#but it's always a joy to write for you all

[sixeyesonathiel]

diet pepsi

pairing — brother’s bsf!satoru x fem reader

synopsis : satoru always saw you as suguru’s little sister—until you came back different, and dangerous to want. fighting it should be easy, but summer has a way of breaking rules. and some mistakes feel too good to stop making.

tags — childhood friends au, mutual pining, summer romance, beach setting, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend trope, fluff, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, public sex (car), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy drunk satoru, overstimulation, virgin reader if u squint, unprotected piv sex, pull out method, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, possessive behavior, alcohol use, 13.9k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/n : i tried dialogue heavy writing instead of my usual sensory and internalization on one bit and all i can say is im never doing it again it felt so icky im so sorry TvT art is not mine, i am in the middle of finding the source ><

five years vanish like smoke, curling into nothing.

summer presses heavy on the cracked asphalt, heatwaves shimmering like ghosts rising from the dunes. the pop-up ice cream stand sags under the sun’s relentless weight, its faded awning flapping lazily in the salty breeze.

satoru leans against suguru’s rusted truck, sunglasses slipping down his nose, a greasy bag of fries teetering on his knee. they’re parked beside the shack, the lull in customers letting them sink into idle chatter, cheap food, and the sticky rhythm of a beachside summer.

he’s mid-bite—salt and vinegar stinging his tongue, sweat trickling down his neck—when he hears it.

a laugh.

not just any laugh.

bright and sharp, it cuts through the cicadas’ drone and the surf’s restless crash like a blade through silk.

he looks up, annoyed first—who’s that fucking loud?—then stunned, breath punched out of him like he’s taken a fist to the chest.

you step into view like you’ve walked out of a dream he didn’t know he was having, framed by the blazing sky and the ocean’s glitter. alone, you drag a beat-up duffel bag, its strap slung over your shoulder, sneakers kicking up little clouds of sand. the sundress you wear—white, gauzy, catching the breeze—clings to your thighs, the hem flirting with every step. 

a wide-brimmed beach hat sits tilted on your head, casting dappled shadows across your face, and your hair, sun-lightened and wild, spills down your back like it’s daring the wind to tame it.

you’re older. taller. you move with a confidence that scrapes at satoru’s ribs, leaves them raw and aching. you’re gorgeous in a way that feels like a hazard, like a spark too close to dry tinder. you shine, bright and untouchable, and he’s caught, staring, helpless.

his fry drops to the pavement, forgotten.

“yo,” suguru says, elbow jabbing satoru’s side, hard enough to rattle the truck. “you good, or did the sun fry your brain?”

satoru can’t answer. his tongue’s too thick, his heart’s lodged somewhere near his ankles. all he can do is watch you, the way your dress shifts with each step, the way your hat tilts as you turn your head, scanning the beach.

then you see them.

your face splits into a grin so bright it dims the sky, and satoru feels the ground tilt beneath him.

“satoru!” you shout, waving with a reckless joy that cracks the world open.

he pushes off the truck, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free, shoving his sunglasses up to hide the way his eyes are drinking you in. he hopes suguru doesn’t notice, hopes the heat crawling up his neck doesn’t betray him.

he saunters over, all false swagger, pretending his knees aren’t loose, pretending he’s still the same satoru who used to tease you mercilessly. “long time no see, squirt,” he drawls, flicking the brim of your hat. it’s a mistake—the hat makes you look too fucking cute, the way it frames your face, the way it dares him to keep looking.

you laugh, breathless and bright, and before he can brace himself, you throw your arms around his neck.

he freezes, arms caught mid-air, your warmth slamming into him like a wave. your body presses close—soft, real, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. your scent, something sweet and sun-warmed, wraps around him, and he’s drowning, his hands hovering before instinct takes over.

he wraps you up, too tight, too desperate, your curves fitting against him like you were made for it. your fingers fist into the back of his shirt, a brief, greedy clutch, and he feels the tremor in your grip, the way it lingers one second too long.

then you pull away, leaving him blinking, bereft, his skin tingling where you touched.

suguru joins a moment later, his lazy grin in place, oblivious to the storm raging in satoru’s chest. “didn’t know you were back today,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “would’ve picked you up from the station.”

he ruffles your hair, that annoying big-brother move, and you swat at him, your hat tilting precariously. “someone needs extra hands at the stand,” suguru continues, slinging an arm around your shoulders, his fondness clear in the crinkle of his eyes. “and since you’re back in town with nothing better to do…”

he’s teasing, but there’s warmth there, a quiet pride in having you close again. satoru watches, jaw tight, as you lean into suguru’s side, your ease with him sparking something sharp and ugly in his chest. it’s not jealousy—not of suguru, never that—but something else, something that claws at him, hot and restless.

“figured you’d be perfect,” suguru adds, smirking at satoru now, like he knows something’s off. “plus, toru here was whining about being bored.”

“was not,” satoru mutters, kicking at the sand, heat climbing his neck. he’s lying, and suguru knows it—satoru’s been restless all summer, chasing distractions to fill the hollow in his gut.

you laugh again, sweet and effortless, sweeter than the cotton candy sold at the stand. it’s a sound that hooks into satoru’s ribs, pulls tight, leaves him aching.

“c’mon,” suguru says, already turning toward the road. “my treat. diner time?”

it’s tradition.

that shitty little diner down the road, with its cracked vinyl booths and milkshakes so thick you need a spoon. the three of you used to haunt it every summer, sprawled across a booth, stealing fries, laughing until your sides hurt. nostalgia hits satoru like a fist, sharp and sudden. he’s fourteen again, all knees and elbows, stomach hollow with a hunger he couldn’t name.

“last one there buys dessert,” you chirp, already jogging ahead, duffel bag bouncing against your hip, sneakers flashing white against the sand. your sundress flutters, catching the light, and satoru’s eyes linger too long on the curve of your calves, the sway of your hips.

he tells himself you’re off-limits, a mantra he’s worn thin over the years. you’re suguru’s little sister, untouchable, a line he’d never cross. but the air smells like salt and possibility, and you feel like a second chance he didn’t know he needed.

he’s marching after you before he can stop himself, pretending he’s still just satoru—your brother’s idiot friend, the guy who used to pull your pigtails and sneak you extra ice cream. pretending he’s not burning up inside, pretending the rules still hold when you’re close enough to touch, close enough to taste.

pretending he’s not already, irreversibly, fucked.

the diner sits like a time capsule at the edge of town, neon sign buzzing like a trapped firefly, its pink and blue glow flickering against the dusk. same warped menu boards, same cracked vinyl booths, same sticky linoleum floor that clings to your sneakers.

nothing ever changes here, and satoru both loves and hates it—loves the way it holds you in its amber, hates how it reminds him of everything he’s tried to outrun. it’s the backdrop to a thousand memories, all of them sharp with you and suguru.

you slide into the booth across from him, your sundress whispering against your thighs, beach hat tossed beside you like an afterthought. satoru’s hyperaware of his knees brushing the air just shy of yours under the chipped formica table, the space between you electric, too small.

suguru slips in next to you, casual as ever, but there’s a protective edge in the way his arm drapes across the booth’s back, fingers grazing the vinyl an inch from your shoulder.

“so,” suguru says, sliding a laminated menu your way, its edges curling like old paper, “college treating you okay?”

you shrug, lips curving into a half-smile that catches the diner’s dim light. “it’s just school. nothing as exciting as the beach.”

“she’s being modest,” satoru teases, forcing his voice to stay light while his pulse hammers, your nearness a live wire under his skin. “probably acing everything.”

your eyes flick to his, a hint of pink blooming high on your cheeks, soft and fleeting like a sunset. “hardly. nearly failed calculus last semester.”

“you? fail math?” satoru grins, leaning forward, the memory of you hunched over graph paper, explaining equations to him and suguru, vivid as yesterday. “impossible.”

“college math is different,” you protest, but you’re smiling, holding his gaze a second too long, your lashes casting faint shadows.

suguru glances between you, eyebrow twitching upward before he grabs a menu, oblivious to the way satoru’s heart stumbles. “food’s still exactly the same here. bet they haven’t cleaned the grill since we were kids.”

“that’s what makes it good,” you say, laughing, the sound bright and warm, like the clink of sea glass against the shore. “nothing beats greasy diner food after a day at the beach.”

the waitress appears, pen poised, her gaze lingering on satoru, lips curving in a way that’s too sweet, too practiced. “what can i get for you folks?” she asks, voice syrupy when it lands on him.

you straighten in your seat, fingers tightening on the menu’s edge, a flicker of something sharp in your eyes. “i’ll have a chocolate shake and fries,” you say, voice clear, pulling her attention like you meant to.

“double cheeseburger, extra fries, chocolate shake thick enough for a spoon,” satoru orders, not glancing at the menu or the waitress. some things never change—his order, this booth, the way his chest tightens when you’re close.

“you still get the same thing?” you ask, smile soft with nostalgia, like you’re seeing him for the first time in years. “you used to make such a mess with those shakes.”

“remember when he got chocolate all over your new white shirt?” suguru chimes in, grinning, leaning back with an ease satoru envies. “you cried for like an hour.”

“i did not cry for an hour,” you protest, cheeks flushing, a spark of indignation in your eyes. “maybe ten minutes. tops.”

“and then satoru gave you his hoodie,” suguru continues, smirk sharp now, “and suddenly the tears magically stopped.”

“shut up,” you mutter, kicking suguru under the table, your gaze skittering away from satoru’s.

he remembers that day like it’s burned into him—you, twelve, small and devastated, tears streaking your face over a ruined shirt. him, awkward and too tall, draping his oversized hoodie around your shoulders, your eyes lighting up like he’d given you something precious. the memory sits heavy in his chest, warm and aching.

“you kept that hoodie for years,” suguru adds, ignoring your glare, voice teasing but fond. “pretty sure i saw you packing it for college.”

“oh my god, can we talk about anything else?” you plead, face scarlet, fingers twisting the straw wrapper into a knot.

satoru’s heart lurches. you kept his hoodie? all these years? the thought blooms inside him, dangerous and warm, like a spark he can’t smother. he wants to ask, wants to know if it still smells like him, if you ever wore it and thought of him, but he swallows it down, terrified of what his face might give away.

“what brought you back this summer?” he asks, voice steadier than he feels, desperate to shift the focus before he betrays himself. “just break, or…?”

“internship fell through,” you admit, shrugging, the motion small, almost apologetic. “figured i’d come home, make some money at the stand if you guys needed help.”

“always need help,” suguru nods, stealing a sugar packet from the caddy, spinning it between his fingers. “tourist season’s crazy this year.”

“plus satoru’s been whining about needing days off,” he adds, smirking, tossing the packet at satoru.

“i have not been whining,” satoru protests, catching the packet mid-air, his grin masking the way his pulse spikes at your laugh.

“you literally said yesterday that if one more kid dropped their ice cream and cried, you were going to walk straight into the ocean,” suguru deadpans, folding his arms.

you laugh, bright and clear, and satoru’s heart does a stupid, reckless flip. god, he missed that sound—missed it like air, like something vital he didn’t know he’d lost until it’s here again, filling the hollow in his chest.

“sounds like you need me to save you,” you tease, eyes locking with his across the table, a flicker of softness there, warm and unguarded.

“maybe i do,” he says, too honest, voice low, watching the pink deepen on your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly.

the food arrives, breaking the moment like a wave against the shore. you take a bite of a fry, eyes fluttering shut, a small hum of contentment slipping out that has satoru gripping his glass so tight he’s surprised it doesn’t crack. the sound’s innocent, but it lands like a spark, igniting something restless in him.

“god, i missed real food,” you sigh, dipping another fry in ketchup, the motion careless, perfect. “dining hall stuff is awful.”

“that fancy school doesn’t feed you right?” suguru teases, stealing a fry from your plate, dodging your swat with a grin.

“hey!” you protest, brandishing your fork like a weapon. “and no, it’s all kale and quinoa and weird vegan options.”

“poor baby,” satoru mocks, but his voice is soft, and when suguru’s not looking, he slides a few of his fries onto your plate, a quiet offering.

you catch it, eyes warming, lips curving into a private smile that feels like a secret stitched between you. your fingers brush the table’s edge, inches from his, and he wonders what it’d be like to close that gap, to feel your skin against his.

“remember that summer we practically lived here?” you ask, stirring your shake, the spoon clinking softly against the glass. “after suguru got his license?”

“and dad’s old pickup,” suguru adds, nodding, his eyes distant with memory. “we’d come every day after the beach.”

“you two would eat your weight in fries,” you laugh, the sound wrapping around satoru like a tide, pulling him under. “and then race each other back to the water like idiots.”

“while you timed us,” satoru recalls, grin tugging at his lips, the memory vivid—your small hands clutching a cheap stopwatch, shouting times as he and suguru sprinted, sand flying. “always the competitive one.”

“says the guy who insisted on best of three every single time he lost,” you counter, eyebrow raised, a challenge in your gaze.

“which was most times,” suguru adds, smirking.

“i let you win,” satoru protests, clutching his chest like he’s wounded, but his eyes are on you, drinking in the way you laugh.

“sure you did,” you say, not buying it, your eyes bright with that old, familiar spark.

suguru’s phone buzzes, shattering the moment. he checks it, sighs, and pushes his plate aside. “dad needs me to pick up stuff from the hardware store. you two good here? i can come back.”

“we’re fine,” you say quickly, waving him off, your hat slipping slightly as you turn. “i remember the way home.”

suguru hesitates, eyes narrowing as he glances between you, like he senses the shift in the air. “behave yourselves.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, voice too innocent, lips twitching.

“it means don’t let satoru convince you to do something stupid like that time he talked you into jumping off the pier,” suguru says, sliding out of the booth, his sneakers scuffing the floor.

“that was one time,” satoru defends, spreading his hands. “and she wanted to do it!”

“i was twelve and you told me it was totally safe,” you remind him, but you’re smiling, no bite behind it, just warmth.

“and it was safe,” he insists, leaning back. “you just can’t dive.”

suguru rolls his eyes, already halfway to the door. “i’ll be back in twenty. try not to burn the place down.”

the door jingles as he leaves, and the air shifts, charged, heavy with the weight of being alone with you for the first time in five years. the diner feels smaller, the hum of the neon sign louder, the space between you crackling like static.

“so,” you say, twirling your straw in your shake, eyes meeting his through your lashes, a hint of vulnerability beneath the tease. “did you miss me at all while i was gone?”

the question lands like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through him. he wants to say everything—how the stand felt empty, how summers dragged without your laugh, how he’s been chasing pieces of you in every distraction. but he can’t, not when you’re looking at him like that, soft and expectant.

“nah,” he says, breezy, then grins at your mock outrage, the way you puff out your cheeks. “maybe a little. the stand was too quiet without you dropping things.”

“i was not that clumsy!” you protest, laughing, the sound bright enough to drown out the diner’s hum.

“you knocked over an entire display of sunglasses trying to reach the top shelf,” he reminds you, smirking, the memory sharp—you, sixteen, stretching on tiptoes, cursing under your breath as plastic frames clattered to the ground. “twice.”

“because you and suguru kept putting things where i couldn’t reach them,” you counter, pointing a fry at him, your eyes narrowing playfully.

“it was funny watching you try,” he admits, smile softening, remembering the determined set of your jaw, the little huff you’d let out. “you’d get this wrinkle right here.” he taps between his brows, his finger lingering in the air too long.

your cheeks color, and you drop your gaze to your plate, lips twitching. “i can reach the top shelf now,” you say quietly, almost a challenge.

“i noticed,” he replies, the words slipping out, low and warm. too much, he thinks, but your smile—pleased, a little shy—makes it worth the risk.

“college has some perks,” you say, glancing up, your eyes catching his, holding them.

“like sukuna?” he asks, the name sour on his tongue, suguru’s earlier comment gnawing at him. he hates himself for it, for the way it slips out, sharp and unfiltered.

your smile falters, just for a second. “sukuna was just a friend.”

“a persistent friend,” satoru presses, leaning forward, unable to stop the edge in his voice.

“jealous?” you challenge, but there’s a hopeful spark in your eyes, a crack in your teasing that makes his pulse race.

“maybe,” he admits, surprising himself, the honesty raw, reckless. “or just protective. like suguru.”

“you’re not my brother,” you say softly, holding his gaze, the words heavy, deliberate.

“no,” he agrees, throat dry, heart pounding like it’s trying to break free. “i’m not.”

something shifts, a dangerous possibility curling in the air like smoke. you look away first, tucking hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling just enough for him to notice. your smile stays, small and secret, like you’re holding onto something fragile.

“anyway,” you say, voice lighter, “suguru mentioned you’ve been working on games?”

he grabs the lifeline, grateful for the shift. “yeah, indie stuff. nothing major yet, but i’ve got a few things published.”

“that’s amazing!” you say, eyes lighting up, genuine excitement in your voice. “you always were crazy talented with that stuff.”

“says the college girl,” he teases, but your praise sinks into him, warm and heavy, like a touch he can still feel.

“it’s just school,” you shrug, stirring your shake again, the spoon clinking softly. “nothing special.”

“it is special,” he insists, leaning forward, needing you to hear it. “you always were the smart one.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s pleased, soft. “says the guy who helped me pass physics senior year.”

“only because you helped me through lit,” he counters, grinning, the memory of late-night study sessions—your patience, your quiet focus—stirring something tender in him.

you laugh, the sound wrapping around him like the sun’s warmth. “we made a good team.”

“we still could,” he says, the words escaping before he can catch them, heavy with meaning he didn’t intend.

your eyes widen, lips parting, a flicker of hope crossing your face before you mask it with a laugh. “well, we’ll see how we do at the stand first,” you say lightly. “might get sick of me.”

“not possible,” he replies, too quick, too honest, his voice low enough to feel like a confession.

your smile turns shy, fingers fidgeting with your straw, twisting it into a knot. “you might be surprised. i sing in the mornings now,” you admit. “really loud, really off-key.”

“that’s not new,” he teases, leaning back, grateful for the lighter ground. “you used to screech taylor swift at the top of your lungs while restocking.”

“i did not screech,” you protest, laughing, your indignation bright and perfect.

“you absolutely did,” he insists, smirking. “scared away customers.”

“you’re such a liar,” you accuse, grinning, eyes sparkling like the ocean at noon. “you told me i had a nice voice.”

“maybe i lied then,” he suggests, voice dropping, playful but edged with something softer.

“or maybe you’re lying now,” you counter, leaning forward, your elbows on the table, closing the distance between you.

“guess you’ll have to sing for me again so i can decide,” he says, voice low, the words a dare, a pull.

your cheeks flush, but you hold his gaze, challenge sparking in your eyes. “maybe i will.”

the air crackles, five years of distance collapsing into this moment, this booth, this look. you’re not a kid anymore, and satoru can’t pretend he doesn’t see it—the way you’ve grown into yourself, confident, bright, a fire he can’t look away from.

“we should probably head back,” you say finally, glancing at your phone, your voice softer, like you’re reluctant to break the spell. “before suguru sends out a search party.”

“race you to the truck?” satoru suggests, grinning, a callback to countless summer days, his heart lighter than it’s been in years.

your eyes light up, competitive spark flaring. “loser buys ice cream tomorrow?”

“deal,” he says, already sliding out of the booth, his pulse racing for reasons that have nothing to do with running.

you grab your hat, fingers brushing the brim, eyes gleaming with mischief. “ready?”

and then you’re off, dashing through the diner, sundress fluttering like a sail, laughter trailing behind you like a melody. satoru follows, heart pounding, knowing suguru might kill him for the thoughts burning through his mind—your smile, your voice, the way you feel like home—but right now, watching you run ahead, he thinks it might just be worth it.

summer melts over the beach in thick, sticky waves, clinging to the chipped paint of the pop-up stand, to the sweat-damp curls at the nape of your neck.

you work the stand with suguru and satoru, slinging snow cones that bleed syrup, fries that glisten with grease, and cheap sunglasses that tourists snap up despite their complaints about the prices. they wilt under the sun’s brutal glare, faces flushed and shiny, while you move through the chaos with an ease that twists something in satoru’s chest.

it’s only been a week since you started helping out.

satoru tries to be normal. he swears he does.

but then there’s you, stretching on tiptoes to grab a stack of napkins from the top shelf, your tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of soft stomach, a tiny mole just above your hip that he’s never seen before. it’s a punch to the gut, that small mark, and he ducks behind the register, fumbling with keychains, pretending to sort them while his pulse hammers.

he’s not staring, he tells himself, but his eyes keep dragging back to you, to the way your skin catches the light, warm and alive.

there’s you, perched on a stool, slurping a cherry popsicle that’s melting faster than you can keep up with, your tongue darting out to catch the drips, lips stained red.

your eyes are half-lidded, lazy with heat, and your sandal taps a restless rhythm against the counter’s edge. every tap is a countdown, every slick of your tongue a slow execution, and satoru’s dying, his hands gripping the counter to keep from reaching out, from doing something stupid.

he’s fucking dying.

“dude,” suguru says one afternoon, lobbing a wadded-up receipt at satoru’s head, the paper bouncing off his temple. “your math is shit today.”

satoru startles, blinking at the till where he’s been staring for god knows how long, a customer’s change still clutched in his fist, coins biting into his palm. the tourist in front of him shifts impatiently, fanning herself with a crumpled map.

“whatever,” he mutters, shoving the coins across the counter, his voice rough. “it’s hot. i’m fried.”

