#haven’t had as much time to get on or write

[meelusinee]

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT ✦ M.R x READER

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo)

SECOND PART HERE - lovesick!mattheo christmas edition

pairing: lovesick!mattheo riddle x reader tags: lovesick mattheo, fem reader, so tamino inspired word count: 3.7k warnings: just fluff again! along with easily flustered mattheo (+ teasing theo)

author's note: my second post!! i made a small playlist of tamino songs i used for mattheo in this. if you haven’t, please go listen to him (his music is so good). i based this off a small part of my first fic where theo sang to reader. as always, while english is my first (and only) language, that does not mean i claim it in any way shape or form (aka this will probably suck ass)

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love. 

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he  lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind. 

“I found something really interesting in this book  by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke. 

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms. 

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. 

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote. 

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.” 

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”  

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy 

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion. 

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself. 

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered. 

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return. 

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him. 

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered. 

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush. 

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics. 

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

[dreamscapeee222]

OHello, I hope you are well, I was looking at your blog and I loved your writing style <3

Can I ask for a scenario with Arcane characters where the reader is Isekai? Like he knows everything that will happen in the series and is actively avoiding the events that will cause serious problems

Thank you in advance

A/n: Hello :) Thank you so much !! Ooh this is something I've never really done before. I've tried my best and I hope it suits what you had in mind <3

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

When you first arrive in Piltover, Vi notices how you’re more guarded, more careful than she’s ever seen you. At first, she doesn’t understand why, but when you slip up and mention something that hasn’t happened yet, she starts to get suspicious.

You're always trying to avoid certain people, certain places. The dangerous ones. She picks up on it, and it’s a little unsettling at first, like you know too much about the future. But she doesn’t ask—you’ve got your own reasons.

She starts to trust you more, though. Maybe you don’t tell her everything, but she can tell when you’re genuinely trying to keep her safe. When things get tense, and she’s about to charge in headfirst (like always), you pull her back. “Not this time,” you say, and she just listens. You’ve seen how these moments turn out, and she trusts you enough not to question it.

It’s not just about saving her anymore. You’ve got a whole new layer of connection. When she’s caught off guard, when she needs reassurance, your presence calms her, like you’re already a step ahead of what’s coming. You’re the one she turns to when things feel uncertain, because you’re the one who’s already lived through it.

Jinx

She knows something’s off about you, but she doesn’t care. At first, the randomness of your actions makes her laugh—avoiding certain fights, dodging obvious traps, steering clear of people she knows you don’t want to be around.

But then, when things start to get real, and you stop her from making a massive mistake—again, and again—she starts to feel it. You’re not just avoiding danger for the fun of it; you're trying to change the course of things. And, honestly, she’s scared.

You’re always pulling her away from situations, keeping her out of the chaos before it even begins. She hates it, but she also loves it, because in some twisted way, you’re saving her from herself.

The more time you spend together, the more she realizes she needs you. When the madness swells inside of her, and she can’t keep the craziness in check, you’re the one who calms her down. It’s not like she’d admit it, but it’s your presence that’s holding her together in a way no one else can. And, in a strange way, she starts to rely on you—not for fixing things, but for knowing exactly when things can’t be fixed, and when it’s okay to pull back.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s more methodical than the others, but she’s no stranger to sensing when something’s off. You’ve mentioned things before, offhandedly—nothing too direct, but enough to make her question. You know things, things that haven’t happened yet.

She watches you closely, your movements, the way you take certain routes, steer clear of certain areas, and try to talk people down from fights before they escalate. It’s not like she hasn’t seen it before, but there’s something different about you.

When things start going south—like, really south—she turns to you. “You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” It’s not an accusation. It’s a quiet plea, because even Caitlyn, with all her careful planning, knows that sometimes fate is too big to outsmart.

You never tell her everything, but you don’t have to. In those moments of danger, when things feel out of control, she just trusts you. The way you guide her through the mess, calm her down when she wants to rush into something she knows will go wrong... it’s something she never realized she needed.

Ekko

Ekko always feels like he’s on the edge of something. He’s used to being a step ahead, but when you show up in his life—aware of things that haven’t happened yet—it’s like someone just dropped a stone in his perfect, planned world.

You’re always telling him to hold off on certain plans, and at first, he brushes it off. Then, when he sees how much better things turn out when he listens—when you steer him away from a fight, or when you help him avoid a trap—it gets harder for him to ignore the fact that you might know more than you let on.

He doesn’t say much about it. But there’s a subtle shift in the way he looks at you. He’s learning to trust your judgment, even when it goes against his instincts. Because he’s seen it. You’re keeping him safe. And somewhere deep down, he’s grateful, even if he’ll never admit it out loud.

Jayce

Jayce is all about forward momentum. He wants to believe that everything can be fixed, that they can change the world without the same mistakes being repeated. But you’re always holding him back.

There’s no question—you’ve seen it. You know where things go wrong, and you’re actively steering him away from it. The first time you call him out for heading toward a decision that’s going to end badly, he’s annoyed. He wants to argue. But when you look him in the eye, when you don’t back down, it stirs something in him.

As much as he wants to figure things out on his own, he can’t deny that you’re saving him from making the same mistakes. And slowly, when things begin to spiral, he starts to trust you. Not just as someone who knows, but as someone who cares. He’s never been one to lean on someone for help, but when you’re beside him, he finds himself relying on you more and more.

You’re the one who teaches him to think before acting—slow down, take a breath, and listen.

Viktor

Viktor’s not the type to be surprised easily. But when you start actively steering him away from certain people, situations, and plans, he starts to wonder. You’ve seen things. Things that haven’t happened yet.

At first, he tries to brush it off, thinking that maybe you’ve just got some uncanny instincts. But when you pull him away from something disastrous, and things go exactly the way you warned him about, he can’t pretend anymore.

You don’t say much. You don’t need to. But he starts to rely on your quiet guidance, the way you understand his hesitation before he even knows what’s coming. When the future starts to feel inevitable, you’re the one thing in his life that feels like a choice.

He doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful for you—more than he can express. You give him a sense of control over his own fate, something that’s been slipping through his fingers for so long.

Mel

Mel is the calmest of them all. She’s used to thinking ahead, playing the long game, and making careful decisions. But when she meets you, when she sees you quietly avoiding certain situations, people, and places, she starts to wonder if maybe you’ve seen things she hasn’t.

You never say much about your knowledge, but you never need to. She watches how you act around her—how you prevent things from spiraling, how you guide her through situations that could have ended terribly.

She’s not one to let others have control over her life, but she starts to trust you in ways she didn’t expect. She never asks you about the future directly, but when things start to get tense, she’s always looking at you first. You have a way of calming her, of knowing what to do before it even happens.

And, though she’d never admit it, she finds herself leaning on you more. Because you’re the only one who makes the future feel like something she can still control.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[harryssyndrome]

Hoax | h.s

summery: “don’t want no other shade blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do…”

based off this request. Thank you so much anon for this idea, this was so fun writing and I hope it’s something you were looking for. I tried to be as angsty as possible with a blend of cutesy sweet, hope it’s a perfect mix. Let me know in the comments? [thank you! mwah mwah mwah 💋]

Posted on: November 26th, 2024. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM. Like, comment & reblog are appreciated 💓Italics are past memories. Hope you lovelies enjoy this little big piece.

wc: 6.6k (oops🤭) || Masterlist 🤍

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @wheredidmyeyesgo @cherryloveshs | TAGLIST IS OPEN! || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! 💌

The morning had started just like any other, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over everything, but YN barely noticed. She sat at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug, its warmth barely a match for the cold ache building inside her. The apartment felt empty, despite the soft hum of the city just outside the window. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a silence that had grown more oppressive over the past few weeks.

Harry had been on tour for what seemed like forever now, and their communication had dwindled. What had once been late-night calls and stolen moments between sound checks had turned into rushed, distracted conversations, where he was either too busy or too tired to give her his full attention. YN had always known the demands of his career, had always been willing to share him with the world, but it was starting to feel like he was slipping further away from her.

She had tried to be understanding, tried to remind herself that this was just a phase—that he was only gone for a while, and they would find their way back to each other. But today felt different. Something in the air was charged with tension, a sense of dread that hung around her like a cloud. Harry had promised to call her during his break between rehearsals, and as the minutes ticked by, that sense of unease only grew. She hadn’t heard from him, not even a text to explain why.

When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it with an anxious breath, hoping for the reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice crackled through the phone, distant and strained. There was a tiredness in his voice that made her heart ache even more.

“Hi,” she replied softly, trying to keep her tone light, but the worry slipped out anyway. “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me.”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and YN could feel him shifting on the other end, perhaps looking for the right words, or maybe just gathering the energy to engage with her. “I didn’t forget,” he said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “It’s just… things are hectic right now. You know how it is.”

YN frowned, her fingers tightening around her mug. She knew how it was. She knew that Harry’s tour schedule was demanding, that he barely had time to breathe, let alone talk to her. But it was different now. It had been different for weeks, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I get it, Harry,” she said softly, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “But it feels like we haven’t really talked in days. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken emotions. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to accuse him of pulling away, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening anymore. She missed him. She missed the way they used to connect, how they’d stay up all night talking about their dreams and fears, how they’d laugh until their stomachs ached. Now, it felt like all they did was talk about logistics and time zones. She wanted more than that.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, she thought he was going to apologize, that he would offer the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, his voice grew colder, his words sharper. “You miss me? Maybe you miss the version of me that you had before all of this. But I’m not the same person anymore, YNN. I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m constantly being pulled in a million directions.”

Her heart sank at his words, the finality in them hitting her harder than she had expected. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s words came out in a rush, almost like he couldn’t stop them, as if they were coming from a place deeper than he intended. “It means that I don’t have the energy for this right now. I don’t have the energy to keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. And maybe I’m just tired of pretending that you’re not asking for more than I can give. Maybe I need space. Maybe we both need space.”

The words stabbed her. She felt them deep in her chest, each one like a dagger, twisting further with every breath. “Space?” she echoed, barely able to form the word, the hurt creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to hold it back. “I’m not asking for space, Harry. I’m just asking for you. For the person you promised me you’d always be.”

Harry didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight, defensive. “Maybe that person isn’t here anymore, YNN. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. YN could hear the faint rustling of something on his end of the phone, the noise of people moving in the background, but it didn’t matter. The emptiness between them felt so loud, so unbearable. The connection that once held them together was fraying, thread by thread.

She swallowed hard, the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I’ll leave.”

The words came out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. But the damage was done. The silence that followed was deafening, and the weight of Harry’s absence felt so heavy, so crushing, that she could barely breathe. The person she loved, the person she had given everything to, had just told her he was done. He was tired of her.

Before she could say another word, she ended the call. The click of the phone disconnecting felt like the final nail in the coffin, sealing whatever it was that they had left.

YN sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were some foreign object. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in confusion and hurt. The apartment, their shared space, felt so small now. It felt suffocating. Every corner of the place was a reminder of everything that had once been good, everything that was now falling apart.

Tears blurred her vision as she stood up from the counter. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. But she couldn’t stay there. Not with him, not with the words he had just said. The love they had built felt like ashes, and she couldn’t breathe in the smoke any longer.

She started packing her things, her movements automatic, like she was on autopilot. Her hands shook as she threw clothes into a bag, not caring if they matched or if they were folded neatly. Nothing mattered in that moment except the urgent need to get away from the place that had once been home. She ignored the phone buzzing with messages, messages from Harry, apologizing, pleading with her to call him back. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after the things he had said.

When she finished packing, she grabbed her bags and walked out the door. The apartment felt even emptier as she closed the door behind her. There were no more goodbyes, no more promises. Just the echo of his hurtful words ringing in her ears.

YN drove to her parents’ house in a daze, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, about how quickly their love had unraveled. She needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how to move on from this. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t just a fight. It was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be fixed with apologies.

When she pulled into the driveway, she didn’t feel the relief she thought she would. Instead, the silence that had followed her from their apartment seemed to follow her here. Even the familiar sight of her childhood home didn’t offer the comfort it once had. It all felt distant. Empty. Just like her heart.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she walked up to the front door, her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She couldn’t bear to see his name flashing on the screen. The man she loved had just shattered her heart into a million pieces, and she didn’t know how to pick them up.

