#i was insufferable and living in new york

[irrec]

OG Tumblr girlies link up

[namira]

Tbh I could never move to Portland or Seattle purely on the basis that they do so well in those 'Which US city would you want to live in?' polls that get passed around here and twitter.

[phantom-of-notre-dame]

With a lot of pining, usually.

Theatre nerds who don’t live in New York how do you do it

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding.  Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

regular taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253

comment taglist: @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @simpingformiddleagedmen @222hwilsss @michasia24 @vsplanet @himboelover @dangerousprincessharleyinhawaii @gibson-g1rl @gghostwriter @lilozg-123 @uranometrias @miley1442111 @welcometothemaraudersspam @ladycaramelswirl @callmekanytime @maxiismp @delusional-4-fake-people

[tomurderornottomurder]

pretty kitty; venom

pair. venom x gn!reader and eddie brock

summ. venom gets jealous of your cat.

gen. fluff

tw. written in one sitting, no editing

wc. 721

note. JUST saw venom the last dance. venom come home the chickens miss you. also am alive. writing is hard :/

Venom takes a while to get warmed up to you and used to you which was difficult because for most of that time you didn't know he existed. But through Eddie's friendliness with you and months of living in the same mostly cramped New York apartment, Venom grew a little attached.

"Eddddiieee!" He grumbles, about the hundredth time this week. Oh, poor Eddie.

"What is it this time?" Eddie hisses, already feeling his brain melting out of his ears from all of this new work. Spider-Man. The guy is impossible to get a read on and apparently Eddie's boss is obsessed with any information or pictures of the arachnid he can get. What his boss sees he really doesn't get.

"Look!" He shouts, contributing more to the mind melting. "The thing..." Venom says as if the little black fluff of a creature you're holding is alien entity. Oh, the irony.

You stand across the living room from the two, holding up your cat, kissing her cheek, cooing over the creature that Venom has deemed evil. (Definitely not out of jealousy, no).

"Y/n's cat?" Eddie asks despite already knowing where this is going. He's heard it all week. Every time you show your cat affection, Venom is practically crying over the lack of attention and care toward him.

Venom growls lowly like a disgruntled animal. "That should be me, Eddie. I can be a little black ball."

Eddie laughs at that. His companion might be insufferable sometimes but never ill intentioned. Although he had suggested eating the little cat at first but Eddie made it clear that was not an option and Venom grew to understand your attachment to the little black ball that isn't him. But he's still upset about it.

"I could be a good girl, Eddie. What does that puny thing with creepy eyes have over me?"

Eddie laughs again. "Fur." He answers, looking over at Venom as he emerges from his shoulder.

"Not funny." Venom grumbles, loud enough for you to hear.

You carefully set your cat down onto the couch before turning to the two, looking at them. Eddie averts his gaze back to his laptop but Venom seems to be staring straight at you. It's not unusual behavior for the symbiote, really, but it's always unnerving. Just a little.

"You alright, V?" You ask him, using the same nickname Eddie had first called him.

Eddie and Venom briefly internally argue before the symbiote speaks and voices his feelings. "I am not okay!"

That makes you furrow your brows and step closer, always willing to hear the alien out.

"I should be pet and kissed and called good." Venom states firmly, moving farther from Eddie and toward you. Your amused grin doesn't help and he's almost offended. "This is not funny. I am serious."

Still slightly confused you step closer and look to Eddie who as always when Venom has demands looks clueless. You look back to Venom whose tendrils slowly reach out. You step closer and let him envelop one of your hands in the black goo you're somehow still not used to.

"Like my cat?" You ask, the puzzles pieces slowly clicking together.

"Yes. Like the thing."

You smile at the nickname and step closer. You look to Eddie again who is still clueless and mostly trying to ignore Venom's antics. With your free hand, you slowly lift it to Venom's head and stroke what closely resembles a cheek. It doesn't take long for him to start purring, practically, and both you and Eddie are surprised he can even do that. Then Eddie's surprise turns into secondhand embarrassment and yours into amusement, affection.

"This is good. But it could be better." Venom rumbles, looking at you almost expectantly.

"You want a kiss?" You ask.

"Yes."

Meanwhile, Eddie internally freaks out at the table.

You lift both hands to Venom's head and they slowly get covered by his tendrils as you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek and then another and another just like with your cat. Venom is much more receptive than a cat even your dear cat and if he wasn't already goo, he'd be melting into a puddle.

"Is that better?" You smile softly as you pull away.

"No. More." So demanding. Never satisfied.

You can only laugh.

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter FOUR.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, minor injury, anger/threats of violence. || sfw. 3.1k words.

YOU HAVEN’T BEEN in New York in a long while, it feels like, and walking through the busy streets you think you might’ve missed it. It reeks of weed and you’re met at every corner by someone trying to sell you hop-on hop-off bus tickets, but you welcome the familiarity of the big city chaos.

You’re not the only one, either.

“New Yoooork,” Gojo sings, flinging his arms out dramatically. “Concrete jungle wet dream tomaaaaatooo!” A few stares are tossed in his direction, but he’s also not the weirdest thing on the streets of New York. Across the way, there’s a man meditating on Razor scooter next to someone dressed as Spider-Man.

Megumi stares at Gojo, unimpressed. “Those aren’t the words.”

Gojo stops and spins to look at Megumi with his mouth agape. “You listen to Rihanna? I knew it!”

Two minutes later, Yuji has joined in, and it’s clear that they not only don’t know the real lyrics to the song, but they only know this one part. It’s going to haunt you at two in the morning when you’re trying to sleep. Nobara is recording them and as soon as Gojo notices, he somehow becomes ten times more obnoxious.

You’ve already settled in at the hotel, and now at Gojo’s insistence you’re out with half the team, searching for dinner.

“Jet lag is a state of mind!” he protested when Kusakabe said he was staying behind to sleep.

“It’s not jet lag, it’s indifference,” Kusakabe intoned in that dry, unaffected way of his, and then left Gojo complaining in the lobby.

You wind up at a pizza joint and get it to go, because even if New York is crawling with celebrities to start with, a bunch of NBA players during playoffs season is a little too much unwanted attention.

It’s cool for April in New York, and your long-sleeve black shirt is perfect as the skyscrapers and massive shopping centers block whatever breeze might be coming in from the ports. You told Ieiri you’d bring back food for her, and you’ve fallen back to walk with Nobara as the team paves the way through the Manhattan streets.

Nobara is awestruck by the city, has been since you could see it out the window of the jet, and you can’t help but smile as she looks around and takes photos of everything in sight.

“First time in New York?” you ask, and she nods eagerly.

“I’ve always wanted to come. I’m from kind of a small town, but I think I was meant to live somewhere like this.” You believe it—she seems so alive here, the electronic billboards and flashing lights gleaming in her eyes like sun rays on open water.

“Oh, wait ‘til you have actual New York pizza.” You nod toward the team up ahead, because you made them carry all the boxes. They eat like horses. Or pigs, or whatever animal consumes entire pizzas in a single sitting. Nobara grins. She reminds you a lot of yourself, in your first year, so enamored with the novelty of the NBA and the travel and the pace of life.

It’s exhausting, but you still love it.

You love it as Yuta holds the door for the whole team and then you and Nobara and then gets stuck holding it open for another crowd of people coming in behind. You love it as Ieiri grabs a box of pizza from Kento and proclaims she almost died of starvation. You love it as the whole team, coaches and all, crowds the floor’s common space and demolishes every pizza in the span of half an hour, and you love it as you’re sandwiched between Ieiri and Nobara with the guys sprawled on every surface they shouldn’t sit on.

At some point, Toge silently pulls your laptop and clipboard away and sets them pointedly on a table across the room. You protest, but he silences you with a look. Hard to argue with someone who won’t argue back. You suppose you can take a few hours off.

By ten, the guys have started throwing greasy napkin balls back and forth. “Can none of you go five seconds without playing basketball?” you ask, and in response Gojo lobs a napkin at you.

You catch it, and he yells, “That’s our star player! D1, baby!” The other guys whoop as you hurl the ball back at Gojo and hit him square in the face.

There’s a chorus of ooh and she got you and you gonna let that slide, Gojo? And then the room devolves into a full on war of paper napkins. Yaga grabs the pizza boxes before they can be weaponized and leaves the room, mumbling something about plausible deniability and damage charges that you should probably take to heart but don’t.

You’re ducked behind the couch, gathering napkin balls for ammo and lobbing them at whoever’s nearest, Ieiri and Nobara on either side of you. The guys have turned on one another, Gojo making a point to hit Megumi as many times as he can and Yuji heroically throwing himself in front to save him.

You feel a napkin hit you in the side of the head, and you gape as Ieiri grins at you with another napkin loaded in her hand.

“Betrayal,” you gasp, and stand up, pointing to Ieiri. “Betrayal from the inside!” Yuta obligingly starts pelting Ieiri with napkins. Junpei, the sweet thing, is underneath the pool table creating new ammo from a pile of unused napkins.

You’ll have to shut it down at some point, avoid the noise complaints and make the guys clean the space up and hit the sheets. You imagine explaining a loss to the Phantoms because of an all-night paper napkin war bender. But for now, you just let yourself go, and you don’t think about the paperwork or the phone calls or the tournament or the paycheck.

And you love it. You do.

—

It's always strange, playing in other stadiums, but really you’ve only just begun to think of Jujutsu Arena as home. Manhattan's stadium is around the same size, but its massive, curving architecture gives it an entirely different energy. The real truth of “home court advantage” is, you know, the fans.

The stands are flooded with blue and red, signs for players you don’t know. You feel a little out of your element in this new conference. A good number of tourists and dedicated Sorcerers fans have shown up as well, but they’re nowhere near the majority.

No matter. You’re confident in your team.

They start off strong, Ino in his element, nailing shots left and right and center. Kento’s going crazy on assists and Gojo and Megumi seem to be even more in sync than usual. Yuji, per usual, is having the time of his life.

Hakari and Toge sub in after first quarter, and Yuta and Junpei get their time too. Really, the Sorcerers are just toying with the Phantoms, who never stood a chance in the first place.

