He’d stop by the shopping plaza near his house after school every time he noticed that you’d reached the last page, spending his allowance to make sure there was a new one waiting for you the next morning. Each one he gave you, a different shade of blue.

But it wasn’t until the last day of eighth grade that he finally mustered up the courage to break the not-so-silent-silence the two of you had been sharing for the last 6 months. He sat down next to you, introducing himself even though it went without saying. His eyebrows furrowed a bit when you wordlessly slipped out an earbud and handed it to him. A rare, but visible smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He held it in his palm for a moment, his eyes drifting along your face as he brought it to his ear, letting the tangled white cord tether the two of you together.

He’d never heard the song before, but he still remembered thinking how fitting it was. Dreamy and melodic - just like you. The singer's voice was full of raw sincerity, adding another layer of atmospheric haze to the already heady beat while the chorus gradually filled the space between you.

He didn't have the right words to explain it at the time, but he felt lucky as he watched you stare out the window that day. Lucky to know how pretty you looked when the sunlight caught the side of your face. Lucky to know which fantasy novels you liked to spend hours losing yourself in. Lucky to know what type of music you listened to when you were deep in thought. Lucky, just to be sitting next to you.

His heart jumped around in his chest when your eyes met his again. Both of you exchanging the same somber smile as you realized what road you were on.

He handed his half of the headphones back to you, secretly relieved at how calm you still seemed despite the fact that your stop was next.

“That song,” he hesitated, the lyrics still swirling through his mind. “what was it –”

But his question came to an abrupt end as the bus began to brake, a new and overwhelming warmth dancing through his veins when he noticed how close you suddenly were to him.

His pupils doubled in size, his breath catching in his throat while you leaned in carefully, pressing the softest kiss against his boyish cheek.

"Have a good summer, Yuuji." you whispered, grabbing your backpack off the floor.

His hand rested where your lips had been, his gaze following you off of the bus. You made it about halfway up your driveway before pausing to look back at him over your shoulder, two lingering smiles blurring past one another as the driver hurried on with her route.

The next two months were filled with sunshine and soccer practice for him. Bike rides and camping trips and basketball courts. His days were usually full, but no matter what he was doing or where he was going, there was one song that was always on the tip of his tongue:

♫⋆｡ ♪ ₊ ﾟ“Do you want me? Just how I am? Do you need me and where I stand?”

One song that would forever remind him of you:

"Let's go steady, let's make a plan. Marinade on that for a little while." ⋆｡ ♪ ₊♬ ﾟ。

And he did.

He marinaded on the infatuation he felt for you the rest of that entire summer.

When August arrived that year and brought everyone back for high school, he was ready.

There were stories he wanted to tell you, questions he wanted to ask you. Playlists he wanted to make with you. Books he'd found while thrifting that he wanted to give to you. Daydreams he had of roaming the halls and laughing with you. Visions of bringing his lunch into the library so he could eat with you. He couldn't wait to hear about your summer. Couldn't wait to catch up with you. Couldn't wait to see you.

Unfortunately for you both though, life had other, much darker plans in store for the pink-haired boy who just wanted to carry around your books for you and hold your hand during passing period.

He was called out of class early on the first day. Forced to leave the building before he even had the chance to see you as he frantically tracked down the nearest shuttle and rushed across town to get to the hospital. His grandpa’s health had been on a slow decline, but after his most recent fall, it had suddenly started to plummet.

Yuuji missed the majority of that week, dedicating all of his time to the man who had essentially raised him. He would bring him food and sit with him for hours even though he was mostly incoherent. He’d tell him about his day and leave flowers by his bedside. He'd watch reruns of old game shows with him that they used to watch when Yuuji was little, completely ignoring the nurses who would say things like, "You need to give yourself a break.”

The hospital staff tried their best to get him to take a day off. To go back to school and live his own life, but Yuuji just couldn’t. His grandpa was the only family he'd ever really had. There was no way he was going to leave him. He ditched the comfort of his bedroom and began sleeping on the cramped hospital futon next to the grey-haired man, teaching himself what each machine hooked up to him was responsible for and what vitals they monitored. He’d sometimes leave throughout the day, but it was only for a couple of hours at most. He'd return with more flowers and books to read to him. By the third week of school, he'd missed almost every single one of his classes, but he didn’t care. His priorities were firm.

Yuuji stayed by his side - day in and day out, until the very end.

When he woke up to the sound of erratic beeping and codes that he didn't understand being called out by nurses, he knew. He knew in his heart that this was it. Amongst the chaos were two sets of shaking hands reaching for each other, his grandpa's last words hanging heavily in the space between them,

“Yuuji... You're a strong kid, try your best to help others, okay?”

He remembered thinking at that moment that there couldn’t be a worse feeling. That he couldn’t possibly have anything else left to lose. He was only 15 and he was now officially all on his own as he watched the only parental figure he had let out his last breath of air.

He had no family, no future, no chance.

Fate was a cruel and calculating thing though. A few days after the funeral, Yuuji discovered that he did have a future. One that was irreversibly sealed the minute he stepped foot into Jujutsu High. He had to let go of everything he'd known in exchange for the damning task of becoming a vessel for Ryomen Sukuna. He had to trade in his mundane role of being a high school freshman for the daunting responsibility of becoming a first-year sorcerer. And arguably the hardest thing of all, he had to give up the simple pleasure of sharing a set of tangled headphones with you to try and save a world that didn't truly care about him.

There was no room for normalcy anymore. This was his new life and it was ending, one day at a time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He sat at a nearly vacant bar by himself, staring down the empty glass in front of him, watching the ice melt as he ran a shaky hand along the back of his neck.

It was 4 o'clock and he was only one of two people here this early. The lights and music were still being adjusted by the workers. Cups being stocked and coolers being filled for the inevitable Saturday-night rush that would come in the next few hours. His goal was to be absolutely obliterated by then - to already be on his way back home before the swarm of college students took over.

He paused, noticing the calendar hanging by the craft beer list in front of him. His heart stuttered a bit as he blinked back at the date. No wonder he'd been feeling so reminiscent lately.

He leaned over the counter hoping to find the bartender who'd poured his first drink, but to no avail.