The night had been a blur for Harry. The anger, the disappointment, the gnawing guilt in his chest from the argument with YN—it was all too much to bear. In the solitude of his hotel room, far from her, he drowned out the pain with alcohol. He knew he had messed up, knew he had hurt her with his words, but the overwhelming pressure of being on tour, the constant demand of being a public figure, and the exhaustion had driven him to the brink. He had never intended for it to escalate the way it did, but in his drunken haze, it all came crashing down.

Somewhere between the blurry shots and the endless stream of drinks, he found himself in a bar, surrounded by strangers, feeling more alone than he had in a long time. His phone was buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up with YN’s name flashing, but he didn’t pick it up. The coldness in his heart had become too unbearable, and he pushed her away instead of confronting the hurt he had caused. He just wanted the world to stop spinning for a moment. He wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong.

And that was when Emily Ratajkowski had walked in.

They had known each other for years, casually friendly in the way celebrities often are when their circles overlap. Emily, ever the charmer, had greeted Harry with a friendly smile. They sat and talked, their conversation casual at first, just the usual small talk about work and life. But Harry, caught in his haze of regret, had let his guard down. The more they talked, the more the words flowed. In some strange way, it felt easy to talk to her—like she was a stranger he could confide in, someone who didn’t carry the same weight of their past, the years of intimacy and history he shared with YN.

It didn’t take long before the alcohol took its toll. Emily’s laughter had filled the air, and Harry had found himself leaning closer, her presence soothing in a way that made him forget the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, they were kissing. His mind screamed for him to stop, to think about YN, to remember everything he stood to lose. But in that moment, he didn’t. The guilt had been smothered by the fleeting comfort of the kiss, the escape from his spiraling thoughts.

He didn’t remember much after that. The night blurred into incoherence, a jumble of laughter, flashes, and fleeting touches. Harry woke up the next morning, disoriented and groggy, the light filtering through the hotel room window far too bright. His phone was buzzing incessantly, and his stomach churned when he saw the series of missed calls and messages from YN. The weight of it all hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Then, his phone lit up with an alert—a notification from a gossip website, and his heart dropped into his stomach. There, in front of him, were pictures of him and Emily Ratajkowski, the kind of photos Harry had spent years avoiding. They were kissing, their lips pressed together, captured in a moment of reckless abandon that Harry didn’t even fully remember. The headline was cruel: Harry Styles and Emily Ratajkowski—A New Romance in the Making?

His throat tightened as he scrolled through the photos, his mind racing. He didn’t remember kissing her. He didn’t remember anything about that night except the overwhelming sense of regret that now gripped him. He had ruined everything. The fragile thread holding him together seemed to snap in that moment. He had lost YN, and now the media would make sure the world knew it. His personal life was on full display, and all he could think about was how much he had fucked it all up.

Desperation began to rise in his chest, and without thinking, he began sending text after text to YN, each one filled with apologies, regret, and pleas for her to talk to him. But she didn’t answer. The silence on the other end was deafening.

Meanwhile, YN was in her parents’ house, sitting in the living room with the muted glow of the television casting long shadows across the room. The house, once a place of comfort and warmth, now felt suffocating. Her mother had been quiet ever since YN arrived, sensing the heavy tension in the air. She tried to comfort her daughter, offering tea, but YN couldn’t bring herself to care. The weight of the argument, of the harsh words Harry had said, sat heavily in her chest, gnawing at her.

But when the photos surfaced—when she saw Harry with Emily, their lips locked, the headlines flashing across her phone—her world shattered all over again. The room spun around her, and she felt like she was suffocating. The love she had poured into her relationship with Harry now felt like a cruel joke. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. And now this—this betrayal was too much to bear.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly turned away from her phone. Her mother noticed the change in her expression and asked softly, “YN, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, choking on her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I thought he loved me… but now… now I don’t know who he is anymore. It didn’t even take him a night to move on?”

Her mother hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting words, but YN couldn’t hear them. The pain of what she had seen—the public humiliation of it all—felt like a physical weight on her chest. She needed to get away. She needed to clear her head.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself rather than her mother.

Her mother nodded, understanding the need for space, and watched as YN stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapping around her like a blanket.

The lake stretched out before her, calm and unbothered by the storm raging inside her. Its surface shimmered faintly under the overcast sky, the golden light of the fading afternoon barely breaking through the thick clouds. The familiar sight of it— the way the trees reflected on the water, the distant sound of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore-should have brought YN the comfort she was seeking. But all it did was make her chest tighten with a suffocating ache.

She had always come to this place for solace, even as a child. The lake by her parents' house was her sanctuary, a space where the noise of the world couldn't touch her. But now, as she stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the crisp autumn air, the silence was deafening. It wasn't peace she found here today. It was the echo of memories she had desperately tried to bury since she walked out of the home she had once shared with Harry.

Her boots crunched softly against the earth as she made her way closer to the water's edge, the damp grass soaking the hem of her dress. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. But YN didn't notice. Her mind was far away, replaying a reel of memories she wished she could turn off. No matter how much she tried to focus on the present, her past with Harry came rushing back to her, vivid and bittersweet.

She crouched down near the shore, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the water. As ripples spread outward, her thoughts drifted to another time, another version of herself-a happier one. She closed her eyes, and it all came rushing back as if she were still there.

It had been a summer evening, the sun setting in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

Harry had been sitting on the dock, legs stretched out, his feet just barely skimming the water. YN had been lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh as they shared a bottle of wine they had stolen from her parents' pantry. The lake had been their escape that summer, a place where the chaos of Harry's career and the pressures of the world seemed to melt away.

"This place is magic," Harry had murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. His voice had been low, almost reverent, as he looked out at the water.

YN had tilted her head to glance up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You always say that," she teased. "But you're not wrong."

He grinned, his dimple deepening as he looked down at her. "It's true, though. Don't you feel it? It's like... time stops here. Like nothing bad can touch us."

She had laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the trees.

"That's what l've always loved about this place. It's quiet. Peaceful. Away from everything."

Harry had hummed in agreement, his gaze softening as he studied her. "One day, YNN... one day l'd love to settle down somewhere like this. Away from the noise. Just us."

Her breath had caught at his words, her heart skipping a beat. "Just us?" she'd asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," he'd added, his lips twitching into a playful smile, "maybe not just us. I'm thinking a couple of little ones running around, maybe a dog... or two."

YN's heart skipped at his words, her stomach flipping in that way it always did when he hinted at their future. She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Little ones, huh? You planning on starting a family with me already, Styles?"

Harry grinned, his dimple showing as he leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something deeper. "Why not? I mean it, YNN. I'd love that. A house by the lake. Waking up every morning with you by my side. Teaching our kids how to fish or swim or whatever it is people do out here. It sounds perfect."

Her breath caught as she looked at him, the sincerity in his words tugging at something deep within her. "It does," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It sounds perfect."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're perfect," he murmured, and before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The world had faded away then, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and possibility.

“I wouldn’t want anything less than forever when it comes to you.”

His words had settled into her heart like a warm glow, and she had leaned in to kiss him, the taste of wine still lingering on his lips. In that moment, with the sun setting and the world quiet around them, she had believed him. She had believed in forever.

YN blinked, the memory dissolving as the present came crashing back. The lake was still, the air cold, and Harry wasn't there. Her chest ached as she stared at the dock, the image of them sitting there overlaying the reality of its emptiness. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his hand in hers, but it was all in her mind.

The betrayal burned anew, the image of him with Emily flashing behind her eyes.

How could he have said those things, painted that picture of their future, and then so carelessly let it all fall apart? How could he kiss someone else after everything they had shared?

How had they gone from that to this? How had the man who once promised her forever ended up kissing someone else? The image of Harry and Emily flashed in her mind again, sharper this time, and her stomach twisted. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that felt like they were falling apart.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. The life she had envisioned with Harry-the house by the lake, the little ones running around, the forever they had dreamed of-felt like a distant, unattainable dream. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to shut him out completely, her heart wouldn't let her. She still loved him, even now, even after everything.

YN sank down onto the grass, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaming freely now. She thought of the countless nights they had spent talking about their dreams, their plans. The way Harry had once made her feel so safe, so sure of their love. And now, it all felt like a cruel joke, a dream turned nightmare.

"Why, Harry?" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

She let herself cry then, the sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak. The lake bore silent witness to her pain, its surface rippling gently as if trying to offer her some semblance of comfort.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a graveyard for their love.

When she returned to the house, her heart felt heavy, each step laden with the weight of everything she was feeling. But it wasn't the emptiness of the house that grabbed her attention; it was the faint sound-the small, deliberate taps against the window. At first, she thought it was the rain playing tricks on her, the gentle taps against the glass. But when she heard it again-sharp and insistent-her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind didn't even have time to process it fully. She spun toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. And there he was.

Harry.

He stood in the pouring rain, his face pale, his hair clinging to his skin. His clothes were soaked through, and his hands trembled slightly as he threw small pebbles at the window, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare she couldn't escape. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was this real? Was this the same man who had hurt her so badly?

But then, she saw it in his eyes-the desperation. The raw vulnerability. The silent plea for forgiveness that spoke louder than words ever could. He was standing there, drenched, with nothing left to lose. He was a broken man, and in that moment, she could see that he knew he had ruined everything.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to the down to the front door, threw it open, and without thinking, rushed outside into the rain.

The rain fell in torrents, its relentless downpour drowning out all sound except for the beat of water against the ground. Harry stood before YN, drenched, his eyes wide with desperate urgency, a look of raw pain etched into every line of his face. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him.

“YN…” His voice broke, as if the weight of her name was too much to bear. His hand reached out shakily, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but she pulled away slightly. He flinched, not from her rejection, but from the weight of his own guilt that seemed to pull him lower with every passing second.

“I—” He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but his words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you, YNN. I swear, I never thought—God, I was so drunk, so damn stupid. I don’t even remember what happened, but I know I messed up. I know I messed everything up.”

YN’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her, how much his words still stung like a constant ache in her soul. But instead, she stood there, her breath coming in ragged bursts, staring at him as he trembled in the rain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold of the storm or the pain inside him that made him shudder, but it was impossible to ignore the depth of his regret.

“You do remember, Harry,” she finally spoke, her voice shaking but strong. “You remember everything, even if you don’t remember that moment. You remember the things you said to me. You remember how you treated me. How you—” She stopped herself, not wanting to continue with the painful words. But the memory of his cutting tone, his dismissive words, echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything they had ever shared. “I trusted you. I loved you. And you—you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he took a step toward her, this time not caring if she pulled away. He was beyond caring about the rain, beyond caring about anything except for the woman standing before him, the one person who had always been his everything.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, and she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I broke you. And that’s the worst part of it. I never wanted to hurt you. Not in a million years. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, YNN. You’re it for me, you always have been.” He reached for her again, but this time she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, as if he were afraid she might vanish the moment he let go.

“But I let my stupid insecurities, my stupid mistakes, cloud everything,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been more scared of losing someone than I am of losing you, and I couldn’t see that until now. I couldn’t see that you are the one I need. That it’s not the fame, it’s not the tour, it’s not anyone or anything else—it’s you, YN. You’re the only thing that matters.”

The words hung in the air like fragile threads, each one trembling with a rawness that made Ashley’s heart ache in ways she didn’t think possible. The anger, the hurt—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all lost.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to push him away, wanted to shout at him for what he had done, but when she looked at him—really looked at him—there was something so devastatingly human about him, standing there, shaking in the rain. He was broken, but there was sincerity in his apology, a plea that reached her heart in ways his words never had before.

“You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me, Harry,” she said, her voice quivering as she took a step back. “You think it’s just about what happened with her, with Emily? It’s not. It’s about everything that led up to that moment. It’s about the words you said to me, the way you dismissed everything we had, everything I gave you. It’s about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Harry closed his eyes, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, YNN. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve hurt you, but please… don’t let this be the end for us. I can’t lose you. I just can’t… live without you. I can’t.”

The storm raged around them, but the silence between them felt deafening, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. YN could feel the anger still bubbling inside her, but she also felt the pull of something deeper—the love she had for him, the love that she had thought was gone, but now seemed to flicker in her chest like a fragile flame.

She wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt, but something inside her was giving way.

“Harry, I…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as her chest tightened painfully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I need time. I need space to figure this out.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes as the tears finally spilled over, mingling with the rain. “I don’t know if I can go back to who we were. You hurt me too much.”