“sure,” suguru drawls, slow and amused, leaning against the freezer, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. not suspicious, thank god, just teasing.

you laugh, swinging your legs where you’re perched on the counter, your denim shorts riding up to show the smooth expanse of your thighs, gleaming under the flickering neon “open” sign. you’re flipping through a gossip magazine, the pages crinkling under your fingers, your nails painted a chipped sky blue.

satoru nearly trips over his own feet grabbing a water bottle from the cooler, the cold glass slipping in his sweaty grip.

“earth to satoru,” you tease, crumpling a napkin into a ball and tossing it at his head, your aim perfect.

he catches it one-handed, tosses it back with a grin that feels too tight, too sharp, because you’re a fucking hazard, a loaded gun with your finger brushing the trigger, and you don’t even know it. your smile is lazy, your eyes bright with mischief, and he’s drowning in the heat of you, in the way you’re everywhere—your laugh, your scent, your warmth.

suguru cackles from the back room, sorting straws, oblivious to the storm in satoru’s chest.

“bet you can’t make another shot,” you taunt, grin wicked, leaning forward so your tank top dips just enough to make his throat dry.

“bet you i can,” he fires back, because it’s you, and he’s an idiot who can’t say no to you, not ever.

he grabs a plastic spoon, flicks it with a practiced snap of his wrist—it arcs across the stand, bounces off the freezer’s handle, and lands neatly in the trash can with a soft thud.

you whistle low, impressed, your lips pursing in a way that’s entirely too distracting. “show-off,” you say, but your smile softens, warm around the edges, like you’re proud of him.

later, you’re all sprawled in the sand behind the stand after closing, the air cooler but still thick, heavy with the day’s lingering heat. suguru strums a beat-up guitar he dug out of his garage, the strings twanging softly, his voice humming off-key to some old song.

you and satoru lie side by side, close enough that your arm brushes his when you shift, the contact sending sparks skittering across his skin. the sand is cool under his back, but he’s burning, every nerve attuned to you.

you doodle nonsense shapes into the sand with a stick, biting your lip in concentration, your brows furrowing just slightly. satoru watches from the corner of his eye, heart aching like it’s been bruised, the sight of you so close and so untouchable carving something raw inside him.

“wanna play chicken fights in the water tomorrow?” you ask suddenly, looking up at him, your eyes catching the last of the sunset, bright and alive.

“only if i get to be your ride,” he says without thinking, voice rougher than he means, the words heavy with want he can’t voice.

you grin, wide and blinding, and it’s like the sun never set, like you’re carrying it inside you. he almost blacks out, his breath catching, his world narrowing to the curve of your mouth.

“deal,” you say, offering your pinky, the gesture so familiar it hurts. he hooks his around yours, the brief press of your skin a vow he feels in his bones, sacred and binding.

he starts inventing excuses to stay after closing. restocking chips that don’t need restocking. double-checking the cash register he balanced hours ago. making sure you get home safe, as if the quiet streets of this town could ever hurt you. and you let him, every single time, your presence pulling him like gravity.

you let him linger, let him stand too close when you count the till, your fingers brushing his as you pass a bill, the contact fleeting but electric. you bump shoulders when you sweep sand off the counters, your laughter spilling into the night, loud and easy, hooking into his ribs and tugging until he aches. the string lights above buzz faintly, casting a soft glow over your face, tangling in your hair like a halo.

sometimes suguru’s there, tossing keys, joking about “kids these days” before bailing early to meet some girl at the pier, his footsteps fading into the dark. sometimes it’s just you and satoru, alone under the lights, the salty breeze stirring your hair, the beach stretching out endless and shadowed behind you, waves whispering secrets to the shore.

one night, after suguru ditches early, you and satoru ride home together. you slide into the cab of his truck, knees knocking against his in the cramped space, the scent of your sunscreen—coconut and sea salt—and the faint sweetness of sugar from the snow cones you snuck filling the air.

it’s suffocating, intoxicating, and he grips the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking.

the windows are down, the radio humming a low, dreamy song, its melody weaving through the warm night. the wind whips your hair across your face, and you laugh, batting it away with a careless hand, your fingers catching the light from passing streetlamps.

he thinks about crashing the truck just to have an excuse to feel your hands on him, to pull you close and never let go.

at a red light, you turn to him, voice soft, lilting, like you’re sharing a secret. “you’re staring.”

he jerks his eyes back to the road, ears burning scarlet, heart thudding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. “am not,” he says, voice cracking, betraying him.

you hum, unconvinced, leaning your head against the window, a small, knowing smile curling your lips. “liar,” you murmur, so soft it’s almost lost to the music, but it lands like a dart, sharp and precise.

“whatever,” he mutters, flustered, his usual swagger crumbling under the weight of your gaze.

the drive stretches on, every stoplight a torture, every bump in the road vibrating through the cab, tightening the tension until it’s a living thing, thick and heavy.

you hum along to the radio, voice low and sweet, your fingers tapping the dashboard in time, a rhythm that syncs with his pulse. every so often, you sneak glances at him, quick flicks of your eyes that burn, that make him want to pull over and confess everything.

you point out a diner glowing neon against the dark, its sign buzzing faintly. “we should go sometime,” you say, casual, but there’s a thread of hope woven into your voice, delicate and bright.

“yeah,” he says, too fast, too eager. “yeah, totally.”

your smile breaks over him like dawn, warm and inevitable, and he’s helpless, caught in its light.

when he drops you off, you linger by the truck’s door, backpack slung loose over one shoulder, fingers twisting the strap. “thanks for the ride,” you say, voice feather-light, your eyes catching the moonlight.

he nods, swallowing hard, his throat tight with everything he can’t say.

you lean in, close enough that he can see the faint freckles dusting your nose, smell the sweet trace of your lip balm—strawberry, he thinks, dizzy with it. for one wild, reckless second, he thinks you’re going to kiss him, and his heart stops, his world narrowing to you.

but you just tap his chest with two fingers, right over his racing heart, the touch light but searing, like a brand. “see you tomorrow, toru.”

you bounce up the porch steps, pausing to throw him a wink over your shoulder, quick and playful, before slipping inside. the door clicks shut, and he’s left staring after you, the engine ticking softly in the warm night air, the ghost of your touch burning against his skin.

he slumps back in the seat, groaning into his hands, the sound raw and desperate. “off-limits,” he mutters, thudding his head against the steering wheel, each word a knife. “off. fucking. limits.”

he drives home on autopilot, your laugh echoing in his ears, the memory of your fingers against his chest a pulse he can’t shake. he dreams of you that night—soft, warm, impossibly close, your breath against his skin—and wakes up aching, the line between want and need blurred beyond recognition.

the next evening, satoru offers you a ride home again, his voice casual but his pulse anything but. suguru waves you off, barely glancing up from his phone, thumbs flying as he texts his latest fling about meeting at the bonfire later.

“don’t wait up,” he calls, a smirk in his voice, and satoru nearly stumbles, cheeks flushing despite the evening’s cool bite, the implication landing like a spark in dry grass.

outside, the sky bleeds watercolor—orange and gold streaking into deep lavender, fading to dusky indigo at the horizon. the air carries salt, the smoky tang of distant bonfires, the faint sweetness of wildflowers clinging to the dunes.

you slide into the passenger seat, kicking off your flip-flops with a clatter, the soles dusted with sand. you prop your bare feet on the dashboard, toes flexing, a silver anklet glinting in the fading light, and satoru’s chest tightens at how easily you claim the space, like the truck’s always been yours.

“air conditioning’s broken,” he says, wrestling with the crank windows, the handle sticking under his grip.

“who needs it?” you shrug, a carefree grin spreading across your face, bright as the last sliver of sun. you lean your head out the window, letting the sea breeze whip your hair into a wild halo, strands dancing like they’re alive.

the truck rattles down the coastal road, tires kicking up clouds of sand that drift in the orange glow. you fiddle with the radio, twisting the dial past static until a slow, dreamy track hums through the speakers, its bass vibrating deep in satoru’s bones, syncing with the thud of his heart.

your fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your bare thigh, the hem of your shorts frayed and soft, and he’s dangerously distracted, his eyes flicking to you when he should be watching the road.

“pull over,” you say suddenly, sitting bolt upright, pointing to a dirt path half-hidden by seagrass.

“what?” he blinks, hands tightening on the wheel.

“there. pull over. trust me.”

your excitement is a current, electric and contagious, and he’s turning the truck before he can think, tires bumping over the uneven path. the clearing opens to a view that steals his breath—an endless ocean, molten and shimmering, the sun sinking into it like a dying ember. the horizon burns, fierce and fleeting.

before he can ask what’s next, you’re halfway out the door, tugging your tank top over your head, the motion fluid, careless. “swimming, obviously,” you call over your shoulder, voice bright with mischief.

he stares, heart slamming against his ribs, the air in his lungs gone. you shimmy out of your shorts, revealing a plain black bikini—simple, unadorned, but devastating, the fabric hugging your curves like it was made for you. his throat goes dry, words dissolving on his tongue.

“we don’t have—” he starts, but you cut him off, flashing a cheeky grin.

“i always wear it under my clothes,” you say, winking. “just in case.”

just in case you decide to unravel him, to turn his world inside out with a smile and a strip of fabric.

“well?” you challenge, standing in the sand, barefoot and fearless, like a siren born from the waves. “you coming or what?”

common sense is a faint echo, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. he yanks his shirt over his head, the cotton catching on his hair, and follows you, helpless.

the water is warm, lapping at his skin, the tide playful, salt stinging his lips. you dive under a wave, your body sleek and sure, cutting through the current like you belong to it. you surface with a triumphant laugh, hair plastered to your forehead, water streaming down your face, and satoru’s caught, staring, the world narrowing to you.

“chicken?” you tease, flicking water at him, your grin sharp and daring.

he pushes deeper into the surf, muscles burning, fighting the urge to just float there, to watch you move. “race you to the buoy,” you say, pointing to a marker bobbing in the distance, its silhouette dark against the fiery sky.

“you’re on,” he grins, teeth flashing, adrenaline spiking.

you take off, a blur of motion, and he has to push to keep up, slicing through the water with long, powerful strokes, the ocean dragging at his limbs. by the time he reaches the buoy, you’re there, clinging to it, laughing breathless, your chest heaving. “not bad,” you concede, splashing water in his face, the droplets cool against his flushed skin. “for an old man.”

“old?” he splutters, feigning outrage, lunging for you.

you shriek, twisting away, but he’s faster, catching you around the waist, his fingers slipping against your slick skin. he dunks you under, the water swallowing your laughter, and you surface, sputtering, eyes blazing with mock fury.

you launch yourself at him, crashing into his chest, and the momentum sends you both tumbling under the next wave, limbs tangling, breathless and weightless.

when you surface, you’re wrapped around him, legs locked at his hips, arms looped around his neck, your body pressed so close he can feel the heat of you through the water. the ocean rocks you gently, the sunset bathing you in fire and velvet, your faces inches apart. he can see the flecks in your eyes, the faint salt clinging to your lashes, and his heart stutters, a painful, desperate thing.

“i win,” you murmur, voice low, triumphant, your breath warm against his lips.

his hands steady you at your waist, fingers splaying over your skin, slick and warm, and he’s drowning, every nerve alight. “cheater,” he rasps, the word barely audible, his throat tight.

your smile is slow, dangerous, your eyes flickering to his mouth for a heartbeat, and satoru feels the world tilt, gravity slipping away. he leans in, instinct overriding reason, drawn to you like a tide to the shore—

a wave crashes over you, tearing you apart with a roar of laughter and salt spray. you’re both gasping, grinning, the moment shattered but still humming between you.

you beat him back to shore, stumbling through the shallows, your laughter ringing like bells. by the time he catches up, you’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself, the first stars blinking awake overhead, faint against the deepening indigo.

without a word, he grabs his hoodie from the truck, the fabric soft and worn, and drapes it over your shoulders. it swallows you, sleeves dangling past your hands, but you tug it tight, burying your face in the collar, and the sight of you in his clothes does something vicious to his chest.

“thanks,” you whisper, voice soft, nearly lost to the wind, your eyes catching his, warm and unguarded.

neither of you moves. the moment stretches, fragile as glass, strung between the stars and the restless waves, the air thick with salt and unspoken things. satoru’s heart hammers, every beat a confession he can’t voice.

“suguru would kill me,” he blurts, the words rough, desperate, a lifeline to keep him grounded.

you tilt your head, studying him, the wind tugging at your hair. “for what?”

for wanting you. for almost kissing you. for dreaming of you every night since you came back.

“for keeping you out too late,” he lies, voice scraping, hating how weak it sounds.

you laugh, soft and knowing, like you see through him, like you always have. “i’m not a kid, toru.”

he swallows, throat burning. “you’ve always been… different. special.” the words slip out, raw and unguarded, and he regrets them instantly, but your eyes soften, something tender flickering there.

you step closer, close enough that he can smell the salt on your skin, the faint coconut of your sunscreen lingering. “maybe i’m tougher than you think,” you say, brushing sand off his shoulder with fingers so light they feel like a dream, your touch lingering a second too long.

“maybe,” he croaks, voice breaking, his hands twitching to pull you closer.

you hold his gaze, long and steady, then sigh, stepping back, the space between you cold and sudden. “we should go,” you murmur, voice laced with something heavy, something he can’t name.

he drives you home slowly, windows down, the radio murmuring a low, slow song that weaves through the night. you curl up in the passenger seat, still in his hoodie, humming softly, your voice a thread he wants to chase forever. the road stretches, quiet and dark, the ocean a shadow to your left, its rhythm steady against the chaos in his chest.

at your house, the porch light glows, a soft amber pool, but suguru’s truck is gone, the driveway empty. “thanks for the swim,” you say, lingering with your hand on the door, your fingers brushing the handle like you’re reluctant to leave.

“anytime,” he says, meaning it too much, his voice low, heavy with everything he’s holding back.

you lean across the console, and his breath catches, time slowing as you press a kiss to his cheek—soft, quick, a fleeting devastation. your lips are warm, barely there, but they burn, a spark that could set him ablaze. then you’re gone, darting up the steps, pausing to throw him a wink, bright and teasing, before slipping inside.

he sits there, hand pressed to his cheek, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. the engine ticks, the night presses in, and he’s alone with the ghost of your kiss, the weight of it heavier than the ocean.

“you’re fucked,” he tells his reflection in the rearview mirror, voice rough, eyes wide and stunned.

his reflection doesn’t argue, just stares back, helpless.

the next morning at the stand, suguru’s quiet, frowning over inventory lists, his pen scratching too hard against the clipboard. “you okay?” satoru asks, dread curling in his gut, the memory of last night still burning.

“late night,” suguru mutters, scribbling a note, his voice clipped.

relief floods satoru, sharp and dizzying, nearly knocking him off balance. “the bonfire girl?” he asks, forcing a grin.

suguru smirks, a glint in his eyes. “very flexible.”

normal. it’s normal. nothing’s changed.

then you appear, hair twisted into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, wearing cutoff shorts and—satoru’s breath catches, a punch to the chest—his hoodie, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the fabric loose but claiming you in a way that makes his head spin. “morning!” you chirp, dropping your bag behind the counter, the zipper jingling softly.

“you’re late,” suguru grumbles, mock stern, tossing you an apron.

“by like, five minutes,” you protest, rolling your eyes, your lips twitching with a smile.

“still late,” he insists, but there’s no heat in it, just the easy rhythm of family.

you catch the apron one-handed, sticking your tongue out at him when he turns away. satoru pretends to fiddle with the register, fingers clumsy on the keys, trying not to stare at you, at the way his hoodie looks on you, at the way it feels like a claim he didn’t mean to make.

but when you catch his eye across the stand, your smile slows, turns secret, full of promises he’s not sure he can survive. it’s a look that says you remember last night—the swim, the almost-kiss, the kiss that was—and his heart lurches, knowing he’s lost, knowing he doesn’t want to fight it, not with the annual bonfire party looming, its heat and chaos waiting to pull him under.

the bonfire party pulses against the darkening sky, flames clawing upward, casting amber and gold across faces slick with sweat and laughter. satoru nurses a beer, the bottle cool and slick in his palm, half-listening to a friend drone on about swell patterns and reef breaks. his attention frays, eyes slicing through the crowd, searching for you, a reflex he can’t tame.

when you appear, the world collapses to a single, searing point.

you step from the beach path, a peach sundress clinging to your curves, thin straps shimmering like liquid firelight, the hem teasing high on your thighs. your hair’s loose, wild from the salt air, curling against your shoulders like it’s daring the wind to try harder. you look shy at first, eyes darting through the chaos of bodies, searching for an anchor.

then you find him.

your eyes lock across the fire, and your smile—small, devastating, a curve of lips that’s both invitation and blade—cuts through him. it steals his breath, roots him to the sand, the beer bottle nearly slipping from his grip. his heart’s a traitor, pounding loud enough to drown out the music, and he’s terrified suguru’s nearby, that his best friend’s sharp eyes will catch the way satoru’s unraveling.

“dude, you even listening?” his friend asks, waving a hand in front of his face, voice tinged with annoyance.

“what? yeah,” satoru mumbles, not hearing a damn thing, unable to tear himself from you, from the way the firelight dances across your face.

a shadow moves beside him, and suguru’s there, beer in hand, leaning back against a driftwood log. “you’re zoning out,” he says, voice neutral, taking a slow sip. his eyes flick to the crowd, casual, but satoru’s stomach lurches—suguru knows him too well, reads him like a book, and satoru’s been anything but subtle tonight.

“just hot,” satoru mutters, tipping his beer back, the bitter fizz doing nothing to cool the heat crawling up his neck. he forces his gaze to the fire, to the sparks spiraling into the night, praying suguru doesn’t push.

suguru hums, noncommittal, and says nothing more, but the silence feels heavy, like he’s waiting for satoru to crack. satoru tries to play it cool—laughs at a half-heard joke, tosses a stick into the flames, watches it catch and burn. but you’re a tide, pulling at him, relentless.

the way your dress shifts with the breeze, tracing the dip of your waist; the bare slope of your shoulders, kissed by firelight; the glint of your anklet, a silver thread against your ankle. it’s torture, and he’s burning, every nerve alight with want he’s desperate to hide.

you drift through the party, a fleeting spark, never staying long. you laugh with girls from the rival stand, their voices sharp and bright, then pause to chat with a guy satoru half-remembers from high school—tanned, smug, standing too close.

you tilt your head back, laughing, throat bared, and satoru’s grip dents his beer can, the metal creaking under his fingers. the urge to cross the sand, to shove the guy back, is a live wire in his veins, but he stays put, jaw tight, because suguru’s right there, watching the fire, and one wrong move could betray him.

“you’re gonna break that,” suguru says, voice low, nodding at the can, his tone too even to be safe.

satoru sets it down, dragging a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat. “i’m fine,” he says, too sharp, and regrets it instantly, the words too defensive.

suguru raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push, just takes another sip, his gaze drifting to the crowd. satoru follows it, and there you are, catching his eye again, your stare steady, unflinching. you take a slow sip of your beer, tongue flicking out to catch a drop on your bottom lip, and desire coils in satoru’s stomach, hot and heavy, his mouth dry as the ash at his feet.

he shifts, crossing his arms, trying to ground himself, to look anywhere but at you. suguru’s too close, too perceptive, and satoru’s walking a tightrope, every glance a risk. he forces a laugh at something his friend says, but it’s hollow, his focus fractured by the way you move, the way you exist, like you’re pulling the air from his lungs.

you’re there suddenly, standing before them, your sundress glowing orange in the firelight, sand dusting your bare ankles, a faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone. “hey,” you say, voice soft, a little breathless, like the crowd’s worn you thin, like you’re seeking refuge.

suguru shifts, patting the space on the log between them. “plenty of room,” he says, easy, tossing you a chip from the bag at his feet. “hungry?”

“i’m your only sister,” you point out, rolling your eyes as you settle onto the log, careful with the short hem of your dress, thighs brushing the rough wood.

you’re too close—satoru can smell your shampoo, coconut and sweet, weaving through the smoky air. your knee presses against his, a steady heat through his jeans, and he shifts, angling away, terrified of leaning into it, of suguru noticing the way his hands twitch.

you slip into easy talk, the three of you passing the chip bag, laughing at suguru’s tales of tourists losing sunglasses to the waves. but there’s a charge humming under it all, a current satoru can’t ignore.

he’s hyperaware of you—the way your fingers tuck a stray curl behind your ear, the soft hitch of your breath when you laugh, the way your eyes find his in the firelight, each glance a spark that could ignite him. suguru’s right there, sprawled and relaxed, but satoru’s nerves are a live wire, every moment a test of his restraint.

the speaker blasts a new song, bass thumping across the sand, and couples start dancing near the fire, shadows twisting against the flames. a guy approaches you—tall, cocky, hand outstretched, all easy charm. “dance with me?” he asks, grinning like he’s already won.

satoru’s jaw clenches, a spike of something hot and reckless surging in his chest, but you just smile, polite, shaking your head. “maybe later,” you say, voice light, and relief crashes through satoru, sharp and unearned, loosening the knot in his gut.

the guy shrugs, moving on, and suguru watches, finishing his beer in a long gulp, the bottle glinting in the firelight. he stands, stretching, his shadow long across the sand. “gonna grab another,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes linger on you for a beat, then flick to satoru, unreadable. “you two want anything?”

“i’m good,” satoru says, too fast, his pulse still settling, his hands gripping his knees to keep still.