He grabbed his glass, sucking down the very last drop of whiskey it had to offer, trying desperately to drown out the realization that today was his 22nd birthday and the people who should be here with him weren't.

Almost every friend he'd made over the last ten years had been ripped away from him. They were scattered memories. Familiar voices that he did his best to hold onto. Faces, names, deaths that followed him everywhere he went.

Middle school and the innocence of just wanting to hold a pretty girl's hand while she walked down the hallway were long gone. He was an adult now. A very tired and traumatized adult.

He peered around the corner again, half-tempted to jump over the bar and pour himself another drink when the stereo kicked on, an overwhelming wave of pure, deep blue nostalgia flooding over him without warning.

His back straightened, his eyes suddenly darting towards the speaker as the lyrics drifted across his skin, causing every hair on his body to stand up at once.

"She wanted to die by a river. She wanted the tide to come up and drag her away, so that when she's dreamin', she can watch the tree line fall away." ⋆｡ ♪

It was the same hazy melody that he'd spent an entire summer listening to on repeat. He still knew every word, every beat. It was muscle memory the way his fingertips began to drum along the counter when a bartender finally emerged from the back.

"Sorry, do you need a –"

Time stilled, the glass nearly slipping from his hand as your gaze caught his.

"Yuuji?"

Despite how much you'd changed since the last time he saw you, your voice was somehow just as soft as he remembered it being.

He stared back at you in quiet disbelief, guilt quickly settling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how fucking strange and unexpected this all must feel for you too.

From your perspective, he'd spent all of 8th grade trying to befriend you only to up and leave without even saying goodbye. And now, 7 years later - he was at your work, looking back at you like you were an actual angel, and forgetting every word he knew.

Your eyes stayed locked on his for another moment, both of you studying the person in front of you before you finally let out a shaky breath and smiled at him.

"Here," You offered, suddenly feeling the need to soothe your own nerves too. "On the house."

He tried to tell you that he could pay for it, but it was too late. You were already pouring two shots and motioning for him to put his wallet away.

"Okay, fine. But..." There was a glimmer in his eye as he pulled his glass away from yours. "What are we toasting to?"

The smile he gave you felt like a warm hug. One that you didn't realize you needed until you had it again. "Oh," You stammered, trying to ignore the blood that was rushing to your cheeks. "What about... To old friends?"

He nodded, still wearing the same expression as your drinks lightly knocked together. "To old friends."

He couldn't help but grin again at the little shiver that swept across your body as you finished yours.

Your hair was longer, your features a bit more mature, but your mannerisms were all the same. You were still the girl that was made up of mid-day sunlight, handbound books, and shades of blue that were too pretty to exist in this world.

You grabbed a beer out of the cooler and slid it to him, once again ignoring the credit card he tried to hand you. "Yuuji, relax." you leaned against the counter, resting your head in your hands so that you were eye-level with him. "They're not gonna go bankrupt over a $2 IPA, I promise."

"If you say so."  

You both exchanged the same small smile, his finger lightly running along the counter. "So," he cleared his throat, completely unsure of where to start. "How've you been?"

It was a loaded question, maybe even a dumb question considering how much time had passed, but he didn't care. He really did want to know how you'd been. What you'd been up to. What type of things you'd been writing about. What your Spotifty playlists looked like. What you did on your days off. He wanted to know everything. All of it.

"Well," you exhaled, trying to find an easy way to condense the last seven years of your life. "My parents..." your eyebrows furrowed, realizing that you'd never gotten the chance to tell him why you used to dread your old bus route so much. "My parents finally got divorced..."

“Oh shit, I’m sorry -"

“No,” You said swiftly, not wanting him to feel bad for asking. "It was more of a relief than anything. They used to fight, a lot. My mom wasn't always the nicest when she drank... It probably should've happened way sooner to be honest."

His breathing slowed as memories of you with tears in your eyes walking up your driveway smashed through his mind. He'd promised himself that he would ask you about it one day, but he had no idea it'd be this much later on. He'd wanted to talk to you about it as kids. Wanted to know what scared you so much about going home, but he didn't know how. It was the reason why he left journals on your desk. The reason why he never let you go without the next book in your series.

For everything he couldn't say, he tried to show. But he'd failed you on both accounts the day he disappeared.

"My parents separated my -" you paused, eyes dragging to his as you corrected yourself. "our graduation year."

He nodded, doing his best to digest the thought of you walking down the aisle in a cap and gown with the weight of your parents' downfall on your shoulders.

"But, after that," you smiled slightly. “I applied to college and got accepted. Started working here. Got my own apartment. And I don't know...” you shrugged, "I think in a weird way, things happened the way they were supposed to. It was like everything needed to fall apart before it got better, you know?"

He smiled back at you, your last sentence lingering in the space between you as he reached for your hand. He probably wouldn't have understood that sentiment a year ago, but watching your eyes widen while your fingers slowly tangled into his, he knew exactly what you meant now.

"I'm really sorry I wasn't there..." His thumb brushed against the side of your hand, steadying himself as he let 15-year-old him and 22-year-old him come together to say what they had both been holding onto for so long. "I didn't want to leave. I just -"

Your heart swelled in your chest, watching him blink back tears he wasn't prepared to shed. "Life got really hard for a really long time for me too. But, whenever I felt myself drifting... I thought of you. Thought of the way you'd glance at me from over your book during class. Thought of the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching. I thought of you... all the time. And it was like, no matter how dark things got, it reminded me that life could be good, because it was at one point. So..."

Your hand tightened around his, two sets of glossy eyes now staring back at each other as he forced himself to say what he should've years ago. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there, but... I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere."

You were dizzy with emotion. Swimming through feelings that you'd kept buried for nearly the last decade. The thoughts you'd only been brave enough to write down. The overwhelming urge to kiss him again and again and again until neither one of you had any air left in your lungs.

Your mouth opened and then closed, your body saying more than you were capable of with how desperately you were holding onto him.

You weren't sure what you were doing. Didn't have time to think or care about the repercussions of your impulsiveness.

"Hey Mai," You called out, "I'm really not feeling well. Think I'm gonna go home."

Yuuji's head was shaking no, but the surprised smile tugging at the corner of his mouth was saying otherwise. "What're you doing?" he whisper-shouted, watching you run around the bar to grab his hand again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mai yelled from the back, but it was too late.

