#its brewing in my little brain though

[sunnys-side-upside-down]

Helix's fear of losing Tweetie

[lxnarphase]

Please more Hikari and Todo. It's scratching this itch in my brain😩

━━ ❝ IF YOU WANT IT ❞

☾₊‧⁺...lunar's note : AAA yesyes this has been brewing for a while, i am happy to write hakari i love him so sooooo much!! and ive got another ask for a todo fic im workin on so this'll be hakari's piece <33 it a bit short bc ive got a bit of writers block rn bc of finals taking away my creativity, BUT I THINK ITS GOOD

☾₊‧⁺...cw : smut, pre-established relationship, unprotected sex, dirty talk, begging, mentions of creampies, mentions of birth control, reader makes the birth control decision herself not for the man!!! never get on birth control just cause a man says to!!, hakari nearly loses it

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : you tell your boyfriend that you'd like to try sex with no condom and he can't help but get a little excited

"you...you what?"

the way you giggle makes him dizzy as you flicked the condom out of his hands with your middle finger and thumb. "you heard me, mr. hakari. no condom, baby girl is on birth control," you said in a singy-song voice. you made the decision a while ago and decided you were going to stick to it. "if you want to use a condom, we can, though, honey," you say, cupping one of his cheeks.

he looked so cute, jaw dropped as he kneels between your thighs, dick hard and twitching. "nonononono, i wanna try, i do, 'm just..." kinji lets out a heavy sigh before he shuffles a little closer. "c-can't believe you lettin' me d'this, cupcake..."

the poor thing, kinji looks so nervous, his eyes wide as he slowly, carefully, starts to push his tip in. if he's going to do this, he needs to commit, but fuck, your pussy was so hot, he feels like he's gonna die-- the moment his tip pops in, he is a goner. his head falls back and his fingers dig into the fat of your hips as a choked groan escapes him.

"hoooohmygod, baby, what the fuck," kinji swears, looking back down. he didn't wanna miss a single second of his cock pushing inside, but the view wasn't doing him any better. "you're so warm...are you always this wet, cupcake? fuck, i didn't know, baby, i didn't know."

you coo at him, how could you not when he already looks so fucked out? his pretty eyes are rolling back and his lip is between his teeth, the glint of his chain with your name on it dangling so pretty on his neck.

he's not moving yet, he's still inside you, so sure that he's going to lose himself inside of you. but then you start talking and he's so screwed because hearing you say such filthy things in that gorgeous, addictive voice of yours is kinji's weakness.

"c'mon, kinjiiii, you just gonna sit there?"

"mmn, poor thing, 's too good? you gonna cum just from puttin' it in?"

"d'aww, kinjiii...pussy made you fucked out already?"

yes. yes it fucking did.

weakly dropping down to his forearms over you, he presses a little kiss against your cheek before pressing his forehead against yours and glaring at you weakly. you know you've got him where you want him.

"doll, you're so cruel to me."

finally, finally, he starts moving and...it feels way too good.

"o-oh. mnn, kinji, shit," you swear, glancing down to where his cock is slowly dragging out of you just to push back in. "fuck, b-baby, you feel s' hot inside me..." the wet noise that fills the air as he slides back in to the hilt causes makes you both hot in the face, it's already getting messy and he hasn't even picked up the pace yet. he coos at you, kissing you once you begin to mewl his name. "i know, baby, i know, 's good, yeah?"

fuck, the sensation of being inside you without any barrier is intoxicating, overwhelming. kinji's pretty eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he allowed himself to feel every detail of your slick walls gripping him.

"talk t' me, angel, how's it feel, huh? c'mon, pretty baby, i wanna know," kinji whines, hips starting to pick up speed as he grows desperate to hear you say how good it feels.

but you don't even get to respond before he hits so fucking deep that you can feel yourself gush. the feeling of your hot, cushy walls hugging him so tightly paired with the pretty little gasp he gets when his sticky tip nudges against something that makes you get impossibly wetter makes him lose his mind.

"y'feel it, right? 's me, 's all me, an' i don't know if i can go back, baby girl, fuck! ohmygodd, you're so wet, so fucking wet for me."

"can i cum inside? you gonna let me fuck you full? hm? please, baby, i'll be so good to ya, let your man stuff you wit' his cum, 's gonna feel so fuckin' good, promise, promise."

"suckin' me in so good, 'm-'m gonna be in this pussy all the fuckin' time. you can handle it, right? gonna be a good girl and get fucked every. fucking. day. by hakari kinji? say it, i wanna hear you say it, cupcake."

"i love you, baby, y'know that right? yeah? yeah, love you s' fuckin' much, 'm gonna marry you and make sure you never have t' go a day without gettin' fucked raw by this cock, 's alllllll for you."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[jungaji]

don't be a stranger

jeong jaehyun x barista!reader ♡

genre: strangers to lovers, fluff (wc: 1429)

jaehyun stood outside the new café, arms crossed, his face pulled into a scowl so intense that even the cheery glow of the place seemed to dim in its presence. the soft hum of conversation and the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted out the door, but neither did much to improve his mood.

“i’m telling you, woo. this place will never replace 127 Coffee. their coffee’s probably watered down garbage, and just look at that tacky logo... Café 7 Dream? what the hell does that even mean?” jaehyun scoffed, his lips curling as though even the name left a bad taste in his mouth.

jungwoo, undeterred by his friend’s dramatics, burst out laughing, the sound light and carefree as he gave jaehyun a playful shove. “relax…we’re here on important business. you know—research the enemy before we destroy them.” he added a wink for good measure, tugging jaehyun’s shoulder to prevent his stubborn friend from stalking off.

jaehyun sighed, the reluctance practically oozing from him. “this is a waste of my time,” he grumbled but continued to allow jungwoo to pull him inside.

the warm air greeted them immediately, carrying the comforting scent of coffee and pastries. the interior was cozy yet modern, all soft lighting and muted colors that begged customers to linger. 

but jaehyun didn’t notice any of it.

because the moment his gaze landed on you, the entire world seemed to come to a standstill.

you stood behind the counter, your smile soft and inviting as you handed a steaming cup to a customer. the way your fingers danced over the screen as you took orders, the gentle lilt in your voice as you chatted with your co-workers, and the focused little pout you wore as you carefully measured coffee beans—it was as if every detail about you was designed to captivate him.

jaehyun was utterly mesmerized. he didn’t just stop walking; he stopped thinking. he stood there, jaw slack, eyes wide, as his irritation from before evaporated faster than steam from the espresso machine.

jungwoo snapped his fingers in front of jaehyun’s face, before whispering in mock horror, jeong yunoh, snap out of it. what are you doing? we’re here to scope out the enemy, not drool over the barista!”

jaehyun barely registered his friend’s words. his heart thundered in his chest, drowning out everything but the sight of you. his feet moved before his brain could catch up, carrying him towards the counter like he was being drawn by an invisible string.

“hi! welcome to Café 7 Dream,” you greeted him with a smile so warm it could’ve melted glaciers. “what can i get for you today?”

jaehyun opened his mouth, ready to answer, but his brain had officially gone offline. his voice refused to cooperate, resulting in him just staring at you with an intensity that would’ve been unnerving if it weren’t for the soft, almost childlike wonder in his eyes.

jungwoo sighed dramatically, stepping in to rescue his dear friend. “two iced americanos, please,” he said, not before shooting jaehyun a pointed glare.

you nodded, punching the order into the register, as jaehyun snapped out of his trance. “and your number!” he blurted out, his dimpled smile softening the boldness of the request.

“please?”

your cheeks flushed immediately at his request. you were caught off guard, but when you looked at him—truly looked at him, with his sharp jawline, endearing smile and those soft, pleading eyes—you couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at your lips. “um, y-yeah, sure.”

you quickly scribbled your number on a slip of paper, handing it to him along with the receipt.

jaehyun’s face lit up like a kid who’d just been handed the key to a candy store. and as he grabbed the drinks, he shot you one last wink, his voice low but sweet as honey.

“don’t be a stranger, pretty.”

from that moment on, jaehyun’s life brightened like a hazy sunrise burning through fog. he texted you constantly, his messages playful and sweet as he made an effort to get to know you better. late-night calls became a regular part of your routine, often happening when the stars were too bright and neither of you could fall asleep. his deep, velvety voice lulling you to sleep as you shared stories about your day, your favorite songs, and your childhood dreams.

jaehyun started dropping by Café 7 Dream more than he’d care to admit. even jungwoo gave up on teasing him about it after the fifth time.

you’d often spot him seated by the window, stealing glances at you as you worked. his presence slowly became a comforting part of your routine—something you found yourself looking forward to.

one night, during one of your late-night calls, you noticed something different about him. jaehyun, always so confident and self-assured, was stuttering and fumbling over his words. his laugh also sounded a little more nervous than usual.

“yn,” he began, his voice soft. “i was thinking… would you uh like to go on a date with me? and not the ones where i um watch you brew coffee for hours and then walk you home. i mean, like, an actual date…”

one where we’re no longer strangers. if you um get what i mean.”

your heart fluttered, a smile spreading across your face at his confession. “i’d love that, jaehyun,” you replied, and the laugh he let out in relief made you giggle in return.

he spent the next ten minutes animatedly planning out the date, his excitement was so infectious that you found yourself falling even harder for him.

when the evening of the date arrived, jaehyun was a nervous wreck. despite jungwoo’s relentless teasing, he continued to fuss over every little detail of his outfit, muttering to himself about making a good impression.

but when he arrived at your door to pick you up, his breath caught, his heart racing faster than ever before. you looked stunning, your shy smile only causing him to blush harder. “you’re… woah,” he stammered, earning a soft laugh from you.

the date was perfect. dinner at a cozy restaurant was filled with laughter and effortless conversation. afterward, jaehyun took you to the local arcade, where you both let loose, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. he even let you beat him at basketball, though the grin on his face made it clear that he didn’t mind in the slightest.

the night ended with a quiet walk under the stars, your hands brushing against each other’s until he finally mustered the courage to lace his fingers with yours. the warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and the comfortable silence between you felt more meaningful than words.

when you reached your doorstep, jaehyun hesitated, shuffling his feet slightly as he stood there, shoulders squared but eyes flickering nervously between you and the ground.

the date had been perfect for jaehyun. from the laughter you two shared over dinner, to the way your eyes sparkled as you trounced him at every arcade game, each moment felt like something out of a daydream.

but a storm of doubts swirled in his mind: was he moving too fast? did you even feel comfortable with him? were you genuinely having fun—or had you just been too polite to say otherwise? did you think the date was perfect, too—or, oh god, did you hate it? worse—did you hate him?

“jaehyun,” you said softly, cutting through his overthinking spiral.

he blinked, his lips parting as if to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

you smiled at his hesitation, a flicker of nervousness crossing your own features but deciding to take the leap for both of you. “kiss me.”

his breath hitched at your words. “s-sorry?” his voice just shy of a squeak. “could you, uh, repeat that? i think i might’ve misheard—”

“i said,” you stepped closer, tilting your head up slightly to meet his gaze, “kiss me, jaehyun.”

for a moment, he just stood there, completely frozen, his eyes blowing comically wide. why did this scene feel so familiar? you giggled at his reaction, the soft sound like a melody against the still night air. but your laughter died in your throat when jaehyun surprised you by cupping your face gently.

with a soft brush of his thumb, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes searching yours. “may i? really?” he whispered, his voice low and slightly trembling.

you smiled, leaning into his touch,

“don’t be a stranger, pretty.”

authors note: i don't necessarily believe in love at first sight but if its jaehyun, ill believe in anything. please enjoy… >0<

[silent-stories]

𝟐.𝟑𝟎 𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Tw: fluff, angst, anxiety, stress

The soft rustling of the sheets stirred you from your slumber, your hand instinctively reaching out to the other side of the bed, seeking the familiar warmth of Noah.

