#i just really NEED some music to write you know

[distantdarlings]

WORSHIP // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After Theodore Nott catches you drawing him in the middle of class, he feels he deserves to see your art up close and personal.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Fingering (f!receiving), slight dubcon? (Reader definitely wants it, it’s just not super obvious at first), soft!Dom Theo, sub!reader, Theo’s a bit pushy, fem!reader, slight nipple play, teasing, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

I Feel It Coming - The Weeknd, Daft Punk

- - -

He was a god. Or as close to one as a human could possibly come to looking like one.

You had found yourself worshipping him daily, just not in the most mundane way. Your form of worship required a quill and parchment, in which you traced the curves of his cheeks and the strong bridge of his nose. Only, it wasn’t with your fingers or lips. It was with the quill and parchment.

You’d spent hours surveying him in classes, between them, at lunch… It was one of the only things that got you through each day, expecting to see his carved features.

Your knee would bob up and down, your fingers would tremble, and your teeth would punch holes into the metal grip of your quill. It was pathetic, really. But, you couldn’t help it.

The days he didn’t show up to class felt like hell. It felt like you were falling through the deepest riff of boredom you’d ever experienced.

Now, as you waited for him to arrive, you settled your things out on the desk before you just as you always did. You had a routine that you clung to that was reserved only for Theodore Nott.

A few breaths later, Theo was walking through the door with his friends trailing behind him.

His hair was perfectly tousled just as it always was; his leather, sharply monogrammed schoolbag was thrown lazily over his shoulder; his uniform sweater was tossed over his arm, whilst his white button-up was only partially fastened, exposing a bit of a lean chest. Beauty marks kissed the skin of his neck, traveling gently upward and onto his face. He was truly a specimen.

You exhaled shakily, inconspicuously preparing yourself to begin sketching. He glanced around the room, salt-spray eyes trailing over every face in the class until coming to rest on you.

As he came to look at you, you did a double take, reclaiming eye contact with him just as soon as you’d broken it. A second or two passed of staring that could have been considered rude and pure panic flowing through your body before he glanced away again.

You blinked a bit, seemingly snapping out of some powerful stupor that only clouded your brain whenever he was around. How stupid.

Despite the intensity of your awkwardness, Theo settled in at his desk as if you hadn’t just gawked at him only moments before.

And as he settled in, you did as well.

The professor entered the classroom from the rear entrance, announcing where the class would be picking up from the day before.

Sounds of rustling papers and thudding book covers echoed about the stone walls, but you only focused on Theo.

Your fingers gripped the quill they’d become so accustomed to as you began to sketch.

Gentle lines. Soft strokes of ink that barely held any space on the paper, but would eventually bear more weight. Your wrist flicked delicately in order to master the movements intended to convey perfection. At least, the way you interpreted it.

There were a few times when Theo looked up and managed to catch your eyes but, like earlier, it seemed to be a passing glance.

Disappointment would flood your gut every time he refocused on something else. Though he didn’t know you, you knew him, and naivety fueled fantasies that one day he’d truly see you and want you.

Your hand clenched tighter around your quill, annoyed by your situation. You made one, strong line and Theo’s nose appeared on your parchment. It was an exact copy. You didn’t need to practice anymore. You were able to replicate him perfectly because you drew him nearly every day and studied him on the days you didn’t. All things considered, you likely knew Theo’s face better than your own.

“I asked if you were still with us?” You heard the words faintly as if you were underwater. Then someone cleared their throat. Your eyes remained on your parchment. The same person cleared their throat again, in a much more exaggerated way.

You glanced up, catching the professor staring directly at you. A quick survey of the room told you that every student had their eyes pinned on you as well—including Theo.

Subconsciously, you slid your books over your parchment and nodded. A deep flush poured into your cheeks.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” you apologized. “Just doodling.”

“Well…just as long as you’re doodling and listening, okay?”

You responded with a small, forced smile. Though you didn’t dare look back up, you could tell Theo was still gazing in your direction. You couldn’t keep the nerves from picking up and manifesting themselves in all physical ways. Your left set of fingernails picked at the dead skin around their edges, your knee bounced again, and your right hand-picked at the dried skin on your bottom lip.

Only a few more moments passed until the professor called the end of class. You gathered your books and parchment up in one fell swoop and shoved them all into your bag. Embarrassment still shone on your face like a beacon of light as you made your way toward the exit.

***

You made your way through the halls of the castle you'd come to adore, trying your best to push all of the shame from your mind. Every time you thought of what happened, another round of hot blood would fill your cheeks. You knew you were red as a tomato but there was nothing you could do about it. You just hoped your hair covered your face enough for no one to notice.

By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, your hands were burning with how tightly you'd been clutching your bag. The leather had bit roughly into your soft palms, causing indentations along the flesh. It looked as if you had sutures wound through your hands. Amusedly, you traced your thumb down them—

“You’re in my History of Magic class, right?”

You jumped and spun around, your bag swinging and bumping against your back.

Now, as if all of your fantasies had come to fruition, you were standing right before Theodore Nott.

Fuck, had he always been this tall? The lean boy towered over you, so much so that he was tilting his face down to look at you. Your head barely cleared the base of his throat. You were enthralled. Your lips hung open stupidly.

“Er, yes, I am,” you chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I, uh—”

“You're all good,” he chuckled, shrugging slightly. “I was just curious what you'd been sketching in class.”

Suddenly, you were regretting all of the times you'd been cursing your body for filling your cheeks with red, hot blush just moments ago. You honestly wished for that sensation to return as your entire face drained of all blood and turned pale white.

“You—er, I was…,” you trailed off stupidly, begging your brain to come up with some kind of quick excuse. “Just, like, little sketches of—” a thought appeared in your head— “plants. For my Herbology class.”

You leaned down to the armchair your bag lay against and popped the buckle open. With shaking hands, you selected the pieces of parchment you'd been working on the day before and presented them to him.

He accepted them with gentle, yet strong hands. His eyebrows raised as he scanned the piece. “Wow, this is great.”

You could've died on the spot.

“Thank you,” you laughed breathlessly, awkwardly clasping your hands together before you.

“Really, this is some of the best artwork I've ever seen,” he smiled, handing it back to you.

You took the pieces of parchment back with a blissful smile and turned back to your bag.

“But I know it's not what you were working on today,” he said.

Your fingers paused their work in shoving the artwork back into your bag. You glanced over your shoulder.

“I'm sorry?” you asked, shocked at his bluntness.

“I know that's not what you were working on today because I saw you working on that piece yesterday at lunch. Today, you were working on something smaller.”

You felt as if you couldn't breathe. An awkward chuckle breezed past your lips.

“Can I see what you were working on today? When the professor called on you? When you covered it up with your books?” His eyes never left yours. They were demanding and soft all at the same time.

“Oh, that was…that wasn't anything special. It was just some lines and scribbles—”

“Were you drawing me?” he asked.

“Er, no! It was—”

“Please don't lie to me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly an octave lower. Sweetheart? Merlin, what the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

“I don't…”

“You were drawing a picture of me in class today, just like you have been every single day for the entire semester,” he said. “And I want to see them. All of them.”

“Why?” you whimpered, the useless word being the only thing your voice could force out.

“Because when someone watches me so intently every day, I want to know why. If you're drawing me, I feel I'm entitled to see that which I'm being a muse for.”

He had a point. Fuck.

“Okay, sweetheart, you’re gonna take me to your dorm and show me these drawings, alright?” he asked, his voice so painfully gentle.

His hand reached out and he selected a small strand of hair that slipped from behind your ear. He tugged on it gently, massaging it between his thumb and forefinger, memorizing the texture of it.

Your breath shuddered as he looked back at you and maintained searing eye contact as he tucked the stray hairs back behind your ear.

“What are you waiting for?” he murmured.

“What?”

“I asked what you were waiting for. I asked you to do something for me,” he said, seeming almost bored with the conversation. “Walk.”

You nodded slowly, immediately obeying his demands. In your mind, your first interaction with Theo would not have involved your drawings or the boy before you taking over the entire thing.

Theo watched as you turned away from him, eyes facing the staircase to the girls’ dormitory. Your breath pulsed in deep motions.

“Er, what about—?”

“I’ll get your bag,” he interrupted. “I’ve asked you to walk.” His voice was soft but stern.

You sighed shakily, willing yourself to take the first step forward. The fire crackled in the corner and covered the slight sounds his shoes made behind you. He moved silently, like a whisper in the evening. Like a shadow. A chill erupted across your arms.

Your feet carried you up the staircase, your mind barely forcing your body to move. If you stopped for even a second, you were sure you’d fall back right into the boy prowling behind you.

“Theodore, do you think—”

“Call me Theo,” he interrupted, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back as the both of you reached the staircase landing. A small gasp escaped your lips at the contact.

He stopped beside you and looked down at you. You gaped up at him stupidly, enamored and waiting for further instructions. You couldn't be sure why on earth you were listening so intently. Perhaps…?

“Theo,” you corrected. “Am I under the influence of the Imperius Curse?”

He smiled just a bit as if your accusations were amusing, though they weren't in the slightest. “Why don't you tell me? Try and walk down those stairs and see what happens. I think you'll find that I'm not controlling you at all.”

You looked behind you and weighed your options. Of course, you'd never been under the Imperius Curse before so you weren't exactly sure what it’d feel like. Would you have even been able to question him if you had been?

The fact that you were able to weigh your options right now alluded that you weren’t under any influences, but you couldn’t deny that you would have assumed your resistance toward him would have been a bit stronger. Obviously not.

You turned back to face him. His eyes hadn’t seemed to have left you at all. You swallowed thickly—desperate for him to either drop this whole thing or give you another instruction because the eye contact was driving you crazy.

“I won't ask again,” he spoke. A pause filled the air, his mouth forming a small frown. “Take me to your dorm and show me those drawings.” So gentle.

You nodded and walked past him. Once again, his footfalls were silent as he fell into step behind you. The feeling of not being able to sense him was eerie. Simultaneously, the knowledge that he was there was riveting. It felt as if you were being chased by some ancient creature. Like your body was in survival mode and trying to flee. Yet, seemingly involuntarily, tingles erupted in your abdomen each time he whispered a direction.

You stopped in front of your dormitory door. When you didn’t move after a few seconds, he reached past your frozen body and turned the handle.

The door creaked open, revealing a mostly dark room, save the enchanted stove in the center of the floor which emanated small waves of cozy heat.

Again, he placed his hand against your back, urging you forward. As you crossed the threshold of the room, you came to a realization—one that seemed to make the tingling in your abdomen ten times stronger.

It was just you and Theo in this room. That could’ve meant nothing but just the way he spoke had chills running down your arms. Surely, he meant to speak to you in that way. You knew it wasn’t just the way he sounded because you’d heard him plenty of times in class. Today, his voice was softer and lower and demanding. It was a far cry from his typical light, almost bored words. Today, he sounded purposeful.

Surely, it meant something. It had to. He shut the door.

“Where are they, darling?” he asked. Again with the pet names… Your breath caught in your throat.

“Er, they’re over here,” you whispered, leading him toward the leatherbound art portfolio crammed between your bed and bedside table.

You fell into a squat, sliding your collection of pieces out from their hiding spot and displaying them on the bed.

One by one, hundreds of sketches of the boy looming behind you slid across the satin duvet. His drawn eyes pierced through you, threatening to reveal every private thought you'd had since you'd begun creating these portraits.

Theo’s breath seemed to halt just as yours had moments ago. He leaned around you and pressed his fingers against the thick parchment. He traced the outlines of his own face and body, careful to avoid touching the medium itself, so as not to smudge anything. Your heart swelled as he looked at them.

Both panic and excitement vibrated in your body with each touch he placed to your works. No one had ever seen these before, especially not Theo.

“Why do you draw me?” he asked, eyes not leaving the parchment.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes while you debated your answer. There were a thousand reasons why you drew him—desire unfortunately being one of the main ones, but inspiration being another. You weren't sure if you could answer straightly.

“Er…” You racked your brain for a response.

His eyes turned back to you. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry. I don't know.”

“Do you want me?” he asked, eyes never leaving yours. You nearly choked on your spit.

“What—er… what exactly do you mean? Do I want you to what?” you sputtered awkwardly.

“You know what I meant,” he said. Just like earlier, his hand reached out to select a stray piece of hair that hung next to your cheek. His fingers tugged gently on it as he seemed to inspect it. Only, this time, he didn't push it back behind your ear.

