#in the end i still don't know how to draw him

[salsakiyoomi]

clan head! satoru who's utterly infatuated with his maid, you.

he can't help himself around you, he really can't — all he's able to do is let his eyes rake over your form before he drops some stupid pick up line that somehow has you a blushing mess.

he loves you — not just for a fling or any of that, no. he really loves you, like, if you asked him to do a backflip while jumping off of a cliff, he'd do it. it was that type of love.

he was shameless about the liking he had taken to you, often flirting with you, making it clear that you were his favourite and ‘accidentally’ brushing up against you.

it wasn't until a few months ago that he decided to make you his personal maid — no one else got to see him up close but you. food? you brought it to him and then he'd order you to eat with him. beverages? he often made you share drinks with him. showering? you were the one that ran his baths and would massage his shoulders before them.

at this point, infatuated became an understatement — this man was totally head over heels for you.

“i want to marry you.” he tells you suddenly as you're serving him dinner.

your eyes widen with shock, “w-what?” you stammer.

“i said i wanna marry you,” he says casually, enjoying the blush that spreads on your cheeks.

you chuckle nervously, “nice joke, sir.”

he rolls his eyes playfully, “what did we say about ‘sir'? you don't get to call me that, it's satoru to you.”

your blush deepens, “right. uhm, you…you want to marry me?”

“i need to marry you.” he says, his voice serious and you chuckle nervously again.

“uhm….satoru, are you drunk?” you ask shyly.

he grins, “couldn't have been more sober.”

“right.” you hum, drawing out the word as you fiddle with your fingers, “well, i think you need to sleep then.”

“y/n.” he says, his voice soft yet firm, “i’m being serious here.”

at this point, you avert your eyes away from his, you couldn't stand the intensity of his gaze and you laugh awkwardly, “satoru, you know that…that can't happen.”

“why not?” he asks with a scowl and you shake your head.

“it's…inappropriate — i'm your maid, i am by no means someone you should court.” you tell him, your voice soft and quiet — albeit, you wanted nothing more than to be courted by him, you knew that someone of your status could never be with someone of his.

“i'm clan head.” he says firmly, “i get to choose who i want to marry — whether it's appropriate in their eyes or not, and i want to marry you.”

“but —” “no buts.”

he stands up and takes your hands in his, “i want to marry you, i love you.”

your eyes widen with disbelief, you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

“oh my god.” you utter out, still in shock as he grins, “so, is that a yes?”

you manage to let out a heartfelt laugh, “yes! oh my god, of course yes.”

and that's how you ended up marrying the ever so infamous, satoru gojo.

[darkcherryharry]

praise you like i should - 2

singer!harry x you wordcount: 4.4k summary: after harry secretly got y/n off right next to his friends, he shows you just how much he loves you for it contains: smut, pussy worship, squirting, multiple orgasms, p+v sex, unprotected sex, let me know if you think anything else needs to be tagged! a/n: hope you like! accepting prompt suggestions if you have any part one here 🍒 (you don't need to read it to read this one 🍒)

You could barely keep it together during dinner. 

Thinking about how Harry had fingered you and made you come right next to his friends had you on the edge of your seat, and you knew Harry wasn’t much better. 

When the movie had finally ended you both made your excuses - probably a bit too quickly - and booked it inside of the hotel to get to the restaurant. 

You knew you wanted to keep the moral high ground of making Harry sit through dinner but at this point it felt like a waste, knowing that underneath the table his cock was probably at least still half hard because it had hardly gone down for the rest of the time you sat on top of it watching the movie. 

You tried to keep it together, you really did, but once your dessert came out you couldn’t resist a little tease. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to rile him up just before you were going to head back upstairs.

“Do you still have your little problem?” you asked Harry curiously, balancing the teaspoon from your mousse between your lips.

Harry raised an eyebrow at you as if he didn’t know what you were talking about, but his cheeks being pink told a different story. 

“I don’t have any little problems,” Harry mused, cocking his head to the side. “Big problems, maybe,” he offered.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, having another melt in your mouth spoonful as you looked him over, making sure to bat your lashes as you did. 

“Alright, do you still have your big, massive problem?” You teased, putting on a bit of a husky sexy voice to emphasise the word and causing Harry to burst out in a loud laugh, drawing the attention of a table near you.

He slapped his hand over mouth and had the decency to look embarrassed, giving you the evil eyes before making a small apologetic smile at the other diners and waving them off. 

Once they were successfully distracted he eyed you again, cocking an eyebrow.

“You could find out, if you wanted,” Harry suggested. 

You looked at him curiously, wondering what he was suggesting considering you were sitting on opposite sides of the table before you realised you could work something out. 

As you slipped your heel off of your foot you raised your leg slowly, feeling around for his lower leg before making contact and dragging your pointed toe up the inside.

You kept your eyes locked on Harry as you travelled along his inner thigh, making sure to take it slow as you teased him, even taking another bite of your mousse so that he didn’t think he had your whole attention.

Eventually you reached the apex of his thighs, so you pressed the bottom of your foot against the front of his crotch. You tested how firm he was underfoot, definitely feeling some resistance and that he wasn’t completely soft. 

You watched from across the table as his lips parted when you started to rub your foot slowly against him, your smile turning wicked when you saw his perfect little pouty lips part and his eyes blow out so his pupil almost took over. 

“Doesn’t feel like that big of a problem to me,” you shrugged, still toying with him as he took a ragged breath. 

“You’re such a brat,” Harry replied, so you started to pull your foot away only for his hand to reach under the table at lightning speed and grab your ankle. “You really wanna walk out of here hard?” you asked him incredulously, letting your foot be guided back to his cock as he shuffled forward in his seat to seek more pressure. 

“Don’t care,” Harry replied, his voice a bit more gravelly than it had been before. “Worth it. I’m not gonna come for ages, anyway. Been too hard too long so I won’t last. Need to get you off a handful of times first. Need to worship you,” Harry replied earnestly as he ground himself subtly against your foot. 

“Baby,” you breathed, shaking your head at his desperation. “You’re gone, huh?” 

“Only for you,” Harry answered, glancing around as he squeezed your ankle. “Can we get out of here?” 

“You haven’t even finished your dessert,” you reasoned, but you were hardly against the idea. 

“You’ll taste better. I need you,” Harry responded, finally letting go of your ankle so that you could get your shoe on. He reached both hands beneath the table, presumably adjusting himself to be decent so you could leave, before quickly standing up to take your hand and guide you to your room.

And that’s how you’d wound up here, Harry pressing you against the front door the minute you got inside and locking it while he used his hips to pin you. 

“You look so beautiful tonight, y/n,” Harry murmured to you. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your stomach, his hands grabbing your hips and your waist as he dove in to kiss your neck. 

“Thank you H,” you replied, making a small moan when he roughly grabs your hip and the side of your arse. 

“I need you so badly. I can’t believe you let me make you come while we were just sitting with the band,” Harry insisted. It was like he was all around you, crowding your senses as you managed to get enough wherewithal to bring your hands up to lace around his neck. 

“Yeah? Did you like doing that?” you asked coyly as Harry moaned and rocked himself against you, flattening you against the door completely. 

“Fucking hell I did. Thought I was going to come just from how you felt around my fingers. You’re so fucking sexy,” Harry insisted, starting to tug at your dress and ruck it upwards, so he had handfuls of it and your thighs were exposed.

“Please let me have you, baby, I need you,” Harry begged softly, kissing down your neck and then onto your chest. Your dress was low cut enough that he could kiss between your breasts, his mouth hot and wet against your skin as he sucked the top of one in a noisy kiss.

“We’re barely in the room, H,” you complained, but it was half hearted as he rucked up your dress further and exposed your panties. He’d not given you any time to change, so they were still wet from earlier - and honestly from most of the dinner, since every little thing your boyfriend did turned you on.

“I don’t care. I need your pussy. Please y/n,” Harry insisted, moaning as he kissed your tits one more time before pushing your dress up higher, exposing your stomach. He started to sink slowly to his feet and dragged his lips over your torso, moaning and kissing and trying to convince you to stay. 

“You really are desperate, aren’t you H?” you asked him softly, watching him lick over your belly and suck on your hips before pressing his face directly against the triangle of your panties. He moaned on an inhale, his lips parting and you watched the sharp angle of his jaw as he greedily licked the fabric to get even just a trace of your wet. 

“More than. Want me to beg? I’ll beg you y/n. Your pussy’s not like anything else in the world. It’s the gate to heaven. It tastes so sweet and I’m the luckiest person in the whole world because it’s all mine,” Harry begged. 

“Please let me eat you out. I need to taste you. Need to make you come over and over so you know how mad you drive me, how desperate I am for you,” he added, moaning emphatically as he grabbed your thigh and slung it over his own shoulder so you were slightly more exposed. 

“Oh my god, Harry,” you mumbled, overwhelmed with how pretty his green eyes looked when he his mouth was on your cunt and begging for a taste. “Okay, okay, you can do it here,” you granted, his hand that remained on your thigh squeezing tightly. 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Harry responded, turning his head to kiss your inner thigh and then lick it, sucking to make a small mark and nosing his way back up towards your pussy. 

He then licked over the panties again, licking lower so he was closer to your hole than your clit and moaning to himself as he soaked your panties as if they weren’t already basically wet. 

“You taste so amazing. Do you care about these panties?” Harry asked you, and as soon as you shook your head no, he reached up with both hands and pulled firmly at the waistband to rip them apart, rather than remove your thigh from his shoulder.

You were secretly glad, both because it was hot and because Harry’s supportive weight under your thigh was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling and he’d hardly even started.

Harry desperately pulled at the panties so they travelled down your other thigh, enough so that you were out and exposed. Your dress was coming down almost over his head now that he’d let go of it, so you grabbed a handful and pulled it up, giving him some room to work with but also making it so that you could see him. 

He’d not even had the chance to take any of his own clothes off yet, still fully dressed in his trousers and button up you’d insisted he changed into, seeing as you were on a date and it was a nice restaurant, of course. 

“I love you,” Harry insisted earnestly once he caught sight of your pussy properly, pressing a kiss straight to your pubic bone. “I love your pussy. I love making you feel good, you’re so perfect,” Harry insisted, whispering his praise against your skin and giving you goosebumps.

You could feel the throb of your blood pumping in your clit, the teasing and the waiting driving you insane, even if his worship was making your heart feel full your arousal was definitely taking over. 

“Harry, please,” you whined softly, watching his eyes flicker up at you and his smile turn just a touch deadly before he leant in closer and rested his lips against your labia. 

“Please what, my angel?” he asked, his breath hot as he spoke and you squirmed as he started to press kisses over where you split open, the promise not quite enough stimulation to do anything more than tease further.

“Need your tongue,” you responded, gasping when Harry sucked lightly on your labia, like he might on your bottom lip when you were kissing. 

“Of course, my love. Anything for you,” Harry responded, moaning softly before tipping his head down so he could get right where you were wettest. He stuck his tongue between your lips and licked a fat stripe through you, making you cry out in pleasure and your free hand fly to grab his hair. 

“Oh fuck, Harry, yeah, just like that,” you encouraged, holding his head in place so he couldn’t escape quite so easily.

You felt the intrusion of his wet tongue again, sliding easily against you and his fingertips digging in where they were grabbing the fleshiest parts of your thighs. Then he went for it, licking and sucking like he was ravenous and this was the last meal he’d ever have. 

The sounds he was making were borderline ridiculous, wet and slurping with desperation as he fucked you with his tongue and got your wet all over his cheeks. You doubled over in pleasure as he played with you exactly how you liked it, and it was only after a long while of focusing on your hole that he came up for air.

Harry gasped loudly, his breath heaving but he barely got a mouthful or two in before going back for more, his mouth working its way slowly and surely upwards and towards your clit. 

As soon as his lips wrapped around it he sucked the small bundle of nerves, making you moan even louder and your hand grip tightly in his hair. 

“Harry, fuck, please,” you moaned, your body spasming as he licked fat stripes over your clit instead, clearly wanting everything to be as wet as possible.

“D’you think you could squirt on me?” Harry asked in a gravelly tone, sucking your clit again slowly as if that would help you answer and not just completely distract you.

“Um, uh,” you stammered. He’d made you do it in the past, but it didn’t always work, so you weren’t quite sure if you could do it on command. “I can try,” 

“Perfect,” Harry praised, running his tongue through the length of your pussy a few more times for good measure before he properly locked on to your clit, starting to suck on it rhythmically and run his tongue around in circles to possibly drive you mad.

You’d made the mistake of telling Harry your favourite toy to use when he was gone was your rosebud clit sucker, and boy had he done his research to try and replicate it. It was even better though, because Harry’s mouth was warm and wet and he could somehow read exactly what your body wanted.

“Oh my fucking god,” you cried out, thumping your head back against the door as you arched your hips to angle yourself more into Harry’s mouth. Your breathing started to get laboured, and even though it was so hot earlier, it was so nice now to be able to be as loud as you wanted. 

Harry was relentless in his pleasure, and when the crest of your orgasm started to get closer you concentrated your energy into bearing down, just like you had the few other times Harry had made you squirt. It felt like an intense pressure, building and building inside of you and when Harry did something that felt borderline illegal with his tongue you started to come.

Much to your relief you felt - and heard - yourself squirt in a gush between your legs. The sensation of release amplified your orgasm tenfold, and though you were starting to thrash about in overwhelm of pleasure, Harry managed to stay locked right on your clit as you rode the waves of your orgasm though.

You panted and whined, your body starting to twitch towards the end when he still hadn’t let up and you weakly pushed his head away to not much avail.

“Harry,” you panted, your legs feeling so weak that if Harry wasn’t holding you up you absolutely would have sunk to the ground. He let go of your clit - thank god - but that didn’t stop him from licking you lower and sucking desperately to get the taste.

“You’re so fucking sexy. Need you to come again,” Harry insisted, moaning to himself as he cleaned you up, licking where you’d dripped down your thigh before coming back up near your clit and sucking again.

“Ah,” you cried out, tugging his hair properly and finally managing to look down at him as you pulled him back.

Harry’s face was wet. You hadn’t realised you’d squirted that much, but the front of his shirt and even his trousers were soaked all because of you. 

“Please, y/n. That was everything. I’ve never felt more turned on in my life. I need to make you come again, you deserve it,” Harry begged, licking his lips and staring up at you with wild eyes as you kept a firm grip on his hair. 

You took a moment to catch your breath, clearing your throat and blinking a few times before nodding.

“Okay, but gentle,” you insisted. 

“I can do gentle. Thank you baby,” Harry insisted as you let go of the tight grip of his hair and instead carded your hand through it softly, admiring how insane he was for you and feeling warm low in your belly.

Harry leaned in slower this time, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he extended his tongue for a cursory flick against your clit, clearly testing the waters as he pushed around until he got direct access. He circled it slowly with an open mouth, the light sensation driving you just as wild as the intense sucks had now that you had already come once.

“That’s better,” you praised, so Harry smiled and pressed in against you once more, continuing the light and gentle turns of his tongue. You felt his hand sneak around, a more guttural moan leaving your lips as he sunk two of his fingers inside of your pussy at once. 

He didn’t thrust them or anything, just curling them to touch your clit from the inside and turn circles against it like he had on the bus. That combined with his gently tongue on your clit had your inner thighs starting to shake, so Harry used his free hand to press you into the door so you were pinned for support.

Your second orgasm - or your third, you supposed, if you counted a few hours ago - started to build low in your gut, getting imminently closer when Harry closed his lips carefully around your clit and started to suck again. It was almost too much but he made sure it was just perfect, the lightest little ministrations combined with his long fingers as if he were drawing it out of you and knew everything you were feeling.

Even though you were expecting it it still somehow snuck up on you, rocking through your body and making your hips buck up into Harry’s mouth as your eyes rolled back. It was slower and slightly less intense, but made your toes curl nevertheless and had you wondering when your shoe had managed to fall off. 