The cool, empty space that met your fingers made you pause, blinking blearily into the dim light of the room. Your heart sank a little, knowing this scene all too well.

Noah had been off lately—more than usual. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of stress, not only from the intense schedule of rehearsals and recording, but the weight of something heavier. His anxiety, once a background hum, had started to increase, forcing him to make the hard decision of canceling some concert dates.

You knew it wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly. The band meant everything to him, but he had reached a point where the pressure was eating him alive. He couldn’t keep pushing.

But knowing that didn’t make it easier for him.

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand—2:30 AM. Too late for him to still be up, and too early for him to have woken up refreshed. Concern pulled you out of bed, your bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor as you quietly left the room. You had a gut feeling about where he’d be.

As you moved down the hall, the faint glow from the living room met your eyes, confirming your suspicions. The soft, warm light spilled across the floor, casting long shadows against the walls. When you rounded the corner, there he was, sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands gripping his hair as though trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of control.

The sight made your heart ache.

Noah’s shoulders were hunched, the weight of everything pressing down on him in the most physical way possible. He looked lost in his own mind, a quiet storm brewing behind his brown eyes.

Without saying a word, you walked over and gently sat down beside him. His body tensed at first, but the moment your hand found its way to his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades, he let out a shaky breath, the tension slowly unraveling at your touch.

He didn’t look up immediately, but his hand reached for yours, lacing his fingers with yours as he took in a deep, grounding breath.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

Noah shook his head, his gaze fixed on the floor, his voice quiet and strained when he finally spoke. “I didn’t want to keep you up,” he mumbled, his grip tightening on your hand. “I just… I can’t shut it off. My brain won’t stop.”

You scooted closer, tucking yourself against his side. “Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't, don't worry.” you asked gently.

He sighed, his hand leaving yours, his chest rising and falling heavily. “It’s the shows,” he admitted, his voice laced with frustration and guilt. “Canceling those dates… it’s been eating at me. I keep thinking about what people are saying, about how much I’m letting everyone down.” His fingers now twitched in his lap, restlessly picking at his nails. “What if I can’t get back? What if it takes longer than I think to get right again?”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew how much the decision had weighed on him, how much it had cost him emotionally to even consider canceling. The pressure of the band, the expectations of fans, the constant push to be at his best—it was a lot for anyone, let alone someone like Noah who had always carried his struggles quietly.

The anxiety, the fear of letting people down, had compounded into something much heavier than he could bear alone.

“I always feel like there’s a weight on my chest,” he admitted suddenly. “Like… no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of it.”

"A heart’s a heavy burden,” you whispered almost to yourself before you shifted in your seat to face him, your hand gently cupping his cheek, guiding his gaze toward yours.

His eyes, tired and rimmed with the weight of sleepless nights, met yours, and you could see the vulnerability he rarely let others see.

“Noah,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against the roughness of his stubble. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’ve been carrying so much, for so long, and you deserve to take care of yourself. The people who care about you—your fans, the band—they understand. And if they don’t, that’s not on you.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes closing for a brief moment as if trying to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. “It just feels like I’m failing. Like I’m not strong enough to keep going. What if I’m not ready when I need to be?”

“You don’t have to be ready on anyone else’s timeline,” you reassured him. “You’ll come back when you’re ready, when you’re really ready. And the people who matter will still be there waiting.”

His brow furrowed, but you could see the way your words started to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. He let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you’re doing the best you can. And that’s more than enough.”

He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against the inside of your palm, the gesture soft and vulnerable. “You make it sound so simple,” he murmured, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I just know you,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him gently. It was slow, sweet, and lingering, the kind of kiss that said more than words ever could. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. “And I love you.”

For a few moments, the two of you sat there in the quiet, wrapped in the kind of peace that only the late hours of the night can bring. You could feel his breathing start to slow, the tension in his body gradually melting away as he held you close.

But you knew he still wasn’t quite there yet. Sleep wouldn’t come that easily, not when his mind was still racing with what-ifs and self-doubt.

“I’m going to make you some chamomile tea,” you whispered after a few beats of silence, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes.

He blinked at you, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Chamomile?”

“Yeah,” you said, offering a soft smile. “You always seem to sleep better after it."

"I-" He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if considering your words. “Okay,” he muttered, glancing down at his hands, which were still fidgeting restlessly in his lap.

His voice was quieter now, as if admitting that he needed something as simple as tea made him feel him not as strong as you thought he was.

You touched his hand again, gently stopping the nervous motion of his fingers. “I’ll be right back, okay?"

Noah nodded, watching you as you stood up and moved toward the kitchen. You could feel his gaze follow you, even as you moved out of sight, and it tugged at your heart.

The thought of him sitting there, tangled in his own mind, made you wish you could do more to pull him out of it. But sometimes, all you could offer was a moment of quiet, a warm cup of tea, and a reminder that you were there, no matter how dark things felt.

The sound of the kettle heating up filled the stillness as you reached for the chamomile tea you always kept stocked. The smell of it, earthy and floral, drifted through the kitchen, calming even you as you prepared it. You poured the hot water into a mug, watching the steam rise and swirl, hoping it could do for Noah what you couldn’t with just words.

You made your way back into the living room, handing him the warm mug. He accepted it with both hands, his fingers wrapping around the ceramic as if drawing warmth from it, the cup look so little in his big tattooed hands that it looked almost funny.

His shoulders, still tense, seemed to ease a little as he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip.

He sat there for a while, the quiet ticking of the clock in the background the only sound as he sipped the tea. You sat down next to him again, curling up into his side, offering him the comfort of your presence without saying a word. He leaned into you, his body relaxing bit by bit, the warmth from the tea and your proximity finally starting to settle him.

When he set the empty mug aside, he turned to you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on your back, his breathing deep and even.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered after a long moment, his voice heavy with exhaustion, but softer now, less burdened by the weight of his thoughts.

“You won’t have to find out,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I’m always here.”

He hugged you tighter, his hand running through your hair as he held you close. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” you whispered back, looking up at him, meeting his tired but grateful gaze. “You’ve been so strong, Noah. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to need help.”

He didn’t say anything, just held you closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft, tender kiss. You could feel the exhaustion pulling him under now, the weight of his worries finally lifting enough for sleep to take over.

His eyes were finally starting to droop, exhaustion catching up with him.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.

He didn’t argue, didn’t resist. Together, you stood and made your way back to the bedroom, his arm slung around your shoulders.

Once in bed, you curled up beside him, his arm draped over you as he pulled you close. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, lulled you back into the comforting embrace of sleep.

And this time, you could feel Noah relax beside you, his breathing growing deeper, more even, as he finally, finally found the peace he needed.

And as you drifted off, wrapped in his arms, you knew that no matter how heavy the world felt, you would always be there to carry some of the weight for him.

[glassica]

Surprise boyfriend

Notes: M!yan x F!reader, non-con, sexual language, cursing, pregnancy trapping, blackmailing threats

"Hey Y/N, heard you go out with Ray right?"

You spat out the remaining cold brew. You? Go out with whom???

People must've assumed you were into him after seeing your exchanges at the party. But you swear that wasn't that serious at all! You were just fooling around to kill time!

- No. Who told you that?

- Ray posted about you all over his insta. Yeah right you don't use that app... But what do you mean you two aren't dating!?

You took one look at your friend's phone. Lo and behold, countless pictures of you and him holding hands and acting all lovey-dovey like a real couple. Your brain juggled through the hazy memories to see when the selfies were taken but oh dear, you were so drunk off the mind on that night to recall everything.

- Ray, excuse me. Do you have a moment?

- Sweetie I always have time for you. What do baby want from me now? ~

His cheesy line brought shattering earthquakes to your brain. God this man had zero shame, or you had been cursed to carry the embarrassment baggage on his behalf. "If we were alone I'd rip his ass off right instant." - you thought. "And I'll never have time for your goofy ass."

- I believe you misunderstood our relationship. I must've said something deceitful to you during at the party and I'll take responsibility for that. I don't plan to date you or anyone, Ray. I'm so sorry for misleading you.

You spoke in a remorseful tone. Though not able to recollect what nonsense the mouth had blabbered, you felt like owning him an apology regardless. Kids this was why you should never let peer pressure get to you and drink over limits, you never knew if one day you accidentally being entangled with some jackass.

Surprisingly Ray's expression didn't seem to fazed for a bit. On the contrary, the grin on his face got even more ominous and deranged, alerted your sixth sense that nothing coming out from this man was any good: It was a grave mistake involving him in your life.

"My baby wanna break up with me? Oh sweetheart how could you abandon me like that? Have you forgot your little promises to me about love and loyalty? Didn't you say I was your type, that your greatest wish was to be wrapped in my arms every night and showered your body with plenty of kisses?"

Freak. Weirdo. Creep.

How could anyone breath in the same direction of this guy and not get their skin crawled for a second? You were both amused and pissed off witnessing this whole circus show, wondering how out mind you were last Friday to be attracted to this walking joke of a man.

Get this over quickly, or you would end up committing some atrocities on that stupid face.

"I wasn't sober at the time. I must've been spewing rubbish. I'm really sorry for lying to you Ray, but can you please take down those pictures?"

"Why should I? I need to show off everyone my Sweetie's already taken, so that no one could touch you. Besides," - Ray tucked his head over your shoulder, the eerily off-putting grin grew even wider as he whispered softly to your ears, "those pics aren't the only proof of our unshakable bond."

He trailed off, calmly put a hand on your belly.

Your mind went blank.

"BITCH! YOU FUCKING RAPED ME!?"

"Now now. You hurt my heart, Sweetie. How could you accuse me of such heinous crime when all I did so much to give you such good time on bed? And don't lie, your pussy was cumming hard for my crotch. I still can recall those pretty little buds-"

Just then, Ray felt a burning heat on his left cheek. You were done. Completely dropped off manners. Eyes flaming with disgust and resentment while both hands clenching fist furiously, you became a wild animal determined to chew off its prey to the bone. You didn't care about anything else, any consequences after, your absolute goal at the moment was to tear this asshole to shreds.

But Ray was infuritatingly nonchalant, cocky even. He wasn't bothered for a bit when facing your wrath. Rubbing hand on the reddish cheek, he continued:

"Don't you believe you can brush your hand away from me, love. I don't like anyone seeing my angel in her purest form, but I have no problem releasing those clips."

A sadistic chuckle let out of his mouth observing the bloodthirst drained out from your face. If you didn't want him as your prince, then he wouldn't hesitate becoming the big bad villain tainting your life forever.

Ray caught your lifeless body in a loving embrace, just like that Friday night, and many more nights in the future.