Slowly, he allows the curl of hair to settle against his palm, situated up against his thumb. The rest of his fingers press gently against your head just behind your ear, his pinky easing itself up and down the curvature of your skull in a soothing manner.

Your hands are shaking; you can't stop them. It’s so impossibly difficult to maintain eye contact with him, knowing that his steel blue irises are going to be burning their typical holes directly through your cheeks.

Despite his lidded, easy gaze, your heart rate skyrocketed every time he looked at you.

When you did nothing, his other hand came up to the opposite side of your head to mirror the movements of the first. Your lips parted as a blush blossomed within your stomach.

“Do you want me?” he repeated, all but whispering.

It felt like hours passed before you were finally able to will your lips to form words, though—in reality—it was only a few seconds.

“Yes,” you finally said, nodding your head desperately.

Theo wasted no time pressing his lips directly to yours. Your eyes widened in shock for only a few seconds before they slipped shut, and the kiss deepened.

Theo tasted just as you would always have imagined. Echoes of pine, rain, and even a bit of lavender billowed against your cheeks with each breath he took.

His hands held your head right where he wanted it, allowing him to maintain full control of the contact.

The uselessness of your body was apparent. In an attempt to combat that, you willed your hands to rest lightly on his chest. The warmth beneath your fingertips was reminiscent of dreams you'd had of him. Dreams where his lips were on yours and your hands were pressed to his skin, and the similarities between them and current reality were not lost on you.

His hands dropped from your face to your hips. He pulled you even closer to his body, his lips devouring yours, his scent all-consuming. Your back arched against him, deliciously molding into him like a piece of the earth. A gasp erupted between your lips.

“Draw me,” Theo sighed, pulling away from you. You stared at him, breath coming out in hard pants.

“What?” you gasped.

“Draw me right now,” he demanded. One hand still held you against him with the opposite reaching up to touch your hair once more. “I want you to draw me right now and let me watch the process.”

You weighed your options, eyes flicking away from his and then meeting them again. This pattern repeated itself a few times before you finally took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down for the first time since this whole interaction started.

You weren't going to allow him to have this much control over you.

With shaking hands, you pulled away from him and turned to select one of the sketchbooks and charcoal pencils off of your desk.

He settled himself onto your bed, straightbacked and staring through your soul. You swallowed thickly as you selected the chair against your desk and willed yourself to calm down.

Drawing Theo had become a daily thing for you so—besides the obvious—there was no reason for you to be so nervous. The two of you accidentally made eye contact constantly throughout class, so why was this different? At least, that's what you tried to convince yourself of.

This was different because you were so close to him that you could see every breath, every shudder, every blink, every beat of his heart… you were now privy to every detail your art had been lacking in the past.

Everything that was missing was now able to be added. It was incredible. You could hardly contain your excitement.

But, after building yourself up and convincing your fingers that the shakes were not necessary, Theo stood from his spot on the bed as soon as your pencil touched paper.

“Er,” you started. “Theo, models have to stay put.”

He walked around behind you, staring at your paper. His hands rested on your shoulders.

“I know you don’t need to see me to draw me,” he murmured. His lips caressed over the curvature of your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of his breath against your flesh.

“I want you to draw me and…,” he stopped to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder. You bit back a moan. “…if you stop, I will make you regret it. Does that sound okay?”

His hands slid down your arms, warm and gentle. You nodded slowly—heat beginning to pool between your thighs. A shudder passed through you.

“What if—?”

“No, sweetheart,” he interrupted. “Just draw me and don’t stop.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of yours and positioned it against the piece of parchment. His thumb brushed against your knuckles as he pushed you to begin sketching.

For a moment, you did nothing and he did nothing, then his lips pressed once more to your neck as soon as you began drawing.

You shuddered but forced your hand to keep moving. A familiar portrait—his lidded eyes, his sharp nose—began to appear before you just like it had so many times before. This was so usual for you, it was almost comfortable.

But then there was Theo—lips at your neck, seductive words in your ears, fingers slowly tracing down your arms.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispered. “Keep going.”

His hands slipped to your waist past the wooden chair’s back. His finger sent shockwaves up your spine. Your hand shook around the pencil, mussing up a few of your lines. It didn’t matter, though, you still saw Theo. His features were much too familiar.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You nodded, biting your lip to hide any embarrassing sounds.

His fingers, wrapped around your front, began to split your shirt buttons apart one at a time. Only, every movement was painfully slow. You almost wanted to shout at him to hurry up.

Once your shirt was completely open, he let the two sides linger for a moment there—not pulling them apart, not closing them back. Beneath those thin layers of fabric lay a whole new world of intimacy for him to explore, but it seemed that he was waiting for something.

Finally, you perked up enough to ask. “Why’d you stop?” Your knee bounced nervously.

“Why'd you stop?”

You looked down and, sure enough, your hand had ceased all movements and the portrait of Theo was only half finished.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered, resuming your piece. With each new inch of skin he touched, it was getting harder and harder to focus on something as minute as drawing a picture.

Then, as soon as you began working again, he resumed his teasing. At this point, he slipped your shirt apart and let it fall down over your shoulders. He allowed the sleeves to bunch around your elbows where they were bent against the chair's arms.

Your heart raced as his warm breath fanned across your naked skin. Thank Merlin the bra you wore was half-decent—all black and simple lace.

When his fingers made contact with your flesh, you could have sworn your heart stopped. The simple contact had your eyes fluttering, blurring your vision.

“Don't stop,” he growled, plunging his hands into your bra and massaging your breasts. You whimpered and continued your art. This was much harder than you ever could have imagined.

His hands found the clip that rested on the front of your bra and expertly unhooked it. Your breasts sprung free—hard and sore from his toying. A soft moan left you as his hands continued to touch one of your most intimate areas.

Then, as your pencil came to the curves of his neck, his right abandoned your chest and slid down your exposed stomach. Air caught in your throat.

His free hand slowly but determinedly tugged the edge of your skirt up to the top of your thighs. The uniform fabric pooled there awkwardly, showing off your tights and thin panties.

“Fuck, you look as good as I imagined,” he sighed against your ear. One hand is still on your breast, one hand sliding itself between your thighs.

By this point, you'd finished your basic sketch and, typically, would start to go back over everything a bit darker. Then, you'd shade all the appropriate spots. Then, the bell would ring. Typically. But this wasn't a typical thing.

His fingers made contact with your core through your panties. The sounds that left you now were much more shameless—wanton and desperate as he acted out everything you'd imagined in your most private moments.

As your pencil traced the edge of his cheekbones, he slid your undergarments to the side and pushed two fingertips through your mounting slick. Your head fell back and his shoulder was there to catch it.

His lips pressed back to your neck, not caring so much now that you weren't drawing. He seemed satisfied enough with how far you'd gotten. Or he was just too focused on your pleasure.

When he finally sank his fingers into you, your moans became high-pitched and your hips began to rock against his hand.

He groaned against your flesh, mimicking your breathy sounds. His left hand continued to pinch your nipple about, stimulating what he couldn't with his right.

Between his tongue on your neck, his fingers on your breast, his hand against your core, and his sporadically whispered words, you knew you wouldn't last long against him. Still, you forced yourself to try.

With a weak chest, you leaned forward and made your hand resume its previous work. You finished his cheekbones—your hips still rolling against him; you finished his ears—your lips parted in a whine; you finished his throat—your eyes began to roll back.

Then he was sucking a particularly deep bruise against an especially sensitive spot on your neck and you were cumming hard around his hand. Your spend pooled against his palm and your legs.

The pressure from your hands crushed the tip of the charcoal pencil against the paper, creating a big, black blotch across his cheek. It formed a sort of scar against his unblemished skin.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face and collapsed onto the parchment, blurring another bit of the sketch. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” he asked, gently retrieving his fingers from within you. “What’s wrong?”

“The picture,” you whined. “It's ruined.”

He leaned around you to take a peek and, upon seeing the disaster that had become your art, he laughed aloud.

“No, darling,” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your head. “I think this is your best one yet.”

-

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74 , @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

[goldfades]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/776149472466141184/could-u-write-joe-burrow-and-a-young-gf-3

AS A YOUNGER JOE GIRLY (‘04 baby 😩), THIS MADE MY ENTIRE WEEK

that being said, WE NEED MOREEEEE 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏🏼 so i was wondering if i could request a part 2 to this post?? your writing is literally my comfort reading material <3

OMGG no thats how i feel as an 05 girl LMAO likeeee

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it always sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Like right now.

Because you’re standing in his kitchen—your kitchen too, technically, though you still hesitate calling it that—wearing his old Athens High hoodie that nearly swallows you whole, scrolling through takeout menus while he tries (and fails) to figure out how to fix the Bluetooth speaker.

"It’s literally not that hard, Joe."

"Then you do it," he shoots back, turning the speaker in his hands like it’s a puzzle box. "It worked last time. I don’t know what I did."

"You probably pressed every button at once."

"That’s literally how you fixed the dishwasher last week—don’t start with me."

You hide a smile behind your phone. He’s got that stubborn look again, brows furrowed, jaw set. The same look he gets when the defense drops into a zone he wasn’t expecting. Concentrated. Calm. Competitive over the dumbest things.

You don’t even care about the speaker. You like the quiet. You like this.

Joe, barefoot on the tile, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair. The smell of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie. The slow realization that this—here—has become your routine.

"Okay, genius," you sigh, setting your phone down. "Move."

He steps aside with exaggerated reluctance, watching as you press a single button. The speaker beeps, the connection light blinking blue. Instantly, music floods the room—some playlist he made that’s a mix of old-school rap and indie tracks he refuses to admit he likes.

"You’re welcome," you say smugly.

Joe stares at you.

"How?"

"I have the touch."

"Nah, that’s witchcraft. You’re a witch."

You grin, settling back against the counter. "Jealous?"

"Terrified," he deadpans, stepping closer. His hands find your hips like they always do—easy, familiar. "You could end me at any moment."

"Maybe I will."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He dips his head so his nose brushes against yours, voice dropping.

"Do it, then."

It’s stupid. It’s playful. But your breath still catches. Because this is how he gets you—soft, steady, sure. Like there’s all the time in the world.

"I’ll spare you," you whisper, pulling back just enough to glance at the phone. "But only if you pick dinner."

Joe groans dramatically, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

"That’s worse."

"Big NFL quarterback can’t handle choosing takeout?"

"Not when you are the pickiest eater on the planet."

"I am not—"

"Babe." He pulls back to look at you, giving you a look. "You cried over soggy fries last week."

"They were ruined, Joe."

"You said it ‘destroyed the entire vibe.’"

"And it did."

Joe laughs—really laughs—and you don’t even care that he’s laughing at you. Because when Joe Burrow laughs like that, everything else fades.

It’s always like this. Light. Easy.

But underneath, there’s something heavier.

You see it in the way he checks his phone when he thinks you’re not looking. The season’s creeping closer, and with it, the pressure. The expectations. The weight of it all.

And you? You’re still figuring things out. Still balancing finishing school, internship applications, trying to find where you fit in his world without getting swallowed by it.

The age gap—people still talk.

They don’t see this, though.

Joe brushing your knee under the table. Joe remembering your coffee order, your weird movie opinions, your fear of thunderstorms. Joe looking at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense when everything else gets too loud.

"You okay?" you ask quietly, catching the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

He looks at you for a long moment, then nods.

"Yeah. I’m good."

But he leans into you a little more than usual. His fingers lace through yours, thumb brushing slow, rhythmic patterns against your skin.

You don’t push. You never do.

Joe will tell you when he’s ready.

He always does.

Later that night, after the food’s been eaten, the music turned down low, and the city hums quietly outside, you find yourselves in that familiar spot again—Joe stretched out on the couch, you tucked against his side, his hand resting lazily on your thigh.

"Hey," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"You ever think about how this all worked out?"

You tilt your head, looking up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Us," he says, glancing down at you. His eyes are soft in the low light, thoughtful. "You being there that night. Talking to me. Sticking around."

"You act like I did you a favor," you tease, but your voice is quieter now.

"You did," he says simply. "You didn’t have to."

There it is again—that flicker of vulnerability he rarely shows to anyone else.

"You make it sound like you’re hard to stick around for," you say after a moment, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of his shirt.