“i’ll take another,” you say, holding up your empty can, fingers brushing the rim, a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge.

suguru nods, then heads off, weaving through the crowd, his absence leaving a void that hums with possibility. the fire crackles, music pulses low, and the silence between you and satoru stretches, thick with smoke and want, the air heavy with everything he’s fighting to hide.

“having fun?” he asks, voice rougher than he means, cringing at how weak it sounds, like a kid fumbling for words.

you smile, eyes on the fire, flames dancing in your gaze like they’re part of you. “yeah. it’s nice being back for the summer.” you turn to him, face half-shadowed, half-glowing, your expression soft, open. “better than i expected.”

“yeah?” he asks, heart hammering, the sound too loud in his ears, terrified suguru’s watching from the drink table, catching every slip.

you nod, holding his gaze, steady, unflinching. “yeah.”

the silence deepens, heavy as the tide, pulling at him. you take a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress, tugging it down, and he can’t look away from the nervous bite of your lip, the way it shines, wet with beer and firelight. he’s drowning, and suguru’s absence is a dangerous freedom, every second a chance to break.

“actually, i’m feeling a little…” you trail off, glancing at the crowd, the laughter and chaos swelling around you. “it’s kinda loud. kinda crowded.”

“we can move down the beach,” satoru offers, instant, eager, desperate to keep this moment. “if you want quiet.”

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth, a gesture that’s a fucking dart to his chest. “i was thinking… maybe you could drive me home?”

his brain stutters, blanks. “home?” he echoes, keys already burning in his pocket, his hands itching to move.

“if you don’t mind,” you add, quick, a blush blooming across your cheeks, soft and real, like you’re offering more than you’re saying. “i’m just… tired.”

he knows you’re not tired. knows it like he knows the pull of the ocean, the sting of salt. your eyes are too bright, too awake, the lie a fragile veil over something bolder. he’s nodding, fumbling for his keys, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the fire’s crackle. “yeah, of course. let me just tell suguru—”

“already texted him,” you say, holding up your phone, a shy smile curving your lips. “he says it’s fine.”

satoru’s pulse spikes, panic and want twisting together. suguru’s out there, somewhere, and satoru’s terrified he’s watching, that he’ll see the truth in his face, the way he’s crumbling under your gaze. but he stands, offering his hand, voice rough. “let’s go.”

you take it, fingers warm, slightly sticky from the beer, letting him pull you up. you sway, bumping his chest, and he steadies you, hands on your waist, the thin fabric of your dress no barrier to the heat of your skin. “sorry,” you murmur, looking up through your lashes, not stepping back, your breath a soft tease against his jaw.

“that’s okay,” he says, voice raw, barely holding it together. “i’ve got you.”

you weave through the crowd to the parking lot, your hand still in his, a tether he’s terrified to break. satoru spots suguru by the drink table, their eyes meeting across the sand. suguru’s gaze is steady, a small nod passing between them, no words, just an acknowledgment that feels like a warning: don’t cross the line.

satoru nods back, a silent promise he’s not sure he can keep, and guides you to his truck.

the drive’s quiet at first, just the engine’s low growl and the distant rhythm of waves. satoru grips the wheel, knuckles white, hyperaware of you in the passenger seat—your bare legs catching moonlight, the way your dress rides up, revealing the soft curve of your thigh.

you turn the radio on low, a sultry summer song with a bassline that matches his pulse, heavy and slow. your knee brushes his, stays there, a deliberate heat that sets him ablaze, and he’s fighting every instinct to keep his hands where they belong, to keep suguru’s trust intact.

“thank you,” you say, voice soft, cutting through the dark like a lighthouse beam. “for the ride.”

“anytime,” he says, and it’s a vow, heavy with everything he’s burying, everything he’s too afraid to let suguru see.

another mile hums by, the radio crackling low, a sultry bassline weaving through the dark. tires whisper against cracked asphalt, a secret shared between the truck and the night. the windows are cracked, letting in slivers of humid, salt-heavy air, thick with the scent of seaweed and distant bonfires. it does nothing to ease the heat coiling inside the cab, a fever that clings to your skin, makes every breath feel flushed, electric, like the world’s poised on a knife’s edge.

satoru feels it before he sees it—your gaze, molten and heavy, searing into the side of his face. the air shifts, sharp, trembling, a wire stretched to snapping. weeks of want, maybe years, spill over, uncontainable, a tide breaking against a crumbling dam.

“satoru,” you whisper, voice catching, raw with a need that slices through him. “pull over. please.”

he glances at you, and it’s a fucking mistake. your eyes glitter in the dashboard’s dim glow, wild and wide, lips parted, hands fisting the hem of your peach sundress, knuckles pale like you’re clinging to sanity. “what?” he asks, voice fraying, teetering on wrecked.

“please,” you say again, lip quivering, voice splintering under the weight of desperation. “i can’t hold it anymore.”

he doesn’t hesitate. the blinker clicks, sharp and urgent, the truck veering onto the sandy shoulder, ocean roaring below the cliffs, a primal pulse in the dark. he shifts into park, and the world catches fire.

“i can’t,” you whisper, eyes wide, pleading, like you’re unraveling. “i can’t pretend like you’re not everything anymore.”

he freezes, waiting for you to laugh, to take it back, but your hands are on him, yanking him across the console, your mouth crashing into his. you taste like desperation, strawberry lip gloss, and something achingly sweet, a heartbreak he can’t name. he moans, low and stunned, hands flying to your hips as you pour into him, a wave finally breaking, relentless and all-consuming.

your kiss is frantic, messy, teeth catching his lip, tongue sliding against his in a clumsy, starving dance. he’s drowning, your body pressing closer, like you could meld into him, erase every inch of space. “wait,” he gasps, pulling back, forehead knocking against yours, breath jagged, the air between you steaming. “baby, you’ve been drinking. i can’t—”

“satoru,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shirt, nails biting through cotton, dragging him back. “i know what i’m doing. i’ve wanted you since i was sixteen. please. just tonight. let me have you.”

the raw truth in your voice shatters him, every defense crumbling like sand. “oh, sweetheart,” he coos, teasing but hungry, kissing you again, deep and reckless, tongue chasing yours like he’s been starved for you. “we should—shit, we should find a bed, somewhere better—”

“no,” you cut him off, voice fierce, climbing over the console, straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. your dress rides up, thighs bare and warm against his jeans, and he chokes, breath hitching at the heat of you. “here. now. i can’t wait.”

he’s trying to be good, trying to think of suguru, of the lines he shouldn’t cross, but you’re too much—too pretty, too desperate, grinding against him, the friction making his vision blur. “backseat,” he murmurs, voice low, fraying with impatience, hands gripping your waist to lift you. “more room, pretty girl.”

you nod, frantic, and you both tumble out into the humid dark, clumsy with need, the night thick with the buzz of cicadas and the ocean’s restless crash. he catches you when your sandal snags on the doorframe, your laugh breathless, a sound that hooks into his ribs and pulls tight.

he shoves open the back door, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, firm but gentle, the leather seats gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

the backseat’s a tight cocoon, windows fogging, the air steaming with heat and lust. you climb in, pulling him after you, straddling him again, knees bracketing his hips, the seat creaking under your weight. your sundress is a crumpled mess, straps slipping off your shoulders, and he’s lost, staring at you like you’re a fucking vision, eyes glinting with want, skin flushed and alive.

“c’mere, gorgeous,” he coos, voice dripping with tease, but there’s a tremor beneath it, a hunger he can’t hide. he drags you closer, hands sliding under your dress, palms worshipping the smooth expanse of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the soft dip of your waist.

you gasp, grinding against him, and he feels himself, thick and aching, pressed against your core through his jeans, every roll of your hips a sweet kind of torture.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he murmurs, breath hitching, hands trembling as he pushes your dress higher, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate lace of your panties. his voice is all tease, but his eyes are dark, pupils blown, betraying the impatience clawing at him.

you giggle, wrecked and sweet, and he grits his teeth, your laugh a spark to his fraying control. “lemme touch you,” he pleads, voice low, edged with a need that’s almost painful, fingers itching to claim every inch of you.

“yes,” you breathe, thighs parting, a flower opening to the sun, offering him everything.

he traces slow, maddening patterns up your inner thighs, savoring every twitch, every shiver, the way your breath catches when his knuckles graze too close. his fingers brush the damp lace of your panties, and he curses, soft and reverent, the heat of you undoing him.

“soaked already,” he purrs, lips grazing your ear, voice thick with awe, a teasing lilt masking the way his hands shake. “such a good girl for me.”

he slips beneath the lace, and you choke on a cry, biting your knuckles, head falling back against the seat. “nuh-uh,” he teases, nipping your neck, a playful bite that stings just enough to make you gasp. “no hiding, baby. i want every sound. lemme hear you.”

he tugs your hand away, pinning it against the seat, his other hand working slow, deliberate circles over your clit, featherlight and cruel.

you whimper, high and broken, hips bucking into his touch, chasing the friction. he’s methodical, a tease—circling your clit with barely-there pressure, dipping lower to trace your entrance, then back up, dragging out every sensation until you’re writhing, grinding shamelessly against his hand.

“satoru,” you pant, nails scoring his shoulders through his shirt, leaving crescent marks he’ll trace later, proof of you.

“patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips dragging wet down your throat, teeth grazing the frantic pulse at your neck. “gonna savor you. make you forget anyone else ever touched you.” his voice is a promise, teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his own impatience, and you shudder, thighs trembling under his hands.

he shoves your panties aside, tossing them into the backseat’s shadows, and spreads you open, pressing you back against the seat, the leather sticking to your sweat-slick skin. the angle’s awkward, the space cramped, but he makes it work, one knee braced against the floorboard, shoulders hunching to fit, his breath hot against your core.

“prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs, eyes dark, pupils swallowing the blue, staring at you like you’re a banquet and he’s been starving for years.

he kisses up your thigh, slow, messy, lips smearing wet trails, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin, the faint musk of you driving him wild. his hands grip your hips, fingers bruising, holding you still as he edges closer, breath fanning hot over your core, making you squirm. when his tongue drags a long, languid stripe up your folds, you sob, arching off the seat, hands flying to his hair, yanking hard enough to sting.

he moans, the sound eager, vibrating through you, and dives in, ravenous. he’s messy, relentless—tongue lapping broad, greedy strokes, then sharp, teasing flicks against your clit, nose nudging you with every movement.

his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly, and you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, a vise he welcomes. he pries your legs wider, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and keeps going, tongue tracing every fold, every sensitive inch, like he’s mapping you.

“taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mumbles, words slurred, muffled against your core, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance, and he slides a finger inside, curling it slow, deliberate, searching for that spot that makes your breath hitch. you keen, high and desperate, and he adds another finger, stretching you, pumping in time with the sharp flicks of his tongue, the rhythm maddening.

“satoru,” you wail, overwhelmed, hips bucking, chasing the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers. his eyes flick up, meeting yours, and they’re wild—lids heavy, face flushed, glistening with your slick, utterly lost in you.

he’s trying to hold back, to keep some control, because you’re suguru’s sister, because he shouldn’t, but you’re too fucking perfect, grinding against his face, and he’s unraveling, impatient for more.

he shifts, the backseat too small, his shoulder bumping the fogged window, smearing the condensation. one hand braces against the door, keeping him steady, the other working you deeper, fingers curling just right, hitting that spot again and again until your thighs shake.

his tongue traces patterns—lazy circles, sharp figure-eights, quick flicks that have you gasping, trembling. he pulls back for a moment, just to spit on you, the wet heat mixing with your slick, making everything filthier, then dives back in, lapping it up, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds lewd and intoxicating.

“so fuckin’ wet,” he coos, voice teasing, lips brushing your clit, but the undercurrent of hunger is undeniable, his patience fraying. “dripping all over me, baby. gonna scream for me soon.” he dives back in, tongue relentless, fingers twisting, and you’re a mess, thighs quivering, chest heaving, the leather creaking under your restless movements.

“please,” you whimper, voice breaking, hands yanking his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “faster, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, but he obliges, tongue flicking quicker, fingers pumping deeper, curling sharper. “love it when you beg. makes me wanna tie you up, keep you like this all night.” his voice is playful, but the idea’s a spark, and you shudder, the image of you bound and spread for him making you clench around his fingers.

he groans, feeling it, and sucks your clit hard, tongue swirling, fingers relentless. you’re close, he knows it—the way you tighten around him, the way your hips stutter, the way your cries turn hoarse, desperate. he doubles down, tongue sloppy, lips smacking wetly, fingers driving into you, chasing every gasp, every shudder. “c’mon, pretty girl,” he coos, words muffled, dripping with want. “cum for me. let me taste it. fuckin’ paint me.”

you shatter, a hoarse, sobbing cry tearing from your throat as you come undone, convulsing under him, waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching off the seat. he doesn’t stop, lips moving, tongue lapping, fingers pumping, drawing out every tremor, every aftershock, greedy for every drop.

you’re whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders, but he’s too far gone, chasing the last of your release, his mouth slick and shining.

“satoru, fuck,” you gasp, voice broken, hands shoving at him, but there’s no strength, just a plea he ignores. he grins against you, sloppy and drunk, and licks another slow, deliberate stripe, making you jolt, a fresh whimper spilling out.

“one more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost pleading, lips brushing your clit, teasing and soft. “you’ve got another for me, don’t you? know you do.” his fingers slide deeper, curling slow, coaxing, tongue flicking light, playful, drawing you back to the edge with a patience that’s more about his hunger than your comfort.

you’re a wreck, thighs trembling, breath hitching, but you can’t resist him, not when he’s like this—teasing, hungry, cooing like you’re his to unravel.

he adjusts, cramped knees creaking, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread, hooking your leg over his shoulder to open you wider. his tongue circles your clit, soft and teasing, fingers pumping slow, deep, dragging out every sensation until you’re whining, high and needy, hands tugging his hair again.

“look at you,” he purrs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his face a mess—lips swollen, cheeks glistening, chin dripping with you. “so fuckin’ perfect, falling apart for me. bet you’d let me do anything, huh?” he nips your inner thigh, a quick, sharp bite, and you gasp, hips jerking.

“satoru,” you plead, voice fraying, “too much.”

“too much?” he teases, tongue flicking your clit, light and quick, making you twitch. “thought you wanted me, baby. thought you couldn’t wait.” his fingers curl, slow and wicked, and you arch, a fresh cry spilling out. “that’s it, give me everything. love watching you break.”

he dives back in, tongue tracing lazy patterns, lips sucking soft, then hard, alternating to keep you guessing, keep you trembling. his fingers work deeper, stretching you, curling against that spot that makes your vision blur, the wet sounds filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

he’s relentless, messy, eating you like he’s been denied for years, like every lick is a claim. his free hand slides up, cupping your breast through your dress, thumb circling your nipple, teasing until it’s hard, until you’re gasping, overwhelmed.

“wanna see you ride my face,” he murmurs, voice slurred, drunk on you, pulling back to catch his breath, his lips slick and shining. “wanna feel you grind, baby. c’mon, use me.” he doesn’t wait for an answer, just shifts, lying back on the seat, pulling you up, guiding your hips over his face, his hands firm but coaxing.

you hesitate, oversensitive, but he’s insistent, tugging you down, and when his tongue flicks your clit again, you’re gone, grinding against him, chasing the heat.

he groans, eager, hands gripping your ass, guiding your movements, his tongue relentless, flicking, circling, sucking. you’re a vision, dress hiked up, straps falling, hair a wild mess, and he’s lost, watching you use him, watching you fall apart again.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, voice muffled, vibrating through you. “fuck my face, c’mon, give it to me.” his words are filthy, teasing, but the hunger’s raw, impatient, and you’re too far gone to care, hips rolling, chasing the edge again.

he sucks hard, fingers digging into your hips, and you shatter a second time, weaker but sharper, a cry ripping from you as you convulse, thighs shaking, his tongue still moving, still greedy.

he laps you through it, slow, deliberate, not stopping until you’re limp, gasping, hands falling loose in his hair. his lips are swollen, face glistening, eyes hazy, utterly wrecked. he presses one last kiss to your clit, soft, almost worshipful, before pulling back, panting, staring at you like you’ve rewritten his world.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice raw, teasing but frayed with want, his hands still roaming your thighs, like he can’t let go. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“want you,” you whisper, dragging satoru up from where he’s still panting between your thighs, lips slick and swollen, the taste of you lingering on his tongue as you crash into him.

the kiss is filthy, all teeth and hunger, a clash of desperation and need. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt, pulling him so close it’s like you’re trying to carve yourself into him.

he moans, a low, wrecked sound, hands frantic as he helps you tear his shirt off. the fabric snags, rips at the seam, and you both laugh—breathless, wild, the sound swallowed by the thick air of the backseat.

you pause, hands splaying over his chest, fingers tracing the lean muscle under flushed skin, the faint freckles scattered across his collarbone like stars he never noticed. he’s beautiful, carved but human, chest heaving under your touch, eyes dark with a want that makes your breath catch.

“fuck, you’re staring,” he teases, voice rough but laced with a shy edge, a flush creeping up his neck that’s got nothing to do with the heat.

“can’t help it,” you murmur, tracing the sharp line of his abs, feeling the shudder that ripples through him. “you’re too damn pretty, toru.”

he curses, soft and reverent, a quiet “shit” that’s more prayer than profanity, and shoves his jeans down, kicking them into the backseat’s shadows with a clumsy thud.

his cock springs free—thick, flushed, the tip glistening with pre-cum, and you whimper, thighs clenching, a fresh wave of heat pooling low. he’s big, bigger than you’d imagined in your wildest, most reckless dreams, and the sight of him sends a thrill through you, sharp and electric.

he hesitates, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged, the air between you steaming with sweat and want. “baby, i don’t have a condom,” he says, voice tight, the words dragged out like they’re killing him, his hands trembling on your hips.

“don’t care,” you whisper, desperate, hands sliding to his hips, pulling him closer until his cock brushes your thigh, hot and heavy. “want you. all of you. please, satoru.”

he curses again, louder, a broken “fuck” as he drags his cock through your folds, slicking himself in your wetness, the head catching on your clit and making you gasp, hips jerking.

“last chance, sweetheart,” he coos, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown so wide the blue’s a thin ring, a man teetering on the edge of control. “you sure?”

“please,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. “need you inside me. now.”

he groans, a sound that’s all need, and pushes in slow, careful, watching your face with a focus that makes your heart stutter. the stretch is intense, a delicious burn that has you clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, leaving marks he’ll trace later with a grin. he buries his face in your shoulder, moaning, the sound low and frayed, like he’s coming apart.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he whimpers, voice shaking, a teasing lilt undercut by raw hunger. “squeezin’ me so good, pretty girl.”

he moves slow, rocking into you, letting you adjust to the fullness, each shallow thrust stealing your breath. it stings, but it’s perfect—the way he fills you, the way he’s careful but desperate, holding back just enough to keep from breaking you. “more,” you beg, rolling your hips, greedy, chasing the friction, the pressure. “harder, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, a chuckle that’s all heat, hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll bruise, a possessive edge to his touch as he pulls back, then fucks into you deeper, harder, the truck creaking with the force. you gasp, head falling back, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails he’ll wear like a trophy.

“satoru,” you sob, overwhelmed by the fullness, the way he hits every spot, splitting you open in the best way. the backseat’s too small, his knees bumping the door, your elbow grazing the fogged window, but it’s raw, filthy—the cramped space forcing you closer, bodies tangled, slick with sweat.

the air’s thick, heavy with the scent of sex, salt, and the faint coconut of your skin, windows fogged so tight you’re a secret hidden from the world.

“feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he pants, finding a rhythm, deep and steady, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene, filling the cab.

the distant crash of waves below weaves through your gasps, his groans, the leather creaking under you. his hands roam, possessive, one sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, thumb teasing your nipple until it’s hard, making you whimper.

“look at you, baby,” he coos, voice teasing but frayed with impatience, “taking me so well.”

“let me ride you,” you gasp, pushing at his chest, desperate to feel him deeper, to take control, to make him unravel. your voice is a plea, high and needy, and his eyes flash, something feral sparking in them.

“fuck yes,” he murmurs, wild and breathless, a grin splitting his face. “come take it, gorgeous.” he flips you in one fluid motion, maneuvering in the tight space with a grace that’s almost unfair, pulling you on top as he settles back against the seat, the leather sticking to his sweat-slick back. his hands tug at your dress, impatient, a low growl in his throat. “off. now. wanna see every inch of you.”

you nod, frantic, yanking the sundress over your head, the fabric catching in your hair before you toss it aside. your breasts spill free, no bra—because of course, you fucking minx—and satoru moans, loud and broken, hands flying to cup them, thumbs brushing your nipples, sending jolts through you.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, squeezing gently, rolling the sensitive peaks until you arch, grinding against him, a whine slipping from your lips. he leans up, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and you cry out, hips bucking instinctively.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard, and he groans, switching to the other breast, lavishing it with wet, messy attention, his lips leaving a trail of heat. his hands roam—one squeezing your ass, urging you to move, the other pinching your nipple, making you shudder, your core clenching around nothing.

“ride me, baby,” he pants, pulling back, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark and hazy, pupils swallowing the blue. “take what’s yours. lemme see you fall apart.”

you sink down on him, trembling, the stretch deeper at this angle, a sharp, perfect ache that has you whimpering, pausing to adjust, your breath hitching. he fills you completely, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, and you grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, grounding yourself.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, hands steadying your hips, guiding you gently, his voice teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his impatience. “fuck, you feel so good. so fuckin’ perfect.”

you move, hips rolling, clumsy at first, finding a rhythm that sends sparks up your spine. the leather sticks to your thighs, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the windows fogged so tight you’re a world unto yourselves. his hands help, guiding your hips, but his eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching his cock disappear into you, slick and glistening, a low groan spilling from his lips.