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

Pairing: Han jisung x Female reader

Word count: 2.5k

Genre: angst

Warning: talks of depression and loss

Since the moment she walked out of my life, sleep has eluded me completely. Each night stretches into an endless cycle of tossing and turning, as my restless mind races with memories and imagined scenarios. Every thought seems to spiral back to her, replaying moments we shared and the laughter we once exchanged. It feels as if my brain has become a revolving door for her presence, and no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else, her image refuses to fade from my consciousness.

*knock knock*

“Han?” Minho's soft voice echoes through the door.

“Dude?…..are you awake?” he asks

Though I find myself awake in the physical sense, I can’t help but question whether I am truly present in the moment. The answer to that introspective inquiry is clear: not even remotely. I feel a profound sense of numbness enveloping me, as if I’m merely a spectator in my own life, detached from my surroundings and experiences.

“Han…please….im worried about you, its been days”

There it is, a reminder of my loss, my love, my everything. She’s gone, and the weight of that reality crushes me. I can still hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her presence, but it’s all gone. I pushed her away. Looking back, I realize how my insecurities and fears built an invisible wall between us. I wasn’t strong enough to hold on, and now, with each day that passes, I grapple with the haunting knowledge that I could have fought harder to keep her by my side.

“Get up…. Grab your shit we are going out” Minho says throwing my jacket at me.

“Do I really have to?” I ask, my voice laced with irritation, the frustration evident in my furrowed brow.

“Yes,” Minho snaps back, his tone sharp as a knife. He pauses for a moment, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips before adding, “Oh, and Han?”

“What!” I retort, my annoyance escalating.

“Shower, will you?” he says, his expression turning serious. “You smell absolutely disgusting.”

……

“Seriously, dude… you need to snap out of this,” Minho said, his voice edged with frustration as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under his palms. The radio played softly in the background, but it felt distant and insignificant compared to the knot of emotions churning in my stomach. “She dumped you; it isn’t the end of the world.”

I stared out the window, watching the blurred landscape fly by, feeling every single word he said ripple through me like waves crashing against a rocky shore. How could he understand? He had never experienced the kind of love that tore your heart out and laid it bare, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It felt as if she'd taken every cherished moment we've shared and smashed it in front of me, and there was no way to pick up the pieces. The pain was raw and fresh, and no amount of pep talk from someone who had never truly loved would change that.

I’m feeling completely drained; I didn’t even take a moment to brush my hair this morning. Honestly, I can only imagine the wild state it’s in right now—probably a chaotic mix of tangles and frizz.

“Where are we going anyway?” I finally say.

"Out… you really need to step outside those four walls, man. I can't stand watching you like this anymore. It feels as if someone has just kicked a poor, helpless puppy," he said with a mix of concern and frustration. As he turned and headed toward the exit, I caught a glimpse of my favorite coffee shop in the distance. It stood there like a cozy oasis, a charming little family-owned place nestled away from the bustling streets of Seoul. The warm glow of its inviting lights and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee reminded me of simpler times, moments of comfort I desperately craved right now.

“We are here” he smiled as he pulled into the parking lot.

Getting out of the car felt like an uphill battle, each movement requiring a renewed effort that left me breathless. Lately, everything seemed to bear the weight of that same struggle, as if I were trudging through thick mud. The absence of her presence loomed heavily over me; nothing felt familiar or comforting anymore. Even my favorite spot, once a sanctuary filled with laughter and shared moments, felt desolate and empty without her bright smile and warm company. I longed for the days when simple outings were filled with joy, but now they were simply reminders of what was missing.

As we stepped through the door, a warm smile from the owner welcomed us. The atmosphere inside was surprisingly quieter then normal. I glanced around and noticed that aside from us, there was only a single woman seated at a table, her back turned to the register as she focused intently on her phone. The subtle hum of soft music played in the background, adding to the inviting ambiance of the place.

“Just your usual?” the owner asks with a friendly smile as he moves toward the register, the familiar sound of the coffee grinder humming softly in the background.

“Yes, please,” I respond, feeling a warm sense of comfort in this cozy café. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries fills the air, stirring memories of many mornings spent here. As he prepares my order, I glance around, taking in the soft lighting and eclectic decor that makes this place feel like a second home. the first time in what feels like forever I smile.

“Lets go take a seat” Mingo says leading me towards the stranger in the corner of the cafe.

“Dude, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice laced with hesitation as I reach out to grasp his arm, attempting to gently pull him back from the edge of the situation.

“It’s about time you stopped indulging in this melodramatic nonsense you’ve been milking,” he said, his voice steady and firm as he closed the distance between them with purposeful strides.

“Are you really trying to set me up on a date? Minho, I can’t believe this! I’m not even four days into my breakup,” I whispered fiercely, glancing around to ensure the stranger nearby couldn’t overhear our conversation. My heart raced with a mix of disbelief and frustration, the weight of my recent heartbreak still heavy on my chest.

Just like that, as if the stranger had a sixth sense about my thoughts, she suddenly turns around and our eyes lock in an instant. There she is—my love, my everything. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in soft waves, catching the sunlight and shimmering like spun gold. She’s wearing those adorable overalls that fit her perfectly, with tiny patches adorning the pockets that give her an effortlessly cute vibe. My heart begins to race, pounding in my chest like a drum, and I can feel the warmth of a blush creeping onto my cheeks. Everything around us fades away, and in that moment, it feels like just the two of us exist, suspended in time.

“Before you decide to punish me, just take a moment to talk to her,” Minho urges, his voice filled with urgency. Yet, I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from her, captivated by the way she stands there, a mixture of vulnerability and strength in her demeanor.

“What do I even say” I answer back.

“The truth… oh, and don’t forget your apology,” he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. With a friendly pat on my shoulder, he turned away and made his way across the room to engage in conversation with the owner.

As I approach her, the golden sunlight bathes her face, casting a warm glow that highlights her features in the most enchanting way. She resembles an ethereal angel, so captivating that I can't restrain my admiration. “You look absolutely beautiful,” I find myself saying, the words spilling out with an earnestness I can't contain.

“Thank you,” she says with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling as she gracefully settles back into her chair. With a welcoming gesture, she motions towards the vacant chair opposite her, inviting me to join her in the conversation.

Before she has the chance to utter a single word, I take a deep breath and start to explain. “I’m really sorry, y/n. I know I was a jerk….what I did—”

“Was disgusting…disrespectful, and utterly wrong,” she interjects, her voice sharp with hurt. Her eyes blaze with emotions, making it clear just how deeply my actions had affected her.

"You’re right," I murmur, my gaze falling to the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

"I came here to tell you that... to tell you that every decision you made that day... it made me physically ill," she continues, her voice trembling with emotion. A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realize the weight of my choices, the hurt I've caused. How could I have done this to her? The thought spirals in my mind, gnawing at the edges of my conscience.

“I can’t believe you would ever think that you couldn’t come to me for help,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. “Did I mean so little to you, Jisung? Is that how you truly see our relationship?”

“No, not at all,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t want you to—”

“What! Find out?” she shot back, her eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger. In an instant, she stood up from the table, the chair scraping sharply against the floor, and stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as I glanced toward Minho, who wore a look of concern. Panic surged through me as I pushed away from the table, my footsteps echoing against the cold tiles as I hurried outside, desperate to stop her before she disappeared completely.

“Y/N, wait!” I call out, my voice echoing as I rush after her, my footsteps quickening against the pavement. I can see her reaching the car, her movements hurried, and I feel a sense of urgency gripping me.

“What is it that you want?” she screams, her voice echoing with a mix of frustration and desperation, her eyes wide with a blend of anger and fear.

“You!” I pant “Your face is etched into my brain. No matter how hard I try to remove it or forget, there you are, just…” I tap my temples vigorously with my index finger. “I’m stuck, bound by memories of you—your touch, your voice. It’s enough to drive me mad!” My eyes widen, reflecting my intense emotions. “I sit here wondering if it’s just me going through all this pain, or if you feel the same way.” my body shaking “everything reminds me of you y/n, everything”

“You don't get to say that Han, I gave you the world and you broke me”

In that moment, the weight of the world crashed down upon me—this was the final blow. You broke me . I lowered my gaze, embarrassment washing over me like a dark tide. “I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, a fragile acknowledgment of the pain that had unfolded between us.

“How dare you,” she breathed, her voice a venomous whisper as fury danced in her eyes. I felt the weight of her accusation settle heavily on my chest, and all I could think was that I deserved this searing tongue-lashing. “You don't get to hurt… not after what you did. How could you?”

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, glistening like fragile glass as they fell. Each sob seemed to echo in the space between us, a haunting reminder of the pain I caused. My heart twisted painfully as I took a step closer, instinctively wrapping my arms around her in an attempt to offer comfort, just like I used to before the callousness took over me and I lost my way.

“Shhhh,” I whisper softly, cradling her in my arms. I place gentle, warm kisses on the crown of her head, trying to ease her worries and calm her racing heart. The soft rhythm of my voice mingles with the quiet of the room, wrapping around us like a comforting blanket.

“How could you ji?” she keeps sobbing.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I repeat the words like a mantra. Each time I say it, I yearn to convey the depth of my longing for her, the aching void she has left in my life. I miss her more than I can express—every moment apart feels like an eternity. I crave the warmth of her touch, the way her fingers would glide over my skin, igniting sensations I can't forget. I long for the sweet taste of her lips, the intoxicating blend of intimacy and desire that left me breathless. Each thought of her pulls at my heart, reminding me of the connection we once shared.

"I will spend every moment of our lives trying to make it up to you… I promise," I say, my voice filled with conviction. Gently, I nudge her back a bit to create a bit of space between us, then I lift my thumb to tenderly brush away the tears that glisten on her cheeks.

“I loved you,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her body shuddered in the struggle to contain the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Please, I beg you… no more secrets, no more lies… just grant me this one chance to make things right. I know you may have loved me once, but my feelings for you have never faltered, not even for a moment. I was foolish, thinking I could navigate this alone without reaching out for your support. I see now how wrong I was. I’m pleading with you—find it in your heart to forgive me, just this once more”

Her eyes lock onto mine, a magnetic pull that sends a jolt through me. I gently trace my thumb across her bottom lip, my mind racing with the desire to press my lips against hers at that very moment.

I can see a flicker of longing in her gaze as it darts between my eyes and my lips. The air between us crackles with the tension of unspoken wishes. Leaning in closer, I lower my lips, hovering just inches from hers, and whisper softly, “Your turn to make the first move.”

With that invitation hanging in the air, she closes the distance between us. Our lips collide, a perfect union that feels as though they’ve been yearning to meet for ages, igniting a warmth that spreads throughout my entire being.

I gently pull away, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “my love.”

With a tender smile, she gazes into my eyes and replies, “my everything.”

Taglist: @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @armystay89 @daceydeath @cakeracha

[blackleatherjacketz]

Good With All Three

Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, I horny-watched this movie, so I horny-wrote this story, I make no apologies!, Never Have I Ever, Alcohol, Kissing, Ari’s Magnetizing Gaze, Hands, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink (for him), Multiple Orgasms

Summary: You and Ari play a late night game of Never Have I Ever and things get very hands-on very quickly.

Word Count: 2.6k+

Tags: @bullet-prooflove​ @skittle479​ @letsby​

Read more of my stories HERE

“Never have I ever had sex in public.” Ari’s prompt leaves his lips as they curl into a smirk, their rosy color masked by the green beer bottle he nearly empties as he leans back in his seat, patiently awaiting your answer.