"I can be."

"Not to me."

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls you in closer, his lips brushing your forehead.

"I’m glad you stayed."

"I’m not going anywhere, Joe."

And you mean it.

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it sneaks up on you—soft, steady, sure—until one day, you realize it’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.

[starsinthesky5]

https://www.tumblr.com/starsinthesky5/776149920227999744/another-little-blurby-blurb-coming-tonight-or

does joe ever play a part in her songwriting (other than being her muse, obviously)

like does he ever go to the studio with her? does she ever play the songs for him? does he ever help her with some of the songwriting if she’s stuck on a particular verse?

hi liv :)

before i get into it, inbox is open to asks like this! anything about her, about their relationship. any and all you are in love thoughts and questions :) and here is a little backstory post i made a few weeks ago :)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

he absolutely does!! he is her muse, obviously, so like 80% of reputation is inspired by him. he hates the 20% that isn't—not the songs themselves—but more of what inspired those songs :( when he first heard them he wanted nothing more than to hold her and somehow reach inside her chest and physically rebuild her heart with his gentle hands. but she told him that her heart was already fused back together, and it was all his doing. songwriting healed her, recording this album healed her, and well, every second she spent with joe healed her and only continues to rewire everything she had programmed inside of her when it came to love. 

but yeah, he goes to the studio with her when he's free :) it's one of his favorite things to do. 

he loves it when she swings by at practice, sitting under the tent and watching him do his thing while she writes away in her little notebook. usually song lyrics, or just random thoughts that pop into her head that eventually turn into lyrics. 

fun fact, she wrote about half of the first draft of so high school in one sitting at an indoor practice one day. she was feeling a little too inspired that afternoon, watching him run around in those damn athletic shorts and the black compression tank that drove her mad. let’s just say the storage closet saw a bit of action that day…

but he appreciated how she'd show up for him, so naturally he'd do the same for her whenever she asked, hell he would even if she didn’t. there were plenty of times when he’d swing by unannounced the studio after practice or meetings; seeing her face light up when she opened the door and saw him in the doorway with flowers and some treats from her favorite bakery made joe so so so unbelievably happy. he absolutely adores her and feels the constant need to make sure she knows that in every way possible. 

at first, she was a bit confused because none of her exes put this much interest in her musical process. they never really came by the studio just to watch her record and work on her albums, they never bothered to start a conversation with her about her music either. it was always her talking to them about it. so early on in their relationship, when joe started to ask her about how her album was coming along, asking about which songs she was currently working on, even going as far as learning endgame on the piano and serenading her with it, she lost it. 

she didn’t even know how to function after the first time he came to the studio without telling her. 

“a man written by a woman,” she thought to herself as she leaned back against the glass of the recording booth, watching as joe placed his things down on the table and took a peek at her album binder. the binder had pretty much everything in it—copies of lyrics, schedules, marketing/promotional ideas, tour concepts, and pretty much her entire brain in paper form. 

but it wasn’t always him swinging by when he wanted, he’d look forward to the next time she’d bring him along willingly. her studio days were usually always played by the ear—sometimes she’d be there for a few hours, sometimes she’d be there till midnight. it just depended on what needed to be done, how good she was feeling that day, etc. if it was the latter, joe would step out and grab takeout for them, and if her producer/best friend was with them, some for him too. he’d sit back on the plush couch, watching as she worked away, scribbling things down on her papers, adjusting the microphone, and dabbling her fingers along specific keys or buttons. 

if it was just the two of them, joe would be much more engaging because whenever her producer/bestie (jack) was there, he didn’t want to disturb them and get too distracting. you gotta let magicians work their magic, according to him. but those nights and evenings where it’d just be them, he’d be sitting in the producer’s chair, swiveling around as he listened to her enchanting voice through the headset. after she finished recording some verses, he’d start cheering for her, clapping and going on about how that was the best thing he’d ever heard in all his years of existence. it was the cutest thing, he was just in awe of her and her talent every single time. that look he had on his face, those crinkles around his eyes, they never got old and she felt like exploding every time she looked over and saw him looking at her with heart eyes. 

and yes, she always plays joe her songs. he is the first person to listen to them—aside from her and her producer. forget her manager and label, forget her friends and family. she wanted him to hear it first, to get his opinion, to see his face when the lyrics clicked inside his head and he realized the song was about him. she even started filming them on her film camera whenever she played him one of her songs for the first time, fresh from the studio. she loved to make those little videos—almost like home movies—of the two of them. she never showed them to anyone as they were just for their eyes only, but maybe one day she’d do something with them (wink wink). he took pride in the fact that he had an all-access backstage pass to one of the most popular and talented artists of this new generation. part of him gets so soft every time he sat and thought about how much she trusted him, trusted him enough to share everything about her world with him. 

as for helping her when writing, he doesn’t do much. yes, he is very well-spoken, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s great at songwriting. she already thanks him enough for being her biggest source of inspiration, she couldn’t ever ask him to help her formulate her lyrics with her even though she knew if she asked, he wouldn’t hesitate to help (even if he sucked at it). her lyricism is a gift, a gift he didn’t have, but he always tried to do his best to help her out whenever she felt stuck.

if she ever felt like she hit a wall, he told her that she needed to take a break. she had a bad habit of constantly pushing herself past her limit, and sometimes that was a great thing, but then other times she felt overwhelmed, anxious, and stuck. 

he would make sure she didn’t sneak off to the studio by occcupiying her time with things to help her relax—movie marathons, spa evenings, quiet cuddle time, or a nice dinner in the city. he made sure she wasn’t staring at her notebook and trying to work on songs, telling her that if she tried to force it, she would hate the result. his actions spoke louder than his words, and she was eternally grateful to have someone so levelheaded like him in her corner. 

her words, lyrics, they came to her naturally so if she sat down and made herself write, she knew she wouldn’t be doing right by herself. it wouldn’t be something she felt passionate about. and joe was always there to remind her to breathe, to let herself recharge, to take a break. 

he was exactly what she needed, and still could not comprehend how she lived all her life without him

[sweetfcwn]

I think I would cry actual tears of happiness for a Will fic. I’ve tried to get back into the writing game but am about ready to delete mine 🥲 absolutely living for any sort of friends to lovers vibes!!

quiet shifts - willne.

i get how you feel!! writers block and lack of motivation is a pain in the arse. but i LOVED your will fic!!! i've never written for him before so i don't think i've quite got his characterisation right yet - let me know what you think!

you and will met years ago, back in school, through mutual friends. at first, it was just casual—the kind of friendship that forms over shared lunch periods and awkward group projects. but somewhere along the way, things just… clicked. you both liked the same music, had the same sarcastic sense of humor, and somehow ended up on the same wavelength even when no one else did. it was easy, natural. no effort, no force. just the kind of friendship that felt like it was always meant to happen.

now, it's years later. you’re both older, busier, but still somehow managing to stay in each other’s lives. even though you’ve both taken different paths, when you meet up, it’s like no time has passed. the inside jokes are still there, the easy silences, the unspoken understanding.

tonight, it’s just the two of you again. you’re sitting on the couch in his living room, a quiet evening after a busy week, and you’re not really sure how you ended up here—on his couch, with him, talking about everything and nothing. but it feels like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

“do you ever feel like… life’s just sort of moving too fast?” will asks, breaking the comfortable silence. he’s leaning back, arms stretched across the back of the couch, eyes on the ceiling like he’s thinking hard about something.

you glance over at him, a little surprised by the question. “all the time,” you answer honestly. “sometimes i feel like i blink and everything’s different.”

he nods, his gaze turning towards you. “yeah. i guess it’s weird, though. it doesn’t really feel like we’ve changed, you know? like we’re the same, but also not.”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you feel it too—the way everything seems to be moving forward, but somehow, you and him are stuck in this comfortable space, untouched by time. your friendship has always felt steady, even when the world around you changes. but now, there’s something more to it, something that feels like it’s been there for a while but neither of you have addressed.

you shift slightly on the couch, suddenly aware of how close you are to him. it’s not that the space between you has ever felt awkward, but tonight, for some reason, it feels different.

“yeah,” you say quietly, “it’s like we’ve been stuck in this… in-between place, and i’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not.”

he turns his head towards you, eyes meeting yours, and there’s a pause. for a moment, everything else fades out, like the weight of the world is put on hold just for this moment.

“what if it’s a good thing?” he asks, his voice soft, but there’s something serious in it now. something that wasn’t there before.

you feel a flutter in your chest. you don’t know how to answer, but the words feel like they’re on the tip of your tongue. you’ve always had this unspoken connection, but lately, it’s felt like it’s been moving in a different direction. you’ve been ignoring it, pushing it aside, but now, it’s impossible to ignore.

“maybe it is,” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches you as if he’s trying to figure out the right thing to say. the tension between you is quiet but there. like you both know something’s shifted, but neither of you wants to name it just yet. but as he moves slightly closer, your heart skips, and you realize you don’t need words to understand what’s happening.

he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours, and it’s such a simple thing, but it sends something through you. you don’t pull away. you don’t want to. instead, you let your fingers intertwine with his, the connection between you both feeling more electric than it ever has before.

“you know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your hand, “i think I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“about what?” you ask, your voice quieter than usual. the air feels thick, full of unspoken words and things left unsaid.

“about how… maybe we’re meant to be more than this,” he says, his voice still low but clear. “more than just friends.”

your heart pounds in your chest. for a moment, you don’t say anything. the words feel right, but there’s a hesitation, an uncertainty that comes from years of friendship, of knowing each other so well but not knowing what happens when you cross that line.

but when you look at him, when you see the sincerity in his eyes, the uncertainty melts away. it’s there. you’ve always known it was there, buried under the surface.

“yeah,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, “i think I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

he smiles then, a soft, almost relieved smile, and there’s something in his expression that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. no grand gestures, no rush—just the quiet, steady shift of your friendship turning into something new.

without saying another word, he leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead, soft and gentle. and in that moment, you realize it’s not about forcing anything. it’s about letting things fall into place. no pressure, just the feeling that this is the next step in something that’s always been quietly there.

and when you pull back slightly, you smile at him, a slow, content smile. “i think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

he laughs softly, his thumb brushing over your hand again. “i think so too.”

[maskedcrawford]

Broken Promise

Choi Seunghyun x Reader

Summary: Tensions rise when Seunghyun gets jealous of your boyfriend

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, some language.

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this story. I'll possibly make a version for G-Dragon. I hope you enjoy!

Requests: OPEN

During dinner things were fine- Seunghyun sat across from you, laughing and cutting up with you and your boyfriend. The two both loved music, wine, and you, obviously. There were times they would both make little jokes causing you to blush and swat Jackson’s arm playfully. You were really excited because to be with Jackson, or any guy for that matter, they had to get along with Seunghyun. After all, aside from your boyfriend, he’s your favorite guy.

 But now, after dinner, things weren’t ok. You got home and tried calling your best friend but he didn’t pick up. He almost always did, so you decided to just go over to his place. You knock on the door waiting patiently for a reply. After a moment of silence, you pull out your phone.

“Your car is here, ik you are. Plz let me in you’re scaring me,” you hit the send button and wait. After another moment you hear the lock being undone in the door but he doesn’t open it. You tilt your head to the side briefly before going in.

“What’s going on?” you ask gently as you shut the door behind you.

“Nothing,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders and pour a glass of wine.

“Seung, I can tell something is wrong,” you cross your arms. The guy never was great with sharing his feelings.

“I mean, at dinner things were good,” you hear him scoff right before taking a sip of his drink. He then walks into the living room and you follow him sitting across from him on his couch.

“What does that mean,” you ask slightly offended. He draws his mouth into a frown and shakes his head.

“Nothing at all.” His tone is sharp and his attitude prideful. You can’t help but feel slightly hurt by how he’s treating you, I mean you didn’t do anything wrong. You wanted your boyfriend and best friend to get along. You sit in silence for a moment.

“So, you really aren’t going to talk to me,”

“And say what?” he cuts you off rudely. His face softens.

“I didn’t, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to shout,” he sets the glass of wine down and rubs his hand over his face. You on the other hand have had enough.

“What’s the point in having friends if you won’t even talk? God, I mean I don’t see why you’re being like this with me. Did I do something?” you ask him desperately. Granted if he really wanted to act like this he could, but you felt slightly entitled to an explanation being that it was being done to you.