The only real issue is that the same player who had it out for Megumi in the last game is even more confident on his home court, and it’s making you nervous. His fouls are becoming more and more flagrant, and the ref’s not even calling him. Some prick named Hanami, with a massive stature and unnerving face tattoos.

You’re about to mention something to Ieiri when the man absolutely barrels into Megumi, and whether it was malicious or he simply lost control of his momentum doesn’t matter, because he hits the ground hard.

Your heart lurches in your chest. The stadium goes quiet, or as quiet as it ever is, the anxious murmurs of thousands of fans overlapping with the shouts of anxious teammates and the squeak of Ieiri’s shoes as she runs out onto the court.

It’s not like players never get knocked down. Sometimes they’ll even stay down for attention or to encourage the foul. But Megumi hates attention, and he hasn’t gotten back up.

He’s still on the floor, shaky hand gripping his head, and Yuji is there on his knees in an instant. Ieiri squats in front of him, talking low and urgent.

You yank off the headset as the Manhattan commentators start speculating—you don’t want to hear it. Megumi pushes himself up on an elbow, trying to wave Ieiri off, until Yuji says something that makes him listen to her.

But suddenly, that’s not where anyone’s attention is.

Gojo’s got Hanami’s jersey in his fist, and he’s up close and personal, yelling at him with a lethal grit in his tone. You feel the color drain from your face. Something in him has entirely shifted. There’s no trace of the silly, fun-loving Satoru Gojo now. He’s angry, and you’ve never seen his bright eyes so dark.

Whatever he’s saying to Hanami has started to sound almost manic, like there’s nothing Hanami would be able to say to talk Gojo down—not that he’d even be willing to try.

Should you do something? He can’t get kicked out now—if you lose both him and Fushiguro, you’re really not so sure about a sweep.

And Hanami isn’t having any of it, either. His massive hand is wrapped around Gojo’s forearm, and you can’t quite make out his words, but they certainly aren’t an invitation to dinner.

Suddenly Kento’s yanking Gojo back by the elbow and shoving him toward the sideline, saying something sharp and angry under his breath. Gojo doesn’t look at anyone as he stalks off the court with fists clenched, and Yaga is on him in a half-second.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out there?” he barks. “You get your temper in check or you won’t see the court for the rest of the series. Take a walk, Gojo.”

You don’t need to look at the ref to know Gojo’s earned himself an ejection. He may not have thrown a punch, but one more second and he would have. The NBA is strict when it comes to violence. At least Hanami was fouled, though you doubt Megumi will be taking the free throw anytime soon.

Ieiri and Yuji get him on his feet and the crowd cheers, and you wish you could just tell them all to shut up. He clearly has a concussion, and the loud noise won’t help. But Megumi waves them off as Ieiri leads him back out of the gym to the training room for evaluation.

After review, Hanami isn’t ejected, and your fingernails dig into your palm hard enough to leave marks. There was no reason for him to go at Megumi that hard.

Gojo doesn’t come back. Yuji’s wringing his hands in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety, and the remainder of the quarter is played in a tense, unrelenting swarm of dunks and slightly-too-aggressive blocks. The Phantoms coach pulls Hanami shortly after the foul.

Christ.

You leave the gym before the half, making your way to a quiet back room to make a series of calls. You’re already getting swarmed on your work phone with questions about Fushiguro’s wellbeing, and soon Nobara’s joined you in the back room, undoubtedly experiencing the same thing.

After a few too many inquiries, you toss your phone on a table and head to check in with Ieiri. You can’t very well reply to questions you don’t know the answer to.

You catch her at the tail end of her standard concussion evaluation, and she has to argue with Megumi to keep him from going back out to the court. The only thing that gets through to him is her threatening to get Gojo. Not that Ieiri knows where Gojo even went, but the idea of it is enough to get Megumi to lie back down, grumbling.

She meets you just outside the door, looking exasperated. “That was fucking uncalled for. Ridiculous. Tell me he got fouled.” You nod, and she lets out a long breath. “Gojo?”

“Ejected. Probably in the locker room.” She sinks down the wall and groans dramatically, and you follow. “I get the feeling.” She yawns, and it makes you yawn too. “How bad?”

“Just grade one. He’ll be fine,” Ieiri says, and you feel the tension bleed from you in relief. “As long as he actually fucking rests. He’s so stubborn, it’s like Gojo.”

You snort. “He’ll listen to Yuji, at least.”

Ieiri eyes you for a moment. “Are they…?”

You shrug. “Hell if I know.”

Nobara appears a few minutes later, dropping your phone into your lap. “I should head back out,” she sighs. “Maybe if we flood all the social channels with three-pointers they’ll forget it ever happened.” You all know that’s not how it’s going to work, but it’s nice to imagine. “He’s okay?” Nobara asks. Ieiri briefs her on the concussion and Nobara sighs and nods before striding back in the direction of the gym.

You and Ieiri sit in a silent hallway for what feels like a long time. You track the score on your phone, and it’s not even close. According to Nobara, the rest of the team is taking this personally. No more playing around. They’re beating Manhattan into the floor, and Hanami hasn’t come back on.

“I’m gonna go find the problem child,” you say, and Ieiri cocks a brow at you. She knows who you mean.

“And you’re the best person for that?”

You shrug. “I’ve never seen him that… angry before,” you admit. “He looked like he could’ve killed that guy.”

Ieiri sighs. “Well, he did fuck with Fushiguro. And that’s the one thing you don’t do.”

You consider asking her what the hell that’s supposed to mean. And then you decide you’ll just make Gojo tell you.

You find him in the visitors’ locker room. You probably shouldn’t be in here, but the game is going on; nobody’s going to walk in until halftime.

He’s raking a hand through his hair, tense, stressed. Angry.

Worried.

His head snaps toward you in the doorway, and he immediately looks away, everything in him wired and on edge.

“He’s fine,” you promise. “It’s just a grade one. He’ll be good in a few days.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he’s pacing, looking like he’s two seconds away from pounding a fist into the wall.

“Gojo.”

“Tell me he got ejected.”

You sigh, which is answer enough.

“Fuck!” He kicks the air, at a loss.

“Gojo.”

“What?” he snaps, and then he freezes. “Shit. Sorry, I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you say, and you’re moving forward without really thinking. “Hanami’s a dick and he’s awful and he should’ve been suspended. I get it. But shit’s not fair. Just win the next game and you don’t have to see him again.”

Gojo sinks down onto an empty bench, groaning. “He can’t just get away with that, did you see how hard Gu—Fushiguro went down?”

“Ieiri’s got him, Gojo, he’s okay.”

He shoots to his feet again, unable to sit still.

“I’ve never seen you this… mad,” you admit. He sighs deeply and crosses the room to you.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this. I just—god, I lost it, didn’t I?” His laugh is self-deprecating, void of any real humor. “He’s had it out for Megumi this whole series. I don’t know what the fuck his deal is.”

“His deal is Megumi is a better athlete than he’ll ever be, and he thinks he can compensate with dirty play.” You hesitate momentarily, but the curiosity wins out. “You’re protective of him. Like, very protective.” You clear your throat, stalling. “I know he’s your teammate, your friend, but that was…”

How do you say this? How do you ask what they are to each other? “He told me you knew each other before he was drafted. But you didn’t play in college together, right?” You know for a fact they didn’t. You know all of your players’ college records like the back of your hand.

“I—”

The buzzer blares through the locker room speakers, but you’d probably have heard it even without them—that and the resulting roar of sound from the gym down the hall.

“Shit,” you hiss, and retreat toward the door. He was going to tell you. You were so close. You slip out the door with the intent of checking in on Megumi. You can hear Gojo exiting the locker room behind you, probably waiting for Yaga to walk in and start yelling at him for his behavior.

When you look up at him, the tension hasn’t left his shoulders and his gaze is still far away, anxious and unfocused. You reach up and tug the headband down over his eyes again. He huffs a laugh before peeking out under it, holding it away from his eyes with one hand.

“Thanks, Alley.”

You smile, and he smiles back.

Only seconds later, Yuji comes skidding down the hallway and overshoots the door to the training room, catching himself on the doorframe just in time. “Megs?”

“Itadori, get your ass to the locker room!” Yaga shouts after him, but he’s already disappeared into the training room. Ieiri walks out shortly after, immediately clocking you and Gojo. And then the team filing into the locker room, and Kusakabe approaching Gojo with a scowl that you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of.

Gojo glances toward the training room.

“Yuji’s got him,” Ieiri promises.

Kusakabe grabs Gojo by the back of his jersey and drags him into the locker room, already chewing him out for losing his temper. You sigh and let your head fall onto Ieiri’s shoulder.

Less than fifteen minutes and you’ll be back out on the court. You wonder if they’ll put Hanami back in. You hope they do, just so you can watch the team kick his ass.

Yuji slinks out of the training room a minute later, looking at you sheepishly before darting into the locker room. You hear Yaga shout something along the lines of about fucking time, Itadori and leave the team to their strategizing.

Hanami doesn’t come back on, and the rest of the game is a blur for you. It’s weird, watching the team play without Gojo, not even on the sidelines being obnoxious and making weird hand signals at his teammates. You’re back in the team area halfway through third quarter, taking more calls with Nobara, but you’re back in the gym in time to watch the Sorcerers finalize a 144-103 score.

You smile, but you don’t feel that thrum under your skin, the infectious enthusiasm. You have too many questions.