His questions continue to grow bolder with each sip he takes, ranging from ‘never have I eaten an insect’ to ‘never have I kissed a man’, and now to this. His eyes linger on yours a little bit longer as he draws the last few drops from his bottle, almost as if he can read your thoughts as soon as they darken. He holds your gaze until it finally breaks, venturing down to the patch of chest hair peeking out through his loosely buttoned collar.

You try your best not to envision him shirtless as you finally relent and take a defeated sip of your beer, giving yourself away.

“No shit?” He grins from ear to ear, setting his bottle down before quickly running his hands through his auburn locks. “I’m surprised.”

“Oh, really? Like you haven’t?” Surely someone as confident and attractive as Ari has ended up in a similar situation with someone in the past.

He shakes his head, sitting back up in his seat. “Too risky.” He grasps onto his bottle, examining its empty contents with a regretful sigh. “Gotta keep a low profile.”

“That makes sense.” You pause and think back on your experience in a JC Penny fitting room with your college boyfriend, remembering it with less fondness than you care to admit. “Mine was a long time ago, anyways.” You spin the base of your bottle between your fingers as one last drink swishes around inside it. “Back before all this.”

“Was it fun, at least?” He leans forward with an elbow on the table, a strand of hair falling in front of his eyes as his bottle nearly touches yours. “The thrill of it?”

You shrug your shoulders. “A little. It wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though.” You pretend not to notice as his knuckles brush against yours.

“Really? Why not?” His eyes have you again, the dim lighting of your fake resort matching them with the light blue denim of his shirt.

“It was a confined space, and even when he didn’t have that as an excuse… like most guys with big dicks, he didn’t really know how to use it.”

Ari gawks at you with genuine surprise, his eyebrows jumping up into his hairline as they wrinkle his forehead. “Has that been your general experience, or just with him?”

“Mostly everyone. They tend to rely on it too much, you know? And they aren’t very good with their hands or mouths, either.” You consider going into more detail about your past lovers but decide against it, the way he’s looking at you right now suggests a desire for more than historical knowledge.

“That’s a real shame.” He leans in close to you, barely whispering as the top two buttons of his shirt openly reveal his perfectly sculpted chest. “Because I’m big, and I’m pretty good with all three.”

Jesus Christ. He just came out and said it, didn’t he?

You blink a few times to properly register his words, a newfound heat brewing in your belly as you try your best to form a coherent thought. “A little cocky, aren’t we?” You manage to tease, your body picking up on his signals before your brain has the time to talk yourself out of it.

“More than a little.” He bites his lip and touches your knee with his fingertips, his thumb sliding swiftly beneath it. He grins as you try to stifle a gasp, the sudden act of intimacy shocking your touch-starved skin to the core as he gently encases your knee with his palm. He watches intently as you allow him to touch you, silently granting him permission to continue onward as you spread your legs even further apart.

“You don’t think women have lied to spare your feelings just because you’re hot?” You swallow hard and try to focus on the conversation as his hand ventures even further up your thigh, taking his time to close the gap between you.

“You think I’m hot?” He pushes the pads of his fingers toward your center, pressing them into your muscles as his thumb tickles the fine hair on the underside of your thigh.

“Maybe,” you whisper, just now noticing the rings of olive green that surround his pupils.

“Maybe?” He smiles, squeezing the bulk of your thigh as his thumb reaches the hem of your swimsuit. “I’m gonna need you to tell me the truth.” His tone shifts from playful to stern in a matter of seconds, tightening the muscles in your abdomen as he smooths his hand up your pelvis. “You think you can do that for me?” He brushes his thumb underneath the polyester just long enough to skim over your sensitive area.

“Uh huh,” you nod.

“I don’t want you to lie to me like all the other guys you’ve fucked.” He finds the tie on the side of your bikini bottom, pulling on the string that holds it together.

“Okay,” you start, trying your best not to hold your breath as his fingers warm your skin. “I definitely think you’re hot.”

“That’s good.” He unfastens the bow on your hip, his other hand pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as the back of your swimsuit falls onto the seat of your chair. “I think you’re hot, too.” He moves his hand across your hips to the opposite bow, unfastening it in nearly half the time. “Now if only there was a way we could solve both of our problems.”

“If only,” you whisper. You look down and watch him pull the unfastened swimwear off your body, instinctively scooting to the edge of your seat as his skilled fingers find themselves between your folds before you even have a chance to ask.

“Can you be honest?” He curls a finger under your chin and forces you to look up at him, spreading your other lips apart before teasing your clit with his index finger.

“Yes,” you nod your head as he deepens his touch, rubbing it up and down as your moisture begins to collect beneath it.

“Promise me you won’t fake it?” He looks down at his hand for a split second as he sends tiny little pulses of pleasure into your skin, smirking as your breath stills in your chest.

“I promise.” You can barely speak, his intense eye contact and skilled fingers quickly proving your theory wrong as each upward motion intensifies the bliss shooting up into your core.

“I don’t want you to worry about hurting my feelings.” He moves his fingers down the length of your folds, gliding them easily inside your walls as he cradles the back of your head, his lips merely inches from yours. “I can take it.”

“Okay,” you moan into the space between you, grasping onto the loose denim of his shirt as he pushes his digits in even deeper, his knuckles now flush against your skin.

“Tell me what you want.” He reiterates, curling his fingers up and toward him, pressing against that bundle of nerves in order to pull you in closer like a fish on a hook. The legs of your chair screech across the tile floor, almost deafening the both of you as he draws you near, your entire body taking the bait as he repeats the motion over again. “Tell me.”

“I need you to touch me here.” You reach your hand down and grab his thumb, lifting it up and placing it on your clit.

He smiles at your instruction, doing as he’s told before finally leaning in to close the gap between your lips. That stale, faint flavor of beer mixes in with the sea salt still on his skin as you breathe him in, savoring his lips and tongue as they explore your mouth with more fervor than any other lover you could bother to remember. That moan of yours turns into a needy whine as he presses on that special spot from both ends, massaging you from the inside out as his thumb sends signals of immeasurable ecstasy up through your spine and into your brain.

He kisses his way down your lips and chin, his beard scratching your jawline as he moans in return against you, reacting to your silky walls clenching down around his fingers. His mouth leaves a trail of fire down your neck and shoulders, his tongue and lips marking nearly every inch of your chest and stomach with his saliva until he pushes his own chair backward while getting onto his knees.

Instead of pulling his fingers out of you, he keeps his steady rhythm going inside your slick. He looks up at you with intermittent glances of salacious pride as he presses his lips against your inner thighs, sucking scattered bruises into both of them as you softly moan his name. “I don’t want you to say my name again until you come, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, running your hands through his hair as he lifts your leg over his shoulder before diving in completely.

Every bold claim he's made up until now proves to be more than true as he licks a tantalizing stripe up each side of your dripping wet length. He slows his fingers’ pace inside of you, removing his thumb from that special spot only to quickly replace it with his hungry mouth. You try not to sigh too loudly as he laps you up, those eyes of his glancing up from time to time through strands of hair that fall in front of his face as his tongue flicks up and down in a delicately delicious pattern. A mixture of short and long strokes sends signals of euphoria throughout your body, like dots and dashes on the telegraph sending a complete and layered message into your brain until it reaches every inch of your fingers and toes, curling them in on themselves in sheer delight.

You grab a fistful of his hair as you feel yourself shudder, locking onto his eyes as he doubles down, tasting every bit of your flesh as your inner walls clamp down around his knuckles like a vice. You tug on his scalp, holding his head in place as you ride out your orgasm with his name on your lips, gyrating your hips against the tip of his nose as he continues to devour you like a starved man who hasn’t eaten in days.

“Ari!” You finally cry out as the pleasure nearly encompasses you entirely, wreaking so much havoc on your nerves and skin that you’re unsure if you can physically tolerate any more of it. Without thinking, you lift your leg up even further as he refuses to relent, planting it on his shoulder before kicking him off of you and onto the floor.

“How am I doing so far?” He laughs, smirking as he lands backward onto his elbows, the light reflecting off of the clear coat of your arousal on his lips and beard.

“Jesus,” you start, unable to stop your body from shivering in the aftershock as he looks at you like that. “I mean… good, you’re doing good.”

“You’re not lying, are you?” He stands up from his spot on the floor and runs a hand through his hair, his erection more than prominent in his jeans as he approaches you.

Good god, you almost forgot about that part.

“No,” you admit, catching your breath as your muscles continue to shake. “Not after that.”

“I believe you.” He takes your hand and helps you up onto your wobbly feet, walking with you almost as if the two of you are dancing before picking you up and setting you down onto the dinner table in one fluid motion. Your weight pulls against the tablecloth, clinking the dishes together before Ari pushes them out of the way to make room for what he’s about to do.

You can’t help but keep your legs spread apart as he steps in between them, your palm finding its way down his chest and over his clothed cock before unfastening his jeans to finally reveal what’s underneath. “Holy shit.” Your mouth falls open as his dick springs up from the denim you pull down around his thighs, its length and girth more than matching the level of confidence he always seems to have.

“I told you.” He raises his eyebrows before leaning down to kiss your lips again, the tangy flavor of your cunt spreading to each and every one of your taste buds as he brushes his tongue against yours. You savor your own personal zest until you feel him smile and pull away, looking down and spitting on his palm to stroke himself. He grins as you watch him work on himself, cupping his head a few times before noticing your jaw dropping on the floor. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit.”

You laugh in utter disbelief as he lines himself up with your opening, gliding the head of his cock over your clit a few more times just to watch you squirm as a deep, guttural moan brews in his chest. He finally decides to push himself in, that moan leaving his lips in little more than a whisper as he begins to fill you up, stretching your velvety walls to capacity. His breath hitches as he disappears between your folds, guiding himself in deeper with more ease than you thought was humanly possible before he eventually bottoms out.

You whine as he holds himself there for a minute, glancing up at you to make sure you’re okay before taking his time to pull out and thrust back into you, giving your muscles room to adjust before he starts chasing his own pleasure. He lets go of himself as he rocks into you, cradling the back of your head as the wooden table beneath you creaks louder with each consecutive movement of his hips. He keeps his other hand on your hip, holding you in place as he drills himself into you, breathing heavily into your kiss as trails of sweat drip down his chest, soaking little droplets onto the fabric of his shirt.

He growls against your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in as close as possible as he feeds your body with a visceral pleasure you weren’t entirely sure existed until now. Keening against him as he continues to fill you up, your overstimulated flesh tightens around him in a rapturous wave that seems to flood your senses even more than it had before. You can feel it rush its way through you, seizing every muscle in your entire body as it squeezes the release right out of him, forcing him to twitch and spasm into your blissful heat. He grunts with his last push inside of you, grabbing onto your ass to get as deep as he can, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix as he coats your inner walls with his orgasm.

He kisses your lips and forehead as he sputters inside of you, keeping himself between your legs as he memorizes how good the sensation of your muscles feels around him before slowly pulling out. “Did I…,” he runs a hand through your hair as he catches his breath, all the blood rushing up to his lips and cheeks. “Did I change your mind?”

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, continuing to hold him close. “Yeah, you did.”

[drawlfoy]

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.” 

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin. 

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it. 

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable. 

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy. 

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring. 

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it. 

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal. 

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you. 

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands. 

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?” 

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.” 

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer. 

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark. 

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point? 

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys. 