He sets his elbows on his knees and looks at the ground.

“No,” he mumbles, “No you didn’t,”

“Then why,”

“Because, I,” he can’t find the words. There’s so much that threatens to spill out, so much that he’s sure if he tells you, you’ll run the opposite direction. You have a boyfriend, you’ll run to him. You wont even be his friend anymore, he’s sure of it.

“I just need some sleep,” he stands up to walk to his bedroom, but stops and turns his head just over his shoulder.

“Let yourself out,” he says. You sit there dumbfounded. He’s never shut you out like this. He’s been moody and sometimes it takes time, but he always tells you he’ll tell you when he’s ready, this feels different. Seunghyun’s mind can be a very dark place, and that scares you for him.

On the way home, you feel the tears of frustration well up in your eyes. You drive over to your boyfriends house, just needing to talk to someone. He opens the door and pulls you into a hug.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, J,” you sigh as you embrace him. A smell of sandalwood and spice fills your nostrils from his t shirt.

“You thought dinner went well, right? I mean, you liked Seung, right?” you look up at him trying to read his face.

“Yeah, he’s great,” he brushes your hair out of your face and you smile slightly at him.

“Why, he doesn’t like me or something?” He lets you go and you both go to the living room to cuddle on his couch.

“I don’t know if its that. I tried calling after dinner because I wanted this thoughts, I mean, you guys seemed to get on well, and you know he’s important to me,” Jackson nods as you continue, “But he wouldn’t answer,” you go on to explain the encounter at his apartment and your boyfriend, knowingly, pulls you into him.

“He might just be going through a rough time,” Jackson tries to ease your mind. He was nervous about your relationship with your guy best friend, he noticed how whenever Seunghyun would talk about you he’d get this look, one of admiration, love and closeness with you. Something the two of you didn’t have yet. But he wouldn’t dare rat out your friend, he trusted you enough to know where to draw the line.

“Maybe, but I’m starting think he’ll never open up to me about it,” you play with his fingers and you pout. He tilts your head up and gives you a sweet kiss.

“Try not to worry about it,” he whispers. You give him a half smile.

The next morning you wake up in your boyfriends bed. Slowly you get up, careful not to wake him up, and go to the kitchen making coffee. You check your phone and see that you have a missed call from Seunghyun. You check the message he left.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I just, um,” you could hear he was slurring his words a bit from the alcohol, “I, I have things going on that you can’t know about, because if I told you I’d loose you and I can’t do that,” you twist your face in confusion at his words.

“I love you too much to loose you, even if I only have you as my friend. I’m sorry.” You look at your phone thoroughly confused. You suddenly feel two hands wrap around your torso and body heat against your back. Jackson places kisses on your shoulder.

“Who was that,” he asks, his voice low and raspy.

“Seung left me a message,” you say gently. You feel Jackson tense slightly.

“What’d he say,” he grabs himself a cup and pours his coffee.

“He said he’s sorry, that he loves me and doesn’t want to loose me but that he can’t tell me what’s going on bc if he did he would loose me,” your voice is still laced with confusion as Jackson closes his eyes.

“Maybe you should just, let it be,” Jackson didn’t want to drive a wedge between you two, but he didn’t want this issue to come between you and him. I mean, after all, he’s your boyfriend, the one you want to be with, right?

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” you put your phone away, but you couldn’t help wondering what he meant when he said, “even if I only have you as a friend.”

Over the next few days you don’t hear from Seunghyun and you don’t contact him. Trying to give him space and all, but tonight you have to see him. You promised you’d go to his movie premier. So you and Jackson went hand in hand on the carpet taking pictures. You seen your best friend just a few feet away and you looked at Jackson who let you go so you could speak to him. He watched helplessly as you walked away.

Jackson wasn’t dumb, he knew exactly what was going on with your friend. He was in love with you but you were with another guy. He didn’t want to tell you and screw things up, but Jackson knew personally how hard it can be to keep that confession in, and to be honest, he had no idea where you stood if you were to know that information.

You walk up to him, in front of everyone and smile for a few pictures.

“Glad you could make it,” he says stoic.

“I promised I’d be here,” you grin for a picture, “And I don’t break my promises,” you turn to the side.

“T.O.P! Y/N! Over here,” one of the paparazzi shouts and he turns his gaze to them while you give them a second glance and a smile.

“Look, we need to talk,” you try to say and he just walks off. He leaves you standing there and you feel Jackson come up behind you. You both walk inside the theater and sit down.

“How’d it go,” Jackson asks as the lights dim and Seunghyun takes the open seat beside you.

“He walked away from me,” you whisper in his ear. Jackson purses his lips and turns his attention to the screen. Throughout the movie you have no issues showing off any pda. After all it’s a dark theater.

A couple of kisses, feeding each other popcorn, hand holding or his arm being around you and you cuddled up to his side. All the sweet things couples do. What you didn’t notice was Seunghyun gripping the arm rest on the right side of his body, the one you couldn’t see. You didn’t notice the pain in his eyes, the jealousy in his heart. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted so bad to be happy that you were, but part of him also was pissed it wasn’t him holding you that way; that it wasn’t him you were head over heels for. When the lights came up everyone clapped and the actors all came out and bowed. You cheered for your friend, because despite how childish you thought he was being, you still wanted to support him.

As everyone makes their way out you try to stay behind and see if you can find him.

“Babe, seriously, maybe you should just let it be.” Jackson’s tone, while he’s trying to be kind and sensitive to your feelings, is a little tense and frustrated.

“J, I’m with you,” you point your finger to his chest, “I can’t just give up on a friendship I’ve had for over half my life.” You put your hand on his left cheek and he just looked at you, his eyes pleading with you to run out of there with him now.

“I know, I know,” he takes a shaky breath, most of the theater now empty, “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to lose you,” he whispers the last part to you.

“Why would you lose me?” you chuckle slightly and he just shrugs his shoulders. But he knew in his gut, the feeling was legit. You give him a sweet kiss trying to reassure him. In the middle of the kiss you open your eyes, feeling someone staring at you. You look just past your boyfriend and see Seunghyun with a broken expression, you could’ve sworn the boy had been hit by a bullet the way his face showed the pain he was feeling. You pull away from Jackson and try to walk to him but he turns on his heels and flees the scene.

“That’s it, I’m tired of this,” you mumble as you leave your boyfriend standing there. You chase Seunghyun down and grab his arm, jerking him off balance.

“What the hell,” he asks harshly but changes his tone when he sees its you.

“Oh, no I’m the one that should be asking that,” you say defiantly.

“I wanna know what’s going on, and I wanna know now!” your voice is loud enough that some of the stragglers left behind turn their attention to you. Seunghyun looks around and sighs.

“Go back to your boyfriend,” his tone is laced with venom.

“If you have a problem with Jackson, just say so!” your voice raises in volume.

“No, it’s,” he groans.

“Come on,” he drags you to his car. You send a quick to Jackson letting him know you’re leaving with Seunghyun to talk. As you get in the car your phone rings.

“Y/N,” you hear Jackson’s voice at the other end of the phone.

“Hey, I’ll come by later, ok?” You say with a gentle voice.

“Baby, don’t,” he tries to plead.

“I gotta go,” you say before ending the call. The car ride to his house is silent, the air thick with tension. You stare at him for a moment, noticing the curvature of his jawline, how his chest rises and falls with each breath, and how his fingers have a death grip on the steering wheel of his car. You go to turn on the radio, the silence threatening to suffocate you. As soon as you turn it on, he turns it off. You shoot your brows up at him. You sigh in response as you stare out the window.

“It’s not like I even did anything wrong,” you mumble to yourself. You hear a low chuckle emit from his throat. You cut your eyes at him realizing he heard you. You don’t say another word until you get to his house. He gets out swiftly and like a gentleman opens your door. As you rise from the seat the close of your bodies makes your face flush light pink. He looks down at your for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes.

He turns and takes your hand shutting the door to the car behind you. He leads you inside and you both stand there in silence looking at each other. The room is dimly lit by the TV and city lights outside. A small soft glow in the kitchen behind him makes the room feel small, intimate.

“You wanna explain why you’ve been so moody lately?” You can’t help the harsh tone that comes out, you’re beyond pissed. He stares at you, for just a moment, savoring the time left of your friendship before he spills everything. You shoot your brows up at him as if to ask if he’s going to answer you. He takes a deep breath, and much to his discontent your phone rings again.

“J,” you ask as you answer.

“Hey, have you talked to him yet,” he asks, fear evident in his voice.

“I’m kind of trying to,”

“Don’t,” he says strongly.

“Jackson, no offense, but I am.”

“He’s going to tell you something insane, baby please trust me. It’s best if you don’t hear it,” his tone is now freaking you out.

“I can’t leave this unfinished.”

“I,” you hear him sigh.

“Just promise me something,”

“Ok,” you drag out the word slightly.

“You’ll come back to me, no matter what,”

“Of course I will,” you say, voice worried about what in the world is going to happen next.

“I need to hear you say it, out loud,” Jackson hopes that by all 3 of you hearing the words, it’ll seal the deal and maybe, just maybe Seunghyun won’t tell you.

“I promise to come back to you,” you repeat.

“No matter what,” he says again.

“No matter what.” you look at Seunghyun’s face as you say the words and see the familiar angry look. You hang up the phone.

“Why would he make you promise that,” he asks with a dark chuckle.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Stop avoiding the topic, Seunghyun,” you use his full name and he can’t help but love the way it rolls off your tongue, even if you are upset.

“He’d ask you to promise him that if he wasn’t sure how you felt about him,” he says stepping toward you.

“He knows how I feel about him. I love him,” you say out loud for the first time.

“Yeah, I know,” his face clearly annoyed.

“What,”

“I know, because the way you look at him is the way I look at you and you’ve never fucking seen it,” he shouts the last few words of his sentence.

“I know, because of the way you talk about him, the way you’re so proud of his accomplishments, the way you two always have to kiss and touch and be together, and it drives me insane because I want to be the one do it. I want to be the one you’re in love with.” He finally shouts in passion, not anger.

You stand there, eyes wide mouth sealed shut. He sighs and walks closer to you putting his hands on your shoulders. He’s so close that inches are the only thing separating you, your foreheads barely touching.

“I love you, y/n, not just as a friend, I wanna be the one you wake up to, the one you sleep next to,” he leans in to your ear and whispers, ��the one who makes you feel good and who’s name drips from your lips when I do,” you suck in a sharp breath at his words.

“It’s been so damn hard watching you be with him I could have sworn it would end me.” His hands cup your face as he peers into your eyes searching for any sign you could even half way feel the same. All he finds is shock.

“Don’t go back to him,” he whispers as his forehead touches yours, “Stay here, with me,” he begs.

“I,”

“If you won’t,” he sighs, “Just give one kiss, and after that, we can pretend this never happened, hell we can stop talking to each other if you need to. But one kiss. That’s all I want,” his mouth is so dangerously close to yours.

“Seung, I,” you breathe and as much as you swear you love Jackson, you know you love Seunghyun too. You’d never let yourself realize it because you were friends. The friendship was more to you than taking a chance on not having him at all. Before you can finish your thought, you feel his smooth soft lips connect to yours, gently like he’s waiting for you to pull away, but instead you move your lips against his, slow, deep, passionate, savoring the taste of one another. Your arms instinctively go around his neck as his find your hips holding you like he’d dreamt of for years now.

You sigh into the kiss and he does the same, neither of you wanting to pull away. His tongue begs for entry and you decide to give in, allowing your tongues to both fight for dominance. His hands begin to move and before it can go any further you pull away, slightly turning your face to the side. You can feel his hot breath on the side of your face, neither of you letting each other go.

“I made a promise, Seung.” You whisper. Your heart breaking as you realize what you’ve done. You’ve made a promise you weren’t sure you wanted keep.

“And you don’t break your promises,” he whispers with a kiss to your temple. His heart breaks inside of him. He thought the one kiss would be enough, that it would satisfy him. But he was wrong. He lets you go.

“I’ll drive you to Jackson’s if you want,” he says walking to grab his keys. Your head is spinning with confusion. He looks at you expectantly. You pull out your phone.

Jackson- 1 missed call

Jackson- 1 voicemail the screen reads. You hold up your hand to stop him. You bite your bottom lip as you open the voice mail.