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan

[maaneskin]

I BELIEVE THE SUN SHOULD NEVER SET. luke hughes x f!reader

you leave for tour and luke doesn’t like it + your bandmate taunts him (bandmate3s name is lacy , part of the lore but i do not call her that in this)

another luke with rockstar gf thank you

lukehughes

liked by bandmate1 and others

lukehughes don’t go…… come back….. pls…. 😞

view all comments

user12 bros acting like she went to war

bandmate2 🫵 loser 🫵🫵

yourusername babe… i left 20 minutes ago

lukehughes 20 minutes too long 😞😞

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yourusername you’re such a hater 😭

user87 she’s so beautiful and for what

user45 they make me sick 🤢

user82 the way he’s holding onto her 😣 when will it be me

johnmarino @.yourusername please come back he’s gonna be insufferable

yourusername sorry i have a job to do 🤨

user66 i paid for my tickets with blood and i will see her live 😤😡

user93 do i want him or her?

user2 boaf

yourusername

liked by lukehughes and others

yourusername thank you new york 🤍🎸

view all comments

bandmate3 you’re so hot

bandmate3 break up with your boyfriend i’m right here 😚

lukehughes 🤺 BACK 🤺🤺 BACK I SAY 🤺

bandmate3 kissing her as we speak 🤭

lukehughes FUCK UOU FUCJ YOU

lukehughes baby call me please

lukehughes babe

user9 Luke Hughes I Am You

user77 WOOF WOOF WOOFFOWOFOWWOFF

jackhughes @.yourusername please answer his calls he’s almost crying

bandmate3 she’s busy 🤭

lukehughes WHATHRFUCJ

user5 luke losing it in the comments 😭😭

bandmate3

liked by jackhughes and others

bandmate3 @.lukehughes kisses babe

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user11 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

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bandmate1 LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

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lukey <3

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don’t let that EVIL WITCH take you from me

i love you

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lukey <3

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ofc 🤍

lukehughes

liked by yourusername and others

lukehughes @.bandmate3 fuck you shes mine

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bandmate3 not for long 👹

[dontsh0vethesun]

back in town

part one of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, lots of Christmas, hallmark movie cringe

for the sake of this fic, all characters are the same kind of age; ≈mid 20s

wc: 1.4k | part two

Serving customers their coffee has been an opportunity for a moment of peace lately. Wanda, as well as the remainder of your insufferable friends, had taken it upon themselves to set you up on dates. Somehow, their lack of success so far hasn’t managed to convince them of their matchmaking deficits.

So, during work hours, you’re bombarded with suggestions to which you decline time and time again. Apparently, being the Christmas season and all, it was a matter of extreme importance; the so-called ‘Christmas magic’ had to have a source of focus and, according to them, that was you.

You’d tried; the amount of boring and unsuccessful dates you’ve embarked on is almost embarrassing. You’ve had short lived relationships, fleeting flings, and so many blind dates you can’t even count them with all ten fingers. But none of them were right for you. None of the options were worthy to ‘cuddle up with by the fireplace’ or ‘entwine souls with beside a decorated tree’. Wanda had an optimistic take on your love life - you’d all be lying if you didn’t call her obsessed.

“C’mon, that girl in the bookstore was totally obsessed with you,” she spoke as soon as the customer in front of you had left with a smile and a cup of coffee in their hand.

“Wanda, please,” you groaned, busying yourself with the messed up counter, wiping down the surface hoping it’d will her away.

“She could be the one.”

“You say that about all of them,” you huffed with a laugh. She truly was a hopeless romantic. You hypothosise her obsession with your romantic endeavours is some haphazardly disguised attempt to draw away her own infatuation with a certain bookstore owner. It’s no coincidence you’re both in there so often and it’s definitely not because you have a crush on anybody there.

“Maybe this one’s different.”

“You always say that too,” you laughed. “What about you anyway? How about we get you a date with that woman you ogle, huh?”

“What woman? There isn’t a woman,” she defended, you saw right through her.

“The one that likes to give you discount on all those books you buy and never read. Agatha, is it?”

“Oh, look, you have a customer. I better get more coffee from the back,” she hurried out before rushing away.

Luckily your best friend seemed to have taken the hint for the time being and the next couple of hours passed with you working in your regular harmony.

“That man is always late, I swear,” Wanda spoke with a glance at the clock. Sam was meant to be in for his shift twenty minutes ago, though you find his lack of punctuality to be an endearing trait. And, as though his ears were burning, the man in question burst through the wreath-decorated door with quickened breaths from what you assumed to be a sprint into work.

“You will never guess who I just bumped into,” he shouted to you both as he pulled his coat off to replace it with the coffee shop apron.

“Santa?” Wanda grinned with an excitement an adult likely shouldn’t present herself with at the prospect.

“Better.”

“Nobody’s better than Santa,” she pouted.

“If it wasn’t an old guy in a red hat you’re gonna have a real sad boss to deal with,” you responded with a laugh.

“Well now I don’t wanna say,” he answered with a chuckle of his own.

“You can’t lead with that and not tell us,” Wanda countered with a poke to his arm.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“You’re kidding.”

The pair of you answered him at the same time, a mirrored disapproval in your tones.

“Nope. She’s here for the holidays.”

“What, New York’s not good enough for her anymore?” you uttered in annoyance, rolling your eyes before plastering on an appeasing smile to the customer that approached.

“I didn’t think the small town Christmas vibe fit her new Scrooge persona,” Wanda added with an equally annoyed voice.

“I dunno, I didn’t talk to her much, I came to tell you two. You know I like the gossip,” Sam answered with a smile, though he wasn’t so pleased with her appearance either.

“You can put your matchmaking shit on hold,” you stated. “All focus is now on ‘operation avoid Romanoff’.”

“Mission accepted as long as you come up with a better title,” Wanda returned. “A Christmas themed one.”

—

“Oh my God, I need to tell you all who I saw in town this afternoon,” Kamala practically squealed as she took her seat in the booth with the rest of the group. A girl’s night out at the local bar was a no brainer after the news.

“Let me guess,” Monica voiced. “Red hair, expensive suit, kinda scary, and a knack for ghosting certain people?” She added, tapping her chin with her face contorted into one of faux musing and a pointed look towards you with her final words.

“Pretty good at breaking poor innocent hearts?” Carol added with a teasing nudge to your shoulder to lighten your mood.

“She didn’t break my heart,” you scoffed.

“Just stomped on it a little,” Kate said with the same joking tone - if there was one thing you adored your friends for it was their way of making even awful situations fell a little less dire.

“Poked at it with her expensive stilettos,” Wanda added.

“Oh, so I’m the last to know,” Kamala sighed. “That’s cool, I guess. Not that I wanted to come in here with big, dramatic news or anything.”

“No, please, go on,” you laughed. “Who was it that you saw?”

“Natasha. Romanoff,” she exclaimed with all the dramatic flare she’d hoped to achieve. And, of course, you all gasped just as you knew she’d enjoy.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned.

“I know!”

“I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” Kate spoke as she stood up. “No gossip whilst I’m gone, you know all the drama gets my blood up.”

And so you all talked. And talked. And talked. Every detail of your relationship - or lack thereof - was explored. Her departure and the toll it took on you was examined and you remembered just how grateful you’ve always been for their support, they’re truly the best friendship group you ever could’ve asked for.

“Oh my God.”

The phrase was grumbled out by the three of you positioned in the line of sight of the door, the faces of you, Carol and Wanda all laced with discontent at the sight.

“Alright, look behind you but be subtle,” Carol instructed. “I’m talking to you, Kamala.”

It started off discreetly to begin with, Monica glanced over her shoulder with a scoff at the image behind her. Kate, somehow, was just as discreet but, of course, Kamala being Kamala an obnoxiously loud gasp followed her gawking. It drew the attention of those at the eye of the display you were staring at and two pairs of eyes looked back at you.

“What a surprise,” Yelena grinned as she approached with her sister in tow.

“Yelena, you were literally invited,” you grumbled. “You said you had plans.”

“There’s been a change in plans,” she shrugged, clearly amused at the awkward situation she was dragging you into. “My dear sister and I are joining you.”

“I’ll get more drinks,” Natasha mumbled. The first words you’d heard from her in years and she kept her eyes everywhere but directed towards you; something about the way she still buries her hands in her coat pockets when she’s nervous stirred up a stinging familiarity.

“Lena, what the hell?” Wanda whispered when the blonde smugly took her seat in the already crammed booth.

“What?” she shrugged, feigning obliviousness at her clearly deliberate actions. “It’s Christmas, even the grinch needs a drink.”

Speaking of, the redheaded grinch in question approached with a tray of drinks and an awkward yet fleeting smile gifted to you when she pulled a chair up to the end of the table. To your surprise, she even held your gaze as she slid your glass over to you though you couldn’t muster much more than an almost inaudible thank you.

“So, you’re back,” Carol spoke, leaning forwards with her arms resting on the table.

And that began the awkward evening. There was an obvious tension between the pair of you; Natasha answered any questions she was asked and you pretended not to notice the way she’d steal looks at you over the edge of her glass. You, however, barely spoke.

How do you talk to the woman that left you behind? Especially when she comes back into town looking even more perfect than before; you scold your lustful eyes for tearing your mind apart.

[jocelynscrazyideas]

I Know You | Matt Rempe x reader

Inspired by the song I know you by Faye Webster

Warnings: heartache, salty fluff/angst, language, depression, mentions of death, (if you every need help I’m always here to listen and support you- always reach out and I’m here bubbas), the blurb is kinda long lwk. NOT PROOF READ

Summary: after wanting to follow your passion and go for a job you’ve been dreaming of, Matt turns down your dreams and shuts you out. You feel insufferable without him but feel unseen for your love and potential when you’re together.

a/n: I’ve been thinking abt Matt and I was listening to this song on the shower and I was like “damn, this is it.” So I hope you enjoy.

📚💬: Lando Norris? Or I could make a new blog and post there but yippee 🥳 OML and I know everyone likes my smut work more but im proud of this piece so don’t be mean. MATT REMPE WOULD NEVER DO THIS IRL (READ THSI WITH A GRAIN IF SLAT)

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺༻

I had recently been really verbal about my dream job, being a Social Worker. I grew up in a family issued home, and I had recently gotten out. I want to let people know that there is safety and secure housing out there. That’s why this job has always been important to me.

It’s off season, Matt is off ready to train for the summer. Matt, my boyfriend if 5 months had recently told me to reach farther than the stars. “The sky looks like the limit, but there are most definitely more than one universe out there. Reach for the impossible.” He told me. Matty supported my dreams until he found out the job I wanted to take was in Wyoming.

Now it seems stupid but, I’d go across the world to take the job- im determined to rescuing the unseen.