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching for her, trembling with the force of his desperation. “Please, YN. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll be patient, I swear. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t walk away from me. Please.”

She didn’t respond immediately. The storm had drowned out every thought, every hesitation in her mind, but there was still one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t let him go. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. Not when her heart was still so tangled up in him, so unable to let go of the person he had once been to her.

“I need time,” she repeated softly, her voice barely audible against the pounding rain. “I need to think, Harry. Please, just… just go inside. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, not without breaking apart completely.

Harry nodded, his face a picture of heartbreaking understanding. His heart was in pieces, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to prove that he could make things right. Without another word, he turned toward the house, slowly, unwilling to leave her in the storm but knowing that he had to respect her need for space.

YN watched him go, her heart heavy in her chest, torn between love and hurt, between forgiveness and anger. The rain continued to pour, and as she stood there, feeling the cold seep into her bones, she wondered if they would ever find their way back to each other—or if this was the beginning of the end.

The night had felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched on, filled with haunting thoughts and the pounding rhythm of YNs heart. Her mind was tangled in knots, the anger still burning bright, but beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t deny: the love she still had for Harry. It was the kind of love that had once felt so pure, so easy, but now felt fractured, jagged, like trying to hold onto a shattered glass piece that was bleeding into her heart.

She hadn’t been able to sleep. The past few days, the pain, the betrayal, the anger—it all swirled together in a mess that made her restless. Harry’s words from the night before—the desperate, raw apology—replayed over and over again in her mind, like a broken record. And yet, each time she thought of it, the hurt crept back in. She had tried to push it away, tried to convince herself that she could ignore it, but the reality was that she couldn’t. Not when the memories of their love, of their happy moments, still clung to her like the scent of his cologne.

But it wasn’t just the hurt she was feeling. There was something else, something deeper, something that felt too real to ignore. She couldn’t escape the way her heart still responded to Harry, no matter how hard she tried.

As the morning light began to filter through the windows, YN could no longer stay in the silence of her room. She had to see him. She had to confront everything that had happened and, maybe—just maybe—find a way to heal. But even as the desire to see him grew stronger, there was still that gnawing uncertainty. Could she really trust him again? Could she really forgive him for what had happened?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps echoing in the otherwise still air. The soft hum of the morning felt foreign against the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders, but she ignored it, pushing forward. When she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a rush, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.

The lake was quiet, still as glass, the air thick with the faint scent of damp earth and fresh water. And there, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake, was Harry. His posture was slumped, his shoulders drooped, as though the weight of the world was resting on him. The sight of him in this state, so broken and vulnerable, pulled at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

He looked so small, so lost.

For a moment, YN stood there, watching him. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as she watched him, she realized that she couldn’t stay away. Not anymore. She had to speak. She had to let him know how much he had hurt her, but also how much she still cared, despite everything.

Her footsteps were quiet on the soft earth as she made her way toward him. Harry didn’t look up immediately, but she could see the slight twitch of his head as if he felt her presence. His face was blank, his eyes staring out at the water, but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke volumes.

YN stopped just a few feet away, standing still as the silence stretched between them. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, palpable, like a heavy fog.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. The silence, the uncertainty. She had to break it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from the rawness of the moment. “You hurt me. You really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can ever forget what you said to me. What you did to us.”

Harry flinched, as if each word she spoke cut through him. He finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers. There was guilt in those eyes, raw and undeniable. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, YNN. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to explain how much I regret everything. I was angry, and I was drunk, and I didn’t—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. You’re everything to me, YNN. You always have been.”

YN took a deep breath, her chest tight with the conflicting emotions. She wanted to stay angry, to protect herself from the pain he’d caused, but she couldn’t deny that his words, his remorse, were hitting something deep inside her. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was a start. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw how broken he was. He was a man who had made a mistake, but he was also a man who still cared for her.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to live in the hurt and the anger. I want to move past this, but I need to know that you’ll never do this again. I need to know that you’re willing to fight for us.”

Harry’s eyes welled up, the emotion overwhelming him. He reached out then, taking her hand gently, almost like he was afraid she might pull away. “I swear to you, YNN. I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I’ll spend every single day proving to you that you’re worth more than anything, more than the stupid mistakes I’ve made. You mean everything to me.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to ignore the depth of his words, the rawness in his voice. But it wasn’t just the words that got to her; it was the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely showed anyone, let alone her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She had been so angry, so broken, but looking at him now, she realized that she couldn’t just walk away.

“I want to believe you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really do. But I need time. I need time to heal, to trust you again.”

Harry’s face softened, relief flooding through him. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it. That we’re worth it.”

And in that moment, everything felt a little bit clearer. The storm inside her had not fully subsided, but the clouds were beginning to part, and the sun was starting to peek through. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and in one slow, careful motion, she placed her hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her palm was a reminder of how much he still cared.

“I’m willing to try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try if you promise me that you’ll never let me go again.”

Harry’s eyes shone with tears, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her forehead, his lips brushing softly over her skin. “I promise you, YNN. I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I love you.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She hadn’t been sure if she could forgive him, if she could ever move past the hurt. But standing here in his arms, feeling his heart beat against hers, she realized that love wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always simple. But it was worth fighting for.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The future was still unclear, but for the first time in a long time, they both had hope.

They’ll be alright.

[lucedilunax]

Bed chem - Q. Hughes

Songs masterlist

song: Bed chem - Sabrina Carpenter

pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

summary: Three stages in Quinn and his girlfriend relationship: how they met, how they had crush on themselves and how they sex life looks like

warning: mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swear words

words: 1.0k

note: ahh this week songs masterlist will be done, i'm gonna miss it but exciting things are coming in december!

masterlist

---

Your friend hit me up so we could connect

Brock’s girlfriend, Bella, and she were friends since they were kids but now, she finally moved to Vancouver. When Bella met Quinn, she knew that she had to set up her friend with him. She believed that they had the identical personality. The same lame jokes, the same awkward laugh and the same commitment to their jobs.

Bella told Brock about this idea and he immediately agreed. He knew her friend and totally saw her and Quinn as a couple. Both of them set them up on a blind date. She and Quinn were skeptical about this. They haven’t been looking for a partner, at least not at this moment and to be honest, they didn’t trust their friends in this field. Eventually, they agreed and went on a date. 

I digress, got me scrollin’ like

Out of breath, got me goin’ like

She adored Quinn. One date and she was all over heels for him. At first, he was giving her weird vibes but when he opened up to her, it turned out that he’s talkative and funny. She couldn't remember the last time a guy made her laugh this hard like he did this one night. When she got back home, she went on instagram and followed him. She started looking at his profile and looking at every single photo. She enjoyed what she was seeing. In her opinion, he was super handsome. 

Quinn, who wasn’t sure about this date, was thankful that he agreed to go. She was different from other women who tried so hard for him because he was an athlete. She didn’t care, he was certain that she didn't even watch hockey because she was asking him the most basic questions when he mentioned this sport. He came back home and saw that she followed him on instagram. He did the same and started looking at her pictures. He couldn’t believe how pretty she is. 

Are you free next week?

The next day, Quinn wrote to her asking if she had time next week. Now, he was leaving but he wanted to invite her to his match. Maybe even go on another date if he gets lucky. Impatient, he was waiting for her response the whole day. He was checking his phone every five minutes to see if she wrote him back. Thankfully, she did. She said that she’s free and it would be a pleasure to go to his game. Quinn was relieved. 

For a moment, Quinn thought that she might not be into him but this message changed it. He said that he’ll give her all the information when he gets back home. She thanked him and in that moment, she asked him about his day. They started writing every day about everything and nothing. His teammates caught him smiling on his phone when he got a message from her. 

Who’s the cute guy with wide blue eyes and the big bad mm?

Quinn wasn’t a big fan of taking photos of himself, but he loved doing this for her. He tried to keep her updated while being away as much as he could. She was sending him pictures of what she’s doing, which was watching tv shows, cooking and working. On the other hand, he always took pictures of himself in a suit and sent them to her. When he was coming back to Vancouver, he took a selfie on the plane and sent her a message coming home, can’t wait to see you soon.

She received the photo when she was out on lunch with her coworkers. She right away opened the message and saw him looking good as always. She stared at her phone too long and one of the girls noticed this. She looked on and saw Quinn’s face. The questions started floating around about her mysterious boyfriend. She felt embarrassed at first but talked about him with love in her voice. 

How you pick me up, pull’ em down, turn me ‘round

She and Quinn haven’t wanted to label themselves. They just went with the flow and if they are made for each other, they’ll end up together. Although, this hasn't stopped them from having sex with each other. Both of them loved this kind of deal. The sex was always incredible, especially when he was coming back pissed.

Quinn was manhandling her like a personal sex toy. She was more than willing to agreed on everything he was giving her. He was throwing her around the bed in every position that he wanted her in. Often, he would bent her over the couch or kitchen island and fuck her roughly. 

How you talk so sweet when you’re doin’ bad things 

She adored Quinn. He was always a well spoken guy who couldn’t miss a day without giving her a compliment. Always showing up with flowers and gifts from his trips. He knew how to make her feel better after a bad day. His words were always on point and she felt loved and adored. He treated her like a princess knowing that she has a low self confidence. He was her hype man. 

Quinn was changing completely when it came to a sex. He was dominating her, doing whatever he wants and likes. In his movements, he remembered about her boundaries but this hadn’t stopped him from treating her like a whore. As much as she loved his quiet and calm side, there was something so tempting and hot in his bedroom side. He enjoyed that she was there for his every beck and call. 

And I bet we’d both arrive at the same time

Despite the fact that Quinn was setting the pace and treated her like he wanted, he always made sure that she cum. He didn’t want her to feel like she’s just for his pleasure. He never denied her orgasm, sometimes controlled it but most of the time, he was overstimulating her. He was giving her at least two climax every time they had sex. His favorite part was when both could cum at the same time.

When it happened for the first time, it was a mind blowing orgasm for Quinn. He couldn’t keep his mind straight the minute he felt his release and her tightening muscles around him. Since that, he made this his own mission to end their sex with them cum in the same moment. She loved when this was happening, when their moans filled the bedroom after reaching a climax.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Just anything with Jack Hughes but like make it a happy ending 🫶🏻

Ice skating

A/n: I can do that! it’s the time of the holidays… so I decided to make it something related to that (:

Warnings: none, all fluffy (: you fall on the ice once but

Finally, it had been his three day holiday break. It was Christmas, and it was the perfect time for a much needed date.

When you left the house, despite having a jacket, long warm leggings, hat and gloves, you were freezing. Jack noticed this, and wrapped his arms around you, warmth radiating off his body.

He had both of your skates in his free hand, both of you walking up to an open lake next to the house.

“And you made sure it was safe?” You asked Jack, him nodding.

“Checked twice just for you.” He began stepping into his skates, before grabbing yours and helping you tie yours up. You both stood up now, you leaning over to kiss him as a thank you.

He got into the ice first, holding his hand out for you to grab. You smiled at him, lacing your hand in his, stepping onto the ice next to him.

You wobble slightly as you do so, losing your balance for a moment before Jack pulls you back up with a laugh.

“You okay?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.

“Perfectly fine,” you replied with a breath.

The both of you began skating on the ice together, hand in hand over the frozen lake.

It was the perfect moment, and although a free date, it was the best you could have asked for.

“I think that we should get a dog.”

“A dog?” You giggled, “what kind?”

“Like a german shepherd or something.”

“I already got one of those. He’s right next to me.”

He raised his eyebrows, you smiling at him.

“Nah, I think I’m more like a… Jack Russell terrier.”

“Really?” You asked him, quirking an eyebrow at him, him shrugging, both of you making a turn on the ice. “Now that I think about it, you’re like a golden retriever.”

“I’m not a golden retriever. I’m more like a…” He trailed off, and while he was doing so, he ended up subconsciously moving his legs faster, something he tended to do while he skated, and practically dragging you from a snails pace to a faster one, causing you to trip over your own feet with a yelp, grabbing onto his body and pulling him down with you.

He fell on top of you, you letting out a groan and attempting to shove him off.

“Shit, sorry, honey.” He told you, quickly standing up and holding his hand out for you to grab onto so you could stand. You grabbed his hand, standing up and wiping the remnants of the ice off of your body. “You okay?”