“Hey,” you hear him laugh sadly, “Listen, I um, I know you promised me. And I still want to believe you feel that way, but I can’t be selfish anymore. If he tells he loves you and you want to be with him, don’t come. Just stay there. But if he tells he loves you, which I know he will, and you don’t him, you don’t want him, the door will be open and I’ll be here. But either way, I hope you choose what truly makes you happy, because you deserve to be happy.” You can hear a slight sniffle as your heart breaks for him, for yourself and for your relationship with him. You let a tear fall from your eye and Seunghyun notices.

“I’ll take you to him,” his voice hoarse as he wipes the tear away from your face. You put the phone down and look at him.

“I don’t want to go back to him,” you whisper, breath shaky. He looks at you surprised. Almost like he can’t believe it.

“I want to stay here,” you whisper again as you rise up on your toes to kiss the man in front of you. He picks you up by your hips an connects your lips.

“You have no idea how good it feels to know you’re mine,” he says against your mouth. You giggle with a small smile against his lips.

“I love you, Seunghyun,” you say as you rest your forehead against his.

“I love you more, y/n.”

If you'd like to support me please buy me a coffee

[x-aefx]

STRANGER PART 2

A/N: this is part two of 'Stranger' hope you like it. I will not be making this a series or doing another continued part to this, as I find it so unmotivating to write for some stupid reason.

Also I posted this early by accident when it was incomplete so let's ignore that🧍‍♀️

No warnings.

PART 1 ⬇️

Since finding out who Billlie was, you couldn't help but read up on the countless articles written about her or the interviews she had done. It was approaching two weeks since Billie had sat at the end of the bar, two weeks since you had talked to her, two weeks since you had found out who she was.

You had thought about the interaction quite a bit between then and now, it made you eager to see her again.

You didn't tell anyone about your encounter with the superstar, keeping it your own little secret.

Tonight was like all other nights at work, the bar was buzzing with life as people danced and drank. Your shift had ended but your promised to give one of the girls you worked along with a ride home, so you waited at one of the tables near the back until she finished work, which wouldn't be long now.

With not much else to do, you stared out at the crowd infdont of you, watching drunk people dance and stumble about as your foot bounced to the beat of the music.

The colourful lights flashed across the dancing crowd, briefly highlighting each face they landed on. It was then that you seen her face already staring at you.

"I just need to change and get my shit, I'll meet you here ok?"

The figure of your coworker blocked your vision as she stood in front of you, just now finishing her shift. You blinked once, twice, looking up at her dumbly before regaining yourself.

"Yeah, that's fine." You nodded your head with a smile. She smiled back before disappearing into the crowd to the staff locker rooms.

When she left a familiar stranger took her place infront of you.

"What are you doing here?" You tried to remain casual.

Billie smiled, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

"You don't want to see me?" She teased, her head titling to the side.

You avoided her question by asking a new one. "Your friends drag you here again?"

"No. It was my idea this time." Billie said sweetly. She took a seat across from you at the small table for two which you were sat at.

She looked good, you couldn't help but think. Her raven hair was down, the front shorter pieces framed her face. She wore this mustard coloured jersey and blue denim jeans that hung loosely on her legs. Her neck was decorated genouresly with silver chains and necklaces.

You crossed your arms on the table, leaning in closer to her to be heard over the loud music.

"I've been reading about you." You teased but not a word of it a lie.

Billie quirked a brow, interested. "Oh yeah?" She smiled.

"Mhm." You hummed. You pretended to think for a moment. "I was reading this one interview. For Rolling Stone." You held back your smirk.

Billie didn't react immediately, but slowly, a smile crept onto her face as she leaned in closer over the table.

You continued. "it was really interesting. I read it all." You said innocently.

Billie knew exactly what you were getting at. "I bet you did." She said confidently.

She had this gleam in her eye, confidence, ego, whatever it was, it was addicting.

You leaned back into your seat. "Feels like I know you so well." You muttered.

Billie hummed. "I didn't think you'd take so much interest in me, or my interviews." She said it casually but their was a small bit of arrogance that seeped through into her voice.

You shrugged. "You were asking for it." You argued, referring to how she literally left the Google search of herself on your phone open for you to see.

"I guess I was." Billie agreed. "You seem to know so much about me now, but I still know nothing about you." She pouted.

"What do you want to know." You asked.

Billie poundered the question for a minute before her eyes lit up with an answer. "What's your name, duh."

Only for Billie reminding you, you had completely forgotten you hadn't told her your name yet. You wanted to kick yourself, 'how could you have not told her your name? '

"Y/n." You said with a chuckle, embarrassed that you were only telling her now.

"Y/n." Billie tested it out, "I like it, it's cute." Billie smiled.

You shook your head, the flattery making you awkward.

"So y/n, how old are you?" You could see the curiosity all over Billie's face. It was nice to know she was genuinely interested in getting to know you.

"Twenty two." You replied, making Billie nod.

"Seeing anyone?" Billie asked innocently, yet the question was hesitant. She watched you carefully as she waited for your answer.

You couldn't help but giggle, causing the slightest bit of fear to cross Billie's face, thinking that meant a yes.

"No." You smiled at her. "I'm not seeing anybody."

Relief washed over Billie, she made no move to hide it. "Good." She breathed out.

You cocked your head to the side. "Good?" You prompted her to explain.

"Yeah, good." Was all Billie said, not falling for your trap of getting her to admit something she wasn't ready to admit.

You watched her mouth begin to move again as she said her next question, however you looked away from her and over her shoulder when you recognised your coworker pushing through the crowd.

"Have any plans tonight?" Billie asked.

Your eyes snapped back to her again.

What perfect timing for that question.

"I do." You sat up straighter. "I'm giving my friend a ride home, and we're watching a movie together. She's coming over here now." You removed your jacket from the back of your seat and held it in your hand.

Billie looked at you, disappointed.

You made eye contact with your friend, she noticed the unfamiliar girl sitting across from you at the table, a smirk forming on her lips. She winked at you and began a conversation with the girl standing next to her, something she was able to do with any stranger effortlessly. You were grateful for her for not interrupting.

"When can I see you again?" Billie asked suddenly. You looked at her shocked, not expecting that.

"You want to see me again?" You repeated her question, not believing it. You definitely wanted to see Billie again, you just didn't think the feeling was mutual.

Billie rolled her eyes playfully, a grin on her face.

"Of course i do." She said it like it were obvious.

Your heart quickened it's pace.

"Well, I work most nights-"

"No, I want to talk to you properly, not whilst you work." Billie interrupted. Then an idea came to mind, "Do you know the diner just across the street?" She asked you.

You thought about it for a second before a building came into mind. "The one beside the furniture shop?" You guessed.

"Yes!" Billie said enthusiastically. "How about we meet there, Friday at 2?" She asked hopefully, her eyes shining bright with excitement.

You briefly went through your schedule and plans in your head, relieved when you realised Friday you were completely free. "Yeah, that works." You smiled, your own excitement building.

"Perfect!" Billie grinned.

Without saying anything else, Billie pulled you in for a tight embrace, her arms gently pulled you in for an embrace. With your body so close to hers, you were breathing in her musky vanilla scent. Your heart hammered in your throat as you tried remaining somewhat calm.

Billie caressed your waist with her fingers as she held you. She could smell the shampoo in your hair and the perfume you wore. She didn't know what it was, only that she loved it.

You were disappointed when you felt her pull away.

"I'll see you Friday." Billies voice dropped as she spoke into your ear, pulling away with her face so close to yours.

All you could do was nod, like you were in some sort of trance. This made Billie smirk.

"By y/n." Billie said, grinning, as she turned back to the crowd where she previously was with her friends before coming over to you.

"Who was that fine woman." Your coworker said to you as she joined your side.

"I'll tell you in the car." You shook your head as you tried to collect your thoughts and regain your composure, Billie had left you a complete mess.

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

do you want to hear my three houses college major takes of course you do let’s do this king

Edelgard is a political science major. I’m doing these based on more of a modern au fyi but I think polisci fits the bill with her no matter what. I’ve seen arguments for criminal justice but I tend to lean towards polisci thinking about career paths

Hubert is in biomedical engineering. I was going to say bio at first but with how much he worked with agarthan technology I thought putting him in some kind of engineering program would be interesting

Ferdinand is a criminology major trying to get into law school. Three hopes confirms he went to the officers academy to study and build a case against his father

Dorothea is in mass communications. She’d minor in music but I don’t think she’d spend all that money for a degree in it. Communications I thought would work because it’s like media in relation to society. I could see her as a film major too but that’s a bit of a stretch

Bernadetta is a creative writing major I don’t think I need to argue that one

Petra is a geography major. I was going to say international relations but in this sort of non noble modern au I think geography fits her personal interests. I know she hates math but geography lets her study so much stuff at the same time and it’s very Petra to me

Linhardt is a biochem major again I don’t think I need to argue that one

Caspar I honestly can’t imagine doing a four year program and I could not find anything that actually fit him. I could see him doing a two year certificate program or some kind of trade school in something like welding

Dimitri depends on how much we remove from the scenario. Kill his family and you have pissed off criminal justice major Dimitri. Don’t kill his family and you have forestry major Dimitri (based on that one convo he has with Dedue in hopes I just really love this concept)

Dedue is a horticulture major. I don’t know if this is exactly what he would choose to do, but it’s what I think he’d be happiest doing it’s just very lovely for him. I could also see him as a nutrition major

Felix is a kinesiology major. I don’t think he’d pick a major instantly, but I think he’d really click with kinesiology once that reason budding talent kicks in

Sylvain is a film studies major and I will die on that hill. It’s a communications adjacent major, which is what he’s consistently good at and he loves art and I think a lower level of urgency would let him get into it a little more. I could also see him in journalism

Ingrid I actually don’t know. She and Ashe both really leaned into the knight thing (Ashe at least had a very easy alternative for me to go with). I can see her as some kind of engineering major (I just don’t know what field) because it’s a very respectable career path and because Ingrid just has major woman in stem vibes

Annette is an education/mathematics double major ENOUGH SAID.

Mercedes I initially wanted to say nursing, but I think social work or child development fit her a lot better based on her ambitions. I’m leaning towards child development

Ashe is a classics major. If you’re going to look at me and tell me this guy would not lose his mind if you let him study ancient literature and civilization you are WRONG.

Claude I could see double majoring in anthropology and polisci. I think he’d throw in some sort of chemistry minor just for fun

HILDA IS A FUCKING MARKETING MAJOR. Fashion marketing of the school offers it but oh my god this woman screams marketing major I mean that as lovingly as I can. I know some schools have specific jewelry/metalsmithing programs but it’s not common enough for me to jump at it

On that same line of loving slander Lorenz is more than just a business major. He’s an entrepreneurship major. I honestly think he’d be really good at it though

Marianne is in pre-vet but we already knew that. She’s canonically helped a horse through labor

Lysithea is definitely a stem major but I have no idea which one. I could see her doing something insane like astrophysics. Actually yea Lysithea would fucking love physics. Or neuroscience

Ignatz definitely started off as a business major, crashed out, switched to art history so he could still feel “sophisticated” before finally committing to art

Raphael is a hospitality major and I need you to hear me out on this okay PLEASE. Most of what he’s interested in requires a large amount of math which this man does not care for at all and would die doing. His family runs an inn during three hopes, so hospitality is a very reasonable degree for him. He’d only go to college to help his family more anyway let’s be real

Leonie I think would like geology. I was between that and forestry because I think Leonie would be really concerned with environmental waste in a modern au. I ultimately chose geology because I think she’d eventually get bored out of her mind in forestry

Yuri is a sociology major. I was tempted to also throw polisci at him, but sociology I thought focused more on the things that he really cares about plus I think he’d die in a political science classroom

Constance is a biology major. I was going to say chemistry at first but then I thought about bioluminescence and thought yea. She’d like that. She’d like that a lot. I don’t actually know much about the specifics of stem majors so please correct me if I’m botching course material

Hapi I think would be a botony major. I just think she’d really thrive on figuring out all the different ways you can fuck around with a plant. Hapi I love you but I genuinely don’t know what the fuck she’d do if she went to college. I don’t think she would even want to go to college or she’d go in like her thirties

Balthus. I’m actually gonna need help with that one.

Anyways have fun bye

.