“You should stay! Find a social worker association in New York! Please.” Matt begged. For weeks he would buy me flowers and take me out to dinner.

“Matt you just don’t get it!” I yell from the other side of our shared bed.

“I know you better than I know myself y/n! Of course I get it.” He shouts in my face. He stumps towards me. I crawl over the large bed and run out the room. I slam the door. Running for my shoes.

“You can’t just run!” He screams from the top of the stairs. He watches me slide my shoes on, he runs down the stairs as he sees me darting for my water bottle and the keys to my car.

“You don’t get it Matt! I lived it! You didn’t!” I immediately shout, he takes a hold of my wrist. He scoffs and lets me go. Dropping my heart, my stomach, my air, and I leave.

I have a work cell and a personal phone. Matt has my work number but not the location so I purposely left my personal on the counter and left. “You left your phone! y/n!” He shouts as I get in the car.

“Keep it! That’s how you’ll remember me! How you treated me!” I mimic him. Mocking what I had thought was the love of my life- which clearly I was wrong.

He runs after me. I see him dash inside of the house letting the glass door shut into the frame. He rubs out of the house once more, this time sitting the door securely.

Surely he’s just going to the grocery. No. He’s driving after me.

I take a sharp left, right. I pass through a light, I turn into a neighborhood, behind a blue house was a path. I park in the Parking lot they had taht sits infront of a large pink and organge playground. I take my keys and let my water sit in the car.

I tie my shoes and sprint away. I make it to .14 miles and I check to see Matt isn’t behind me. No one is on the path. I set my phone down and I tighten my runners belt.

I stuff my keys and push my phone in. I put my AirPods in and stuff the case into the belt. I listen to sad songs to fuel my running crave. I stretch after that warmup.

I hear cars passing by. “I’m sorry, i am playing hide and seek with my girlfriend, she is hiding with my niece I was wondering if you have seen her.” I stand up from my stretches.

What the fuck.

I’m behind a wall of bushes that hide the running path. I slide my head over, I peek through. Shit.

It’s Matt.

“Her name in is y/n. If you see her just tell her to meet me at the green marble.”

Green marble. The place I took him when he had his first panic attack after an nhl game. I calmed him down at this lake and it was super clear- really beautiful. The green marble was the place we spend the most time at together, our first kiss happened here, our last date was here.

The real reason why we call it the green marble is because I was wearing a green dress and he had on socks that I made fun of, they were marble/ tie dye.

~

Matt turns as I jerk back. He made eye contact with me through the bush. “Y/n?” He mumbles. He apologizes to the stranger he was talking to and walked toward me. I ran. I ran to my car. Letting him think I was getting in. I watch him turn around and head to his car.

He thinks he’s going to follow me out of the park. Nope.

I take off. I start on a small jog towards the duck pond they have. I run around this pond about four times which lead to about 1.43 miles.

I get tired of letting Matt eat away my feelings. I run back to my car, I stretch before I get in and I drink my water. I’m covered in bug bites and sweat. It’s 92F out, I’m wearing pink gym shark shorts and a black bra from alo yoga. My hokas are worn down, and my Nike socks are covered in dirt.

I head back towards home, then I see Matt’s car isn’t there. He doesn’t park in the garage so I’m guessing he’s just out drinking his emotions away.

~

“Meet me at the green marble.”

I never him saying to the stranger.

~

I reverse my car out of the driveway and I head to the lake.

“You actually came.” He laughed. Matt got up, wiped his hands on his shorts.

“How many girls asked to take a picture.” I laugh.

My mom used to tell me, “sometimes you just have to be the bigger person, let the other person think they have won the argument, but really, letting them move on is the best win. Forgetting and forgiving is the best gift you can do for yourself, and especially in big moments and relationships you’ll have when you’re older.” I think about it taht all the time.

Does it work? Oh yeah. It sure does. Matt falls for it all the time.

Ms I doing it right now? Of fucking course I am.

Do you know how some people say that men push away their emotions? Yeah Matt is distant, and I want him to be more open. He just gets insecure.

~ after the beach ~

Matt tried to shower with me, and i was okay with the thought of us showering together again. Until, “bubs, the hamper is full again.” He spoke to me. He looked at me like I was the only one who was capable of doing siad laundry.

“Okay.” I stared at him. I didn’t shower. I put on pjs instead. While Matt showered I packed a go bag, you never know when you need it.

I stored the bag by the shoes downstairs. I ran back upstairs to lay in bed.

“Matthew. We need to talk.” I mumbled when Matt came into bed. He leveled his head to mine and pulled me closer to him. My back still facing his front I pull my hands towards my face. Covering my face from any chance that I could cry.

“What do you want ti talk about?” He asked and kissed my cheek. He lay back down on his back and sighed.

“I wnat you. I all of you, you here in New York with me.” He voiced.

I told him before he got drafted- when we were still friends, that I didn’t wnat him to leave. You know what he did? He left for New York anyway.

“I made a decision. You aren’t going to like.”

“Y/n. I love you, I will come to your senses.” He laughed. He thinks my words are jokes.

Before I tell him I am leaving, I get up. Sitting up straight, getting out of bed. I made this decision about for seconds after packing my go bag, “Matt, I love you. I also love myself, and- I… I wnat to go to Wyoming.” I stutter and I see him sit up. Without hesitation he looked at me like I was a piece of garbage.

“No. Y/n this is something we talk about together.” He shouted at me. Spot flies out of his mouth.

“It’s my job, they offered me a really nice deal, they house me for a year and that’ll get me enough money to buy a nice house. I’ll be able to pay everything off my name.” I present him the idea of me being successful.

“No.” He lays back down, thinking I’ll say okay, and sit with him in bed again.

That’s not what happened.

“If you leave right now, we’re done. Yiu hear me? If you leave the room, we are not a thing, we are breaking up if you go sleep on your car, or sleep in the guesthouse.” He adds before I stepped out of the room.

I left. I grabbed the door before leaving and I ran.

I shoved my bag into my backseat, I had extra clothes, I had snacks, my work cell, blankets, my personal belongings I was okay to sleep in my car for atleast three days.

~

It’s been a year without Matt.

It’s been a year without me.

When I was driving to a friends house to spend the night, I never made it.

A drunk driver had hit my car, I came flying out. Following that, another driver had ran a red light, running me over.

I had six broken ribs, a fractured wrist, I tore my meniscus and my acl from landing on the pavement.

When Matt came driving behind me looking for me, it was only after Sarah- my friend I was going to spend the night, with called him.

“Hey Matt, um, y/n didn’t make it to my house. She said you guys are getting in it and needed a place ti stay. It’s been an hour since she said she’s on her way, it only takes 15 minutes to get to my house.”

“Okay? Maybe traffic?” He answered.

“No Matt, you’re not listening, it’s 2:07 in the morning. There is no traffic, we’re in the suburbs, no one is up right now except drunk drivers, I have something in the oven because I thought she would wnat a dinner but she never made it.” Sarah sounded sacred she couldn’t leave.

“Okay fine. I’ll go looking for her.”

“Matt, it was always going be you looking for her. If I went out for her, she would have left you.”

~

I was on the cold black pavement waiting for someone to come get me. I couldn’t move. My lungs are crushing, my car is broken, the drivers taht and hit me all drove away. So much pain is going through my body it feels like nothing is happening.

I took a different way then I normally would have taken, just in case Matt came looking for me.

“Matt..” I kept whispering. I’m bleeding everywhere. My head is cracked open. My arm is twisted in ways it shouldn’t be.

I try rolling over, I could not get on my side, but before I feel back down, I felt my stomach. My actually guts. My actual organs were in my hands. I rolled back down in the cold now flooded with blood road.

I see a car roll up towards me. I know that car.

“Matt?” I cough out blood. I can’t see.

“Baby?!” He called 911.

He curled over me. Putting pressure onto my open wounds.

I know better than to pass out, but I give up. I felt my heart beat slow and I fell asleep.

Alseep forever.

~

At the hospital I was out in machines to stay alive. There was 5% taht I would wake up again, but I would not be able to function the way I could before the crash.

Matt stayed with me for days, he never left the hospital grounds he was always there, he showered at home but that was only during non visiting hours.

He would talk to me.

“I know baby.”

“It’s okay. I know you.”

“You can go. I’ll be here doing this for you.”

“I know you.”

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #2 – Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly by Anthony Bourdain

Anthony Bourdain is a name I was very vaguely aware of, if mostly for the one clip of him not wanting to drink to the Queen’s health in Newfoundland and the quote about how much he hated Kissinger. So when I received this as a birthday gift back in August (and frankly the fact that I read it in less than five months is a sign of improvement. I still haven’t touched the copy of Shogun I got in 2023) I had only the very general idea that he was a big name celebrity chef, and this is the book that made him famous. Which is, having read it, actually pretty ironic.

The book is combination autobiography and gleefully vulgar, warts-and-all exploration of the the restaurant business (specifically that of late 20th century New York). It follows Bourdain’s life and career in more or less chronological fashion (though jumping around on several occasions, either for dramatic effect or just to follow a tangent) from the childhood vacation to France that started his love affair with food, through decades of variably glamorous ups and downs in the industry, to the rather enviable position he was in as he finished the book – and then, in my edition at least, an afterword that still seemed almost in shock of how unrecognizable his life has become since. Intercut with this are discussions of the food industry and the people who spend their lives in it – all told with roughly the enthusiasm and focus on the obscene of someone trying to earn some free drinks off their stories. Which Bourdain does fully cop to in the forward, to be fair.

The persona he writes as is at least a bit insufferable, but that doesn’t stop the book from being a really interesting and (mostly) fun read. It does have a touch of the 40-something guy reminiscing about his misspent youth and all the drugs and sex and petty theft at length before awkwardly coughing and pretending to regret it, but otherwise – I’m honestly not sure whether it’s the restaurant industry, the ‘80s-’90s or just New York but the cultural snapshot is just fascinating. And only partially because roughly nine in ten of the charming anecdotes sound like they’re taken from mandatory training about how not to act in the workplace. The things about the economics and logistics of running a restaurant, at least, were absolutely great. And the absolutely dire state of food culture in ‘70s-’80s America is just chilling to consider.