“look at you,” he breathes, voice thick with awe, a teasing edge fraying with need. “so fuckin’ gorgeous, taking me like that.”

every roll of your hips is electric, your thighs quivering, the effort making your muscles burn, but it’s worth it for the way he looks at you—like you’re a goddess, like he’s worshiping you with every thrust.

he meets you halfway, thrusting up, matching your pace, the truck rocking with the force, creaking and swaying like it’s barely holding together. his hands slide to your breasts, squeezing, thumbs teasing your nipples until you’re moaning, loud and shameless, lost in the heat of him.

“mine,” he murmurs, pulling you down for a rough kiss, teeth catching your lip, biting just enough to make you gasp. “fuck, you’re mine, baby. always have been.”

“yours,” you sob, collapsing against his chest, hips still grinding, chasing the pressure building inside you, a coil winding tighter with every move. his hands are everywhere—gripping your ass, cupping your breasts, sliding to your clit, rubbing messy, desperate circles that have you shaking, so close you can taste it.

he shifts, adjusting the angle, one hand braced against the door to keep his balance, the other guiding your hips faster, harder.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he pants, voice wrecked, eyes locked on yours, a teasing grin fading into raw hunger. “gimme another. wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

his thrusts turn brutal, deep, hitting that spot over and over, and you’re gone, shattering around him, walls clenching tight, dragging a low, desperate moan from his throat as he feels you pulse, hot and wet. but he’s not done. you’re still trembling, riding out the aftershocks, when he grows impatient, his cock throbbing, the need to cum clawing at him.

“fuck, baby, you’re too slow,” he teases, but his voice is strained, fraying with lust, a man on the edge. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, and he lifts you, bouncing you on his lap with a strength that makes you gasp, the truck shaking with every movement.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands clutching his shoulders, nails scoring his skin as he sets a relentless pace, thrusting up into you, each slam of your hips against his sending shocks through you. the angle’s deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every bounce, and you’re helpless, a ragdoll in his hands, your breasts bouncing, your moans spilling out, loud and broken.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, but it’s dark, impatient, his eyes wild as he watches you, watches himself disappear into you, slick and messy. “fuck, you feel so good. gonna—shit, gonna cum if you keep squeezing me like that.” his hands tighten, bouncing you faster, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

“please,” you beg, voice fracturing, overwhelmed by the intensity, the way he’s taking you apart again. “want it, satoru. want you.”

“fuck, say that again,” he groans, thrusting up harder, his voice teetering on desperate, the teasing gone, replaced by raw need. “tell me you want me.”

“want you,” you gasp, clinging to him, your lips brushing his jaw, his neck, as he bounces you, the friction driving you to the edge again. “want you so bad, toru. always have.”

he’s unraveling, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic, his breath hitching as he chases his release. “fuck, baby, you’re too much,” he pants, hands sliding to your ass, squeezing hard, guiding you down onto him one last time. “gonna—fuck, i can’t—”

he pulls out just in time, groaning loud and broken, spilling across your thighs, hot and thick, painting your skin as he slumps against you, panting into the crook of your neck, both of you trembling, spent.

for a long moment, it’s just the ocean’s roar below, the frantic thud of your hearts, the sticky heat wrapping you tight, the air heavy with the scent of sex and salt. he grabs his discarded shirt, cleaning you up with slow, careful swipes, his touch soft now, almost reverent, his fingers lingering on your skin.

“you okay, pretty girl?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, his lips warm, lingering, like he’s memorizing you.

“perfect,” you sigh, nuzzling into him, your body loose, sated, still buzzing with aftershocks, the leather creaking under you as you shift closer.

he helps you tug your dress back on, hands trailing soft, teasing paths over your shoulders, your collarbone, stealing kisses between every adjustment, his lips brushing your skin like he can’t bear to stop.

you’re curled together in the sticky heat, limbs tangled, the backseat too small but perfect for this—pressed close, hearts still racing, the fogged windows shielding you from the world. he checks his phone, and there’s one message from suguru:

you suck at hiding it. don’t get her pregnant, dumbass.

satoru groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck, a laugh bubbling up despite the mortification. “busted,” he mutters, half-amused, half-dreading the inevitable lecture.

“worth it,” you giggle, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, your lips brushing his temple, soft and warm, a promise in the touch.

tangled together under the heavy night, the world slipping out of focus—it’s just you and him, caught up in something quiet and reckless, something that feels too big to name.

a/n : ew i cant believe i had to mention sukuna but dw he got hit by a ten wheeler truck while the ending was happening. i scrapped the sorta aftermath of this which is one week later because it included risky beach sex.. lmk if y'all would want to see it ^_^

[mattrempeswife]

A LITTLE LOUDER NOW

pair: luke hughes x singer!reader

genre: fluff, romance, established relationship, feel-good.

warnings: announcement, lots of fluff, overwhelming happiness, public cheering, light cursing (out of excitement), major crowd reactions.

summary: as a world-touring singer and as luke longtime girlfriend, you’ve always had the support of your fans and luke, the new jersey devils’ hockey star. during your loud, sold-out concert stop in new jersey, you finally reveal the secret you and Luke have been keeping for months. between laughter, tears, and a double surprise, it’s a night no one will ever forget.

fia’s note: i’ve actually been quite into the idea of luke and a famous reader lately, so i thought it would be really fun to write something based on that! this piece is actually inspired by a few real-life artists who announced their pregnancies on stage, i always thought those moments were so special and emotional, and i wanted to capture a little bit of that magic in this story.

Prudential Center is now vibrated with pure, electric anticipation. You stood behind the curtain, bouncing on the balls of your feet, heart hammering in your chest.

Your oversized black shirt draped down to your mid-thighs, hiding everything you weren’t quite ready to reveal, at least not until the right moment. Your fingers absently brushed over your rounded stomach beneath the fabric, feeling the tiniest flutter of movement. They always danced when you were about to go on stage. Like they knew.

“You’re on in five,”

Your stage manager called, shooting you a thumbs up.

You turned, and just before stepping into the spotlight, you caught a glimpse of Luke he smiled at you with a soft, private and a look that said go make magic, baby. Your chest squeezed with love.

You blew him a kiss and mouthed, I love you.

Then the curtain lifted and the world exploded.

The roar of your fans was deafening, the kind that vibrated in your bones. Thousands of voices screaming your name, hands shooting into the air, the whole place alive with so much love it was overwhelming.

Grinning, you ran to the front of the stage, arms wide open.

“NEW JERSEY, ARE YOU READY TO HAVE THE BEST NIGHT OF YOUR LIVES?!” you screamed into the mic.

The response was a wall of sound, like a tidal wave hitting you straight in the chest.

Laughing, feeling weightless with joy, you launched into your opening number. The setlist was carefully crafted a balance of your biggest hits and the songs your true fans had loved for years.

Even though you moved a little differently tonight, swaying, bouncing, careful not to do your old flips and spins but it didn’t matter. The fans didn’t care. They sang with you, for you, as loud as they possibly could.

Three songs in, you stopped, breathing heavily but smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“You guys,”

You panted into the mic, wiping your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt.

“I missed you. I missed your crazy energy. You’re unreal tonight.”

Cheers answered you, hundreds of phones lighting up like a galaxy in the dark.

“I wanna try something fun,”

You said, pacing slowly across the stage.

“You know how I always talk… tonight, it’s your turn.”

Your crew passed a mic into the pit. Hands shot up, thousands of them.

You pointed, laughing, “Alright, who’s gonna be brave?”

After some scrambling, a younger girl with glittery face paint ended up with the mic, her hands visibly shaking.

“Hi!” she squeaked.

“First of all, you’re my hero. Second, uh, is Luke here tonight?!”

The whole place went wild again, chants of ‘LUKE! LUKE! LUKE!’ filling the air.

You placed your hand dramatically over your eyes, pretending to scan the crowd.

“Hmm…” you teased. “Let’s see…”

And then, grinning wickedly, you turned and pointed directly at the VIP section near the stage.

“There he is!” you cried.

“Of course he’s here to support his girl!”

Spotlights swirled over and sure enough, there was Luke, standing tall, wearing a Devils cap low over his messy hair and a black hoodie. He clapped sheepishly, cheeks flushed pink but grinning with pride.

The crowd went absolute feral, chanting his name louder.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something you could barely hear over the noise, but you saw it clear as day.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!”

Your heart swelled so much you had to physically press a hand over it to keep from crying.

“You guys are gonna make his head bigger than it already is,”

You joked, making the crowd laugh.

“He’s not allowed to steal my show, okay?”

Another fan raised her hand quickly. The mic was passed again.

“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?” she asked eagerly.

You laughed. “Oooh, that’s tough. But honestly? Mac and cheese. I’m not even ashamed.”

The crowd cheered approvingly.

Another fan spoke up next.

“If you could switch lives with Luke for a day, would you?”

You wrinkled your nose playfully.

“I love him, but no way. Y’all, the amount of bruises and missing teeth in hockey? Nah. I’ll stay right here with my mic, thanks!”

Everyone burst out laughing, including Luke, who dramatically pretended to faint.

One more question flew at you, and you smiled warmly when you heard it.

“What’s the best advice Luke has ever given you?”

You paused, thoughtful.

“Honestly?” you said softly,

“He always tells me to be proud of myself. Even when I feel like I’m not doing enough, he reminds me that showing up and trying is everything. And… that’s stuck with me.”

A gentle chorus of ‘aww’ rippled across the arena. Luke smiled so wide it was practically blinding.

And then…

A quieter voice from the crowd, hesitating but brave:

“Um, okay,” she said,

“We’re just wondering… why have you been wearing such massive clothes lately? And not dancing much? There’s a rumor you might be, uh… y’know… pregnant?”

Instantly, a hush fell.

Thousands of people holding their breath.

You laughed softly into the mic, heart hammering. This was it. This was the moment.

You slowly started pacing back toward center stage, holding the mic loosely in one hand.

“Alright,” you said, your voice warm and teasing.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything yet… but you guys know me better than that.”

Fans started screaming already, sensing it.

“I was hiding it,” you admitted, grinning.

“I didn’t want the paparazzi to ruin it. But… you’re lucky I love each and every one of you so much.”

You reached for the hem of your oversized shirt.

The place went dead silent.

Slowly, with a big, dramatic flair, you pulled the shirt up and off, tossing it to the side.

Underneath, you wore a fitted white tank top and your baby bump was impossible to miss.

Rounded and adorable, it pressed snug against the fabric, proud and perfect.

You held your arms out wide, beaming.

“YEAH!”

You shouted, your voice cracking slightly with emotion.

“I’m pregnant! I’m gonna be a mama soon!”

The arena exploded in screams, louder than anything you had ever heard in your life.

But you weren’t done.

“And just so you know,”

You said, pointing a teasing finger at them all, “I’m not about to pop yet.”

The screams quieted slightly, eager to hear more.

“It looks this cute because…”

You grinned, dragging it out.

“I’m having twins!”

The crowd lost it completely, screaming, crying, jumping. Total chaos. Pure love.

You wiped tears off your cheeks, laughing breathlessly.

Cameras cut to Luke again, who was standing now, both hands shoved in his hair, looking like he was two seconds from bursting with pride. His mouth formed a perfect oh my god before he just started clapping wildly, his whole face lit up like the sun.

Your heart squeezed so tightly it almost hurt.

“My little family’s growing,”

You said into the mic, voice wobbling.

“And… I couldn’t be happier.”

The fans started chanting again. ‘MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!’ and you pressed your hand over your bump protectively, smiling so big your face hurt.

The next songs you sang, you couldn’t stop smiling. Every chorus felt bigger. Every verse felt sweeter.

You even danced a little, swaying and cradling your bump while fans threw baby-themed gifts onto the stage tiny Devils onesies, knitted booties, mini hockey sticks. You picked up one of the tiny onesies and held it up, laughing so hard tears ran down your cheeks.

“How — are insane,” you sniffled happily.

“But I love you.”

Toward the end, you sat down on the edge of the stage, feet dangling off, just talking with the crowd.

Finally, the night wound to a close, you stood up, wiping tears away.

“New Jersey always mean something to me and Luke,”

You said into the mic, voice thick with emotion.

“And this is where I wanted to share my biggest news. Because… you’re not just fans to me. You’re also a close friend.”

You pressed a hand over your heart.

“Thank you for loving me. Thank you for loving us.”

With one final blow of a kiss toward the sea of faces, you walked off the stage and straight into Luke’s arms waiting.

He scooped you up carefully, spinning you in a slow, gentle circle.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your temple.

You clung to him, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I can’t believe we just told everyone,” you hiccupped into his hoodie.

Luke pulled back, framing your face in his big hands.

“And you killed it, babe. God, I’m so proud of you.”

He bent down, dropping a soft kiss to your stomach.

Then another.

And another.

“Hi babies,”

He whispered against your bump.

“Daddy loves you.”

Your heart completely melted.

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, whispering back,

“We love you too.”

[gigiwritess]

IN ORBIT

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader!vega aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,047 synopsis: ten weeks of dr. vega surviving in the pitt. eight weeks of dr. vega and dr. abbot stuck in each other's orbits. tl;dr: dr. abbot and dr. vega start to get close to each other.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46). slight mention of vega's worsening mental health issues; description of back problems (which are entirely based on my own). usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's notes: whats up guys!!!! i have absolutely no words to thank all the love you've given the first piece of this thing (because i'm not really sure what it is yet). i'm in a kinda deep depressive crisis at the moment (pretty much like the one vega's in) and when i wrote it i was trying to force myself to write in the hopes that i'd feel the same joy i used to feel (and i did!!!), so seeing how many people enjoyed this bit of myself really mattered to me. thank you. ALSO: THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!! now, about the fanfic: vega isn't exactly an oc (at least i think so), but, like i mentioned before, she is entirely based in myself (including her mental & back problems, poor thing), so i understand if any of you don't really see her as reader and it's okay. i feel like i kinda repeated some stuff too much in this piece and i feel like there are lots of things that aren't that good or i could've written better, but i still liked the way it turned out, so my self-doubt and impostor syndrome can go fuck themselves. also, like i mentioned in the previous, i HATE slowburns and i had something totally different planned for this piece, but then i started writing and having ideas and it felt right to write a short one just about their interactions. i PROMISE that the next one will be less slow and have a lot more burning. also, i had no intention to do so but i ended up following a stellar pathway to this fanfic. which is really fitting considering myself as a person. university is still kicking my ass (when is it not?), but i'm gonna try to commit to write & post weekly (let's call it exposure therapy). this was reviewed once but it's possible to have typos; english isn't my first language. i'll probably remember other things to tell you later so i'll probably update these notes in the future. enjoy!!!! :))))

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Vega was day shift. Jack Abbot was night shift.

Yet, despite that slight difference, whenever she was working, he seemed to be too. Whenever she rounded a corner, he was there on the nurses’ station, charting or talking to someone, irritating Robby, or making Dana laugh without even trying. Whenever she worked a case, he seemed to linger around. Whenever he worked a case, she seemed to linger around, too. They were in each other’s way. And they weren’t avoiding being there.

Jack attributed that to an ever-growing lack of sleep. She happened to be on his mind more frequently than he wanted. Anything she did made him aware of her—aware of her face, aware of her voice, aware of her presence in the Pitt.

He didn’t see her often; she was always busy, always treating someone or charting or doing rounds or sometimes even triage. Jack didn’t talk much with her. Not that he talked that much with anyone else—but there was something about her. Something about her made noise feel irrelevant. She was quiet, but she wasn’t shut off, not in a cold way; guarded, as if she’d learned early not to give people easy access to anything she didn’t want touched. She was assertive, self-assured in her words and actions. She didn’t say much, but when she did, it cut clean. Still, he caught himself looking when she wasn’t more times than he expected, caught himself wondering how someone so quiet could take up that much space. Physically, in the Pitt, or in his mind.

Vega would catch herself searching for him in the Pitt way more often than she intended, almost as if there was a string tethering them to each other. She didn’t want to be aware of him, but she was. She was aware of him in the way one’s body reacts before the mind does—like a storm brewing just outside the window. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t flirt, didn’t even look too long. But he watched. And she noticed.

They seemed to be stuck in the same magnetic field, like two forces stuck in each other’s orbit, getting closer each time, both acutely aware of each other. Like Andromeda and the Milky Way—two beasts that would, eventually, collide.

She’d often brush past him at the nurses’ station. Stand just a tiny bit closer than she had to. Whenever they traded words, it was usually there—like the first time he threw her a compliment.

“You did good today,” he said, not looking up from his charting, his scrubs still stained with blood from a massive bleeding they dealt with together earlier.

She turned to him. “You sound surprised,” she replied, keeping her face neutral.

He put the chart down and looked at her, his eyes always tired but always steady.

“I’m not.”

Then he put the chart away and walked away, not saying another word. But those two words stayed with her longer than they should have.

From then on, working the same cases started to be more frequent; standing side by side, handing each other equipment and charts without even having to ask. They were learning to read each other’s silences, they were learning each other’s rhythms.

The next time she found herself noticing him, he looked like hell. She was on shift; he was working overtime. That much was clear by the way his shoulders were heavy, pen moving slowly across a chart, scrub top wrinkled and littered with dark stains—he wasn’t one to change scrubs often, just like her; they always had bigger concerns. He looked like he hadn’t slept in well over three days; his brows were carved in a deep line, the fluorescent lights cutting hard lines under his eyes. He wasn’t even supposed to be there.

She didn’t think, her body moving on its own accord. Just grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the vending machine and, silent as a predator, set it down next to him with a soft thud, keeping her attention on her tablet.

Jack’s eyes flicked up, slow and heavy-lidded, but never without that sharp flame underneath. He glanced at the coffee and then, for a beat, he just looked at her.

“You trying to earn a gold star, kid?” He said, voice low, his mouth twisting into something lazy and rough.

Vega leaned an elbow on the counter, close—too close—, her sleeve brushing his. Her eyes met his.

“No,” she said, head tilting just enough to make it feel deliberate, her mouth just slightly tugging at the corner. “Just don’t want an old man dropping dead on my shift.”

He laughed—a real laugh, low, rough-edged, caught between surprised and something else, the kind of laugh that cracked through his exhaustion. He shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving hers, something sharp and warm and unknown stuck between them.

She liked making him laugh.

His fingers wrapped around the warm cup, his fingers grazing hers—not by accident. Vega didn’t flinch.

“Careful,” he muttered, low enough for her to hear, “or people’ll notice you have a sense of humor.”

She smiled. Small, sharp. Just for him. A silent moment passed before she answered, her eyes analyzing his almost as if trying to decide if he was worth her time. Trying to recognize what it was that she saw in his eyes, the familiarity of it.

“See?” She said in a softer voice, the glint in her eye unmistakable, starting to push away from the counter. “You’re already imagining things. Drink it before it gets worse.”

Jack didn’t answer, just lifted the coffee toward her in a half-ass salute, finally sipping from it. It tasted better than he expected. He watched her walk away, his lips tugged upward in a tired smirk that lingered even after she disappeared down the hall, his eyes trailing after her.

Somewhere along the way of starting to work together, she’d learned how he drank his coffee. That warmed something inside of him.

There was something there, something he couldn’t quite name yet. It was quiet, simmering, growing—almost like a current humming just beneath the surface. Like a prickle slowly getting under his skin.

A few days turned into a few shifts, which turned into days, which turned into weeks. In a bit over two months since joining the Pitt, Vega had been working more with Abbot than with Robby—but she wasn’t complaining.

They still didn’t talk often, but it wasn’t only the strictly necessary, either. Sometimes he’d throw her a rare comment, always adding a “kid” at the end, and she would retort with something just as fitting, “old man” always on her tongue—it usually earned a laugh from him. They always ended up drifting back to each other’s orbit, standing almost too close, brushing fingers when handing each other things, finding their eyes already on the other, sharing a few loaded glances. Working side by side in sync, reading each other’s silences and minds.

There was something about the way he didn’t push, he didn’t demand more than she was willing to give, that spoke to her; that made her see him in a different light than she expected to. He was showing her that he wasn’t quite like she expected him to be. There was something between them—something unknown, something unspoken, and she hadn’t yet realized just how deep it was.

It was a week and a half after the coffee moment—in that meantime, he’d gotten her two coffees in return. He’d learned how she drank her coffee, too, without asking, and it touched something strange inside of her that she did her best to ignore. But it was there.

This time, she was the one working overtime. Her mind was full of too many dark things she didn’t have the strength to face at the moment, so she chose to keep working. That way, she kept busy; that way, she didn’t need to spend too much time alone with her thoughts.

Around eleven pm, the ER was finally calming down—not that anyone dared to say that out loud. After a massive car pileup, the voices finally started to give way to whispers and quietness, everyone disappearing into any rest they could get. Vega was finally able to take a deep breath. So was Jack—she’d barely seen him today.

His voice was suddenly by her side.

“You should sit down.”

She glanced up at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

He gestured toward the nearest chair.

“You’ve been on your feet all day,” he replied, putting a chart away and grabbing another before pointing at her back. “It’s not good for your back.”

Vega froze, completely paralyzed in what she was doing. Her water bottle was forgotten mid-air, watching his back as he walked away normally, as if he hadn’t left her with the most dumbfounded look she’d ever had, as if he’d said the most normal, trivial thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t the most normal, common-knowledge thing in the world, because she had never mentioned her back problems to anyone, not even Robby—let alone Jack. She was too used to keeping her problems by herself, dealing with everything on her own, unused to asking for help. And he’d noticed.