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder. 

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version. 

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market. 

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943. 

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please. 

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal. 

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below. 

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s. 

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train. 

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it. 

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

~

“Y/N!” 

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces. 

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had. 

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink. 

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you. 

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin. 

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty. 

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it. 

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you. 

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects. 

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand. 

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects. 

Huh. 

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either. 

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest. 

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away. 

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?” 

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.” 

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Right, right.” 

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.” 

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise. 

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly. 

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.” 

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all. 

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.” 

Y/N. 

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out. 

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added. 

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow. 

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you. 

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions. 

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing. 

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here. 

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though. 

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.” 

“See? Useful.” 

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot. 

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away. 

Well, goodnight you wrote. 

Goodnight

~

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit. 

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy. 

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.” 

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way. 

There you are. I thought I’d bored you. 

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight. 

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you 

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around. 

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink. 

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts. 

Then the lettering appeared again. 

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me. 

You lived in a muggle orphanage? 

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming. 

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to. 

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth? 

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn. 

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair. 

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class. 

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets. 

Surely you do. 

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this. 

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out 

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up 

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection. 

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important 

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.” 

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching 

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then??? 

Ancient. 

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage? 

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled. 

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out? 

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious. 

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction. 

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought. 

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail? 

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause. 

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly. 

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again. 

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section. 

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake. 

Not until now. 

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands. 

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here. 

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more. 

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it. 

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary. 

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead. 

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again. 

Tom was pretty��much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal. 

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again. 

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes? 

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive. 

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend. 

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day. 

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give. 

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke. 

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help. 

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied. 

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world. 

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy. 

“Lucy?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?” 

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze. 

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.” 

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent. 

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it. 

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.” 

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.” 

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok. 

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling. 

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook. 

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable. 

“Hi.” 

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin. 

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.” 

“And how are you so sure of that?” 

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.” 

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left. 

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered. 

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering. 

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning. 

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.” 

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.” 

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.” 

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away. 

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch. 

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.” 

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless. 

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.” 

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of  producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate. 

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.” 

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron. 

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut. 

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly. 

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?” 

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices. 

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory. 

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness. 

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?” 

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed. 

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes. 

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” 

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air. 

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing. 

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.” 

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening. 

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised. 

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you. 

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm. 

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?” 

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.” 

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders. 

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling. 

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well. 

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

[the-east-art]

Oh, wait I think I misread the post. My apologizes, I thought that was in reference to those two clothing shop drama. Though I am willing to hear out the other indie clothing shops that you keep a eye on.

Alright! Easts' big post about indie clothing brands I like!

Worth noting that while I’ve been keeping my eye on a lot of these brands for a while now, there is a possibility there is some kind of discourse around them that I missed - if so please let me know so that I can look into it myself!

Mayakern!

I like Mayakern a lot because they cater a lot to plus size bodies! They have plus size models and Mayakern themselves is plus sized! Recently they’ve been expanding beyond skirts to things like dresses and shirts. This makes me very excited because not only are these shirts cute as heck, but some of them are even more standard/essential shirts but are made with bigger body types in mind. So often fat people have to just settle for good enough,but its clear that Mayakern makes her stuff so that anyone wearing it can be confident! There’s also ton of customer pics you can see to tell how clothing lays on various body types. 

(Rest Under The Cut)

Umvvelt

Umvvelt focuses on fish/ocean themes and I absolutely love how creative they get - they’ve done a bunch of different fish lines focused on rays to jellyfish to sharks. I particularly adore their pinafores - I own three of them and they’re very comfortable AND have pockets. 

Carmico

A classic - I think the brand that got me really invested in indie clothing brands? Carmico does themed drops a couple times a year where they design a myriad of clothing pieces that all have a similar vibe/theme. I think they do a good job at getting creative while still having the clothing be something I would wear! From button-ups to sweatpants to jackets Carmico has the variety and the style. A lot of their clothing gives the vibe of something you would draw on a character and wish existed in real life - except now it does exist in real life! 

Morningwitch 

Another classic, if you haven’t checked them out by now PLEASE do. Morningwitch has SUCH as eye for design and patterns and color. Chiefly known for their creative button up tops (of which I own several) they also have expanded quite a bit recently. Their skirts are probably my favorite style of all the skirts on this list because they have a thicker band. They also do some relief print shirts, the CUTEST jackets (if you’ve seen pics of brownies pomegranate jacket this is where they got it) and on their twitter they have a lot more fun stuff brewing. Much like Mayakern they’re starting to branch out beyond their ‘standard’ (the button up tees) into new avenues and I personally look forward to what that brings! 

Knockthrice

This indie store blends concepts and casual wear together into something extraordinary. From their knight cardigans, to their ‘tea’-shirts, to their themed over-the-garden wall collections they have some of the most beautiful pieces you may ever see. Knockthrice does a great job at blending ideas into clothing in a creative way so make it something that I would wear in daily life. Their shirts are a good, durable, thick material - although maybe a little warm for the summer. A lot of their stuff gives me fall vibes, and as someone who loves fall the most out of all season - I eat it up! 

Envygreen Manor

More of a newcomer on the scene as far as I am aware, envygreen manor also does themed drops once or twice a year. However, their clothing it usually more of a mix between casual tees and more formal elements - their vests or poet shirts come to mind. I instantly fell in love with them when I saw their mock-neck designs and felt like they somehow knew me and exactly the kind of shirt I would want from them. 

Vetiverfox Apparel/Witch Vamp

Putting these two together because they kind of occupy the came part of my brain! They’re both skirt focused brands much like Mayakern. Vetiverfox typically has more intricate designs or patterns, while Witch Vamp usually has bolder themes - not that thats a hard rule or anything! I own I believe a skirt from each of them (soon to be two from vetiverfox!) and highly recommend at least taking a peak and seeing if anything catches your eye from either brand! 

Mothsprout

Mothsprout only has a few clothing options, but I absolutely HAVE to mention them. Mothsprout has two muscle tank designs that I literally wear like once a week - I’ve actually considered getting a second of the wolf design just so I can wear it more often. Their designs vary from intricate to fun, and honestly I would never pass up a chance to wear their beautiful art as clothing. 

Other indies I keep an eye on but don't have a lot to say about:

Motel777

Bison Wares

Snowlattes

Fiveboos

JeanaDraws

Howl Out

Bandaid Brigade

and if you have any other indie clothing brands you want added to the list lmk!

[wild0moon]

eating up ur captain design............ /pos

can i ask how pico and captain met in your au (i think its an au anyway)?

very canon adjacent, but it's an au, yeah. my friend and i's funky little universe just to the left of canon where we take things too seriously, you feel me

short version: they happened to meet at a cop shop while pico was waiting for (yet another) police interrogation, weeks to a month after the events of pico's school. john took an interest in pico and offered, mostly as a joke, to teach pico how to handle a gun properly. what was supposed to be a one-off lesson for a quick bit of entertainment turned into regular practice sessions and accidental (but immediate) emotional attachment from both parties. whoops!

and if you'll indulge me, here's the long version, because it's been brewing in my brain recently and i guess my hand slipped

(WARNING: descriptions of and vague flashbacks to the events of pico's school)

💚💚💚💚💚

The police station was usually quiet at this time of day. Idle tapping of fingers against a keyboard, muffled sounds of cars passing outside or of people talking in another room, none obtrusive enough to disturb the thoughts swirling in his head.

Now though, he was entirely preoccupied by annoyance.

Shut up. Why are you so loud? If you don't like pigs, why did you even come in here?

Pico had seen the strange man in black from the corner of his eye, swaggering in like he owned the place, only to start chatting to the receptionist with all the warm familiarity of two former classmates who never really liked each other very much. Derisive whispers in Pico's head grew louder in concert with his rising stress, adding to the noise, birthing a cacophony he couldn't escape from.

The man went quiet, and for a brief moment, Pico was sure he felt eyes on him. His own gaze stayed firmly on his sneakers.

The receptionist finally piped up with something other than a disinterested hum. "That's, uh, that Pico kid. Pico Fulp?"

"Ohh, so you're the kid who shot up his school."

Pico's head snapped up.

In an instant, his vision was dyed red, blood running so hot it threatened to burn him up from the inside. He didn't know when he got to his feet, but he was already taking steps toward the man.

"It wasn't me!" he snarled, words bubbling up and bursting out before he could stop them. "It wasn't! Watch your fucking mouth or I'll break your jaw, you stupid—"

"I got it, kid, calm down," the man talked him down, in a far more stern tone than Pico had been ready for, stopping him in his tracks. Matter-of-factly, he added: "I don't care how tough you are, you've got another thing coming if you think you can break any bone in my body."

Pico grit his teeth, fists clenched at his sides.

The white-hot fire of rage burnt out almost as quickly as it ignited, his little body only growing colder as he actually looked at the man standing before him, red giving way to black and white.

Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing sunglasses so dark it was almost impossible to see the inscrutable eyes behind them. He was uniformed — the army, not the police. Which rank was the three stripes for? Was the 'Captain' on the tag his rank, or his name?

Pico dared to speak up again. "It wasn't me," he repeated, far softer than before.

Captain turned bodily to face him. "I heard you the first time. So, what did you actually do?"

He looked away again, wringing his freshly scarred hands. "I... I stopped it, sir. I killed the shooters."

The slight movement of Captain's eyebrows snared the corner of Pico's vision. "Really now?"

"I... I found a big gun in the janitor's closet, they must've stashed it in there," the words spilled forth, as if he were back in that vile interrogation room already. "So I took it, and I shot them. All of them. There were four, a-and I didn't even know what I was doing, I was scared out of my mind, I'd never held a gun before in my life, I don't know how I—"

"You've never used a gun, but you still managed to take down four armed threats all by yourself?" There was a note of interest in Captain's voice, despite him crossing his arms.

Pico swallowed thickly.

"Please leave me alone!"

"I was told to just scare you! I wasn't gonna kill you!"

"...Two of them weren't moving, sir. I'd disarmed them, and they were afraid..."

Captain hummed. "Right. And the other two?"

No answer. Memories of callous men in blue giving him withering looks or laughing in his face when he told the truth kept his jaw clamped shut.

Captain lifted his head, looking around the otherwise empty room. "Where are your parents?"

A half-hearted shrug. "They don't want anything to do with me right now, sir."

They never did in the first place.

The soldier's thick eyebrows furrowed, but for the life of him, Pico wasn't sure what it meant. The man was as easy to read as a book with all its pages glued together. That, or he was just illiterate.

"I probably only lived because we were all just kids who barely knew what we were doing," Pico found himself saying, as if he hadn't also slaughtered a giant alien that day — Cassandra had been young and inexperienced in her own way, too. "If something like that happened again, I… I dunno."

Captain said nothing, just staring down at him, seeming thoughtful.

Silence fell over the room for a long moment, disturbed faintly by the nasty voices Pico had learned only he could hear. When the man's voice broke through the murmurs again, it hardly sounded any kinder.

"Look, if I were you, I'd stop pissing myself and go get some actual experience under my belt."

"But—"

He wasn't done. "You know where the gun range is, right? The one five minutes north of here? Meet me there at thirteen-hundred tomorrow. Even a minute late and the offer expires, got it?"

…What?