I got what I believe is the third edition of the book? Or, at least, it had both a foreword and afterword written years after the original release, and additional little hand-written notes in the margins at the beginning and end of each chapter adding his reflections on them ever more years after that. Which on net show a bit of a softening process and increasing regret at the utter contempt he had for e.g. serving staff when writing the original book. As well as a clear sort of anxiety or guilt at how much of a phony the him that had written it would consider his career since (full time celebrity and star of his own tv show traveling the world and eating, barely touching a kitchen, etc). Also the unfortunately funny dramatic irony of all the talk of his wife inexplicably putting up with and supporting him throughout a book getting capped off by a marginal aside about getting divorced since publication.

Anyway, great read if you like the Bear or are interested in restaurants/the dirty underbelly of things in general and can stand a decent amount of macho blustering. Great for airports.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my November 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Next to your Heartbeat (where I should be) by jaded25 (130k)

"We were meant to be but a twist of fate made it so we had to walk away"

All it takes for them to fall in love is one night. All they have to do is wait one year to see each other again.

Yet, when Louis returns after his year abroad, the boy who's got his arms wrapped around Harry isn't him. It isn't a stranger either, which should make walking away all that easier. After all, friend's don't lust after their mate's boyfriends.

Technically, doing the right thing should be easy - but when has Louis ever been known to taking the easy way out?

To Haunt a Heart by etherealbliss / @givesuethemoon (110k)

A high-profile double homicide in the quiet, small town of Ashford, WA sends shockwaves through the public. Louis, the lead detective assigned to the case, is headstrong, earnest, and desperate to prove himself. Harry, the widow of one of the victims, is insufferably rich, wears far too many vintage dressing gowns, and is desperate to prove he’s not guilty.

Their desperation unexpectedly blossoms into something beautiful behind closed doors, amidst the ticking time bomb of a slowly unravelling mystery that the two soon find themselves deeply entwined in.

Where Words Fail, Music Speaks by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow (45k)

Louis is a world class violinist. He’s one year over forty, living his best life in New York. One day, he comes to a small town in Connecticut where he inherited a house from his late father. The town looks nice and its people welcome him warmly. The problem is that Louis never knew his father and he doesn’t intend to change anything about it - his father can stuff his last will up his treacherous ass. In a strange coincidence, Louis meets town troubadour Harry, who seems wonderful to him just right until he reveals that Louis’ father was like a dad to him.

Even though Louis tries to convince himself that it shouldn’t - it hurts.

written for 1D Silver Fox Fest

Too Much, but It’s Enough by ohpleaselarry / @ohpleaselarry (40k)

There are about a thousand things Louis wishes he could go back in time and fix. A thousand things, and nearly all of them include Harry.

There are the more simple things, like showing him more support, telling him it’s okay to be himself, gently reminding him that a condom in his pocket is rather obvious in skinny jeans, but if he could just choose one thing, just one to change, he’d probably just have told the lad he loves him.

Always has. And always will.

Baby, What a Big Surprise by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou (33k)

As Harry settles into his seat, self-consciously adjusting his shirt over his slightly distended stomach, he can’t help but wonder how he got himself into all this. But he knows, of course he knows. It isn’t exactly easy to forget the moment that changed his entire life forever.

It all started with a party.

Or, the one where shy, quiet Harry has no idea he's a carrier, and a one night stand with the most popular boy in school shows him just how wrong he was.

Featuring Lottie as Harry's best friend, Niall as her boyfriend, and, of course, Louis as the popular boy with a soft spot for his little sister's quirky friend.

Into This Mess by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel (20k)

The first day of Louis’ promotion is going well, far better than he expected. That is until his new partner shows up, who just so happens to be the guy who stumbled half-dressed out of his flat that same morning.

Or the enemies to lovers detective AU.

Have Me And Hold Me by letsjustsee (8k)

His clumsy trips were now even more burdened by the sudden downpour. Twice he almost fell making his way back to the ceremony area, mostly due to his insistence on running across the lawn in between trips. The rain was relentless, coming at him from all angles with a deafening wind that muted everything outside of his own heavy breathing. He felt like he was making pretty good headway, all things considered. His pace was stalled only momentarily when, on his tenth or so trip, he thought about what someone looking out the window at that moment would see. Louis in his formal shirt and trousers, barefoot, stomping through the muddy lawn to gracelessly lug two chairs at a time towards the building.

Or, a wedding day AU in which Louis will let nothing stand in the way of a perfect day - especially a little rain.

If We Make It Through December, We'll Be Fine by penceypansy / @penceypansy (8k)

A job promotion of his dreams, an eight month long distance relationship, a cancelled train, and an emotional misunderstanding - Louis is just trying to make it home for the holidays.

No Faith Left to Lose by louieshalo / @louieshalo (7k)

Louis shoves an album booklet — Harry’s album booklet — into Harry’s hands, folded open to a familiar page. “I need you to tell me that that goddamn song is not about me.” His voice cracks a little in his vehemence, and ice fills Harry’s veins as he glances down at the creased page.

He doesn’t need to look closely to know what it is Louis is talking about — the title is printed plainly on the page, Second Chances, along with every incriminating lyric, line by line. It’s his most blatant offense off the entire album, probably; sickeningly indulgent and too obviously vulnerable to even defend himself against. The song is a surface-level dip into the fantasy world Harry toys with when the ache of loneliness gets to be too much in the middle of the night, the brief glimpse already toeing over the boundary he’d promised himself he’d set for his career.

Most damning, though, is the tiny embossed dedication at the bottom of the page;

“For who I’d be if I wasn’t afraid,” Louis recites, looking expectantly at Harry. “What the fuck does that mean?

or, the one where they miss each other more than anything.

With You I Am Never Alone by LiveLaughLoveLarry (SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFic) (6k)

Louis comes up with the idea of holding a Thanksgiving dinner for their families. Harry loves it. And him.

[miley1442111]

hii love ur content!!! single-handedly carrying sydney adamu x reader fans rn LOL. was wondering if u could write something w femreader x syd where reader is filling in for marcus as he takes personal leave for his mom? like something with buildup and clear romantic tension in the kitchen btwn them and possible hesitation to act on it from syd’s end when they work together but immediately get tg afterwards ?? if you get the vision!! thank uuu <3333

thank you for requesting this, i love this idea so i'm going to give it two parts if that's ok!

i will always push the sydney adamu x reader agenda

in a minute- s.adamu

a/n: this is PART 1 of most likely two but i'm not sure yet. this is intended for a femreader but you can ignore that and imagine what you want :)

summary: you get a call from carmen berzatto to fill in as a pastry chef, you have nothing better to do, right?

pairing: sydney adamu x reader

warnings: mentions of a difficult workplace environment, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of not communicating, cursing

Getting the call from Carmen Berzatto made you sick. He was your replacement in New York, he hated you, at least you thought he did. You were leaving New York for Paris, becoming a pastry chef after being sick of the stupid pressure and disgusting abuse you had gotten from restaurants over the years. Don’t get me wrong, being a pastry chef was difficult too, the insufferable people and bosses made you want to rip your hair out, but anything was better than New York. You had trained Carmen for a week, giving him your number in case he needed to ask any other questions. You assumed he’d deleted it. But no, four months into living in Chicago, teaching masterclasses and subbing in for people in various Michelin-star restaurants and bakeries, Carmen Berzatto called and asked if you could cover his pastry chef for a few weeks. You agreed and showed up the next day to see a restaurant that was not yet finished. Residue from walls lay on the floor, mould on the ceilings and an empty kitchen, bare of appliances met your eyes as you walked in. A pretty girl with headphones in stood in the locker room as you turned the corner and she startled when she noticed you. 

“Jesus! Y-you scared me,” she smiled, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you smiled, stretching out your hand for a hand shake. “I’m y/n y/l/n, is Carmen Berzatto here? Or his partner, Sydney Adamu?”

“Oh my god, you’re Y/n y/ln. Like the only woman ever the International Union of Bakers and Pastry Chefs named ‘best pastry chef’,” she said, shocked that you were standing in front of her. 

You felt heat crawl up your back. You still couldn’t get used to people knowing who you were, it was strange. “The very same,” you practically grimaced. “So, are chefs Carmen or Sydney around?”

“I-I’m Sydney,” she smiled, shaking your hand. “Sorry if that was weird, I just… yeah.”

“It’s fine, I’m just awkward about it, don’t worry.”

“Ok,” she smiled, then snapped out of it. “What are you- I don’t know how to say this politely-”

“What am I doing here?” you finished for her and she nodded. “Carmen called me a few days ago, I trained him in New York and he apparently still has my number. He asked me to fill in for Marcus?” 

“Yeah, ok. So… umm, yeah ok. That’s cool,” She said, still coming to grips with it. 

“He didn’t tell you?” 

“No,” she admitted, sighing. 

“He always was kind of a dick. Don’t worry, I bet he’s just cooling-off or something, he used to get so angry we’d shove him in the freezer for a few minutes to let him calm down.”

Sydney looked at you in bewilderment. 

“I take it that he’s still like that?” you chuckled. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Only sometimes though.”

“‘Sometimes’ is too much for me, if he starts pulling that shit I’ll send him out. He’s such a baby sometimes,” you reminisced. “Sorry, if that’s rude since he’s your partner.”

“Well, he doesn’t really feel like a partner,” she sighed, leading you to the office. 

“Not communicating?”

“Never. I didn’t even know we were pulling down walls until they were down.”

“Shit, that’s awful,” you sighed. 

“I’ll call him and see where he is, just wait in here,” she smiled and opened the door for you, then left you alone. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

WEEK 1

Working at the Bear was different to anywhere else you’d worked. The people there were interesting in a way that only people outside of the Michelin-restaurant world could be. None of the bullshit you’d dealt with in New York, none of the crap you had to put up with in Paris. They were professional, but they cared about each other. Tina had become a good friend in only the one week you’d been there. Richie was pissing you off enough to warrant stabbing- something that had apparently happened before, and Carmen was either there all the time, or nowhere to be seen. 