Her back was hurting.

She had good and bad days; sometimes, the pain would barely make itself known. Other times, no matter what she did—stretches, sleeping without any pillows, pills, having the best mattress possible—, it never left, like a pointy pebble stuck in one’s shoe. Sometimes it’d start in the early morning hours and only get worse throughout the day. Today was one of those days, where with each passing hour that she was on her feet, it only worsened. The only painkillers that, in fact, made the pain go away also made her sleepy, totally knocked her out (like the time the pain was so bad she had to take a Tramadol injection), or left her feeling in a dazed state. She couldn’t be in any of these situations at the moment, so she was stuck with it for a few more hours. She was already used to it by now, had gotten good at ignoring it.

Somehow, Jack had noticed. Somehow, Jack had read through the narrowed lines across her face, had read through the way she kept trying to shift her weight to hide the strain, had read through the pain she was trying to ignore, through the way she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes when the pain got too loud to ignore, when she thought no one was looking.

He hadn’t said it to make her flinch, hadn’t said it like an accusation, hadn’t said it to tease. He simply noticed.

And it unsettled Vega—because it meant he was paying attention. Not the kind of attention that grazed the surface, the way most people saw what they wanted to see. Not the kind of attention an attending gave a resident, not just assessing her professional skills. So, she did sit down. Because, somehow, Jack Abbot saw right through her, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if it were simple.

She wasn’t used to that.

She was the one who saw. She was who stayed, who stitched, literally and figuratively, people back together and asked for nothing in return.

She was who always put everyone’s needs above her own—

She was who had spent her whole damn life making sure no one ever noticed the cracks—

She was who gave and gave and gave until she almost forgot she had anything left to want—

He just wanted her to sit. To take care of herself.

It hit her sideways, knocking her off balance, making her forget how to breathe. It slipped under her skin before she could stop it, sharp and tender all at once, settling somewhere deep in her chest. Like a bruise she had never realized was there until he touched it without meaning to, the part of her that still wanted—desperately, stupidly—to be seen.

The part of her that wanted it to be her turn. That still wanted to be known, to be chosen, to be kept.

And Jack—

Jack looked at her like he already had.

And it scared the living shit out of her.

gigi's notes: PLS tell me what you guys think, im sooooo looking forward to see your reactions!!! <3 i also started working on a different jack fanfic based on a request of a love triangle, so heads up for a future jack x reader x langdon (but here dilf supremacy always wins so don't worry folks) hehe AND i've been thinking... what do we think of a jack x firefighter!reader? 👀 i'm gonna take the big ass test for joining my state's military firefighters (i probably won't be approved bc i haven't studied at all but i would truly like to be approved [even though i'm graduating in archaeology lol]) so i kept thinking what it'd be like of jack in a relationship with a firefighter so i might write it anyway lol also, can you see how much i need therapy for my people-pleaser issues? im trying ok i took the liberty of tagging below the lovely people who said such nice things about the fanfic and commented and reblogged. if you'd like to be tagged in the future, please let me know! @cosmoscoffeee @mackycat11 @sunfairyy @starkgaryan @amandarobertsboyce @starlight-starbright-8080 @patatesliomlet @saynotononsense @sweetestcowboy @diaryofafeelsaddict

[douqhnxtss]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ REDAMANCY ⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

𝓡𝑬𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑪𝒀 (𝘯.) — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.

𝓝𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝓨𝑰𝒁𝑯𝑶𝑼 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝓨𝑶𝑼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼̧𝖺𝖽𝖾, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗎𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐— 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

✧ fluff, angst, uni & ceo au, objectification (by parents), reader has terrible parents, cold!reader, arguments, reader has self doubt & fears disappointing her parents, kissing, ft. aespa, big time skips, arranged relationship/engagement (not ningy/n), running away, reader discovering herself, jimin × minjeong, sleeping in the same bed, kisses, rich!reader, reader is lwk mean if u think about it (at the start), thriller & mystery solving undertones, complex!reader (if that makes sense), yizhou becomes a detective, proofread — transfer student!yizhou × hot nerd!reader ⋆ wc! 8.07k 𐙚𐙚 OH MY GOD. i love this sm, soz it took me 22 days to write this, like very imagine I write they keep getting longer and longer, my lord. pls enjoy this dish kira has served that she gave her heart and soul into making, likes and reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated (pls interact i cried one too many times writing this T_T) i might expand on this fic like provide moodboards, a playlist, more drabbles that branch from this fic as extra content idk lmk what I should do!!

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YOUR MIND WAS DEVOID OF THE JOY. devoid of the joy anyone would expect experiencing upon getting a perfect score on their exam, that too of physics out of all subjects.

to you, the score was just a mark of reassurance that you weren't a failure in the eyes of your parents, nothing more. you gave everyone a blank smile who congratulated you, clearly impressed.

you looked up when you heard someone clear their throat in an attempt to grasp your attention to see a somewhat unfamiliar face. you didn't know her and you couldn't place a name to her face.

she stared for a second too long, you couldn't decipher why. before you could overthink all possibilities, her smooth and calm voice introduced, "hey, i'm ning yizhou! i'm a new transfer student from china"

you nodded, not knowing what to say afterwards. she pulled a nearby seat and positioned it at the opposite end of the desk, across from you. she sat down, now at eye-level with you.

"you seem to be thriving in physics and me.. well— i'm not the best at it to put it simply." you slowly nodded again, the chance that you may have been mute struck the transfer student but she continued, "can you do me a favor, please?"

you shrugged your shoulders, "i don't tutor." her mouth fell agape, two things she was speculating both having been rejected in a short three-worded sentence. you weren't mute and you weren't a tutor either.

she went through five stages of denial, she didn't want to miss the opportunity to be tutored by the campus crush scholar everyone couldn't stop talking about. no one ever saw you talk to anyone first, when you did talk in response to someone it was always short answers and nods.

you were quiet, reserved and always calm. people loved testing you for that fact. they tried every single way to get on your nerves but not once did you raise your voice or let your reserved persona flicker to reveal who they actually thought you could be.

yizhou was one of the people who admired from afar, wondering who you were actually like when you weren't so damn cold. today, seeing her 17.5%— she knew she needed to get some help.

no one actually loved physics, most who scored between average to a little below high just studied and got it over with. they all despised the subject with a burning passion. someone who didn't despise physics, rather loved it; was of course, you.

you were one of the best at physics in town, you loved every concept, every theory, everything that summed up the contents of physics. you were more than 90% of the time the best in the state, which is why your reputation was so important.

your parents couldn't afford to have a daughter who peaked and then fell down, refusing to get up. you got scoldings for being second in the state level, you weren't just some ordinary nerd. you were always referred to as a science prodigy since you were little.

best at science when you were in middle school, best at physics in high school and currently still upholding your record at being the best at physics in university. there wasn't a day when you weren't talked about.

whether it be by the parents passing by or gossiping, the principal and teachers bragging to others, your parents flexing their perfect daughter or the others in the university who admired you.

you were practically an icon.

you didn't mind the attention, you didn't love it either. you just dealt with it and were neutral about the topic. you were known for declining almost every interaction prompted by anyone.

parties, coffee, studying, tutoring, hanging out— you never agreed. yizhou wasn't aware of that and as she sat there across from you, your furrowed brows, carefully analyzing what she must've been thinking. she knew she needed herself to become an exception to your no tutoring rule.

"please, look i'm okay with my other classes but i can't for the life of me, not struggle with physics!" she rushed out, quickly taking your hands, looking at you with the brightest, most alluring cat eyes you'd ever seen.

some students murmured, some gasped. another thing you weren't known for: physical contact. the day when you punched a boy so hard he broke his nose when he tried to pull you into an empty classroom by tugging your wrist— to confess his undying love initially, all of them knew you weren't one for physical affirmation. at all.

you should've just pulled your hands out of her hold, that's what you would've done with any other human. however, you didn't. your mind went blank, you didn't know what to do.

her eyes and the warmth that radiated from her hands that covered yours had an effect that couldn't be explained with physics, chemistry, biology, math or any other subject you could think of.

looking at her hopeless expression, you felt as if you were going to commit a sin by rejecting her polite request. you let out a sigh, not so sure why you were saying what you were, "alright, i.. i guess i'll tutor you."

her pretty brown eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across her face like a child who just got their favorite candy. she thanked you profusely, her hands leaving yours to clap a few times I'm excitement.

the warmth faded, leaving you looking at your colder hands. her fingers brushed past yours again when she took a pen and paper from your desk. she hurriedly scribbled something on the little sheet of paper before she handed it to you.

your gaze followed the notes content, it was her phone number and her name written below with a few sparkles and hearts drawn on. "text me whenever you have the time to discuss the schedule. bye, tutor y/n!"

she waved with her bright smile before skipping to her friend group. you read the note over and over again, a small smile curling up your lips. she seemed nice.

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"how do you love physics? it's the most boring shit ever!" yizhou dropped her head in her arms, exhausted from the never ending theories and concepts.

you lightly smiled, tapping the end of your pen on her head, "you know..." you drew out, but stopped before saying anything further. should she know about your feelings on physics?

she turned her head, looking up at you, raising her brows waiting for you to continue, "i know what?" she asked. you pondered for a few more seconds, shaking your head. her brows furrowed further.

"c'mon we're friends now, you can talk to me." she smiled, you couldn't see the smile, you knew she was by the way the skin near her eyes crinkled at the corners, chubby cheeks just visible enough to make you coo in your mind.

friend. you made a friend?

you didn't remember the last time when someone referred to you as their friend. you were a little dumbfounded, your little smile increasing at the corners at the thought before it fell again.

don't get too happy, y/n, she'll leave anyway.

she'll leave someday when she decides she deserves much better friends than an eye candy nerd who didn't know what their is to life outside of studying and presenting yourself elegantly.

for now, you chose to give her a response, "physics isn't my favorite subject," she audibly gasped, suddenly sitting up straight, this— this was tea.

her eyes were wide like she'd heard the most bizarre sentence to exist, "that's like a mathematician saying math isn't their favorite!" you only let out a little suppressed giggle at her shocked face.

"no doubt i do love physics," you said first and foremost, seeing her cringe at the statement. "but my favorite is not it." she nodded mindfully, understanding you perspective.

"so what is your favorite?" she slightly narrowed her eyes. you knew she didn't need to know anything more, "that's a conversation for another day." she gave you a little pout before she went back to the paper she was doing.

tutoring yizhou wasn't so bad. you'd rather not admit it, but you were starting to like the sessions. she cracked a few jokes here and there, sometimes spilled some hot tea about others which you never paid much mind to.

yizhou usually only spilled tea with her bestfriends, not with any student. but you weren't just some student for her, you were her friend. friends share tea, that's all, she thought.

she became even more nosy than she already was in her friend minjeong's opinion, why? she wouldn't answer. she noticed how you held eye contact when she ranted, albeit you didn't give any reactions other than nods and hums, she still liked it.

yizhou liked having your undivided attention. she chalked it up to her ego as you rarely gave anyone attention and you giving her just that made her ego jump. well her heart raced too, but you'll catch her dead actually acknowledging it at the moment.

"that's a gorgeous dress!" she exclaimed when she saw the little dress you drafted mindlessly. your eyes widened a fraction, your arm quickly covering the drawing, gulping your nerves down.

she wasn't supposed to see that. yizhou's brows furrowed when she saw your arm move to cover the dress. "it's nothing, focus on your test." you quickly ordered the chinese, your tone too precise, too calculated, as if you'd been in this situation before.

she didn't push it, opting to continue her work, though her mind was now occupied with many aswerless questions. what was wrong about doodling? maybe it was wrong for someone like you.

yizhou knew one thing was certain from the many more study sessions that followed after the dress drawing incident. you were secretive, and you were good at being secretive, also just as good at appearing perfect.

you were always the neat and perfect you. your image started to feel like it had been crafted carefully, like you'd spent years planning who to be seen as. you were strategic; every responce, answer and even laugh sounded as if it'd been planned out.

yizhou was starting to think you were a robot. she knew it wasn't true of course, but you intrigued her. you made her think so hard about you. aeri once said to her that she looked like she was stalking you.

she wasn't stalking you, why would she anyway? you just made her want to dig deeper, want to get under the bottom as to why you were so prepared for everything, like you knew every single way any conversation could flow, like you could read the minds of the people and immediately know what their intentions were.

something clicked in her brain when she was doing her homework in her room. you were mostly good at being flawless in every way— except that day.

the day when you drew the dress, that you hid as soon as she acknowledged it. that moment was a crack in your skillfully constructed persona. the dress was a small piece of who you actually were behind your picture perfect façade.

her pen stopped mid air, the realization sudden and gave her more questions and some answers to her previous ones. she saw your parents once, when they came to pick you up for whatever reason.

she saw the way your eyes darkened, turning more lifeless than they already seemed, almost like a void. your face remained stoic, hands clenched by your sides as your mum gestured for you to get in the car.

you were a puppet.

yeah, exactly! that's who you were. you were a million dollar puppet in the name of the kims' daughter. your mum and dad didn't look at you with anything, no love, no care, just blank.

you were controlled by your parents, one way or another. yizhou didn't like that. she knew she needed to help you, however, she didn't know how. she didn't know how she would break through your hard exterior to see the real you.

──────── ✧✦

slowly but surely, she tried to gather clues. she figured out that whenever your eyes would look around too much, almost as if they were searching for a card to play out of the many you'd prepared, it meant you were caught off guard.

she always payed attention, she tried her hardest to get more knowledge about you, yet with each passing day, the fire to keep searching dimmed.

she'd make a pretty good detective by the way she over-analyzed your every move. you'd make a good criminal by how nicely you portrayed yourself, knowing what to do in every situation while making sure no one caught on to your plan.

which in this setting, is you. what you are like under the puppet costume you were forced into wearing by your parents, according to yizhou's analysis and brainstorming.

she totally wasn't expecting that today she'd get a lot of answers to her previously unanswered questions. she sat on the table you two always studied at, in the far corner of the quiet library.

your attention diverted to the ring of your phone, it was your mum's call. you quickly took it, "i'll be back in a few." you spared her a glance before walking to the back exit of the library so you could talk without disturbing anyone.

yizhou nodded and went back to her work, she knew it would take a little time as it was your mum's call, she saw the caller id for a split second, she was getting observant.

the call was to inform you about a party they're hosting in honor of a new deal they just got and you needed to be there. you were taken aback, you were usually not to attend the parties.

your mum's sharp voice stated you needed to talk to the son of the opposite party they just made the deal with and hinted at a potential romantic arrangement between you two if things went according to plan, in her words.

you were infuriated to say the least; first she commanded you to attend a party, which she knew you hated, and second she was suggesting an arranged relationship. great.

the conversation ended on a terrible note, with your mum's loud orders and your quiet protests. what you said never mattered to her anyway, so now, you had a party to attend.

meanwhile, yizhou tied her hair up in a ponytail to prevent her hair from being a distraction because of the flowing wind. she yawned, tired from studying but she needed better grades, meaning she had no choice but to push through.

a few pages of your diary that you always kept near you flipped, an envelope and many pages slipping out, using the air as a medium to travel.

she shouldn't have snooped and violated your privacy, but with her recent tendencies of being overly nosy and her quest of unraveling your outer demeanor made her unconsciously reach out for the envelope and pages.

the pages— they confirmed her claim, they were a confirmation that you did indeed like drawing and fashion. she smirked knowingly seeing the countless suits, dresses, skirts, purses and pants.

the envelope— was something she didn't expect. her fingertips trailed over the edges of the envelope before she opened the flap. yizhou took out the stack of neatly arranged paper sheets covered in sketches.

sketches of her. kim y/n, the untouchable it-girl, drew sketches of her: ning yizhou, a sassy chinese transfer student.

was she dreaming?

her mouth was agape, confusion evident on her face and like with every interaction she had with you before, more questions arised that appeared to have no answer.

she saw an opportunity come to light in her mind, this could be her ticket to getting you to open up. she pretended to do her work whilst she waited for you.

you emerged from the door you went out from, eyes somehow darker than they already were, the formerly dark brown had been substituted by a gloomier, almost raven colour.

it was only when you sat down and looked forward did you see the opened envelope, numerous sketches and a yizhou who looked at you with a what is this? face like she was waiting for you to give an appropriate explanation.

"why did you snoop in my personal diary?" you didn't mean to sound so fed up, except the conversation you had prior with your mum played with your mind and the anger seeped out.

yizhou looked perplexed, "the pages and envelope flew out and i got curious." now that she thought about it, she had opened the envelope without consent.

"why are there so many sketches of me and clothing?" she got straight to point. the complexity of the situation really sunk in, there was no way to successfully cover up the fact that you loved fashion.

"that's none of your business, yizhou." you said her name for the first time. your tone was harsh, but the way her name flowed on your tongue? what was she thinking about?

you reached out to take the pages from yizhou who resisted, keeping them in a tight hold. "you can tell me. i promise i won't tell anyone!" she was not going to back down.

"this isn't something you should worry about. do your work." your voice was laced with authority and demand, which she'd normally obey though she had other plans right now.

"i want answers, y/n. don't change the topic." yizhou narrowed her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes. telling just one person won't be wrong, right?

you stayed still, contemplating every way this could play out like you did for every situation. yizhou noticed how your eyes moved around, she knew you were trying to make a decision in your mind.

she should really become a detective. was yizhou really trustworthy? you thought, you could make up an excuse right now but you'll have to come back at some point to tutor her.

you'd under no circumstances let your guard down and told anyone about your ambitions before. you were the perfect daughter of the kim's after all, your life had been planned out long before you were born. you had an path established by your parents to follow.

you let out a deep sigh, realistically speaking, what more could you do? you began from the start, from your dreams since you were little to become a fashion designer.

how your dreams were crushed over and over again, how you never had friends growing up as friends are distractions, how you had no choice but to comply to your parents' wishes.

her jaw was wide open, heart clenching as you told her how your hope and spark for having your own brand dulled, no longer having enough will power to fight back for what you love.

now, you just sketched in your free time and did what your parents wanted you to. you were just a pawn in their game of business, power and status.

yizhou was speechless, this was it. the truth she'd been hunting for the last month, her questions were answered and her heart, it was broken. she knew you weren't doing the best by your permanent gloomy eyes, yet she didn't expect it to be so upsetting.

now that she knew who you were, she wanted to help you. she wanted you to feel confident in your skills and believe in your passion. you shouldn't stop dreaming because they don't align with your parents' vision according to her.

"what if i help you?" she blurted out, only thinking about what she said when your brows furrowed, "help me in what?" you asked back. "you shouldn't give up your dreams!"

"what's gonna happen if i, let's say, actually do try reaching out to brands and showing them my designs?" you questioned, procrastination was your bestfriend and it showed.

"if they have functioning eyes, they will realize how your designs are amazing and offer you a deal, obviously!" she held up some of the pages, talking like she was stating facts.

you looked at her as if she was crazy, "there are so many ways i could be rejected and fail with this strategy." the word failure was hated upon in your dictionary as being first was always the goal for your parents.

"so? you will fall countless times and you should get up every time and learn from the fall and utilize the mistake so that you don't make it again. failing isn't bad, it's a necessary part of the journey of success."

her words stuck in your mind, they were the complete opposite of what you heard growing up. "you.. you sound too optimistic. the world isn't sunshine and rainbows; we don't live in a fantasy, this is reality where the concept of a happily ever after doesn't exist."

"your mentality needs a lot of fixing. i'm not too optimistic, you have the skill, your designs are unique and pretty. this isn't fantasy, yes i agree, but that doesn't mean you can't have a happily ever after, some don't have it but i believe you can!"

you didn't understand. why was she fighting you on this? what's her ulterior motive? there must be one, no one helps you without having a motive beneficial to them.

"you're talking nonsense. the world is dark, yizhou. your perception of the world needs a reset." your fury from earlier made your words colder and ruder, yizhou couldn't help but let a scoff slip out.

"you sound very full of yourself, y/n. i hope you do realize you're talking like how i expect your terrible parents to sound." her final sentence echoed in your brain and you stilled.

"infact, your perspective is extremely dark and dull. the world is dull but it's on you to find things to make your world colourful."

you didn't utter a word, processing the opinion. your mind went back to the rough retorts you'd spat to yizhou— recognizing the sole focus on the negativity of a topic, fixating on the cons and none of the pros, you were talking like your parents.

you never thought you'd ask such a bizarre, for you, question to anyone, yet here you were, in the library with a student you were supposed to tutor who you just told your whole life story to, asking her, "what do i do?"

yizhou's eyes lit up and a little smile made its way to her lips, "i think you should start giving your designs to major brands and collaborating with them, and at the same time slowly build your brand, plan it out, and we'll go from there."

her thought process made sense, although you weren't sure if you'd be able to do this, "this sounds good in theory, nevertheless i can't help but doubt if i have my ability to pull this off."

yizhou stood up, walking around the table and taking a seat beside you. she took both of your hands, "trust me, you can do it! i believe in you." her eyes held sincerity and warmth, a look you weren't at all used to.

"why? why do you believe me?" you muttered, voice barely audible. she smiled, "because i'm your friend, i know how you are. i know you're capable of achieving your dreams, you have that spark in you; you just need to ignite it and produce a fire."

you looked down, lips curving into a faint smile, this is what having friends is like? you actually made a real friend? "you think so?" you asked, eyes holding hesitation.

yizhou had the most hopeful grin on her face. this was the first time you'd completely let your guard down, let her lower the walls you'd mentally built around yourself. "yeah." she said.