This time you got overstimulated quickly after your orgasm faded so you pulled his mouth away quicker, looking down at him somewhat desperately. 

“H,” you mumbled, not sure what you needed but Harry seemed to get the picture. He slipped his fingers out of you and guided your thigh off of his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on it as he got to his feet and started to support you with both hands.

“I got you, baby. You’re fucking amazing. You’re my star, baby, that was… god,” Harry rambled quietly, kissing over your neck before kissing up to your face. He was still wet from your pussy but you didn’t really care, happy enough to kiss him back lazily and be felt up as you remained pinned to the door. 

“Felt so good,” you insisted when you could get a word in, letting Harry adore you some more and feeling quite lazy and weak from your multiple orgasms, almost slumping all your weight onto Harry. 

“Can I fuck you y/n? Right here?” Harry asked you softly once you’d managed to catch your breath. The idea of it sounded nice, really, Harry filling you up. You knew he wouldn’t last too long given how hard he felt, but it would be the perfect end to this round of sex for the evening. Then he could clean you up in the shower, maybe a bath for round two, and then bed for round three. 

If you were lucky you’d wake up in the middle of the night for round four. You had to make use of the hotel room, after all. 

“Yeah, baby. Can’t stand though,” you pouted, the words barely leaving your lips before Harry reached behind you and scooped you up. He used his hips to pin you as he adjusted your dress again to give him the best access, then he eyed you with a grin.

“You know I’ll look after you, darling,” Harry told you, reaching for the straps of your dress and guiding them down your shoulders. He admired your bra, tracing the edges of it softly and taking his time even though you knew he’d be dying for it. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I’ll never be more blessed than I am being with you,” Harry insisted, reaching beneath you both to unzip his trousers and let them fall down his legs, getting his underwear down enough too and before you knew it he had one arm supporting your weight and the other guiding his cock to swipe against your pussy. 

He looked a state, his wet shirt and his mussed up hair. But he was beautiful, and he was going to fuck you good, so you never really minded in the first place.

“You’re beautiful too, baby,” you encouraged to Harry, gripping his waist with your thighs. You reached behind yourself, balancing against the door with your shoulder blades to give you enough room to unhook your bra and swiftly took it off, dropping it to the floor purely so Harry could enjoy your tits while he fucked you. 

“Fuck, y/n. You drive me crazy,” Harry insisted, finally tilting up to sink into you and letting you slide down on his cock. He got two big handfuls of your arse to keep you in place, and you watched as a serene expression melted all over his face from finally getting his dick wet.

“Told you, it’s heaven,” Harry insisted, leaning in to kiss you slowly. He stayed still inside of you to let you adjust, a hand wandering up to your tit and ever so softly circling your nipple until it hardened. 

“Yeah? You think so?” you asked Harry back, kissing him slowly and lazily for as long as he’d let you. 

“Know so. You ready?” Harry asked you softly.

“Yeah, babe,” you answered, but you still gasped when he gripped your thighs harder to pin you properly and started to fuck you against the wall. The first few thrusts was all he gave you to adjust before he started fucking you hard and fast, jerking your body up with each thrust as he rolled inside of you again and again.

His cock felt amazing, the perfect thickness and length and it was the only cock you wanted to take for the rest of your life.

You moaned and tipped your head back, deciding he deserved a treat so you moved one hand to your tit and grabbed it for his view, playing for a few moments with your nipple until the pleasure slowly turned into something you were just doing for yourself.

Harry didn’t seem to mind though, his eyes glued on you as he thrusted in and out of your pussy, his biceps looking swollen under his shirt. You wished you’d had time to get him to take it off so you could see them properly as he held you up against the wall, but you felt rest assured you’d see them later.

You felt them out instead, squeezing the firm muscle and making small little noises every time Harry got really deep. The gravity of the situation really added something, like when you rode him, making him feel like he was really splitting you open. 

“Gonna come in me, baby?” you tempted Harry, looking him over as you kept playing with your own tit, feeling the other one bounce on each thrust.

“Oh my god, yeah. You gonna come?” Harry panted, clearly getting a work out from fucking you like this, but you knew he had the stamina to work it out. 

You nodded, squeezing down on his cock with your pelvic floor and messing with his rhythm for a second or two while you made yourself tighter. 

“Yeah, think so. Come on your cock so you’ll fill me up,” you whispered to him, arching your back and relaxing yourself so that Harry’s thrusts could make you come. 

“Yeah, yeah, please, baby,” Harry begged you. You felt like you’d have tiny little bruises from his fingers littered up your thigh tomorrow but it hardly mattered, because right now you felt so good.

You really committed to this orgasm, letting the repetitive sensation of Harry’s cock sliding in and out of you guide you there. You kept playing with your sensitive nipple, squeezing and pulling it out and closing your eyes for a moment as you got yourself closer and closer.

Once you opened your eyes again, half lidded, all it really took to push you over the edge was to see how your boyfriend was staring reverently at you, the desperation in his eyes like he’d never known such bliss. You kept your eyes on him as you started to come again, crying out and clenching down on his cock firmly and stilting his rhythm again. 

Harry fucked up into you harder, moaning himself and pressing closer so he could bury his head in your neck and grapple at your hips. 

“Oh fuck, y/n,” Harry grunted, and you could feel from his sharp, slow thrusts that he was coming inside of you. You moaned and did your best to stay clenching on him, though your pussy was fluttering anyway from the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Harry’s breath was hot against your neck as he kissed you, and you felt physically a bit gross, but you were properly sated. You didn’t think it could ever get any better than what Harry gave you, since it felt like the world. 

“I love you baby,” you whispered to him once he stilled, still inside of you for now but you knew he was through his orgasm too.

“I love you too, my love,” Harry responded, picking his head up to kiss your lips. “Words aren’t enough,” he assured you. 

“Yeah,” you answered blissfully, giving him another kiss back and tilting your head up as you tried to catch your breath. “You’ll have to keep doing this to show me in actions instead,” you breathed. 

Harry giggled at you, fucking you just minutely with his half hard cock as if to teach you a lesson. 

“I can do that,”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Venom & Honey

Where Harry, a serial killer, believes he’s found someone exactly like him.

Content warnings: mentions of murder, blood, knives, cutting, and cursing.

Word count: 9.7k

Been working on this for a while and can’t believe it’s finally coming out 🥹

The first time Harry sees her, she's at the bar's far end, tucked into a corner where people vanish. Not literally—Harry knows what vanishing looks like—but in that subtle way quiet people fade when the world ignores them.

She sips wine, fingers curled around the stem, eyes down. Soft. Out of place. She doesn't fit in this town, in this bar reeking of whiskey and salt air.

Yet, there she is.

Something draws him. Maybe it's how she shifts when someone passes, shoulders tensing before relaxing. Maybe it's her parted lips, as if she's about to speak but reconsiders.

She's a doe—unsure, wide-eyed, skittish.

Harry likes that.

He waits, watching her drink, noting how she ignores her phone, waits for no one. Alone. That's key. He can take his time.

Minutes pass. He leaves his stool, approaching. Not rushed. Not eager. Effortless, as if he's just noticed her.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, sliding beside her, smiling. "Bar's crowded tonight."

She blinks, startled. Up close, she's prettier. There's a softness, an innocence most lose in childhood. He wants to touch her hair, see if she shivers.

"Oh—no, I don't mind," she stammers. "I wasn't—um, I wasn't saving the seat."

He smiles. She's nervous, unsure. New to this.

Perfect.

"Good," he murmurs, tapping his glass. "You local?"

She shakes her head. "Visiting."

"Yeah?" He studies her. "Family here, or passing through?"

Something flickers across her face. Unreadable. She tucks her hair back, smiling politely.

"Just... needed new scenery."

Interesting.

People have reasons for coming here. This town isn't a tourist spot—unless you know where to look.

"Funny," he muses, his gaze lingering. "People come here running from something... or looking for something."

She laughs softly. "Maybe I'm taking a break from real life."

He smirks. "How's that going?"

She shrugs, looking down. "Still figuring that out."

Harry watches her. She's intriguing. Not just sweet, not just out of place—but deliberate.

She came for a reason.

She's waiting for something.

And Harry?

He's never been patient.

Harry lets the silence settle between them, watching the way she tucks her chin, fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass like she's holding on to something fragile. She doesn't fidget, doesn't reach for her phone, doesn't try to fill the quiet with unnecessary conversation. That's uncommon. Most people scramble to keep up, afraid of pauses, afraid of what they might reveal in them.

But she lets the moment stretch, like she's at ease in the space between words.

That makes him want to unravel her even more.

"You don't seem like the type," he says finally, watching her over the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip.

She blinks up at him, confused. "The type?"

"To drink alone," he clarifies, tilting his head just slightly. "To slip into a place like this, quiet as a secret, and keep to yourself."

A soft laugh escapes her, and she ducks her head, almost shy. "I suppose it does feel a little out of character."

He raises a brow. "Does it?"

She hesitates, then nods, swirling her wine. "I'm usually not very… spontaneous. I like plans. I like knowing what's next."

Ah. That explains it.

She isn't reckless. Not the type to chase adrenaline, not the type to throw herself into the unknown. She's cautious.

He wonders what made her break the pattern.

"Nothing wrong with a little spontaneity," he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, just enough to make the words feel weightier. "You might surprise yourself."

She looks up then, really looks at him, her eyes searching his face like she's trying to decipher what kind of man he is. If he's harmless. If he's safe.

He smiles, slow and easy. He knows what she'll see.

Harry Styles, the charming stranger. The kind of man people trust without thinking, the kind they never see coming.

A little voice in the back of his mind hums with interest.

She's smart. Cautious. But she's still sitting here, still talking to him.

That means there's something underneath. A part of her that wants to step outside the lines she's drawn for herself.

And that?

That makes things much more entertaining.

"What about you?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "Are you the spontaneous type?"

Harry chuckles, dragging his finger along the rim of his glass. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice all smooth amusement. "You have no idea."

Her lips part just slightly, as if she's about to say something else, but before she can, the bartender stops by to clear away empty glasses, giving Harry a knowing look.

"Another one for you?" she asks, wiping the counter down.

He shakes his head, then gestures toward the girl beside him. "She can have one, if she wants."

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. "Oh—I—"

"Let me guess," Harry interrupts, leaning in just slightly, lowering his voice like it's just for her. "You feel bad letting someone buy you a drink."

She exhales a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Something like that."

Harry grins. "Consider it part of the whole 'stepping out of your comfort zone' thing."

She hesitates for only a second before relenting, giving the bartender a small nod.

"Alright," she says. "Just this once."

His smirk lingers.

She's interesting. A little cautious, a little hesitant, but… something about her feels like a challenge.

The bartender gently slid another glass of wine towards her.

Harry studied her, watching her throat move as she swallowed, her hands motionless when most fidgeted. She excelled at this. Not just playing coy. The practiced kind.

"So, just a fresh start, then?" he asked, feigning casualness.

She nodded. "Something like that."

He dragged his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "Most people pick somewhere exciting for that. A city. A place with distractions."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "I wanted somewhere quiet."

"Quiet," he echoed, rolling the word on his tongue. "Yeah, I s'pose this place qualifies."

Silence fell between them. The bar hummed—low conversations, clinking glasses, bursts of laughter. Yet in this moment, they existed in isolation.

She watched him. Carefully. Weighing her choices.

His lips curled into a grin.

"Y'know," he mused, his voice dipping, "I think I like this version of you."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured toward her. "The part of you that says, 'why not' instead of 'should I?'"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't usually let strangers psychoanalyze me."

He smirked. "I'm not just any stranger, though. I bought you a drink, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but warmth crept into her expression. Her guard lowered, imperceptibly.

And that's the thing about people like her. They miss the moment it happens.

"Alright," she said, shifting in her seat. "What about you?"

Harry raised a brow. "What about me?"

She tilted her head, studying him. "What's your reason for being here?"

For the first time, she pressed him.

He savored that.

Harry sipped his drink, then set it down, giving her a small, knowing smile.

"Oh, love," he murmured, watching her lean in unconsciously.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Y/N's lips parted. Curiosity sparked in her eyes. She didn't lean away. That's the thing—she should. He'd given her an easy out, an excuse to laugh it off, to steer the conversation somewhere lighter. But she didn't take it.

She lifted her glass, studying him over the rim before sipping. "Try me."

Harry grinned. Slow. Deliberate. All teeth and amusement.

"Alright," he said, settling back, stretching his arms along the bar. "Let's see... I could say I was born here, but that'd be a lie. Could tell you I moved here for work, but that wouldn't be right either." He paused, dragging his fingers along the condensation of his glass. "Maybe I just like it here."

Y/N lifted a brow. "Because it's quiet?"

"Something like that."

She watched him for a beat, and Harry wondered if she knew what she was doing—if she realized how good she was at holding his attention. Most people tried too hard. They flirted, they fawned, they tried to impress. But Y/N? She just existed in a way that made people want to lean in, to hear more, to know more.

"Guess we have that in common, then," she said finally, tilting her head. "We both like quiet places."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't know about that, sweetheart. You say you like quiet, but you've been sitting here talking to me all night."

She exhaled a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I could say the same about you."

Harry smirked, tapping a ringed finger against his glass. "Fair enough."

For a moment, they sat there, the air between them humming with something unspoken. The bar roared around them—music blared, drinks poured, voices overlapped in a steady, endless murmur. But somehow, it all felt distant.

She hadn't asked the obvious questions yet. She hadn't asked what he did, if he had family here, if he ever planned on leaving. Most people did, within the first five minutes of meeting him. But not her.

And he wondered if that's because she didn't care...

Or because she already knew.

Harry studied her, his gaze sweeping over the slope of her collarbone, the way her fingers curled around her glass. She looked soft. Breakable. But something lurked underneath, just out of reach.

"You always travel alone?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

She shifted. Not much, just enough that he caught it. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" he echoed, intrigued.

She nodded. "Sometimes I meet people along the way."

Harry hummed, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "And how do you decide who's worth meeting?"

Her lips twitched. "Gut feeling, I suppose."

That made him grin. "And what's your gut telling you about me?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at him—really looked at him, her eyes searching his face, like she weighed something in her mind.

And then, finally, she tilted her head and said, "I haven't decided yet."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I like you, Y/N."

She raised a brow. "You don't even know me."

"Maybe not." He lifted his glass, holding her gaze as he sipped. "But I've got a gut feeling."

And for the first time, he wondered if she was the one testing him.

The conversation hung between them, taut as wire.

Y/N held Harry's gaze, unrushed to break the quiet. Most people fidgeted when Harry didn't offer an easy out. They stammered, tripped over their curiosity. But she sat still, unreadable, as if time meant nothing.

Harry itched to unravel her.

"You always trust your gut?" she asked, tapping her fingernail on her glass stem.

Harry's mouth curved. "Never failed me."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "You sound certain."

He chuckled, deep in his throat. "That bad?"

She paused, considering. "Depends if you're right."

His grin widened.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, eyes locked on hers, "I'm always right."

She laughed then—soft, genuine. A pleasant sound, but Harry knew better. She slipped from his grasp before he could close his fingers around her.

Clever girl.

"I'll stick around and see," she mused, tilting her wine glass.

That caught his attention.

She planned to stay.

It thrilled him more than it should. Something about her made him want to push, to uncover why she sat here, in his town, his bar, talking to him.

"I'll make it simple," he said, placing a twenty on the counter and signaling the bartender. "Walk with me."

She paused. Barely noticeable, but he caught it.

Harry waited. He didn't backtrack or reassure. He watched her, let the choice weigh on her.

Slowly, she nodded.

"Fine," she murmured, standing as he did. "Don't get me lost."

Harry smirked, pocketing his hands as he led her to the door.

"Love," he drawled, pushing it open, "Where's the fun in that?"

Night air enveloped them, thick with salt and damp earth. Streets lay quiet, occasional headlights cutting through darkness. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, not quite shivering.

Harry's eyes sharpened in the streetlight glow.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sure?"

She glanced at him, something flashing across her face. "You always double your questions?"