And then, there was Sydney. Sydney had essentially fucked you up. From the moment you’d met her, you knew you were fucked. Her soft smile and endearing awkwardness made her basically irresistible. It was embarrassing how in just one week, you felt like you couldn’t be in the same room as her, yet you craved to be near her all the time. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yo, you good?’ Sydney asked as you mapped out dessert ideas Marcus had sent you.

“Huh? Oh-yeah, all good,” you smiled.

“How do you like it?” she asked, cleaning the new silverware. 

“Like what?”

“The Bear?”

“It’s nice. Calmer than the restaurants I’ve worked in,” you answered and she laughed.

“This is calm for you?” 

“You should’ve seen Carmen and I’s boss in New York. Every night he’d make me stay until after closing, fixing any mistakes I’d made if I’d made any. After a while, it was just verbal abuse,” you chuckled and she smiled half-heartedly at you, her eyes missing the certain glow she usually had. 

“Sounds fun,” she joked, but it fell flat on both ends, then she walked away. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d made a fool of yourself, or made her uncomfortable. 

You internally kicked yourself. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

WEEK 2

You liked to pride yourself on two things, your standards in the kitchen, and your ability to stay calm under any circumstance. One of those didn’t apply to the current situation, and the other had been thrown out the window 3 minutes ago when this conversation started, more specifically, when Sydney started touching your arm. 

Carmen had finally come in and you’d gotten in a fight over the menu. You wanted something Marcus had suggested and Carmen wanted fucking fig rolls or something, you didn’t exactly know but you do know that it ended in you storming off to the back of the Bear and Carmen storming off to his office. You felt a swell in your heart when Sydney had come to you first, before she went to talk to Carmen. 

“You good?” she asked, accompanying you in the freezing air. You didn’t respond, still annoyed from the conversation. “Earth to Y/n?” Sydney had grabbed your arm and your eyes trained themselves on hers. 

“Yeah, just pissed,” you sighed, answering her first question. “He really doesn’t listen, does he?” You yawned. Sydney’s hand felt like it was burning itself into your skin. 

“No, he kind of refuses to,” she joked. “But if it makes you feel any better, I like your ideas more.”

“They’re Marcus’s ideas, just my drawings,” you were quick to deflect the compliment.

“Well they're beautiful,” she declared, with some uncertain meaning behind her words. ‘Well, you’re beautiful’ is what you picked up from her insinuation and your heart beat much faster than before. “Coming back in?” She dropped her hand and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“In a minute.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

WEEK 3 

Ok, so maybe you could pride yourself on just one more thing, the effect you had on Sydney. 

For the past two weeks, it’d been fleeting glances, the creating and taking of opportunities to touch each other, and small flirty conversation. Sydney had asked you to taste test some restaurants with her, and you had a great time. Conversation flowed, you felt relaxed for the first time in what felt like years, and you were spending time with the girl you liked. 

“Y/N?” You heard Sydney’s voice from behind you. “Behind!” she said. 

You had asked an old friend if you could borrow his restaurant's kitchen and he obliged, knowing he owed you a favour from when you saved him from being fired 7 years ago. 

“Yeah?” You called back, focused on your plating. 

“You almost done?”

“Almost,” you added the finishing touches to the plate and stepped back, a silent victory. It looked delicious. “Done!”

She handed you a fork and you took a bite at the same time. It tasted… terrible. You both spit it out into the sink behind you, then looked at each other and laughed. 

“That is god-awful,” you coughed, a laugh making its way out of your mouth.  

“Oh fuck that’s bad,” she laughed with you, a hand on your shoulder to brace herself. 

Both your laughters died down and her hand remained. She looked so beautiful, her hair pulled back in a blue bandana, her regular chef-white swapped for a green t-shirt and white overalls, and a smile on her face. You seized the moment and kissed her, it started out soft, cautious. Though it quickly divulged into something less sweet. Her tongue was in your mouth and your hands were roaming her waist. She gasped when you bit her lip and you smirked into the kiss. A buzzing noise pulled you two apart, heavy breathing and an uncomfortable stare of ‘what did we just do?’. You grabbed your buzzing phone, bag, and jacket, and left her in the restaurant. 

Was it the coward’s way out? Yes. Did that matter much to you? No. 

Not one bit.

[pumpkindwight]

Love In The Crossfire (Rafael Barba x Reader)

AN: This is my VERY first time writing ANYTHING for public eye, I want to start up a bit more so pleas be patient with my mistakes ___________________________________________________________

In the heart of New York City, where justice and chaos waged a never-ending battle, Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba and Detective Y/N were known as the stars of their respective worlds. Yet, in their own realm, they were notorious for their fiery clashes.

From their very first encounter in a crowded precinct, sparks flew—not of attraction, but of pure animosity. Y/N had just wrapped up a grueling case involving a victim of sexual assault when she was called to the ADA’s office for a meeting. She had heard of Rafael Barba, a man known for his sharp wit and even sharper tongue. And though she prided herself on being tough, his reputation made her wary.

Barba, on the other hand, was equally unimpressed. He found Y/N to be brash and too headstrong for her own good. As she entered his office, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Detective Y/N, I presume,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I trust you’re here to enlighten me on how to do my job?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m here because you need my testimony. And if you think you can bulldoze through this case without my input, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Their first meeting ended in a stalemate, with both of them digging their heels in, each convinced they were right. The tension was palpable, and it set the tone for every encounter that followed.

In the weeks that ensued, they found themselves forced to work together on a particularly complex case involving a string of assaults. Their meetings became a battleground, filled with sharp words and even sharper glances. Y/N would criticize Barba’s methods, calling him out on his courtroom theatrics, while Barba would dismiss her insights, insisting she lacked the understanding of legal intricacies.

“Maybe if you spent less time posturing for the jury and more time focusing on the facts, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Y/N snapped one afternoon, slamming a file down on his desk.

Barba shot back, “And maybe if you weren’t so emotionally involved, you’d see the bigger picture!”

Each exchange heightened their mutual disdain, but as the case progressed, a strange dynamic began to unfold. In moments of quiet reflection, they would find themselves unexpectedly understanding each other’s perspectives, each interaction peeling back layers of the other’s hardened exterior.

One rainy evening, after a particularly grueling day, they both found themselves working late at the precinct. Y/N entered Barba’s office, her frustration evident. “I can’t believe you went behind my back and called for that evidence,” she fumed.

Barba looked up, his brow furrowed. “I did what I thought was necessary for the case. You were too focused on your feelings.”

“Don’t you dare undermine my instincts! This is about the victims, not your ego!” she shot back, her voice rising.

The air was thick with animosity, but as Y/N turned to leave, something shifted. She paused, her voice softer. “You know, you’re not as insufferable as you pretend to be.”

Barba raised an eyebrow, surprised by her admission. “And you’re not as unyielding as you think.”

In that moment, they realized there was more to each other than their contentious relationship. Yet, pride and stubbornness kept them from exploring this revelation. Instead, they returned to their familiar banter, each encounter still fraught with tension.

But as the case drew closer to trial, they found themselves increasingly relying on each other. Barba began to see Y/N’s fierce dedication as a strength rather than a weakness, and Y/N recognized the depth of Barba’s commitment to justice beyond his cocky facade.

One night, as they reviewed evidence together, the conversation shifted from case strategy to personal lives. “Why do you care so much?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious. “It can’t be just the job.”

Barba hesitated, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability. “Because for every case I win, I know I’m making a difference. But the losses… they haunt me.”

Y/N softened at his honesty. “I get it. Every victim’s story weighs on me too. It’s why I fight so hard.”

As they spoke, walls began to crumble, and the realization dawned on them that beneath their hostility lay a profound respect for each other’s dedication and passion.

A few weeks later, as the trial began, the tension between them simmered, but so did something else—an undeniable chemistry that neither could ignore. On the day of the verdict, after a long and exhausting trial, they waited outside the courtroom for the jury’s decision.

When the jury finally returned with a guilty verdict, the rush of relief was palpable. Y/N and Barba exchanged glances, the earlier animosity replaced by a shared victory.

“Maybe we make a good team after all,” Y/N said, a genuine smile breaking across her face.

Barba couldn’t help but smile back. “I suppose even the worst partners can find common ground.”

As they celebrated their win with the rest of the team, they began to navigate the uncharted territory of their evolving relationship. What started as a mutual disdain slowly morphed into a bond forged in shared struggles and victories.

Months passed, and their late-night strategy sessions became something more—a time for laughter, shared meals, and stolen moments that hinted at deeper feelings. Their bickering turned into playful teasing, and soon enough, both found themselves thinking of what it would be like to take their relationship beyond the courtroom.

One evening, while sitting on the steps of the precinct after a long day, Barba took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” she teased, nudging him playfully. “This sounds serious.”

He shot her a mock glare. “No, really. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I can’t deny that I look forward to seeing you every day. You challenge me, and it’s… refreshing.”

Y/N’s heart raced. “I feel the same way. I never thought I could respect someone I initially hated so much.”

With their defenses down, Barba leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we should explore this. See where it leads?”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her, the heat of the moment igniting the tension that had simmered between them for so long. It was tentative at first, but soon deepened into something both passionate and real.

After pulling away, Y/N looked at him, a mix of surprise and delight in her eyes. “So, we’re really doing this?”

Barba smirked. “I guess we are. Who would have thought a little hate could turn into something so… interesting?”

Their relationship flourished, blending the lines between love and partnership. They navigated the complexities of their jobs together, supporting each other through the challenges of the courtroom and the streets.

As they embraced their newfound love, they found that even in the toughest moments, they could lean on each other. Together, they forged a powerful bond, one that turned their once contentious relationship into a fierce alliance of hearts.

And so, in the ever-evolving landscape of New York City, where chaos and justice collided, Rafael Barba and Y/N discovered that love could emerge even from the most unexpected beginnings, reminding them both that sometimes, opposites really do attract.