Pico lifted his gaze to meet Captain's, incredulous. "You mean... But, why would you help me?"

It was Captain's turn to offer a lazy shrug. "I'm bored outta my skull, and this is the most entertainment I've gotten in months."

He said that, but he didn't look very amused. Besides, a soldier like him surely didn't have time to waste on such petty entertainment as watching a child grappling with fear. Pico tried scrutinizing the man's face for a moment longer, unsure what he was even searching for, but quickly found himself at a loss.

The easy answer was that it was a genuine offer to help, to teach him how to properly handle a firearm and put that aspect of his trepidation to rest. Pico wasn't sure if he believed that, but for some reason, he really hoped it was true. That would mean that Captain saw something in him, something more than the unfortunate kid and murderer that the other adults saw, something worth taking a chance on.

Nice. This man, a total stranger, was being nice.

When was the last time anyone said something nice to him?

(Weeks ago, in a sterile hospital room, two hands gently clasping one of his own, their owner smiling in spite of the anxiety behind those pretty black eyes, the sweetest voice Pico had ever heard telling him over and over how everything was going to be okay—)

Pico shook his head, as if he could physically clear the memory away.

He's gone now. Stop thinking about him.

By the time Pico dragged himself back to the present, Captain was already on the way out, muttering something about the stench of hogs. Pico watched him walk away, until he disappeared from view.

"Prick," the receptionist muttered, returning their attention to their computer.

With little else to do, Pico returned to his seat. His own thoughts quickly took center stage as usual, but they were different now, looking tentatively to the future, rather than the bloody memories that tugged insistently at his back.

It had been a while since he had something to look forward to.

[sxtvrns]

purity and its presence in growth

🎶 now playing: my heart it beats for you - grentperez

P: Soul (Haku Shota) x Fem!Reader

S: Moving to Korea in the peak of your adolesence isn't easy. You just happened to be there to help. How can he miss you so much even though you only knew each other for an hour? Maybe exchanging numbers was a better idea than he thought.

C: fluff, cute moments, inaccuracy, brainrot, baby p1ece don't slander me, needed to get this into my drafts immediately, kinda sloppy, drabble, puppy love, longer than it should be

N: Y/N is your first name, L/N is your last name. i saw somewhere online that said soul moved to korea when he was 13 for fnc and somehow this idea began to brew in the deep depths of my strange brain. im a little new to piwon so if i get something wrong im sorry :P any ages mentioned are korean age, not international. his name means like 'child with a pure soul' so thats why the title sounds so poetic but okay enjoy the potato child content

view the rest of the conversations ☆彡

please interact if you enjoy!

After the almost 3 hour flight to Incheon, Shota stands in the airport mindlessly, staring at his phone and trying to resist the urge to call his mom. Though he knew that she'd pick up in a heartbeat if he did, he suddenly had a rush of independence surge through his veins when he stepped off the plane, telling himself every day was gonna be lonesome and that he'd have to learn how to get around. It wasn't until he got near the exit that he realized he had no idea what to do.

He should ask someone. There was a high chance quite a few people on that flight could also speak Japanese, but even so, he couldn't muster up the courage to talk to anybody. So he stood awkwardly, out of the way, watching all the people walk by and glance at him periodically.

He'd been studying Korean during his break time at school while at home in Japan, but he was afraid he'd say something wrong and embarass himself.

His eyes wandered amongst the people, and past the crowd of tall adults, there was you. A girl, who looked around his age, spacing out by some suitcases while some other adults, probably your parents, were talking to the clerks at the service deck. He took a deep breath, dragging his suitcases along with him as he shuffled past the bustling crowd and up to you.

"Excuse me." He mutters, catching your attention. "I need... to go... to this place. I.... don't know how." Your head tilts a little, confused while the cogs begin to turn in your head while he shows you the address. "You need a ride?" He nods. "Well, there's the railroad, but maybe a taxi can get you there faster..."

Now he's the confused one. "Could you... speak... slower?"

"Do you understand Korean?" You ask. He gestures with his fingers almost pinched together, meaning a little. "What other languages do you speak?"

"Japanese."

You smile. "If I'd known that, I would've answered in it then." You say, switching tongues so smoothly Shota's brain nearly fails to comprehend what just happened. "Where are your parents? Mine are taking too long at the desk."

"I came alone. My mom might come in the next few days to help me with moving. And send me off.”

"You and your mom are moving here? What about your dad?"

"No, I'm moving here. Alone. Just me. For work." You eye him and the two suitcases at both of his sides. "You look my age. How do you already have a job?"

"Um... I'm a trainee." Your eyes widen as you begin to nod, shocked. "Really? Already?" He nods as your eyes observe him again. "Cool. That's- wow, okay..." You struggle to finish your sentence, cutting yourself off. "Right, you need to get around- okay. Um, you could follow me. I know how to get the one way passes. Do you have money?" He nods. You begin to walk away as he trails behind you, following you to some sort of kiosk.

Guiding him through purchasing a pass, your parents meet with you by the railway, scolding you for walking off without informing them first before stepping on and finding seats on the train. The boy sits down next to you in the window seat, staring out at the scenery for the first time. "You could have taken a taxi, but I felt like I should've stayed with you. Y'know, so I can tell you more about how to get around and stuff."

"Thank you, by the way. I appreciate this. I think I would've gotten run over without you." He jokes lightheartedly. "No problem. I suddenly felt nice for once, so you're lucky you caught me at a good time." You send him the same energy, both of you laughing as the train begins to move. "When you get off with us, you can ask for a taxi, they'll drive you to the exact address. I’m sure you already know that, though." You add, him nodding before leaning fully back against the chair.

"What's your name?"

The question catches him off guard, staring at your awaiting face, almost forgetting to answer.

"Shota."

The way he introduces himself to you makes you smile. "L/N. Nice to meet you. It's nice having someone to talk to at my age that speaks my mother tongue. Even if all we do is just sit here and pass out while waiting to arrive." Your matching humour is something that sticks out to Shota, one that he likes laughing along to. "It must be scary, flying here alone and having to figure things out on your own. Especially with how young you are. I hope you'll do okay when we part ways."

"I'm still here for now. What are you and your family doing here?" He changes the topic, not wanting to think about you having to leave him so soon. "My dad's side of the family is Korean, so we come here often to visit them. We're considering moving here, since their side is trying to convince me to sign up for a career in modelling. They always say I 'have the visuals', which I don't see, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Don't forget me when you're famous." Shota says.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Trainee. You'll make it far, I bet. I'm looking forward to your debut already."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you on the billboards." You both smile at each other, a brief moment of silence settling between you two. Shota feels a tap on the side of his arm, head turning to look at you. You hold your phone towards him, the keypad open and empty. "Is it okay if we exchange numbers? This may be the only time we ever see each other, and I like talking to you. And you can text me if you ever need anything. I respond very quickly." Your attempt at convincing him was not needed, as he took your phone out of your hands swiftly and punched his number in. You did the same for his phone when he handed it to you, creating your contact for him.

L/N (ㆁωㆁ)

You write your name in Kanji for him, hearing him huff after you hand back his phone. You couldn't see the soft smile that adorned his face after seeing the contact name you set for yourself, as your eyes were already beginning to shut and send you into a deep sleep. For the rest of the ride, Shota looks out the window and all the buildings they pass by. Feeling a light weight against his arm, his gaze moves to check.

Your head rests against his arm, Shota listening carefully and hearing soft, deep breaths come from you. At first, he nearly freezes, but forgets about it and relaxes, letting you doze against his arm, checking on you periodically until the train reaches your stop.

Your parents are the first to see you two in that position, and while Shota's first instict is to panic and apologize, the idea quickly goes away, a smile on your mom's face as she shakes you gently to wake you up. When you first open your eyes, you see your mom, then turn to see Shota staring at you, nearly leaning against the window. You slowly begin to put the pieces together, embarrassed when coming to the correct conclusion.

When you wave as his taxi departs from the train station, reality dawns upon him. He’s alone, and he’ll have to figure out more than just how to get around since you’re gone now. He didn’t want to have to depend on you and annoy you all the time, so he vowed to himself that he’d learn and teach himself, along with the help of his fellow group members.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After Shota settled into the dorm and was toured around headquarters, the feeling of lying in bed suddenly felt more desirable than he thought it’d ever be. It’s been a few days since he parted ways with you, and he was hesitant to text you for some unknown reason.

He stared at your open empty message box for a while, spacing out until his phone starts buzzing in his hand. He reads your name on the screen, realizing you were calling him. He sits up, still in shock at the timing that he almost forgets to answer.

“Hello?” He greets, almost unsure. “Shota! How are you? Sorry I haven’t texted or anything, I’ve been having a lot of meetings with my family and stuff.” He’s frozen in place at the sound of your voice, so gleeful than how you first met. “No, it’s okay. I spent the last few days settling in so it’s fine.”

“Are you busy right now? Am I calling at a bad time?”

“No.”

“Are you okay? You sound nervous.”

He sits there for a moment, taking a deep breath before responding.

“I kinda miss you.” It’s embarrassing for him to admit, but he really does. “Oh.” He hears you mutter over the phone, probably unaware that he heard. “I miss you too, Shota. It sounds strange, but I do get worried about you sometimes. But the fact you picked up the phone is assurance that you’re okay, so…”

“It’s a bit hard when you aren’t around, y’know? Like, I don’t know, maybe it’s because you can speak Japanese and I’m not afraid of messing up in front of you because I can speak my home language, but it’s hard to talk to other people. Even my groupmates. I can understand what they’re saying, but I’m too nervous to mess up to even say anything to them.”

“Well, you can’t get better at speaking if you don’t speak at all. It’s okay to make mistakes, Shota. I made a lot when I was learning too. At least you try.”

“Kee– I mean, one of my group members is teaching me. He had to learn it too.”

“So you’re both learning together! That’s good, you both share learning experiences. I’d love to teach you, but it’s kinda hard over call.”

“But it’s possible?”

“Yeah.”

He ponders for a moment before coming up with an idea. “I have a laptop. We can video call when I’m not busy.”

“Really? Are you okay with it?”

“I’m the one that asked.”

“Do you think we can call… for non-lesson purposes? Y’know, just to talk?”

He huffs, and thought you don’t see it, you hear a smile in his tone. “Of course. I’d really like that.”

The door to their room opens, Jongseob entering. “Hi Soul.” Apparently his voice picks up on the microphone, because you ask, “Who’s that?”

“My roommate. One of them.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jongseob asks, looking over at Soul. “My friend.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“We met at the...” Soul knows the word, but is worried he’ll say it wrong.

“Airport.” You find the word for him, saying it into his ear.

“…Airport. She helped me.” He finishes his sentence with your help.

“She? Aren’t we not allowed to talk to girls as trainees?”

“We aren’t?”

“I think so? Maybe I’m thinking of something else; I keep in touch with my friends so I think it’s fine.”

“Are they all boys?”

“Mostly. Some girls.”

“I can’t talk to you anymore?” You ask, Shota almost forgetting he was on call with you. “We can. I think. We’ll do it in secret.” He hears you laugh on the other end. “Soul?” You say, overhearing the name his friend called him.

“My Korean name. I came up with it. With my roommates.”

“It’s cute! It suits you.” For some reason, he feels too flattered at your compliment. He overhears someone yelling in the background. “I need to go and help with dinner. I’ll talk to you soon! Bye!”