You nodded, “I blame you for that.” You told him while he was helping you to wipe off the rest of the ice from your clothes.

“I take responsibility for that one.” He sighed, and when he turned around, you bent over, grabbing a handful of snow from the side. You curled it into a ball, smiling as you threw it at his back.

His eyes widened, slowly turning around to see you with a smirk on your face.

“Payback.”

“Oh you little-“ he started, before bending over and grabbing a snowball of his own, both of you entering a snowball fight like two children would.

He never would have thought he would have something as perfect as the life he did- but here it was, right next to him, holding his hand.

also I’m sorry this is so bad but I haven’t written in a hot minute, I’m in a funk rn and this nhl player writing is new to me!

[rooksspite]

The Invitation

Lucanis Dellamorte x f! De Riva! Rook

this is my first time actually posting something i’ve written for dragon age! i’ve loved the series for so long and decided to finally bite the bullet.

I wanted to write about Lucanis’ reaction to that crow armour you can get from the lords of fortune. let’s pretend that there aren’t other npc crows that wear it.

“C’mon! It’s blue, has feathers, and some flowy stuff. Doesn’t that check all the boxes for what you crows wear?”

Rook turns her head to look up at Taash with an unconvinced look, “we also prefer to have our vital organs covered Taash. You’re sure there isn’t a missing shirt?” she asks, turning back to the merchant of the Hall of Valour, who only raised his hands and shrugged.

“It’s rumoured to have been worn by a pretty well known crow before making its way into my collection.”

“Right.” Rook replies, unconvinced

“Perhaps the crow was so good at their job they felt they didn’t need to cover up. Isn’t a big part of the crow uniform making statement against enemies?” Neve pipes up, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Rook narrows her eyes at the woman before turning back to the armour before her. Neve wasn’t wrong about crow fashion, and the quality was really nice but it was just so… exposing.

“if I showed up in Treviso in this Viago would burst into laughter and then kick me out… again.” Rook mumbles.

Taash groans in impatience, they’d been standing here for the better part of twenty minutes as Rook looked at the merchant’s stuff, “come on Rook, we have a ring to fight in! just get it! Show off some skin for once.”

Rook blushes at that, everything she wore usually covered her up. Even her casual clothes she wore back at the lighthouse was the most she’s ever shown.

“Why don’t you try it on and see how it fairs in the ring? I’m sure Isabela would be more than happy to introduce you in your new outfit.” Neve offers

Room sighs, she didn’t know why but ever since she talked to Neve about her very limited knowledge on beauty and fashion and Neve and Taash have both been very insistent on her trying out new styles.

“Fine… We have plenty of gold anyways.”

She doesn’t notice the victorious smirks Neve and Taash share over her head.

———

“Lucanis.”

“Davrin.”

Silence rings through the library of the lighthouse as the two men greet each other. Both pretending to look at the various titles in the spines of books. Lucanis swirls the coffee in his cup and clears his throat before taking a sip.

Davin finally speaks, “So… You and Rook hey?”

Lucanis pulls his gaze away from the bookshelf, turning to Davrin with a raised eyebrow, “we have been over this no?”

Davrin shrugs leaning against another bookshelf, “just double checking, leave it up to both crows of the group to end up in a nest together.”

Lucanis chuckles, “we have not ‘nested’”

There’s a pause before Davrin continues, “You two haven’t really gone out alone have you? Outside of our work against the gods i mean.”

Lucanis blinks at the question and pauses to think, “well uh… no not really.”

“Why not?”

Lucanis sighs, it had been weeks since their near kiss before he cowered away, and while they continued to show clear attraction on both sides, it’s not as if there was an official label on their… relationship. Would it be too much to spend time alone? With no goal in mind?

“it’s complicated” He finally says stiffly.

Davrin chuckles, “I can see that,”

The familiar whoosh of the eluvian from below can be heard, “perfect timing,” Davrin hums.

The doors to the eluvian room creak open and the murmur of chatter can be heard as the three make their way up the stairs.

Neve surfaces first and a sly smile crosses her face when she makes eye contact with lucanis.

Well that can’t be good, he thinks to himself as he takes a sip of his coffee,

“Welcome back,” Davrin greets, “How was the ring?”

Neve shrugs, “Isabela’s out another 60 gold. We would’ve been back sooner if someone didn’t take their time shopping.”

Rook’s laughter can be heard as she climbs the staircase, “I didn’t take that long neve.” she says as she reaches the top of the staircase.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee.

“Sooo what do we think?” Taash says as they walk up behind Room. A large grin on their face. They put their hands on Rook’s shoulders and spin her around like a doll, ignoring her sounds of protest.

Davrin throws an amused look back at Lucanis, “What do we think Lucanis?” he turns his gaze back and crosses his arms, “I think you’re missing a shirt Rook.”

“According to the merchant I’m not.” Rook says with a sheepish chuckle. Suppressing the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

“Thing fits like a glove though, she fought in the arena with this armour on and left perfectly fine.” Neve says, nudging Rook with her elbow.

“Mierda, you fought in that?” Lucanis finally chokes out. Barely recovering from the initial shock of seeing the woman he was already extremely attracted to wearing… That.

“Like a badass.” Taash confirms, smirking at the sight of Lucanis’ face, “well Neve you had to show me that… thing right?”

Neve nods, the mischievous smile never leaving her face, “right of course. would you like to come with Davrin? For the thing?”

The elf smiles knowingly, “I’d love to.”

the three waste no time in leaving the library of the lighthouse, the door swinging shut behind them.

Rook chuckles nervously under Lucanis’ stare, rocking back and forth on her feet.

“It’s a bit much right? The merchant said a renowned crow once wore this armour but I think he just lost the shirt.”

Lucanis rakes his eyes up and down her body. Trying desperately not to focus on her chest.

But how could he when she was wearing a variety of necklaces that led his eyes even further down? For once he could see almost the entirety of the tattoo she had on her chest, who put that there? Who had the pleasure of seeing the full expanse of her soft skin before he could-

“Lucanis?”

Lucanis jumps as his train of thought is broken, he clears his throat as he tightens his grip on his coffee cup, “you look…”

“VERY NICE ROOK.”

There’s a pause as Spite’s voice rings through the library. Lucanis suddenly wishes that the device spinning above their heads would malfunction and he would be torn up by the fade.

Rook, in all her kindness laughs, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, “thank you Spite but I was asking Lucanis.”

Her eyes meet his again and he swallows. There’s a pause before he takes a deep breath, calming the shock in his mind.

“I think…” he started slowly, stalking his way up to Rook, “you look beautiful, though I would advise against leaving some of the most important parts of you… vulnerable.”

Rook doesn’t know if the dip in his voice is intentional but it makes her shiver nonetheless. Her eyes trained on the free hand that comes up to feel the plumage on her shoulders.

“T-that’s what I told Taash,”, she says with an awkward chuckle. Suddenly feeling very warm.

Rook breaks her gaze away from his hand and nearly gasps when she meets Lucanis’ eyes. Dark and intense, with a heat in them that was starting to become familiar to her.

Flustered, Rook breaks eye contact. laughing awkwardly as one of her hands comes up to fiddle with the chains in her neck. Lucanis tries to not make his stare so obvious.

“I-I should change, no need to be in armour here right?” Rook steps away awkwardly, not waiting for an answer. Nearly tripping as she quickly ascends the stairs towards her room.

It’s only when Lucanis hears the creak of a door opening and closing does he slouch and inhale shakily, his hand reaching towards a bookshelf to steady himself, “mierda.”

[megumiluvv]

I Slept With My Brother’s Babysitter

Includes: Choso x (fem)Babysitter reader, new relationship (like an hour old), kissing, lots. Choso plays with reader’s boobs for a little, boob kissing, nipple biting (yeowch), reader’s boobs aren’t a specific size, body worship, Choso is uncut, handjob/fingering (both receiving), oral (both receiving), praise (always, it’s zero writing🙄), protected sex, like three orgasms, aftercare (yippee!!), sillies in love.

Masterlist

Read Part One Here!

Word Count: ~3k

A/n: Yayyyy, hopefully, this is good! As the title and “includes” mentions, this is smut, so if you don’t want to read that with this au, please skip over!! I’m unsure if I will write a male reader counterpart (I apologize if I don’t), but I hope you enjoy this! As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! (I love reading your tags) I think I like boobs. Please ignore how this is like, 2-3 months late, I had a huge slump and then got really busy (_ _;) this is BARELY proofread, I let Grammarly do most of the work :P

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎︎︎〰︎〰︎〰︎︎❀〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

The moment Choso’s apartment door clicks shut, you’re pinned against the wall as he presses his lips to yours, hands reaching to lock the door. He holds your waist and you whine into his mouth when he lowers them to squeeze at your hips.

Choso hears the desperate noise and freezes, looking at you. “I… I liked that noise…”

His mumbles make you blush, and you two kiss more. “Can’t-” kiss “-just say that, dummy…”

“Can’t say what?” He pulls back, oblivious to how easily you get embarrassed.

“… Never mind, keep kissing me.”

He happily accepts that and squeezes your hips again as your lips lock for another time. Your tongues swap spit and you two stumble to his bedroom, where he finally pulls away again, much to your disappointment. You frown and chase his lips as he kneels to untie your shoes and carefully pull them off your feet.

“You are so absolutely gorgeous, you know that?”

“…You are embarrassing…”

“Do my words bother you?”

“No, they fluster me…”

He chuckles and kicks off his own shoes, carefully reaching to take off his shirt. You watch with hungry eyes and he just laughs more.

“Waiting for something?”

“I- no! …Okay, maybe.”

He laughs and takes off his shirt to show off his toned torso. You’ve seen Choso’s body a few times before when he comes out of the shower with only a towel around his waist when you watch Yuji, and of course, you can’t help but sneak a few glances. He noticed this, obviously, but would never tell you that. He reaches to undo your cute top, making sure it’s set aside carefully, and then unclasps your bra with ease.

The moment Choso sees your supple breasts, he is awestruck. He carefully takes one into his hand and lightly squeezes, gauging your reaction. You seem to like it, so he gently massages your breasts, leaning to kiss your neck and suck marks that Yuji will innocently question when he comes home.

You whine into the crook of his neck as he sucks those pretty marks into your skin and caresses your hard, sensitive nipples. Your hands grip the waistband of his pants needily tugging them down. It’s now his turn to blush as his penis is already at full attention.

“Wow, does kissing get you that desperate?” You laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me…”

“Sorry, sorryyy, I think it’s kind of endearing.”

“How is this endearing?”

“Well, you got all excited because you were kissing me, right? Ever got that way from kissing someone else?”

“Uh, n-no, I haven’t…” He seems embarrassed by his excitement.

You just smile. “That makes me feel special.”

His heart flutters, he really can’t help it when your smile is so gorgeous and words so sweet. He kisses you more, holding you gently and carefully slipping off the rest of your clothes. He doesn’t move to touch you yet, and you don’t move to touch him, you two just continue to taste each other’s mouths while in the nude.

Choso’s hand slides down to your ass and he lightly squeezes where he has always wanted to. The skin is so soft, better than he has ever imagined and you hum against his lips, enjoying the possessive gesture. You lay back and he kisses down your chest, lightly trailing his hands up and down your body.

Choso gently kisses your torso, sucking little marks into the skin between your breasts. His free hand traces the areola on your right breast while he focuses his mouth on your left. Your pretty whines echo in his mind and fill the room, hands carding into his dark locks to lightly pull as he looks up at you with hooded eyelids. The gasp that escapes your throat when his teeth gently bite down on your nipple makes him dizzy.

“Ch-choso, I’m sensitive there!” You whine and tug harder at his hair.

He just hums and moves to the other nipple, giving the same attention to it. His saliva mixed with the air feels almost freezing on your poor nipple when he does switch. His hand tweaks and tugs at the reddened area, looking back up at you with love-drunk eyes. Choso reluctantly pulls himself away after a few minutes and returns to locking lips with you.

“You're so gorgeous,” he mumbles against your lips. “Beautiful body, soft lips, heavenly tits…”

“You haven’t even let me appreciate your body,” you whine, yet there’s no real complaint in your words.

He chuckles and traces your hips. “You’ll get there soon. Let me do one more thing, please.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He rubs your hips gently and drags his hands along your sides, watching your reactions. His rough thumbs feel so soft to you as if they were the only hands that existed. Or mattered, at least. Calloused fingers trace down your hips and slowly make their way to your mound, his middle finger tracing slow circles into your clit.