[criswritessometimes]

my hand has yours

contents - gn reader, fluff

authors note // wow! i have time to write! here's a part two of the hand has 27 bones, each of mine misses each of yours. enjoy everyone!

part 1 !!

it was only two days after you called schlatt in the middle of the night. you still missed him like hell; you had for his entire trip in japan. thankfully, you were working from home today, so jambo was sleeping, purring in your lap with soup on the floor by your desk, stretching his back out with his stomach on top. you still had your headphones on, listening to music, and no one was home, but it was still a force of habit. throughout the day, you have an email thread with your coworker talking about advertising. as you’re about to send your next follow-up, your phone buzzes. it’s face down, and you tell yourself you’ll answer it after you finish this email. it buzzes again; you feel the temptation to check it; you just need to finish this. it buzzes again and again. you huff while your hands hover over the keyboard. your phone buzzes one last time. to finally stop the buzzing, you flip your phone over to see the notifications; it’s all from schlatt

from: schlatt <3 hey i forgot my keys can you let me in? delivered: 1:03 pm

toots answer the door delivered: 1:06 pm

babeeeeee delivered: 1:07 pm

(y/n) cmonnnnnn delivered: 1:08 pm

you look at your phone, and your eyebrows knit together. a look of confusion washes over your face. this was a prank that schlatt played on you a few times. there isn’t a front door camera at your house, so occasionally, he would text you that he was at the front door. he just thought it was funny. you look up at the calendar above your monitor and see that the friday is circled with hearts around his name. you shake your head and giggle a little; he’s not gonna get you this time. your coworker sent you a follow-up to your follow-up, and you begin to type your response while going through your download to find the file to send her. through your headphones, you hear the doorbell ringing, and the rings overlap each other, like someone is sitting there constantly pushing it. you take your headphones off, put jambo on the floor, walk out of your and schlatt’s shared home office, and make your way to the front door. someone was messing with you; it was probably the neighbor's kid. you open the door, “listen dillon, i’m working, your mom is prob-” you say, ready to tell the kid to stop and that you’re working, but when you open the door, you see schlatt. you see schlatt. he has that grin on his face, the one where he knows he’s right. you’re stuck at the door, “i told you i forgot my keys!” he reaches in to hug you. you finally come back, feeling like you blacked out; schlatt’s arms are wrapped around you, and your arms are wrapped around his neck. when he pulls away, he sees you have tears pricking in your eyes. “awww, love,” schlatt lightheartedly chuckles, wiping your tears away. you didn’t even register that you were crying and also wipe your tears away, “wait no, i’m ok! good tears!” you reassure him. you step to the side so schlatt can enter through the front door with his suitcases. he shuts it behind him and puts his coat in the coat closet next to the front door. “i just missed you,” your arms wrap around him again once his jacket is off, “a month without you was longer than i thought.” “i know honey, i know,” he holds you for a moment and kisses the top of your head. “i got you something.” he whispers into your hair. you look up at him, “really?” “you say it like it’s a question. of course, i got you something, c’mon.” he rubs your shoulder and motions for the both of you to move. 

you follow him into the bedroom. he sets the suitcase on the ground and unzips it as you sit on the edge of the bed. he takes two suitcases again, this trip. one for his clothes and another for goodies and food to bring back. he shows you some food and spices he got and turns to you when something is behind his back. “close your eyes and hold your hands out,” he tells you. you give him a suspicious look. “it’s not like a bomb or anything, i couldn't' have gotten that through tsa even if i wanted to.” he jokes. you do as he asks and close your eyes while holding your hands out and open; you feel something fuzzy in your hands. you open them when the object stops moving, and schlatt retracts his hands. you’re speechless; it’s a small plushie of your old cat, otis. your family adopted otis when you were 8, and he passed away when you were a junior in college. he was your best friend; all throughout high school, he would sit on you whenever you were home; saying goodbye to him was harder than saying goodbye to your mom. you examine the plushie in your hands like it was made of glass. it had all the same marks in the exact same spots otis had. tears start to fill your eyes again as you look up at schlatt. “i found an artist on twitter who makes custom animal plushes, and i know how much you loved otis, sooo i contacted her and picked it up while i was there. I hope you like it.” schlatt’s eyes are darting around as he tells you, almost as if he’s bashful about the gift. “i love it.” your voice is choked up and small as you tell him, and you stand to hug him again. it’s tight as you press as much love into him as possible. 

you cooked for the both of you for the night. schlatt protested, wanting to keep it easy and get taken, but you told him at least you could do for him. To thank you for dinner, schlatt made a fire in the fireplace in the living room. later in the night, you and schlatt were on the couch; you cuddled into him as one of his arms was wrapped around you. the fire was crackling as the cats lay on the both of you. there’s a movie playing on the television but it’s hard to focus on since you have schlatt next to you and soup on in your lap, purring away. his fingers moved to intertwine with his free hand as the other one was petting soup. “damn (y/n)! your hand is freezing!” his hands wrapping around yours. “yeah, they’ve been cold without you to help warm me up.” schaltt felt his warmth seep into your cold hands as he pulls you into him tighter.

[blue-jisungs]

LEEHAN AND PEARLS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

( also, i woulf love to read something taesan & popcorn but you don't have to write it if you can't think of anything!)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ PEARLFISH 🧸ྀི — a soft evening with your boy that takes a giggly turn ( wc 582 )

[ extras ] um., word ‘anus’ like twice XD + i proofchecked everything online but if theres sth thats not correct lmk (im no leehan sadly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! HELP IRA IM SO SORRY I PROMISE IT WAS MEANT TO BE CUTE BUT EVERYTIME I WRITE FOR IHAN I FIND OUR STH NEW AND THEN I JUST STRAYED OFF ELCOXIAIAJAJ I HOPE U WNJOY IT !!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏😭

@kstrucknet ˙ . ꒷ 🐠 . 𖦹˙— @onedoornet

donghyun was almost dozing off. he couldn’t help it. it was so pleasant and warm in the crook of your neck, the duvet pulled over you two bringing fuzzy comfort. the sounds of his friends playing video games in the living room were like background noise. on top of that, the cozy music from your nintendo was practically lulling him to sleep too. or when you would run your fingers through his soft locks from time to time.

his ebony irises were glued to the small screen, observing your animal crossing character running around. 

when he was more awake, you purposefully went fishing so he could show off his knowledge. each one you caught, he shared fun facts. who needed blathers - an owl in the game that knows everything about fish, bugs and art - when you had donghyun? you would later then go to the museum, of which blather was the director, and fact check leehan. your boyfriend would snicker at the owl on your screen, praising its knowledge.

you could feel him drifting away. his breath got softer, his occasional love bites coming to a halt. you swore you could even hear his small snores. 

your character changed into a wet suit and you dived into the sea in the search of some goodies. you got so focused on your task, looking for the deep sea creatures (and chasing them if they happened to be mischievous).

suddenly, your character swam up and showed off a pearl. 

“did you know pearls are the only gemstones that come from a living creature?” donghyun’s gentle voice startled you a bit. you just let out a hum, encouraging him to keep talking. “everything else comes from the earth, let’s say”

“that’s interesting” you nodded “i’m keeping pearls. they sell well but i want to create a mermaid set”

“i bet it’s cute. oh gosh, did you know there’s a fish called pearlfish? the way it got its name is really funny. one little fella was found inside an oyster. well, it was dead but embedded within the mother-of-pearl. so like, the substances that create the pearl. i read somewhere that it probably took five years for the oyster to fully cover the silly fish” donghyun was now fully awake, fingers coming up to excitedly tap on your hand. “but pearlfish usually live inside clams, sea cucumbers, and stuff. so one could call it an accident at work”

he suddenly started laughing, air tickling your neck. you just smiled, wondering what got him so giggly.

“they live in sea cucumbers’ butts. they sniff them out first and then they wait for the anu-”

“oh ew” you started laughing too. your switch fell out of your hands, getting lost somewhere in the comforter. 

donghyun was a bit shocked when you turned to wrap your arms around his neck, now hiding your face in his chest. your body was shaking with your laughter, triggering his own too.

“would you still love me if i was a pearlfish living in a sea cucumbers’ anus?” leehan asked, which resulted in your laughs growing even louder. 

“i love you, goofball” you managed to snicker. his smile got wider, pulling you even closer. he treasured those words, his heart overtaken by warmth. 

“hey, you didn’t answer my question!” he whined and you just chuckled. well, he had one option to get it out of you: tickles. 

soon enough only giggles and laughters were heard from the room, even making his friends hear.

masterlist <3

taglist. @slytherinshua ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @bbangbies ,, @jvkeslvr

[karinamay]

pathos - the wrap up post

If you see this and you haven't read chapter 23 AKA the epilogue, I highly advice doing that first (here) and returning later if you are interested ♥️

Pathos at times felt almost like an elaborate art project rather than just a story. It consumed my mind for the past three months, and it will stay like that a while longer most likely.

Under the cut you can basically find a collection of playlists, moodboards, parts of my planning. A look into the making of the story, really. Also a tiny sneak peak into some bonus content I have planned? Maybe?

First things first: ✨the playlists✨

This is the playlist with all the program music: pathos programs This is a playlist for Luchiara vibes: you and me (me and you) This is a (cursed) playlist for Zallario vibes: it's all he has This is a playlist made by @queen-of-seventeen for Lillario in pathos specifically: Promise? I Promise

The breakdown of which program music goes with which person/pair can be found in the monster file below.

Click here for the✨Art Gallery✨ (This is still insane guys I can't thank you enough.)

As a treat: ✨Bonus content sneak peak✨

I have three oneshots lined up as bonus content, but there may be more. I have at this point turned pathos into the first part of a series on Ao3 so if you're interested you can subscribe to the series for when I write more "crows on ice". With that, titles of oneshots coming up:

when you came home with me

what a difference a year makes

earn it

That day I spent making everyone's ✨imaginary instagrams✨ instead of writing a single word:

(No, Viago would not have an instagram, I will die on that hill.)

Speaking of ✨Livia Arainai✨

The absolutely outstanding Livia Arainai is a character who belongs to @queen-of-seventeen, who was kind enough to trust me with her (and Illario) for the purpose of this fic. If you want to read more about "Lillario" I highly encourage giving I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight a read.

Finally, for ✨a dive into my psyche✨

This "document" includes the details of the program music, and a little peak at part of my planning process for the competition in pathos, as some of you have noted you'd find that interesting to so. (Definitely not all of it. You don't need to see my 20 page planning doc.)

Anyway, that's all for now, I guess. I never expected pathos to have more than three readers when I started it. It was just a super niche little modern AU that excited me and two friends. Watching it grow into something people were just as excited (and maybe a bit insane) about as I still am myself, was incredibly special. Seeing art and music being created inspired by my writing is something I can still barely wrap my head around. So if you're still reading this all the way to the end with me, know that you are part of what makes this story so special for me. It's been an absolute pleasure.

[madaboutmunson]

For @strangerthingswritersguild prompt

Piano player Steve and Guitar Hero Eddie Munson are forced to work on a project together in music class.

Steve suggests classical pieces, to which Eddie complains that they are boring or grumbles, “I’m not Nuno or Eddie Van Halen, man. It’s high school!”

Eddie suggests Metallica, Slayer, Venom, and Motörhead, to which Steve retorts, “And how do you suggest I thrash on my Steinway?” with patronizing air quotes.

Their teacher, clearly fed up, throws Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy onto the desk between them. The two fuming creatives, who are absolutely not speaking to each other, glance at the sheet music.

They both scoff. It’s dated, old, and lame.

The teacher, insulted, warns them that they had better play something together for the performance. Otherwise, they will flunk the class.

Neither of them can afford that.

Through the power of Queen and the influence of their idols, Mercury and May, they manage to put on a show, complete with Casanova-style costumes and candelabras that Eddie stole from Drama.

And, to Steve’s surprise, Eddie was right. The girls love it, especially when Steve hands out roses at the start, making the front row swoon. His jock friends stop teasing him the moment he starts to sing, and Eddie’s guitar hums to life, letting the crowd know the subject of the song is no goody two-shoes. Far from monogamous.

But as they play, Steve sings less to the audience and more toward Eddie. Or, when he dares, he closes his eyes and sings to him that way.

Eddie keeps his head down, using his mass of dark hair to steal glances at Steve playing, for all but the solo, when he throws his hair back, and the guitar and piano seem to converse with one another. Huge smiles break across their faces.

They don’t get A’s. That’s what happens when you insult the teacher’s music taste. But they don’t flunk either.