You and Yuuji were already gone, practically sprinting alongside each other, laughing as you booked it across the parking lot.

"First the free beer and now this?"

"They won't go bankrupt over me missing one day." You winked. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

You may have been leading the way, but he was still the athlete between the two of you, purposefully slowing himself down to not be right on your heels. But when he noticed you starting to pant as the road curved into an upward slope, he reached out for you, gently spinning you around to face him.

"Come here." he knelt down, positioning himself so that you could easily wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

He carried you piggy-back style up the hill, the sun fading into an array of pink and orange as you pointed out every bookstore around campus, explaining which ones were your favorites and why. Promising to get matcha with him tomorrow at a local coffee shop you passed. Asking him about his time at Jujutsu High and trying to wrap your mind around what little he was able to tell you as he swore that he'd fill you in on the full story when the time was right. You caught him up on what he'd missed the last three years of high school and how your college classes had been going. You talked about libraries and ghosts and laughed about how in 7th grade he'd joined the occult club just because he thought it'd be an easy after-school credit.

By the time you'd finally reached the spot you'd wanted to show him, the moon had almost completely replaced the sun. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands were full of a mixture of different flowers that he'd picked for you along the way.

"This is..." he trailed off, watching the sky shift into a deep blend of blue and silver. "Beautiful. How'd you even find this place?"

It was an abandoned park surrounded by overgrown trees that overlooked the city, only one rusted swing set left to its name. The hike you had to endure just to find it had more than likely been the cause of its demise, trekking up here with a backpack was hard enough, let alone a stroller.

"I kinda found it by accident." You shrugged. "I was working on an art project and needed a good view of the skyline. I looked up a bunch of different places online, but then I saw this spot and just knew."

Yuuji pulled off his hoodie, sweat trickling down his neck from the late-summer heat as the two of you sat in the grass, his arm gently wrapping around your waist.

There had been so many times you'd sat in this exact same spot by yourself, wondering what the odds were that you were both somehow looking up at the same star.

Your head rested on his shoulder, a warm gust of air swirling around you as you both looked out into the distance, watching the way the stars faded into the Tokyo lights.

"Hey, Yuuji?" You twirled a blade of grass between your fingers, not wanting to ruin the moment, but still needing to be sure.

"Yeah?"

"You promise, right?"

"Hm?" He could hear the concern in your voice, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer.

"You promise that... you're not leaving again?"

"I swear, I'm not going anywhere. And if I do," His eyes returned to yours, his free hand attentively resting under your chin. "I'm taking you with me."

You nodded, warmth washing over you as he traced along your jawline, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Your fears were lost to his touch. Your worries dissolving into the sincerity of his voice. Your need for reassurance wholeheartedly met when his hand cupped your cheek and his lips finally caught yours. Seven years' worth of pent-up feelings pouring out between the two of you, hands roaming and little moans slipping out between breaths while you tugged on the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. He was gentle but eager. Soft but secure. Perfect, in every way.

He hovered over you, easing you onto the grass as he made a makeshift pillow out of his hoodie for you to rest your head on.

You smiled as his lips drifted from your mouth to your neck, his palm delicately traveling up your shirt, pulling your bra to the side while he helped slide your tank-top up over your head. He kissed your collarbones, whispering sweet little praises into your skin. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He rested a hand under your back, steadying you as his tongue flickered across your chest. He took his time, making sure to give each nipple the same amount of attention, still humming things like, "the prettiest girl I've ever seen" while his hand traced over your hip.

He tugged at the waistline of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes as he began to leave featherlight kisses along the inside of your thigh, his blood racing at the sounds you were suddenly making.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

You whimpered out a broken "yes", practically dripping when his fingers spread you apart. He watched you writhe beneath him, drawing slow but firm circles around you. Trying not to lose himself to the way your legs were already shaking for him.

"Yuuji," you whined. "I -" his mouth was ghosting your center, his fingers still playing with your clit while he held you in place. "I n - need you." your voice was heady, lost somewhere in the clouds the faster he went. "I wanna f - feel you, so bad."

"Yeah?" He smiled, his breath still fanning across your core as his digits prodded carefully at your entrance. He groaned at how beautifully your walls swallowed him. "I wanna feel you too."

Your head lulled back, eyes pointed at the sky while your hand tangled into his pink hair. His mouth was warm and heavenly, his tongue running uppp and dowwnnn your center, saliva mixing with slick while his fingers plunged into you.

"Oh, fuck."

He only went deeper the louder you got, flattening his tongue against you with just the right pressure to keep you saying his name. His ring and middle finger hitting spots you'd never been able to reach yourself. You were clenching around him, your thighs locking around his head as you rocked against his tongue.

"Yuuji - you're gonna make me -" he thought it was adorable the way you struggled to get more than two words out at a time. "Fuck, I -"

"Mhmm, just like that."

He was in the same daze you were, sliding in and out of you feverishly until he finally felt the blissful release of your walls spasming around him. Your body suddenly unable to hold it in any longer as you gave him the privilege of really tasing you.

"Oh my god," he moaned, faithfully lapping up every bit of you he could get, only pulling away when you started begging for him.

"Yuuji -" It was needy and light-headed. "Come here, come here. Please."

The way he lifted his head up, smiling at you with your cum dripping down his chin made something inside you ache.

You pulled him towards you, desperately wrapping your legs around his waist as he began undoing the buttons on his pants. He kissed you, again and again and again, using it as a pleasant distraction while he wriggled himself free.

He took a breath, both of you watching in blitzed out awe as he lined himself up with you. "I love you." he whispered, your eyes widening from the blend of his words and the feeling of his tip slowly entering you. "Always have."

His hair brushed against your forehead as he parted your lips with his tongue, your nails digging into his neck with his first full thrust. You were so tight and warm around him.

He tried to ease into you, encouraging you while also making sure you were comfortable. His voice sweet as honey as he asked you things like, "Is that okay, baby?" and "Aw, you like when I go deep like that, huh?"

Your gaze locked with his, your eyebrows knitting together the faster his rhythm became.

You'd thought about this moment before. Thought about what it might feel like, but nothing could've prepared you for the way your heart would race at the sound of him moaning, "You're doing so good for me." The way he'd hold you, looking back at you with stars in his eyes as he filled every inch of you.