Satisfied hums escape your throat as he slowly yet expertly rubs your clit, spreading your folds and examining your pretty pussy. Soft kisses plant onto your hips and slowly make their way to your sweet core.

He almost cums just from tasting you. The dark-haired male licks a long stripe along your pussy before suckling your pretty clit. The gasp that escapes you makes it so much harder for him not to blow his load, you just taste so divine and sound so sweet. Your quiet hums quickly turn into desperate whines as Choso expertly eats you out. He ruts his hips against the sheets for some relief, focusing on sucking your sensitive little nub and making you release those cute noises.

“Y-yes, right there, Choso,” you whine and buck up into his mouth.

He just hums into your weeping cunt, the vibrations from his voice adding yet another sensation to your body. Choso’s hands grip your hips in place as he takes you with his tongue. His tongue spells his name repeatedly into your clit as he guides his middle finger to prod at your sopping hole. The male slowly pushes his middle and ring fingers in and curls them up, loving how your breath hitches as your body arches up more into his mouth when his fingers expertly find your g-spot.

He wants to laugh at how easily he understands your body. The slightest touch has your mind reeling and he is ecstatic to know he's doing that to you. He can feel how you’re squeezing his fingers and realizes that you’re already so close to your release. He doesn’t change his movements in fear that he’ll ruin it for you, just staying constant while you breathily chant his name like a mantra.

“Choso! Cho-so! I’m- I’m gonna-!!”

You don’t finish the sentence before your orgasm ripples through your body, back arching up and hands gripping his hair like a vice. His slurps are so messy now as he swallows all the sweet juices of your release. He slowly pulls his mouth away to look up at you, your chest heaving and fingers lightly pulling his hair and then soothing his scalp.

You come down from the high and he is full of grins. Starry-eyed and kissing your skin as if you were sculpted from the finest clay. You sit up after a few minutes and the both of you kiss again, you can taste yourself on his tongue. He happily lets your tongue invade his mouth, his body jolting with pleasure when your hand finds his dick.

You slowly slide your hand along the base of his cock. Your thumb helps move his foreskin back so you can tease the head. As you do so, his breath hitches, and a quiet groan escapes his throat, his forehead resting against your shoulder. Choso grips your hips and ruts his own into your hand.

“Your hand feels amazing,” he murmurs huskily, breathing heavily into your neck. “Don’t stop…”

“No? Not even if I want to suck it instead?” You whisper with a hint of teasing.

His cheeks flush and he groans softly. “Okay, but only if you’re doing that instead…”

You giggle and press a soft kiss against his lips before kneeling down to be level with his manhood. You press another kiss against the red tip of his cock before sliding your tongue along his length. His soft groans fill the room as your mouth envelops him, his hands tangling into your hair and guiding your head.

Choso swears he’s in heaven. Everything about you is so heavenly. The warmth of your mouth has him going crazy, he can only imagine how your other hole would feel.

“Oh, just like that,” he groans, very vocal compared to his usual reserved nature. “So good…”

It takes everything for him not to blow his load when you hum in response. You can taste it too, the pre that leaks out of him is oh-so perfect. Not too bitter, you can’t help but want more. He tries to pull away before he can cum, but you have such a pretty look on your face that he cums shortly after. Thick ropes reach down your throat and you pull away with a gasp shortly after swallowing.

Once Choso has come down from his high, he feels red reach his face and he clears his throat. “S-sorry, that was probably super gross…”

“No, no, it wasn’t bad at all.” You smile reassuringly and sit on his lap, careful not to stimulate his dick again. “I wanted to taste it.”

He’s super red now if he wasn’t already. “Ah, um, o-okay…”

“Need a break before we start all the… penetration stuff?” You blush a little.

“Yeah, just a little bit,” he mumbles and buries into your neck, planting soft kisses.

You press a kiss to his lips and get off his lap to look for condoms. “Where do you keep your condoms?”

“Uh, the one cabinet Yuji can’t reach. Bathroom, above the mirror.”

You head to the bathroom connected to his bedroom and get on your tiptoes to open the cabinet and grab a condom. You return to the bed and carefully put the rubber on him, apologizing when he hisses out of sensitivity. You giggle a little afterwards and he frowns and attacks you with kisses.

“Ack! Choso! Quiiiit!” You laugh and wrap your arms around him.

“Mwah, mwah, mmmmmwah!” He chuckles and presses soft kisses around your neck and jawline.

“Quit ittt!” You giggle more.

He pulls away after pressing a soft kiss to your lips and has the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You smile yourself and push his bangs out of his face. He hums and rubs your hips.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“You’ve been saying that. I have no choice but to believe you.” You tease and kiss the corner of his lips.

“You should. I mean it.”

“Hm. So you’re the one who taught Yuji that honesty?”

“Ha, I guess, what’d he say?”

“He tells me all the time that I’m pretty.”

“He’s not wrong.”

“So do you and him talk about how pretty I am together?” You tease.

“Do you want more kisses?”

“Okay, okayyy…”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another. And another. The two of you make out again and he lifts you from his lap and lays you on your back against his bed. You tangle your fingers into his hair and hum against his lips, body jolting in surprise when his tip grazes your clit. He chuckles at that.

“Sensitive?”

“A little,” you mumble into his skin.

“But good enough for me to start?”

“Mhm, just don’t cum too early.” You tease and he nips at your bottom lip.

“Don’t plan on cumming before you.”

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

He scoffs at your tease and carefully slides his rubber-coated dick along your slick to use as lube before sliding into your warmth. Choso lets himself stay there for a moment and also allows you to adjust to his intrusion. You hold onto the man’s shoulders as he rubs your sides soothingly.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Mhm, just need a second,” you mumble back.

“Just tell me when, I'll move slow.”

After a few moments of waiting, you nod. Choso moves his hips forward to be fully inside you, mumbling an apology when your nails dig into his skin. He waits again for your nod, which doesn’t come for a while. When it does, he slowly moves back until he is almost fully out of you, then slides back in, angling up just a bit to graze along your g-spot.

The gasp it elicits from you makes him dizzy. It's like he magically got drunk during dinner because you're constantly making him so light-headed with every little thing you do. He gradually picks up the pace and his hips now move a bit faster, the angle he's been at making you just as dizzy as he is.

Soft moans fill the room, as well as his quiet grunts and the squeak of his bed. The bed frame makes quiet thumps against the wall that separates your apartment from his, so he's not worried about a noise complaint. He kisses marks against your chest and holds your hips firmly yet not hard enough to bruise.

“Oh, right there, yeah, y-yeah, feels so good, Choso.” your breathless whispers mix with your moans.

“Feels good?” he repeats and smiles against your skin.

“Mhm-- fuck --feels amazing…”

He groans and continues his gradual increase in thrusts, eyes rolling back at how responsive you get. Your soft mewls drive him absolutely insane as he moves even faster inside you and spreads your legs wider (if even possible). Your nails dig even deeper into his shoulders, clawing at his back because he just feels so good, and he’s just so deep, it is just so right.

He can feel just how close you are and it's driving him nuts. He needs to feel you cum around him, and needs to know how it feels, he's been dreaming of this moment without even realizing it. But he can tell you still need something to help you teeter over the edge. He carefully rubs your clit with his thumb, not going too fast and not going too slow to keep you from orgasm. And he talks you through it the whole time.

“Gotta cum for me, pretty girl, I need you to cum. Yeahhh, I know-- fuck --know you're close, just let go f’me, okay? That's it, good fucking girl-- fuck, you squeeze so tight…”

You climax with a moan of his name and your nails drag along his back, legs squeezing around him and shaking slightly. He continues to thrust, the intervals becoming sloppy as he reaches his own orgasm, hips finally stilling when he overstimulated himself.

Choso carefully pulls out of you and kisses your forehead, moving your hair that is stuck to it out of the way. He grins and kisses your cheeks and lips as he slides the condom off his softening cock.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers against your skin. “Ready to shower?”

“Hold me for a little before we do,” you whine.

He chuckles and lays beside you, holding you on top of him and running his hand along your back. Choso's hand traces shapes into your hips as your head leans on his chest. His lips gently and repeatedly press against your forehead as he whispers praises to you.

“You are such an angel, so gorgeous and sweet, even when you're a tease…”

“Mhmm,” you hum back, too tired to actually form a reply.

“And you're just so fucking perfect, I love it.”

When he doesn't hear your half-reply and instead only hears your soft breathing, he smiles and carefully pulls the blanket over you. Choso, however, gets out of bed and showers, putting on fresh boxers before warming a bath up for you. He re-enters his room and carefully scoops you up, smiling softly when you wake up but don't really protest the bath.

Choso lathers your body carefully in some soap you had bought him as a neighborly welcome gift when he and Yuji moved in. You just sit in the tub and relax.

“Tired?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I was almost asleep…”

“I wanted to get you clean before you slept. Can't be too upset.”

“Interrupting my beauty sleep, how rude.” you joke and poke your tongue out.

“Come on, you can return as soon as I dry you off.” he laughs and rinses your body.

“Fine, but you have to make me breakfast tomorrow.”

“Of course, I planned on that anyway.”

He dries you off and gives you some boxers and his t-shirt to sleep in, then lays in bed with you. You cuddle into him and Choso smiles while holding you even closer.

“You know you're most likely gonna be sore tomorrow, yeah?”

“Probably, but it was so worth it in the moment.”

You both laugh and Choso kisses your head. “Get some sleep.”

“Mkay,” you mumble and quickly fall asleep, quiet breathing filling the room. He could get used to this.

Taglist: @samaraxmorgan @cherriee-ee @auor4 @chaotic-ish @meowsannie

@mediokerrv @flooftoof @dazaisfavgf @mysteriaqueen @theirlgarfield

[noforkingclue]

Hi there! I know I’ve already sent a few in, but I have to send just one more since you’re closing your requests soon …

Would you be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using the prompt: “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” ?

Thanks so much if you choose to!! 🥰

Note: requests are now closed

Thank you so much for the request. I'm sorry that it took so long to write. Hope it was worth the wait

Title: Consequences

Prompt list: link

Tommy paused briefly when he spotted you in his office chair. You took another sip of the whiskey you had stolen from him as your gazes locked. Tommy didn’t speak to you as he walked softly across his office. Your gaze followed him as he poured his own drink. He took a sip  of his own drink and looked around his office, much to your annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

It was you who shattered the silence, finally sick of it. Tommy finally looked over at you. He studied you intentionally as you took another swig from your drink.

“You look good there,” he commented at last, “behind my desk. Although I’d prefer it if you were on my lap.”

“Fuck you.”

“In time,” he commented, as he walked around his office, “now tell me, what is it that I’ve meant to have done.”

You slammed your drink down on the desk with such force that you were surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Tommy raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“What you’ve done,” you hissed quietly, “what you’ve done is going to get us all killed!”

“I haven’t managed that so far.”

“This is London you’re expanding into, Tommy!”

“And I’ve done business in London before, despite everyone’s protests. No one is yet to die.”

“Well last time you didn’t end up killing, how many people was it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why? Didn’t keep count?”

Tommy gave you a blank look as he slowly walked closer to his desk. You stood up from his desk and hugged yourself tightly as you turned your back on him. You looked out at the dark night, watching Tommy approach you in the dark reflection until he was directly behind you. He had put his glass down next to yours and gripped your shoulders tightly. You winced under his touch but he turned you around, pressing you against the window.

“I’ve lost count a long time ago,” he said, leaning closer, “what happened in London doesn’t make me any worse or any better. So why are you acting this way.”

His lips brushed against yours.

“Is it because it was your family?” he asked

“My family-”

“Are now the Shelby’s,” he interrupted firmly, “you knew that would happen when you married me, Mrs Shelby. You knew this was going to be a risk. You knew we were going to expand into London, your family’s territory. You always knew that this could happen when we made our expansion.”

“Our marriage was meant to unify our families. A slaughter-”

“We were attacked first, love. What were we meant to do? Give up? Surrender? You should know that’s not what we do.”

“That’s not what I-”

Tommy’s grip on you tightened painfully and you let out a hiss in discomfort. Immediately he loosened his grip but never broke eye contact. You could feel yourself getting lost in his blue eyes. Those eyes that had drawn you in since the first time you’d met him.

“You need to remember where your loyalties now lie,” he continued quietly, “so where do your loyalties lie, Mrs Shelby?”

“Where do you think?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“With you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss against your lips. He only ever acted like this with you and when it was just the two of you.

When it was just the two of you, he could allow himself to be soft. To show you the love he felt for you.

When it was just the two of you, you could ignore the taste of blood on his lips and the red under his fingernails. Because you knew that he ignored the same things on you.

[nochedie]

intertwined, sewn together

pairing: sam winchester x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wordcount: 1k ish

summary: just some late night talking

a/n: hehe… um 😳 i actually haven’t written anything for 7 YEARS! and i haven’t ever written for spn before! so please be gentle with me 🙏 i am working on a soulless sam fic but it’s becoming pretty long soo i decided to just do a little fluffy drabble in the meantime! i have a migraine so im sorry if it makes little to no sense :) i read through a couple times and i cant tell if its bad or if i just hate my own writing (definitely the last one but it might be both 😌☝🏼) anyways i love sam and i needed some fluff! much love and please enjoy 🫶🏼

“do you ever think about… the future? for us?” you and sam were laying next to each other in the motel room double bed, alone in the room. dean was out at the nearest bar, and told you both not to wait up. you always cherished the alone time with sam.

he turned to face you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “all the time.”

“and what do you think about?” you took in each and every inch of his face, the sculpt of his jaw, his eyes which held a look of admiration as they looked into yours.

“i think about… one day being able to just… live. you know? me and you. forever.” his voice held some sadness. and you knew exactly why. you could think about this all you wanted, but the life you led… it could never be normal. sam had tried before, he had tried to be normal, tried to live a normal life. but everything fell apart. you knew he still felt that pain. he wanted so badly to be normal. but he was a winchester.

“maybe we can’t live some suburban life. but we don’t need that to live, sam… sure, our job is dangerous but… well we’re still here, aren’t we? we’ve made it this long.”

“y/n…” you reached out to touch his cheek, and his eyes closed at the feeling, completely relaxing into your touch. “i just… every single day i wake up and worry that something is going to happen to you.”

“hmm… it almost sounds like you don’t think i can fend for myself. you know i can beat a vampire with my bare hands!” you definitely could not.

sam’s laughter filled the room almost immediately, “oh, suddenly you have super strength?”

“you don’t know what i have.” you feigned offence, pulling out of his grasp and turning your body away from him.

“um… what do you think you’re doing?” he spoke between chuckles, slipping his arms around your torso, pulling you flush against him. “let me see your pretty face, love.”

“only if you admit that i have fists of steel and i could absolutely kill a vampire with no weapon.” sam had killed gordon with nothing more than a bit of wire, so this wasn’t the most unrealistic claim.

“right. you’re right, honey. vampires watch out! y/n’s coming! with… maybe chicken wire?”

“you’re mean.”

he practically erupted into laughter, more of an endearing laughter than anything else. he gave you a tight squeeze from behind, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“turn around please, honey. i promise i’ll stop.”

you heeded his request, turning in his embrace so that your faces were but centimetres apart.

“there you are.” he took a deep breath in as he studied every inch of your face, taking in each small detail, each feature which made up the face he loved so much.

you slid one arm around his torso and rest the other on his chest, shuffling as close as you could and letting your eyes close.

“you getting tired?” sam reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, leaving only a sliver of light in the room from the outside street lights.

“just a little. but let’s keep talking, okay?”

“alright, love. what do you want to talk about?” he shifted onto his back and put his arm around you, leading your head to rest against his shoulder, while one arm kept resting on his chest.

“chicken wire.” you stifled a laugh.

sam looked up at the ceiling, a wide smile plastered on his lips. these were his favorite moments with you, and he adored how you could immediately switch his mood.

this hunt in particular had been tough, but it was over now, and this was your last night in the motel before heading to sioux falls in the morning to meet with bobby. the hunt forced sam into some uncomfortable thoughts. you had come far too close to danger, and it sent him into a spiral worrying about you. he hadn’t even thought about what he would do if he lost you, but it felt like he had been hit head on by the thought. he really couldn’t live without you, he knew that for a fact. tonight, he was really feeling it. all he wanted to do was hold you close and never let go. but this conversation with you, your optimism and your smile, just you, allowed sam to feel a genuine content.

“i love you.” he whispered, planting a kiss on top of your head.

you hadn’t realised how tired you were, and you had already drifted to sleep. after a few minutes, sam did the same.

****

you opened your eyes to see sam looking back at you, already awake. “good morning, love.”

“good morning.” you stretched your limbs, sitting up in the bed before looking around the room. “dean didn’t come back last night?”

“he did, he went out to pack up the car. you slept in pretty late.”

“hmm.. well we better get ready and hit the road, then?”

“or… we could cuddle for a bit.” he tugged on your arm, attempting to coax you to lay back.

“sammy.. you just said i slept in pretty late.”

“and did i say that was a bad thing?” cue two more arm tugs.

just as you were about to lay back down and into sam’s arms, you heard a few knocks, followed by dean’s voice through the door. “cars packed up, you kids have got fifteen minutes or i’m leaving you behind!”

“i guess no cuddling today.” sam has to suppress a whine as he reluctantly gets out of bed.

“do you think we have time for a shower?”

“oh, definitely.” you jump out of bed and grab sam’s outstretched hand, following him into the bathroom.

[sturniolocafe]

star shopping

summary: making music has been chris' passion for years, but is that passion enough to keep you to stay? (based off star shopping by lil peep) pairing: rapper!chris x feminine!reader warnings: angst, talks of depression, weed use, arguing a note from lilah 𐙚: hey so i'm sorry for this. (lowercase intended!)

chris sighed, throwing a green celtics cap over his hair and sliding on his sneakers. he knew you were going to have something to say about this, but right now, he couldn’t risk the loss of this new beat. he’d been hitting a wall with making his beats fit his lyrics for weeks now, hence why he was getting ready to go meet with his producer at 11:30 pm, spurred on by the “dude, i swear to god i just hit the fucking jackpot” text.

you raised your brows as you stepped out of the bathroom, towel on your head and plush robe wrapped around your body. “where are you going?” you asked, watching as chris grabbed his wallet and keys. 

“they need me in the studio,” he mumbled. “i’ll be back in the morning.”

“whatever.” you hummed coolly, brushing past your boyfriend (if you could even call him that) to get to your vanity. 

“c’mon baby, don’t be mad. this is the one.” chris insisted, trying to smooth things over. 

“i’m not mad,” you said flatly, smoothing your moisturizer over your skin. “just go. i’ll probably be gone for work when you get back, so i’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“baby,” chris practically begged, standing near your vanity, but not in your space so he didn’t upset you. “i know i fuck up. i know that i haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. i know you probably don’t want to end up with me, but i love you. you are so much more than gorgeous to me. i want to be with you for the rest of my life. please don’t doubt how much i love you.”

“chris, not tonight. just go.”

“i know i’m not worth your time right now; trust me, i know that. but i also know that i can work on it if you give me time. i can make this album and then we’ll be set, baby, i swear. just let me work on it.”

“you’ve been saying that.” you pointed out, trying to swallow the lump in your throat at the brunette’s words. 

“you’re losing your patience, and i don’t blame you.”

“chris!” you sighed, unintentionally slamming your eye cream down on the vanity. “i’ve been waiting for you to work on it for over two years. two whole rotations around the sun. i believe in you and i believe in your art, but i feel like i’m waiting for something that won’t come. it’s not paying our bills!

chris bit his lip, knowing you had a point. art couldn’t be rushed, but he had been in the process of writing this album for over two years, all while you single handedly paid the bills. the only time that the two of you truly had a connection was when you had sex. you’d look into chris’ deep blue eyes, allowing your hormones to take over and make you feel like maybe everything was okay, despite the fact that you two only had about one true conversation per week. 

“i know.” he mumbled quietly. 

“maybe,” your voice trembled as you began to argue. “maybe my friends are right. maybe i should break up with you. i can’t keep doing this, chris. i’ve worked my ass off to make sure we’re taken care of, and the way you pay me back is by leaving at almost midnight? seriously?”

“ma, you know i’m gonna make it happen one day,” chris pleaded. “as soon as this album comes out, i’m taking you overseas. we’ll go wherever you want, baby. we can smoke and stay in luxury hotels and-” chris was cut off when you interrupted him. 

“that’s what you want, chris. not me. i don’t give a fuck about weed or being overseas. all i want is for this, for us, to be a partnership.” you said, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

for some reason, despite what your instincts were telling you, you didn’t protest when chris pulled you into a hug, burying his nose in your freshly washed hair. “i’m sorry, baby. i know i’m nothing like what you or your family or anyone else wants me to be. but at the end of the day, i would give up my life for you. you’ve given up yours for me. you’ve taken care of me during my bad days, you’ve supported me through everything. i understand if you don’t want to anymore.”

“chris…” you croaked out, voice thick with tears. “i love you, i do love you. i just…miss you. i feel like you’re never home. i miss us.”

the brunette felt like he’d just received a blow to the gut. how could he have been so caught up in some dumb album that he had ignored the most important thing in his life? “i know, baby. i am so, so sorry. i…” chris pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen, before he shoved the device back into his pocket. “i’m yours for the rest of the night. shoutout to everyone making my beats, but you’re more important. music’s what helped me when i fell to pieces, so now it’s my turn to do that for you.”

you simply nodded into his chest, not quite forgiving him, but not having the chance to argue anymore either. you didn’t even protest under chris grabbed your hips, lifting you off the vanity stool and carrying you to the door that led from your master bedroom to the balcony of your chicago apartment. like any large city, lights were still aglow on the tall skyscrapers and traffic honked below you, but by some miracle, you could faintly see the stars in the velvety blue nighttime sky.  

“all of those stars have a reason they’re here,” chris mumbled. “i hope i find that reason for me…for us.”

you hummed quietly against in his chest in your robe. things weren’t okay right now, they probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but you were too exhausted to argue. you knew chris loved you, you knew you loved him, but you also knew that you couldn’t spend the rest of your life waiting around for what he might do. 

a/n: yeoWCH....thank you for reading bbys!

[dreamscapeee222]

(I'm new to tumblr, sorry if I'm posting in the wrong place, I hope this is ask box)

I asked you to write about the relationship between the arcane characters and the reader who is very thin due to some health problems?

(Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language)

A/n: Hello!! I did lots of research with your request so I hope my work satisfies what you had in mind ^^

You deal with health problems that affect your weight

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

She’s not the type to pry. But she notices the little things—the way you don’t finish your meals, the way you curl up a little too tightly, like you're trying to protect yourself from the world. She never asks you about it, but she always makes sure you’ve got something to eat or drink when she knows you’re struggling.

She might drop a sandwich by your side, or hand you a water bottle without saying a word. It’s just her way of saying, “I see you,” without actually saying it.

If you ever get quiet for too long, she’ll be there, sitting next to you without forcing a conversation. It’s not about pushing you to talk—it’s just her letting you know you’re not alone, even in those silent moments.

Jinx

Jinx doesn’t always understand why you’re not at your best, but she feels it. She’s a whirlwind of chaos, always trying to keep you distracted, to keep you laughing. She doesn’t always get it right, but she’s trying, you can tell by the way she keeps pulling you into her nonsense, hoping that a little of her madness will rub off on you.

But there are times when she looks at you, and the mask slips for just a second. She sees how tired you are, how empty you seem sometimes, and in those moments, she doesn’t know how to fix it. But she doesn’t turn away. “You don’t gotta do this alone, okay?” she says, voice softer than usual. It’s a rare vulnerability, the one moment where she lets down the wall and shows you she’s scared too.

She might not know what to say or do, but she’ll always bring something to make you smile—even if it’s just a little.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s the quiet type, always paying attention to the little things that others might miss. She watches you—never in a way that feels overbearing, but in a way that shows she’s aware of when something’s off.

She doesn’t press you to talk, but she’ll always offer a gentle reminder that she’s there for you—whether that’s by quietly handing you a cup of tea, leaving a snack where you can easily reach it, or making sure you have time to rest.

She never pushes, but when you catch her looking at you with those soft, patient eyes, you know she’s not going anywhere. "Take it easy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. And for a moment, you actually believe it’s okay to slow down.

Ekko

Ekko’s the type of person who’s there without being too much. He notices when you’re pushing yourself too hard, and when he sees the signs—when you’re too quiet, when you’re too weak to do what you usually can—he’ll just quietly step in.

He won’t make a fuss, and he won’t ask you if you’re okay every five minutes. Instead, he’ll bring you a blanket when he sees you shivering, a drink when you look like you haven’t had one all day. He knows you don’t need someone to tell you what to do—you just need someone to make sure you don’t fall apart while you're doing it all.

Sometimes, he’ll sit beside you and not say a word. It’s just his presence, calm and steady, and it’s enough to make you feel like maybe everything will be okay. “You’re not alone,” he’ll say without looking at you. And it’s not just words—it’s his way of making sure you never feel like you’re fighting your battles by yourself.

Jayce

Jayce doesn’t know how to make things better when it’s you, and that frustration shows. He wants to fix things, to find the right answer, and he’s always throwing himself into research, into getting you the best treatment, the right food, whatever he thinks might help. But sometimes, it feels like he’s pushing you harder than you want, trying to make everything better without realizing that maybe what you need is just some quiet.

He doesn’t always know how to slow down, but there are times when you catch him looking at you, his expression softening when he sees the exhaustion in your eyes. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, and for once, it doesn’t come off as a demand. It’s a plea—something raw and real in the way he says it.

When you’re too tired to argue, he’ll just stay next to you, offering comfort in his own way. It’s not perfect, but you know he’s trying, and that’s enough for now.

Viktor

Viktor doesn’t say much, but his care shows in everything he does. When he sees you struggling, he doesn’t push you to talk about it. Instead, he quietly takes action—he makes sure your space is organized, makes sure you have what you need, even when you don’t ask for it.

You won’t hear him say, “I’m here for you,” but you’ll feel it in the way he adjusts your pillow without asking, or in the way he slides a cup of tea your way without a word. He’s not the type to crowd you, but he’s always making sure you’re okay in ways that don’t demand attention.

When you do catch him looking at you, there’s a softness in his eyes—an unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he’ll say quietly, but it’s not just the words that matter. It’s the way he’s already got your back without needing you to ask.

Mel

Mel is the kind of person who knows how to give space without making you feel like you’re invisible. She’s quiet, observant, and when she sees that something’s not right, she’s there—but never in a way that feels like she’s pushing you.

Her care is in the little things—the cup of tea she hands you when you’re not feeling great, the soft touch of her hand on your arm as she sits beside you, giving you time to breathe. She doesn���t expect anything from you, just that you take care of yourself in your own time.

She’ll always remind you that it’s okay to slow down, to rest. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” she’ll say, and the gentleness in her voice makes it feel like everything else can wait. She’ll be there, waiting, until you’re ready to come back to the world.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"

It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.

Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.

You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”

“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.

“Are you coming or not?”

Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.

Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”

You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.

“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”

Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”

You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”

“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”

Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”

“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”

And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.

The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.

“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”

Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.

“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”

She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was… I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”

“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”

You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.

There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.

The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.

“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.

“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”

Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.

“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”

You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.

He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.

“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”

“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”

Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.

Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.

“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”

“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”

As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.

“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”

You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.

“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.

He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”

“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”

“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”

—

Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.

The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.

You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.

“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.

Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.

“Who’s that?”

“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.

“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”

She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”

“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.

“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.

“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”

There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.

The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.

“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Takuma—”

“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”

You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?

“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”

Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.

When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.

“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.

“Hey!”

You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.

When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.

“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”

Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”

Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”

He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”

Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.

You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.

“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.

“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”

Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”

Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.

And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.

“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”

You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.

Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.

Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.

“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.

Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.

And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.

He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.

“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”

“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”

You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.

His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.

“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.

“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.

“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”

“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.

“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”

You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”

He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”

You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”

Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”

He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”

There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.

Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.

“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”

Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.

Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.

“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”

“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.

“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”

Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”

“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”

“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”

“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”

You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.

“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.

“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”

“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”

“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.

“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”

The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.

Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.

And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.

At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.

Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits

You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.

takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there

You smirk and type out a reply.

you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA

The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”

He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”

You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”

You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.

“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.

—

“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.

You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.

You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.

“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”

“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”

“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.

“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”

“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”

“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”

“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”

Toge blinks at you.

“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”

Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”

Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”

“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”

“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.

All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”

You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.

The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”

You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”

Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.

“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.

“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”

“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”

Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”

Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…

“Motion Capture,” Maki says.

“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.

You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.

You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.

“Group project?” Maki asks.

“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”

Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.

“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.

“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”

You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.

“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.

“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”

Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.

“Kowalski, status report.”

She blinks at you. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”

You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”

Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.

“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”

She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”

You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”

“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”

“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”

“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.

“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”

“Nevermind.”

“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”

You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.

“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”

“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.

“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”

“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.

you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)

“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.

“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”

And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”

“Jesus,” Maki says.

“Not him, Yuta.”

Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”

“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.

Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.

“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”

“Yes!”

—

“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.

Takuma stops it with one foot.

“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”

“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Mm. Maybe later.”

You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.

A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.

“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.

“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.

“Who’s space buns?”

“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.

Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”

You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.

“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.

“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.

Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”

“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”

“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”

Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”

“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.

“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”

“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.

“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”

You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.

And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.

“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.

“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”

“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. “Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”

When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”

He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”

“And you,” you remind him.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.

“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”

“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”

He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

—

The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.

Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.

Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.

Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.

“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”

“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.

“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.

A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.

“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”

It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”

Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”

“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.

“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.

“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”

The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.

Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.

Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.

“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”

Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.

Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.

“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”

And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)

Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.

When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”

“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”

“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”

“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.

“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”

And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.

You need this like a lung.

directory | prev. |

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32

a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).

yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...

[inotakumagf]

the grudge

✶ geto suguru x gn!reader

word count ✺ 860

summary ✺ you talk to suguru for the first time in years

warnings ✺ listened to the grudge by olivia rodrigo while writing this, so its allll hurt/no comfort. just straight up pain lol :P new to posting on here, so reblogs and comments are very appreciated!

“I hate you,” you say.

Suguru doesn’t respond. He doesn’t react at all. You don’t expect him to. He hasn’t cared about you in a long time, not since he decided to leave and become a curse user.

Your anger boils over at the continued silence. “Why? Why, Suguru? We loved you. Gojo, Shoko, Nanami, all of us. I loved you. I–” your words catch in your throat as you think of all that he’s done. After all of it you still stand before him, desperate for answers.

“Why did you do it? Why did you leave? We would have…we would have helped you. I would have done something,” you scream. Nothing.

“You were supposed to be the best of us. Not just the strongest. You were so kind, you cared about protecting non-sorcerers. What changed?”

You dig your fingers into your coat to stop yourself from reaching forward. You duck your head to hide the tears that are pooling in your eyes. You don’t want your anguish to be visible.

“I would have done anything, followed you anywhere. Do you know that? I’d still do anything for you, it’s pathetic,” you scoff, turning your head to wipe your wet face against your sleeve.

“I lied, the last time that we spoke. I do still love you. I need you to know, I love you. Even after everything. I shouldn’t speak for the others, but I know they feel the same. We…we haven’t filled the gap that you left when you defected.”

Lightning crackles in the distance, and it begins to drizzle. You stand in the silence, closing your eyes and letting the rain hit your face, until it begins to pour. But still no one moves.

“I’ve missed you,” you practically whimper. There’s a begging tone in your voice, as though things could be different.

“Fuck, I–I wish I could go back, do everything different. I wish I noticed sooner. I’m so sorry. Please, I need you to–”

You stop. You cannot allow yourself to beg for him to…what? Come back to you? After everything, you know you ask something impossible of him. The love that you had shared back in high school is long gone. Your Suguru will never return to you. The pain and hate that he spread is who he has become known for, and you know you cannot change that, cannot change him. And still, you wonder. Maybe, maybe he’d decide that he loved you more than he hated non-sorcerers. Are you a fool for wanting that? Of course you are, but you know your friends from high school think of it too. 

You regret every moment that led to him leaving, but you will never regret your love. You love Suguru, and you hate him so much for it. You want to scream, you want him to acknowledge it. You just want any piece of him you can get. The need overwhelms you, and you sink to your knees before him. Your pants soak into the wet Earth. The rain washes over you.

“I need you. I can’t let you go, I can’t move on. Not since you left. Come back. Come back to Jujutsu High. Come back to me. Or…if you never want to see me again that’s fine. I just…”

“You would have been a good teacher. The cult…that’s not all you could be. The students would love you, and you could build up a new generation of sorcerers. They would be nothing like the higher ups. We would be nothing like the higher ups. There’s so much we could do together.”

There’s no sound but your heavy breathing and the pitter-patter of rain. Your head dips low. The silence is answer enough. There is nothing here for you anymore.

You stand on shaky legs. The bouquet of roses that you had brought to this meeting are cast aside on the ground where you had left them. You pick up the bouquet now, brushing off some dirt and droplets of water. You stare down at the flowers, and the reminder of why you had come makes your heart ache. You place the bouquet against the small headstone that Gojo had put together. You hadn’t been able to recover the body after the fight, but Gojo insisted on a humble headstone for Suguru. Of course you helped him find a spot, far from the prying eyes of the higher ups. Despite everything, you still love him. He deserves to be remembered.

“I love you,” you say out loud this time. A part of you wishes, pleads, that he can hear you. You need to believe that he can, because the last time you had spoken to him in person, you’d said the most awful, vile things. You wish more than anything you could take it back, beg for his forgiveness, beg for him to just come home. You will spend the rest of your life regretting everything you didn’t do, even though rationally you know it’s not your fault

“I love you, Suguru,” you repeat with more fervor. “Do you hear me? I fucking love you. Always.”

Suguru doesn’t respond. The dead often don’t.

[chaztalk]

Literally no one tells the people in their real life that they have a tumblr account so idk why you’d feel embarrassed. Delete your account if you feel that bad, or grow up.

Ah, yes, promoting abuse in the name of “love”. Lovely.

That said, you asked why I think Romione is badly written and to “use words”. I did. You called it one-dimensional and tried to disprove my points (even though you skipped over the 2nd paragraph, in which, you didn’t debunk any of those lol) with 99% of it being non-canon/speculation. Such strong arguments, amirite?

“Use your imagination”. Seriously? I didn’t know canon shippers knew this word, when they themselves have problems with other people “imagining” non-canon pairings together. And there’s honestly not alot to do at Hogwarts lmao. And imagination, for me, is hard to do with Ron and Hermione’s relationship because they have 0 common interests and 0 activities they enjoy doing together that’s believable for me.

“They were prefects, which means they were spending hours walking around the school alone together”. This is not canon. You’d know this if you’ve read the Chamber of Secrets cuz we see Percy Weasley patrolling the Slytherin halls alone.

And it’s not “Kreature”, it’s Kreacher. For someone that claims I haven’t read the books in a while, it’s seems like you haven’t either 🤷

As for the house elf argument, you’re telling me Ron changed his views on house elves because two house elves helped them in DH? So he shrugged the state Winky was in. And if Ron and Hermione are so close cuz they just spend so much time alone together, why did Hermione never ask Ron to help her knit clothes for house elves? I think it makes a lot more sense that that Ron learned that “agreement” is works for well from his 12 Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches book cuz he does nothing but mostly agree with Hermione to get in her good graces again once he comes back from abandoning Harry and Hermione on the hunt. Regardless, I still think the scene came out of no where, it’s literally during a battle, and the condition of the house elves and wanting them to be free is forgotten about.

And I think you’re misinterpreting what I’m saying about confiding in Harry about their relationship, and I mostly mean Ron telling Harry that he likes Hermione. Harry Potter is oddly one of those pieces of media where a guy friend doesn’t confide with his other guy friend about his relationship troubles or at least a “hear me out”. The HBP movie at least had some semblance to that.

Um, the epilogue is a clear sign of their little to no development. It’s not what’s even inside the epilogue. It’s just 19 years later to confirm the garbage written pairings lol.

You claim that this was easy for you. Of course it’s easy to type up a lot of biased non-canon nonsense.

Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re arguing with me. You’ve already said that the author “hardly tried” writing romance, but you have a problem when your OTP’s writing is in question?

In conclusion, Romione is badly written. Heck, every canon ship is badly written. If you want go die on the hill that Romione isn’t badly written, so be it (you’re wrong either way tho).

“I used to ship Harry and Hermione together but that was back when I was 12 years old. Now, I’ve grown up and realized that Ron and Hermione make much more sense together and are good together” is a sure-fire way to tell me you didn’t “grow up”.

[meelusinee]

SUN-KISSED LIPS ★ B.Z X READER

in which Blaise takes you out on a date in Italy after your O.W.L exams

pairing: boyfriend blaise zabini x girlfriend reader tags: fluff fluff fluff!!! blaise being the best boyfriend word count: 2.3k warnings: none

author's note: thank u guys so much for the support AAAAAA i've been so motivated to write fanfics and stuff, so i'm making one for every major character i want to cover before i do repeats. unlesss someone wants to do a request :D in which case i will totally try to make something up.

SUN KISSED LIPS | B.Z X READER

Exams had been stressful, to say the least. 

Potions was absolutely dreadful. Snape’s watchful eye feeling like it was zoned directly onto you, any mistake you made seemed to displease the man even further than what you thought possible. Then Charms, where you had to remember at least 50 spells within the span of maybe two minutes. The written section for Transfiguration was absolutely dreadful, as was the showcase of Mandrake handling for your Herbology exams. Not to mention the abomination of your History of Magic exam, though you felt like everyone could only recall one or two things by that point of the week. Defense Against the Dark Arts was last, the only class you felt you had done something good in.

All in all, very stressful.

And that stress was not lost on Blaise either.

Blaise, your sweet and caring boyfriend, has had to handle most of your exam stress for the past month. Most of the time though, you were shutting him out in favor of studying. 

He couldn’t blame you much, the O.W.L exams were important. Not everyone could buy their way into Ministry jobs, they would have to work for it. Your work ethic was always something that Blaise truly appreciated about you.

But right now, that work ethic was getting in the way of his love life. Which obviously meant that he had to devise a plan.

“Amore mio,” he whispered, hands moving to scratch at your scalp as you leaned over your desk. “The exams are over, what’s there to be stressed about?”

“I haven’t gotten my results back yet!” you said, the bone of your palm hitting your forehead before pulling roughly at your hair. “What if I failed all of them? I mean, these exams are really important. If I fail all of them, I won’t be able to do anything with my life.”

Blaise chuckled softly at that, gently pulling your hands away from your hair before kissing the top of your head. “Bambina, we have Umbridge this year.”

“God, don’t remind me.” you groaned. “I’ll die, Blaise. Actually die. She’s going to fail all of my exams, isn’t she?”

“Love,” he chuckled, pulling up a chair and sitting next to you. “Look at me.”

Blaise watched as you sighed before looking over at him, cooing softly as he finally saw your face for what felt like years. Your eyes were dark and swollen, both from a lack of sleep and crying. Not to mention how stressed you looked all together, with a sunken face and large pout that melted away at his heart.

“Tesoro,” Blaise whispered, his hands moving to hold yours. “You passed, my love. I know you did. You’ve been studying so hard for so long there’s no way you didn’t. I promise all of the professors will easily be giving you O’s on every exam.”

“But what if I fail?” you groaned, sniffling softly.

“You won’t fail.” Blaise said sternly, squeezing your hands. He didn’t want you beating yourself down anymore. “Plus, Umbridge likes me, and by association likes you. Maybe not the best person to like you, sure. But I promise it could help with your exams, the exams you don’t need help with in the first place.”

“You’re going to use bribery to get me perfect grades?” you chuckled quietly, scooting your chair a bit closer to him.

“I don’t think my bribery would be as effective as some people’s bribery.” he muttered, fingers caressing the back of your hands. “Maybe Draco.”

“How on Earth would you bribe Draco?” you giggled softly, looking up at him.

“Hookers.” Blaise shrugged, before smirking. “Which gives me a bit of an idea.”

“We are not hiring a prostitute.” you said.

“No, but we are going to go on a date.” Blaise smirked, standing up and walking over to your wardrobe. “Do you still have that black dress I got you last month? Or maybe the red one.” 

“Blaise!” you chuckled, standing up and moving to stand beside him. “Where on Earth would we even go? We haven’t made reservations or anything.”

“We don’t need those.” Blaise said, nudging you with his elbow. “Put on a nice outfit, we’re going on a date.”

“This is ridiculous.” you giggled, arms wrapped around his as the both of you walked down the sidewalks of Italy.

In the time that you took a shower, put on a nice sundress, and did your hair and makeup, Blaise had found a portkey to an Italian plaza. In Italy. The sun was still in the sky by the time they got there, the sun setting in just a couple of hours.

“What about it is ridiculous?” he asked, smiling softly down at you. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping in Italy!” you said, giggling softly. “Like, what about that isn’t ridiculous? Just 10 minutes ago I was at Hogwarts, now I’m in Italy.”

“It’s nothing.” he said, the both of you stopping in front of a clothing store. “I want to get you a new dress, is that okay?”

“You got me two already this month, and we’re not even halfway!” you giggled, looking up at him. “Do I really need another one?”

“This one’s from Italy though, bambina.” Blaise smiled, kissing the top of your forehead. His hand was resting on your waist, the other hand moving to open the door for you both. “Plus, you’ll need a swimsuit as well.”

“I do?” you asked confusedly.

“Yes you do, c’mon.” he smiled. 

The both of you walked into the store, Blaise guiding you to the swimsuit section. The first piece there was a red and white plaid one-piece, much similar to a picnic blanket. “I think that we should have a picnic at the beach.”

“If I have to wear a picnic blanket, so do you.” you said to him, hands on your hips.

“Maybe just plain red?” he asked you.

“I suppose that works.” you muttered, grabbing one of the swimsuits and holding it by the hanger. “What kind of dress did you want to buy me anyways?”

“I was thinking black.” he muttered, his hand resting on the dip in your back as you both walked to the dress section of the shop. There were shorter dresses and small sun dresses, though your gaze immediately turned to the more elegant ones at the top. “Maybe with velvet. Or a ball gown.”

“I am not letting you buy me a ball gown.” you said, wagging your finger in his face. “That is too much!”

“But then everyone would know that you’re a princess, wouldn’t they?” he smirked, eyes darting to look at the different dresses. “That one?”

It was a black silk dress, with a shoulderless sweetheart neckline and corset at the top. It was form fitting, and probably would cover your ankles. The top part before the corset was embroidered with small black gemstones, a small pattern of them also at the bottom.

“It’s really pretty,” you whispered, your eyes darting to the price tag. “But that’s too expensive. I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

“Sure you can,” he said, grabbing the first one off the rack and holding it against you. “It’d be yours, why couldn’t you?”

“Because it’s too much!” you said to him, looking down at the dress pressed against you. “Blaise, that is way too expensive. You’ve already bought me two dresses this month, don’t you have a budget of sorts? Surely you think this is too much too.”

“I’d rather dress you up than have my dad waste the worth of this on a pack of well-patted cigars.” Blaise said, kissing your forehead as he grabbed the swimsuit from your hands.

“Oh hush,” you grumbled out loud, trying and failing to grab at the dress and swimsuit from his hands as you both made your way to the counter. “I’ll get my revenge on you one day, Mister.”

“I’m sure you will, amore mio.”

The sun was just beginning to set as you waded your way into the water, small giggles escaping your mouth at the feeling of the cold water against your legs.

“It feels funny!” you said, smiling as Blaise pulled you into a hug. “You can feel it, right?”

“I can.” he smiled, peppering your face in kisses as you continued to laugh about the feeling. “It does feel rather unique, I must say.”

“It’s tickling me.” you said, holding onto his arms like a vice as the both of you waded further in.

“Are you cold?” he asked you, the water eventually making it up to your chests now. “I can put a warming charm on you, if you want.”

“It’s meant to be cold.” you said, arms wrapping around his neck as he lifted you up to carry you. “Plus, you’re rather warm yourself anyways.”

“Am I now?” he chuckled softly.

“Yes you are.” you said, booping him on the nose.

Blaise hummed softly, his finger tapping your back a couple of times before a small radio began to play. You looked around in awe, not having noticed the scenery before you two got into the water. 

The water was absolutely breathtaking, the setting sun shining against it also giving Blaise the perfect sun-kissed look. His skin was absolutely glowing, and his smile mixing with the music made you feel like you just entered a romcom. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful, amore mio.” Blaise whispered, humming softly to the tune of a song you didn’t know.”

“How’d you even get us to Italy?” you asked, chuckling softly at him.

“My family is Italian.” he hummed under his breath, raising his eyebrow at you. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I do!” you pouted. “I just didn’t think you’d have a bloody Portkey to Italy.” 

“Well, I do.” he chuckled softly, nuzzling his nose to yours. “And now you know.”

“Good.” you hummed, nodding softly.

The two of you stayed in the water for a long while. You waded down to where the water would hit your shoulders, Blaise following close behind you as you both started to try and dance in the water. The sun set and made way for the moon, shining down on you as echoes of your giggles filled the night.

“Why don’t we go get some dinner?” Blaise whispered softly, his lips brushing against yours. “You’ll have to try the dress back on eventually.

“I’ll race you!” you said, the both of you wading your way to the shoreline. Blaise had originally beat you, but stayed behind and let you go first. 

“I win!” you giggled, smiling as Blaise patted your skin dry. “Where are we going to eat?”

“This one restaurant I know, they serve the best pasta.” he whispered, kissing your lips as the both of you walked off of the shoreline and towards the plazas again.

You and Blaise were walking to the restaurant together, hands held together as he directed you. His hands had been all over you all day, especially when he helped you put on the dress and do your hair and makeup for the date.

Which led you to where you were right now, in a black dress to match his black slacks, the both of you standing in front of a rather fancy restaurant. 

“What are you going to get?” you asked him curiously, smiling softly as he walked you to a table. He pulled the chair out for you, his lips meeting yours once you sat down. 

“Carbonara,” he whispered, sitting across from you after adjusting his tie. “You?”

“I don’t know much about Italian dishes,” you whispered. “I mean, I know some things. I don’t know if I know everything on this menu though.”

“Maybe you should start with something you know.” Blaise whispered, his hand moving across the table to meet yours. “Lasagna?”

“I love lasagna.” you whispered, turning the menu to the drink section. “What about drinks though? There’s just so many.”

“Anything you want, honey.” he chuckled softly. “You can get wine if you want. I’ll take you back home, okay?”

“Okay.” you smiled softly, giggling as you looked at the menu.

The waiter walked up and took your orders, the food eventually arriving with steam coming out. “This is really pretty.” you whispered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Blaise asked, chuckling softly as his fork swirled through his carbonara.

You swirled your fork around the lasagna before taking a small bite, blowing on it before placing it on your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Is it?” Blaise whispered, smiling softly. “Do you want to try some of my stuff?”

“It looks really good,” you whispered softly, scooting a bit forward in your chair as he handed you a small bite. “Thank you.”

“Does it taste good?” he asked, smiling softly.

“It does.” you whispered, smiling brightly at the taste of it. “I love both of them. And this wine, it’s also really good too.”

“Is it?” Blaise asked, chuckling at that. “Do you want a bottle to take back to Hogwarts?”

“We can do that?” you asked.

“Yes we can.” Blaise nodded, smiling softly.

“We so should!” you said, taking another sip of your glass of wine.

“Merlin,” he whispered softly, his hand caressing yours. “I love you.”

You both had made your way back to Hogwarts, your feet stumbling as Blaise helped you down into the dungeons. Down the stairs, through the Common Rooms, and down to his dormitory. His scent wrapped around you as he wrapped you in his blankets, a small smile coming on your face as you realized it.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes looking up at Blaise with a sleepy expression. “For this.”

You felt a lot better despite your impending test results, a lot calmer than you were not seven hours ago. This date was probably one of the best things that had ever happened to you.

“It’s okay,” Blaise whispered, his hand caressing your cheek as he kissed your forehead. “You need some rest, can you get some for me?”

“Okay.” you whispered, nodding softly.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAa this one was so fun to write oh my gawsh. beta-reading still sucks, but hey i got it done!

as alwayss, please like, comment, reblog, or whatever jazz you feel like doing. it really really helps out a lot more then you guys think it does, and i really really really appreciate it. if you have any requests, i have a masterlist full of characters i plan on writing for! so go check all that out, and have a great day!

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes. 

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush. 

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It’s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say,  “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right. 

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground. 

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage. 

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to. 

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong. 

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back. 

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry  I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back. 

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again. 

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer, 

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?” 

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”