Harry chuckled. "When I want truth."

Y/N exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "I told you. I'm fine."

He believed her.

For now.

They walked, waves crashing in the distance. This town wasn't built for excitement. People vanished into the scenery here. No one asked questions.

Perfect for someone like him.

"Why'd you really come here?" Harry asked, glancing over.

Y/N tilted her head. "I needed a change."

"Mm." He nodded slowly. "You picked nowhere for that?"

Her lips twitched. "I like quiet, remember?"

"Right," he murmured, tongue grazing his bottom lip. "Quiet places."

He wondered if she knew what she did. If she realized she balanced on a blade's edge, toeing the line between harmless and much darker.

She didn't look afraid.

Most people sensed something in him, even unnamed. Their instincts recognized danger. They hesitated, eyes darting to exits, fingers twitching to flee.

But Y/N?

She walked beside him, matching his stride.

That made her different.

That made her interesting.

"You trust strangers often?" he asked casually.

She laughed softly. "What makes you think I trust you?"

That stopped him for a heartbeat.

Then he grinned, sharp-edged.

"Love," he murmured, head tilted, "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."

Y/N smiled, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she looked ahead.

Harry's fingers brushed the metal of his rings inside his pockets as he watched Y/N. She moved with a calculated ease, each step measured, her words precise. Not the loose-limbed swagger of the tipsy, but a controlled relaxation that piqued his interest.

"You know," she said, her voice low, "This place isn't as quiet as you think."

Harry glanced at her. "No?"

She shook her head, eyes fixed ahead. "It seems that way. Small town, friendly people, coastal charm. But underneath... there's a story here."

Something flickered in his chest. He smirked. "A story. What, you a journalist?"

She laughed softly. "Close. I write true crime."

Harry slowed imperceptibly, processing her words.

True crime.

"That why you're here?" he asked, voice smooth. "Looking for your next bestseller?"

Y/N hummed. "Maybe."

Her response made his fingers twitch. Not a lie, not the truth. Harry knew how to dissect such half-truths.

"What's the angle?" he mused. "Small-town scandal? Stolen cars, missing cats?"

She exhaled, half-amused, half-disbelieving. "You're funny."

"I try."

She studied his face, as she had all night. "I heard there was a killer here."

Years of practice kept Harry's expression neutral. He blinked, then laughed. "A killer? Dramatic."

Y/N didn't smile. She tilted her head, eyes intense. "You haven't heard?"

Harry shrugged. "Small towns love their ghost stories."

"This one's not a ghost story," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," she confirmed. "People go missing here, Harry. They don't come back."

The way she said his name - testing its weight - coiled something in his chest.

He exhaled, amused. "Sounds like conspiracy blogs."

"Maybe," she admitted, watching him. "Or I know how to look for patterns."

Harry smiled, lazy. "What patterns, sweetheart?"

Y/N stepped closer. He saw the glint in her eyes. "People disappear here. Specific people. Tourists. Women. Those without someone looking for them." She paused. "It's been happening for a while."

Harry tilted his head. "That so?"

She nodded. "I've followed the cases for months. No bodies. No leads. Just... gone."

Her words led somewhere. She waited for his reaction.

Harry leaned in, voice low. "Tell me, love. What makes you think you'll find anything different?"

Y/N held his gaze, unwavering. "Because I know what to look for."

The words hung between them, heavy. For the first time that night, Harry wondered if she played him.

And he liked it.

Harry studied her, noting the slight tilt of her chin, her posture—not tense, not afraid, just… waiting.

She waited for him to slip.

He exhaled, chuckling low in his chest. "I thought you were a sweet girl looking for a quiet drink."

Her lips twitched. "I told you I wasn't spontaneous."

"Right." Harry's tongue dragged along his cheek. "You came for a story."

She nodded. "Something like that."

"What if," he mused, head cocked, "you don't like the ending?"

Y/N didn't flinch. "I rewrite it."

Harry grinned, sharp-edged. She intrigued him. Not stupid. Not naive. She kept her cards close, made him want to flip them himself.

"Do you chase ghosts often," he murmured, stepping closer, "or am I lucky?"

Her breath caught, barely. "I don't believe in ghosts," she said.

"No?"

"No."

Harry's gaze raked her face. She stood steady, but he knew how people hid nerves. Tightened fingers, stuttered breath, racing pulse betraying calm eyes.

Y/N knew his presence. She didn't try to escape it.

"What do you believe in?" His voice curled like smoke.

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to his mouth. "Patterns. People who think they're untraceable."

Harry's smirk lingered. His chest tightened.

She excelled at this.

Too much.

She hadn't stumbled into danger. She wasn't lured into the woods, blind to watching wolves.

She came deliberately.

For him.

Yet she stood, challenging him, tempting him. It thrilled him more than anything in years.

"Found someone, then?" he asked, watching her. "This killer?"

Her lips parted, amusement in her eyes. "Maybe. I'm close."

"That so?"

She nodded. "I need to get closer."

His stomach knotted. Her words hung between them, daring him to act—

Fuck.

Harry stepped in, slow, deliberate. She held her ground, let his heat envelop her like a question.

"You're brave," he murmured, silk-voiced, "or stupid."

Y/N lifted her chin, her breath ghosting his lips. "We'll see."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Harry exhaled, amused, and stepped back.

Y/N blinked, surprised for a second. He caught it.

Good.

He'd keep her guessing.

"For someone seeking a killer," he mused, grinning, "you seem fearless."

She watched him, shrugging. "Maybe I don't think he'd hurt me."

"Why's that?"

Y/N exhaled softly, head tilted. "People like that don't hurt people like me."

The words settled, thick and heavy, curling around something unsaid.

Harry kept his smirk, but something sharp dug in.

For the first time in years…

He didn't know which of them hunted the other.

Harry watches her closely, his smirk lazy but his mind sharp, dissecting her every move. The way her breath evens out, the way she blinks just a second too late, like she’s measuring the moment instead of reacting to it. Most people act without thinking.

She doesn’t.

She’s controlled. She’s careful. And yet—she’s standing too close, speaking too softly, dipping into the kind of intimacy that could disarm most men.

Most.

Not him.

"People like that don’t hurt people like you," he murmurs, rolling the words over in his mouth like a sip of whiskey. "Now why’s that, sweetheart?"

Y/N shrugs, her gaze flickering up to meet his. "Because I don’t run."

That? That’s fucking interesting.

Harry huffs a soft breath of amusement, shifting on his feet, dragging his thumb over the silver band on his middle finger. "So, what—this is a test? You poking the bear, seeing if it bites?"

She exhales a soft laugh, tipping her head slightly. "I don’t think you’re a bear, Harry."

That makes him smirk. "No?"

"No," she murmurs, her voice dipping lower, the same way his does when he wants people to lean in. "Bears are predictable. You… you’re something else."

Fuck.

She’s good.

Too good.

This isn’t just a woman poking around for a headline. This isn’t just a curious tourist looking to spook herself with small-town horror stories.

She came here for him.

And she’s enjoying this.

Harry shifts, stepping into her space again, this time slower, more deliberate. He watches for the tells—the flicker of hesitation, the instinct to step back, the part of her brain that should be screaming at her to move.

But she holds her ground.

He fucking loves that.

"You’ve got me all figured out, then?" he murmurs, his breath warm against her cheek.

Y/N doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t run.

Instead, she tilts her chin up slightly, meeting his gaze without fear. "Not yet."

A beat.

Then, Harry smiles. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

And just like before—just like he’d hoped—she doesn’t hide her surprise quickly enough.

Gotcha.

She’s been leading him somewhere all night, but she didn’t expect him to lead her right back.

Good.

He wants to keep her guessing.

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't tremble. Doesn't run.

She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze. "Not yet."

A beat.

Harry's lips curl. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

Her surprise flashes across her face, too quick to hide.

Gotcha.

She's led him all night, but he's led her right back.

Good.

He'll keep her guessing.

"You wanna know what I think?" Harry slides his hands into his pockets, his rings' weight grounding him.

Y/N crosses her arms, fingers brushing her biceps, piecing him together. "Enlighten me."

Harry grins. "I think you're used to people giving you what you want."

Her lips twitch. "And what do you think I want?"

He tilts his head. "Answers."

She laughs, shaking her head. "That's not entirely wrong."

"But it's not entirely right," he says, tongue dragging along his bottom lip. "If it was just answers, you wouldn't play games. You wouldn't tease it out, dragging this along like you're enjoying the chase."

Y/N's breath catches—barely, but enough.

Harry smirks.

"See," he steps closer, watching her not react—a reaction itself. "You didn't come for a ghost story. You came for a monster."

Y/N holds his gaze. Steady. Unflinching.

Then—she smiles.

"Maybe," she says. "But what makes you think I haven't found one already?"

The air shifts.

Tightens.

Harry's pulse ticks up, thrumming beneath his skin like a song's start.

This is different.

She's not here to dig.

She's here to hunt.

And the best part?

She thinks she's the only one playing.

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you should be careful who you go looking for."

Y/N tilts her head, eyes dark and unreadable. "You should be careful what you let me find."

Fucking hell.

Harry should be irritated.

Most people don't get this close, don't sniff him out before he's ready. He's careful. Deliberate. He's spent years weaving himself into this town, into its routine—just another local boy, just another pretty face with a devil-may-care smirk and easy charm that makes people ignore the static in their minds when they're around him.

But Y/N?

She's not ignoring anything.

She's seeing right through him.

And fuck, he likes it.

"You've got an ego, don't you?" He steps close enough to watch her breathing shift, her pulse tick at her throat's hollow. "Think you're the first to come sniffing around here, looking for shadows?"

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't step back. "No. But I think I'll be the last."

A grin stretches across Harry's lips. "Bold of you."

"Accurate," she corrects.

God, she's good.

Her movements, her speech—calculated. Every glance, every brush of her fingers against her skin, every moment of hesitation that isn't hesitation at all. She's not stumbling. She's testing him.

And he can't tell if she's doing it to prove he's dangerous...

Or to know just how dangerous he is.

Harry exhales, tongue dragging along his cheek's inside. "So, if you're so sure there's a monster here, what's your plan?"

Y/N blinks, and for the first time all night, she looks at him with something soft.

Not nerves. Not fear. Something else entirely.

She tilts her head, gaze flickering over his face, committing every inch to memory.

"That depends," she says quietly. "On whether the monster is stupid enough to let me get close."

Fuck.

Harry inhales sharply, hands twitching in his pockets, fighting the urge to reach for her. Not out of anger. Not out of fear.

Out of curiosity.

Out of something darker.

She's making this a game. Letting him chase her, even as she hunts him right back.

He should end this. Should laugh it off, shake his head, tell her she's got it all wrong and slip back into his role.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he leans in, voice roughening against the air between them.

"And what if the monster is letting you get close on purpose?"

A beat.

Then—Y/N smiles.

Not wide. Not playful. Not the kind of smile people give when they're being charmed into something dangerous.

No.

This smile is knowing.

Like she's already figured that out.

Like she's been waiting for him to admit it.

And that?

That makes Harry's pulse spike in a way it never has before.

"You really want to play this game with me, sweetheart?" he asks, tilting his head.

Y/N exhales, stepping in close enough for him to smell her perfume's faint trace, her skin's warmth beneath the night's cool breeze.

Her lips barely move when she speaks.

"I think we've already started."

For a long moment, neither of them speak. The night hums around them—the distant crash of waves, the low murmur of the wind slipping through alleyways, the occasional flicker of headlights rolling down the quiet street.

But in this moment, there is only them.

Harry studies her, the way her lips hover just slightly apart, the way her pulse thrums steady at the base of her throat. She’s not afraid. That much is clear. If anything, she looks thrilled.

That’s the part that gets to him.

Most people don’t know they’re stepping into his web until it’s too late. They let their guard down, let him in, let him win. But Y/N?

She walked into the dark on purpose.

And now she’s daring him to close the door behind her.

His fingers twitch in his pockets, but he doesn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts his head, letting his eyes trace over her face, slow and thoughtful.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice low and deliberate.

Y/N exhales a soft breath, not quite a laugh, but something close. "So are you."

Harry smirks. "I don’t lose."

Her lips curve slightly, like she’s heard that before. "Maybe you haven’t played against someone like me."

Fuck.

His chest tightens, something dark curling low in his stomach.

She’s making this a game, but he doesn’t know what kind yet.

Is she just a girl with too much curiosity? A writer with a death wish? Or—is she more than that?

Is she here to catch him?

Or worse—is she here to see if she can be just like him?

Harry lets out a soft, amused breath, rolling his shoulders back, easing some of the tension out of them. "Alright, then," he murmurs. "Let’s play."

Y/N raises a brow. "Just like that?"

He nods. "Why not?"

Her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something. "Because I don’t think you’re the type to give up control."

Oh, she’s good. She’s so fucking good.

Harry chuckles, low and warm. "You think I’m giving it up?"

She lifts her chin slightly. "Aren’t you?"

Harry watches her for another long moment, considering. He should be more cautious. He should be shutting this down, slipping back into the persona that’s kept him untouchable for so long.

But for the first time in years, he feels something like a thrill creeping beneath his skin.

This isn’t a woman who wandered too close to the fire.

This is a woman who wants to see if she can survive it.

And Harry?

He’s just dying to find out how far she’s willing to go.

"Alright," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Tell me, then—where do we start?"

Y/N holds his gaze, her fingers curling around her sleeve as she exhales softly.

"With a question," she says.

Harry smirks. "Ask away, sweetheart."

She leans in just slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Harry blinks, caught off guard. Not what he expected.

But instead of answering right away, he lets the silence stretch, lets her see the way he weighs the words before he responds.

"Fate," he echoes, tilting his head. "You think that’s what this is?"

She shrugs, but there’s something sharp in the way she does it. "You and I, in the same place, at the same time. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?"

Harry exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re telling me you came all this way looking for a killer, and now you think it’s fate that we met?"

Y/N’s lips curve into something small, something almost innocent—almost.

"I think fate puts people in front of us for a reason," she says. "It’s up to us to figure out why."

A slow smirk pulls at Harry’s mouth.

"Alright then," he murmurs, stepping just slightly closer, just enough to watch the way her breath hitches. "Let’s figure it out, shall we?"

And for the first time in a long, long while…

Y/N doesn’t waver.

Even with Harry inches from her, even with his voice sinking into something low and dangerous, even with the weight of his gaze pressing into her like a hand at the base of her throat—she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t shift away.

She holds her ground.

And that is what makes his blood hum, makes his fingers twitch at his sides. He’s used to the thrill of the chase, the way people give themselves away before they even realize they’ve lost. But this?

This is something else entirely.

A game where neither of them have tipped their hand.

A hunt where both of them think they’re the predator.

And fuck—he likes it.

"So," he murmurs, keeping his voice light, casual, like there’s not something razor-sharp curling in his chest. "What happens now?"

Y/N tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering the same thing. "That depends."

Harry lifts a brow. "On?"

She exhales a soft breath, dragging her fingers along the seam of her sleeve. "On whether or not you’re going to answer my question."

Ah. Right.

Fate.

Harry smirks, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches her, watches the way she’s still standing there like she belongs in this moment, like she isn’t toeing the edge of something dangerous.

"Let’s say I do," he muses, tilting his head. "What would that prove?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate. "That you believe in patterns. That some things don’t happen by accident."

Harry hums, turning the words over in his mind. She’s fishing.

Not clumsily—not the way most people would, tossing out accusations and hoping something sticks. No, she’s patient. She’s waiting for him to slip.

Too bad for her—he doesn’t slip.

He steps closer, just enough that the air between them tightens, just enough that if either of them took a breath too deep, they’d touch.

"You think that’s what this is?" he murmurs, his voice dipping into something slow, deliberate. "You and me, standing here, playing this little game?"

Y/N holds his gaze. "Don’t you?"

Harry lets a beat pass, lets the tension thrum between them before he leans in slightly, just enough for his breath to brush the shell of her ear.