"Yuuji -"

"Let it out, baby. S'okay." He whispered, his hand reaching for yours. "I've got you."

Your vision was blurred by the feeling of his tip meeting your cervix, warm summer air brushing against your skin as you reached your breaking point.

"I love you." The words left your mouth so fast you barely had time to register them, but then... they wouldn't stop. It was the only phrase you remembered how to say. The only emotion you remembered how to feel. "I love you." you whimpered again, feeling yourself tighten around him as your confession became more frantic. "Oh - mygod, Yuuji. I love you. I love you. I love - you."

His movements were suddenly beyond his control, his body completely succumbing to the grip of yours. "Fuck, baby - I -" He didn't know if he should pull out. Didn't know if he could pull out. His head was everywhere, his mouth dropping open the longer he watched you.

Your legs locked around him in heady reassurance. "Mm'mm, d - don't stop." You panted. "Cum with me."

It was a sentence he'd only ever thought he'd be lucky enough to hear you say in his dreams.

His hips stilled after one more thrust, your walls holding him tight as he began to twitch inside you. His forehead pressed against yours, his arms struggling to keep him propped up.

You exchanged the same exhausted smirk, leaning up to kiss him while he carefully pulled out of you. A blend of fluids spilling out onto the grass beneath you as he laid by your side with his forearm over his face, trying to regain his composure.

There was a calm silence that settled between you, the both of you looking up at the stars before you rolled over to reach for your shorts, letting him catch his breath while you dug something out of the back pocket.

"Here." You said, unraveling a tangled pair of headphones and handing him one.

His eyes widened with the same curiosity they had 7 years ago as he held it to his ear, your head resting on his chest while a song he knew all too well flowed through the small speakers connecting you. A smile splitting across his face as he held you closer.

"You know, I think you were right." he exhaled, running light fingertips along your arm. "Everything did have to fall apart before it got better."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 3

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~4,600

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Seventh Year, Female MC, No Y/N, Slytherin MC, Enemies to Lovers, Trope-y, Slow Burn, Humor, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Coming of Age, Body Image, High School Drama

The dim light of the Undercroft flickered against the cracked stone walls, the faint hum of bass vibrating in Sebastian’s earbuds. He lounged in his usual spot in the corner, legs stretched out, his wand twirling lazily in his hand. His phone sat face down next to him, mercifully silent. One of the things he loved most about the Undercroft was the lack of reception. No texts, no calls—just uninterrupted solitude.

Well, almost quiet.

A flick of his wand sent another crate hurtling into the far wall, shattering into a satisfying spray of splinters. The rhythmic destruction synced perfectly with the music pounding in his ears. It should’ve been enough to drown out his thoughts, but it wasn’t working.

Instead, his mind kept drifting back to you.

The duel on Monday had been humiliating. He could still hear the collective intake of breath from the crowd when his wand shot from his hand, spinning uselessly though the air and into your outstretched palm. Your expression had been cool, composed—barely a flicker of triumph as you delivered the finishing blow. The fact that you hadn’t gloated afterward made it worse somehow. It wasn’t the sting of defeat that lingered—it was the way you’d stared him down, steady and unapologetic, like beating him had been nothing more than a formality.

He’d been stewing about for days, but the duel wasn’t the only thing that had gotten under his skin.

All damn week you'd been sparring with him—not physically, though he half-wished you had been, just so he’d have an excuse to throw hexes at the smug look on your stupid pretty face. No, it had been verbal sparring, your sharp wit matching his with unnerving precision.

Tuesday, in Potions, he’d made some quip about "ridiculous Beauxbatons standards" when you corrected his stirring technique. Without missing a beat, you’d shot back with a cutting remark about Hogwarts’ apparent leniency in admitting mediocre students.

Wednesday, in Charms, he’d tried needling you again, deliberately taking the spot next to you during a group exercise. His comments had been just loud enough for you to hear, pointed barbs about your "sloppy wandwork". You’d turned to him, your wand poised mid-spell and said, “Coming from the boy whose technique has all the grace of a troll with a toothache? That’s rich.”

And then there was yesterday. Defense Against the Dark Arts. You walked into class wearing that perfectly polished uniform of yours, your crisp white shirt tucked just so, and your tie knotted with what looked like effortless precision. And when Sebastian had muttered something under his breath about Beauxbatons students being “all style and no substance,” you immediately shot back with “Better to have style than to make mediocrity my trademark.” The corner of your mouth had twitched upward, barely perceptible, but it was enough to set his teeth on edge.

And Merlin help him, the attention you were getting from other guys wasn’t helping. He’d watched Everett Clopton linger a little too long at your table in the library on Wednesday, leaning over your shoulder to point at something in your notes. And then there was Arthur Plummly, with his dopey grin and penchant for rambling, who had somehow managed to get you to laugh—really laugh—at one of his terrible jokes in the Great Hall on Thursday.

But the worst of them, by far, was Leander, who had a knack for showing up just when Sebastian didn’t want him to. Like this morning in the courtyard, when Leander had sidled up to you with his usual infuriating confidence, leaning just a little too close as he spoke. Sebastian hadn’t caught the conversation, but he’d seen the faint smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head as you listened. And when Leander had reached out, brushing a stray thread from your shoulder, Sebastian’s jaw had clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack.

A fresh wave of irritation surged through him at the memory, and he flicked his wrist again, sending a stack of books tumbling off the table with a dull thud.

The sound of footsteps approaching cut through the music in his ears, faint but unmistakable against the stone floor. Sebastian sighed, tugging out one of his earbuds. Only one person walked like that, with those annoyingly measured, deliberate steps.

“Not now, Ominis," Sebastian muttered.

“I wasn’t aware I needed an appointment,” Ominis said dryly, his voice cutting through the music. He stopped a few feet away, leaning against the wall as he tilted his head toward Sebastian. “Though judging by the state of this place, I’d say you need more than just an appointment. You need an intervention.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, slumping further into his chair. “What do you want?”

“To talk about your behavior,” Ominis snapped, his pale eyes narrowing. “Specifically, toward her.”

Sebastian tensed but kept his expression neutral. “I’ve been fine.”