In the parking lot as they pack up, Steve, hands deep in his pockets and kicking at the gravel, says, “Well, I guess that’s that. Thanks for not giving up. I really needed that pass.”

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, man, no problem. I needed it too.”

There’s a pause as they glance at each other, then at the ground.

“You know, I read that playing classical music can inspire the most face-melting solos,” Eddie mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that’s true!” Steve says, having no idea if it’s true at all, but he’s already stepping forward. He doesn’t miss a beat. “I can show you some pieces that would sound really good on your guitar.”

Eddie’s bright eyes flick up to Steve’s. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s tone softens, as does his posture. “Or, you know, Queen is a good fit for us. I like that song more than I did.”

Eddie toys with a strand of his own hair, then shrugs, “Me too.” He smiles so wide his dimples puncture his cheeks. He clears his throat to dissipate them, much to Steve’s disappointment. He’s grown to like them too. “So… shall we say next week?”

Steve nods, already writing down his number. “Yeah. Next week. My place. Nine. I’ll get the drinks stocked. Will you need a ride?”

Eddie can’t repress his grin and thumbs toward the van behind him, though the thought of riding in a car with Steve doesn’t sound half bad.

Steve blushes, and that’s a new thing for Eddie to like.

“Yeah, of course. Your van,” Steve laughs softly, shaking his head, his hair moving with it. That’s cute too, Eddie thinks.

“Next week. Nine. Castle Harrington,” Eddie confirms as he hops into the driver’s seat. As he turns, he’s not expecting Steve to be at his window, looking right at him. He startles, but Steve doesn’t laugh.

Instead, Steve says, “Or tonight?”

“Eager much?” Eddie teases.

“Yes.” Steve responds fast and flatly.

Eddie has no choice but to turn to him, waiting for the follow-up laugh that never comes. Just a set of puppy-dog eyes boring into his own.

Eddie gulps. He can’t help it. When he replies, his voice is a little high-pitched. “Okay, sure. Tonight. Nine. Castle Harrington. I’ll be there.”

Steve’s smile returns, cool and smooth, just like Eddie has seen a hundred times in the halls of Hawkins High. He pats Eddie’s van, gives him a two-finger salute, and heads back to his car.

[dross-the-fish]

Thoughts on the unmasking scene in the musical?

Eeehhh

I don't love it. I feel like it drops the ball in a few places and it's placement is kind of off story wise.

Christine wakes up right after fainting post "Music of the Night", goes over to Erik at the piano, takes his mask off, and he rages and screams at her, all well and good. But right after he goes "now you cannot ever be free" she hands him back the mask and he immediately goes, "Come, we must return, those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."

ALW skipped over an ENTIRE WEEK. An entire week where Christine has to work on Erik to get him to let her go.

But hang on, there's a scene right after where the managers are panicking and the news papers are reporting Christine missing. What happened? Was she asleep for a week? Were she and Erik just hanging out for an unspecified number of days?

In the book there was an entire week where Christine was with Erik, trying to win his trust so he could be convinced to let her go. The musical completely takes that out of her hands and puts it in Erik's.

I feel like if you had to do it this way this would have worked better if you'd moved the numbers around a bit.

"Music of the Night" then "Notes" Then the unmasking scene. And then maybe as he's taking her back that's when you have "Phantom of the Opera" since the unmasking is the point at which she actually finds out he's not her Angle of Music and learns he's the Opera Ghost. Then all of those lines about "the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind" and being the mask he wears would make sense. That would be a great time for her to sound conflicted and have her grappling with finding out the truth.

I think this is ultimately the problem with the musical, it is not really an adaptation that can stand on its own. It's banking on the fact that you already know this story and can fill in the gaps yourself or won't think too hard about the logistics. It plays more to the audience's emotions than it does try to tell a cohesive narrative.

Phantom is carried by it's acting, it's directing, it's stylish production values and when it's good, the music.

The writing is easily it's weakest point. You can enjoy it without the book, I know a lot of people do, but I feel ALW wrote it with the expectation that the people watching were already familiar enough with the source material that he could get away with leaving things out, neglecting the timeline or flattening the characters.

Ultimately I don't find the unmasking scene as effective as I think it was meant to be. It has good build up and "Stranger than you dreamt it" is legitimately a good number but I feel like it ends so awkwardly.

Erik has his big blow up and Christine finds out he's not an angel of music, he's just some guy and all she can do is meekly hand Erik back his mask and let him tell her she needs to go back. Like he's scolding a child. Like she was there for a couple of hours, most of which she was asleep, and then she fucks up and he sends her back. It's giving "disappointed dad."

And then the scene ends and we get notes where we find out she's been gone long enough that the press thinks it's worth reporting.

[unnamednarrator]

i love you, i’m sorry

I still don’t know how that happens. How music just seems to flow from my literal fingertips and create the foundation for the story I need to tell.

For this story, the mission statement is easy.

Where do we go now?

thank you sm for your warm response to my previous update 🥹 it really means the world to me that you’re enjoying reading this as much i am writing it! as a thank you, have some more katniss writing gracie songs to process her feelings!

chapter 9 out now

[northernthiefcranberry]

finding a suitable playlist for your text means writing with all possible inspiration, then starting to sing along, and then hanging out for a few minutes, shaking your head, only to then curse yourself and go on to finish writing.

and if this is not the case, then it’s the wrong playlist at all.

[ratmonky]

have an inspection for my apartment tomorrow morning, my last day at my small ass uni apartment is today and i'll be doing my last bit of cleaning!!

i literally have nothing else in here other than my new laptop that i only do editing with so i spent last night and my morning just now writing lol

i've partially finished my dbd chapter (4k+ words atm) but it introduces another killer that the reader will be paired up with and the next segment is the michael myers' trial!! so my question is--- would you rather to have me post it now or after i've also written michael's trial? (might take a week or two to write and post michael's trial, if i post it now you'll have another chapter within the next month)

was gonna make a poll but i like to interact personally so let me know in the comments heh <3

i'll make it easy so you can copy paste your answers like this:

i waited 3+ years for michael i CANNOT wait any longer

i waited 3+ years for michael i can wait longer

[chloecherrysip]

Just Beyond My Reach, There's Someone Reaching Back For Me (speculative mario movie fic, mario & luigi centric, around 3600 words.)

[OK SO i literally could not stop thinking about this post in the mario movie tag from last week, which turned into me trying to write out my thoughts about how the scenario could unfold, which then turned into me writing a full-fledged fanfic that's over 3,000 words long??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I've truly lost my common sense, but I just felt like I HAD to get this out before the movie arrives and their reunion is nothing like this in any way whatsoever.

This is a speculative fic of just one possible scenario out of millions, no actual spoilers; i'm working off info we've seen in the trailers/TV spots/promotions/etc, and all the characterization is based off those too, so it might ultimately be off-base. Please don't @ me after the movie comes out and get on my case about details being wrong! I AM IN THE PAST (and jealous of you in the future for having already seen it).

I present to you: A Version Of Mario & Luigi's Reunion in the Mario Movie That Would Cause Me Irreparable Psychic Damage.]

----

Mario hears him first. He would know that panicked yelp anywhere. 

By that point, he’s lost count of how many of Bowser’s minions he’s tried to interrogate as he fights his way through the airship. There’s so much shouting and clanging all around him, and his voice hurts from yelling loud enough to be heard over it, but he can’t stop. “Where do you keep prisoners? Have you seen someone who looks like me — but tall, skinny, and green? If you take me to him, I’ll go easy on ya, I swear—” 

it’s hard to tell if they’re just refusing to answer him, genuinely don’t know any useful information, or can’t actually communicate in a way he understands — probably some in each column. But he’s about to grab another angry Koopa by the shell and try again when there’s a commotion far off in the distance. The yell that echoes out to him is faint, but it tugs hard at Mario like a rope tied around his middle. Something from his memories, the nightmares he’s been having this whole adventure that he hasn’t told Peach and Toad about. Something instantly, certainly familiar to him in a way that few things are. 

His heart is suddenly lodged in his throat. He barrels his way past the troops and the Kongs fighting them, moving fast towards it.

The area of the airship he’s in starts to slope down further ahead, surrounding a huge open space that, judging by the flickering embers in the air and heavy heat that’s got him sweating through his shirt already, has a whole bunch of lava simmering at the bottom. On the other side of the chasm, there are a whole group of what look like angry blue penguins beating down some feisty stacks of Goombas with their bare flippers. There’s also what impossibly looks like a star, with a face and everything, beaming bright and doing twirling cartwheels in the air, giggling at the carnage underneath. And behind all that, he can see—

Mario reacts without having to think. He jolts forward against the railing, reaches a hand out, and yells as loud as he can. “LUIGI!” 

He can only see glimpses of his overalls and green hat at first amidst all the other chaos, but then pieces of the ongoing fight tumble further to either side, giving a clear view. Mario watches wide-eyed as his brother frantically swats away Goombas, shrieking and flailing his arm furiously when one snags some teeth through his sleeve until it comes loose. He looks terrified and a little queasy, but also very determined, even jumping in to help when one of the penguins gets pinned down. They seem to be working together. 

Luigi is here. He’s really here, alive and fighting and still in one piece. Mario isn’t too late. It feels like a 20 pound weight’s suddenly gone from his back that he hadn't even realized he was carrying around.

His yell is half-drowned out by the chaos, but Luigi’s head still snaps up, eyes wide and stricken and bright with recognition. “Mario?” He cries out, his voice cracking badly. He kicks another Goomba away and then starts spinning, searching the surrounding area with increasing desperation. “Mario!?” 

“Over here!” Mario wishes he had another raccoon powerup so he could just fly across the gap and reach him right then and there. He has to settle for taking off his cap and waving it in the air like a flag. “Luigi! Over here!” 

Finally, their eyes meet across the gorge. It’s not necessary at that point, but Luigi still tears off his own hat and starts flailing it around too overhead, as if just to make absolutely sure his brother knows where he is. “MARIO!” He shouts, his tired face instantly transforming into a relieved, overjoyed smile. 

“Are you okay!?” 

“Y-Yeah! I mean, define “okay,” but I, I'm not hurt or anything like — wait, how did you get here!? We’re way up in the air!”

Mario’s face already hurts from how wide he’s grinning. “Not anymore! And whaddya mean? What do ya think I’ve been doing all this time? Looking for you! You don’t think I could find you wherever you are, even if it’s a million miles in the air? Give your big bro some credit, eh?” 

A laugh bursts out of Luigi, surprised and shaky. Mario has missed that sound so much. “Right, right. I did think…I mean, I hoped, or…” His brother shakes his head, his voice failing him. He lets out a deep breath, so deep that it’s almost like he’s been holding it in ever since they were separated, still smiling like the sun. “I knew you would. Mario, you — look out!” 

Mario turns just as a hammer goes whizzing past his ear, tumbling down into the lava pit. He dodges the next one more capably and then catches the third one that comes his way. In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he throws it back at the attacking Hammer Bro, nailing him in the face and knocking him out cold.

“Whoa!” He turns back to see Luigi staring with his mouth agape. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“It's kinda a long story!” There will be plenty of time to get into all the details about his adventure when he’s gotten Luigi safely out of an active warzone.  “What about you? I thought you were a prisoner here!” 

“I am! Or I was, I guess! We — me, and the penguins, and Lumalee,” he gestures wearily up overhead, where the blue star-thing is idly playing with a pinwheel that it somehow conjured out of thin air, “and the others — we broke out! We, ah, we’ve been trying to find a way outta here ever since, but this place is a maze and we need some kind of hot air balloon or one of those floating clown-car thingies to even get away in the first place, and—”

“Spinies at four o’clock!” One of the penguins shouts, at the same time that Mario yells “Luigi, on your left!”

Luigi jolts at the sight of the three spiky, spinning shells approaching fast. He jumps high enough to leapfrog right over them all, causing them to ricochet off the wall unexpectedly and careen off the side straight into the deep pit. 

“Nice, Weegie!” Mario cheers. “You always were the better jumper.” 

“Keep your head in the fight, soldier!” One specific penguin calls out to Luigi. He’s wearing a very fancy gold crown — probably their king? “We’re not done here yet!” 

“I know, I know, but look!” Luigi gestures excitedly across the chasm. “My brother’s here! He made it!”