[dejwrld]

˚₊𓆩༺🎸༻𓆪₊˚ — summer of 22', choso kamo

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. — WHO THE HELL LISTENS TO CLASSICAL MUSIC?

ᩍ before reading please be advised of the following warnings — female reader, written with black reader in mind, humor/crack, noritoshi & choso are cousins in this cause i said so, profanity, this is quite self indulgent and kinda my own assumption & characterization of modern day choso, mentions of choso having a scar, mentions of character death (reader's mom), record shop boss!geto lol, two idiots that bond over music | mdni, taglist, masterlist, other creations

chapter playlist | are you with that by vince staples, wait a minute by willo, the less i know the better by tame impala

JAPAN WAS VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE STATES. A huge cultural shock compared to your busy lifestyle in New York City. You still could remember your father’s long lecture about being aware of your surroundings, don’t talk to strangers, going with your instincts in some locations, and so much more. You would think you were still that young sixteen-year-old girl who was raised by their single dad after the death of her mother, but you were of age. In the fall you would be a graduating senior at Julliard, living alone in a lovely apartment in New York City, teaching dance classes when you had free time, and doing many adult types of activities. You were a functioning young adult whose father still wanted to shelter you away from the world as if you were a hopeless Rapunzel. 

It took some convincing for your father to let you go to a ballet convention in Japan for the summer, especially if he was going to be funding it. You planned to rent out a room, get as much knowledge as possible at this convention so you could be prepared for your senior year at Julliard, and then return home. Your father didn’t agree with that plan. He only agreed when your godmother Utahime Iori agreed to keep an eye on you. 

Utahime Iori was an international ballet superstar and your late mom’s best friend. They met when they both were competing for the lead in Swan Lake, which was given to your mom. But your mother stepped down from the role when she became pregnant with you. The friendship between the two still blossomed from your mom being in the front row on the opening night to cheer Utahime on to your mom even keying Utahime’s boyfriend's car while six months pregnant with you. Utahime would always admit to you that your mom felt like she was her twin flame. They were insufferable when they were apart and together. Such a close bond and your mom’s death took a toll on Utahime. It hit her like a truck hitting a concrete wall at full speed. It sucked Utahime’s love for ballet right away, but the woman still stuck by your side during the journey of your ballet career.

She held your hand as the people around you threw pity your way during the funeral. She defended your passion for dance to your father as if she was defending an important law case. She did your hair for recitals. She stayed up late helping you come up with your Juilliard audition piece. She played the role of your godmother so well that you knew deep down your mom was smiling down on the both of you. 

You were so excited to spend the summer in Utahime’s home country. You knew she was going to want you to practice for the ballet convention because every summer—a dancer is chosen to dance an original piece in front of many known people. From choreographers, dance tour coordinators, and of course, famous ballet royalty. You didn’t want this spot to be given to you considering who your mother was and the fact that Utahime helped fund the convention in the first place. She told you specifically that you won’t get special privileges, that if it’s a better dancer—they will not think twice about replacing you. That’s just how wicked the world of ballet was. When it came to ballet, you didn’t have time to cry about not getting the lead in a dance when the time you were feeling pity for yourself—you could be using it to make yourself better. Those were the words your former ballet instructor explicitly told you and those were the words you kept in your head up to this day. 

“We need to lay down some ground rules,” Utahime stated as she placed a plate of food in front of you.

“Please don’t tell me, my dad gave you some rules.” You whined.

“No, these are my own rules,” Utahime said. She sat down at the table clearing her throat. “Practice comes first. I don’t care what you’re doing, I text you to come practice…come! This is not like the states, the dancers here sleep, eat, and breathe dance.”

“Okay.” 

“No big distractions. I understand you most likely will want to mingle, you’re my very beautiful goddaughter—but please remember what you’re originally here for.” Utahime adds.

“No Summer flings, gotcha!” 

“Okay, I didn’t say that. Just be mindful of who you are flinging with.” Utahime corrected.

“During your free time, please don’t associate yourself with the wrong crowd,” Utahime adds. “A ballerina with a criminal record isn’t cute no matter how good you look in your mugshot.”

“Don’t get arrested, noted. Any other rules?” You took a bite out of your food.

“Enjoy your summer, but please be mindful of what you’re here for. If you get to dance an original piece, it will look wonderful in your portfolio for when you graduate next Spring and that’s the endgame.” 

“Of course! So, can I go exploring?” You eagerly asked. You gave your godmother those innocent puppy dog eyes that she has seen so many times since you were younger.

“Fine, but please be safe. I will be stopping at the dance studio, so when you’re done exploring—meet me there.” Utahime says.

You pushed yourself out of your seat and would go over to Utahime pulling her into a hug. Mumbling many thank yous and even kissing her cheek. “Thank you! I promise I’ll be at the studio at a reasonable time!” You yelled as you were going to leave. 

You didn’t even let Utahime get a word out before you’re heading out of Utahime’s apartment and essentially you're home for the summer. You walked towards the elevator as you were walking, your face was buried in your phone updating your father on how you were doing. Even though he was most likely sleeping soundly back in New York, you still didn’t want to have him so worried during your three months here. You never understood the protectiveness your father had over you. Although it was a duty for fathers to protect their children as if their life depended on it—your father took it a little too far. Especially after your mother’s death, he once tried to take your love of ballet away from you. Arguing that it was the reason that broke your mom down and he refused to let you follow your mother’s dark path. Whatever that meant. Your mother’s death was a hushed secret that no one wanted to talk about. No one talked about what pushed her to do it, not even Utahime. 

So what exactly did your father mean by ballet being why your mother took a dark path?

When you made it to the street, you opened Google and decided to search if any record shops were nearby. In the guest room, you were staying in, Utahime mentioned it being a record player a close friend gave to her and you were eager to use it during your time here. However, she didn’t have any vinyl records at all. She claimed that her career pushed her away from home quite often, so what was the point of buying vinyl records for a record player that only was collecting dust in her guest bedroom? 

The first record shop that popped up was Suguru Records. You clicked on how far it was and wasn’t much of a walk. You placed your earbuds in your ear and soon Jazmine Sullivan was blasting through your ears. You took in everything around you as you were walking. From the architect of each building to the locals that are out and about. You enjoyed this atmosphere so much better than the busy streets of New York City during the rush hour of going to work or coming home from work. It was a soothing atmosphere and it made you even more excited to spend a summer here. Granted, the stares you were receiving as you were walking to your destination—it wasn’t anything new from the stares you received when you went to different ballet events around the world. 

When you finally got to the record shop, you entered it with a smile. The scent in the store was comforting, homely at most. The first thing you noticed when you entered it was empty. To you, that wasn’t good considering that anyone could come in and take what they wanted and leave. You figured that the familiar bell that would annoyingly ring when the record shop door would push open would cause the employees to hurriedly run to the front of the store. You let your fingers brush against the records as you walk down a random aisle specifically looking for the classical section. You can already imagine how beautiful the tune of a popular classical song humming out the record player while you practice in the living room of Utahime’s place. But as you walk around the record shop, you didn’t even see a section for classical music. However, you did pick up a couple of your favorite R&B albums as you were snooping around.

You heard the familiar bell and your eyes darted to the door and you saw a man with long black hair carrying a box into the shop. He had gauges in his ears and if you were being honest, if you looked closely—he looked familiar. As if you saw him on a magazine cover or something. When his eyes met yours and then scanned over the shop, he let out a sigh before slowly dropping the box he was carrying near the register. “Welcome to Suguru Records, I’ll be right back.” He flashed you a kind smile before disappearing in the back. 

You heard some ruckus in the back and what you assumed was the guy who greeted you voice, “I told you two gremlins to stop leaving the front end unattended!” 

Soon the gentleman returned with two guys. He had a grip on the back of their work uniform shirts as if he was a father pitbull lifting his pups by their fur to help them get around better. One of the guys looked at the long-haired gentleman and gave him a deadpan smile, “It’s a slow day and it looks like the customer doesn't even need help. You said it yourself, if it’s slow—Choso and I can work on our music.” One said.

The man let go of the back of the two guys' shirts and he would push one of them towards you. “Noritoshi, you start unloading that box near the register. Choso, you go help the customer before I fire both of you.” 

Noritoshi was near the register mumbling something under his breath before his boss glanced in his direction. “Do you have anything to say, Noritoshi?” The long-haired gentleman asked. 

Noritoshi shook his head, “Oh no, just asking if you were stepping out again, Geto?” He forced a fake smile.

“Yes, an old friend is in town. So please be sure to lock up when we close.” Geto pointed his finger at him and then at Choso before he exited again. 

You went back to looking through the records before you could hear someone clear your throat. When you glanced up, there he stood. The one who the guy called Choso, stood right in front of you. His hair was tugged into two ponytails. But it was one unique thing about him that caused you to stare at him as if he was the most attractive guy you’ve seen. A birthmark decorated his face that imprinted from his cheeks across his nose and on his other cheek. It was quite a unique birthmark, something you had never seen before. “Since that guy that just left signs my checks, I am here to ask if you need help with anything.” His monotone voice trailed off as he was avoiding as much eye contact as possible. 

“Oh yes—do you guys have anything from any classical composers?” You asked and you watched Choso’s face scrunched up in pure disgust. 

“Classical?” Choso asked. 

“Yes, I’ll take anything at this moment.” You said. “My godmother has this record player and I just know a classical record would sound so good on it.” 

“Classical?” Choso repeated just to make sure you understand what you just said. 

“Yes, did I not say it loud enough?” You asked in a frustrated manner. 

Choso held up his hand in a defensive mood and would glance over at Noritoshi who was unloading the box of new vinyl records they received. “Hey, check in the back to see if we have anything for the classical genre!” 

“Classical?” Noritoshi looked up and you wanted to question if the two were related with the way Noritoshi mimicked the exact face of disgust that Choso did. “I think we have some stuff in the back though.” 

Noritoshi waltzed into the back to search for the small number of vinyl records they did have. They weren’t selling, so Geto simply thought they were taking up space from other vinyl records. 