Ominis let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Fine? Really? Do we need to go over all the shit you pulled this week or can we stop pretending you’ve been fine?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Ominis snapped. “The only time you’ve been remotely civil was when you invited her to Crossed Wands, and since she hasn’t shown up, you’ve been absolutely unbearable.”

“It's not like she’s completely innocent,” Sebastian said defensively. "She gives as good as she gets."

Ominis tilted his head, his pale eyes narrowing in a way that made Sebastian shift uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s only defending herself because you’re going out of your way to provoke her. And everyone’s noticed.”

Sebastian’s scowl deepened. “Everyone?”

“Don't play dumb,” Ominis said coldly. “The entire castle is whispering about how the 'great Sebastian Sallow' can’t seem to keep her name out of his mouth. People are starting to think all your jabs and sneers are just your way of hiding the fact that you fancy her."

Sebastian’s head snapped up. “Fancy her?” He let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Why?” Ominis pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Because she’s not one of those vapid cheerleaders you usually chase after?”

Sebastian’s grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles white. “Don’t be thick, Ominis,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’m not into… bigger girls.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. They tasted bitter, like bile rising in his throat, and they felt wrong—so wrong. But it was out there now, hanging in the air between them, and he couldn’t unsay it.

But Ominis didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He simply tilted his head, his expression carefully neutral in a way that made Sebastian’s skin crawl. “Liar,” Ominis said softly.

Sebastian bristled, his jaw tightening as he stared down at the floor in front of him. “I’m not lying,” he shot back, though the words came out hollow and weak.

Ominis snorted, the sound filled with disbelief. “You are. And for what? Because you’re embarrassed?

Sebastian flinched, his jaw clenching as Ominis’s words struck a nerve. “Drop it, Ominis,” he muttered, his voice low and warning.

Ominis raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. “You've been staring at her all week. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

Sebastian scoffed, leaning back in his chair as though he could physically distance himself from the conversation. “I wasn’t staring.”

Ominis’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smirk. “You were.”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Even if I was staring, which I’m not, it doesn’t mean anything. She’s infuriating and entirely too full of herself, and she’s just… she’s annoying.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his pale eyes narrowing with an almost predatory sharpness, as though he was dissecting every syllable. “You mean she’s strong, talented, and doesn’t put up with your nonsense? Yes, I can see how that would bother you.”

Sebastian shot him a withering look. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I don’t need to twist them,” Ominis replied smoothly. “You’re doing a fine job of tying yourself into knots all on your own.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from his chair in one fluid motion. He began pacing the length of the Undercroft, his wand twirling absently between his fingers. “She doesn’t act like anyone else here. She doesn’t belong.”

“Doesn’t act like anyone else?” Ominis repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Ahhh. I understand now."

Sebastian froze mid-step, turning to glare at him. “Understand what?”

Ominis’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Why she’s gotten so deeply under your skin.”

Sebastian scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant,” Ominis said, his tone maddeningly calm. “You can’t stand that she’s not fawning over you, not bending to your charm or playing your games—it bothers you.”

Sebastian groaned, raking both hands through his hair as he resumed pacing. “That’s not it. She’s just... She’s so bloody arrogant! Every time she opens her mouth, it’s like she’s trying to one-up me.” He stopped pacing, gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white. “And what does it matter if I looked at her once or twice? She was probably doing something stupid.”

Ominis folded his arms across his chest as though settling in for a particularly amusing show. “Once or twice? Please, Sebastian. You’ve been watching her like a hawk. It’s a wonder you don’t walk into walls.”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed, a rare heat rising to the surface that he couldn’t quite suppress. “I have not—”

“You have,” Ominis interrupted, his tone clipped but unrelentingly calm. “And you act like a complete idiot every time she’s around. It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s happening."

Sebastian hated this. Hated how easily Ominis could dismantle him with a few well-placed words. Hated how his friend’s sharp intuition made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he didn’t know how to handle. But most of all, he hated how much truth there was in what Ominis was saying.

“Are you done psychoanalyzing me?” Sebastian snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ominis chuckled softly, his head tilting. “Not quite. I find this whole thing fascinating. In all the years I’ve known you, I can’t recall a single time a girl’s managed to live rent-free in your head like this.”

“She’s not living rent-free in my head,” Sebastian shot back, his voice a little too loud to be convincing.

Ominis straightened slightly, his expression shifting from teasing to mock-serious. “What happened to all that practiced charm, Sebastian? The smooth lines, the effortless charisma? It's like you’ve reverted to the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old. Being mean to the girl you like? Really? How utterly... unevolved.”

“For fuck's sake, Ominis, I don’t like her,” Sebastian ground out, his voice tight.

Ominis arched an eyebrow. “You’re right. You don’t like her—you’re obsessed with her.”

Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening as he tried to come up with a retort. But nothing came.

Ominis chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Well, as entertaining as this little therapy session has been, I didn’t come down here just to help you sort out your love life.”

Sebastian shot him a glare, his expression hardening. “Good, because I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly,” Ominis replied dryly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “But no, I’m here because the rest of us are heading to The Three Broomsticks for dinner. I came to collect you.”

Sebastian paused mid-step, his brow furrowing as he mulled over the invitation. His first instinct was to refuse—he wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with Imelda’s endless teasing or Garreth’s over-the-top antics. But something stopped him, a faint flicker of curiosity gnawing at the back of his mind.

“Is… she going?” he asked, his voice almost hesitant.

Ominis’s smirk deepened, and though his pale eyes couldn’t see the way Sebastian stiffened, his tone was sharp with amusement. “Chouette? Yes, of course she’s coming. Imelda invited her, naturally.”

Sebastian groaned internally, running a hand through his hair as he weighed his options. It wasn’t as if he could avoid you forever. Still, the thought of sitting across from you, your sharp tongue ready to cut him down if he stepped out of line, made him hesitate.

“Well?” Ominis prompted, tilting his head. “Are you coming, or should I tell them you’re busy sulking?”

Sebastian scowled. “I’m not sulking.”

“Of course not,” Ominis said, his smirk widening. “You’re just… reflecting.”

With a long, reluctant sigh, Sebastian flicked his wand toward the scattered debris in the room, muttering a spell to tidy up the splinters and books he’d strewn about. “Fine,” he said, his tone sharp. “But if you so much as breathe a word about this conversation to anyone, I’ll hex you into oblivion.”