──────── ✧✦

six months. it'd been six months since mission: freedom, named by yizhou, started. many things happened during the six months: you'd collaborated with many brands and your own was pretty much planned out, only a little more preparing as well as pulling some strings were pending.

you were condemned to around three or four dinners with your parents' business partner's son, park jihoon, which you reluctantly went to. the latter just didn't pick up on your super obvious hints that you didn't like the meetings or him.

you were now a part of yizhou's friend group, you refused to meet them at first but with her pout and cat eyes, you were left no choice. you considered all four of them your friends now.

if you'd told your self from half a year ago that you'd have four friends and a good career plan, she would've cringed and rolled her eyes internally, saying "stop talking fakery."

maybe the one above didn't like seeing you happy, you thought as you sat across from jihoon with your and his parents present, talking about the potential engagement of you two.

you wanted to dissappear. you wanted to just run away and hangout with yizhou, she was all that was on your mind. you two had gotten close. she always had your back, always there when you needed her.

she made you realize it's okay to depend on someone and not bottle up your emotions. she warped your perception of the world, showing you the colours and joys of adventure and exploration.

"y/n." your mum snapped her fingers, making you snap out of the spiral of thoughts in your head, "yes?" you straightened, looking forward to see jihoon give you a shy smile.

you now knew he picked up the hints you gave but chose to ignore them and live in delusion that you liked him when you hated as much as sparing him a little glance.

"you are happy with this decision, right?" the look your dad gave you was enough for you to know the question was only here to serve as a formality and the answer you were supposed to give was a yes.

you gulped, head starting to hurt. every time yizhou told you to rebel against them played like a broken record in you mind, however much you tried to suppress them, they didn't budge.

you nodded, knowing your words weren't on your side and you'd say something you'd regret later. your mum held a practiced smile which didn't reach her eyes, same with your dad.

jihoon and his parents were overjoyed, meaning you were the only person not actually approving of this arrangement. you wished the ground would swallow you up.

jihoon soon left with his parents, not before giving you a wink and sly grin. you gave a blank smile and immediately stood up, taking a beeline for your room as soon as they left.

you didn't know when the tears started flowing down your cheeks. you didn't know when you jumped out of your window, still in the elegant light blue dress you wore along with your plain flats.

you weren't sure where you were headed, your feet walked on accord of your heart, not your mind. you were accustomed to disregarding what your heart suggested, opting to be logical, never letting your feeling get a hold of you, but you'd changed since then.

you ended up at the door of yizhou and aeri's shared dorm, cheeks stained in tears and bottom lip quivering. you hurriedly wiped your cheeks, trying to rid them of the dried tears the best you could.

after a few knocks by you, a drained yizhou opened the door. her eyes were as wide as saucers when she took in your dolled up but tear stained and bummed self.

she didn't say anything and instead firstly ushered you inside, locking the main door behind her. she guided you to her room, gesturing to aeri who sat on the couch with a wide mouth at your appearance that she'll tell her later.

yizhou sat you down, giving you a cup of water and then sitting down on her bed with you. "so, what happened?" she asked, tone laced with worry, bottom lip in hostage of her teeth.

you told her everything that went down hours ago, she was flabbergasted. she thought these dinners you went to weren't serious and were just there to make sure your parents were occupied so that mission: freedom didn't face any problems.

"why did you agree?" she shrieked, fury swirled in her, each sentence that left your mouth only feuled the rage. "what could i do?" you had your head in your hands, it felt like your head on the verge of exploding.

she knew what she was about to say was dumb. so dumb. incredulously dumb. though it sounded the best and most logical, she didn't like seeing you upset like this because your parents can't stand to see their daughter happy.

"how about you run away?"

your head snapped to her, your gaze saying are you serious right now? she clapped her hands, "listen, you have a ton of inheritance money right?" she asked, mentally fitting the pieces of your puzzle of life.

you nodded. you were given a hefty allowance and had inherited a great sum from your grandparents from both sides, you had your own bank account that included all the cash.

"you go back, pack your clothes, tell your parents that you don't want to marry that jiyeon-jihoon whatever his name is, we both know they'll disagree. then you say i've had enough of being your doll, i'm leaving and shit. after all that, you leave and stay with me, i'll arrange everything here."

she said it so nonchalantly like she didn't just tell you to get yourself disowned. "i don't know if i can talk back to them. also i don't want to burden you." you'd never done anything out of line, you were always doing what they wanted you to, always tried to please them, even when you knew they wouldn't say any encouraging words.

nothing was ever enough for them.

"you'll have to, y/n. i know you can do it. i believe in you. and you're not a burden, don't think of yourself that way." she squeezed your shoulder encouragingly. "you do, but i don't believe in myself, ning."

"don't worry, i'll have enough faith in you for the both of us!" yizhou giggled and leaned in to give you a warm hug. your hands hesitantly wrapped around her. you'd only gave eachother a hug a few times before, each time a little less awkward than the last.

you pulled away, muttering a "okay, i'll do it." she looked at you, eyes having an unreadable expression. you couldn't register when she leaned in, realizing she just kissed your forehead when a strand of her hair tickled your cheek.

"i know you have it in you, my star."

the nickname sounded almost melodic, like a symphony you'd instantly fell in love with. "my star?" you asked, tilting your head. an overwhelmingly lovely feeling bloomed in yizhou's chest at the sight.

she hoped her cheeks weren't flushed or if they were, you didn't notice, "like the nickname?" you nodded, a bright smile on your face. the upcoming storm you could feel brewing didn't matter at all when yizhou was here with you.

"i'll get going now." you said and stood up, smoothing your dress our of habit. "nice dress." she said, you giving her a shy thank you in return, you were never good with compliments, having not received many by the people you cared most about in your upbringing.

you gave aeri a wave on your way out, her reciprocating the gesture with a smile. you didn't mention the kiss nor did yizhou when you left. she hoped you wouldn't ask, as she didn't know why she did that either.

you took the few pairs of clothes you actually liked wearing, leaving the closet still more than half full which were all the clothes your parents made you wear.

you packed your bag, a million thoughts and possibilities running through your head. should you really do this? should you burden yizhou? you wanted to think of every outcome, but you resisted, you needed to think of the future, you were not going to marry jihoon.

you changed into regular blue jeans and a white button up, slinging your bag around your shoulder after stuffing your phone, charger and a few essentials in the bag.

you composed yourself, your nerves were slowly getting to you, anxiety creeping up in your body. you thought of the freedom you'd started wishing for that you'd finally have after this and descended the stairs.

your mum and dad were both on the couch, discussing something amongst themselves when you stood infront of them. their attention diverted to you. your mum gave you a distasteful look as she eyed your outfit.

"what is this?" your dad asked, his deep voice ringing in your ears. you took a deep breath, repeating the sentence in your head before you spoke it out loud, "i don't want to marry jihoon."

the silence that followed the blatant statement was suffocating. it was like they were waiting for you to take back your words or say that you actually meant i do want to marry jihoon.

"what?" your mum broke the tense atmosphere. "i said i'm against this arranged marriage." you repeated your words, more confidently this time.

"i hope you're aware of what you're saying, y/n." your dad said, you could see through him, through his eyes which appeared their usual brown but had underlying greed.

your dad wasn't happy as this could break his deal, not because his daughter is going against him, against his morals. that's when it hit you like a punch in the gut, you really were just a moneymaker they were investing in by giving you the title of their daughter.

the years of bitter words you'd kept hidden about them and their unbothered gazes now were enough to break the little patience you had.

your mum stood up and walked over to you, "you will be his wife." you gritted your teeth, you were done. they were no one to treat you like this, you were done with tolerating their narcissistic, greedy and self-absorved selves.

"i'm done being the picture-perfect daughter you want me to be. i will not marry him and i certainly won't give up my dreams to follow your path and become equally as terrible as you are."

you wanted to say more, wanted to voice your frustration you'd skillfully hid for years, yet your flow was broken by your mum's hand meeting your cheek. your head whipped to the side, mouth agape.

"since you've learned to talk back and be an ungrateful brat, you'll learn to live as an orphan." your mum spat out. you neither replied nor cried, you weren't fazed by being a disappointment in their eyes anymore.

"leave, you're not my daughter." your father ended the conversation and you nodded. your mum huffed, "enjoy being a nobody, you're nothing without us."

you scoffed, a smirk on your face as you spoke, "good challenge, i'd love to prove your controlling bitchy self wrong." you didn't say anything further, you didn't wait for them to talk either.

you walked out the main door, leaving your twisted parents and past behind, ready to embrace everything you loved and cherished.

the feeling of freedom spread through your veins, it felt like you'd escaped from your personal prison that you'd lived in since you were born.

yizhou and aeri both welcomed you with open arms when you reached their dorm for the second time that night. you gave them a tired smile and thanked the two profusely.

yizhou had placed blankets and a few pillows on the couch, "i'll be sleeping here, you'll sleep in my room." your brows furrowed, "what do you mean you're going to sleep on the couch?"

"it's just for this night, i talked to jimin she'll arrange a bunk bed on top of mine in my room tomorrow." she talked like it was the most normal thing to sleep on the couch.

well, it was for her. for you? terrible, something you'd not done before and you couldn't stand to see her sleep there for you. "no, it's your dorm, i'll sleep on the couch."

past you would've rather died than have said that.

"what, no! you're not sleeping there!" she exclaimed, aeri just shot a knowing glance to yizhou, who glared at her. "how about you two sleep in the same bed, it's not that small."

aeri's voice brought a little pause of silence. yizhou spoke, "yeah, i don't mind. we can if you're okay with it, star." the assertive sentence paired with the nickname made your mind go blank for a second.

you didn't want her to sleep there and she didn't want you to sleep there whatsoever, the only other thing was for you two to sleep together as you didn't like the idea of her or you going to sleep with aeri too.

"okay." you said, running your hand through your hair in an attempt to camouflage the heat on your cheeks. you tried but aeri saw the redness on your ears and smirked to herself.

"it's settled then, good night you two, i'm off." aeri teasingly winked at yizhou, which went unbeknownst to you. she took the blankets and you took the pillows. you trailed behind yizhou to her room.

you two layed down, turning off the lamp, darkness enveloping the room. yizhou was exhausted and slept in the matter of a few minutes maximum and you were still wide awake.

your mind referred back to the hours prior, the little part of you that still loved them resurfaced even though you tried to bury it, tears were welling up in your eyes.

you wiped them with your hand, you did what you did for your future. you were now free, you didn't need to be flawless or perfect anymore; you could be you.

──────── ✧✦

a year. the earth had completed a full revolution around the sun since you left your then house. your inherited money and the money you got from your collaborations were enough for you to live without having to work another job.

in the past year, you graduated two years earlier, at the same time as aeri and jimin. you also officially started your own brand, named luciscura.

the word meant the light born from the shadows. it represented you, how you used to live in a dark world, in your parents' shadows and how with yizhou, you shined, you saw your own potential and turned your world vivid.

yizhou was in her third year and minjeong was in her last year. you still helped yizhou whenever she needed help in physics while you worked on your brand.

luciscura was a rapidly growing clothing brand, known for its chic, timeless and diverse style. the brand sold classy dresses, grunge pants, tops, bags, heels, everything anyone could think of.

you never ran out of ideas when it came to fashion. you were also quite popular on Instagram, known as the young and rich ceo and fashion designer on social media.

your instagram had a large following, though you only posted once every month. you were loved by everyone, like you were in university, but this time it was different.

everyone loved who you were, not the perfect image you presented of yourself in uni. you liked it that way. you'd also moved into a new appartment.

after aeri and jimin graduated, leaving yizhou and minjeong, the two started living in one dorm. aeri, an art major, was now one of the models of luciscura and jimin, a fashion design major, was also a part of your team.

the two loved working with you, you'd practically became one of them now, you proudly referred to them as your bestfriends. you were still quiet and preferred your small circle of friends.

you loved the new life you'd made for yourself. you were as content as you could be in the moment. you did face struggles still, regarding your brand and your parents.

your parents tried to meddle in your brand and sabotage it, however, as it goes— cunning parents raise even more cunning children, you didn't fall into their trap, it wasn't easy to fight against their corporation that had been there for generations, but you gave it your all.

you fought for luciscura, the brand you'd spent blood, sweat and tears making. jihoon sometimes dropped by your office too, in the name of a business deal and you did merely that, treated the meeting like you would a business meeting, though he tried to chat with you.

he tried to ask you out and you disagreed to his face, you told him you never liked him. he blew up, saying he liked you better when you were kinder. you said too bad. she's gone now.

many other fashion brands tried to get in your way, but what they didn't know was the fact that you were incredibly smart and strategizing was second nature to you. they posed a threat, you bit back, hard.

no matter what situation you were in, yizhou was there by your side. in the lows and the highs, when you were stressed or overjoyed, she was there. she was always there.

she never lost faith in you. you lost faith in yourself, but she didn't. she reminded you of how far you've come, how proud she was of you. she was there for you whenever you needed her.

you thought she did so because she was your bestfriend, and it made you mad at yourself for feeling the way you felt. you hated how much you liked, heck maybe even loved yizhou.

it was your birthday. you didn't even remember it, only apprehending you'd turned twenty one when yizhou walked in, cake in her hands. she looked at you like you were a alien when you told her you didn't know why she had a cake with her.

"you know, you're the first person i've seen who doesn't remember their birthday, star." she shook her head in disapproval. you shrugged with a smile, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"happy birthday, my star." she wished you, feeding you a piece of the cake she'd made herself, it was a little too sweet for you but you talked about it as if it was the best thing you'd tasted in your life.

"what's my gift?" you asked, tilting your head. she couldn't help but giggle, looking endearingly at you. she always referred to you as the gentle giant, as you were the tallest out of you five but with her, you were the most gentle and caring person.

"close your eyes," she began. you complied, she waved her hand infront of your eyes, checking to see if your eyes were actually closed. once she was sure, she bit her lip.

what she was about to do would either make her the happiest girl in the world or ruin the most ethereal friendship she's had in her entire life of twenty one and a half years.

she stood on her tippy toes, her hands cupping your face. you didn't know what was happening, you could feel her breath ghosting on your lips. yizhou leaned in, connecting her lips with yours.

you gasped, you didn't know what to do, you hadn't kissed anyone before. she knew the fact and swiped her thumb over your cheek encouragingly, making you slowly relax in her hold.

your hands hesitantly rested on her waist. you eventually got a hang of it, following the rhythm she'd set. she pulled away, butterflies dancing in her stomach and you hoped she didn't hear your heart which was racing a mile a minute.

"so, how's the present?" she asked breathlessly, her hands looping around your neck. "the best i've ever gotten." you giggled, letting your head fall in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

her scent filled up your senses, overwhelming you in the most amazing way. "i love you, my star." you didn't know how to reply to her confession.

it seemed like she sensed your difficulty in expressing yourself, "it's okay, you don't have to confess right now, i'll wait for you." she twirled a strand of your hair.

"i, i love.. i love you too." you said, you voice was muffled but she heard it. her mind went haywire then and there, she needed to hear the sentence from you again.

she cupped your face again, pulling you out of the position you were in, "say that again, please." the way she asked so gently and how her hold was so soft and delicate, it was like she feared you'd break if she held you too hard.

your cheeks were dusted bright pink, ears also red, "i said, i love you." she kissed you again. and again, and another time. she couldn't get enough of you.

the night was enchanting, knowing she loved you the way you loved her, you couldn't be happier. your heart felt elated, contented, it was a feeling you hadn't experienced before.

at some point, slowly but surely, luciscura grew, flourishing into one of the mainstream brands. yizhou at last graduated and it'd now been two years since you two started dating.

you were pleased. you were living your dream life. you were the ceo of one of the most iconic and popular fashion brands, luciscura; you had three beatfriends you'd never forget and you had the love of your life, yizhou.

somewhere along the way, jimin and minjeong began dating while aeri was happy with her single, model life. you couldn't wish for anything more than what you had.

you wouldn't trade your loved ones and luciscura for the world. your parents now wanted you back, but you knew better, they just wanted your money.

jihoon also tried to chase you, you had enough of it and one such time, kissed yizhou infront of him. that was enough to shut him up and get him off of you.

you and yizhou moved in together into a new appartment. she now ran a bakery along with minjeong. it was close to luciscura, which made it easier for you and jimin to visit yizhou and minjeong in between little breaks.

"happy second year anniversary, my darling." you kissed yizhou and gestured for her to look at your queen sized bed, filled to the brim with boxes.

you handed her a bouquet of silk ribbon roses you'd made yourself, "made this myself, all for you." she was lovestruck. she jumped into your arms, you twirling her around, your and her giggles mixing and filling the room.

"you're the best, i love you so much, happy anniversary!" yizhou pulled you in with the collar of your shirt with one hand while the other held the bouquet after you set her down.

she kissed you passionately, your hands already on her hips, lost in the feeling. "thank you so much, my star." she kissed you all over your face, making you giggle more.

"no, i should thank you. all that i am, it's all because of you, i'm nothing without you, my darling." you left a lingering kiss on her forehead before you pecked her again, your foreheads touching.

the day was perfect, you knew that if you'd told the y/n who was still in her first year three and a half years ago that this would be her life, she'd actually cry.

you would forever be thankful to your darling, your yizhou, for coming up to you after failing her physics exam. if it weren't for her being new and not knowing better, you wouldn't have been here.

your love for yizhou was everlasting. she was the love of your life, she taught you something no one else could. she taught you the act of loving in return.

ning yizhou taught you redamancy.

you showed her the most dreamy and ethereal example of redamancy you knew— the love you sacred in your heart for her.

𐙚 taglist! @bambisnc @spidrgamer

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᯓ✦ 𝓊𝗻𝚒𝘷𝐞𝗋𝓢𝙚 !

ᯓ✦ archives!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ regulars! @woniefication @shyoko

Douqhnxtss © 27042025 — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. do not edit, translate, repost or plagiarize any of my work !

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi I'm a reader, not a writer. I hope you don't mind the question. I often see writers saying how much they love comments, or being sad that a fic has too few comments, that it demotivates them to write more. At the same time, it's bad etiquette to leave critical comments for fanfiction, they should only ever be positive. So what if I didn't like a new chapter, was disappointed etc. Is no comment better than a fake praise comment? What do you recommend?

if you don’t like it, you don’t have to comment anything at all.

while (positive) comments are encouraged and deeply appreciated, fanfic writing and reading are supposed to be something that bring us joy. so — personally, if you ask me — no reader is under obligation to give someone a fake praise, because then that’d mean they read to praise the author and that is… not the point of reading fanfic for fun as a form of self-care.

if you like something, sure, you’re more than encouraged to let the author know you appreciate their work (and I say “encouraged” not “forced” or “expected”), but if something is not for you, you can always just exit it and find something else to read without commenting anything on that work that is not for you (unless the author specifically and directly asks for constructive criticism).

[itsnesss]

hii i was thinking if you could do a KA12 fic with the song "i miss you im sorry" or "i love you im sorry" by gracie abrams? Plus love your style of writing!💗

𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you receive a call from kimi, who apologizes for everything and admits he misses you

warnings | angst, emotional conflict, broken relationship, unresolved feelings

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more ka12 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The hum of the city outside your apartment window felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, to another life. Inside, it was quiet, almost suffocating. Your room was tidy, too tidy for the kind of chaos that once filled it. The bed, the desk, the walls—everything was in its place, but it didn’t feel like home. It felt empty. And it wasn’t just the space. It was the absence of him.

Kimi.

You hadn’t spoken in months. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that time when you couldn’t escape him, when every argument, every laugh, every touch felt like it was imprinted on your soul. But now… now everything was just an echo. His name on your phone screen was the first reminder of how much time had passed.

You sat there for a long while, just staring at his name. Kimi Antonelli. A knot tightened in your stomach. The memories hit you harder than you expected, crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t outrun. The good, the bad, the moments of pure joy, the moments of furious fights, all wrapped up in one tangled mess. And somehow, they all led back to him.

The first time you met him felt like destiny—chaotic, unexpected, but inevitable. He was brash and loud, never afraid to speak his mind. He’d challenged you in ways no one else had, pushing your buttons, testing your patience. But somehow, it worked. In the midst of it all, you found something beautiful in him, something real. You both fought, you both disagreed, but at the end of the day, there was always the promise of something more.

The sound of your phone vibrating again snapped you out of your thoughts. You hesitated, the weight of your emotions pulling you in different directions. But then, as if against your will, you answered.

"Hello?" Your voice was hesitant, unsure, the cracks in your facade showing. The silence on the other side of the line only made your heart beat faster.

"Hey." Kimi's voice was soft, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened. "I… I’ve been thinking about you."

You closed your eyes, a wave of emotion flooding over you. It was the kind of ache you couldn’t ignore, one that lived inside you, gnawing at you, growing louder the longer you tried to suppress it. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in your throat.

"I miss you," he added quietly, as if it were a confession. "I’m sorry for everything, for how things ended. I shouldn’t have let it go like that."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and longing. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Kimi… why now? Why are you calling me after all this time?"

There was a pause, a long one, filled only with the sound of his breathing. When he spoke again, it was slow, measured, as if he was carefully choosing his words.

"Because I can’t get you out of my head," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice raw and real. "I’ve tried, but… I miss you. I miss us. I miss the way we used to be."