You felt the vinyl records that were once in your arms getting gently pulled from your arm. Choso would flip through your options and you watched as he was looking at your vinyl records quite impressed. He held up the vinyl record for Lucky Daye’s Painted, he had a sly grin on his face. If you were bold enough, you would admit that sly grin on his face was cute. 

“I have this one.” He said. “You have nice music taste, minus the classical thing.” He snickered before he handed you the records back.

“You don’t look like the type to like—“ Your words were cut off by him.

“Lucky Daye music?” 

“Yes.” You admitted as you pulled your records closer to your chest.

“Music is something so magical and versatile. It’s a bit insane to stick to one genre isn’t it?” Choso asked as his back leaned against the record case behind him. His arms folded over his chest and you instantly noticed that his broad arms flexed in his black uniform shirt that had Suguru Records on it. 

“But doesn't that contradict you making that face when I mentioned classical music?” You asked, your perfectly arched eyebrows raised at him.

He chuckles at your statement, “I guess it does…” His voice trails off as his dark-colored eyes gloss over your plump lip gloss-covered lips while he is searching for your name. 

“Y/N.” You answered. 

“I’m just curious as to why you would be interested in classical music?” Choso walked towards the register with you not too far behind him. “You don’t look like the type of girl who-“ 

Now it was your time to interrupt him, “See, you’re contradicting yourself again. You just said that music is such a special thing that you can’t just stick to one genre. Judging a book by its cover, something I did a few minutes ago.” You said.

Choso chuckled as he was beginning to ring up your vinyl records. “I guess we judged each other then.” Choso's eyes met with yours. 

“Yup.” You answered before immediately breaking eye contact. Your cheeks felt so hot at the moment like you were standing outside in ninety-degree weather without water.

Noritoshi came back with a box of vinyl records. “These are the only ones we have. I’m pretty sure Geto put them at a discontinued price also.” He placed the box on the counter. “If we were the managers, we would give you this box for free.” 

You giggled at his comment before flipping through the box. “It’s okay.” You picked three random types of vinyl and placed them on the counter. “I’m sure I’ll  probably buy them all by the time the summer is over with.”

You paid for the records and Choso gave you the bag with all of them on it. It was a cute black reusable bag with the store’s logo on it. Choso leaned against the counter and placed his head in the palm of his hand, never actually taking his eyes off of you. There you were completely avoiding his eye contact. 

Noritoshi was looking through the box of classical music vinyl records. “So, are you saying you actually enjoy this stuff?” He asked while flipping through the box of classical records. 

“I’ve listened to that genre since I was in my mother’s stomach. It’s practically imprinted in my brain,” You admitted as you could feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

You quickly looked at the text and saw Utahime’s S.O.S text message. She must have needed you at the dance studio. “But I have to run, godmother needs me. I think I’ll see you guys around.” You began to walk towards the exit but Choso’s voice stopped you & caused you to turn to look in his direction.

“Yes, you will.” He admitted with a smile.

Your cheeks burnt, your words got stuck in your throat, and your brain turned into complete mush. You couldn’t say much, but you returned the smile before eventually leaving the record shop as flustered as a teenager in a cliche Netflix-produced romance movie. 

“No distractions this summer, Y/N. No distractions this summer, Y/N.” You repeat to yourself as you are walking back towards Utahime’s place. 

But as you continued to walk, you could hear someone yelling your name. When you turned around, Choso was jogging up to you to catch up to you. 

“You should come out and see me perform,” Choso was fishing in his jeans pockets until he pulled out a tiny folded-up piece of paper.

“You’re a singer? You continue to shock me, but then again that’s me judging you by your looks again,” You admitted.

“I’m in a band. Well, it’s only Noritoshi and me right now. We’re still looking for other members, but I would love for you to come.” He finally unfolded the paper to reveal a flyer. He extended the paper for you to grab.

“I’ll see if I can make it. I’m going to be quite a busy girl this summer, so I don’t want to get your hopes up.”  You said as you took the flyer from him. Your eyes scan over the flyer that looked like he kept it as a souvenir more than to promote that he was performing. 

“You’re only going to be here for a summer?” Choso's eyebrows raised at you.

“Yeah.” You folded the paper back up to give back to him, but he motioned for you to keep it just in case you could make it.

Choso heard Noritoshi calling him from the front door of the record shop and he would slowly walk backward with a smile. His eyes you couldn’t read just yet never looked away from you before he’s parting his lips to speak.

“That gives us three months!” Choso says as he was walking backward.

“Three months to do what?” You asked out loud.

“Three months to get to know each. I’m kinda intrigued on why you’re a classical music fan in this year of 2022.” He yells back at you before giving you a sly wave and heading back into the record shop.

You turned around once again, flustered as ever. You couldn’t even hide the foolish smile on your face at the moment. 

This was going to be an interesting summer.

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tags. @maydayaisha + @spiderpunkfien @bbytamaki @honeybleed @luvliv4lifexoxo @smileyy-cakee

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[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

Got any headcanons for a Pennsylvania and Texas ship? Especially during football season, winter and summer...

Tbh I’ve never really thought of PennTex (Lone Keystone? Texsylvania?) being a ship, but there’s a first time for everything!

That being said!- (CW: proceed with caution, cuz they’re horny depressed old men)

oh my god. these two are INSUFFERABLE. They are literally making out every five minutes. Usually Penn instigating it.

I feel like their relationship probably started on them having drunk "say gex" after heated football games and that just happened to keep on happening and then that eventually turned to them hanging out more, which then went to them catching feelings, and so on and so forth…

I kid you not, Pennsylvania only learned what being gentle (aka, not being so Pennsylvania) was because he started dating Texas and very quickly learned that his type of aggression, even just his form playful aggression scared Texas A LOT.

^Note: Texas is fine with playful aggression (like play-fighting) as long as it doesn’t go too far.

And with that (above) being said, Pennsylvania kinda finds a genuinely pissed off Texas to be REALLY hot. Scary, but hot. Observe:

Texas, to someone that GENUINELY made him mad: *insert extremely graphic threat of murder and violence*

Mass, fearing for his and others’ lives: "Jesus….Ya gonna get im’?

Mass: "…Penn? EARTH TO PENNSYLVANIA."

Penn: "*looking like a lovestruck gay mess* huh?"

They are both buff boyfriends. Penn is a gym rat, and Texas has his giant farm that he works at, as well as an animal sanctuary.

Whenever Pennsylvania is upset he’ll just teleport to the meeting room, throw Texas over his shoulder, flip everyone off, and leave. And then they have angry cuddles.

As for winter/summer stuff….

Texas spends a lot of time in his own state, so that’s usually where Penn will find himself. Unfortunately he is completely unprepared for Texas Summer. He spends most of his time indoors, and when he isn’t indoors, he’s walking next to Texas in the fields and complaining about how hot it is.

Texas: "Penn. It’s only 90 degrees out today. Yer fine darling."

Penn: "*writhing on the ground in agony* IM BURNING ALIVE HALF OF WHAT I OWN GOES TO YOU, THE REST GOES TO PRINCESS (his pitbull :3) AND DONT YOU DARE LET NEW YORK OR EAST PHILLY NEAR MY BODY"

It’s about the same when it comes to Texas with Pennsylvania’s winter, except Texas isn’t as dramatic

^he literally stays glued to Penn 24/7, coiled around him like a snake, and Penn just walks around like that. If asked about the Texas-shaped scarf wrapped around him, Penn just says "He’s cold. Got a problem??? Wanna fight????"

Pennsylvania definitely has a gardening hobby and Texas is one of the only people that knows, and Texas sometimes lets Pennsylvania help with the farm.

Texas has made a rule that Pennsylvania is not allowed within five feet of the kitchen. Scrapple will never disgrace his kitchen again.

Pennsylvania is definitely an ass man. I don’t make the rules. Texas learned this pretty quickly.

Pennsylvania loves watching Texas workout and train (calisthenics mostly) but not just because he thinks it’s hot, but because he doesn’t understand how someone can be that fucking graceful and pretty (had to stick the pretty boy Texas propaganda in here somewhere)

[dramatiquechipmunk]

So, I write stuff. Mostly fan fiction that involves our favourite resident sassy vampire that's been living in my head rent-free since BG3 came out. But I also dip my toes into poetry sometimes.

If any caught your eyes, here's where you can find it:

Poetry

My Verses Know What You Did In the Dark - This is a collection of poems from my OC's, Octavia, notebook—a personal glimpse into her journey through the events of the game. These pieces focus on the relationships she builds with her companions, going from fully distrusting them to becoming something akin to found family. Since she falls in love with Astarion, a lot of the poems revolve around him. Their relationship is complicated, messy, and full of highs and lows, and I wanted to explore that in her voice.

Multi-chapter fics

Catch Me If You Can - 50's AU with Astarion as a detective Rating: E Pairing: F/M Summary: In 1950s New York, Detective Astarion Ancunin prides himself on being the best—until a high-profile case throws him into a tangled web of stolen jewels, shadowy adversaries, and a certain someone who keeps slipping through his fingers. In a city that never sleeps, where secrets lurk behind every corner, Astarion must navigate intrigue, temptation, and a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse that blurs the line between duty and desire. Marked by Fate - Follows the events of Act 1 of a circus-raised, morally grey Tav. Canon rewrite to make it more D&D. Slow burn and idiots in love who are bad at feelings trope. Rating: E Pairing: F/M Summary: Imagine waking up hungover… with a Mindlfayer tadpole in your brain. That’s Octavia´s life now, and to make matters worse, her fellow survivors include a moody cleric with too many secrets, a self-righteous warlock, an insufferably smug wizard, a charming but shady vampire rogue, a githyanki warrior with anger issues, and a tiefling barbarian who punches first and asks questions never. Their mission? Survive goblin warbands, hag bargains, infernal invasions, and each other—while racing against time to find a cure for the squirmy things threatening to turn them into mind flayers.

One-shots

Till they rest my bones on the cold ground, I'll be around (fluffy) Pairing: F/M

Still Standing. Still Yours (spicy) Pairing: F/M Double trouble (spicy) Pairing: M/F/M Seeing double (spicy) Pairing:F/F/M