Ominis held up his hands in mock surrender, his expression impossibly smug. “Not a problem. Now come on."

Sebastian followed Ominis out of the Undercroft. The conversation they’d just had lingered like an annoying itch in the back of Sebastian’s mind, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the growing din of chatter and footsteps as students made their way out of the castle toward Hogsmeade.

Ominis walked ahead with his usual effortless grace, his posture straight and composed. Sebastian’s gaze drifted to his friend’s outfit, a navy button-down tucked neatly into dark slacks. There was always an effortless elegance to Ominis—an innate sense of poise and precision that Sebastian had long since given up trying to emulate.

He frowned, glancing down at his own attire—grey sweatpants that were just a bit too loose around the waist, paired with a faded Joy Division T-shirt. His sneakers, scuffed from countless treks across the grounds, completed the look—or rather, the lack of one.

He grimaced.

“Something wrong?” Ominis asked, his voice light with amusement.

Sebastian straightened, forcing an air of nonchalance. “No,” he said flatly. "Just wondering why you’re trying to make the rest of us look bad.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s called making an effort, Sebastian. You might want to try it sometime.”

Sebastian grunted in response, shoving his hands into his pockets as they descended the steps leading to the main entrance. A few groups of students passed by, their laughter filling the air. His mind wandered back to you, as it frustratingly had a habit of doing lately. He remembered your sharp eyes flicking over his Smiths tee that first night, your smirk as cutting as your remark about him trying to look “deep and brooding.” He was sure you'd have another comment lined up when you saw him this time.

Soon enough, the Three Broomsticks loomed ahead, its windows glowing invitingly. The muffled sounds of lively conversation spilled out each time the door opened, and Sebastian could already make out Imelda’s laugh among the crowd.

Ominis slowed his pace, turning his head slightly toward Sebastian. “Try not to make a scene,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’ve already given everyone enough to talk about this week.”

Sebastian bristled but nodded, biting back a sarcastic comment.

As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of butterbeer and roasted food filled the air. Sebastian’s gaze swept the room, quickly landing on the group’s usual corner table. Imelda, Garreth, and the others were already there, and—

You.

You were leaning forward on your elbows, laughing softly with Garreth, your voice cutting through the warm hum of the pub. Gone was the Beauxbatons poise he was used to seeing—your usual immaculate look now replaced by something entirely different.

You were wearing an oversized band tee—The Cure, he realized with a jolt—and black jeans that hugged your figure in all the right ways, making it impossible for him to look away, even though he damn well tried. Scuffed sneakers tapped in time with the music that thumped through the pub.

And then you pushed up the sleeves of your shirt, casually exposing the tattoos inked along your forearms. Sharp, intricate lines traced the length of your skin, telling stories he couldn’t quite piece together but wanted to know. The sight sent a jolt through him, his stomach flipping in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely. Of course. Of course, you’d have tattoos. Of course, your style would mirror his own, as if you’d stepped straight out of a reflection of everything he liked.

“You’re blocking the doorway," Ominis’s voice broke through his thoughts, dry and pointed.

Sebastian blinked, realizing he’d stopped dead just inside the entrance. He cleared his throat and stepped aside, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to compose himself.

“You're acting like she's sprouted a second head,” Ominis chuckled as they made their way toward the table.

Sebastian shot him a glare but didn’t respond.

As they neared the group, Imelda glanced up first, her grin wicked. “Well, look who decided to show up. What took you so long, Sallow? Still licking your wounds from that duel on Monday?”

“Good to see you too, Reyes,” Sebastian quipped, finding a place at the far end of the table—conveniently as far away from you as possible. He busied himself by grabbing a menu, using it as a shield to block out the sight of you.

“Hello, Sallow,” came a voice from across the table. Sebastian glanced around the menu to find Leander smirking at him, pint of beer already in hand. “Fancy a drink?”

The tension was immediately palpable, a charged undercurrent that neither bothered to mask.

Their rivalry wasn’t new.

Sebastian and Leander were opposites in style but equals in presence, two sides of the same coin. Fire and Ice. Sebastian, Slytherin's star Quidditch Beater and school dueling champion, with his rumpled style and sharp edges. Leander, polished and preppy, the Summoner’s Court star, always impeccably dressed and composed. And to each other's chagrin, both knew how to charm their way into hearts and, more often, beds. It was an unspoken game between them, a constant measuring of egos and victories.

Sebastian hesitated for a moment before nodding, dropping the menu and leaning over as Leander slid an extra pint his way. “Why not?” he muttered, taking the glass and letting the cold condensation cool his fingers.

Leander took a swig of his beer, his smirk widening as he leaned in conspiratorially. “So,” he started, his tone already suggesting trouble. “What’s the deal with you two?”

Sebastian tensed, immediately knowing who Leander was referring to but feigning ignorance. “Who?”

Leander gestured subtly with his head toward your end of the table, where you were chatting with Garreth and Imelda, your laughter carrying lightly over the ambient noise of the pub. “Chouette.”

“There’s no deal,” Sebastian replied flatly, taking a sip from his pint. “Why?”

Leander raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You’ve been staring at her all week like she’s a bomb you’re trying to defuse.”

Sebastian’s grip on his glass tightened slightly, but he forced a casual smirk. “You’re imagining things.”

“Right,” Leander drawled, dragging out the word. “Well, if there’s nothing going on, I might just try my luck.”

Sebastian’s jaw twitched and Leander’s grin turned sly, his pint dangling lazily from his fingertips. “Doesn’t seem like your usual type, anyway, does she? You’ve always gone for the willowy ones.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “But Merlin’s beard, Sallow. That figure? The tattoos? The piercings? Sexy as hell.” He tilted his head, the grin widening. “And sharp as a whip, too. She doesn’t take your shit for a second, does she?”

Sebastian’s grip on his drink tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly. He took a deliberately long sip, the bitterness of the beer doing little to mask the irritation curling in his chest.

Leander seemed to pick up on the subtle shift in Sebastian’s demeanor and leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Tell you what,” he said, his grin turning sharper. “How about a little wager? Fifty Galleons. First one to bed her wins. No harm done—it’s her choice anyway, isn’t it?”