You felt a tightness in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words had opened a door you thought was long closed. The pain, the hurt, the fights—it all rushed back. And yet, there was something else, something deeper. The longing. The love. The part of you that still wanted him, despite everything.

"I miss you too," you finally whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But it’s not that simple, Kimi. It’s never been that simple with us."

You could hear him exhale on the other end, the sound of frustration mixed with relief. "I know," he said. "I know it’s complicated. I know we’ve both messed up, but… I can’t help it. I keep thinking about the fights. About how we’d scream at each other and then… and then everything would be fine again. And I don’t want to lose that."

The memories flooded your mind. The arguments that started over something small and escalated into something huge. The yelling, the harsh words, the broken dishes. But then, like magic, it would all disappear. The apologies would come, and somehow, despite the chaos, you both found a way back to each other. You remembered how those fights, while painful, were a part of you. How you both knew how to hurt each other, but also how to heal. You missed that. You missed him.

"Do you remember that time in your old apartment?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "When we fought about everything, and we broke a plate? And then, just like that, we made up… but I didn’t know how much it meant until now."

There was silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if he was savoring the moment, remembering it just as vividly as you were.

"I remember," Kimi said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember everything. I never wanted to hurt you, but sometimes… sometimes I didn’t know how not to. I guess we both got lost in the chaos."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I don’t want to go back to that," you said softly. "But I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something. I can’t pretend I didn’t feel it. All the fighting, all the chaos—it was just… us. And now it’s gone."

Another long silence. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if you were ready to face the reality of what he was offering, of what he was asking. The past was painful, but it was also familiar. And sometimes, familiarity was all you had left.

"I don’t want to let go of this," Kimi said, his voice almost a plea. "I don’t want to lose us. I miss you, and I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone."

The weight of his words settled on you, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel everything. The love. The pain. The regret. All of it.

"I miss you too, Kimi," you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. "But I don’t know if I can go through that again. The fights, the pain… I don’t know if I can handle it."

He didn’t answer right away, but you could hear him breathing, steady but heavy. "I don’t know either. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to go through it again. Maybe we can start over, and this time, we can try to make it right."

You closed your eyes, thinking about the possibility. Could you really go back to him? Could you find a way to let go of the past and build something new? You didn’t know. But for the first time in months, you wanted to try.

"Maybe we can," you said softly. "But we have to promise, Kimi… we can’t keep repeating the same mistakes. We have to be better."

"I promise," he said without hesitation. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I just want you in my life again."

And for the first time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could try again. You could heal. You could forgive.

"I miss you," you whispered again, your voice filled with the weight of everything you hadn’t said in so long.

"I miss you too, he replied, and in those words, you found the beginning of something new.

[rivendell-poet]

How would the each one of the company (and the fellowship if it isn’t too much to ask) like to spend time with their significant other?

(Btw I am absolutely in love with your way of writing :DDD 🩷🩷🩷)

(Thank you so much anon! 🩷🩷🩷) And I'm always apologising for the wait - but I do mean it. This is just the Company, but I do mean to write this up for the Fellowship as well.

So, without further ado...

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○ Bilbo ○

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 1.5k | TWs : None

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧

✧ At the start of your relationship he definitely comes across a little broody.

✧ Thorin truly doesn’t mean to, but it’s simply in his nature to be with someone by simply being near them. And he’s not always the best at verbalising his affections, or even acting on them in an incredibly obvious way.

✧ But the eyes you can feel on you are watchful in a caring way, and when you laugh or do something he finds funny you can practically feel the smile he has on his face.

✧ After a few more dates you’re able to coax him to be with you more openly, and now the casual time you spend together is permeated by his voice.

✧ It grows from being simply suggestions, to a quip at your most recent joke or remark, and eventually it’s full conversations without prompting.

✧ Words flow surprisingly easily with the King under the Mountain - and any lull in conversation seems natural, more like a resting point than an awkward silence.

✧ When you become more serious, you realise that Thorin’s love is amazing at filling room, both with conversation and a feeling of being adored.

✧ Thorin will always love you treating you and taking you on dates, although he also enjoys spending time with you quietly.

✧ Once the two of you are comfortable in your relationship, be prepared for a lot of him simply being near you.

✧ Walking into the room and casually giving you a kiss, greeting you before settling down somewhere. And, as he sits across the room from you, you know that he’s always there for you.

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ Even before you were dating he could be quite hyper, appearing beside you without warning and asking you how your day was before launching into an hour long conversation about Valar only knows.

✧ Or, he’d come bearing good news and the want to whisk you away somewhere for the day. A short adventure together.

✧ At first you had thought Fíli was just like that, and then when he confessed you’d believed he’d been so interested - always near you and making time for you - because he wanted to make sure you’d say yes.

✧ Although you didn’t mind too much, it was nice to be wanted. You just wondered when it would slow down.

✧ Except it doesn’t seem to.

✧ He still runs up to you with the same joy in his voice, and the same levels of enthusiasm. A sparkle in his eye and you appear and he takes you into his arms.

✧ The only real difference is now he’ll ask for a kiss as well, and address you by various terms of endearment as well as your name.

✧ So you put together in your mind that he’s trying so much because these are the first weeks and months of courting each other. Both of you certainly want to make an effort.

✧ And Fíli still seems to treat every day with just as much vigour. Still smiles just as brightly at you.

✧ You realise that Fíli is simply like that. That he won’t stop loving you this fiercely, and taking you on sudden dates or spending all night talking with you, because this is how he expresses his love.

✧ Fíli never truly tones down on this love - the flashes of intensity - no matter how long the two of you are together. He simply also balances with a calmer love, of spending time with you domestically and having it be quiet but steady.

✧ His love is always there for you.

𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ Is honestly a mix of his brother and his uncle when it comes to expressing his affection.

✧ At the start of your relationship he certainly enjoys spending time with you in a much more spontaneous or ‘impactful’ way.

✧ There’s a thousand different ideas of where you two can go together, or what would make you laugh the most, running through his head at any given time.

✧ Because what’s the point of spending time with your loved ones if it’s not time well spent?

✧ Yet Kíli also finds it just as important to work casual time into you’re courting as well. He wants the two of you to be able to be near each other, hopefully laughing or joking, and simply enjoy the other person's presence.

✧ Most importantly, he doesn’t want either of you feeling guilty that your time together isn’t ‘extravagant enough’.

✧ Kíli very much enjoys physical contact and closeness, so once you’re far enough along in the relationship he tries to maximise the amount of contact he has with you.

✧ He’s not particularly fussy about if it’s you hugging him, or him hugging you, he just wants the two of you to be together.

✧ After a long day, you can hear the soft sound of the door opening and Kíli smiling at you. You can hear his steady presence as he slowly relaxes, taking off his boots and outdoor gear.

✧ You can feel as he gently rests into your side.

✧ “I’ve missed you, darling.”

𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧

✧ A supportive presence is one of the best gifts you can give someone in life - Dwalin believes.

✧ Which is why, whenever he’s around you, he tries to help you or at least make your day somewhat brighter.

✧ At first he appears when you need something, whether it’s small like lending you an item or spending the day making something new together. Him laughing as you curse at the instructions before you tease him for still following them.

✧ And then, when his friends point out that you seem to smile just when he appears - not when he’s a solution, he begins to come around more often.

✧ Offers of help are always given first, even if it’s as simple as asking if you’re doing anything, but you begin to see through his disguise to spend time with you.

✧ But so you don’t scare him off, you’ll ask for his help with a menial thing. Something that will only take a few minutes.

✧ Except you’re rewarded with hours worth of smiles and conversation.

✧ Eventually, when he comes over to ask as he always does, you’re ready for his arrival.

✧ Instead of lying and making up a problem you’re honest; and then you ask if he’ll make your day better by agreeing to go on a date.

✧ Now, whenever he’s around you, you insist that he is helping you with your day. Because he makes it brighter by simply being there.

𝐁𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐫

✧ As your significant other, Bofur enjoys always being that steady but quiet presence for you.

✧ Although he was overjoyed by your courting, there wasn’t honeymoon period like some people had told you about.

✧ You two had been friends for so long before, he hadn’t felt the need to try and sweep you off your feet by whisking you away for a date everyday and shower you in gifts without true heart behind them.

✧ One of the things he most craved from you was the more domestic affection. Giving you a quick kiss when he sees you, walking with your hands linked together, him lying in bed and you curling up next to him the second you were under the covers.

✧ Bofur always seems to be there whenever you truly need him, and whenever you need him for the little things.

✧ Like how, coming home stressed out from the day, you only need to catch his eyes and he seems to understand a little. Not what you’re going through, but what could help.

✧ Pressing a hot mug of your favourite drink into your hand, he asks you what happened and listens well. Gives advice if you want it, and listens to your venting if he doesn’t.

✧ No matter what the conversation will end with you in each other’s arms - simply loving each other.

✧ “I’m always here for you, darling.”

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐨

✧ Bilbo manages to create a mix of reliability and spontaneity in your relationship together.

✧ You know he will always be there for the important things. He’ll comfort you as you cry, he’ll be there when you wake up (if not immediately then soon), and he’ll be there should you ever simply ask.

✧ And, of course, you’ll know he does that because he loves you.

✧ These are the unquestioning things within your relationship.

✧ What he makes you guess at or surprises you with, delighting in hearing your shocked laughs, are small things that show his love to you.

✧ Such as how on earth he managed to construct a flower bed made with your favourite flowers in only a day (nevermind that he pass them to you or present them as a woven crown).

✧ Or where the jewellery he’s presented you, a necklace with a locket and gems, has been made.

✧ There’s smaller acts of spontaneity as well, such as Bilbo waking you up with the smell of fresh pastries and breakfast.

✧ He smiles as you look at him with sleepy but adoring eyes, and waits for a second for you to begin to wake up.

✧ “Good morning, my love.”

A/N : Are two of these characters both using darling? Yes. Do I regret this? Not at all. They'd both call you darling. Also, can people tell me if my first divider looks right? On laptop it's white for some reason, even though it's supposed to be a transparent file...

Anyway, hopefully you've enjoyed this! And nice to briefly pop back to you guys again! A new fandom might be joining my writing list in the future... so you've (possibly) got that to look forward too.

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @wordbunch / @killermarionette / @bespectacledhuman / @howling-medic / @deannie13 / @paigemackenzie0206 / @permanently-nothere / @fern-reads / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @themuseinthewoods / @satans-bitch / @Staygoldsquatchling02 / @luckymentalityunknown / @fleurdemiel-145 / @northernwing / @seduseamedusa / @stormchaser819 / @magicwonderdreamfantasy ✧ wish to join the taglist?

[danikamariewrites]

marrying mob!az please 🩷 loving your writing so much 🩷

Note: thank you anon! Today is the last day of headcanon bingo. Thank you for playing along and celebrating 3k with me 🫶🏻 I appreciate you all so much

Warnings: none

When Azriel decided to propose he called a meeting while you were out

Who was in that meeting? Only the most important people. Cassian, Rhys, Mor and Feyre

Their opinions mattered most when it came to how he proposed and what kind of ring he should get you

Once Azriel told the group he’s proposing they all started screaming and jumping for joy

Cassian tackled Azriel

Mor, Feyre, and Rhys just held hands and spun around in a circle

Complete chaos, all Azriel’s fault

He was starting to regret asking them for help

Once order was restored Mor and Cassian tried to take over on ring design

Everything was overwhelming Az until Feyre, calm and helpful Feyre, shushed them. “I think this is my area of expertise.” And she was correct

That afternoon Feyre guided Azriel to this small jewelry shop. Az was confused at first. He wants to get you a nice expensive ring. Not something from here

“I see your scowl and I’m asking you to trust me on this. I know y/n, Azriel.” He took a deep breath and held the door open for her

He was so wrong about the shop. Each ring was handmade and custom. The jewels expensive and only made with the best silver and gold. Feyre was a huge help. Reminding Azriel what metal you wear and helping him design a piece of art you can wear forever

5 agonizing weeks later when the ring was done Azriel rushed to pick it up

He didn’t know if he should wait and plan the perfect moment or if she should just get on one knee now

Azriel was very nervous he’d misplace the ring and he would never forgive himself

That’s when the perfect idea hit him. Dinner in the gardens, just the two of you, and he’d propose that night

You truly had no idea Azriel was proposing

He did a good job at hiding it from you

Cassian and Rhys almost ruined it. And Azriel’s money was on Mor and Cassian not being able to keep their mouths shut, not Rhys

You’d never seen Azriel so nervous in the moments before he got down on one knee

You were crying as you said yes. Once Az slipped the ring in your finger (a perfect fit) the two of you wouldn’t let go of each other

A few weeks later wedding planning was in full swing

You had a wedding planner, decided on your date, destination, and venue

All that was left were the small details even though there was no such thing as

Azriel was committed to doing everything with you

Picking the napkins and seating, cake tasting, and if he could go dress shopping with you he would

On the day of your wedding Azriel sent a pair of earrings to the bridal suite that match the stone in your ring along with a note telling you how much he loves you

You do your vows in private after the ceremony

The vows Azriel has for you are for your ears only

The two of you dance all night

You can’t stand being away from your husband for more than 2 minutes of you drift away to greet a guest or get a drink

Azriel can’t keep his hands off you and keeps calling you ‘my beautiful wife’ and watches you blush like crazy

After the ceremony and party you two go home and in the morning head straight for the jet for your honeymoon

Married life is perfect with Azriel

It’s like you guys brought the honeymoon home

Azriel has been happy no matter what news he’s given at work

It’s ok, if something goes wrong he can just go hug and kiss his wife and it’ll be all better

He spends more time out of his office just so he can say ‘I’m going to go see my wife’

You two go on walks just to get out of the house during the day and he loves hearing you talk more than ever now

You’ve always yapped at him but there’s something different about it now

When you two go to an event Azriel loves introducing you as his wife

And you love telling people ‘oh, my husband is looking for me. Excuse me’ or ‘my husband loves that’ or ‘my husband is the same way’

You swear you fell more in love with each other ever since you got married

[oopsiedaisydeer]

my blog is a space that celebrates positivity and is inclusive of all! the sturniolo triplets and writing/reading fanfiction bring me joy.

I don't know why anyone would want to take the joy out of something like that by being mean towards the boys themselves or through derogatory language that harms the fandom community as a result. it's not funny, it's just hurtful and it makes people feel sad.

I hope everyone involved takes the time to reflect on their actions and pursues more positive and community minded behaviour in the future.

I also hope everyone takes care of themselves today, and if you ever need to talk, my blog is always welcoming to those who want to spread positivity and comfort.

I enjoy being a part of fandoms because of the shared joy brought from community interactions. I sincerely hope that everyone in the sturniolo fandom can hold that as their primary intention when interacting with others, rather than contributing to harmful and disrespectful behaviour (on any level). promote positivity and inclusion always.

that's all!

take care and much love, inez 🫂🍪🩷

[fiabex]

Auctions, As Threatened

Normal fandom gift events don't contain enough moving parts to satisfy your brain? Excited by the idea of gift-posting crime (in a way that everyone is delighted by)? Events having paltry minimums like 500 words in a month not enough for you, you want the chance to have a minimum like 3,000, or 5,000, or even more? Auctions, As Threatened, may be the event for you!

How it works:

Everyone makes 1-20 requests just like we would for a normal exchange (except that we have an overflow collection for people who want to make more than 10 requests) including DNWs and optional Dear Creator letters. Then people who want to make gifts gather in a discord, waiting for the date when auctions start. Over the course of nine days, an assignment for everyone who has submitted requests goes up for a 24-hour long bot-managed auction. Gift makers bid word count (or equivalent, for mediums like art and podfic), and the bidder who has promised the highest word count for the assignment wins. Winners have a month to make their gifts! Bid on one auction, bid on several, bid thousands of words— if you think you can deliver it in a month, the sky's the limit!

But wait, you mentioned gift crime?

So what if you get outbid on all your auctions? (Or what if you just have no respect for the lawful transfer of assignments via auction?) The only legal way to add a gift to the collection is to win an assignment at auction...but what the Auction House doesn't want you to know is that their security is totally garbage. You can still make an illegal gift and sneak it into the collection for anyone you want, causing delight and joy to the recipient of your gift.

If you want, you can even take part in a little bit of wordcount-laundering, by posting an illegal treat to the collection and then winning an auction for your recipient. You can either write real fast before your recipient's auction in May...or you can bide your time for the middle of the creation period when your recipient might go up for a Penny Auction if someone's defaulted on their official assignment.

How can I participate?

Requesting: Before we can auction, need people to request gifts! If you want to just request and not bid, that's a perfectly fine way of participating in AAT. You'll need to meet the pinch hit requirements laid out below if you want to be guaranteed a gift, but if you want to just chuck in some requests and forget about it unless a gift appears, we'd be happy to have your requests.

Bidding: We also need people who are willing to bid on auctions and make a gift! If you want to write a gift between May 24th and June 28th, and the idea of competitively bidding (and/or doing crime) using a discord bot sounds fun to you— join us! You don't need to make requests to participate in bidding.

You can participate by giving fic, art/comics, podfic, and playlists. If you have an alternative gift-giving medium in mind, stop by the medium nominations post. We'll see if we can figure out a bid format for you!

Conventional pinch hitting: We will need conventional pinch hitters as well! Near the end of the event we will pinch hit anyone who a) requested 3 or more fandoms, b) had one or more people bid on them at any time, c) gave a gift of 500 words or more, and d) does not HAVE a gift of 500 words or more. The event doesn't open until all the people who meet these requirements have a gift. If you like writing a gift for someone on an accelerated timeframe, this is a chance to help the event work— we always love pinch hitters.

Just hanging out: You're welcome to just come down and hang out in the discord. Cheerleaders are always welcome, and we'll probably need betas of all types once people start creating works.

If you want to join an exchange with so many moving parts we built a custom discord bot for it, if you want the thrill of bidding higher word count than your adversary and then the excitement of having to fulfill it, if you want to do gift crime, if you just want to see how this works— come join us!

Links:

Dreamwidth blog (more details and rules)

Main Ao3 collection, Request Overflow collection

Tag set

Discord

Requirements for participation:

Must be 18+

Must have an AO3 account*

Must be not banned from Fic In A Box** 

If you're going to request: Must have an AO3 account which is open to receiving gifts***

if you're going to bid: Must have a Discord account you are willing to link to your AO3 account

(See rules post for more explain-y notes, but in short: *Can't sign up without and AO3 account; ** If you're banned from FIAB you should have a direct email about it; *** Can't get gifts if you have the "no gifts" setting on!)

Schedule:

April 27th-May 9th: Nominations

May 1st-10th: Requesting

May 15th-24th: Auctions

June 8th-June 14th: Penny Auctions

June 28th: Assignments due

June 29th-July 5th: Pinch hit period

July 6th: Reveals

Come join us! Auctions, as threatened!

[the-peak-legend-of-first-gen]

HELLOOOO okay so. I know this is a weird request, so feel free to decline at any time. But…

Can I request a break up scenario with Gun and reader? Like reader has known him since they were kids because family and they had to get married eventually and that stuff. But reader lived her own life after gunny went to korea and meets him only a handful of times since she studies abroad? And its like no secret that gun was involved w other women. I hope i explained that well enough. Sorry if it’s too much tho! You can always just ignore it :P

With much appreciation and Love

~T

Hi ♡ no its not a weird request but thank you for requesting and trusting me to write this. Hope you enjoy and if you feel there is somewhere I lack or need to work upon feel free to tell✨️

Laughter and giggles of small children echoed through the air. Shintaro kept a watchful eye, noticing how well the young master and you got along. How could he be wrong, after all? He had carefully arranged the match, and so far, everything seemed to be going just fine — or so he supposed.

"Gun, throw that ball toward me!" you commanded.He looked at you, then threw the ball with full force. You stumbled back a little but managed to catch it nonetheless.Your lady-in-waiting rushed over immediately, her face stern."Young miss, you shouldn’t be playing such rough games, especially with your future husband. It’s not good for the [Clan Name]'s reputation."

"Future what?" you giggled with a toothy grin before darting off."Let’s go!" you shouted to Gun, who, surprisingly, followed you.

But before you could get too far, Shintaro stepped between you two.His towering stature and menacing face frightened you a little, so you instinctively clung to Gun’s kimono sleeve. In response, Shintaro handed you something odd — a traditional toy, a ball attached to a string that had to land perfectly into a cup.

"Interesting..." you murmured.Just like that, the two of you spent hours playing, competing to see who could get the most wins, carefree and young.

That night, a loud slap shook the household — and you. You were only just beginning to understand the violent ways of the Yakuza world, but what shook you even more was what followed: Gun barely played with you after that, no matter how much you cried or threw tantrums.

Haruto would play with you sometimes, but no one wanted to be near Gun anymore.And little did you know — that was only the end of the beginning, the first step in how he would slowly but surely drift away from you.

🥀

You were starting to understand what it meant to be bonded with Gun — he wasn’t just the future hope of the Yamakazi clan, but regrettably, your would-be husband.

The thought made your stomach churn in the worst way possible.Come on, you were only in middle school! That actor you saw in the movies was way more handsome, and he definitely knew how to treat a lady right.

"Should we go for ice cream?" you asked him one day.

"No. I have work to do," he replied curtly.

Work this, work that. Mother said this, Mother said that. Father will be pleased, Father will decide.

That was all that ever went on inside his head.

"Just today, please!"

He observed you for a long moment, a sigh escaping his lips."Fine," he said at last.

You jumped with joy, your eyes sparkling.

Gun stared, confused. Why were you so happy? It was just ice cream. What had he done to make you react like this? Where were the grand efforts?