"I don’t believe in fate, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I believe in decisions."

And when he pulls back, he watches the way her lips part just slightly—not because she’s surprised.

Because she agrees.

Fuck.

She’s so goddamn interesting.

"Decisions," she repeats, tipping her chin up just slightly. "Like the kind that make people disappear?"

A challenge.

A test.

And he could do a lot of things in this moment. He could smirk, laugh, brush it off, tell her she’s reaching, tell her she’s been spending too much time digging into ghost stories that aren’t real.

But Harry?

Harry leans in again.

Not enough to touch, but enough to dare.

"Tell me something, love," he murmurs, his voice so low it barely cuts through the sound of the waves in the distance. "Are you really here to find a killer…"

His lips twitch, just slightly, as he lets his eyes trace over her face, as he watches the way her breath catches, the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides.

"Or are you here to see if you’re just like me?"

That?

That finally makes her react.

Her throat bobs. Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn’t about justice.

This isn’t about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she’s not just the hunter.

Maybe—just maybe—she’s looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

The moment stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Y/N didn't speak, didn't recoil or rush to defend herself. Harry's pulse kicked up, humming beneath his skin. If she was another reporter, another detective chasing ghosts, she'd have denied it. Scoffed, rolled her eyes, called him insane.

But she didn't.

She looked at him.

Deciding if she'd tell the truth.

Wondering if he knew it already.

Fuck.

Harry let the silence linger, watching her throat bob, her fingers twitch before stilling. She masked it well. Kept calm, hid how his words cut through her.

But he caught it.

Now he wanted to see what she'd do.

"You think I'm just like you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Harry smirked, tilting his head. "That depends," he said, his voice like whiskey. "Are you?"

Y/N exhaled, almost laughing. "That's dangerous to assume."

"Not an assumption, sweetheart," Harry said, stepping closer, watching her breath tighten. "It's a question."

She didn't move. Didn't step back, flinch, or run.

She held her ground, eyes searching his face.

Then—she smiled.

Knowing.

Like she'd realized she was caught.

Like she didn't mind.

"Maybe," she said.

The answer hit Harry like a thrill, twisting into something darker, heavier.

He knew now.

This wasn't about justice.

Wasn't about a story.

This was about her.

How she saw herself. How she'd been looking for something unnamed—undefined.

Something like him.

"Maybe," he repeated, his voice low enough to brush her skin. "Now, that's interesting."

Y/N lifted her chin. "You think so?"

Harry hummed, dragging his fingers along his lip as he watched her.

For the first time in years...

He'd met someone worth keeping.

Not a toy.

Not a victim.

Not someone to lure and break.

Something else entirely.

And the worst part?

She looked at him like she knew.

"Tell me," he said, tracing his finger down her wrist. Feeling her pulse. Feeling how it didn't jump.

"How does it end, love?"

Y/N exhaled. "That depends."

"On?"

Her lips curved.

"On whether you let me in."

The words settled, dark and electric.

This was no longer a game.

This was far more dangerous.

Two wolves meeting in the dark.

Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn't about justice.

This isn't about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she's not just the hunter.

Maybe—she's looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Y/N. She stood before him, unmoving, her face a mask of calm. But beneath that mask, something lurked. Something that made his skin prickle.

He stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Y/N didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.

"You're not here for justice," Harry said, his voice low. "Are you?"

Y/N's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

Harry's fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to see if she'd recoil. But he held back. "Because you're not looking at me like I'm a monster," he said. "You're looking at me like I'm a mirror."

Y/N's breath caught, just for a moment. A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—flashed across her face before disappearing. "And what do you think you see in that mirror, Harry?"

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek. "I see someone who's tired of pretending," he murmured. "Someone who's looking for permission to stop."

Y/N's eyes darkened. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "Permission from who?"

Harry's hand moved, fingers brushing against her wrist. Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch, steady and strong. "From someone who understands," he said. "From someone who won't judge."

Y/N's fingers curled, not pulling away from his touch, but not leaning into it either. "And you think that's you?"

Harry's lips curled into a smile that was all teeth. "I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whatever she found made her smile, a slow, dangerous thing that made Harry's blood sing. "Maybe I do," she said.

Harry's grip on her wrist tightened, just a fraction. "Then the question is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what are you going to do about it?"

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "That depends," she breathed, "on whether you're willing to show me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He pulled back, just enough to meet her gaze. What he saw there made his heart race. Not fear. Not disgust. But hunger. A hunger that matched his own.

"Be careful what you wish for, love," he warned.

Y/N's smile widened. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice soft and dark. "I'm counting on it."

Harry doesn’t wait for a reply.

Instead, he steps back, tilting his head, letting the silence stretch between them like a live wire. He watches the way Y/N breathes, the way her lips part just slightly, the way she doesn’t hesitate. She’s waiting for him to move, to tell her where to go, to let her in.

He grins, slow and deliberate.

"Come on, then," he murmurs, turning on his heel.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

The town is empty at this hour, most lights flickering out, only the occasional neon sign humming in the distance. The only sound is the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement.

Harry leads them off the main street, down past the bar, past the old fishing docks where the water sloshes lazily against the wooden posts. Then, further still, where the town begins to slip away behind them, swallowed by trees and salt-thick air.

The cliffs.

The place where the town meets the edge of the world, where the land drops away into black, crashing waves.

The wind picks up as they step off the gravel road, onto the dirt path that winds its way toward the top. It’s quiet, save for the sound of the tide pulling in and out, a rhythmic thing, steady and endless.

"You bring all your dates out here?" Y/N asks, her voice light, teasing. But there’s something else beneath it. A question. A test.

Harry smirks, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You’re not a date."

She hums. "No?"

"No." He glances at her, his smile lazy but sharp. "You’re something else."

That seems to satisfy her.

At the top, the land evens out before breaking away into nothing. The wind is stronger here, sweeping through his curls, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Below, the waves churn, dark and endless, slamming against the jagged rocks.

A perfect place for things to disappear.

Y/N steps toward the edge, not recklessly, but curiously. She tilts her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

"This where you do it?"

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Now, that’d be predictable, wouldn’t it? I do it in a small trailer just out of the suburbs."

Y/N exhales a soft laugh, dragging her fingers along the sleeve of her jacket. "Wouldn’t be a bad place for it."

He watches her carefully. The way she says it, the way she toes the edge, the way she tests the space between them.

She’s not just hunting for him.

She’s trying to see if she belongs in this world.

Harry steps up beside her, slow and easy, letting the weight of his presence settle against hers. "You looking for proof?"

Y/N exhales softly, her gaze fixed on the waves below. "I already have proof," she murmurs. "I just wanted to see if you’d bring me here."

Clever girl.

Harry tilts his head, watching her. "And what does that tell you?"

She finally looks at him. "That you’re testing me, too."

Harry smirks. She’s right.

Because this is a test.

For both of them.

A challenge, a question, a line in the sand waiting to be crossed.

"You asked me to prove it," Y/N says, tilting her head slightly. "So tell me, Harry—what would that look like?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, drags his tongue over his bottom lip, decides.

Then, he reaches into his pocket.

Pulls out a small, silver switchblade.

Flicks it open.

The sharp, metallic click cuts through the night.

And Y/N?

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch.

Her breath doesn’t even change.

Harry smirks. "Still sure you want in, sweetheart?"

Y/N reaches out.

Not for his wrist. Not to shove him away.

She reaches for the blade.

And presses the tip against her palm.

A single drop of blood beads at the surface before trailing down her wrist.

And fuck, fuck, fuck—

Harry has never wanted anything more in his life.

The drop of blood catches in the moonlight, a perfect bead of red against her skin before it slides down, leaving a thin trail along the delicate line of her wrist.

Harry doesn’t move.

Not because he’s stunned—he doesn’t do stunned—but because he’s taking his time, watching, memorizing.

The way she holds his gaze, steady and sure, her breathing still even. The way her fingers barely twitch around the blade, like she’s testing the weight of it, feeling the cold bite of steel against her palm.

Like she’s comfortable with it.

Like she’s done this before.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t like this as much as he does. Shouldn’t feel this pull in his stomach, sharp and deep, curling like something alive.

But he does.

Y/N tilts her chin slightly, watching him. "Satisfied?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. "Depends," he murmurs, voice low and even. "You planning to stop there?"

She hums, turning her hand slightly, watching the way the blood slides over her skin, soaking into the lifeline carved into her palm. Then, lazily, she lifts it to her mouth and drags her tongue over the wound.

Harry’s fingers curl into fists at his sides.

Not out of anger. Not out of anything close to it.

But because he’s never been tempted like this before.

Never wanted to pull someone closer just to see how much further they’d go.

She steps toward him, her movements slow, deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

Maybe she does.

"So, what now?" she murmurs, tilting her head slightly.

Harry smirks, dragging his gaze over her face, her parted lips, the way her breath ghosts over his skin. "That depends, sweetheart," he murmurs. "How bad do you want to know what it’s like?"

Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. Not fear. Anticipation.

She lifts her hand, the same one still slick with blood, and presses it against his chest.

Harry exhales sharply, feeling the warmth of it soak through his shirt, seeping into his skin.

"You tell me," she whispers.

And fuck.

He’s never met anyone like her.

Never met anyone who wants it.

Not just to understand.

Not just to chase a story.

But because she sees herself in it.

And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Harry lifts a hand, curling his fingers around her wrist, holding her there, feeling the way her pulse thrums steady beneath his grip.

"Alright," he murmurs, voice like smoke, curling slow and thick in the space between them.

"Let’s find out."

Then, he turns, keeping her wrist in his grasp, and leads her away from the cliff’s edge.

The woods swallow them whole, dense and dark, the moon slicing through the branches in thin, silver beams.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

Harry doesn’t take people here. Not unless they don’t leave. But tonight is different.

She wants to see.

Wants to know.

And Harry?

Harry wants to see just how deep this goes.

The crunch of leaves beneath their boots is the only sound for a while, the ocean a distant hum behind them. Then, Y/N speaks.

"Who was your first?"

Harry flicks a glance at her, surprised—but only for a second. "You first."

Y/N smiles. Small. Barely there.

"I was twelve," she says, her voice quiet. "Neighborhood boy. He had a temper."

Harry tilts his head. "Accident?"

"Not exactly."

His pulse ticks up. Jesus fucking Christ.

He wasn’t wrong.

She’s not playing at this.

She’s been in it all along.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t know if she’s been hunting him to stop him—

Or because she wants to learn from him.

He smirks, rolling his shoulders back, watching the way the light bounces off her skin. "So, you’ve got blood on your hands, then?"

Y/N exhales softly. "I think we both do."

That makes something sharp twist in his chest.

Because she’s right.

She’s so fucking right.

They step into a clearing, and Harry stops, turning to her, watching the way she blinks up at him, unafraid.

"So," he murmurs, slipping the knife from his pocket again, letting the blade catch the moonlight. "You really wanna see what it’s like?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Harry breathes deep, tilts his head, watches the way she doesn’t so much as blink when he holds the knife out between them.

"You know," he muses, dragging the tip of the blade lightly over his palm, just enough to let the metal whisper against his skin.

"This might make me fall in love with you."

Y/N smiles.

"That’s what I’m counting on.

Harry turns the knife in his hand, the handle solid and familiar against his palm. The sharp glint of steel catches in the moonlight, the same way the reflection of the ocean had shimmered far below. A quiet, deadly thing.

Just like her.

Y/N stands in front of him, waiting, eyes dark and unwavering. She’s patient, controlled, not flinching as he drags the blade across his palm, slow and deliberate.

The cut is shallow—for now. The skin parts beneath the steel, blood beading up, rich and dark in the pale light. The scent of iron curls into the cool night air, tangling between them.

Her gaze flickers down, watching the way it gathers at the edges of his fingers, threatening to drip onto the earth below.

But before it can—

Harry moves.

His free hand lifts, catches her jaw, tilts her face up.

She gasps, barely, her lips parting on instinct, and that’s when he smears his bloody fingers against her mouth.

The warmth of it streaks across her lips, wet and dark, painting her in him.

Harry watches, his pulse spiking, his chest tightening.

"Open," he murmurs, his voice thick and rough.

Y/N’s breath shudders, just slightly, but she listens.

Her lips part, soft and willing, and he slips his fingers past them, slow and deliberate.

Holy fuck.

Her mouth is warm, her tongue slick as it curls around his skin. She sucks lightly, dragging her tongue over the metallic taste of his blood, her lashes flickering as she closes her lips around him.

Harry swears under his breath.

No control.

No dominance.

Something deeper.

Something willing.

Something hungry.

Y/N holds his gaze as she takes it, her lips sealed tight around his fingers, her breath coming shallow as she lets him feed it to her.

Harry’s other hand tightens around the knife, his chest rising and falling, something dark curling in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice nothing but a rasp. "Look at you."

Y/N hums softly against his fingers, her tongue flicking against his skin, tasting him.

It’s fucking obscene.

And he’s never wanted to ruin someone more.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers free, dragging them along her bottom lip, smearing the last trace of red against her mouth.

Her tongue darts out, licking it away.

"Good girl," Harry breathes.

Y/N smiles, just barely.

"Now," she whispers, tilting her head slightly. "Show me more."

Harry exhales, dragging his bloodied thumb over her cheekbone, marking her, claiming her, something twisting in his chest.

Y/N doesn’t move.

Not when Harry drags his bloodied thumb over her lips, not when his fingers slip lower, tracing the delicate curve of her throat, smearing red against her skin.

She tilts her chin, lets him.

She’s not just playing anymore. She’s inviting it.

His pulse hammers against his ribs, a slow, heavy beat as he watches her, memorizes the way she breathes, the way she doesn’t so much as tremble under his touch.

She should.

But she doesn’t.

Harry exhales, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "You’re a strange one, love," he murmurs, voice low, thoughtful.

Y/N tilts her head slightly, her lips curling at the edges. "That a bad thing?"

Harry hums, his hand dropping from her jaw.

Then—quick as a flicker of lightning—he presses the blade to her throat.

She gasps.

Not in fear.

In surprise.

Her breath hitches, sharp and unsteady, but she doesn’t move.

Doesn’t step back.

Doesn’t flinch.

And fuck, that should piss him off.

It should break the spell.

Should remind him that she is not like him.

That she’s just another dumb girl, too curious for her own good, one that he could kill right now, here, on this spot.

One cut. That’s all it would take.

She’d bleed for him, go soft in his hands, just like all the others.

Harry leans in, just enough that his breath ghosts over her cheek, his grip on the knife steady, firm. "You shouldn’t trust me," he murmurs, the words curling against her skin like smoke. "You’re just another girl in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Y/N exhales, slow and deliberate.

Then, she fucking smiles.

Not wide. Not terrified.

Knowing.

Like she’s been waiting for this.

Like she expected it.

Like she wanted it.

Harry’s fingers twitch around the handle of the blade, pressing just slightly deeper into her skin, just enough that he knows she can feel the sharp bite of it.

"You’re not afraid," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Y/N blinks up at him, steady, calm, her pulse flickering beneath the edge of the knife. "No."

"Why?"

A beat.

Then—

"Because I don’t think you’ll do it."

Harry freezes.

Because she means it.

Because she believes it.

Because she’s right.

He should be furious. Should push the blade deeper just to see if she still has that smug little smirk when she’s choking on blood.

But instead—

Harry exhales sharply, drops the knife.

It clatters to the ground between them.

Y/N doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at it.

Her focus stays on him, her lips parting slightly, her breath still steady, even as the tension thickens.

Harry watches her. Watches the way she holds his gaze.

Then—

"Alright," he murmurs, voice rough, something dark curling in his stomach. "You win."

A flicker of something flashes through Y/N’s eyes. "What does that mean?"

Harry smirks, slow and dangerous, dragging his fingers along her jaw.

"It means you’re not just another dumb girl," he murmurs.

"It means I’m keeping you."

Harry drags his fingers along the side of her neck, just where the knife had been seconds before. He can still feel the phantom weight of it in his grip, the way her pulse had thrummed beneath the blade—steady, unwavering.

Most people, when they realize they’re in the hands of something dangerous, break apart at the seams. But Y/N? She’s stitched herself tighter.

She tilts her chin slightly, watching him, waiting. Letting him touch her.

And Harry?

Harry wants to pull her apart.

But not in the way he does with the others.

Not to ruin.

To understand.

"You ever held a knife like that before?" he asks, voice low, dragging his thumb lazily along her jaw.

Y/N exhales softly. "Yes."

He smiles.

"Used it?"

A pause. A beat.

Then—

"Yes."

Harry’s fingers tighten, curling just slightly against her skin. His pulse ticks up, slow and thrumming.

There it is.

Truth.

She’s not innocent.

Not just a writer with too much curiosity, not just a woman looking for answers.

She’s been in the dark before.

He tilts his head, his smirk lazy, sharp. "Tell me about your first."

Y/N doesn’t flinch.

If anything, she softens.

Not with hesitation—with memory.

She glances down at the discarded knife between them before lifting her gaze back to his, something dark flickering behind her eyes.

"I was twelve," she says finally, her voice quiet, steady. "There was a boy in my neighborhood. A little older. He liked to hurt things. Cats. Dogs. Girls."

Harry hums, dragging his fingers higher, brushing along her cheekbone. "And you didn’t like that, did you?"

Her lips twitch. "No."

"So, what did you do?"

Y/N tilts her chin, her breath slow and even. "I waited," she murmurs. "I watched him. I followed him when no one else was paying attention. And then, one night, when I knew he was alone… I stopped him."

Harry exhales slowly.

Fuck.

"How?" he asks, almost fascinated.

Y/N blinks up at him. "A knife."

His smirk grows. "Like this one?"

She smiles.

"Exactly like this one."

Harry chuckles, low and thrilled. Because this—is something he wasn’t expecting.

She’s not just intrigued by the dark.

She lives in it.

And suddenly, this night shifts into something else entirely.

Because she wasn’t just hunting him.

She was waiting for him to find her.

Harry drags his fingers down, along the line of her throat, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of her pulse beneath his touch.

"You ever done it again?" he murmurs.

Y/N exhales softly, her lips parting.

"Not yet."

Harry grins.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing closer, letting his voice scrape against the air between them.

"Would you like to?"

She doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

The flashing blue and red lights slice through the dark, bouncing off the trees, casting shadows that flicker across the pavement.

Harry is on his knees.

Wrists cuffed. Hands behind his back, shoulders squared, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His hair is a mess, wild curls tangled from the struggle, damp at the ends where sweat clings to his skin. His lip is split, blood smeared down the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth as he snarls.

And he’s looking right at her.

No—through her.

Y/N stands in front of him, feet planted firm, her heart pounding so hard she swears he can hear it.

"You fucking bitch," he spits, his voice ragged, feral, seething. "You set me up."

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t dare let them see how deep it cuts through her.

Because she was never supposed to get this close.

This was supposed to be a job.

Undercover. Gain his trust. Make him slip.

Find proof.

And she did.

He did slip. For her.

And now, he’s on his knees in the dirt, with officers surrounding him like a pack of wolves, barking orders he’s ignoring, but all of his rage—all of his hatred—is aimed at her.

"Should’ve slit your fucking throat when I had the chance," Harry growls, his voice rough, desperate, real.

Y/N’s throat tightens.

Not out of fear.

No—that’s the worst part.

It’s something else entirely.

Because fuck—he looks beautiful like this.

Like a caged animal, all teeth and fury and betrayal.

Like something that was never meant to be caught.

His chest heaves, his rings glinting under the red-and-blue light, his fingers flexing against the cuffs as if he’s imagining wrapping them around her throat instead.

"You were never supposed to get this far," he snarls. "Never supposed to make it out. Fucking stupid bitch."

An officer presses a knee into his back, shoving him forward. "Shut the hell up, Styles."

Harry laughs.

It’s broken. Bitter.

Like he thinks this is funny.

Like he still can’t believe it.

Like he still wants her dead.

Y/N swallows, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

She shouldn’t feel this.

She shouldn’t feel anything.

But her pulse still skips when he looks at her like that. When his voice drips through her like something warm, something wrong.

She doesn’t want to think about the way his hands felt against her skin, or the way his mouth had hovered against her ear when he whispered things she hadn’t been sure were threats or promises.

She doesn’t want to remember the way he had touched her like he was trying to claim her.

But she does.

And when Harry grins at her, his blood-stained teeth flashing in the night, his voice curling toward her in one final, vicious whisper—

"You think this is over?"

Y/N shivers.

Because she doesn’t know if it is.

[creativewritersposts]

homemade card - Lando Norris

summary; Lando Norris x reader

It's your anniversary and all you wish for is a homemade card from Lando - the most uncreative person in crafting.

warning(s); swearing, maybe grammar errors, fluff / funny

author's note; hope you like it! Have a nice day y'all ♡

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

"But why ", Lando pretends to cry.

You chuckle, he's such a drama queen.

"Why aren't you happy? I don't need your money", you're running circles on his back to calm him down.

"I know your last pay slip, I'm pretty sure you could at least try to enjoy that your amazing boyfriend is a rich formula one driver", he shakes his head. You could have anything from him on your anniversary day. A nice dinner, the prettiest jewelry but no- you want a homemade card.

"but it's something special and personal from you, babe", you kids his cheek softly, a little laugh escapes your mouth. You know that Lando is very uncreative - he always was.

"I can't even draw a stick figure!", your boyfriend touches his hair, completely stressed out. You stand up, ready to go to bed, "i know you'll find a way, I love you", you quickly kiss his lips, you have to yawn a few times.

If he only knew that your anniversary present is a photo album full with personal pictures you secretly took of him since you're dating.

"Love you too", Lando tries to smile, thinking how he can make a good looking handmade card in one night without ending in a disaster.

He hasn't forgotten your anniversary - he was just busy and couldn't find a perfect present. He wants you to know he truly adores every inch of you.

So he takes his phone, until he hears a ring and places it on his left ear, "hello?", a familiar voice asks, "i need help", he whines. "Lando it's 11pm", Oscar sounds sleepy.

"I need a homemade card until tomorrow", he's literally sweating. "Take paper and scissors, god damn Lando, good night", and hangs up the phone. Thanks for nothing mate, Lando mutters.

He sighs, thinking what to do now, his niece left some colorful papers and glitter in his living room last week. Thank God.

He takes it, ready to give you the best homemade card you've ever got. Like ever.

------

"Lando? Baby?", you're looking for your boyfriend in the kitchen after he wasn't next to you in bed all night. He's sleeping on his kitchen chair, asleep on craft things. It's truly the cutest thing, taking a photo of this scenario.

"Happy anniversary my love", you lovely wake him up after this.

"Huh?", his face is completely covered with pink glitter, until he realizes. "Shit!", jumping up. "your homemade card oh no!", facepalming himself, "it looks like shit now! I'm so sorry", he feels guilty. The card is ruined, only the glitter heart is still there. You have to smile, he's so chaotic - but it's one of the reasons why you love him. He truly tried his best and it's all that matters.

"I love this card", you kiss him again, full of love. "I love you", he responds. "I love you too but please go to shower, you're full of glitter Lando!", you laugh. He looks so ridiculously funny.

"do you want to come with me?", he's smirking, wrapping his arms around you.

[pastelaspirations]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK, I'M LOSING MY MIND, MIRAGE. YOU CAN'T JUST. FREAKING DROP THIS ON ME WITH NO WARNING, MAN, MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THE EMOTIONAL DAMAGE, BUT ALSO WHAT AN AMAZING THING TO COME BACK TO AFTER MIDTERMS, SO THANK YOU, HOLY CRAP BUT STILL-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, YOU DREW THE SCENES FROM THE LATEST CHAPTER SO FREAKING WELL, I'M CRYING ;_; ;_; Oh my gooosshhh, the birthday scene, man, yeah, that was fun. AND INK'S EXPRESSION, I'M DYING, COMEDY GOLD-

You visualized the written comedy so much, I'm so happy and proud, omggg, thank you, I'm wheezing so much <3 <3 I also think it's really neat the pretty, abstract colored backgrounds you do?? THEY'RE SO COOL, MAN, TEACH ME YOUR SKILLS

I am w h e e z i n g. A wild Paperjam just appearing out of nowhere and the two adopting him is such a funny concept. But also somewhat canon. 'Cus those two would absolutely adopt a rando kid with no parents that they found. They'd just throw up their hands and be like "W e l p, guess we're parents now-" 'CUS WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO, LEAVE A KID TO DIE?? N O

But y e e, both of them have soft spots for kids, man. ;_; They would adopt a parentless kiddo if they had to <3 (Be glad Pj isn't expected to show up in the foreseeable future. Knowing me, I will find a way to tragically kill him off-)

Y e p. What can I say, man, Dream gotta have trauma too, I can't leave him out :) BUT AAAAAAAACCCKK, YOU GOT THAT SCENE SO WELL, I'M CRRYYIING

YES, HORROR, MAN. I don't end up describing their clothes much in the next chapter? I've got ideas of what they would be wearing, so I should probably just draw up ref sheets tbh. BUT. I'D SAY YOU GOT HIM PRETTY DARN CLOSE TO HOW I ENVISIONED HIM, SO YOU GET A GOLD STAR OF PASTEL APPROVAL ˚₊✩‧₊˚✩‧₊✩‧₊˚

Do not worry. I am the freaking author and I want them to freaking kiss already too, but I cursed myself with slow burn and making the both of them actual idiots so it'll take forever to get to that point-

(When they d o get to that point though hehe... Don't worry, they'll still keep their arguments <3 'Cus the best couples are the ones who don't lose their banter after they become a thing, change my mind-)

I freaking salute random Error drawings, man, they're the best and never disappoint-

BUT YEEEEESS, THANK YOU SO MUCH, MAN, I LOVE YOUR ART SO MUCH AND THIS LITERALLY MADE MY DAY, I CAN'T BELIEVE, I AM LOSING MY MIND

Here's a bunch of sketches about "Perseverance" chapter 40!

"Perseverance" is a fanfiction written by: @pastelaspirations on AO3 :D

Here's Ink missing out on Error's birthday, and Error not really caring about it, because I liked this part♥️

This one is actually a theory I had about this fanfiction, at this point I'm 80% sure Ink and Error won't be adopting conveniently lost in the forest, parentless Paperjam, but I do like to think of 'what if' because man, first time, I saw Error showing some empathy to kids (mostly to his childhood trauma, but still), and now, in chapter 40, Ink being so worried over a poor kiddo, so.. yeah, I will keep liking this impossible theory of mine

Here's Dream having some trauma, I like this moment in the fic, it was pretty sad :D

HERE GOES HORROR! (In, probably, not canon to fanfiction clothes, because they weren't described yet) Soo, I'm so happy to see him appear in the fic, I was so happy when I realized who that was, and now I'm waiting for a new chapter, to find out more about him and MTT :D

It's a joke, really, I love their arguing-and-not-kissing dynamic. I also loved seeing Error's attempt to comfort Ink, when Ink was sad about the kid in chapter 40

And lastly, a random Error, because I draw a lot of random, senseless stuff👍

.

And yeah, I also loved the dog beasts from this chapter, I wanted to draw them but didn't yet :_)

Have a good day 👋👋👋👋

[simmerandwrite]

grapefruit sidecar (part 1)

part of the Sink Into Me universe

Pairing: mob boss! Steve Rogers x plus size! reader x mob! Bucky Barnes

Summary: It was just an innocent question. You definitely didn't have any ulterior motives: “Have you ever had a threesome?” But when Steve admits something from his past with Bucky, you can't help but wonder...

Part 1: The Club | Part 2: The Penthouse

Warnings: 18+!!! established relationship (Steve x reader), MFM threesome shenanigans

Notes: here we gooooo! I don't think you *need* to read Sink Into Me to enjoy this two part series, but hey - feel free to read it! enjoy! and yes in my mind these two fuck like owen gray and small hands what who said that

--

“Have you ever had a threesome?”

The question came from your lips so casually, so innocently that Steve wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly. He stilled his pen and lifted his eyes to you, curled up in the corner of the couch in his office. 

You were typing away on your phone, nursing the tail end of a hangover. Steve had insisted he could take you home to have a nap following the late brunch you shared together, but you insisted you wanted to just orbit near him for the rest of the day. 

He couldn’t say no to that. But he also couldn’t keep putting off some paperwork, so armed with an oversized iced tea for hydration, you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he worked. And now he knew exactly why you had encouraged him to get a nice throw blanket to keep at the office too. 

Steve cleared his throat, finally drawing your eyes to his. You gave him a cheeky smile. 

“And where is that question coming from?”

“Uhm,” you started slowly, sitting up a bit straighter as you put your phone down. “A weird turn of topics in the group chat with the girls.” 

Something about your smile made Steve think that wasn’t the whole truth. 

He laughed. Okay, he’d play along. “And is my response going to be the next topic in the group chat with the girls?” 

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t do that. Just because Maria loves updating us on her sex life constantly, doesn’t mean I contribute the same way. Scouts honour.” 

Steve pushed back on his chair and stood, removing his glasses as he walked over to join you. 

“Weird place for pillow talk,” he said, planting himself beside you on the couch. You were quick to adjust and cozy up at his side. “But yes, I’ve had a threesome. More than one.”

“Oooh. With who?”

One of his eyebrows shot up, scanning your curious wide eyes. “Sweetheart.”

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just wondering how threesomes even happen. I’ve never had one, thought about it I guess but like.. who executes the idea? Do you talk about it beforehand or does it just happen? Who makes sure it’s fair?”

Steve let out a hard laugh. “When I’m involved, everyone has always had a good time. It’s been fair.”

“Okay but with who?”

He hesitated. 

“Come onnnnn. Who was it? When was it? Wait. Have you had more than one? Was it with someone I know? You know I don’t care about your history with Sharon. She probably has some attractive girlfriends.”

Steve blew out a breath. What did he have to lose here? You and him were both typically very secure in your relationship, but he still didn’t want to unintentionally hurt any feelings. 

“Okay. If you really want to know.” He shook his head, somehow confused he was even talking to you about this. “I’ve had a few. Haven’t happened in a while, usually there are just certain circumstances where… It happened organically. With a repeat participant.” 

You nodded, eager. “Whoooo?”

“Usually it was me, and that repeat participant, and a nice girl we found at the club.”

“Steve.” You groaned out his name. “Just tell me. Who is she?”

Steve’s lips grew into a small smirk as he gave you a sideways glance. “Not a she.”

You gasped, sitting up on your knees at his side. “What? Who? Oh my god, I shouldn’t have just assumed it was a woman.” You stopped your train of thought and narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Oh my god. Oh my god! Is it Bucky?”

Steve raised his eyebrows then gave you a slow nod.

“Ahh!!” You tapped your hand on his shoulder, excited. “That makes so much sense. You two have such a close friendship and honestly, that’s..” You let out a long breath, closing your eyes for a second. “That’s really hot. You and Bucky. Damn.”

Steve shifted slightly in his position, raising an eyebrow and watching as you grew excited beside him on the couch. “Sorry? That’s really what?”

“Steve.” You opened one eye and looked at him quickly. “You heard me. Listen, I’m not blind. Bucky is attractive. But don’t– I’m not, like, attracted to him. Okay, well, I am but not like that.”

“Like how then?” Steve couldn’t help but make you squirm about this whole topic now. It was something he hadn’t ever considered with you - sharing your intimacy with anyone else. Mostly because the idea of any other person on the planet even looking at you like that made him fire up with a possessive side he had a hard time hiding. But… Bucky wasn’t just anyone. 

There was a certain thrill that Bucky and Steve used to share when they’d do this together. The experiences were never really planned but Steve knew if someone caught his eye that Bucky would be interested in just as much as he was, and they were both in the mood for a little extra fun, then it was only fair to throw it on the table. They had their own signal, even. A quick side hug with a keyword dropped into the conversation, followed by a confirmation double ear tug.

It had always been a sober choice, too. 

“Stop,” you replied quietly, leaning into Steve’s shoulder again. “Forget I said anything.”

“I can forget it.. If that’s what you want.” He extended his hand to prop your chin up, encouraging you to look him in the eyes again. “But if it’s something you want to discuss further..”

You pulled back slightly. “What?” It looked like your mind was misfiring as you found your words. “But.. wouldn’t that be weird? Also.. wait. Are you – Hmm. It sounds fun but kind of scary and.. How do you even start and..” You paused and closed your eyes again. “Would Bucky even want to… with me..? Am I even his type?”

“Sweetheart,” Steve turned directly to you, grasping your hands in his. “You have no idea.”

—

Steve knew the right moment would present itself. Because the millisecond you had started the conversation with him about it, he had a feeling it would happen eventually. But, it was important that the timing was just right.

Mostly because he didn’t want you to worry or panic about it. In fact, in the few conversations you and Steve had shared about the entire threesome topic, he had made it abundantly clear that you would be in charge. That was usually the method Steve and Bucky followed anyway, depending on the third person sharing a bed with them.

Really though, after all of this chatter about the possibility, Steve could see your confidence and excitement growing. You had told Steve it was his responsibility to read your energy and Bucky’s to make sure everything felt right. And Steve had suggested maybe easing into the whole thing anyways. Maybe you didn’t go all the way right away. 

But, the right moment had to arrive.

And on a very ordinary Saturday night at the club, things seemed to be aligning. First and foremost, Steve knew you were in a great mood. You had an extra day off, you’d recently finished a big project at work and Steve had even just surprised you with a shopping spree. He knew how rarely you spent money on yourself, especially for new pieces of clothing. He had been especially generous when it came to a few pieces of lingerie. 

One set specifically he knew you had on under that new dress. While the club wasn’t always your preferred location for a Saturday night, you had been the one to suggest it this time. You wanted to dance with your girls and who was Steve to hold you back?

As for Bucky, Steve knew his friend had recently gone on a few bumpy first dates. First dates that didn’t deliver because it was clear from Bucky’s on and off grumpy mood that he was pretty pent up. Steve knew it was still a shot in the dark if Bucky would want to participate, but maybe he’d want to let off some steam and have fun.

So, when it was early enough in the night that both you and Bucky hadn’t yet overindulged, Steve started to put a plan into action.

When you came back upstairs to his private area for a break from the dance floor, Steve handed you a glass of water. 

“I’m cutting you off,” he whispered into your ear.

“I’ve only had one glass of –”

“Baby..” Steve pressed a kiss against your neck. “Just trust me. You go back down and dance while I chat with Bucky.”

You let out a small gasp, reaching out to grab the lapel of Steve’s suit. “Wait. Really? Are we–”

Steve cut you off with a kiss, then motioned towards the dancefloor. You gave him a coy smile over your shoulder as you hurried down to find Wanda and Maria again.

With a deep breath, Steve ran a hand through his hair then headed towards the bar. Bucky had his back against the counter, sipping a rocks glass as he surveyed the space. Steve stopped at Bucky’s side, giving him a small nudge on the arm.

“What are you drinkin’?” Steve prompted, matching Bucky’s pose.

Bucky furrowed his brow, turning to look at Steve. “Whiskey.”

“Wanna switch it up?” Steve asked slowly, turning his head to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Maybe we split a grapefruit sidecar?”

Bucky nearly choked as he turned to face Steve directly. “What? Rogers, I’m not going to .. If you are planning to fuck this up with your girl over some other broad.. I’m going to fuckin’ kick your ass and–”

Steve brought his hands up to stop Bucky from doing exactly that. “Jesus, Buck. Don’t think so fucking little of me, punk.” Steve rolled his neck then leaned in closer. “This invite is coming from me and my girl.”

Bucky’s eyes blew open, mouth slightly agape as he looked at Steve. “Are you serious?”

Steve grinned, raising his eyebrows up for a brief moment. “You need a second to mull it over?”

Bucky blinked, clearly letting his mind catch up. He quickly discarded his glass on the bar and raised his hand to tug on his earlobe. “Stevie, you know I’d never admit to having impure thoughts about your girl but..”

Steve laughed then grasped Bucky’s shoulder. “My office. 20 minutes.”

–

Steve came and found you on the dancefloor not long after he had pitched that tonight would be the night. And holy shit, you couldn’t believe it. You were buzzing with more than just excitement - there was a flutter of nerves and impossibilities flashing through your mind too.

Even though Steve had quite thoroughly told you how much fun you’d all have, how Bucky would enjoy himself just as much as you would, if not more. Despite those reassurances, you wouldn’t believe it could even happen until, well, it happened.

Now, as you were heading to Steve’s office - there seemed to be some sort of electricity in the air. 

God, you looked hot tonight. That was helping a lot. Out of all the clothes Steve had dropped down cash for, the dress you were wearing had been one of your favourites. It hugged the curves of your body in the most perfect way, with a generous view of your chest and a short hemline that left little to the imagination. You had felt effortlessly sexy in it, especially with the lacy garments underneath threatening to peak out at the top.

Steve’s office was empty when you both arrived, the walls dulling the bass from trickling in from the club. Steve left the big lights off, opting for just lamplight and ambiance from the illuminated Brooklyn skyline seeping in. 

Before you could start nervously pacing, Steve pulled you into his arms. He was leaning against the edge of the desk and you stood between his legs.

“Hey, remember what I said before..” Steve started, slowly tracing his fingers up and down your arms as he kept eye contact with you. “If you change your mind, at any point.. You just say so. And then it’s over, no questions asked.”

You nodded. “I know. Thank you.” As much as you were trying to keep it together, you couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m excited. But I'm nervous, too. How does this start and–”

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. After a few seconds, there was a voice.

“It’s, uh, me. Bucky.”

Steve glanced down at you, giving you one last look waiting for your confirmation. You responded with a coy smile and a nod, shifting around to lean against Steve. He draped his arms around you and called out for Bucky to come in.

You had always been aware of how attractive Bucky was. You were a normal, warm blooded woman after all. But there was something even hotter about seeing him cross through the doorway, knowing full well what intentions you all shared. And the fact that Bucky looked nervous, like his confidence wasn’t guarding him as it usually did, made it all feel even better.

Fuck. These men and their suits, too. Bucky was wearing black on black on black and the way his metal arm glinted under the lamplight, you nearly choked.

Bucky shut the door behind him, glancing over his shoulder quickly to look back at Steve. You sensed Steve’s nod, because Bucky made sure to lock the door, too. Then after an awkward silence, Bucky took it upon himself to sit on the couch.

“So,” Steve started, all calm and casual as his fingertips skated against your exposed collarbone. 

All you could do was stare straight ahead at Bucky, watching him watching you and Steve. Fuck, what happened now? How did you cross this line and–

You gasped as Steve’s lips found your neckline, weakening your knees as his tongue and lips explored your skin.

“Sweetheart,” Steve paused, moving one hand down your body and toying with the bottom of your dress. “How are you feeling?”

You whimpered, closing your eyes. “G-good. Yeah, so good.”

Steve grinned against your neck, pressing another kiss under your ear. “Buck?”

You looked back towards Bucky as he took a second to reply. He was already adjusting the top of his jeans, taking in slow breaths. “Yeah, so far so..” When he bit his lip, you nearly collapsed.

Steve lowered his voice, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Baby, what do you want? You wanna help Bucky feel even better?”

Holy fuck, you did. You really did. Jesus Christ almighty, the whole concept of Steve encouraging you to put your mouth on Bucky was electric. 

“You already makin’ a mess of those nice panties, baby?” You nodded again, looking back up at Steve as he grabbed your neck. “You take care of Bucky then he’ll watch me take care of you. How’s that sound?” 

Your reply was a jumbled up moan of positivity as Steve kissed you again, hard and wet before squeezing your hips and swatting your ass. 

As you walked towards him, Bucky sat up just a bit straighter on the couch. He was still nervous but judging by how he was running his hands down his thighs, you only imagined how excited he was, too.

“Hi Bucky,” you said quietly as you very slowly got down on your knees. “Can I..” You dragged your tongue across your lips, then glanced down at his belt.

Bucky swallowed hard, sparing another glance towards Steve before looking back at you. He sucked in a breath then reached his hand out to steady your chin. “Only if you want to, doll.”

You couldn’t help but smile, genuinely. Despite being on your knees in front of him, you were grateful that Bucky was still confirming your own interest in this whole thing.

“Yes, please.” You nodded and placed your hands on his knees, slowing running them up his slacks until you met his belt buckle.

He was quick to assist you in your task, pulling at his belt and lifting his hips as you yanked on his pants and boxers. His cock was already hard and ready and you couldn’t even help yourself, immediately reaching for it.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled, hands clutching the couch as you ran your hands against it.

“Buck,” Steve called out from across the room. “Pillow.”

You looked up at Bucky, who was scrambling to reach out and grab a nearby throw pillow from the opposite side of the couch. Without a second thought, he lifted it to rest behind his head before Steve interrupted him.

“For her knees, you dumbass,” Steve laughed, and you couldn’t help but join in.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, helping you position it under your knees.

You didn’t reply, but instead you gave Bucky a sweet smile then got to work. You swiped your tongue around the head of his cock, before trailing it down along the soft silk of his shaft. Then you took a deep breath and slowly opened your lips, sucking on the tip.

Bucky’s hands gripped the couch even tighter, barely resisting the urge to thrust his hips upwards. You appreciated his restraint, though you couldn’t help but feel for him.

Your name left his lips, like a curse word. “Doll..” You felt one of his hands against your jaw. “Look at me.” Your eyes darted up to his and he really cursed this time. “Fuck, oh fuck. Yes, look at you with my cock in your mouth. So fucking sexy.”

That set you off, attempting to take even more of his length into your mouth as you looked at him. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you stroked with one of your hands, fueled by the drool dripping past your lips. 

You got into a groove, shifting through a pattern of swirling your tongue, sucking long and hard and adding in both fists stroking on and off too. Above you, Bucky seemed to be in a euphoric state. And he couldn’t stop praising you for it, either.

“Jesus Christ, doll. This fucking mouth. So pretty, so fucking pretty with a cock in it. You do this for Stevie too, don’t you? You’ve done it right here on this couch haven’t you?” 

Something about the way Bucky talked about you and Steve really riled you up. You hollowed out your cheeks, looking up at Bucky with wide eyes as you waited for him. After a second you, pulled back and grinned.

“I let him fuck my face right here, Bucky. Do you wanna do that too?” 

Bucky licked his lips and grinned right back, grabbing the side of your head ever so gently and guiding you right back down onto his cock. Then, he did exactly what he wanted. His hips thrusted up quickly, moving in and out of your mouth in record time. You gagged against him as he held you there briefly, then slowed down.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ come, doll,” he fell back against the couch as you took over once more, both hands alternating between massaging his balls and stroking up. You took him back into your mouth, sucking harder as Bucky’s moans grew louder. 

“So close, so fucking..” You pulled back and Bucky grabbed his cock with one hand, steadying your open mouth before him with the other. He growled as he came, hard. You stuck your tongue out, smiling wide as his climax washed over him, unloading onto your tongue and lips. You let it sit there in your mouth for a few extra seconds, keeping eye contact with Bucky as you swallowed it down.

He collapsed against the couch, eyes blown open wide. “Holy fucking shit. Stevie, the mouth on your girl..”

“You can address your compliments to her directly, Buck,” Steve laughed, standing from where he had been sitting in his chair and coming over to help you up. “You might have made his brain malfunction, sweetheart.”

You smiled proudly, meeting Steve’s lips for a kiss. You leaned against him again, tilting your head up to him. “Need you inside me, please?”

“Yeah?” Steve asked. His hand rested against the base of your neck, holding you flush against his chest. “And can Bucky watch?”

You couldn’t help but giggle and nod.

Bucky’s eyes opened slowly, as a smirk grew on his face too. He didn’t even bother cleaning himself up or pulling his pants into place again, simply leaning back and watching carefully as Steve led you over towards his desk. 

Steve took his time, kissing you quite generously as he peeled your dress up towards your waist. You felt him smile against your lips as his hands tugged on your underwear, sliding his fingers towards your center. Just as he had predicted, you had clearly really enjoyed yourself, as your soaked panties indicated.

“I’m gonna slide right in, baby,” he breathed against your neck, swirling his fingers around your clit. “Maybe next time, we do this at the same time. Do you want to try that? Bucky in your mouth while you’re full of me?” 

You groaned, twitching as Steve’s fingers sped up. It wasn’t long until your orgasm approached and soon enough you were quivering in Steve’s arms, ricocheting your way up and down the rollercoaster of senses as Steve turned and pressed you against his desk.

You laid down across it, on your stomach with your ass up in the air. You could feel Steve behind you, shoving your underwear to the side as he freed himself from his own pants. You gripped the edge of the desk as he entered you, slowly at first to make sure you were comfortable and ready. 

Across the room, you watched as Bucky was gripping his own cock, somehow hard again. Steve held onto your hips and thrusted steady, letting out his own series of grunts and moans as he fucked you.

Between your own moaning and Steve’s, you could barely hear Bucky across the room but he said your name out loud. You met his eyes as he was rubbing his shaft.

“You’re incredible, doll. Absolutely fucking incredible. And look at you, taking Steve so well. You like that, huh? Being so fucking full of him?”

With your own orgasm approaching, all you could do was cry out in agreement. Steve growled behind you, speeding up as he gripped your hips even tighter. 

“Look what you did to Bucky, baby,” Steve smacked his hand against your ass, holding you tight against him. “With just your mouth..” 

Bucky smirked, biting his lip as he watched you bounce against the desk. “Gonna let me feel that pussy next time?”

Your climax felt volcanic - a flurry of neurons firing off in your brain as you quivered, safely pressed against the desk as the weight of Steve covered you like a warm blanket. He came right after, growling in your ear as he spilled into you. Steve stayed in place after, as if unable to let go as he caught his breath. 

As you came back down to earth, Steve eventually stood, taking a moment to clean you up before coaxing you back into his desk chair. Yeah, you definitely needed a few more minutes. If you stood, you might fall down like a baby deer. 

You leaned back into the soft leather chair, eyes closed as you grinned. 

Steve kneeled before you, pressing a kiss to the side of your knee as he fixed your skirt. 

“Baby, you okay?” 

You opened your eyes and looked down. He was flush and seemed awfully content. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile like that before. 

You bit your lip, resisting your urge to scream with joy. You glanced from Steve over to Bucky. He was still sitting on the couch, though his pants were done up and buckled again. 

“I’m really good. Like, wow. Great. Amazing.”

Bucky laughed from his spot. “Doll, you’re amazing. I..” He sat up a bit straighter. “Best  sidecar I’ve ever had.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking back to Steve again. They were wearing matching grins. You didn’t want to ask. 

“I have worked up an appetite though..” You moved to stand. Steve got to his feet and offered his hand. “How do we feel about milkshakes?”

You collected yourself as Steve and Bucky strategized the best way to sneak out of the club and find a table at your favourite diner. 

There was a shift, though. When Bucky opened the car door for you, exchanging another smirk with Steve. Something in the air felt different.

Part 2 - The Penthouse

[rottenpumpkin13]

begging for remnants headcanons from the almighty rottenpumpkin13

I don't know what I'm doing, I'm going based off vibes and a hypothetical AU where no one dies™

• Loz has a heart the size of Gaia. If he so much as sees a stray animal, his eyes immediately well up with tears, and the next thing you know, he's cradling a tiny, confused kitten in his massive arms, sobbing about how "no one loved them enough!!!" He's a regular a nearby shelter where he spends his weekends volunteering. The old ladies who run it adore him. The cats climb all over him like he's a human jungle gym. He's their favorite.

• Kadaj brushing Yazoo's hair is an experience. Yazoo claims he can do it himself, Kadaj insists he never does it right and to "just let him do it this one time." Every session starts civil but ends in screaming. Kadaj yanking the brush through tangles like he's pulling weeds. Yazoo trying to slither out of his grip. "SIT STILL, YOU BRAT!" followed by "YOU'RE LITERALLY SCALPING ME!" Cloud has had to poke his head into the room to check if any scalping was actually occurring. Yet somehow Yazoo's hair turns out silkier when Kadaj brushes it than when he does it himself. Kadaj is so smug when he's done. Yazoo refuses to admit he did a good job.

• Yazoo is very good at art. He's patient pays great attention to detail. He keeps a sketchbook filled with sketches of the cityscape in Edge, animals, and the occasional figure that looks suspiciously like Sephiroth. Cloud thinks it's great for him to express himself, although he's had to confiscate it once. Yazoo made Kadaj and Loz sit for him while he sketched, claiming he needed "live subjects" to perfect his technique. Loz happily obliged, thinking maybe Yazoo would draw him as a cool warrior or something. Kadaj complained the entire two hours. "How long is this gonna take? Can I at least hold a sword? This is boring—" When Yazoo finally let them move, they rushed over to see the masterpiece, expecting something dramatic and artistic. Instead, the page was filled with sketches of a stray cat Yazoo saw earlier and a mini list of art supplies he intended to buy.

Kadaj: WHERE ARE WE??

Yazoo: You're in my heart.

Kadaj: SON OF A—*cut to choking, biting, and Cloud running in to separate them*

• Loz can't cook, but Kadaj, somehow, can He cooks perfectly. Loz tries, he wants to be helpful, but his critical flaw is that he follows no recipes, eyeballs every measurement, and always ends up making something cursed. Kadaj just watches in horror every time, wondering how Loz is physically capable of making soup explode.

[irukaamerite]

can't draw [is a bit depressing how often I can't doodle lately]

So, yeah, Enemy to lovers Kakairu because I need to share this weird and ooc idea with the world

Iruka is from Kirigakure and somehow managed to survive until adulthood, he is traveling with Zabuza and Haku, working to get money, Iruka end in a solo mission while Zabuza and Haku meets their canon end.

So, yup, he discovers that the person he was following in hopes Kirigakure gets better and the kid he loved as a little bro died in a mission that sounded simple.

So, with grief in his heart, he infiltrate Konoha with the sole idea of murdering Kakashi in his sleep.

Delusional? Yes, but grief is a weird thing and Iruka is a bit suicidal at this point, the only family he had left is gone, like his hope of a better Kirigakure.

So, he enter Konoha pleading refuge, and he gets it, Iruka is aware that Anbu is looking at his every move but don't care, he can see them [the echolocation ability he seems to have] so he is aware of the little minutes he is truly alone.

So, I know this sounds super serious but this is basically tom and jerry[? But Iruka try to be very careful at first so Kakashi don't KNOW WHO he pissed that much

Iruka try to kill Kakashi in multiples ways, and sometimes just mess with him [if he can't kill him he is going to make him regret being alive by inconvenience him with little things]

Kakashi is aware that someone is trying to kill him but is more amused that worried? Yeah a bit arrogant but he is in Konoha and all traps have failed...

Iruka befriend Naruto after he witnessed how badly he is treated [he don't get why people bully this particular kid... is just a kid] and they plot some silly pranks together because Iruka is salty with the world and Konoha is weird.

So, they "meet" because Naruto

Iruka is finally under Kakashi radar because *Who is this random who is close to Naruto? A menace?*

So, Kakashi just hate Iruka because the Misuki thing is still fresh and Iruka hates Kakashi trying to get revenge

THE THING IS THAT IRUKA ONLY WANT TO HARM KAKASHI AND IS LEGIT NICE TO NARUTO

So, Kakashi when he discovers that Iruka is a good person and not someone trying to Kill or Kidnap or badly influence Naruto, starts to lower his guard, and stalks Iruka a bit

And then discover that Iruka is the one trying to Kill him... but he don't feel that bad, no biggie, he can overcome this, seduction is a thing.... a thing Kakashi sucks at, but he try anyway.

Like, Idk, Serenading Iruka while Iruka is trying to discreetly stab Kakashi

So, basically Kakashi trying his best to win Iruka heart while Iruka is slowly healing and overcoming the death of his friends, and maybe, maybe forgiving Kakashi (?

[tribalauthor]

Hall of Fame (roman × sophia one-shot)

Summary: Roman and Sophia are honored with the task to induct Paul Heyman at the WWE Hall of Fame. On the way home, however, the power couple gets into a power argument. How are they going to resolve it?

A/N: if you want to dive deep into Roman and Sophia's love story, you can check out my fic The Wisewoman

Warning: age difference, smutty

word count: 4.3K

April 5th, 2024

Roman's POV

As a WWE superstar I am beyond used to the many cameras and flashing lights in my face. It's been like this for more than a decade now.

But tonight it's different because I am at the Hall of Fame red carpet side by side with my beautiful girlfriend. This is our first appearance together outside the WWE ring. Not as the Tribal Chief and Wisewoman but more like our true selves added with a little bit of glamour from our custom outfits.

"And here I am, with the most poweful couple in the business, ladies and gentlemen." Jackie approached us with her mic and cameraman behind her. "How are you feeling, guys?

"Amazing. It's an honor to be a part of another Hall of Fame ceremony and even a bigger honor to be here with Sophia." I replied in a matter of fact tone and then Jackie pointed the mic to Sophia.

My million dollar hot girlfriend. Her blonde hair was made into a high bun, wearing a long red dress with her full back exposed and deep cleavage. The dress is so tight that it makes her beautiful round butt pop and her pretty tits are way too out in my opinion and that drives me slightly crazy. You can't help but notice her glowy skin that is also iced out by the jewelery I bought for her.

"I feel lucky to be here tonight with the biggest draw of sports entertainment and also beyond proud of my uncle being a Hall of Fame inductee. He deserves that more than anybody." I can't help but giggle at her for keeping a kayfabe.

"You guys are rocking these outfits. What brand are they?" Jackie remarked.

"They are custom couture." I dilligently pulled down my grey blazer. "I wanted something that screams 'us'." I explained.

"Designers really did their job right. That suit is very fresh and the dress to die for." the brunette woman shook her head and Sophia spinned around in a circle.

"Right? I can't wait to take it off later." that just slipped out of my mouth and I saw Sophia slowly turning towards my direction with a serious rather mad expression.

She really doesn't play when it comes to restraining at work and I am lowkey scared of her because she is even more serious than me in some aspects. Even than Paul himself.

"Let's see how are you gonna play your cards tonight, champ." my girlfriend said with a pure straight face. So straight that it's sociopathic.

I pressed my lips and looked away like an embarrassed teenager. At the end of the day, she calls the shots.

"And you two are going to induct Paul Heyman later. Are you guys nervous?"

"Not really. To be frank even before I got in this business, I wanted to be the person who inducts my uncle in the Hall of Fame. He knew I was going to be the person, so basically I've been anticipating this moment for years and now it's here. I'm excited." Sophia replied with a soft smile and then Jackie pointed the mic at me.

"I-uh. I actually didn't expect Paul to suggest me this and when he did, I said 'no' at first. To induct a tremendous talker like him, you gotta be at his level and I think Sophia is the most perfect example for that." I explained the story briefly.

"I chose both of them because they are the closest people in my life." I heard Paul's voice from behind. There he is, one of my closest friends. Wearing his signature dark blue suit and red tie.

He came close to us with the wheelchair and I helped him put him between me and his niece. It's been three months since he suffered the leg injury and we still don't know when he is going to be back.

Jackie handed him the microphone as Sophia put her hand on her uncle's shoulder.

"There isn't any one more suitable for this than my niece and Roman. Both of them played and still play a big role in my life. First, we have the Tribal Chief promoting me from an advocate to a Wiseman and then Sophia helping me here while I'm absent. And doing an exceptional job, bringing new perspectives in the WWE." he turned his head, so he could look at Soph and then at me, and we both stroked his shoulder.

"My uncle Paul...where do I even start?" Soph started with her speech. She said earlier she ain't worried but we've been practicing our speeches for more than a week.

"He is the most amazing man I know. He's been by my side since I was a little kid, he always supported my decisions and he saw potentials in me that even my parents couldn't see back then. Paul Heyman isn't a typical uncle. You know, most uncles get drunk and talk smack at the family functions. Well, my uncle talks smack without the need of alcohol and he does it in the most dilligent way. So he is not like the rest." I admired her from the side. That woman is just exceptional from head to toe, inside and out and just in every single aspect you could think of.

The whole crowd laughed at her funny remark.

"He's also been my father figure for the last couple years." Sophia suffered a sudden loss of her dad years ago due to suicide and I don't even wanna imagine how that must feel. "He was the most supportive of me to accomplish my dream of getting a degree in journalism, he has taught me about the magic of logic and analytical thinking. He was also the one that suggested my name being Sophia which means 'wisdom'. My name was supposed to be Barbara. Can y'all imagine Barbara Heyman? Outrageous. Thank you, uncle." she looked at him in the crowd with grattitude and he blew her an air kiss. "After everything he has done for me the least I could do is to help him with his work while he is away." Soph continued. "And of course, to induct him in the Hall of Fame."

"Personally, I believe Paul Heyman deserves to be inducted at least three more times. This whole business wouldn't be the same without him. He elevated the company to new heights and he's been doing that since he was a teenager under the training of my dear late grandfather Richard Heyman. Keep up the good work, uncle." that is the conclusion of Sophia's beautiful speech. The crowd applauded loudly and I know my turn is next.

I leaned to the mic and took a deep breath. "This is a ridiculous spot to be in. I gotta cut a promo for the promo himself after the young promo spoke beautiful words. Is this how the roster feels interfering in my family business?" now everyone is laughing.

"Paul Heyman is a man that if you let close to your circle, he can change your life drastically and of course, for the better. He loves to say that I elevated him but this is a mutual work. As much as I elevated him, he elevated me too. There is no Tribal Chief without his Wiseman. Thanks to him, I saw many different perspectives that eventually led to the renaissance of the WWE."

"In a world where people tell you what you want to hear, Paul tells you what you need to hear and he knows exactly when to say it and how to say it. I think it's beautiful. As a man, I kind of even envy him for that ability and I still got a lot to learn in that aspect." I really decided to speak from the bottom of my heart and present my perspective of Paul.

As much as I wanted to go home immediately after the ceremony and enjoy my alone time with Sophia, we had to stay for the after party.

I am an almost 39-year-old man whose time for partying passed long ago. However, Soph is still a young woman who wants to meet different people and try to have a little fun when it's possible.

Of course, I respect that. That's why I agreed to stay here. It's also an occasion to meet with Paul, too cause I didn't visit him that regularly due to the tight schedule.

Right now, we are all in a big hall with the lights quite dimmed and rap misic playing in the background. While me and Paul were talking, I saw Sophia surrounded with her girl friends colleagues - Tiffany, Bianca, Samantha and Rhea, laughing and having a good time obviously.

"Paul, you need to be careful with the drinks." I instructed him. He is on his second glass of bourbon. As of me, I am just drinking a non-alcoholic cocktail. Tomorrow is first night of Wrestlemania, so I have to be in an immaculate condition.

"Oh, Joe, please don't act like my ex-wife. I am finally free from her for a little while." he just told me off and I couldn't help but laugh. He hates his ex-wife but at the end of the day, she is the mother of his kids.

He has the misfortune as he says to be taken care of by her.

"Alright." I put my arms up in defense. "I am just trying to save you from her wrath if you go back home drunk."

"You think I care about her wrath?" Paul furrowed his eyebrows. "I am a grown man. I can do whatever I want. I don't owe anything to Miranda. She decided to take care after me." he tried to prove a point here.

"Because you are the father of her kids. And after everything, y'all have been through, it's normal for her to pull up and help you." tonight is my time to give him wisdom.

"She just wants to annoy me, that's it." his rational way of thinking reminds me of Sophia so much.

"OG, what's up?" the twins finally approached us. I took a look at Sophia's direction and I saw that Theory, Grayson and Carmello joined the girls' party. I looked around the girls' men but they were talking with each other.

I could hear only muffled conversations from my cousins and Paul since my eyes were glued on Sophia and company. The boys seem to be entertaining them. My girlfriend was laughing her tits off.

What are they even talking about? And what is it so funny? They ain't funnier than me. I was about to go and join them but somebody caught my arm and that was Jim.

"Uce, what are you doing?"

"Just gonna check what's going on over there." I replied and got off his grip. Then I saw Paul also examining the view in front of us.

"You are worried about these guys?" he almost ridiculed me. "I can assure you my niece has zero interest. None of them is her type."

"Uce, you are a mature man. Act like one. Leave her be." Josh adviced me and hit my shoulder. I bit my inner cheeks, trying to keep my cool.

"I just can't stand her talking with other men and laughing with them." I said the truth as I put my hands on my hips or as fans call it - the dad pose. "I don't even talk to them, why would she?"

"Do I sense irrationality?" Paul seems in a shock. "I expect it from Roman Reigns but never from Joe."

"Oh, you have no idea." Solo shook his head. "Ever since he met Sophia, he became crazier than usual."

Then I looked at Paul, who has a smug on his face. "Are you in love with my niece?

"I am." I replied immediately since there is no ounce of doubt in this. "And I know that since the day she showed up in Triple H's office, introducing her as my temporary Wisewoman."

Suddenly Paul's smug transformed into a smile of pride and delight. "I knew exactly what I was doing when I sent her to that office."

"What? You knew that-" I couldn't even finish my sentence and my wiseman just nodded his head. "You could have introduced her to me way earlier, by the way." I said in a rather bitter tone.

"By earlier you mean when you were married? Or when she was a minor? It wouldn't have been the same." he shook his head.

"OG, you are really a mastermind." Josh clapped his hands in acknowledgement. I looked at Paul with pure surprise from what I just heard and shook my head, followed by a sip of my non-alcoholic beverage.

"I just want great nephews or nieces." I choked on the drink and the twins started hitting my back. "Sophia's mother wants too but she is too proud to admit it."

"Joe is not ready for kids, I fear." Solo spoke. "If you intend to react like this when Sophia's attention is on the kid and not on you...not sure if you picked the right father for your great nephews, Paul." he shook his head and I playfully grabbed his neck locking it between my arms.

"My judgement, Solo, has always been accurate." the wiseman spoke while the twins tried to get me out of my little cousin.

Once I got off him, I looked at the Sophia and company and now they seem to dance all together. With the boys.

"It was quite a night." Sophia groaned as she rested her back on the smooth black leather seat of the limo we are in.

I decided not to respond but I felt her suddenly putting her legs on my thighs and letting out a groan of relief.

"Those shoes killed me. Jimmy Choo is a secret criminal." I stood there, still silent. Not even moving. "What's up with you? Why aren't you talking?"

"I just don't feel like talking." I finally spoke with a shrug and I caught a smirk on her face.

"Something is wrong then." she concluded and dragged herself closer to me and ending up sitting on my lap.

Again, no reaction from me.

"Talk to me. What's up? Are you nervous for tomorrow?" she seemed so genuine, examining my whole face, trying to lift up my mood but tonight I feel like a grumpy uncle.

"No, I'm just tired." I didn't completely lie. I really am tired but I am also mad. Not sure if it's at her or myself, at this point.

"Okay. I understand." she nodded and then got off me.

I hate how understanding and mature she is. I mean I love it but I hate it cause she is literally the perfect woman and that's exactly why I am so jealous for her.

"You are mad at me." she concluded. Of course, she would understand.

"I am trying to be mad at you but I am more mad at myself." I replied frankly.

"Why? And please don't tell me it was because Austin and Grayson talked to me." I could sense the slight but not weak enough judgement in her tone.

"Nah." I said quietly. "Why were you laughing and dancing with them when you could have danced with me?"

"Oh my God." she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Why you didn't ask me to dance with you? Cause I bet you didn't feel like it."

"I didn't but if you were right by my side I could've felt like it and I would've make you laugh harder." I defended myself.

"Joe, stop making everything a competition. I am in a relationship with you. I am aware you are my dream man, my ideal type and the greatest boyfriend in the world. Why do you feel so bad when you know the truth?" arguing with Sophia Heyman is like a crossword with no right answer.

"Because I am just a selfish man and I want you only for myself." I replied confidently.

"Sweet but I am not your property. Do you see me getting all red about you talking to other women? It's completely fine. I also am aware you have crazy amount of female fans who would give everything to spend even just 5 minutes with you but I am not making a deal out of it. First, because I have self-confidence and self-respect. Second, I just have no other choice but to accept the circumstances." although I see her point, I cannot be completely sure how she would react if she sees me laughing with another woman or dancing. Perhaps she is right because she is way too logical and sometimes I love it but right now I hate it.

"And now you are probably gonna diagnose me as an insecure loser. Okay. If that's what you think." I shrugged still trying to sound calm.

"Where in my speech did you hear me saying that? If you were like that, do you think I'll be with you right now in your limo, wearing the dress and the jewellery you bought for me? If I thought you were an insecure loser, I'd never even breathe in your direction, trust me. Your confidence is what mostly attracted me to you, Joe. And that possessiveness was funny at the beginning but it surely starts getting out of hand now." if we were in a wrestling match right now, I'd be taking the pin in that very moment.

The saddest thing is I know that she is right and I know I am being childish as hell although I am approaching my 40s but that's what she does to me.

"Were you that possesive of your ex-wife, too?" one thing about me is that I kick out at 2.999 seconds and I felt the rage building up in me.

"Why does that have to matter now, Sophia?" I slightly raised my voice. My ex-wife had a completely different job from mine. She was an interior designer but to be completely honest, I definitely didn't have the same level of toxic possessiveness like I do now.

"It matters. Are you a possessive guy in general or you are like that because of me?" I wrinkled my lips and started shaking my leg intensely.

Suddenly, the car stopped and the driver said we arrived in front of the hotel. He definitely heard our quarrel despite the partition being rolled.

I, of course, thanked him and gave him a big tip since he wasn't obligated to listen to me and Sophia's dramas.

"We are gonna finish upstairs." she announced coldly and got out of the car. I had no other choice but to follow her.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about Miss Perfect. We always have to look unbothered and cold and diligent. I thought I was too much until I met you." I continued speaking as we walked at the sidewalk and the black and gold automatic door opened for us to get into the hotel reception.

"Was this supposed to be an offence?" she replied calmly and quietly as we reached the elevator. Again, I feel like a loser. She is so calm and reserved while I I'm on fire right now.

"Take it as you want." I pressed the number 10 button which is the floor of our room we are staying at. "And to answer to your question - no, I'm not usually the possessive type." I tried to sound as calm as her for now.

"Sweet." she said in the most sociopathic way possible, not even looking at me. "But as I told you, I am not your property."

I took a deep breath and I got close to her, pinning her at the metal wall.

"I've never said you are a property. I know you are a human being, Sophia, but you are mine. You understand?" I spoke with my voice low and as much as she tried to look unbothered I saw a spark in her deep blue eyes and I felt her heart beating against mine.

"What does it mean to be yours? I fear our interpretations may not be mutual or even close." she asked me. That's what being with Sophia means - always mind stimulations, logic at its finest mixed with grace and of course, insane dose of attractiveness. "You think that being yours means to be tied to you physically while I see it as souls being tied. It has nothing to do with the physical."

Ding.

We just reached the floor. Although I feel I am close to defeat, I still have time to think until we get in our room.

Once we entered in the spacious accommodation and closed the door behind me, I finally decided to give an answer.

"You are right, but I still think there is a physical aspect behind the meaning. All the stuff we do, while no one is watching." as I was explaining like a teacher, I saw her taking off her beautiful red custom dress, leaving herself with a bare chest and red lacy lingerie which I felt like tearing apart at the very moment. However, she took it off leaving herself completely naked. "And also forgetting what we were even arguing about once I see your beautiful naked body, the painters won't be able to execute perfectly." she knows what she is doing but I saw her grabbing the white towel and heading to the bathroom completely unfazed.

"Take your time and think about this." she shouted after me and got in the bathroom. I am not gonna think about anything.

With no any second wasted, I swiftly took my clothes off and let my hair down cause I know Sophia loves when it's fully down withe curls. I got in the bathroom which is rather spacious and with a big glass shower cabin. She was just turning the water on like she turns me on, too.

"Get out of here. I didn't invite you in." she said coldly but I didn't listen at all and went to her in the cabin. "Joe." she looked annoyed.

"Okay, you win." I raised my arms indicating I am giving up. "You win."

"Because I am right or because I took my clothes off. Be honest." she is always seeing through people and asked with a dose of skepticism.

"Both." I finally said and she rolled her eyes. "But you are completely right, okay. You are right that belonging to somebody isn't just physical but it does play a part too." I said and got closer to her.

"It plays part in the sex and not with getting upset at me attempting to form some sort of relationship with colleagues who can be males, too." she took the shower gel and put some on her hand, spreading it around her body.

I bit my lower lip and started helping her, caressing her body. To my surprise, she didn't tell me to get away.

"I agree." I nodded my head and slid one of my hands to her private parts and with the other, I cupped her breast.

Sophia cleared her throat.

"Hands to yourself!" she demanded but I leaned to kiss her instead.

"I am sorry, okay? But you are just so perfect that I wanna show you off to the whole world while I also want to gatekeep you." I genuinely apologized. "I know I shouldn't feel this way and I promise I am gonna work on this." I read through her eyes and I saw her cold rather annoyed look soften a bit and then she kissed my lips softly.

"Apology accepted." she finally showed her beautiful smile that can light up the whole city.

We exchanged another kiss that grew in deeper ones and not so slow-paced as we usually do. The lingering anger from the argument is still existent and can be felt in our kisses.

"Agh." Sophia moaned out loud as I put my dick in her hole. The remnants of the pique we both experienced can be felt in our sex, too. I was doing fast and deep thrusts in her because as much as I am sorry, I also have a statement to make. No other man will make her feel how I do. And I'm not gonna say it out loud because I want her to feel it.

Our bodies are glued to glass that has became extremely foggy and not just by the hot water dripping on them but also because of our hot breaths.

Sophia's legs are tied around my waist while my hands are holding the glass in front of me, so I can give her a full, deep experience.

Her moans, rougher and louder than usual, echoing through the whole bathroom mixed with my deep growls as backing vocals.

She just feels so amazing and looks the most amazing when I am the reason she feels good. And the fact that I am the only man that has ever made her feel good boosts my ego even more.

Both of us came in unison and I buried my head in her neck, breathing heavily while she arched her back and released all the moans like she just got free of the annoyance I brought to her earlier.

We stared at each other for a bit, talking with our eyes for now, faces extremely close and our hot breaths in a wind battle.

After exchanging a deep long kiss, Soph got on the ground barely holding on her feet. When I saw that for the moment she can't walk or stand straight, I took her in bridal style and marched to the bed.

"I love you." I finally said. We were hugging in bed, ready to fall asleep and since we started with the sex, we actually almost didn't say a word. I think we said more than enough before that.

Soph flashed me with her sweet smile, making me feel like the sun just rised and it's morning already although it's past midnight.

"I love you too, Joe." she replied and then I kissed her forehead. "You are the only inductee in Sophia's Hall of Fame, remember that." she giggled and I followed her too. I probably sounded like a school girl but that's the effect she has on me.

I pulled her really tight to my embrace and kissed her head, caressing her arms and didn't realize when we actually fell asleep like this.

THE END.

[silverofthunder]

• about the (possible) ending of Ghost lore •

i'm not that surprised, to be honest. it's been going on for a while and while it has been fun to follow (though i have never been that much into it), i think it's okay to end it. after all, sometimes even good things has to come to an end.

yes, i understand it has made Ghost unique in some way but to me the music has always been the most unique part. that was the first thing that drew me in and that's what i'm here for.

also, it has seemed that most of the lore has been fanbased anyway, so we have made stuff up. we can still continue to do so despite there not being any 'canon' stuff. i've been in fandoms where there are no extra, just the music or whatever, and still people have been able to create: write, draw etc.

and yeah, i can admit that i never have had that deep connection (or how it should be called?) with the lore. for those who have had, i don't know what to say. "i'm sorry" probably isn't enough. i really don't wanna offend people here and make you feel like you can't be disappointed. obviously we take these things differently and that's okay.

i can also see this as a good thing. maybe there will be less fighting about the details (ships and everything). but i guess we'll see. i feel pretty neutral about the whole thing so far.

i'm sure TF has his reasons of why to end things and visions for future. and all i can do is to trust him and enjoy the music as time passes. ♡

[soulpager]

Rambles from the Archivist: Kubo confirmed recently in a Klub Outside question that he hadn't specifically nailed down ages for the Vizards, but he did know that Hiyori was the youngest and Rose was the oldest. That got me thinking about ages in general for these guys and just Soul Society aging in general, of which we know several things:

Aging theoretically takes about 10 years for 1 year of physical aging, per Rukia's estimate in the early manga.

Hair color has zippity-do-dah to do with age, since Toushiro and Jushiro both have/had white hair as kids, so Kensei being grey already means nothing in terms of age (especially if Rose is canonically older).

Kids apparently grow faster than adults, because the universe is kind enough not to stick Rukia and Renji with 10 years of Ichika being a baby (the diaper changes, oh god the humanity).

Having more spiritual energy/power seems to equate with how long it takes you to age, because Captain Yamamoto is ANCIENT and still kicking, compared to say, Ginrei Kuchiki, who seems to get old at a much more normal rate from the TBTP arc to present day.

Age is sometimes drawn a wee bit inconsistently (*sobs as a former Hitsugaya fan*) so it's hard to nail down anyway (but I sure as hell can't draw a 73 volume manga beloved the world over, so I'm sure as hell not going to throw shade about it!)

Captain Unohana is just a terrifying force of nature and we probably shouldn't inquire any further about that subject. Right? Right?!

OH GOD SHE'S BEHIND ME ISN'T SHE?!

No? Whew.

Anyway, we can extrapolate from Hitsugaya's appointment as the youngest captain ever that captains are typically going to be at least twenty or so. (There's a fair bit of hinting that Hitsugaya isn't actually as young as he looks but I won't derail into that right now).

Shinji also literally has the kanji for "common" in his name. Thaaaaat's not something a noble is going to do. Names have meaning. Plus, nobles in Japanese history tended to look down on merchants (because they sold things instead of making/producing them or fighting, and Kansai-ben is HEAVILY associated with merchants, historically). So, I feel pretty safe in assuming Kubo wasn't intending Shinji to be part of some noble household and he's just from the Rukongai.

Oh god, she's still theory-crafting, isn't she?

So while we don't know when Shinji died and ended up in the Rukon, it's a safe bet that he had to:

Attend the academy (6 years, let's be honest, our beloved slacker is NOT racing through the curriculum for fun)

Obtain shikai (possibly done at academy but might have taken a few years)

Obtain bankai and train/master it (minimum of 10 years, possibly longer since his is so tricky and technical)

Advance through the ranks and possibly swap squads, since we have no idea if he was always Squad Five and people can and do change squads more than once (Izuru and Renji did it several times.)

Get appointed Captain.

Served at least the 9 years mentioned in TBTP arc prior to Aizen Hollowfying him (and Aizen doesn't seem to be new as a Vice-Captain during that arc, AND we know Shinji appointed him).

In CFYOW, it's mentioned in the current Court Guard Squads he's enough of a veteran to fully understand the Four Great Noble Clans and their absolute power (pg.146 in Book II). So it seems reasonable to assume he was actually captain for a fair amount of decades prior to getting Hollowfied in order to be a veteran, because he hasn't been "back" at his old post long enough by CFYOW to add much to that.

Spent 101 years in the World of the Living (Roughly 10 physical years).

Just looking at rough estimates alone, it's likely Shinji was around the normal age of 15-20 when he went to academy and he's got at LEAST a minimum of 140 years worth of time just based on the above, not even counting however many decades he served as a captain that TBTP doesn't address.

Okay, you say. So he's at least 30 or older.

Wait, hold up. I'm still cooking. Real cooking, not like Shinji and his stupid takeout.

Remember, Byakuya was a teenager back then. When Shinji was clearly an adult and looked pretty similar in age to Ukitake and Urahara, neither of whom have aged much either in the last century. Byakuya may not be thirties, but he's definitely at least mid-to-late twenties. Shinji is actually pretty old, but he's not old enough to LOOK old yet. So I honestly put him at very late 30s to 40ish canonically.

BUT because he's a commoner, any life he lived prior to being dead would have been at a normal rate. So he's simultaneously "old" but actually "young" compared to a noble like the archivist here.

Kubo will inevitably release an updated question/arc/panel warping space and time and ruining all my theory crafting, so shhhhhh, just let me enjoy the moment. (Hitsugaya is older than Momo, grumble grumble grumble YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID KUBO YOU LOVEABLE TROLL).

You know how you can look at a lot of people and see a clear difference between 15, 25, and 35, but 30-40 just kinda looks the sameish? Yeah. Take it from someone who's old, chubby, and has average skin and hair - I still get people who are BAFFLED that I'm forty and not early thirties. Somehow after decades of looking ten years older than I am at all times, I just kinda... stopped visibly looking older to people. This is a real thing, I swear.

This is all just my headcanon supported on the shaky framework of time, which is wibbly wobbly in Bleach anyways.

[officeobject]

Okay, so like, audience (I have no idea if anyone is seeing this), this is the webcomic thing I've freaked out - didn't know there was a Tumblr for it, but whatever - kinda hope the author doesn't see this, but basically: read because aromantic Webtoon, why not? Was browsing for a bit after all, and reading some mediocre or kinda good thing, isn't too bad of an idea! And then I saw the main character, and I was like "shit, he looks like someone I'd have a squish on", so I just read and read nervously until I found something that'd make me stop having a squish ... uhm, yeah, so, I ended up liking him more and more, and also the Webtoon isn't even bad or pretentious or ugly or anything - like, it's good and all, but of course, dude fell into enough traits/a combination of traits, that made me like him in that weird extreme platonic love mode thing - it happens, HAS happened before, so, I sobbed at least 3 times the same night, decided I wanna follow this Webtoon and PRAY that he does something that makes me be like "nah, I don't wanna be friends", and also he reminds me of someone I used to have as a friend who fulfilled this role in my life but who abandoned me, and ALSO of how pure, utter, massively high-quality firm SHIT I am with peers (and again, he's close enough in age for my brain to panic), and of course also of The Void, and I was already dealing with psychological hunger - could be stress or The Void or something else, Lord knows - and also he's aroace too (this Webtoon focuses on him being aro though), which may or may not have kickstarted my hormones being extra there, as now I get squishes more easily and intensely and whatnot for like - God knows how long - and the latest incident was some drawing with notes, but I think I luckily forgot or just lived with it, but this time my only hope is to wait until I turn fecking 30 or however long it would take for puberty to end or something,

So, over all, 4 out of 5, because it still feels like it's starting out, but otherwise, it's high-quality, funny, relatable, not pretentious, something I can actually look at, etc.

First chapter of "Loveproof" drops tomorrow and I'm so happy!! There will be weekly episodes for a while and I can't wait to share them!!

[kaiserouo]

i run out of ideas for cayde

[buttercupshands]

thought about this thing for a while

it was extremely interesting to just analyze myself and get like a tier list in my head

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[untalentedace]

I should really have added a filter to the first to have made it seem like a thought / flashback.

A REDRAWWW of that scene I love

but anyway, wanted to do this before episode 19 arrives tomorrow. Wanted to render and full colour it, but not enough time for that. Therefore, shabby rough versions. especially the end.

Here's the unclipped version: (ignore that aborted window to the right)