Sebastian stiffened, though he shouldn’t have been surprised by Leander’s proposition—after all, their reputations certainly didn’t put them far above such things.

But even for Sebastian, there were lines he didn't cross. And something about the way Leander framed it—reducing you to nothing more than a prize to be won—felt wrong. Low. But that sting of pride, that unwelcome prick to his ego at the thought of letting Leander bloody Prewett swoop in unchallenged, was hard to ignore. So instead of declining, he leaned back, smirking faintly, falling back into the role everyone expected him to play.

“Fifty Galleons, huh?” he said, his tone light, almost amused. “You’re on.”

Leander grinned, thrusting out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Sebastian hesitated for half a heartbeat before extending his own hand, gripping Leander’s firmly. “Deal.”

The shake lasted only a moment, but as Sebastian pulled back, a flicker of regret twisted in his chest. If you ever found out about this, you’d probably hex them both where they stood.

But his pride wouldn’t let him back down. And besides, it wasn’t like anything would come of it. Right?

Sebastian barely had a moment to process the knot of unease in his chest before Imelda’s voice rang out, sharp and teasing.

“Oi, Sallow,” Imelda called from down the table, her tone carrying that trademark teasing lilt. “Let me guess—another edgy thrift store find?”

Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown off. He glanced at her, then followed her gaze to his shirt, the faded logo emblazoned across the chest. His smirk flickered back into place. “Jealous, Reyes?”

Imelda rolled her eyes, turning toward you. “Chouette, what do you think? Does our dear Sebastian look like he’s auditioning for a muggle garage band, or is this more ‘serious artist’ territory?”

All eyes turned to you, and for a fleeting moment, Sebastian braced himself. You could easily take Imelda’s bait, throw a scathing remark his way, and earn another round of laughter at his expense. But instead, your expression softened slightly, and you gave a casual shrug.

“I mean,” you said with a casual shrug, gesturing to your own outfit, “we’re basically wearing the same thing, aren’t we? Not like I’ve got room to judge.”

The group stilled briefly, the surprise palpable. Even Sebastian blinked, caught completely off guard by your measured response.

You continued, your tone edged with self-awareness. “I shouldn’t have sunk to his level with those comments I made before—that was petty. It’s not like I’m the authority what people can or can’t wear… even if my read on Sebastian’s absolutely dazzling personality was spot on.”

The table erupted in laughter and Sebastian’s lips twitched, caught between a scowl and a reluctant smile. You hadn’t gone for the easy dig, but you’d still managed to keep your edge intact. It was infuriating. And impressive. Like you’d gotten the better of him again without even trying.

Garreth leaned forward, gesturing toward Sebastian with his pint. “In his defense,” he said, “he does actually listen to the bands on his shirts. Big muggle music fan. It’s honestly kind of annoying—he zones out completely with his earbuds in and taps his quill like mad when we’re trying to study in the library.”

The group chuckled, and Sebastian smirked, clearly unbothered. He raised his pint in a toast to Garreth. “Always nice to have a character witness, Weasley.”

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes sharpening with curiosity as you turned toward Sebastian. “What’s your favorite song right now?”

He blinked, the earnest question catching him off guard. He set his pint down as he considered you for a moment. “Uh... maybe 505 by the Arctic Monkeys.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and then you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’re like a 2014 Tumblr girl.”

Sebastian frowned, his confusion evident. “A what?”

Realizing your slip, you hesitated, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Never mind,” you said quickly, waving a hand as if to brush it off. “I grew up with a muggle mum, so I guess it’s… it’s one of those references that doesn’t really translate.”

Poppy perked up, leaning forward with interest. “What’s Tumblr?”

You sighed, clearly debating how much to explain. “It’s… kind of like a chaotic... online scrapbook,” you said, your tone sheepish. “Back in 2014, it was all about indie bands, angsty quotes, and aesthetics. The Arctic Monkeys were a big deal on there. So were flower crowns, oddly enough.”

Sebastian leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So maybe my taste isn’t so questionable after all.”

Before you could answer, proprietress of the Three Broomsticks, Sirona Ryan, swept over to the table. "Evening, folks. Same as usual for most of you, or are we branching out tonight?"

The group quickly ordered, everyone going for their favorite pub classics from shepherd’s pie and beef stew to fish and chips. All the while, Sirona nodded along, her quill scratching against the notepad. Then her gaze shifted to you, her smile softening. “Ah. There's a face I haven't seen before. What can I get you?”

Sebastian glanced up at you instinctively, watching as you smiled politely at Sirona, your tone light. “Just a house salad, please."

A salad? While everyone else was diving headfirst into comfort food? Sebastian didn’t say anything, but the choice stuck with him, a faint itch at the back of his mind.

Garreth leaned across the table, his grin sharp. “Fancy a game of darts, Sallow? Or are you scared to lose?”

Sebastian smirked, grateful for the distraction. “To you? Not a chance.” He stood and followed Garreth to the dartboard, grabbing a set of darts as the rest of the group’s chatter faded into the background.

He lined up his first shot, locking onto the bullseye. Darts was his game—Garreth was usually no competition. Tonight should’ve been no different.

But as he drew back his arm, his eyes flicked to the table.

You were laughing at something Imelda said, your shoulders shaking, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. The warm light highlighted the numerous silver rings and studs lining your ears, the strands of hair framing your face. You looked... disarmingly perfect.

His rhythm faltered and the dart veered wide, hitting the board with a weak thunk far from its target.

Garreth burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “Merlin’s beard! Did you forget how to aim?”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Sebastian muttered, grabbing another dart.

He refocused, narrowing his gaze on the bullseye. Focus. Just throw.

Then you stretched casually, arms over your head, the hem of your band tee lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. His hand twitched, and the dart flew early, landing on the edge of the board.

Garreth howled, slapping the wall. “What is going on with you? Are you trying to throw the game?”

“I’m just warming up,” Sebastian snapped, his ears burning. He grabbed his final dart, determined to salvage what was left of his pride.

Garreth stepped back, smirking. “Sure, mate.”

Sebastian lined up, blocking out the noise. Just throw the damn dart. But as he prepared to release, you glanced his way, your curious expression sending his nerves spiraling.

The dart hit the board—barely—scoring a handful of points.