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt your small hand slipping into his.This isn’t so bad, he thought, strangely at peace

."Why are you so happy, dumbass?" he asked.

"Oh, because you finally agreed to go somewhere with me!" you said, grinning.

"That's it?"

"Yeah! And don’t forget — I’m getting free ice cream!"

"What free ice cream?"

"You’re paying, of course," you teased, sticking out your tongue.

Maybe this was what family was supposed to feel like.He tucked the thought away into a quiet, hidden corner of his heart.

Who cares, anyway?

But he did care — when he saw that tiny smile on your lips, when he noticed how his shoulders relaxed around you, when he realized he hadn’t clenched his fists in a long while.

Who cares? You did.

And you cared when that idiot — himself — left for another country.You cried not because of him, but because of what it meant for the future.Where had he gone? Would he be safe?

Who cared?Did you care?He wasn’t around anymore, but he hoped you were safe. He hoped your clan aligned with the right faction. He hoped you would marry —Who cared?---

🥀

"Idiot! You don’t know I’m allergic to these!" you yelled, throwing the chocolates at him. He dodged them casually."I’ll bring something else next time," he shrugged.

And true to his word, when he visited your university, he brought exactly what you liked — the right flavor, the right brand, the right packaging.You threw your arms around him, clinging like a koala, and he instinctively held you by the waist.

But something felt... off.

The scent clinging to him wasn’t his.You knew he slept around. It was normal in your world, accepted even — but still, the heart wants what the heart wants.

"So, what were you doing before you came here? Did you visit the places I told you about?"

"I wanted to explore them with you," he replied.

Your heart eased — but not entirely.

"Are you still sleeping around?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He was caught off guard for a second but regained his composure quickly.

"None of your business," he said flatly.

"It is my business," you retorted.

"We’re engaged, and we’ll marry soon. I do have a say."

His soulless eyes seemed to pierce right through you."And what is your say?"

"Stop it," you said firmly.Not a plea. Not a request. A command.

Whether he would listen or not, only time would tell.

When you got intimate, he wasn’t as rough as you had expected.There was a delicacy to the way he touched you, held you.But your mind wandered — was this how he treated others too?

Shouldn’t this tenderness be something only the two of you shared?

It wasn’t just that. His infrequent calls and texts had started gnawing at you.You felt like you were overthinking, but you weren't — and every time you tried to bring it up, Gun brushed you off.

"You have too much free time to think about nonsense," he said.

Instead of communicating like a mature couple, he would resort to what he knew best — showing his devotion in bed, claiming every inch of you as his.And even though he gave you his body, your doubts never truly went away.

His devotion was laser-focused elsewhere — on Charles Choi.

So you decided to do what was best — not just for yourself, but for him too.

🥀

"It’s not working," you said.

"We’ve hit a wall," you said.

For the first time, Gun truly saw you.

Not the cute, energetic girl from the playground — but a devastatingly beautiful woman.It wasn't your curves or your skin that he noticed — it was your spirit.

The same commanding, boisterous spirit, wanting what you wanted, even if it went against tradition.

Despite everything, you were willing to do the unthinkable — to leave.

Maybe if he had been different, if he had given loyalty to you and not just Charles Choi, things could have been salvaged.

Maybe.

But it was too late."Well, if that’s what you want," he said. "It’s fine, I guess.

Who cares, right?

No more Goo ogling at you.

No more international trips.

No more stupid dates and boring occasions.

Your safety and well-being — none of his concern anymore.

So why did he feel like his chest was caving in?

When he finally said, "It’s fine. I understand," his tongue felt heavy like lead.

When you kissed him for the last time, tears burning your cheeks, he tasted the salt of your heartbreak.

When he saw your retreating figure disappearing from his life — he felt it.

He cared.In his own way.

Maybe not the way you wanted.

Maybe not enough.

You two were collapsing binary stars — once brilliant, now destined to destroy each other.

But he cared.

And he loved you and that's why he had to leave.

So maybe in another universe you two care openly, shamelessly without any burdens or doubts?

[shizuturnspages]

UR WRITING IS SOOOOO YUMMY I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!

can i pls get a yan ayato with a foreigner reader (preferably from mondstat :D)🫶

Awh, I'm so glad you love my writing 🥰

A Bloom Far From Home

Synopsis: You’re a foreigner in Inazuma, visiting from Mondstadt, seeking something new, a fresh adventure. You didn’t expect to meet someone like Kamisato Ayato, the Head of the Kamisato Clan, a man of power, grace, and intrigue. But your presence captures his attention in a way no one else’s ever has. His politeness is captivating, his charm undeniable, and it doesn’t take long before you find yourself in his grasp—whether you want to be there or not. Pairing: Yandere Ayato x Foreigner Reader of Monstadt

The first time Ayato saw you, he knew. This one was different. You were foreign—obviously so—your clothes marked with the free-spirited cuts and colours of Mondstadt, your manner too relaxed, too genuine. In a sea of careful masks and etiquette, you were a wildflower from across the sea, untamed and breathtaking.

It wasn’t long before you caught his attention in more ways than just appearances. You laughed too freely. You spoke your mind without a second thought. You trusted people far too easily in the dangerous world of Inazuma.

It was adorable.

It was stupid.

It was dangerous.

And it made Ayato want to lock you away before anyone else even thought about stealing you from him.

You had arrived in Inazuma for some "soul-searching," you told him once, smiling brightly over tea. Ayato smiled too, ever the perfect nobleman, but his mind was elsewhere—imagining you caged like a delicate bird, imagining your voice reserved only for him, your trust given solely to him.

You thought the Kamisato Clan’s head was kind. You thought he was generous to offer you a place to stay in the estate while you "found your footing" in this unfamiliar land. You had no idea he had engineered every meeting, every encounter, every kind gesture to lead you right into his waiting hands.

It began with small conversations, his voice calm, his smile always a little too smooth. He was interested in your stories, the way you spoke of Mondstadt’s freedom and its light-hearted ways. He envied that freedom, though he would never admit it aloud.

He’d find himself lingering near you, just to hear you talk about the winds of Mondstadt, about the songs of the Anemo Archon, about the lush landscapes and the open skies. He loved the way your eyes would light up as you described the place you came from, a place of joy and lightheartedness, a place that was so different from Inazuma.

“You speak of Mondstadt as if you left your heart there,” Ayato observed one evening as you sat together in the garden of the Kamisato Estate. The sunset painted the sky in hues of pink and purple, but it seemed to pale in comparison to the way you spoke of your homeland.

“It’s not that,” you responded, your voice light but a hint of longing in your tone. “I love it here in Inazuma, but there’s something about Mondstadt that feels like home. I guess I’m just homesick.”

Ayato’s smile faltered for just a moment, but it quickly returned. “It’s rare to see someone so… openly attached to their homeland,” he remarked, leaning in closer, eyes sharp with unspoken intent. “But I suppose that’s part of what makes you so… intriguing.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze making you feel as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice. There was something in his eyes, something dark that you couldn’t quite place. But Ayato was always polite, always composed. So, you laughed it off, turning your gaze back to the garden.

“I just enjoy the freedom that comes with being from Mondstadt,” you explained, trying to keep the conversation light. “The winds, the way the city feels like it’s alive. I guess I’ve always felt like I could go anywhere, do anything.”

Ayato’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his fingers tightening around his tea cup. He had always admired freedom in others—after all, it was something he could never afford himself. But hearing you speak of it so casually, as though it was a given, stirred something possessive within him.

“And yet,” he began, voice low and almost gentle, “here you are, far from home, in a land that demands so much. Do you not fear losing yourself in this place? In a place where everything can feel like it’s out of your control?”

You looked at him curiously, but before you could respond, Ayato was already standing, moving around the table with a fluid grace that only added to his intimidating presence.

He crouched down beside you, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist in a way that felt too intimate for just a passing moment. “You are so far from home, yet so close to me,” he whispered, his voice laced with an unspoken promise. “Would you not stay here? Let me show you what it means to be with someone who can truly understand you, who can offer you the same protection that your homeland offers, if not more?”

You pulled your wrist back instinctively, though Ayato’s gaze never wavered. His expression remained soft, almost tender, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed something darker, something that made your heart race in a way that left you uneasy.

“I’m just visiting,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t plan on staying long.”

Ayato smiled, a smile that sent a chill down your spine. “No. I don’t think you’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

The days that followed were a blur, a mixture of polite conversations and intense, almost unnerving glances. Ayato began to subtly, and sometimes not so subtly, insert himself into your daily life. The little things—he would show up unannounced at places you frequented, offer you gifts from his personal collection, and insist on walking you back to your accommodations.

It wasn’t just his presence that became overwhelming, but his attentiveness. His ability to read you as if you were an open book. The way he’d ask questions about your past, your family, the friends you left behind in Mondstadt, and how he seemed to absorb every detail. It was as if he were collecting pieces of you, as if you were already his, and he was merely biding his time until he could claim you fully.

But it was when you tried to push back, to assert your own will, that you saw the cracks in Ayato’s composed exterior.

“I’m not staying forever, Ayato,” you told him one evening, feeling the weight of his gaze like a heavy stone on your chest. “I have my life back home. My friends. My family.”

Ayato’s expression hardened for the briefest of moments, his lips pulling into a thin, tight line. “But you belong to me now,” he said softly, his tone unyielding, though his voice didn’t raise in anger. Instead, there was something even more dangerous in his calm words. “Whether you want to or not, you are mine.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch soft, but the command in his voice unmistakable.

“You may think you can leave, but I’ll make sure you never do.”

The days turned into weeks, and the sense of unease in your chest grew, but Ayato never once showed any signs of backing down. You had become a part of his world now, and the more you tried to pull away, the closer he came. He was a storm—calm on the surface, but beneath it, something dark, something possessive, constantly simmering.

In the end, you realised that Ayato was not the man who would let you go. Not when you were his, no matter how far you tried to run.

He would make sure of that.

[crescenthistory]

Can I have an ARGUE with the prompt 8 "messy bedsheets" from the domestic list with poly!pandalily?? (If you don't write for them, then poly!dorlene?)

Also, congratulations on 2k!! You deserve having this and muchhhh more! <3

me when i jump and scream with joy for poly!pandalily requests !! you're giving the people (see: me) what they want (see: carnally need). big thanks and big hugs<3 i don't think this did them justice but i'm just glad to have spent time with them tbh

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 8 "messy bed-sheets" with poly!pandalily

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: established polyamorous relationship, referenced financial hardship, marlene the mum-lover, all fluff

wc: 806

This bed-situation had been entirely Pandora’s idea and now, even months thereafter, you felt like kissing her silly as thanks.

When the three of you decided to move in together immediately after Hogwarts with whatever pocket money you had been able to scrape together, you naturally didn’t have much. Lily’s family had been milked dry by Hogwarts and Petunia’s muggle university fees, you had never been terribly comfortable financially and Pandora was left with nothing once she and Evan left their household in favour of Barty’s bachelor pad in year six.

While you all had loved ones willing to throw money at you from whatever angle, you made a decision as a unit that you wanted to try to be resourceful. To make a life for yourselves by yourselves. Not without your friends, of course — you welcomed art and decor as housewarming presents — but you didn’t want a Potter-bought bed. Although Marlene had whispered to you in the passing that she never would have declined a bed from dearest Effie. You figured that was a Marlene-thing more than genuine life advice. 

Thus, you basked in the unglamorous life of sleeping on a mattress on the floor for your first few months in this flat.

Pandora, like with all else, knew how to make it glamours though.

She had the utterly gorgeous vision of transforming a seemingly sad sight into an effortlessly aesthetic corner of your bedroom. With a spell you are certain she had not learned from any books in the Hogwarts library, she made the bed permanently hover just barely above the ground and transfigured it to become a large circle instead of a small rectangle.

Within seconds you went from having a plain bed to a soft cocoon.

“That mattress was no nest,” she had declared. “This is a house of love. We must have a nest.” 

From then on, you called your flat the nest. You were disgustingly in love.

Now, even months after, when you technically could have bought a bed frame, you woke tangled in your two loves in your gorgeous hovering orb of a nest. 

The Sunday morning sunshine trickled in through the white curtains and suncatchers, basking the sheets in rainbow hues and patterned light. There were birds chittering in the birdbox near your window, and you could practically feel the vibrations of the bumblebees visiting the flowers blooming on your Juliet balcony. A relieved sigh escaped you; all is good.

You peeled your eyes further open to strategise. Ever so slowly, you eased your arm out from beneath where Lily laid on her stomach beside you, arm and leg thrown over you, trying to get a hold of Pandora on the other side.

“I want you both near, always,” she would mumble as she got settled each night. “You’re too far away.”

“Mmm, lovely Lily, we are right here.” Pandora’s hand often came to intertwine with Lily’s on your stomach, warmth spreading from that point out through your body.

Once your limb was freed from Lily’s grasp, you could peel the strands of red hair from your mouth and brush the rest off of your neck. 

She was lucky you loved her.

With no other free space, you propped your tingling arm up like a second pillow beneath your head. You wouldn’t want to knock into either of them and awake them before their time. Your soul ached for their rest.

You turned your head sideways to look at Pandora with a smile.

Your white-haired girlfriend was as messily sprawled out as always, one leg hanging down the side of the mattress, the other you could feel shoved to beneath yours and Lily’s, tangled in the messy sheets. Her arms were loosely crossed over her chest and her eyes were half-open in her sleep. You held back a snort.

It had taken you and Lily a while to get used to sleeping Pandora – she was almost more vividly herself when unconscious. All personality, no restrain. You promptly realised that she had to sleep on the edge of the bed, lest she sleepwalk over you and Lily or accidentally push you off. 

Lily swore up and down that Pandora bit her once in her sleep, and while you loved pretending she was dreaming things up, you mostly believed her.

You closed your eyes and breathed in, sinking further back against the mattress you had now come to love so dearly, with the two girls you loved even more. Even if you were to map it all out, you couldn’t decipher where any of you began or ended in the expanse of your nest, bed-sheets all delightfully messed up in a way that only a good night’s sleep can produce.

It was exactly how you wanted to be – intertwined, entangled, united. With your flower and your fairy, all was well.

[a-grim-thin-hope]

I don't know if this is something any of my readers (if they are on tumblr or follow me or otherwise) are concerned about, but I'd like to state once and for all that I won't be locking my fics on Ao3. There's a variety of reasons but the primary are--well, you can't unscrew the pooch and everything on there is already taken. Secondly, I've been a guest reader for nearly six years or around there. The position I was in at home didn't allow me to create an account or use my email address, and being able to read fics for free meant so much to me, especially when they were so high quality and so entertaining. They gave me literal hours of comfort, so the idea of that being removed for people in my same situation is sobering. I've had so many guests tell me they loved my work, which is so honouring, and half of my kudos are from them. I don't want to take that away. AI and scrapers are unfortunately going to be a part of our lives now, and only increasingly so as technology improves. Writing fanfic has always been SOLELY for my own enjoyment and improvement, and with how intertwined our lives and interactions are with the Internet, I don't really believe that you can keep anything perfectly private and secure. I understood that risk, and though I'm angry at the thought that my hard work and original ideas have been taken just to be recycled and ruined, it's also not something I can really change. The only control I have is whether or not I want to keep indiscriminately sharing something that brings me joy to do and has brought me joy to experience. And I do.

[cressidagrey]

I’m sorry that this is going to be long.

So I have been going back and forth on whether to post this anon (like I usually do) or with my user name. I made an agreement with myself at the start of 2025 to start coming off anon more when I message authors about my love of their work. So ummm Hello!

I first stumbled on your work on Wattpad with the “Stay Through It All” series, then on AO3 with the “Getaway Car”, then on Tumblr with “The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince”. As you can see I have been on a journey through the apps/sites finding your stories along the way. It has been a joy to see what you will create next.

In March something told me (whether that was a gut instinct or God trying to guild me, I have no clue) to go on tumblr and there at the top of my Home page was the 1st chapter of “White Horse”. At the time I didn’t know why checking your page became the first thing I did when I came on the site until Chapter 4 : June 2023. It was near the end of chapter that Belle went to her fathers grave. I won’t lie that after I finished the chapter I had to take a step back and process what I just read and just feel.

You see in December of 2024 my dads cancer diagnoses went from stage 3 to stage 4. We were told that we would have 6 months to a year with him. Instead I only got 2 weeks and he passed in his sleep mid January 2025. The last lucid conversation I had with him was about us clearing the air about decisions he had made for me growing up that hurt me emotionally as he had never explained why he did so. Some examples: 1. I had the opportunity to tour with a theater company for 2 years as child actor (I was 11/12 at the time) all over the USA and Canada. When told about my schooling being moved to online/homeschooling my dad had a fit and said that they would need to cast someone else. 2. During my senior year of High School I had no clue what I wanted to with my life. I was good at a lot of things but nothing I was really great at or just made sense. 3 of my cousins were in the same boat. Our grandparents decided that they would pay for the 4 of us to backpack after graduation for a year to 18 months and hopefully we would have some idea of what we wanted to do when we returned. My dad hated this idea and gave me an ultimatum that lead to me not going with them. Now those 2 things and others have stuck with me still and I’m now in my mid thirties. I just wanted to understand why.

Now as you can guess I never got those answers. It has been festering like an opened wound. Reading White Horse has been helping me grieve and heal that wound. I’ve been slowly realizing that while I’ll never forget the pain and what was done, I can slowly forgive. So thank you. From the bottom of heart, thank you! I don’t know if you’ll see this, let alone even read it but I had to thank you. I also wanted to say take your time with writing. Balancing this and Uni is amazing just please don’t burn yourself out! You have an amazing way with words and storytelling that if you ever decide to publish your own book I will happily purchase it. I hope you are doing well and staying hydrated. If you have gotten this far, well, thank you for reading and listening.

Thank you so, so much for trusting me with this. Truly — from the bottom of my heart — I’m honored that anything I wrote could be a small piece of your healing. I'm incredibly sorry for everything you’ve been through. Grief is so heavy, especially when it’s layered with complicated love, disappointment, and unanswered questions.

Please know that your message means the absolute world to me.

I’m so proud of you for allowing yourself the grace to grieve, to feel, and to slowly move toward forgiveness — not for anyone else, but for yourself. 💛

Sending you so much love and strength. Always.

[writeriguess]

I love everything you write, let me say that first, are you tired of writing for Katsuki? You get reqs for him so much! I feel like if I was a writer like you are I would be so burnt out from him specifically

I hope you don't feel obligated to write everything that's asked of you, I really want you to enjoy writing

First of all, thank you so much for this message — for the kindness, the compliments, and honestly, just for thinking about me and taking the time to ask this. It really does mean a lot. I don’t always get the chance to talk about this side of writing, so I appreciate the space you've given me to do that without judgment.

I feel like I’m going to lose half my follower base by admitting this, but... yes. Honestly, yes. I adore Katsuki, I truly do — he’s a character that’s very close to my heart and has been for a long time. But at the same time, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t gotten exhausting. Right now, I have 37 requests sitting in my WIP folder that I haven’t even started yet, and 26 of them are for Katsuki. That’s almost all of them. It’s a lot.

And to be completely honest, whenever I get a non-Katsuki request, I genuinely let out a breath of relief. Not because I hate him — I don’t, not at all — but because it feels like I’m getting a rare break. I know I caused this myself, and I don’t think it would be fair to turn down all the Katsuki requests just because I’m tired. People send them in because they love the way I write him, and that’s such an honor. I would never want anyone to feel bad for requesting him or to think I resent them for it. I really don’t.

But I do wish there were a little more variety sometimes. It’s hard to stay excited and inspired when your inbox feels like it's been set to an auto-loop. Some days it feels less like I’m writing and more like I’m just recycling the same fics over and over. Even when the prompts are totally different, even when the ideas themselves are genuinely cool and creative, it still feels like I’m walking the same path ten different times. And because of that, I haven’t been writing nearly as much as I used to. There are days when opening a WIP with his name attached already feels like a chore, and that’s a really sad feeling when it used to be something that filled me with so much happiness and creativity.

I also recognize that my own love for him has started to fade a little, and that’s maybe the hardest part to admit. I poured so much energy and heart into writing for him that now there’s just... less left. Less excitement, less newness, less joy. It’s not gone, not entirely, but it’s not what it used to be. And it makes me a little afraid that someday I’ll lose that spark for good.

But at the same time, writing — even when it feels repetitive — is something that's keeping me afloat right now. There are some really difficult, really heavy things happening in my real life that I can’t stop or fix, no matter how much I want to. Knowing that I have this little world I can still come back to, where I can create something that makes other people happy, is one of the few things keeping me from sinking. So even if writing for Katsuki sometimes feels tiring, it’s still better than not writing at all. It’s better than giving up this community that’s been so good to me, even when things feel a little lopsided or overwhelming.

I’m committing to it. Because you all — and this community — are worth committing to. And even when I get tired, it’s still something I’m grateful for at the end of the day.

I’m not blaming anyone for sending in Katsuki requests. Truly, please don’t feel bad if you have or were thinking of doing so. It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s just a reflection of how loved he is, and how much people trust me with him. That’s a really beautiful thing. I just want to be honest that I wish there was a little more love sent toward other characters too sometimes. I think it would help me bring better energy, better ideas, better writing to everyone if there was a little more balance.

Thank you again for your message. Seriously. It gave me the chance to be honest in a way I usually don’t allow myself to be. And it means the world to me that you care about how I’m feeling behind the scenes. I hope you’re doing well, too. ♥