“Good show! If he’s as brave as you said, he can help us beat back these dastardly troops once and for all! We’ll all see the light of day again soon!”

The rest of the penguins cheer, thrusting their flippers victoriously into the air, and then let out a wave of new, guttural battle cries. The Penguin King smiles over at Mario and salutes him before rejoining the fray. There are more of Bowser’s minions crowding the walkways on both sides, Mario realizes with a newfound wave of worry. He needs to get to Luigi now. 

“Stay right there!” He calls, starting to run alongside the railing. “Don’t move! I’m coming!”

“Are you kidding!? Wait!” Luigi starts running too, mirroring Mario. “I can meet you faster this way!” 

Mario laughs. “If you can keep up with me!” 

“You’re on!”

The road ahead of him is pure chaos, filled with attacking enemies and whooping Kongs and weapons flying every which way, but Mario runs. He runs until his heart burns, dodging and weaving, almost tripping here and there because he can’t stop looking over the gap to make sure Luigi’s still there on the other side, stumbling his way through his own gauntlet. The two areas are winding closer together, slowly but surely. They must meet somewhere. He’ll find it. He has to.

“Hey, Luigi!” He yells, breathless and happy. “Remember when we were fixing Mrs. McGrady’s sink a couple weeks ago and talking about the future? Did you imagine it’d be anything like this?” 

“Whaddya think!?” Luigi shouts back jokingly. “I-I mean, I imagined people being mad at us, but those were customers. There was definitely a lot less lava, and magic, and crazy green pipes that send you to places from your literal nightmares!” He laughs, which swiftly turns into a yelp when he has to dodge away from a red Koopa. The next words come out thicker, almost strained. “Mario, you, you’re really here, you — I missed you, I…”

Even with the distance and the distracting noise and the heavy breathing, Mario can hear the familiar tearing in his brother’s voice, and it pushes him to run faster. Luigi is so much braver than many people in their life have given him credit for, but he has a breaking point, and Mario can recognize it like the back of his own hand. Heck, he could use a good cry right about now too. They're so close. Just a little further.

He’s never been the biggest hugger — that title belongs squarely to Luigi, who always holds on a little too long, especially when Mario protests, swinging him up into the air until Mario has to grab him in a headlock and wrestle him down, both of them laughing by then — but he genuinely doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let go of his brother again once he’s within arm’s reach. 

“I missed you too! Every day!” He calls out, and if his voice cracks, well, that’s okay. “Hold on! It’s gotta be just up ahead!” There’s a solid wall coming up where they won’t be able to see each other across the way any longer, but the sharp curve of it looks extremely promising. “I’ll meet you on the other side!” 

“Okay!” 

The wall comes between them. Mario's finally in the clear, having left all the attackers in the dust. His legs and chest hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He's about to get his brother back. He feels invincible, unstoppable.

“I told you, bro!” He can’t hear Luigi at all any longer, but he shouts anyway, hoping the words reach him.  “Even if it didn’t turn out like we thought, it’s all gonna be okay! This is crazy stuff, but as long as we're—” 

Mario turns the corner and skids to a sharp stop. The words die in his throat, turning to ash.

Bowser is in front of him. 

The King of the Koopas nearly fills the entire space wall-to-wall, hulking and monstrous, even bigger than what Mario imagined. He breathes out an angry, deep growl that prickles at Mario’s skin, star-bright embers scattering in the air, the smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. But none of that is what Mario is focusing on. He’s frozen in place at the sight of Luigi, wriggling in one of Bowser’s gripped hands. A thick, scaly finger is coiled tight over his brother’s mouth too, keeping him from making any noise besides a variety of muffled, panicked sounds. 

“Thought you didn’t know him, Greenie,” Bowser says in a low voice to Luigi. “Wasn’t that what you said? Boy, you wouldn’t like what I usually do to liars. It involves fire — a lot of it.” His rows of sharp teeth part, just enough for a big exhale, tinged with molten heat. Luigi cringes, turning his head away as far as he can manage. He’s trembling. “But lucky for you, turns out you’re not entirely useless.”

It takes a moment for Mario to come back into his body, remember how to move and think. But slowly, his hands ball into fists. A voice erupts out of him that barely sounds like his own, grave and angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. 

“I’m only gonna say this once, ya overgrown turtle,” he says, shifting his footing into a fighting stance. “Let my brother go now.” 

Bowser looks down at him with a derisive sort of amusement for a long moment before laughing outright. "Give me a break, shortie! You’re even punier in person — 50 of you couldn't stop me. But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it? You and your little friends  — your pathetic excuse for an “army,” if that’s what you want to call it. But that all ends now.” 

As if on cue, Mario hears DK and a few other Kongs turn the corner, whooping and hollering, only to pause too at the sight of Bowser. “Let’s get ‘em! He can't take us all at once!” Someone says, and there’s a rush of new movement behind Mario. Bowser turns Luigi in his hand, holding him out a little closer to Mario with a shake of the wrist — a taunt. One of his claws pulls up just a little from the rest, the sharp tip arched and pressed lightly to his brother’s neck. The implication is clear. 

“Stop!” Mario shouts, half-strangled. He must sound serious enough that DK yells “hang on, hang on!” to his brethren, grabbing them with both arms and holding them back from attacking. On Bowser's other side, Mario can see the penguins watching what’s unfolding too with wide eyes. Even all the minions in the area have gone still, weapons lowered, waiting to see what Bowser does before making their next move. The space is suddenly quiet. 

The claw finally relaxes again. Luigi’s eyes are very wide, and there are tears on his face as he stares at Mario. He tries to say something, the sound of it hopelessly muffled against Bowser’s hand — an apology, or a plea, or simply Mario’s name. 

Mario is shaking. He grits his teeth hard, desperately tries to hold himself steady again. He hopes Bowser can’t see it — but there’s a gleam in the King’s eyes, and it couldn’t be any clearer that he does. 

“Do you know how long I worked on this plan?” Bowser says, his tone softer, more thoughtful all of a sudden.  “Orchestrating these invasions, gathering forces far and wide to serve me, taking the almighty power star for myself. I’ve wanted this for years!” His wide mouth curves up, plainly wicked and self-satisfied. “And now here I am, about to rule the world like I deserve, and a couple of useless, pipsqueak plumbers from who-knows-where think they’re just gonna waltz right in and ruin it for me.” Bowser chuckles to himself. It’s a dangerous, sharp-edged sound, echoing on and on. “Ain’t that a laugh, Mario?” 

Mario doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s breathing any longer. All he can do is glare.

Bowser shrugs. The large fingers on his occupied hand flex ever so slightly, a slow, malicious ripple of movement, all the scales glinting in a wave. “You’re less fun than I thought you’d be,” he says gruffly. "What does the princess even see in you? A tiny little killjoy who loves ruining things for others. Guess it’s only fair I ruin something of yours to make us even."

There’s no further warning or fanfare. In one brutal motion, Bowser crushes his grip tighter around Luigi. His brother’s mouth is still covered, but the way he cries out is starkly, unmistakably pained. 

Mario’s vision floods with red. Something inside of him, the patient, careful part that was still desperately clinging to one last scrap of self-control, snaps cleanly in two. He runs at Bowser full-speed, fist cocked back, teeth bared. 

“I said LET HIM GO!” 

He doesn’t make it there. Bowser, grinning outright, moves so much faster than Mario would have ever guessed he could. He spins, and his tail comes out of nowhere. The impact is like an oncoming train, catapulting Mario into the nearby wall with a sickening crack.

There’s a horrible ringing sound in his ears. His head hurts. He hears Bowser laugh, followed by a roar and a burst of fire breath, awful-smelling and close enough to singe. There’s a lot of shouting, and panic, and thunderous footsteps, moving in a hurry. He can’t think any longer. Why can’t he think? All that comes to mind is—

(They’re fifteen, hiding in their bedroom with some smuggled bandages and antibiotics from the medicine cabinet because if their mom finds out Mario punched out a kid behind the school, she will LITERALLY murder him. Luigi wraps each bruised knuckle carefully as Mario winces and complains about the stinging ointment. His brother looks angrier than he’s ever seen him before, though, and that makes him quiet again in a hurry.)

“You want him so bad?” Bowser is much further away, his voice a distant rumble over the flickering flames. Get up, Mario tells himself. He’s gasping, struggling to push himself back up with useless, trembling hands. His legs feel numb. Get up! “Then come and get ‘em already!”

(“You never stop and THINK first, y’know?” Luigi shakes his head, badly trying to hide the tears budding under his eyes. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault, and — and I don’t need you to do stuff like that for me! I can handle it, e-even if you think I can’t!”) 

“Mario!” That’s Luigi, terrified and wheezing, finally able to talk again. An intentional decision by Bowser, no doubt, just to be cruel. Mario can barely hear his brother at all, and the sound of his voice keeps growing fainter. “No! Let go! MARIO!” 

(“What are you even saying? That’s not why I did it at all!” Mario insists, using his uninjured hand to flick Luigi’s nose with a few fingers. His affronted expression at that makes Mario laugh, and the motion quickly turns into them trying to be the first one to swat each other in the face without getting blocked. At least the tears are forgotten, which is what he wanted from the start. “Don’t ya get it? I know you can take care of yourself. But if anyone wants to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me first. I’M the big bro, and that’s just how it is forever.”) 

Luigi! 

He’s standing again, even as his body protests every pull and push of the way, even as he’s still struggling to open his eyes. Someone strong and furry offers some extra support on his right side. 

“You okay, man?” Donkey Kong asks. “Geez, that looked like it hurt. Hey, anyone have an extra mushroom?” 

Stars are flashing across his vision, but finally they fade away. There’s a line of fire in front of them like a makeshift barrier, slowly but steadily dying out. Sure enough, Bowser and Luigi are gone. Mario’s heart lurches hard against his ribs.

“Setting a devious trap for sure,” The Penguin King grouses from further away. “Using one’s own flesh and blood! Does that dastardly Koopa’s depravity know no limits?” 

“I’m fine. Never better,” Mario groans. He points past the fire. “He went that way, right?” 

DK blinks, looking a little uneasy. “Uh, yeah, but we should probably regroup first and — hey! Wait a second, you idiot!”

Mario’s already charged full-speed ahead, jumping over the flames. Others yell after him too, saying it's too dangerous, but he’s running anyway, chasing the smell of molten heat, the faint, far-off echoes of yelling that feel like pinpricks in his lungs. 

He knows it’s a trap. He knows. He just doesn’t care.

He already let Luigi literally slip through his hands once before. Heck, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that alone. No matter where he has to go, who he has to fight, how much abuse he has to take, he's getting Luigi back right now, and he's gonna pound that overgrown bully's face until he regrets every life decision that led to him daring to hurt Mario's little brother.

It can't be too late. He can't have screwed this up again. He'll do anything. Even if...

The feeling of something on his cap startles him out of the thought — the softest boop-boop-boop, like someone very small is bouncing on it. He assumes he’s just imagining things until the blue star-thing (Lumalee?) floats down further, easily keeping up with his top speed, humming what sounds like a lullaby. Mario gawks in its direction. 

“The biggest sacrifices are often the ones that burn the brightest, out in space,” it says, bright and sing-song. “Did you know that?”

“What are you even talking about!?” Mario yells. “Sorry, but I’m a little busy here!” 

It’s unbothered by that, twirling close enough to give his mustache a little, playful poke. “Not existing any longer is natural, inevitable. We all go into the light someday.” The way it’s staring at Mario is unnerving, as though this little, creepy star knows exactly what he was just thinking about. “You look scared of that. Are you?” 

Mario swallows thickly. 

“No,” he says. “If that’s the only way, then…” His eyes are burning at the edges, just a little. “If the people I love are safe, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

Lumalee smiles a dreamy, thoughtful smile.

“Oh,” it sighs, little more than a breath. “This is going to be so much fun.” 

And then it floats away. 

Mario doesn’t have time to stop and wonder what that was all about. He throws himself deeper and deeper into the airship, even when a heavy metal gate slams down behind him to separate him from the others, even when the slabs of rock under his feet sink down into the lava from the weight and don’t resurface, erasing any way out. Mario thinks of his training, of Princess Peach and Toad cheering him on, of the exhilaration and hope he felt looking out over the Rainbow Road, of Luigi smiling in the warp zone right before they were ripped apart. He steels himself for what’s coming next.

Further ahead, he hears his brother call out for him.

Mario runs.