Garreth clapped him on the back, grinning. “Losing your edge, Sallow.”

Sebastian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, scowling. “Just finish your turn.”

Garreth, unbothered, hit near-perfect throws, finishing with a triumphant smirk. “Better luck next time, mate.”

Sebastian waved him off, muttering about distractions, but the truth gnawed at him. It wasn’t Garreth, the noise, or even the game.

It was you.

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

[kitorin]

5:40 pm - Isagi Yoichi

You're Yoichi's first.

The first person he's ever confessed to, his first relationship, the first person he's ever loved.

It's no surprise. On Valentines day he didn't receive anything, each year he passively listens to his teammates plan out and discuss how to reciprocate on White Day, unable to relate. Whenever his classmates brought up the discussion of crushes and who'd be the best to date, his name was never brought up.

Yoichi genuinely did not care. He's not interested in pursuing romance, and would much rather prioritise and focus on the relentless journey to achieve his dream of becoming number one. In fact, he perceived the lack of dating in his life as something to be proud of, he has more time to dedicate to his objectives as an athlete.

Yet here he finds himself, holding your hand in secret, skin drenched in sweat and face dusted with pink.

17 years of being ignored by love, the streak broken by you.

It all started when coach introduced you as the new manager, he didn't think much of you at first, just someone to appreciate for their help and time.

But before he knew it "Good morning" became a silent thought of "How do you look so pretty?". "I'll see you tomorrow!" turned into Yoichi changing his route home so he could be with you for a bit longer, even if he got home a lot later. The connection of manager and athlete was rewoven into lovers, by a bashful and stuttering confession from Yoichi.

And that was the initiation of his first relationship.

It's kept secret. At least for now. Not until Yoichi's ready, the concept of a relationship has always been so foreign for him. You're patient, you understand that it's all new and overwhelming for him.

His lack of experience never took anything away from the relationship. It's adorable despite his oblivion to what love is like. Behind the image of good friends hid sweet nothings uttered while no one was watching. Manager and athlete concealed the awkward yet sweet attempts to hold your hand. This 'friendship' of yours disguised the unfathomable love and adoration you possessed for each other.

"If I could share this little kindness, even a normal day like this will become a fantastic day."

The soft rattling of the bus accompanies the music, filtering out a bit of the noise from the rest of the soccer team.

He can hear his own heart beat too.

Even after getting together, something as simple as sharing earbuds with you is enough to make him blush.

He averts his attention from watching Bachira stealing stuff from Kunigami to his right, to you. And gosh, he swears his heart skipped a beat.

You're gazing out the window, he doesn't even have a full view of your face, yet he's so enamored with he's seeing. All of it's flawless, the sinking sun in the distance, pink hues mingling with yellow; the way the sky's remaining sunlight engulfs you, highlighting your features, cloaking you with radiance.

He's yours and you're his, it's been like that for the past month yet it still feels thoroughly unreal.

His hand reaches out to you, a gentle poke followed by an equally gentle pinch. It's an act of affection he learnt from you, after you begged to touch his cheeks after commenting how soft and 'squishy' they looked. Initially, he found it confusing, but didn't mind because of your satisfied reaction.

The action makes you turn towards him, slightly confused yet curious what he was doing, and it drives him insane how you're able to make him feel this way without doing anything at all.

"Just a bit more, just a bit more." The music continues in his ear.

"Yoichi? What's wr-"

Yoichi's lips replace his fingers, softly planting a kiss on your cheek. It leaves you dumbfounded, staring at him in disbelief. He's always been so shy, even holding hands was a big deal to him. Your fingers inch closer to where he kissed. "Wow..."

"Your lips are really moist."

He's caught off guard. "Shit, sorry, is that bad?" He tries to wipe his lips with his sleeve, but your hand catches his wrist.

"No, not at all." Yoichi's embarrassed at how you're laughing at his assumption, but he barely notices it, because the way you laugh is so pretty, everything is; but something about your laughter that makes him feel weak in the knees. "I liked it." The rosy colour appearing on your cheeks give him a sense of pride, though his face was probably a bright scarlet now.

"It'll be your lips next time." It's a mumble barely loud enough for you to hear, but his embarrassment is evident as he whispers out a flustered 'oh god'.

"I'll be looking forward to it." It's so unfair how your mere existence and words can fluster him so effortlessly. "Why all of a sudden though?" It wasn't too much of a risky move since everyone else was too preoccupied with their phones or each other, but it still piqued your curiosity.

"The music was really nice. And the sky was pretty. You were as well-, I mean you always have been and are-, yeah. It seemed perfect..."

"Oh god Yoichi, you always have and always will be perfect to me." As if your sweet words weren't enough, you rest your head against his shoulder, and his face somehow manages to heat up even more. "Oh we've arrived at the station, c'mon let's get home." Yoichi's not even sure if he's brave enough to venture out in public in such a flustered state.

The two of you patiently wait for everyone to catch their respective trains, after getting off the bus.

"Bye everyone, see you at practice."

"See ya." Bachira's always been a cheerful person, but this time his grin somehow entails more joy than usual. "Congratulations Isagi, thanks for the money."

"Huh? Money?"

Before either of you can ask for clarification, Bachira jumps onto Kunigami. "Hand over 1k! We win~!"

"You all owe us. Don't even try to hide from us I have a checklist." Nagi mumbles, and half of the team groan as they pull out their wallets.

"Um, Reo? Please clarify?" The soccer team was indeed odd, but this was inexplainable.

"They bet money on whether you were dating or not." Ah.

"Did you win?"

A smug smirk appears on his face. "Of course I did, I'm not an idiot." Why would winning a bet even matter to him when his family was the richest in Japan? "Isagi using too much lip balm?"

"Honestly I couldn't imagine Isagi pulling." Kunigami comments, the silent gasp and the look on Yoichi's face is absolutely priceless.

"Oi Kunigami, c'here." Yoichi almost pounces on Kunigami, who flees immediately. "And screw you Reo." He exclaims before chasing Kunigami.

"You owe me too, Kunigamikinnikun." Chigiri calls out. "I'll see you tomorrow, hope he doesn't give you a hard time." And soon he's off to sprint after Kunigami.

Well, there goes your 'secret'.

tagging. @kiyumiya

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate