#i feel like i could have gone further with it

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company. 

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and he steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands down his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

PART ONE

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[lovemomhatepolice]

what brought back that smile? - lando norris

navigation taglist requests

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

warnings: kinda established relationship, fresh relationship, curious muppets!, English is my second language!

type: fluff, pure fluff

word count: 3,5k

summary: 5 times when someone asked the reason for Lando's sudden surge of happiness, but he preferred to keep his sweet secrets to himself

more content: f1 masterlist, lando norris masterlist

Since Lando Norris broke up with his then-girlfriend Luishina in 2022, no one has seen him this happy since. Of course, there have been moments where Lando walked around smiling - for example, when he won his first race in Miami or partying with friends in Ibiza. On more than one occasion, fans saw him joking and laughing until his stomach hurt with other drivers, but further down the line, everyone knew that the old Lando was gone. The one who laughed through love. The one foolishly in love, who proved it at every turn. Since his former relationship, Lando hasn't bonded with anyone - there were only rumors of fleeting romances or PR relationships. Until recently. In fact, no one knows when it took place. And since when Lando felt like a foolishly infatuated boy again.

THE FIRST TIME: Oscar Piastri When Oscar noticed changes in Lando's behavior, it was not much before the Japanese race. Or at least it wasn't so visible before. Norris was walking around smiling from ear to ear, constantly forgetting what he should do or who he should talk to about the changes in the car. No one paid much attention to it, and Oscar initially tried to ignore it as well, and winning in Miami a month later further eclipsed the spy's thoughts. After all, Lando had won his first race after so long in Formula One and so many times standing on the podium. The Mclaren drivers weren't the best of friends on the grid, but Oscar knew it wasn't because of winning the race. Or at least not just because of that.

Oscar was curious, even if he said very little about his life, the Lando case drilled him from the bottom up. And it started off small.

One morning 2 weeks after the Miami race, Lando showed up for a meeting with a goofy smile on his face. His attention was focused on everything during the strategy discussion, his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” asked Oscar, poking his teammate under the table. As if awakened from his trance, Lando stopped tapping his fingers against his thigh and turned his head toward the Australian, smiling that silly grin again. “Yeah, all good, mate. “ he asked, tilting his head to the side. Oh, how foolishly charmed he was. “Why do you ask?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. You just seem... happier these days. What brought back that smile?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment. Lando hung his head and laughed quietly under his breath, as if he was thinking whether he wanted to say it or rather not. And that was the option he chose, keeping his new infatuation to himself.

“Well, you know, buddy, I won a race recently. A chance to celebrate, huh?”

Oscar laughed, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else behind that smile, and that Lando was lying right in his eyes. Something - or someone - had brought back that trademark Lando smile. But Oscar decided to let it go for now.

Meanwhile, Lando was smiling to himself. Was it really that noticeable? Could everyone now know his sweet secret?

Such questions were cluttering his mind, but he tried not to worry about them. They were quickly superseded by thoughts of [Y.N]. It was wild how fast she had slipped into his life. What had started as a chance meeting turned into hours of effortless conversation, late-night phone calls, and a connection that had somehow brought him back to life. He hadn't felt this way since…. well, he couldn't remember the last time. And that was the point of it all.

MUPPETS: Carlos Sainz Jr Carlos had known Lando since 2019, so this year was their 5th anniversary of knowing each other. From the very beginning, the men, despite the age difference, got along great. And they soon became friends, too, supporting each other in worse and better moments. You could say they knew each other like the back of their hand, so while Lando was drifting away more and more each possible time during their conversations, the Spaniard had no more questions or thoughts. He was well aware that his younger friend's head was occupied by not something, but someone.

The sun beat down on the lush green of the golf course, the Spanish heat was unrelenting even in the early hours of the day. Carlos set up for his shot, squinting against the blinding glare, while Lando stood to the side, waiting his turn. It was a rare moment of calm before the chaos of the Spanish Grand Prix weekend, and Carlos was glad to be spending it with his best friend.

Until he saw Lando miss every time, which hadn't happened all that often before. Well, okay, Lando was worse than Carlos at golf, but to that extent?

And those constant glances at the phone, which he was so reluctant to leave in the golf cart.

“Ay, muppet. What the hell is wrong with you?” rang out Carlos' voice as he hit the ball.

Of course it flew cleanly where it was supposed to fly. But what's the pleasure of playing as your friend drills a hole in the grass with his club, his other hand constantly checking his phone screen?

"Huh?" Lando snapped out of his trance. This had been happening to him more and more often lately, nay, it had been happening to him for more than three months now.

“You’ve been smiling like an idiot all day,” Carlos teased, though his tone was softer, more curious than mocking. “Actually, you’ve been like this for weeks like not months now. So, tell me—who is she?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly turned his attention to the golf ball at his feet, fiddling with his club. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but there was a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. And in fact, I don't think he wanted to get rid of it.

Carlos laughed, poking Lando playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, cabrón. I know you too well and it's been a long time since you've been this happy. So who's the lucky girl? Who brought back that smile?”

Lando sighed under his breath - he knew he could trust Carlos, he was his best friend. He just liked the fact that he and [Y.N] were in a closed bubble of happiness that they had made for themselves in three months. Of course it was still fresh and nothing was certain yet, but Lando gave in. To whom as to whom, but to Carlos he already had to tell. It was drilling him from the inside.

“It's … nothing serious,” Lando finally said, shrugging his shoulders as if it was no big deal. “It's just… I'm meeting someone. I'm trying to keep it discreet.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Dude, I've known you long enough to know when you're serious about someone,” he said, and his voice became softer. “And if she makes you smile like that, I'd say it's more than a casual.”

Lando bit his lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through. The truth was that [Y.N] had quickly become the best part of his days.

“Maybe,” he admitted, finally meeting Carlos' gaze. “But for now it's just … between us, sure?

Carlos clapped Lando on the back, a broad grin on his face. “I’m happy for you, hermano. And don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone. But I have to say, it’s good to see you like this again.”

They both laughed and Lando already knew he was lost. Together, with Carlos, were like the biggest gossips, so he quickly unlocked his phone, even jumping up and down with happiness, wanting to show Carlos some pictures of them together. What luck befell him when he found out that [Y.N] also loves to take pictures.

Carlos leaned closer, curious. Lando pulled out a photo from a few weeks ago - from his once-in-a-lifetime date with [Y.N]. They were sitting on a blanket in a meadow somewhere by the water, the golden sunset casting a warm glow over them. The girl's head was tilted toward him and resting on his shoulder, her eyes were crinkling with laughter, and Lando looked happier than Carlos had seen him in a long time. His hand was on the girl's shoulders, visibly embracing her closer to him.

“I want her to be the one, you know?” muttered Lando, smiling even wider when he saw the notification from her.

LUCKY CHARM: Lando's parents Lando was able to hide his fresh relationship from his friends, from his fans and from the rest of the world. But he definitely couldn't hide it from his parents and siblings. Not even a month of knowing [Y.N] had passed when he vividly talked about how much he had fallen in love and how he hoped she was the one and last woman in his life. His loved ones were damn happy to finally see the most sincere smile of his entire life on the face of this little Lando Norris.

The air around Silverstone was charged with electricity, and the energy of the home crowd gave Lando joy like no other race on the calendar. Walking through the bustling paddock, he felt lighter than he had in years. It wasn't just the thrill of racing on his own track - it was the realization that somewhere among the sea of faces there was [Y.N], watching him.

Fortunately, he managed to smuggle her into a private hospitality suite, away from prying cameras, journalists and fans. They had been seeing each other for almost four months, in truth they were not a couple, but everything was going for it. Lando wasn't the only one who was foolishly infatuated with the relationship; the girl, like him, walked around with her head in the clouds, as her university colleagues or friends seemed to notice more than once. But in her case it was easier to hide, after all, she didn't have a million eyes on her like Lando did.

When Lando entered his private area in the Mclaren garage, he immediately noticed his parents, sisters and brother, who were smiling at him from ear to ear. The entire Norris family had a close relationship with each other, so of course everyone knew about Lando's new sweetheart, whom he had been dating with for four months.

“And there's our smiling boy!” laughed Lando's mother, hugging her son tightly. The driver laughed under his breath, hugging his family one by one, fortunately in a place where the eyes of others did not reach and they could have a moment of peace. “I'm glad you're all here,” Lando said, stroking his younger sister Flo's hair.

“How could we not be here?” asked Oliver, Lando's brother, laughing under his breath.

The atmosphere was great, however, everyone knew this question would come sooner than perhaps it should?

“Well, you know what, tell us where she is,” said Lando's dad, poking him lightly on the shoulder. “You're laughing so hard, I won't believe she's not here.”

“Yes! Show us finally what brought back that smile,” said his mom, echoing her husband.

Lando felt his face heat up, but he couldn’t keep the grin from spreading. “You two don’t miss a thing, do you?” he said, shaking his head.

“We just want to meet her,” his mum said softly, eyes twinkling with warmth. “We’ve heard so much about her, and if she’s the reason our son’s been so happy lately, we’d love to say hello.”

After a moment's thought, Lando nodded. “All right. I'll bring her - but behave,” he said with nervous but excited energy.

Lando slipped stealthily out of the garage and headed for his room, which only he and a few Mclaren people had access to. Although it was a rather hidden place, [Y.N] did not complain. She could wait out the time until the race in peace, just as she could go out to Mclaren's garage and watch it there. Lando made her as comfortable as possible.

When the girl saw him, she raised her eyes and smiled warmly in his direction. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is fine,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. At the same time, he forced her to get up from the soft couch. “But… there is someone who wants to meet you. My family is even dying to meet the woman of my heart.”

The girl took a deep breath and smiled. “I'd love to meet them.”

Holding hands, they returned to the hospitality. When they went inside, Lando's mother sighed quietly and immediately crossed the room to hug [Y.N]. “Oh, how nice to finally meet you,” she said, and her voice was filled with sincere warmth.

“She's beautiful,” Cisca whispered, looking at Lando. The boy only whispered a quiet “I know” and laughed under his breath.

Immediately the whole family greeted the girl, hugging her tightly and bestowing kind words on her, including telling her how happy they were that she was making Lando so happy again. And everything was somehow better. His parents and siblings were talking to the girl he'd had in his heart for several months, and everything was going smoothly. Lando was just standing off to the side, keeping his hand on her back and giving her a little kiss to make her feel better. But he was probably the most stressed one there.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-start jitters begin to overwhelm him. But today he felt a little better than usual.

“I have to go now,” he said reluctantly, turning to face the girl. His parents moved away to give them a moment of privacy.

“You can do it, you're amazing on the track,” she purred, placing her hands on his shoulders and gently correcting his suit.

Lando merely smiled in her direction and without hesitation placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a quick but tender kiss. This was not how they had imagined their first kiss, but in that moment it was their best memory and the time this kiss could have happened. Lando pulled away from [Y.N], their eyes met and they both smiled at each other, giggling under their breath.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-race jitters starting to creep in.

“I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly, turning to her. His parents stepped back to give them a moment of privacy.

“Good luck out there,” she whispered, her eyes shining with pride. “You’re going to do amazing.”

Lando smiled, but there was a flicker of nerves in his eyes. “I hope so. This one’s important,” he said softly.

[Y.N] reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You’ve got this, Lando. I believe in you.”

Without thinking, Lando leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a swift, impulsive kiss. It wasn’t planned, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He pulled back, their eyes locking, and they both smiled.

“For good luck,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

And even if he came in third place after the race, it didn't bother him much. He won something better and it was an amazing woman.

HI IBIZA: Max Fewtrell stream Max knew Lando since they were kids. Both could not imagine life without the other person, they were inseparable. Even if it didn't work out for them to be Formula One drivers by their side, it didn't change anything. They were always side by side, and as soon as Max heard about Lando's new crush, he knew this was the one. Norris had never talked so seriously and eagerly about any girl before. And Max liked to tease him about it. But at the same time, he was damn happy.

The warm glow of sunset in Ibiza paints everything with a golden sheen. Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell and their group of friends held a casual live stream at their bungalow, which they rented for the whole group of friends. This stream was definitely different from their typical ones, where they played games on two different sides of the screen, but that was good too.

Everyone was more muted than at times when they were playing and shouting at each other. However, the biggest difference could be felt in Lando. He was more subdued, gently but sincerely smiling, and his eyes shone with such happiness that you could envy him.

The stream had been going on for about an hour, and the fans didn't run out of questions. They were inundated with the same questions as always, but today they had more opportunity to answer them because they weren't stressed by the background game. Lando kept getting questions about the Championship, the races, the competition and some side silliness. Until Max caught one significant comment among thousands of others. And of course he had to ask them.

Fan comment: "Lando, what brought back that smile? It's been a long time since we've seen you so happy, and of course that's great, but what's your secret?"

Max looks at Lando with a smile and winks. "Good question," he says, leaning back in his chair. "So, man, what's been making you so happy lately?"

"Oh, you know. Life has been better lately. Beautiful weather, sunshine, we have a beach house. The break from racing is good for me too, my head isn't as busy," Lando replied, playing with his hair and smiling under his breath.

Oh how he lied, how he lied to keep his bubble of happiness calm even longer.

"Really? Gee, I guess I agree with that comment, you're somehow happier lately," said Max, glancing at Lando with a teasing look. He remembered well how Lando had talked down his relationship on the stream, but he wasn't going to do the same to him. "Or maybe you've found a hobby other than Formula One?"

"Maybe," he laughed lightly under his breath, feeling the warmth inside his body. "I guess I just got old and I'm not that rebellious 20-year-old anymore "

"Oh, it's definitely old age, you name it" Max laughed and went back to looking for interesting comments, leaving the matter of Lando's happiness. He wanted his friend to still have peace from prying eyes.

After the stream was over, everyone went their separate ways. Some decided to have a bonfire, but Lando felt he needed the solitude. He walked out to the beach, which they had right outside the gate of their cottage, and felt the cooler evening wind brush his face. He smiled under his breath when he saw [Y.N] by the shore. It wasn't a smile that the cameras could see; he reserved this one for her alone.

The girl was wearing a white loose dress that swayed gently in the wind, and her hair was tousled by the wind. It wasn't a moment before she heard him and gently turned toward him, giving him a beautiful smile. "Have you finished the stream yet?"

"It's been a while now," Lando stepped closer, feeling the sand under his feet surround him pleasantly. "I had to get away from the chaos. And the fans are getting curious, they asked what secret I have"

Girl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Secret? What secret?"

Lando smiles mischievously and walks closer. "That I'm the happiest I've been in years." - he says in a quiet but sincere voice.

[Y.N] smiles, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Without another word, she steps into his arms, and Lando doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close. They stand there for a moment, just the two of them, the sound of the waves crashing in the background. Lando takes a deep breath and places a kiss on her hair, pulling her even closer to him. It was the peace he had needed for a long time

FIRST CHRISMTAS: [Y.N] Lando and [Y.N] had been together for almost half a year. Their lives were filled with happiness that neither of them had ever experienced before. From the first day, they understood each other like two peas in a pod, and that's how it stayed. That's why she was surprised by how happy Lando was.

The couple in love are together in the kitchen, with the countertop in front of them strewn with flour and other ingredients for making gingerbread cookies. [Y.N] is wearing one of Lando's voluminous sweaters and humming a Christmas carol, pacing next to the countertop. Lando, on the other hand, dressed in his loose Mclaren T-shirt and Christmas pajama pants, is trying to roll out the dough, but it's not going well. His hands are covered in flour and the dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin. Well, it's easier to say that his whole body is covered in flour.

"Do you need help, chef?" - asks [Y.N], leaning against the countertop and looking at him with an amused smile.

Lando raises his gaze, feigning impatience. "It's harder than it looks, sure?" - He laughs, combing his flour-dusted hair with his hand. "I thought baking was supposed to be easy."

"It's easy, you just have some manual problems," the girl laughs and moves to his side, gently taking the rolling pin from his hands. "Here, let me," she says, guiding him to the side. Their fingers brush as she takes over, a soft, tender moment.

"Sure, my baking queen," the boy laughs, looking at her with adoration.

"You could do the icing." the girl says, pointing to the already made gingerbread cookies.

Lando's eyes brighten, his smile widening. "Icing, huh? That's sounds better." He grabs a piping bag and starts filling it, but as he attempts to pipe a simple design, it all goes horribly wrong.

“Lando!” she laughs, her eyes crinkling with amusement. The icing has spilled everywhere.

He looks down at his hands, dripping with icing. “Well, that’s not what I had in mind…” He shrugs sheepishly.

“You’re adorable when you try, you know that?” She leans in and wipes a bit of icing from his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin.

“And you’re just adorable,” he says, moving closer to her.

Lando’s hands quickly find their place on her waist, and his face is twisted into a genuine big smile. They both giggle, putting the matter of the cookies aside.

“What brought that smile again, huh?” the girl asks, touching his lips, which is also dirty with icing.

“You,” he says simply, and his voice carries a quiet sincerity that makes her heart skip a beat. "It was always you"

For a moment, they both stand in silence, the hum of the Christmas music in the background, the quiet crackling of the small fire in the corner of the livingroom adding to the coziness of the apartment. It’s a peaceful stillness, the kind that only exists between two people who’ve found something real.

A/N: i know it's no nut november and this should be smut but i swear when i had a vision i had to write this. i hope you like it because i won't lie, i fucking love it!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[rootedinrevisions]

Noisy Nights

SUMMARY: Tyler has been gone for weeks, following storms across the Midwest. When he finally returns home to his wife, the chemistry between them is undeniable. But with their best friend Boone unexpectedly staying the night, they'll have to keep their passion under wraps or risk being heard. As the night unfolds, the intensity of their reunion grows, testing their ability to stay quiet when every touch and whisper pushes them closer to the edge.

A/N: Thank you to the person who send me the DM about this request! This one was so fun to write! I really hope you like it!

PROMPT: "Staying quiet never was your strong suit, was it?"

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT. Unprotected sex, Oral Female Receiving, P in V sex.

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The evening sun cast a warm glow over the old farmhouse, its light filtering through the trees as you stood on the wraparound porch, watching the gravel road that wound its way up to your front yard. It had been three long weeks since Tyler left for what was meant to be a five-day chase on the Oklahoma-Kansas border.

But mother nature had her own ideas. One storm led to another, each one calling him further away. You understood–you always did. The storms had a pull on him that you’d long accepted was part of who he was. But after nearly a month, you were ready to have him back home.

Just as the sun dipped below the trees, you finally heard the familiar rumble of his truck. You stepped down off the porch, watching as he rolled up the drive, your heart quickening at the sight. Standing there in your sundress, the light breeze lifted the hem, just enough to make you shiver with anticipation.

The truck came to a stop, and you could see him through the windshield, his face breaking into a tired, relieved smile. The second his Ariat boots hit the dirt, you were already running. Gravel crunched under your feet as you made your way to him, and by the time you reached him, he had his arms wide open, ready to catch you.

When you collided with him, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you right off the ground, holding you tight. You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing him in–the scent of rain, dust, and something unmistakably Tyler. He held you close, his hands pressed against your back, and his face nestled into the curve of your neck.

“Missed you,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, roughened by days on the road and nights spent under open skies.

“I missed you more than I could say,” you whispered back, your fingers finding their way into his messy, damp hair still wet from the rain, your touch lingering just a little longer than usual. Tyler pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

“Nothing like coming home to you, darlin’,” he said softly, his thumb gently tracing your cheek. His gaze held yours, and for a moment, the pull of the storms, the long roads, the endless miles–none of it mattered. He was here. He was home.

As you stayed wrapped in Tyler’s embrace, he leaned down, his eyes searching yours before he began to close the distance between you, his lips brushing just above your own. It was a kiss he’d been wanting to give you since he left, the kind that lingered in his mind during the long nights on the road.

But just as you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, a loud, familiar honk echoed from down the driveway, breaking the moment. You both turned, and there it was–Boone’s beat-up old gray van lumbering up the gravel road, rattling with each bump.

Tyler let out a soft sigh, a sheepish grin spreading across his own face. He cast you a guilty look as Boone leaned out the window, giving a cheerful wave in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you looked back up at Tyler. “Let me guess–Boone’s crashing here tonight?” You asked, your tone half-resigned, half-amused.

Tyler nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he was getting pretty tired, and I didn’t want him driving another hour and fifteen back to his place. Figured he’d be safer here for the night.”

You smiled, already used to the unplanned sleepovers with your husband’s best friend after a chase. You’d long since accepted that Boone came with the package, his loyalty to Tyler as steadfast as the storms they chased together.

Reaching up, you gave Tyler a quick kiss. “I’ll go get the guest room ready,” you said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you turned to head inside.

As you made your way up the steps and into the house, you glanced back one last time, watching as Boone pulled his van to a stop and hopped out, a broad grin lighting up his face. Tyler threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, giving him a tired but grateful smile. They both looked exhausted, faces lined with the grit and weariness of the chase, but there was a familiar, easy camaraderie between them that filled you with a sense of warmth and belonging. This was home–storm chases, unplanned guests, and all.

You finished setting up the guest room, smoothing the last pillow with a satisfied sigh, then made your way to the kitchen. You knew both Tyler and Boone would be hungry after their long drive, so you started gathering ingredients, setting up a simple but hearty meal for the three of you. Before long, you hear their voices and footsteps coming in from the hallway.

Boone was the first to enter the kitchen, and he wasted no time pulling you into one of his signature bone-crushing hugs, lifting you a little off the ground as he did. You laughed, patting his shoulder as he set you down, his wide grin lighting up his tired face.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Boone said, his voice warm and genuine.

You waved him off with a smile. “You know you’re always welcome, Boone. This is as much your home as it is ours.”

Tyler stood leaning against the door frame, watching the two of you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with a mixture of warmth and contentment. You met his gaze, feeling a little flutter in your chest at the sight of him finally home.

Turning your attention back to the both of them, you raised an eyebrow. “Now, both of you–go get cleaned up before dinner,” you said, putting a little mock authority into your tone. You glanced over at Tyler, adding, “And maybe start a load of laundry while you’re at it?”

He chuckled, giving you an affectionate look as he straightened up. “Yes, darlin’,” he replied with a little smirk, his drawl making the words linger in the air just a second longer.

You shook your head, unable to hold back a grin as they both headed out, playfully shoving each other on their way down the hall. As you listened to their banter echo through the house, you felt a deep sense of contentment. This was your life–the two of them laughing, storm-chasing stories filling the house, and the simple, comforting rhythm of having them both here.

You turned back to the stove, adding a pinch more seasoning to the pot, your heart swelling with gratitude for this beautiful, chaotic, wonderfully imperfect life you’d built together.

Dinner was filled with laughter and stories, the kind of easy conversation that felt like second nature whenever Boone was around. He launched into tales from the latest chase–dodging hail the size of baseballs, back roads turned rivers, and one storm that had them racing to outrun a flash flood.

You listened with wide eyes, sharing glances with Tyler, who filled in the parts Boone missed or skipped, adding his own dry humor to the mix.

When you’d finally finished, Boone stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Nothing like a home-cooked meal. You’re the best,” he said, sending you a grateful grin.

“Well, in that case,” Tyler said, pushing his chair back and standing up, “You can help me clean up since the missus did all the cooking.”

Boone groaned, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly got to his feet. “Alright, alright.” He gave you a playful, mock glare. “If he’s only making me help to impress you, just say the word and I’ll put my foot down.”

You chuckled, watching them banter as they cleared the dishes, your heart warming at the scene. It was these little moments–the laughter, the sense of family–that made this place feel like home.

Once everything was clean and put away the three of you settled into the living room, each finding a comfortable spot to unwind. You curled up next to Tyler on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close as you leaned your head against his chest. Boone sprawled out on the love seat across from you, his feet kicked up, looking like he could fall asleep right there.

For awhile, you all just sat in a comfortable silence, the soft murmur of the evening settling around you. Every now and then, Tyler’s hand traced gentle circles on your shoulder, his touch soothing and familiar. Boone’s eyes dropped as he stifled a yawn, and you felt your own eyelids growing heavy.

Tyler gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What do you say we call it a night?” he murmured, his voice warm and drowsy.

You nodded, giving Boone a teasing smile. “Guest room’s ready for you already.”

Boone nodded, already halfway to sleep himself. “Thanks again, you two,” he mumbled, eyes barely open as he pushed himself up from the love seat.

You and Tyler stood up, and as he slid his hand into yours, you felt that familiar sense of peace wash over you. Together, you made your way to your bedroom, a content smile playing on your lips.

As you and Tyler made your way into the bedroom, he reached behind him, and you heard the quiet click of the door lock turning. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look that was met with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s with the lock?” you whispered, half-amused, half-intrigued.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I don’t want any interruptions.” And with that, his lips found yours, warm and familiar, as his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer.

You felt your pulse quicken as you melted into his kiss, but after a moment, you gently pulled back, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “What exactly do you think Boone’s going to interrupt?”

Tyler’s grin was equal parts playful and filled with that telltale spark. He didn’t even need to say it; the look in his eyes was answer enough. After three weeks on the road, you knew what was on his mind. His gaze lingered on yours, his fingers tracing a slow, familiar path along your back.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and filled with a hint of a challenge, “I haven’t seen my wife in three weeks. I figured I’d make up for lost time… unless you have any objections?”

You shook your head, a grin spreading across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. 

“No objections here,” you whispered, your heart racing as he leaned down, capturing your lips again in a kiss that held all the longing and love that had built up during his time away.

Tyler’s hands found your waist as he lifted you up, guiding you back onto the bed, his body settling over yours as he leaned down, trailing a line of warm kisses along your jaw. His lips moved slowly, lingering, his breath hot against your skin as he made his way down to the curve of your neck. You felt him pause, then felt the light graze of his teeth against your pulse point, followed by a gentle bite that sent a shiver racing through you. He didn’t stop there—his mouth lingered, and then you felt the heat of his lips as he began to suck, each movement drawing out a soft moan that escaped before you could stop it.

Tyler grinned against your skin, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, amusement and warmth in his gaze. 

“Now, darlin’, I’m gonna need you to be quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Or I might have to slow down, and I don’t think either of us wants that.”

A needy whine escaped your lips, and you could feel his grin widen as he leaned in, his mouth finding yours again as he deepened the kiss, his hands beginning to roam, each touch unhurried but filled with purpose. 

Tyler’s mouth traveled down the curve of your neck, each kiss deliberate, savoring, as his hands moved along your sides, lingering in ways he knew would drive you crazy. You arched into him, but just as you were about to lose yourself completely, he paused, his lips hovering near your ear, a mischievous smile in his voice.

“Think you can keep quiet, sweetheart?” he murmured, his tone playful but laced with that challenge. “Because if you don’t, I might have to stop.” He lifted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and desire.

You narrowed your eyes at him, giving him a defiant look. The idea of him stopping now, after waiting so long to have him this close, was unthinkable, and he knew it. 

“Tyler,” you warned, a quiet plea slipping into your voice, but he just chuckled softly, leaning in to press a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I mean it,” he teased, his hands sliding lower, skimming your skin with agonizing patience. “One sound too loud, and that’s it.”

A breathy whine escaped your lips, and he gave you a playful look, bringing his lips to your neck again, grazing your skin just hard enough to send a shiver through you. His mouth traveled downward, his touch achingly familiar and yet new all over again, a reminder of how deeply he knew every part of you. Every place he touched, every kiss he pressed, was calculated to tease, to push you closer to the edge while keeping you grounded.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, trying to pull him closer, to get more, but he resisted, his movements slow, torturous, his grin widening as he felt you tense beneath him, fighting to stay quiet. It was almost too much, the way he knew exactly where to touch, exactly what you loved, and every second of it made it harder not to break his rule. And he knew it.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur as he continued, his words as much a promise as a praise.

Tyler’s hands moved down, his fingers finding the hem of your sundress. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed the fabric up, revealing more of your skin as he went, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you beneath him. A warm smile curved across his face as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss just above your hip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “All I could think about while I was gone… was this. Being right here.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, his gaze meeting yours as he slowly pulled them down, a reverence in his touch as he discarded them.

He settled himself between your legs, his hands warm on your thighs as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing your skin and sending a thrill through you. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, his words trailing down your skin, each syllable a reminder of how long he’d been waiting for this.

Then, his mouth finally met your core, a single, slow stroke of his tongue that pulled a soft, breathless moan from you. You quickly brought your hand to your mouth, fighting to keep quiet, but the intensity of his touch made it almost impossible. Tyler grinned against you, clearly pleased with the reaction he was drawing out, his voice a husky murmur against your skin.

“Three weeks without my touch, huh?” he teased softly, his tone low and teasing as he continued his slow, tantalizing movements. “Think you can stay quiet, or is that going to be too much of a challenge?”

You managed a small nod, but Tyler’s knowing look said he wasn’t convinced. And as his mouth worked against you with an achingly steady rhythm, he glanced up, his voice a gentle, breathless whisper. 

“Tell me… did you touch yourself like this while I was gone?” His words sent another wave of heat through you, and you could barely meet his gaze as you shook your head.

“I thought about it,” you admitted softly, your voice barely a whisper. “But I knew it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing compares to you.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his words almost reverent as he continued, making sure you felt every second of his touch, each one more intense than the last.

Tyler’s movements grew more intense as he expertly brought you closer, his mouth working with such precision and care, knowing exactly how to drive you wild. The pressure inside you built, the tension curling tighter and tighter until you couldn’t hold it anymore. Your body trembled beneath him, and your legs began to shake, an overwhelming wave of pleasure surging through you.

As you fought to keep quiet, Tyler’s lips found yours, his kiss deep and urgent, pulling the sounds from your throat as you finally lost control. The orgasm rippled through you, intense and overwhelming, and Tyler kissed you even harder, his mouth a soothing balm against the cries you couldn’t help but let out.

His hands gripped your hips to steady you as the waves of pleasure washed over you, his kiss keeping your moans muffled as your body shook in his arms. When the tremors began to subside, Tyler didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stayed close, his lips still pressed to yours, as if he wanted to share that moment with you, to hold you in it just a little longer.

You could barely catch your breath, your chest heaving as you pulled away slightly, your eyes meeting his. Tyler’s face was flushed, his own breath ragged, a satisfied grin playing at the corners of his lips.

“That was… amazing,” you whispered, still trying to steady your breath, the lingering heat of your orgasm still pulsing through you. Tyler’s grin widened, and he kissed you again, soft and tender this time, his hand gently brushing through your hair as he pulled back slightly.

“I’ve been thinking about that for weeks,” he muttered, his voice low and full of warmth as he settled beside you, pulling you into his arms. “And now I’m not letting you go.”

You smiled against his chest, the comforting weight of him beside you soothing, but you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Tyler’s hands slowly started to undress himself, the familiar pull of his shirt over his head, the slow unbuckling of his belt, all of it a teasing promise of what was to come. His eyes never left yours as he undid each button, each motion deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. You watched him, feeling the heat rise within you once more at the sight of his strong, familiar form, the taut muscles of his chest and arms, the rough edges of his hands that always seemed to know exactly how to touch you.

Once he was fully undressed, Tyler crawled onto the bed, his movements slow and purposeful. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting the sweetness of you as he took his time, letting the moment stretch between you before he pulled away.

He settled back against the pillows, his gaze intense and hungry, his breath coming in soft, controlled bursts. “Tonight, I want to watch you,” he said, his voice hushed with desire. “I want to watch you ride me.”

A grin spread across your face, a mix of excitement and confidence filling you. You’d missed this, missed the connection between you, the way Tyler made you feel powerful and wanted all at once. Without a word, you swung your leg over him, positioning yourself above him as you straddled him, your body hovering just above his. Tyler’s eyes never left yours, watching the way your body shifted, the way you controlled the movement.

You could feel the heat of him beneath you, the undeniable tension building between you. With a slow, teasing motion, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling the stretch, the way he filled you, and Tyler groaned beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets.

The slow rhythm of your movements began, your hips rocking against him as you took the lead, the feel of his body beneath yours setting you both on fire. Tyler’s hands found your waist, guiding you, his eyes dark and full of admiration as he watched you. The room filled with the sound of your breath, the soft slick of skin against skin, and the rhythmic sounds of your bodies moving together.

Tyler’s voice broke through the air, low and gravelly, “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his hands trailing up your sides, pulling you closer to him as the pace quickened.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his, the intensity of your movements growing, the feeling of him filling you driving you to the edge. Every moment, every touch felt electric, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

Your breath was ragged, your body moving with a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. You leaned down slightly, your lips brushing against Tyler’s ear as you whispered, “I’m close…”

The words were all it took. Tyler’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you with a new intensity, his movements matching yours in perfect harmony. The tension in the air between you both built to a peak, the connection between you undeniable.

And then it hit, both of you, at the same time. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as you both reached the height of your pleasure. You clung to each other, your body trembling as waves of sensation crashed over you. Tyler’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you collapsed, your head resting gently against his chest.

Your breathing slowed, the rapid rise and fall of your chest easing as you melted into him. His hands stroked your back tenderly, comforting you as the last remnants of the high faded. The only sound now was the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear and his own soft, steadying breath.

Tyler’s voice was a murmur above you, a low sound of contentment. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You smiled against his skin, feeling his warmth surrounding you, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly right.

The next morning, you and Tyler made your way downstairs, the soft creak of the stairs underfoot a comforting sound in the quiet of the house. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, and you could already feel the warmth of the day starting to seep into the home.

As you passed the living room, your eyes caught a familiar sight—Boone, curled up on the couch, the blankets half off and a pillow clutched to his chest. You stopped in your tracks, both you and Tyler exchanging a puzzled glance.

“Is that Boone?” you whispered, unsure of what to make of the scene.

“Guess so,” Tyler murmured back, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he took a few steps closer to his best friend.

You both approached quietly, but the rustling of your footsteps woke Boone. He blinked, slowly coming to his senses as he looked up at the two of you. A lazy grin appeared on his face when he saw the confusion written on yours.

“What are you doing down here?” Tyler asked, crossing his arms over his chest, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Boone stretched his arms out, yawning exaggeratedly, before answering, “Couldn’t sleep with all the... noises coming from your room last night,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

You felt your cheeks heat up instantly, the blood rushing to your face as embarrassment flushed through you. Tyler, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with himself, his grin widening into a proud smirk.

You kept walking toward the kitchen, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face, but Boone’s words echoed in your mind.

Once you were out of earshot and in the quiet safety of the kitchen, you muttered, still trying to steady your breath. “I can’t believe Boone heard us last night.”

Tyler let out a low chuckle as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and giving you that smug look you knew all too well. “Staying quiet never was your strong suit, was it?”

You shot him an exasperated look, the blush on your cheeks still burning. “You didn’t exactly help with that, you know.”

Tyler just shrugged, his grin never fading as he reached for the coffee pot. “I’ve got no problem with it,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying your discomfort far more than he should.

You sighed and tried to hide your face in your hands for a moment, still feeling the heat creeping up your neck. Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit amused by the whole situation. This was just another funny story to add to the list of things that made life with Tyler—and Boone—so unexpectedly entertaining.

Tyler must have noticed the way you were still flushed, so he stepped toward you, his grin softening into something more affectionate. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, comforting hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing despite the amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Boone’s not gonna care.”

You melted into him, taking in the comfort of his embrace, your embarrassment slowly fading away. “I still can’t believe it,” you muttered into his chest, feeling safe in his arms.

Tyler chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “I love that I can still make you blush,” he teased, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You couldn’t help but smile, the closeness of the moment taking the sting out of your earlier discomfort. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“But you love me anyway,” he grinned, giving you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you toward the kitchen counter.

You shook your head, laughing softly, and the rest of the morning seemed a little lighter, your embarrassment forgotten in the warmth of Tyler’s presence.

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[babygirlwritessmut]

♡︎ part7. hospitals and police reports

・❥・pairing: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

・❥・ summary: while Vi is in the hospital your dad reveals an unpleasant news

・❥・ genre: smut + kinda friends to lovers

・❥・ word count: 1.5k

✎ warnings: hospital, blood, swearing, mention of violence

WHEN I NEEDED YOU masterlist

the following hours were a blur. you remember your screams, the headlights of your dad's car, your mom holding you, the ambulance speeding, Vi's hand, which you held tightly all the way to the hospital, and so many doctors. you spent that night at the hospital, barely getting any sleep or having any strength left.

when the doctor finally came out to see you, the world stood still; you wanted to know what would happen to Vi, but at the same time, the news could be anything, which was terrifying.

“she's a fighter; that's something I can tell you for sure,” the doctor said, holding Vi's medical folder. “she’ll be staying here for a few days - I want to ensure there are no further risks to her health.”

“but she's okay, right?” you couldn’t hold back your worry.

“she’s already doing better; she's weak, but as I said, she’s a fighter,” the doctor said with steady calmness.

“could I see her, please?” you asked, looking her straight in the eye. the doctor hesitated a little, but seeing your concern, she gave a slight smile and nodded. you started thanking her and, for the first time in a while, you smiled.

“sweetie, we’ll wait for you here,” your mom said softly as you entered the room.

you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. you needed to be strong for her - everything would be fine, and your composure would reassure her. worry and tears wouldn’t do her any good, so you gathered your courage and approached her bed. her body looked weak, and all the monitors around her seemed intimidating. her clothes, too, were unsettling to see, but you kept your reaction in check. the worst part was her face - you had thought it couldn’t be worse than when it was covered in blood, but no. the bruises, the stitched lip, and all the scrapes made it look like a waking nightmare.

“hi, Vi,” you said softly, taking her hand and sitting beside her. “how are you feeling?”

her head turned towards you, and a warm smile appeared on her face. “you look so beautiful, cupcake”

her words caught you off guard; Vi had just gone through one of the most traumatic nights of her life, and the first thing she did was compliment you. “thank you,” you murmured, a bit uncertainly. “but seriously, how are you?”

“like I've been beaten up,” she replied with a small grin, but she stopped immediately to avoid reopening her stitches.

after a pause, you both laughed again. “are you always this funny?” you squeezed her hand tighter. “no matter how bad the joke, I’m glad you still have the energy for it”

you talked for about fifteen minutes until the doctor returned to let you know it was time to go. you didn’t want to let go of her hand, but you had to, so with all the gentleness and care, you kissed her softly on the lips and said goodbye, promising to be back in the morning.

your parents were already waiting for you, and you walked to the car together. the ride was silent; your thoughts were still with Vi in the hospital. all you wanted was to sleep and make the morning come faster so you could see her again.

as the car approached home, your dad spoke up. “I know it’s been a hard night, but I’d like to talk to you”

“alright, daddy, I’ll change and come down to you.”

you quickly took a shower and put on your pajamas, carefully folding your jacket and giving it a kiss, as if Vi could somehow feel it. you felt partly responsible for what had happened today, but you brushed those thoughts aside and headed downstairs.

your dad was already waiting for you on the couch, and your mom stood by the window - she always did when she was anxious, so you knew something was wrong.

“please, take a seat, sweetheart,” your dad gestured to the spot beside him.

“what’s going on? did the doctors say something?” your heart was pounding. “please tell me Vi is okay”

“Vi’s fine; this isn’t about her health right now,” your dad reassured you, glancing at your mom as if he wanted her to continue, but she only nodded.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, sweetie. I still can’t believe Troy could do something like that,” your dad said, and you cringed at the mention of his name. you realized you hadn’t even thought about him until now; the last thing you remembered was him lying somewhere on the ground, whining in pain.

“I know what I’m about to tell you won’t be easy to take in, but I need you to stay calm” your dad took your hand, and your face must have shown utter confusion.

“so, Troy’s father has filed a police report,” your eyebrows shot up. “he claims that Vi lured him to the parking lot and assaulted him. I won’t go into details, but the gist is that you cheated on him with Vi, and when Troy wanted to confront you, he got beaten up instead” your dad explained, but there was a ringing in your ears.

“what the hell is that? that’s a complete load of shit!” you shouted, barely registering the words coming out of your mouth.

“sweetheart, that’s not exactly what I meant by ‘stay calm,’” your dad said, clearly displeased with your choice of words, but you didn’t care.

finally, your mom joined the conversation. “your father and I won’t let Troy slander your name, so I want you to tell us everything from the beginning. start with Troy’s party,” she said. when it came to family, your mom never joked. it was one of the reasons you trusted them so much; you knew you were safe.

you talked for another hour, recounting every detail, even the small ones. your dad never took his eyes off you and listened intently. you noticed his jaw clench when you described how Troy had shoved you. when you finished, the room was completely silent, and sadness crept over you, like reliving it all over again.

“daddy, thank you for getting there so quickly. I know I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier, but…” you started crying. “but I was so scared. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. I’m so lucky to have you” you threw yourself into your father’s arms and felt like a little girl again. no matter how old you get, you always feel like a child with them.

“my precious daughter, you’re the most important thing we have, and I’ll never let anyone hurt you. I promise you, Troy and his father will regret this,” he said, hugging you tighter, and you exhaled deeply.

the next three days passed in the same routine: mornings at the hospital with Vi, then college, and back to the hospital. you spent a lot of time with her, and the doctors said she was recovering well and might go home tomorrow, which had you over the moon with happiness.

in the morning, you woke up, and your dad insisted you pick Vi up together. you hadn’t planned on introducing them under these circumstances, but it was how things turned out. when you arrived, Vi had already packed her things, and the doctor was giving her final instructions. after the doctor left, wishing Vi a speedy recovery, you hugged her, causing Vi to yelp in pain, and you quickly pulled back.

“sorry, I’m just so happy to see you… well...” you hesitated over the words.

“alive?” she laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

finally, your dad approached Vi and said, “glad to see you’re doing better”

“yes, thank you for helping me. I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances,” Vi smiled warmly at him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” your dad nodded. “I’m grateful to you, too, Vi. thank you for protecting my girl when I couldn’t be there. thank you for being there when she needed you." he said this sincerely, and they shook hands.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Troy’s father has pressed charges,” your dad continued, and Vi simply nodded. “I want to assure you that I’m handling this situation personally. I can see how much you mean to my daughter, and this is my way of thanking you, Vi” he smiled, and you felt tears of joy welling up. seeing the most important people in your life stand up for the one you fell in love with was an incredible feeling.

[tojisth3rdwife]

Dog Gone It!

Syn: Aint it funny how when you let your kids get a pet, they immediately become your problem?

cw: crack. Megumi and these damn dogs driving you crazy..

a/n: s/o @sugurugetoshairbrush for the insp❤️❤️

“Hot sauce all in our Top Ramen, ya bish..ya bish, ya bish. Park the car, then we start rhymin', ya bish…” Toji mumbles along to the music filling his car, leaning back in his seat, one hand on the wheel as he sits in morning traffic. The forecast predicted scattered downpours for the whole day, having drenched the city and grayed the skies since early. He sighs bitterly when the motion of the traffic’s flow stalled, clenching his jaw when the car behind him started honking obnoxiously.

Toji was reluctantly on his way to a job that Shiu offered to him the night before. Something quick and easy, a minor shakedown and debt collection that shouldn't take him long. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to leave you this morning. Hell, he could still feel your lips on his neck and jawline as he had to force himself out the door.

No big deal though. He’d get the job done. Run some errands then make his way back to the house so he could enjoy having you to himself for a few hours.

His car had eased a bit further up the crowded road when his mounted phone rings from the front vents. Its a Facetime call from you.

Toji frowns, wondering what would have you Facetiming him this early when he expected you to be back in bed and asleep since Megumi had gone off to school.

Perhaps you were restless and wanted to put on a little show for him, needed his help to get back to sleep. Dirty possibilities spawned in his brain as he lifted his finger to swipe over the phone to answer, a knowing smirk on his face.

Toji’s attention is split between watching traffic and his screen, which he expected to be filled by your sensual expression, shrouded in his sheets and pillows. But no. He’s met immediately with your scowl and disheveled appearance.

You were standing in what he deduced was the living room, with the jingly sound of silver dog collars, heavy panting, and the TV in the background. His white tee you were wearing when he left was stretched at the collar and stained a light brown along with streaks of dirt and wet grass over your chest. Your hair, which was tied up neatly in a patterned silk scarf previously, was uncovered and a mess all over your head as if you’d been in a fight.

It's so shocking that a chuckle bubbled up from Toji’s chest as he sat up in his seat.

“Wha...Babe what the fuck happened to you?” he furrowed his brow and you simply turned the phone towards the floor, which was riddled with huge muddy paw prints and scattered puddles of water at your feet. At that, Toji’s smirk fades.

The camera whips back up to your comically pissed expression, a deranged smile now confusing Toji entirely.

“Guess who forgot to let the dogs back in from the backyard again?”

Toji stares at you blankly for a moment, then drops his head and shakes it when the answer hits.

“Dammit Megs. I had just told that boy...” he mutters, running his hand over his face.

“Yeah, me too. Right after you left, I reminded him to take care of the dogs before he went to school. So when he got on the bus , I assumed he had. But when I got out of the bathroom, I heard them scratching at the back door. They were just out there crying and getting rained on.”

Your voice began to shake with emotion as you moved around the room, mumbling cusses under your breath.

“Then what happened? Why do you look like you just got your ass kicked?” Toji counters at your pause, his choice of words making you laugh dryly.

“Funny you ask! I open the damn door and try to rescue them and those fuckers trample right over my ass and tracked mud and who the fuck knows what else all through the living room. Knocked my mug out of my hands so its hot ass coffee all over me. And now the front room stank like outside and ass..mud and shit everywhere Toji.....”

He hisses empathetically, his expression wrinkling in a grimace.

“Fuck! You got burned?? Is it bad?..” Toji inquires, his eyes lifting to the road and his mirrors as he attempts to switch lanes.

You appreciated his concern for you and would have been all warm and fuzzy inside because of it had you not already been so furious.

“No. No, it doesn't seem so bad. I haven't had a chance to check since it just happened. My shirt is just fucked..Aht aht! GHOST! NO! Nooooo..Getcho ass off that couch...”

Toji looks back down at his phone to find you swatting and baring your teeth at one of the dogs, chasing him away from the furniture.

“Uuuuughh!!! Toji it's big ass doo doo looking prints on the couch!! I just. I can't! I fucking can't..” you whimpered pitifully. All while you were fussing with the animals ruining his house and his woman, Toji was fighting for his life to keep from laughing at the way you talked to the dogs. If anyone else was listening, they’d swear you were rounding up a group of unruly ass children.

Although in retrospect, you kind of were.

A break in the traffic jam allowed Toji to turn down a back road, allowing him to cruise at a higher speed on his way to his destination. You noticed him trying to cover his scarred lips with his fist, a feeble attempt at hiding his smile. You focused your glare on him, quirking your brow.

“Uhm…I don’t see whats so funny. Ima have some words for your son and Im gonna put his animals right back out there in the rain so i can clean my house..” you mutter, glancing over the phone as said animals begin playfully growling at each other over a mangled chew toy.

“AHT AHT!! Don't yall start that shit!!” You yell as Toji responds to your not-so-idle threats to kick them out.

“Please don't. You know they’ll just howl and piss off the neighbors and shit...It's too early.” He shakes his head, coming up on a red light.

“Damn right it's too early! And fawk them neighbors! What about me? Lil is over here prancing around like she did a good thing by knocking my coffee all over the floor. Ghost keep jumping on the couch..” your voice shook as if you were about to cry, which you very well might do. It was close to that time of the month when every minor inconvenience felt major, and major ones seemed catastrophic. Toji knew he shouldn’t have left the house that morning. He just knew it.

“..it smells in here and now I have to mop again and take all the cushion covers off the couch to wash 'em..” you continued ranting, to which Toji listened intently with a wary scowl trained ahead at the busy intersection.

He sighs loudly.

“Im sorry youre dealing with that babe. I really am.” Toji mutters just as the loud sniffing sound has him glancing at his phone to find the camera on your chest. You were bending to sop up the spilled coffee and rain water with a towel when one of the dog’s started investigating.

“Yeah well me too...Stop, Ghost. Move...You have to talk to Megs about this. You let him get these damn dogs and while I love them, they're a pain in my ass today. And now they're just looking at me like they're innocent. Tails just wagging...”

To prove it, you stand and tap the screen to switch to the back camera for Toji to get a look at the dynamic duo himself.

Ghost, the male hound with snow white fur stood with his ears sticking straight up and his tongue dangling from his mouth as he panted happily.

Lilith, his sister with the deep black coat, was sitting beside him gazing up at you with interest, her head tilting curiously.

Both of their tails wagged happily as you stood over them, trying not to swoon over how cute they were in spight of all the destruction they caused in your house. They were just so damn big and rowdy, being less than a year old. You were afraid to see how much damage they could do if they weren't done growing.

Toji regards the big ass puppies with a squint before grunting in amusement, easing forward on the greenlight.

“Well..at least theyre happy..” he smirks, his attention back on driving.

He feels you give him the coldest glare through the phone that makes him chuckle in surrender and shake his head.

“Ok ok..I’ll talk to Megumi about being more responsible and make him scrub the couch when he gets home so just leave it, alright? I’ll handle it.” Toji grips the steering wheel, his forearms flexing subtly as he makes his turn.

The definitiveness of his tone put you at ease immediately because you know for a fact that Toji would handle his broody, hard-headed ass son. As far as the dogs, you knew in a few hours that you’d forgive them and their owner for just being themselves, and the drama of the morning would be another comical memory to join the rest that has accumulated since joining the Fushiguro clan.

A sigh of relief puffs between your lips.

“Good. Thank you. Im gonna go clean myself up. I’ll talk to you later.” You step past the dogs on your way towards the bathroom again, ready to peel the damn coffee stained shirt from your body. The rev of Toji’s engine was audible and the view of him driving comfortable with his huge pecs stretching the front of his standard black tee distracts you from the grumpiness for a few seconds. Unaware of you ogling since he was watching the road, Toji reaches for his mounted phone.

“Alright baby. Don’t kill nobody in the meantime. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He half jokes, tapping his screen. You were in the bathroom by now, turning the faucet for the bathtub to hot before responding.

“Yeah yeah, no promises. Hurry up.” You mutter with a pout. The same one you gave Toji before he left. He chuckles at your expression, rolling his eyes. You scrunch your nose at him before kissing the pads of your middle and index fingers and pressing your stamped smooch to Toji’s face on your phone. He steals a glance towards his phone just in time to recieve the imaginary kiss and your grumpy ‘bye Toji’ amidst the rushing water.

“Uh huh. Bye, baby..” he laughs, making sure to press his lips to his thumb, then his thumb to the camera before tapping the little red circle to hang up.

<call ended>

[dexastres]

anchor

jude bellingham x black reader

summary : jude calls his ex in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep

warnings : angst

wc : 777

english isn't my language, so please bear with me

2:00 A.M.

Jude lay in bed, restless, unable to escape his thoughts. Just like the night outside, his mind was clouded, each thought lost in shadow and silence. Sleepless nights had become commonplace for the young man because he was afraid to close his eyes, even for a second, knowing that this nightmare would come. It was always the same. It was haunting and ruining his hours of rest with images of her, wrapped in someone else’s arms. But this nightmare reflected his reality. Whether he was awake or asleep, Jude couldn’t escape it. He was tied to this reality. They went hand in hand.

He sighed and turned to the empty side of his bed, where she used to sleep. Four months had passed since their breakup, and her scent had faded from the pillow, a painful reminder of her absence. She was gone. She was no longer his, and she was happy with another guy. She no longer needed Jude in her life. She had found something better, away from the cameras, the rumours and the lies.

The young man sat on his bed, his eyes devoid of any emotion. Jude had seen this scenario happen before, but this time, he wasn’t crying. He used to hold back his tears, but now, whenever the feeling came over him, he would let them flow freely quietly, so his mother wouldn’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Jude regretted not fighting for her, for their relationship and for their friendship. The pain and hurt were unbearable, thinking about how he let her go so easily, and now he was paying the price.

“Why did I do that?”

His trembling hand reached for his phone. He scrolled through his messages. The latest were from his friends and teammates, asking if he was feeling better, since he looked tired during today’s training session.

“Yes, I’m fine.” He whispered again, rolling his eyes. The young man ignored them because he didn’t know what to say, other than to lie.

Jude sighed deeply and scrolled a little further before clicking on her contact. His heart clenched as he read their last messages before everything fell apart. He typed the words he wished he had told her back then, although he doubted she would read his messages. She had moved on and left him behind, lost in the memories of what they once shared.

“I’m sorry.”

“You deserve so much better. I regret everything.”

“I love you.” Jude took a deep breath. He knew better, but he didn’t care. Was he being selfish? Yes, but the temptation was too strong. He needed to hear her voice, even if it was from her voicemail. The young man brought the phone to his ear, feeling a knot in his stomach, and his throat dry.

“This is a terrible idea,” he thought, and just as he was about to hang up, he heard her tired voice.

“Hello?” Jude froze, holding his breath. He couldn’t believe she answered. “Hello?” she asked again. Jude opened his mouth, but no words came out. A storm of emotions rose within him.

“Hi,” he finally said in a barely audible voice.

“Jude? Why are you calling me at two in the morning?” he could sense the irritation in her voice, but he couldn’t blame her for it. She had every reason to resent him. “We haven’t talked in four months, and you’re suddenly calling me in the middle of the night. What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, sorry, I must have called the wrong person. That wasn’t my intention.” It was a lie, but he couldn’t let her know the truth. He didn’t want her to know how lost and miserable he was without her. He didn’t want her to know that he spent his days thinking of her, wishing he could go back and undo everything.

“So, um… how are you? I saw your pictures with your boyfriend. You look good together. Congratulations.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it didn’t seem to work. She could hear the pain.

Jude felt the tears well up, and this time, he silently let them flow down his cheeks. He was so tired of fighting when he had lost the battle long ago.

“Jude? Are you crying?” she asked softly. The young man wiped his tears before ending the call.

2:45 A.M.

Jude lay back on his bed, feeling emptier than ever, like a black hole expanding. Tears continued to flow like a torrent while his phone kept vibrating on his bedside table.

“In case you’re wondering, I’m not with him anymore.”

[cringebutfree63]

I love “blue joins the bad sans” but let me take it a step further ; swap goes into retirement

Both the bad sans and star sans receive a letter of resignation.

The letter explains that he felt so fulfilled helping the star sans but he realized that the working conditions and expectations he had weren’t healthy. They had been dismissive, and resigned to the fact that he could be replaced. When they left him for dead,it was was just over.

On the over hand, the bad sans had understood mortality and were so understanding. The castle felt like a home after staying there while he healed. He got to know and grasp why his housemates were the way they were. When it came to there job of destruction, he just couldn’t do it. It was in blues nature to help people

The end of the note said “ and so I’ve entered retirement. Since my timeline has been put out of commission,I have acquired the most cozy home on this side of the multiverse. The coordinates of which are written below, so feel free to visit. Ps craft circle is on Fridays”

I’m going to start using general plot points with now

*ink and dream show up, asking for help to come back. He refuses and says he’s helping people in a new way

*first craft circle consist of error, fresh and horror. Error crochets, blue knits,horror makes decorated communication cards ( I headcanon he has aphasia). Fresh makes a radical collage and promises to bring materials for ‘total tubular team craft’. Know body knows what this means, everyone is afraid.

*nightmare comes to check in on swap, to see he’s eating well and not overworking himself. Blue explains that he has lots of leisure time now and he’s doing his best. Nightmare asks if he understands understand that the bad things he does keep things in balance. Blue says he doesn’t need to understand, because it’s not his job anymore. He’s here to provide safe environment to both sides,balance or otherwise but they are all real souls. Nightmare goes quiet. Pleasantries are exchanged and he leaves

*second craft circle error, killer, fresh and eventually ink show up. Fresh’s ‘group project “ is a bunch of Furbies to customize. Error ignores this, and works on his crochet projects. Killer and blue however began to make their own furbies with much merriment. Killer is making one that looks like his boss and blue unintentional begins to make one that looks like his brother. Then ink shows up, a first it’s peaceful, they ignore each other. Then killer makes a passive aggressive remarks, which turns into a full on argument.

Blue tries to mediate but is stoped by fresh who pulls him aside and in fresh’s own special way, tells him ‘it’s best to leave them be, after all there is only death for those like him. And he would rather not have that! He likes craft circle “. By the time they get back, both are gone. nobody’s crafts get finished. Errors chill tho

If anyone wants more details or wants to use this in there own story free to ask

[stanpinesdykewife]

Helloo!! So I love love love all of your work you have do on AO3 so much I'm so happy I found you on tumbler! Your writing is absolutely beautiful. I was wondering if you could maybe do a short fluff piece going off of speed dating and easy? Something where reader has had a hard day and isn't up for spicy time and just wants to be taken care of? Just something soft and sweet please and thank yooouuu! 💓🫶🏻💓

hiii!!! giggling at your super sweet compliments thank you so so much! i love the speed dating universe so even though this was sitting half-baked in my drafts for a while this was really nice to write!!! thanks so much for waiting, i hope you like this! under the cut:

boring stan/reader (gender-neutral) pre/during/post-canon/unspecified fluff, 800 words (bonus: sfw bedtime stan headcanons)

You're in bed, lying on your side, Stan's whole body pressed against yours when you finally squirm away from his lips on your shoulder. He stops, his hand stilling on your waist where he'd bunched up your shirt to touch your bare skin. You're clenching your eyes shut, embarrassed, as a beat of silence passes.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Stan asks from behind you, his voice hesitant. He starts to slide his hand off your waist when you grab it, keeping it there. Stan stops again, but this time sounds confused when he starts, “Uh, did I—”

“No. You didn't do anything, sorry, I'm just…” You struggle to find the words for a second. Another tense pause passes, unusual, even eerie in your normally lively company with Stan. Finally, you sigh. “I'm really tired.”

You hesitate for another moment before tugging Stan's hand over your waist, further underneath your shirt to the bare skin of your stomach. Stan goes along with it, like he always does, just letting you move his arm and press his palm flat to your body. The touch draws another deep sigh from you.

“Tough day, huh?” Stan says, any heat gone from his voice to make room for something softer. He glides his thumb over your stomach and you relax as his breath fans over your shoulder. He's kind of awkward with the emotional stuff, and maybe a little put out by you wriggling away from him a moment ago. You are, too. But Stan's voice is still kind when he offers, “You wanna… I dunno. Talk about it? Vent?”

“I think I just need to lay here,” you mutter, unmoving. Stan hums behind you, idly tracing light arches into your skin.

Then he pulls away, shuffling backwards away from your body towards his (mutually agreed-upon, unspoken) side of the bed. Your brows furrow and you turn to look over your shoulder as Stan gets comfortable on his back. He sighs when his head hits the pillow, then catches your eye. There's a little pink to his cheeks when he opens his arms.

“C'mon, let's get you comfortable,” Stan grumbles, though his eyes are warm. You brighten, just a little, and quickly roll over to lay your chest on his. Stan's big arms come around you as you hug him, pressing your cheek to his collarbone and slinging one leg over his. Once you settle down, the two of you are thoroughly tangled up in each other in a way you can only describe as cozy.

“This is nice,” you sigh, nosing at the base of his neck before letting your head lay comfortably on his shoulder. Stan rubs his hand over your spine, making you melt into him. You yawn.

“Am I boring you?” Stan says, grin in his voice. You laugh through the tail end of your yawn, shaking your head.

“If anything, I'm boring you,” you say, but Stan tuts and cuts you off before you can say anything else.

“None o’ that. I didn't have the energy anyway,” he says, nonchalant. You lean upwards slightly to raise a brow at him, glancing pointedly at the tent in his boxers. Stan grabs the side of your head and shoves you back into his chest, making you laugh. “Ignore that.” 

“I love you,” you say, because it feels like the right thing to say. Stan freezes. You pause, your smile dropping. Was that the first time you've ever said that? “Um… You don't have to—”

“Love you, too, sweetheart—Uh, honey. Honey sweet… sugar. Sugar sweet, syrup baby—bird. Baby bird,” Stan rambles, his voice becoming more strained with every word. You laugh out loud again as he continues, stumbling over the nicknames, “Honey ball, uh, balls—Sugar balls. Candy pie.”

“Sugar balls!” you cackle, trying to shove yourself up again. But Stan tightens his grip on you, one arm pinning you down by your back and the other coming around to keep your head still on his chest as you kick your feet. “Haha, Stan! Let me up, I'm suffocating, I'm dying—”

“I'll see you in the afterlife,” Stan says sagely, then rolls over to pin you under his full weight. You're still laughing, and Stan starts to laugh with you, even as he play-fights his hand over your mouth to get you to stop. You peek up at him, giddiness growing in your chest at the violent flush on his face, the shy fondness in his smile.

You chuckle into his hand and lick his palm, making Stan yelp and rip it away, and you take advantage to wriggle out from under him and shove him onto his side.

You'll get back to cuddling in a few minutes. For now, you're gonna wrestle and laugh and let the person you love make you feel better.

sfw bedtime stan headcanons:

stan loves staying in bed all day when he has someone to do it with, especially since he rarely has off-days between work and the portal and post-canon sailing with ford

he is touch-starveddd and loves laying there doing nothing but cuddling or rolling around or wrestling or... you know... giggles

he doesn't do it often because he does believe in eating food and watching television. but when he does, he's there ALL day

he's gross he has crumbs in his bed you can't look me in the eyes and say he doesn't

i feel like during canon it would be reasonable for him to have developed insomnia... but post-canon i think he'd love sleeping in with VERY specific circumstances. his brother is out solo-exploring for a day, the twins are at a sleepover and don't need breakfast, stan isn't expected to visit the shack? he's sleeping for 20 hours straight

even if he doesn't sleep in i feel like if his partner had the day off or even worked from home and hung out in their room all day stan would absolutely be glued to the mattress

maybe these hcs feel out of character to me just a little bit but consider: you wake up to big beefy arms tugging you closer by your waist and a LOUD ass cozy snore from above your head

giggling about morning breath and trying to push stan off the bed to guzzle some mouthwash

he's embarrassed at first because he has to take his dentures out in front of you and pop em back in in the morning it's a whole thing, but eventually he gets comfortable enough that you're allowed to make the cleaning solution for him at bedtime and offer the glass for him to put the dentures in

sorry if the dentures thing threw anyone off because for a few seconds there it threw me off erm but i'm nothing if not determined to establish my alpha position as old man lover no matter what.

ANYWAY. this list got away from me a little bit

final bed hc stan is not used to sharing a bed with another person he hogs the blankets. as in he'll literally wake you up in the middle of the night because he'll be sleeping and roll over and take all the blankets with him and you will never get to have them again without tugging so hard. he has no idea he does this until you offhandedly mention it months into dating

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 2)

How about a bit more?

(Wherein Kei replaces Mineta's party slot again.)

You know, I feel almost like we should thank this League of Villains. 

Oh? Why is that? 

Because I’ve never fought someone careless enough to drop me in an armory before, and it’s kind of fun. 

UA’s budget was the next best thing to unlimited, resulting in a training pool for flood rescue a dozen times the volume of the best-maintained Olympic water feature. And Kei—and therefore Isobu—had just been dumped into it. Sure, Midoriya and Asui were stuck in the water with her, and maybe Midoriya didn’t have a water-adapted Quirk, but the surface was only three meters away. Even if that was too much, and the water-adapted villains in the pool with them tried to strike, it didn’t matter. 

Not compared to the power of a jinchūriki in her element. 

With Isobu’s chakra following its favorite pathways through her body, Kei clapped her hands together and reached out. 

Everything stopped. 

The water went thick and almost gelatinous, molecules seizing almost perfectly in place across the entire volume of the pool. Though Kei could hear the villains’ garbled voices even as they shrieked in confused rage, she wrapped her power around herself and the two other students as a shield. At least one villain slammed headfirst into water gone solid and broke his hand. 

And then Asui, swimming at top frog speed and making some of the sharkier villains look slow even with Kei’s watery speed debuff, wrapped Midoriya in her tongue and dragged him toward the surface. Perhaps because Kei shot her a thumbs-up, Asui did not feel the need to slow down in the slightest before Kei took control of the local water column and rocketed upward after her. 

Once they breached he surface, Asui hurled Midoriya upward onto the deck of the ship serving as the training area’s centerpiece. Kei, landing on the surface of the water, shook out her hair before offering Asui a hand up. 

“Water-walking, Gekkō-chan?” From about ankle-height, Asui grabbed Kei’s glove with a hand that dwarfed hers. Must have been a part of the frog mutation Quirk she had going on. 

“Yep.” Sure, Kei didn’t really consider it a part of her Water-aligned ninjutsu repertoire, but that was the kind of distinction no one here cared about. “Let’s go.”

They got onto the ship with no further trouble.

 Partly because water slowed down basically everyone, and partly because Kei was just barely holding back from crushing all of the villains still flailing around below the surface. She knew how water pressure worked. She didn’t care if they all died. 

But someone might, so Kei refrained from preemptively removing child-murdering thugs from the mortal coil. 

No one needed to know she considered it, anyway. 

“Thanks, Gekkō-san, Asui-san,” was how Midoriya greeted them on the ship’s bow. Despite being waterlogged, he was otherwise fine. 

“I told you to call me Tsuyu-chan, Midoriya-chan.” 

“R-right, Tsuyu-chan!” There was no need to go around sounding like Asui was threatening him about her given name at knifepoint, but two days of class had already established that Midoriya’s overthinking tendencies and burgeoning anxiety disorder were on the louder side. “Th-thanks!” 

Asui nodded, acknowledging her victory. She turned toward the railing, looking down toward the water, then said, “This isn’t looking good.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Midoriya, “and I just can’t get what that villain said out of my head.”

“You mean about All Might?” 

“Right.” Midoriya pressed a hand to his mouth, just above the heavy-duty mouthguard that had barely survived the training exercise earlier this week. “They knew our schedule. Looking at the big picture, those guys must have set up the break-in earlier to get information. Like Todoroki said, they were waiting to pounce.”

“That’s alarming,” Asui said. One of the villains maybe dared to swim closer, but notably not in range of her long tongue and perhaps a subsequent lashing.”

“If those guys really think they have a way to defeat All Might,” Midoriya said, squaring his shoulders and clenching his fists, “then we should do everything in our power to stop them. By fighting…and winning!” 

“I’m on board with it,” Asui said with a quiet ribbit. 

“Same,” Kei muttered, already gathering chakra again for another attack.

“And the fact that they knew where to warp us means they’ve researched the USJ before now…”

“I was thinking the same thing! But while the villains clearly knew about the USJ, I think there’s a big gap in their information. Especially for a group that otherwise operated so meticulously.” 

Kei hid a yawn behind her hand, then lifted the other to snap her fingers. All the water clinging to their costumes dispersed into the air as though shaken off by a dog. 

“Th-thanks for demonstrating, Gekkō-san,” Midoriya managed, shuddering at the sensation. “But it also goes for Tsuyu-chan. If the villains realized what our Quirks were, they would’ve never sent both of you to the water rescue zone.”  

Kei glared down at the water through her goggles. At least a dozen waterborne villains had surface, and her control of the pool indicated another half-dozen lurking underwater to ambush anyone who tried to swim for safety. 

Actually, some of them looked like they were equipped for the job. Shark-Face notwithstanding, there weren’t as many obvious aquatic mutant Quirks on display as there could’ve been. One or two of them had spearguns in hand, like their expected opposition was just going to sit there and get shot. Or, rather, go into the water and get shot. 

Not for the first time, Kei wanted a complete report of all the shit Catch-These-Hands down in the plaza must have gotten into when he disintegrated his way into the school. Obito hadn’t finished writing it. But since Kei’s chakra was as subtle as a sledgehammer, she could only assume he’d noticed the new problem from Nezu’s office and started to organize a response.

And if he wasn’t, Kei would find time in her schedule to yell at him. 

“Our advantage lies in the fact that the villains don’t know what our Quirks are. None of them are trying to climb into the boat, which supports my hypothesis.” Midoriya’s determined look faded for a split second. “Um, Asui-sa—Tsuyu-chan’s Quirk is a given, but I didn’t get to see yours in action, Gekkō-san.” 

Mainly because Midoriya’s match with Bakugō had been the first and only training exercise to send someone to Recovery Girl. He’d missed at least three after that. Kei distinctly remembered wondering where all of Midoriya’s compartmentalization ability had gone, given that he’d blown up his entire arm again. Thankfully, the school nurse was able to put this Humpty Dumpty back together after all. 

“I know it’s water-based, too…”

“It’s called Tsunami,” Kei replied. She pressed her hands together again into the Dog seal. As her chakra surged, so did Isobu’s. “Which means I can create, control, and destroy all water around me.” 

There was another brief pause. Midoriya looked like he couldn’t decide to laugh or cry. If Kei had just been told her job was to fight a bear and then informed her that the day’s allowed arsenal included a main battle tank, she figured she’d feel the same way. 

“That simplifies the plan a lot, Gekkō-chan,” said Asui, blunt and sincere at once. “Thank you for telling us.” 

“No problem.” 

About a second later, one of the villains finally lost patience and created a giant hand made out of water to go on the offensive. It rose tall as though to chop the ship in half and drag everyone to a watery grave. Some of the villains even started giggling in anticipation. 

Kei slid down the length of the bow until she was directly beneath the attack, raised one hand, and caught the blow with her fingertips as well as Isobu’s strength. The water construct felt solid enough as it made contact, but it bowed under their combined control and started to reshape itself into something blunter, scalier, and wonderfully familiar. 

Best high-five I’ve ever pulled off. 

The best so far.

Kei shook hands with her shoulder devil made manifest—hand to fingertip, at any rate—and sent their power wildly down through that point of contact like a dam collapse. Soon, more and more of Isobu’s hundred-meter body took shape in semitransparent form, dotted occasionally with screaming, terrified villains who suddenly realized they’d lost control of the plot. While there wasn’t enough water to manifest Isobu’s full size, what was there could fold the enemy’s aquatic fighters into its belly and keep them there for as long as needed. 

And all the while, the demo ship sank lower and lower in the pool, away from the possibility of drowning or reaching the plaza without some help. 

“How do you feel about surfing, Midoriya-chan?” Asui asked. 

“I-I-I think positively?!” Midoriya grabbed the railing of the tossing ship hard enough to leave fingerprints in steel. It didn’t seem like he noticed. 

“Then we’ll go with that. Hang on tight, please,” Kei said, and channeled still more energy into her grasp on the water.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 20: Still A Monster

Content warning: Angst, light cannibalism.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

4 Walls Black - Genitorturers

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Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

* * * * *

Your whole body stands rooted in place as the King of Curses takes two full strides into the darkened stables. The atmosphere shifts with his arrival, becoming smaller and, damn it, suffocating to the point where you can’t breathe. Your throat tightens further as he levels you with a stare. There may be only a tiny pocket of light in this space, but you can see the flat rage burning in his eyes.

Swallowing, you take a small step back, tucking yourself into the deepening shadows to hide the evidence of your swollen, tender face. Next to you, Uraume drops to one knee, their head bowed, face obscured by their white hair. Behind you, Ayana chuffs anxiously in her stall, restless and eager to be released, to run.

You, too, want to run.

Don’t run.

Sukuna takes another menacing step inside. The other horses begin to whine and sway uneasily, tossing their heads. 

Your body starts trembling.

Something feels wrong.

From behind Sukuna’s towering frame, a figure slowly emerges—Ren, her head bowed and hands clasped. Standing beside him, her presence is completely overshadowed. She doesn’t look up at you. She’s afraid.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he says calmly. Your eyes swing from your attendant back to him. You don’t dare look away from the creature who could so easily slice you in two with a mere flick of his fingers. “Where. Have. You. Been?”

There has to be a right answer to his question. Right? But something in the back of your mind screams at you not to give it to him. You’ve been afraid of the King of Curses before—he’s done horrible things to you. But the way he’s looking at you now…

“I-I…” You attempt to speak, but your mouth is too dry. “Y-you gave me a horse. I-I didn’t run away. I’m here. I came bac—”

“Answer the question!” The stables groan as his voice rises.

“H-home, my Lord. I went home.”

There it is, so easily taken.

In the darkness of the structure, all four of his eyes narrow to slits, looking like red slices cut open and oozing.

“Home.” He spits the word as if it were foul and disgusting, top lip curling back into a scowl.

You force yourself to nod.

“Uraume,” he hisses, his eyes twitching to the white-haired monk, who remains still. “Is this true?”

They lift their head, hair pulling aside from their face. They seem calm. How?

“Yes, Master Sukuna.” They dip their head. “It’s true. I escorted my Lady there and back.”

Sukuna’s eyes dart back to you. Silence settles over the space. No one moves, no one breathes. The only sound is the hammering of hooves against the wood, over and over and over and over again.

A heartbeat passes.

Sukuna’s mouth pulls back, teeth bared and flashing in the dark like a crazed animal. He laughs—loud, bitter. Cruel.

Don’t run.

"Of course, you went home!" he sneers, the energy he’s kept at bay slithering out, curling around your neck like a reminder that you are something so easily broken. "What else should I have expected from you?"

Something feels wrong.

I want to run.

You shift uncomfortably, clutching your hands together, the leather gloves making your palms sweat more than usual.

Suddenly, Sukuna grabs Ren by the back of her neck, forcing her forward. Without making a sound, she shuffles to stand before him, her head still tipped toward the floor, not once looking up at you. Your heart pounds harder. With one hand engulfing her neck, he raises his upper right arm.

“Choose,” he says, gesturing magnanimously with his two lower hands.

What?

“P-pardon, my Lord?”

His fingers dart between Uraume and Ren.

“Choose who takes your punishment.”

Your stomach drops, and your pulse shoots into your throat.

The desire you felt just days ago to lay yourself bare to him has vanished. All the vulnerability you showed your sister is gone. He’s nothing more than the man he was before—the same monster you met on that dirt-packed road.

“W-what? No.” Your foot creeps backward, as if your body is trying to flee this nightmare. “I left. I should be the one to take the punish—”

“Stop playing the martyr!” he roars, making you flinch. “Choose! Or while you stand there stalling, I’ll take your fucking mare instead. And any illusion of freedom you thought you had? Gone.”

What the hell is happening?

Last time you were together, the two of you were almost embracing, limbs tangled, feeding each other. Now, there’s only this. What even is this? He’s never used others against you before. The betrayal stings more than you’d like to admit.

“Why are you doing this?” you breathe.

His upper right hand extends, pointing directly at Ayana. 

“One…”

Your mare shuffles anxiously in her stall, sensing the rising danger.

“Wait!” You glance between Ren, Uraume, and the demon before you.

“Two…”

Ayana whines from behind, her anxiety escalating.

“Stop this!”

Ren’s shoulders slump.

“Three…” His hand swings back. “Time’s up—”

“Master, please!” Uraume steps forward. Sukuna’s arm stops. The stables fall quiet as their eyes flick toward you in a silent apology. “My Lady… she has already suffered enough. She was—”

“Uraume,” you warn quietly.

“If you’ll take a closer—”

“Don’t—”

“—look at her, you’ll see.”

That same feeling of shame forces its way up your throat. You drop your chin quickly to shield yourself, stepping back deeper into the shadows until your back presses against Ayana’s stall door.

Don’t run.

Heart hammering, head down, you hear his heavy steps move. When they grow quiet, you lift your eyes. The King of Curses stands in the narrow shaft of light filtering into the stables. Ren has since stepped to the side, leaning against a wooden beam for support.

“Come here.” He points with two fingers to the space before him. “Now.”

Your feet refuse to move as if a snare is snapped closed around them, but you finally pull them free and move forward.

The walk feels endless. Your sandals clack against the floor, too loud in the silence, while your heartbeat races. As you get closer, you can see his body taut—muscles tense, muscles straining beneath his garment.

You stop just before the pocket of light, hovering. Then, taking one, two small steps into it, you lift your chin.

He doesn’t look anywhere else but at your face, at the injuries marring it. His upper pair of eyes trace the gash running from your eyebrow to eye. The lower pair drift from your chin to your mouth, noting the smaller scrapes and cuts. Sukuna doesn’t seem to notice the smell of urine lingering on you because of the musky scent of the animals—a small mercy. 

He takes it all in, quiet and unnervingly calm.

Until his mouth starts twitching and trembling with what you can only assume is barely concealed anger. 

It feels like your wedding day all over again. And though you aren’t broken the way Sayuri once left you, this look feels far worse. It’s clear—you’re his property, and it’s been damaged. That’s all this is.

"Who—" the word hisses through clenched teeth as he fights to get the rest out. "—the fuck did this to you?"

Your mind races. How to answer? What’s the best course of action? If his anger flares and he lashes out at the Kasai clan, who knows what the consequences would be? You might despise Onishi and what he’s done to you, but you’re not ready to put others in the crossfire. Your thoughts swirl faster. Or... what if you let it happen? Let the King of Curses loose, let him tear them all apa—

No.

None of this would have happened if you’d known about those letters from your family. If you’d known Yuna was safe, you would never have left.

You press your lips into a thin line, swallowing the words down.

He cocks his head.

“You would disobey me again, is that it?” he asks, voice smooth and dark.

You don’t look him in the eye.

“I never disobeyed you in the first place, my Lord,” you murmur.

A sound rumbles in Sukuna’s chest.

He grabs your wrist, yanking you toward the stable’s entrance, forcing you to run to keep up with his furious strides. As you pass Ren, your eyes meet; her brows knit tightly, and her gaze drops. That look she gives you, she must have told him you went home. But like the bastard he is, he wanted to hear it come from your mouth. You can’t blame her while he’s in this state.

Dragging you outside, the moonlight casts dusky shades over the shrine, which looms behind him. He lets go of your wrist but steps closer—too close. Your eyes flit nervously, tracing the dark lines of the tattoos on his face.

“I want a name,” Sukuna hisses, dropping his head to your level, eyes crashing into you.

When your gazes lock, he seems to freeze. His nostrils flare, and your stomach pulls tight. In the open air, the scent clinging to you becomes unmistakable. 

“What… is…” His head cocks, like an animal, eyes dropping to your legs where your kimono is tucked into your hakama. “Are you… covered in… piss?”

What must he think of you?

Embarrassment colours your cheeks. You turn your face away, not daring to look him in the eye.

“I-I—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs your kimono, yanking you forward. Two arms tighten around your waist, and suddenly, you’re hoisted over his shoulder, his big palms on you.

“What the hell are you doing!?” You squirm, struggling to pull your hips away from his grip. “Put me down!”

“No,” he rumbles flatly, striding away from the stables toward the shrine’s entrance.

“Lord Sukuna!”

Dangling over his broad shoulder, your hands instinctively grip his lower back, and you lift your head to watch the stone steps and heavy wooden doors pass by. This close, you can smell dry blood on him, along with a hint of smoke from a fire lingering in the fabric of his kosode. Perhaps he just returned—he smells like he’s been travelling and hasn’t washed yet.

Together, you both must stink.

The longest corridor in the shrine narrows in your vision. The few attendants awake hurry out of the way, their eyes snapping downward. Sukuna keeps walking, silent, without putting you down. Familiar turns tell you he’s heading toward your chambers—but when yours passes by, he doesn’t stop. He’s taking you to his.

The door slides open with a loud bang. He turns, your body shifting as he slams it shut.

A few steps inside, he roughly tosses you onto the raised futon, sending you airborne. You yelp and jostle across the expansive sheets before scrambling to sit up and adjust your garments.

The room is softly lit by a charcoal brazier near the center, its warmth reaching you. Signs of Sukuna’s earlier presence are scattered about—a dark haori carelessly tossed on the floor, a ceramic dish with half-eaten flesh, and a cloth smeared with red, possibly dirt.

Your eyes flick back to him as he paces before you. He looks… tired. So human in this moment. Has he been fighting in the north all this time? Can he even get tired?

You watch as he drags a hand violently through his pink hair, once, twice, leaving a few stray strands falling onto his forehead.

Finally, he stops and turns, towering over you. You lean back, shifting your hands into your lap, perched at the edge of the futon.

"Let’s try this again, shall we?" His grin turns manic as he leans down. "I want a name. And you’re going to give it to me."

You swallow.

"Does it even matter?"

Wrong thing to say. His jaw tightens, and the muscles in his neck contract and flex.

"Does it even matter?" he mocks, imitating your voice. "Whoever hurt you scared you enough to piss yourself like a frightened child." He leans back slightly. "So, yes, it matters. I want a fucking name."

Eyes dropping to your hands, your thumb rubs against the other, trying to calm your nerves

You remain silent.

He scoffs.

“Fine. I suppose we’ll play this game a little longer. Why?”

You swallow.

“Why, what?”

“Why did you go home?”

You lift your eyes, attempting to soften your gaze.

“I needed to see my sister,” you say.

Oddly enough, when Ren warned you he would be furious, she wasn’t lying. The left side of his mouth twinges, a crease forming between his mask and eye as it deepens into a harsh line. You’ve never seen him like this before.

Furious.

“Ah, yes, you.” He jabs a finger toward your face. “The ever-dutiful mutt, running home to your charming sister.” He steps back, all four arms folding across his chest. “Because you haven’t heard from your family since the day they abandoned you here. Is that it?”

Mutt.

You have to fight the way your face threatens to fall. He hasn’t called you that in a while. But you show him nothing. He doesn’t deserve to know if it hurts.

“What choice did I have?” you murmur, eyes hitting the tops of your eyelids to meet his looming face. “I thought something had… happened…”

Wait.

You freeze.

“Did Uraume inform you that I’d not heard from my family?”

Sukuna says nothing.

“My correspondence… their letters. I haven’t received any.” Your words spill out like fragments of a realization. You’d asked Uraume for updates throughout the month but never Sukuna.

Why would you ask him about something as trivial as letters from your family? Because he seems to hate your family, your clan, your father.

You raise your chin slightly.

“... it's been you… hasn’t it?”

He stares at you blankly, tapping a finger against his shoulder as if bored.

Then, he smiles at you.

Smiles at you.

Your feet drop to the floor, and slowly, you rise, hands falling into tight fists at your sides.

“You’ve been the one keeping them from me? I’ve been wondering for a month—” You wet your lips. “—how my sister has been, and you’ve been hiding the letters from me?”

His arrogant grin spreads wider, like a dark secret is finally revealed.

“Upset, brat?”

“Why would you do that?” you seethe.

He says nothing.

You take a step forward.

You wonder when this journey through hell will end because all you want is rest. That’s all you want.

Another step.

His teeth flash.

As if to placate him, your mouth tries to remain silent, but it’s useless. He’s threatened Ren and Uraume. He’s kept word from your family all this time. He’s…

“You had no right!” you shout, pushing up onto your toes to try and make yourself taller as you glare into his face. “Those letters—they’re mine!”

He steps closer, his body bending, face coming before yours.

“I had every right!” he snarls.

So close to him, you back up until your legs bump against the futon. His upper right hand shoots out to grab your jaw, dragging you back toward him.

“You belong to me now. Remember? You are my property, my possession! You are mi—”

As if the next thing he was about to say disgusts him, he cuts himself off, his expression twisting into rage. His hand falls away from your face and viciously runs through his hair. When he lowers it, his eyes return to you.

They darken, turning cold, with no warmth.

“Your family…” he mutters, “your entire clan is a sickness… and that includes you.”

Another strike perfectly made.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Your voice rises.

“You heard me. Every single one of them—your father—” He’s in your face again. “—every Kasai runt pushed from every Kasai bitch is a sickness. But especially…” He pauses as he steps closer. “Especially your fucking sis—”

Crack!

The slap snaps his head to the left, his eyes falling shut—all four of them. You pull your hand, clad in leather, back to your side.

“You don’t know anything about family,” you whisper, rage leaking into your voice.

Crimson eyes flutter open as the King of Curses lifts his chin, turning his burning gaze to look down at you. You don't look away.

“You are alone, Sukuna… nobody wants you.” There’s a waning sensation in your chest. “This entire world hates you."

His tongue peeks out to the corner of his mouth, tender from the strike, but unexpectedly, he remains still, saying nothing.

Only silence lingers, stretching on for too long.

Your heart slams against your chest, afraid he will do something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

He stares at you, and you back at him.

Then you wonder—he's been alone, hasn’t he? Born from nothing, without family.

Right?

His face becomes unreadable, his crimson stare fills with a terrible numbness, and his presence cold. Then, as if everything you just said is funny, a grin spreads across his face—a wide, toothy grin.

Your brow curls inward—uncertainty twisting into you.

“You say this as if I care about a world that means nothing to me. A world that rejects me.” His voice drops, calm and low, and he steps closer. “I don’t need anyone to want me. They will obey. Just like you will.” He steps closer again, the red handprint still burning on his face. He dips his head to yours. “Now, I’ll ask you one last time—who did this to you?”

You just stare at him—confusion thick and dense coursing through you.

But that's fine. If he wants a name, you’ll provide it—at a price.

You incline your chin slightly, attempting to project as much authority as possible.

“I’ll give it to you,” you say, “but I want something in return.”

If your father believes you possess the means to sway the King of Curses to the north, then you’ll use what you have.

Sukuna’s lip pulls back, revealing the tops of his teeth. He turns and lumbers over to the charcoal brazier, picking up a pair of metal tongs to stir and sift the coals, coaxing more heat into the room.

“You think you’re in any position to bargain with me?” he asks over his shoulder, staring into the fiery-orange glow. The blaze dances in the pocket of warmth, casting flickering shadows across his features. “All right then, wife.” He sets the tongs down and turns to you, dragging his gaze away from the flames. “What do you want?”

You clear your throat.

“In a few weeks… you and I will go to the Kasai compound for the harvest festival.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“What makes you think I’d step foot in that place?”

Your eyes fall heavy on him.

“You want the name, don’t you? This is the price.”

He scoffs.

“Is that so?”

You nod.

He lets out a wordless grumble before stepping closer, gently cupping your chin with his right hand as his thumb glides softly down your jawline. Your skin tingles where his warm, strong palm envelops you, and everything inside you begins to wither under his touch—his cursed touch. A soft white glow radiates from his fingertips as he lifts them to your temple, dragging them across bruised skin, seeking to heal what has been done to you.

You grit your teeth against the familiar burn of regenerating flesh.

Red eyes soften on your face.

“Fine,” he murmurs, grazing his thumb slowly over areas that were never injured. “I accept.”

Inwardly, you flinch. That was too easy. A thread of guilt weaves its way into your stomach.

You know you’ll need to harden yourself in the coming weeks, aware that you’re likely sending him into some kind of confrontation. Still, you’d do anything to gain that extra month.

When the diffusing glow flickers out, you pull away, creating distance between you.

“Good." You move closer to the door. “I’ll give you the name when we arrive.”

Will you? You’ll need to think on your feet when the time comes.

“Do what you must,” he says, waving you off dismissively.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Silence.

You stare at each other.

You hate how human he looks in this moment, how his gaze burrows and hooks into you, just as Ren described—watching, waiting.

For what?

He turns away.

“Get the hell out,” he commands quietly, grabbing the ceramic dish of flesh. Stepping over to the low chair tucked in the corner, he slouches into it, spreading his muscular legs wide as he bites into the drooping pulp. “You reek of your own filth. It’s disgusting.”

Asshole.

You turn and head for the door without looking back.

“Don’t worry, my Lord, I was already leaving.”

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 21

[hulloitsdani]

It’s time for the big one. Book 3!!! My beloved!!!

Okay I’m coming out swinging with this one, but I think I liked book 2 better— HEY put those pitchforks down let me explain myself.

I think, as a first time read, book 3 is really god damn good. There’s genuinely so much to love about it and it marked the moment I personally fell in love with Heroes. The way it expands on the world and takes advantage of FEH’s setting is fantastic, the aesthetic is hands down the best one, and many other things that I’ll dig further into in just a moment. HOWEVER, Book 3 has a pacing problem. And it unfortunately becomes really obvious on a second watch, because you’re already aware of the major twist.

The first five chapters? Gold. Pure gold. Inject the awkward family dinner dynamic directly into my veins. But once we’re in the realm of the dead? Ehhhh the pacing gets a bit more meandering. It’s not as tight in comparison to Book 2. I think the only time book 2’s narrative drags a little is with Loki’s among us shenanigans, but even then it’s not that bad. Outside of that? We are on a rollercoaster and it is not slowing down. Book 3, in my opinion, needs to take notes from that.

Let’s us Helbindi as an example. The reason why his character is effective, despite his limited screen time, is because the story is making full use of Leagjarn and Leavatein’s character building scenes. It’s not only building their dynamic, it’s also building his character. It’s creating the context necessary for us to understand exactly what it means when we learn that he has a younger sister that he is trying to care for in Múspell under Surtr. Book 3 lacks those multipurpose scenes. Most are exactly what they say on the tin. This greatly dampers its ability to juggle our cast of colorful characters in its short timeframe. And perhaps there is no bigger example of that than the character of Eir.

Eir almost feels like she could be cut for the narrative altogether, which is a shame, because man I like her. She deserves a more fleshed out narrative about overcoming her abuse and traumas. In the same way that I’m invested in Fjorm’s vengeance against Surtr, I want to be invested in Eir growing out of Hel’s control. But unfortunately the two characters we mainly see her interacting with is Líf (which are good scenes) and Kiran, you know, our silent protagonist. And Eir herself is pretty quiet. Not exactly a good mix for effectively communicating a lot about her character quickly.

Ironically, there’s a scene in chapter 1 part 5 where Anna is suspicious of Eir and is grilling into her, and it’s honestly a way more interesting dynamic. It’s immediately dropped as other plot developments occur, which is a damn shame because I think that could have been a fun answer to this conundrum. Anna could start suspicious, then immediately feel really bad about being suspicious upon learning what Eir has gone through, but then has those suspicions confirmed when it’s revealed that Eir was ordered to betray them. It would both make sense for Anna to pick up on this threat given the Order’s history and it might also make Eir putting all her cards on the table a lot more impactful.

But that’s enough criticism, because my guys, it’s book 3. Like holy shit I love book 3. If you enjoy FEH, you don’t need me to sell you on book 3. Book 3 gave us Líf. Líf is a sad wet cat of a man and I adore every second he’s on screen. The way he recontextualizes Alfonse and his dynamic with the people in his life adds years to my life. Your honor I require that the skeleton jello man be in a god damn situation with no breaks. To the blender with him.

Speaking of, I was surprised to find how incredibly depressed Líf is. I thought there would be a lot more rage present, but no he’s just sad. This makes every scene between him and Sharena delightfully painful. Chapter 12 part 1 (ie after Líf collapsed a building on top of everyone and has a chit chat with Sharena) might be one of my favorite scenes thus far. As they’re sitting in the rubble of the ruined castle they all called home, they have a painfully genuine little heart to heart. Líf needs to get a little meltdown out of his system before getting back up again and does so by talking to the only person he’s ever known how to. Twisting the knife on it is how it’s all phrased in a way that showcases that it’s just Alfonse. Painfully Alfonse. The same Alfonse who tried to logic his way out of being hurt by self isolating and distancing himself from others. The same Alfonse who tried to double down on that failing ideology, before finally letting his walls come down. It’s delightful. I love how consistent Líf feels with Alfonse’s previous actions.

Also, some of his lines are just really funny? “The realm of the dead is no place for the likes of you, living boy.” now lives rent free in my brain forever. It’s a gift that keeps on giving. On a surface level, that’s an odd line and bizarre insult. But the more you learn about Líf, the better it gets. When was the last time he talked to living person outside of the realm of the dead? Do think he rehearsed that in his head for the day he knew he’d inevitably face down his younger self? Is he internally cringing or fully committed? No matter the answer it’s hilarious. God damnit I love Líf.

In other news, I may have glazed over it before, but oh my god those opening chapters are delightful. Awkward family dinner my beloved. I genuinely cannot get enough of it! I am putting Gustav under a god damn microscope. All of his scenes are so god damn fascinating. I loveeee this guy and his consequences on the narrative. Usually, when there’s a somewhat morally complicated character who is also a parent, the parental qualities of that character are seen as the morally good parts. But with Gustav, that’s where the moral complexities of his character reside. He’s not a bad person, he’s a good leader, he’s a great husband, but he’s a complicated father to both Sharena and Alfonse. Hell, he’s complicated for those exact reasons! It’s so god damn fun to see. The love is there, but so is the flaws of every person involved.

The writing on this guy is peak too. Everyone is nervous and stuttering when talking to him, which is behavior that we haven’t seen out of most of these characters up to this point. Surtr resurrecting himself didn’t even begin to strike the same level of momentary blind terror that proceeds Gustav rolling up to witness the overly dangerous dumb shit our protagonists are getting up to. And it makes sense! That’s their dad! And king of the whole nation! Our protagonists care about his opinion more than most. It’s so awkward and I love it! The best part, in my opinion, is that the only character not at least a little nervous to talk to him is Henriette. I don’t know what exactly it is about this that gets me, but oh boy does it get me. They’re married, your honor. I would even be so bold as to claim that’s his other half. They mean a lot to me. Henriette did not deserve to be caught in the cross fire of the FE dad curse, but damn does it make good drama.

And last but not least, Sharena. Oh boy do I love every scene with Sharena this season. To the point where I’m disappointed that we don’t get more. Her dynamic with Alfonse is called to attention for obvious reasons, but I enjoy the subtle way it’s pushed to the forefront before the stage light came on. The royal siblings got each other’s back— to the point where if one goes down, it’s like the other lost a limb. I really like that and it’s a shame the pacing doesn’t allow for more of it.

I also want to draw that scene where she stops Líf’s assassination attempt so so bad. She deserves to kick his ass and then be confused about his behavior with Alfonse later.

Anyway, that’s where I’m gonna leave this one. I feel like I could go on for forever. More than already have, anyway. Book 4 is up next and will mark the half way point. Wish me luck

Um. So. I may have gotten stressed and started transcribing FEH’s story mode. Might currently have all of book 1 written down. Perhaps a third of the way into book 2.

This started as a way to have the preface chapters handy since they’re not replayable. But then I looked on the FE wiki and saw that they only have a small fraction of the chapters written down. And that scared me, because means that my hyperfixation has a nonzero chance of becoming lost media if the app were to go down one day. So now I have all of book 1 in my back pocket, including the preface, two intermissions, and the two relevant xenologues. Once I’m further along and have a few more books accounted for, I have no problem making the document public. But until then I encourage others to also write some of its content down. Just in case, you know? Especially those prologues and Tempest Trials.

With that PSA out of the way, omg book 1 hi!!!! It’s been forever!!!!

Apparently, I haven’t reread book 1 in its entirety since I first played Heroes! I’ve gone back to look for specific scenes and replayed the levels on harder difficulties (self inflicted or otherwise), but I haven’t done a thorough second pass before. Which was news to me, because that meant I was consistently blindsided by scenes and characterization that I completely forgot about! Did any of you remember that Zacharias was apparently Alfonse and Sharena’s childhood friend? I didn’t! But there it is, chapter 7 part 5 after battle cutscene, Anna specifies that aspect of their relationship. That’s crazy! How does the timeline even line up on that??? If he spent his childhood in Askr, how did he manage to have a strong relationship with his significantly younger sister? How did he find himself rubbing shoulders with enemy royalty? Could he have inadvertently met Peony? I’m not changing my takes on his character, but I would love to know.

Speaking of character, apparently seven years spent writing a character naturally changes how they sound! Who would have thought. It made seeing the book 1 versions of our Askr trio a little jarring, but in an oddly nostalgic way! This was a phase of the game where the story, its characters, and its world existed with the singular purpose of introducing new players to what Heroes was trying to do. Which was, at the time, being a cute yet unobtrusive gacha app tie in with simplified FE mechanics to give you that gameplay fix on the go. And to its credit, it does do a good job of this! It ain’t a masterpiece, but I was charmed by its emphasis on showing off all these cool characters you could go summon. Ryoma gets to talk for a few lines and you are going to look at his very pretty art! But that meant that the world and characters of Zenith take a bit of a backseat. They’re not here to be too complicated. The Order of Heroes are the friendly faces that go on adventures and meet these heroes that you can summon for only $19.99. But we all know where the game and its story is going to go from here. That emphasis is going to wane as FEH grows into its own identity (and also earn IntSys over $1 billion worldwide).

But that’s a later development. Before that fundamental shift is where book 1 sits. It’s in this fascinating position where these characters have yet to solidify into their recognizable forms. And if you don’t believe me, chapter 9 part 4 has a scene where Sharena and Alfonse’s roles have reversed. For once, Sharena is posing the cautionary “what if the information we are getting from this total stranger is a trap?”, to which Alfonse responds “nah I’m getting a vibe that it’s fine and that we should believe him whole heartedly.” Like??? Huh???? It’s Bruno, but still, that’s hilarious! Alfonse’s pragmatism bordering on paranoia hasn’t established itself as a massive driver of his character yet. Nor has Sharena’s role as trusting emotional core and moral compass of the group. It was very easy to borderline Mandela Effect it into being there, but it isn’t. Not quite. There are hints, sure, but once again these characters were initially made to be simple at the time. The depth doesn’t quite exist yet.

It wasn’t until I was writing this very paragraph that it finally dawned on me why the Askr trio voice lines, especially Alfonse’s lines, are such a big deal. That's where Alfonse’s character arc with trusting Kiran resides. There's the pragmatism we know and love! It’s not super present in the text of book 1, but the depth of these characters can be found in the voice lines you unlock from building them and earning the crown jewel level 40 conversation. That’s where Alfonse’s arc with his self isolating behaviors crumbles at that sight of one silly tactician. That’s where Sharena finally wins a fight against her own loneliness by forming genuine friendship with this stranger form a strange land, who is appreciative of her loud eccentricities. That’s where Anna apologizes about her initial underestimation of Kiran, thanks them for being more reliable than she could have ever hoped for, and swears that whatever hell may come their way, they’re in this together. The books themselves don’t seem to reflect this characterization until book 2, where they overall act more in accordance with the rest of the narrative. It’s as if they're taking from the voiced lines’ example and extrapolating more on the story they imply.

The one standing in slight contrast to all this is Bruno, as he's the most interesting character in book 1. It's blaringly obvious he's Zacharias, but it's genuinely amusing how deep he is in his own gaslighting. He can't manipulate, mansplain, manwhore his way out of this one folks, but he's certainly going to try! His lies aren't even that good, but it honestly contributes to how at wits end he is. Like, sure honey, I totally believe you that you just killed Zacharias. I bet he has an eight-pack too. Just take a nap for two minutes. But then everyone believes him because our protagonists have yet meld their group braincell. Overall, an amusing time.

I don't have a particular point I'm trying to make with this one. Just having a fun and pointing out the things I've noticed. Might give a little update for every book I complete. However many that will be.

[posletsvet]

Hi! Jujutsu Kaisen worms are eating at my brain and I'm a little bit mad currently, so I felt like sharing my thoughts about Geto Suguru's character.

I'm still kind of new to the fandom (and totally new to the experience of posting anything on Tumblr – or posting at all, honestly), and therefore my take can be completely out of the left field / half-baked / inherently wrong. So, though I will accept all sticks and stones, please don't throw them too hard!

And perhaps one last disclaimer: English is not my mother tongue, so um... apologies for all grammar and punctuation and any other mistakes I might have made.

Under the cut!! :]

To me, Geto seems to be a type of person who needs something to guide him, some clear-cut ideal to make it possible for him to navigate through his life. He is pedantic in that sense: the sharp outlines of his views define his surroundings, the very way he looks at things and perceives them. He needs everything to fall precisely in line with his own set of ideals, which seems to be quite verified and well-adjusted within his mind, like a strict and refined concept he constructed for himself, like a routine he's used to following out of pure principal.

His own belief system being so defined, it's that which makes him indulge in excessive discourse on the subject of morality and responsibility, like he's patiently laying out the basics in front of a disobedient child to help them wrap their mind around some fundamental truth that is so obvious and natural for him. (And yeah, I know it's probably just the story presenting to its audience the mindset of one of the characters – perhaps in a way not so subtle and gracious – and whatnot, but I just can't help but dwell upon what that might say about Geto's character.)

Geto can also be called somewhat a perfectionist: a model student, by the book sort of guy with his politeness and insisting on sticking to the hierarchy of things, fulfilling orders and carrying out missions impeccably, claiming him a name of second strongest. He is shown to be constantly in control of himself, appearing calm and collected whereas Gojo is head-on bursting with emotion and energy, expressing himself on a whim and perhaps out of it. (Compare how Geto did not disturb a single speck of dust in Amanai's school to how Gojo gladly blew up a whole office building.) Geto's firm and confident hold on himself and his emotions is very well reflected through his cursed technique: he controls his curses with precision and caution, even making sure to keep fragile window glass intact while summoning an enormous curse. This action comes natural to him, like something he's already used to and mindful about: in the end, it's all to keep people's hearts at peace.

(It's interesting in a way of how it is symbolic within the flow of the story and in hindsight of a villain Geto will go on to become. How it is indicative of his own emotions, his spite and his stress, being repressed in order for him to remain cool-headed and perhaps make his appearance more convenient, reassuring to those around him. Peace of heart, remember? He makes his every action, his every expression fit into the contour of How Things Should Be, represses himslef – until he eventually, and quite predictably, snaps. And no, I will not for the love of me shut up about how all the curses confined within his body, their number growing exponentially with every mission he completes, are symbolic of his state of mind and heart, of how bile and resentment gradually build up inside of him.)

Geto's whole worldview and outlook on the order of things rely on his empathetic nature and his strong sense of justice. Protect the weak, protect the suffering for you have the strength – hence you have a duty to fulfill and obligations to attend to. The system is just and fair for it is organized in favour of the innocent and helpless and pushes those who wield power to claim responsibility and dedicate their might to a righteous cause. It's democracy in its purest: the ruler, a single digit who holds the reigns of control and power, is humbled in the service of looking out for powerless, inept masses. In his eyes, the present system is a well-oiled machine which purpose is to involve all the resources at disposal and use their full potential in order to achieve Greater Good, with everyone being assigned a role that suits their capabilities and skills.

But with the Star Plasma Vessel Incident and everything that follows suit in the following year, that view is challenged relentlessly. A man who can't even manipulate cursed energy assasinates the strongest sorcerer of the generation (*coughs* temporarily). An innocent, inexcusably young girl who in her last moments just wanted to live her life falls victim to the system. A crowd of non-sorcerers applauding the death of the girl, of someone who was raised to sacrifice everything she held dear in order to ensure their safety. The loss of Yu Haibara.

The majority is kept safe, ignorant to the expense of their blissful existence, while the minority is being readily sacrificed over and over again. It’s that which Geto grows unwilling to put up with, because he whole-heartedly believed in the legitimacy of the system, believed that it was his well-deserved responsbility to look out for others, those who are weaker than him and therefore require protection. And yet he's witnessing one death after the other and is cornered in the feeling of helplessness, unable to save anyone. The realisation slowly settles in: the system is treating its sorcerers as disposable tools, cogs in the arrangement of greater things where a loss of an individual is something tragic yet almost expectable.

Nothing out of the ordinary. A hideous evil known to everyone.

(So, Getou is a staunch idealist and a perfectionist. Which is why he just cannot move on from something that otherwise could be deemed by others (and the audience in the first place, I guess) as something to draw additional motivation from, becoming stronger over experienced hardships. His whole worldview falls short, shatters to pieces after one single blow. But he keeps going on missions, gets caught up in an endless cycle of exorcism and consumption, ends up all alone with dark thoughts, and regret, and doubt, churning in his mind, while tragedies keep bombarding his little, no longer functional illusion. His downfall had been a slow yet steady process long before he snapped.)

His solution to kill all non-sorcerers, ultimately gaining for himself a reputation of the most evil of curse users, seems to me as an extension of his previous idealistic mindset. Everything he does has to fall in line with his goal – and he's already wiped out the population of a whole village. How can one possibly justify that without warping their vision with far-fetched delusion of what could have been? That's how his attitude becomes radical: push the system to evolve by becoming its villain.

And still after everything, isn't it him escaping the system out of fear and desparation? Him shaking off the tremendous weight of being a cog running in a machine that is fundamentally not working and feeding on the fuel of countless sacrifices? He never looks back since his last confrontation with Gojo because he is driven by fear, and disgust, and despair, and oh, he consumed so, so many curses. Manifestation of the sins of humanity sit in the pit of his stomach, and don't they say you are what you eat?

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[zecoritheweirdone]

okay so i have, like. a lot of msa doodles that i just haven't posted anywhere,, mostly of aus i've barely talked about, if at all,,, and like. i've mostly been waiting on posting some of them until i writes lil smth 'bout 'em,, since i have a habit of sharing art for aus and then never doing anything with them again,,, but like. haven't been in the mood to write for a while 👍. so i might as well share 'em now instead of letting them rot,, dkdjsks. so here's a peek at what goes on inside my mind!

(the last doodle was colored by sap @/pinesented my good friend sap)

[cometrose]

the supreme court is so comically evil like you really have to vote blue across the board they made it legal to criminalize homelessness, overturned chevron which means the extremely conservative courts get to override health officials and environmental regulations

like infant mortality has increased by 8% in some states post roe, they will avoid the trump immunity case as long as possible, they essentially shielded all the jan 6 rioters

if biden loses we could be stuck with 6-3 or 7-2 extremely conservative judges for decades!!! that could mean 40 years of social rights regulations and health codes thrown out the door!!! look how much we’ve lost in 8 years?

and what about pack the courts? you can’t pack the courts with this split congress you can’t pass roe laws with this split congress you really have to vote blue all the way