“Bye–“ He gets cut off by the sound of the call ending, letting himself fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled out. Jongseob looks over again at his roommate, who’s staring at the ceiling. “Are you okay?” He asks. Soul lazily responds with a thumbs up. “What happened?”

“Cute.” He mutters loud enough for his roommate to hear. “Cute?” Jongseob questions, puzzled. Soul points at himself, the cogs turning in his roommate’s head briefly before his eyes widen in realization. “She called you cute?!”

“My name.”

“Your name? She called your name cute? Soul?” He nods, Jongseob more shocked than he should’ve been. “Don’t fall in love yet, Soul, we haven’t debuted yet.” He jokes lightheartedly before he goes back to scrolling on his phone.

For a while, you’re the one to initiate calls. You always hesitate, knowing how busy he is, but you eventually learn that he’s off on Sundays and is usually off training well past 10 in the evening. If otherwise, he calls you first.

He enjoys talking to you a lot. He’s more comfortable speaking his home language in general, and the fact he has someone to talk to in it makes coming home from practice even more exciting.

His roommates would wonder why he rushes to his room so quickly the minute they step foot back in their dorm, but don’t question it. As long as he was able to talk to you, through call or text, he was able to stay sane.

While on FaceTime with him, the door to his room opens, as it usually does when you two call, this time a different man you haven’t seen before by the door. You eventually met Jongseob, the first guy who walked in on the two of you calling, and saw what he looked like, but this guy was definitely not him. He looked a little intimidating.

“Soul, do you want anything? We’re ordering delivery.” The man asks, Soul looking back at him. “Fries.”

“Just fries? Like usual?”

“I want… the same thing as you. Except large fries.”

“Okay, sure. Who’s that?” He seems to have noticed your face on Soul’s phone screen. “My friend. This is Keeho.” He introduces the man at the door to you, the name familiar. “He’s teaching you Korean?” The man gives a thumbs up, switching to a wave. “Hello, Soul’s friend!” He greets, his smile ridding all your previous opinions of him being intimidating.

“Hello! I’m just talking to Soul for a bit. How are you?” You reply, Keeho equally befuddled as Soul when he first met you, and how you switched tongues so effortlessly. “I’m doing well, thank you. How did you two meet?”

“Airport. I helped him get around for a bit.”

“Oh, really? That’s cool. I’ll be heading out now, sorry to interrupt.” Keeho waves at the camera again before shutting the door. Soul turns back to face you. “He looked scary.” You admit. Soul seems to agree with you, given the expression on his face. “That’s what I thought too! But he’s really nice and funny.”

“How many of your roommates know about me?”

“He’s the second one.”

“And how many roommates do you have?”

“Five. Plus me, so six.”

“Six?! And you share a room with how many people?”

“3 per bedroom. The whole place is actually quite roomy.”

“I don’t think I’d survive…”

“If you’re rooming with just girls, you’ll be fine. Boys, however…”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You got a haircut!”

“You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. It looks really good!”

“I got something else too.”

“What is it?”

Soul grabs something out of frame, eyes focusing on his fingers. “Keeho and I went out today. I found these rings and bought them.” He curls his hand into a fist, showing them off to the camera. It’s a variety of different skull rings, a few on his right hand and a few on his left. “Cool! Where’d you get them? I want some for myself.”

“I can just give you one.”

“Really? But you just bought them.”

“When we meet up sometime, you can pick one.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it helps remind you of me.”

Your face goes warm. “You’re so sweet, Shota.”

“Did you cut your hair?” He asks. You’re surprised he noticed, given how subtle the difference was. “It was just a trim. And they made it flowier or something.” His head moves closer to the camera. “Are you keeping it this short?” You shake your head. “Getting rid of split ends and stuff. It’ll grow back eventually.”

“It’s very pretty. It looks good on you.”

“Thank you…” You mutter, flustered for a reason you can’t make out. How noticeable could a subtle change be that it could evoke such words not meant to be anything more than meaningful?“I really want to see you.”

“You’re seeing me right now.” He jokes. “I know, but… in person. I feel kinda limited only being able to see you on my laptop or phone screen.”

“Me too. I haven’t debuted, so it’s kind of risky for me to be hanging out with a girl. Outside.”

“They don’t know we’ve been calling?”

“They know. But it’s more discreet this way because no one can see us.”

“When are you debuting?”

“I don’t know yet. And if I did, I don’t know if I’d be allowed to tell you.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets! I still remember some from 5th grade.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, I just remembered I needed to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

A smile slowly grows on your face. “I’m moving here.” Shota’s face is equally as shocked. “Really?”

“I got signed with an agent and got a few bookings! They’re small, but they’re something.”

“L/N, that’s amazing! You’re– you’re gonna be famous! I’m gonna see your face in all the stores!” You laugh at his enthusiasm. “Hey, maybe when we’re both famous, we can hang out in public! Maybe we can collaborate.”

It was always moments like this, purity radiated off your interactions. You’d get excited over the thought of seeing each other in person, what you’d do when you finally meet up, and how long you’d hang out together (you two always insisted on a night at your place). What you’d talk about, the kinds of pictures you’d take, what kind of food you could eat.

After all, you two were still kids.

You celebrated his 16th birthday late into the night, on voice call after his in person celebration with his roommates. He wished you were there as he blew out the candles on his cake.

“Happy birthday, Shota.” You softly greet, knowing he’s on the verge of falling asleep as he laid in bed. “Thank you.” He mutters, voice muffled, his face buried in his blankets. “I wish I could be with you in person. I got you a gift.”

“Really? You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to. I’ll give it to you when we finally meet up.”

“We always say we’re gonna meet up, but when? I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”

“It’s only a matter of your schedule. I’m free most of the time.”

“Maybe after I finally debut this year…” Shota’s eyes widen, realizing what he just said. “What? You’re debuting?”

“I didn’t mean to say that–“ You squeal softly over the phone in an attempt to not wreck his ears. “When were you going to tell me?!”

“Honestly, I forgot. I forget a lot of things.”

You stifle a laugh. “I’m so proud of you! All your hard work is finally paying off– maybe we really can see each other! When are you debuting?”

“Sometime later this year. It’s why I haven’t been picking up your calls, I’ve been really busy recording and stuff. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You do what you gotta do, okay? Just call me whenever you aren’t busy. Or text. Or whatever, I’m okay with anything.”

Shota softly chuckles. “So what did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll find out eventually.”

“I’ll be 17 by the time I get that gift…”

“Keep your head up, Shota, we’ll see each other soon enough. You sound tired. Get some rest. Goodnight.” He breathes slow and deep before replying. “Goodnight, L/N.” He ends the call, taking out his earbuds and putting them and his phone on the small, crowded bedside table.

“Was that L/N?” Jongseob asked groggily. Soul replied with a monotone ‘mmm’, meaning he was right. “Who’s L/N?” Theo asks from the far side of the room. “Soul’s friend. They call all the time.”

“You talk to her like she’s your girlfriend. How you want to see her all the time and stuff. It’s cute.” Theo mutters, Soul barely making out what he said. His face goes warm at the assumption. “We haven’t seen each other… in 2 years. We’ve only met once in person.”

“And training is holding you back from seeing her? That’s why you video call?” Jongseob puts two and two together, receiving the same monotone response from Soul. “We’re off tomorrow. You can see her then.”

“But we haven’t debuted yet.”

“So? Intak meets with his friends all the time.”

“They’re all guys.”

“Soul, you can’t exactly be deprived of meeting up with your friends. And what if she’s a girl? If you want to hang out with her, hang out with her.” Theo speaks up, voice clearer now that his head isn’t buried in his blankets. “This goes for you too, Jongseob. You guys are still kids. If you’re being forced to be an adult in the industry, at least try to have fun while you’re still young outside of work.”

Soul lays there for a moment. “What if she’s sleeping?” He asks aloud. “The fact she called you this late means she’s probably still awake at this time.” Jongseob says, convincing Soul to pick up his phone one last time for the night. He opens your contact in his messages, typing swiftly.

I’m off tomorrow. Can we meet up?

By the time he falls asleep, he receives a message from you.

Yes please (⌒▽⌒)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“L/N? You’re seeing her today?” Keeho asks, making himself a bowl of cereal as Soul eats his own. Soul responds monotone with his mouth full, his leader sitting down with him. “Do you want me to go with you? I won’t stay the whole time, I’ll just drop you off with her then walk around myself, might just get some new clothes.”

‘You bought new clothes a week ago…’ Soul thinks.

“Are you gonna get her something? How long are you gonna be out for?” Soul shrugs his shoulders at Keeho’s question. The other bedroom door opens, Jiung emerging from the dark room with a loud yawn before closing the door. “Morning.” He greets, going for the same breakfast choice as the two boys sitting at the table.

“Does he know?” Keeho points at Jiung with his thumb. “Jiung and Intak don’t know.” The boy at the kitchen counter looks at them weirdly. “Me and Intak don’t know what?” He questions, suspicious of his two group-mates. “L/N.” Keeho answers.

“Who’s L/N?”

“He doesn’t know…!” Keeho whispers.

“Oh…” Jiung says after a brief moment of staring into space. “Isn’t that Soul’s girlfriend?”

Keeho nearly chokes on his cereal. “Girlfriend?!”

“No, she’s my friend!”

“Oh, my bad. You’re always smiling at your phone and you talk so lovey dovey in your room. The walls are quite thin.” Soul couldn’t figure out what was more embarrassing; the fact that the people in the other room could hear him talking to you or the fact two people thought he had a girlfriend. “We’re still trainees, Jiung, we can’t date. Besides, he’s only 16.”

“Just saying. Maybe after we debut, you can date–“

“Jiung, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to cut your hair off in your sleep.” Keeho threatens. It seems to work, given that Jiung begins to eat his breakfast in silence. “I guess he does know.” Soul mutters, mostly to himself.

“So are you getting her anything?” Keeho asks, going back to his answered question. “Ring.” Soul shows off the accessories that decorated his fingers. “Really? I thought you said you’d never give those away. And that you’d end the world if you ever lost them…”

“I promised. And we can match.”

“Aww.” Jiung coos, the two boys at the table glaring at him. “What?”

Keeho turns back to Soul, taking their empty cereal bowls and stacking them on top of each other. “Go get changed, we’ll leave soon.” He says, going to put the dishes in the sick.

By the time Soul gets back to his room, Jongseob and Theo are awake, their lamps on. “Morning, Soul. How are you up so early?” Theo greets, Soul shrugging in response. They watch as their early bird roommate picks an outfit, throwing his clothes onto the bed. “Are you going somewhere?” Jongseob asks.

“I’m seeing L/N today.”

They both look at him, wide eyed and now fully awake. “Really?!”

“It was your idea.” He says, referring to both of them. “When are you leaving?” Theo asks, eyes still on Soul. “Soon. Keeho is walking with me. Then we’ll be on our own.”

“So it’s like a date?” Jongseob nudges Theo hard in the side. “Does everyone think that?” Soul groans, his roommates heading for the door.“Everyone that knows.” Jongseob smirks before he shuts the door, leaving Soul alone with his thoughts in the bedroom.

On the walk there, Soul plays with his fingers, fiddles with his rings, almost too nervous to even function. Keeho seems to notice, giving him a pat on the back. “There’s nothing to worry about, Soul. You’ve seen each other, you know each other. You’ve been looking forward to this for so long, what’s wrong?”

“It’s… different in person. I’m excited, but I’m scared I’ll…” Soul looks for the word, Keeho noticing him struggling to finish his sentence. “Embarrass yourself?” Soul nods. “You’ve seen all sides of each other, Soul. I hear you laugh at like… 11 in the evening. I think I heard you fall off your bed once.”

“She’s seen that side of you. I’m sure you’ve seen that side of her, too. You’ll be okay.” Keeho’s words make up the rest of the walk, as Soul stops in his path as his eyes land on you, sitting on a park bench perfectly shaded by a tree. He stands there, simply admiring you, and how he’s so happy he’s seeing you not on his phone screen.

He pulls out his phone, opening your contact and sending you a text.

Look to your right 👀

You do exactly that, and though you’re far away, he sees such a bright glow in your eyes as you get up and run over to him, jumping onto him for a hug. Soul is surprised at your sudden gesture, but happily accepts, holding you tight and even spinning you around.

“Shota! I’m so glad you–“ You notice Keeho out of the corner of your eye, simply smiling at the two of you. “Oh, hi Keeho...” You greet awkwardly, embarrassed that he saw the whole thing. “Nice to meet you, L/N. How long are you gonna be out for?”

“Until Soul wants to go home. A few hours, maybe.”

“Make sure you two stick together, okay? Otherwise all of us are gonna get in trouble in one way or another.” Keeho says lightheartedly before walking off. You look back at Soul, who’s staring at you with the brightest sparkle in his eyes. “You look even better in person.” You say, brushing his hair out of the way.

“Are you saying I don’t look good when we call?”

“I’m saying you look good no matter what.”

“Can I say the same for you?” He asks, as if you’re going to say no. “I actually want to show you something. And I have lots to tell you.” You take his hand without a second thought, pulling him with you. He’s caught off guard with your sudden gesture, but doesn’t protest in any way. Really, he enjoys it.

“Is this okay with you? Sorry, I forgot to ask.” Shota nods with a smile, and that’s all the assurance you need to keep your hold on his hand to guide him. “I hope we can meet like this again sometime. All the time.”

“Hey, I’m here now. Worry about that later.”

“You’re right. Come on!” You tug on his hand as you begin to lightly jog across the street, slowing down when you get nearby. “Okay, close your eyes.” He’s confused at first, but obliges. You guide him to an outside display of a clothing store. “You can open them now.”

Shota uncovers his eyes, seeing your face on display as a model for said store. “It’s you!” He exclaims as you nod off to the side. His gaze switches from you to the photo and back, and he finds himself staring at it for almost too long.

“I want a picture with it.” You laugh, taking his phone from him and snapping a few photos, switching to silly faces for the camera. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. You look so pretty. Beautiful.” Your face goes warm as you stare at him, and he stares at the photo. “You look really good.” He smiles, and your heart starts racing like never before. “Shota…” You mutter into his sleeve, holding onto his hand again. “What?”

“Let’s go. You can see my face some place else.”

“Can I get a photo with them too?”

You roll your eyes, unable to hold in your laugh. “Sure. You can take as many photos as you want.”

The day is full of you running around, taking photos, sharing food and drinks. And for almost all of it, Shota’s hand is in yours, and his grip never loosens. He never wants to let go.

Sitting at an outdoor table of a small café, you hand Shota a gift bag. “What’s this?” He asks. “Happy belated birthday, Shota.” At the sound of that, he looks through the bag, taking out a small potato plush. “Cute…!” He mutters, squeezing it in his hands. “I have one of my own. It came in a set, so I gave this one to you.”

“I love it.” He smiles, going through the bag again. There’s something at the bottom, which he grabs and pulls out. It’s a bracelet, similar to the one you were wearing at the moment. “I wanted to give you something that reminded you of me. If you ever get lonely. Sounds cheesy, but–“

“I’m never taking this off.” His dramatic reply cuts off your sentence as you help him tighten it on his wrist. “I want to give you something too.” You tilt your head. “But it was just your birthday. Shouldn’t you be the one receiving gifts right now?”

“Well, as someone once said, I want to give you something that reminds you of me.” Shota holds out his hands, showing off his rings. “Pick one.”

At first, you’re shocked. “Really?” He nods, watching as your eyes scan over his fingers. “This one.” You point. He takes it off and puts it on for you, and it somehow fits just fine. “I feel so cool now! Thank you.”

On the way back to your place, Shota holds onto your hand again, to the point where if he were to let go, you’d feel like you forgot a piece of yourself. “Are you walking back alone?” You ask, looking up at the sky, which painted a pinkish sunset above. “Keeho is gonna meet me here after you go inside.”

“I just don’t want you walking by yourself. It’s a bit scary.”

“I know. But everything is under control, so I’ll be okay.”

When you reach your home, you turn to look at your friend. “Today was fun. I wanna hang out with you like this again.”

“So do I. But I’m… y’know, I’m busy. With a lot.”

“I know you are. I’ll be waiting for you, Shota. I’m always ready.”

“Haku.”

“Huh?”

“My name. My name is Haku.”

“Haku Shota?” You clarify. He nods. “You have such a pretty name.”

“You’re pretty.”

Oops.

He didn’t mean to say that out loud. While he was embarrassed, your heart was racing. Your face was warm, and it matched the sky.

“You’re pretty, Haku. You are… very handsome.”

You understand how he feels now, attempting to return the compliment. “Am I weird for saying that? Because… I really do mean it. I’m just awkward.” You explain. “Not at all. Have I been weird? Calling you pretty…?”

“No! No– you’re, you’re okay. I liked it– I mean, um…” You stutter over your words, cursing at yourself for revealing too much. Haku laughs. “I’ll call you that more if you like it so much.”

“If you want to kill me, go ahead.”

“I thought you said you liked it.”

“I’ll die of a heart attack. I’ll die happy.”

“Soul!” Someone calls. It’s Keeho, waving at him from afar. “Thanks for today. I’m… I really liked spending time with you.” Soul responds with a long, tight hug, the feeling of being in his arms comforting. “I don’t wanna let go.” Soul mutters into your shoulder. “You’re gonna have to at some point.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Shota–“

“I’ll just stay with you so then we can hang out all the time.”

“You know you can’t do that.” You hear him sigh and reluctantly pull away. “Bye, L/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“It’s Y/N.”

He huffs with a smile. “Bye, Y/N.” He waves as you walk off, walking towards and with Keeho once he sees you let inside your house. “How was it?”

“Really fun. I’m already excited for another one.” Keeho looks at Soul’s hands, noticing one of his fingers bare, a bag in his hand, and his wrist adorned with a new bracelet. He really gave you one of his rings. And you gave him something too.

Though this was your first hang out in a few years, Keeho sensed something unbeknownst to Soul that was bound to bloom at some point. He just didn’t know when.

When they got back to the dorm, Soul went straight to his room and changed, lying down on the bed with your contact open. He changed your name.

L/N Y/N (ㆁωㆁ)

And sent you one last text for the night.

You have a very pretty name (*´꒳`*)

Make that two.

Goodnight (_ _).｡o○

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You find it odd that it took you two years to find out each other’s first names, but life goes on the way it always does.

You also found it odd that you enjoyed talking to Shota so much. You’ve always enjoyed talking to him, you just enjoy it a lot more now. Maybe too much.

You were the first person he texted when he debuted. You were also the first person to see any of his performance videos. One thing stayed consistent throughout:

He was wearing your bracelet.

Sometimes it would be hidden under his sleeve, the strings to tighten it peeking out just a little bit. He really meant it when he said he would never take it off, even if that meant getting into trouble with the stylists.

You were peaking in your career as well. You’d gotten a lot more busy with bookings and shows despite being so young. But despite your schedules, you always found time to talk to each other, like always.

And you even found time to hang out in person a lot more than before.

You started wearing masks in public. Sometimes you got recognized, and so did Shota. Nothing too drastic to the point where paparazzi started following you and taking pictures from the bushes. Shota was still careful, though. A scandal too soon into their debut could wreck him and his group’s career.

As careful as he was, Shota still held onto your hand in public. He was much more nervous now that more people knew who he was, and he always found himself latching onto you. The language barrier slowly began to shrink for him, his Korean improving, but he had a hard time talking to strangers. To his group, he was fine.

He couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling in his stomach the closer they got to the counter. Why was he so nervous? He felt like he couldn’t talk to anyone at all. “Could I get a 2 with onion rings?” You ask, the cashier at the till looking at Shota next. He was frozen in place, staring at her, suddenly squeezing your hand with a tight grip. “And a 5. Large fries.” You order for him, paying and taking the receipt and cups.

Shota sits down at a table by the window, ashamed and embarrassed, guilt overwhelming him. It wasn’t such a big deal, yet he felt like a failure for not being able to do something so simple. “Do you want to share?” He doesn’t respond, staring and spacing out at the table mindlessly.

You sit in the chair across from him, looking around to see if anyone is watching. You place your hand on top of his, rings colliding with each other, which brings him back to reality. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You ask with such genuineness that he feels guilty for even worrying over such a trivial thing.

“Nothing, it’s… it’s stupid. So stupid.”

“I can’t know how stupid it is if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

Shota looks up at you with puppy eyes, breaking eye contact once he begins to speak. “I… um, I froze when we were ordering. You do it for me all the time and I wanted to do it for myself this time but I just couldn’t… talk. I couldn’t speak, I’ve been getting better at talking but I’m still scared to even order my own food– this is so dumb.” He rests his head on the table, messy black hair hiding his face.

Your hand moves from his hand to his head, fingers running through his hair as you caress him. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Shota. I’m glad you’re trying, you’re having confidence in yourself. It’s good to take it slow sometimes. I’m always here for you, Keeho is always there for you, your group is there for you! There’s always next time, okay? It may seem like a small step to others, but all that matters is how much it means to you. We’re always here for you. No matter if it’s me or anyone from your group.”

When he lifts his head up, your hand naturally moves from his hair down to his face, your thumb resting on his cheek. “Thank you.” The sparkle in his eyes comes back, as he stares at you for a long time, yet you don’t seem to mind and reciprocate it. Noticing how you two probably look to bystanders, you pull your hand away, face warmer than it should be.

“Um, do you just wanna share? I forgot to ask for medium instead of large.” You refer to the cups in your hand, and he nods, watching as you stumble while getting up from the chair and over to the drink fountain. The cup presses against the trigger, watching as the soda fills the cup to the brim.

As you walk back and grab your order, you can’t help but overthink. Why did you do that? It looked so intimate, and if people knew who you were, if people knew who he was… you’d both get in trouble. Shota would get in trouble because of you. You knew him too well to know that he’d take the blame and risk getting kicked out not even a year into their debut.

When you bring the tray to the table, you feel his eyes on you, and your heart had no reason to be beating so fast in the moment. “Are you okay? You look worried.” This time, Shota asks you. Your head perks up at his voice, snapping you out of it. “I’m okay. Let’s just eat.”

Everything goes back to normal in your silly, lighthearted fashion. You’d steal fries off his side, he’d drink from your straw, and you two would just mess around as you always would. No one came up to either of you with your masks off, so you two continued to be yourselves in the moment, with no one staring.

You find beauty in his personality. How you get to see him like this since you two are so comfortable with each other. Is he like this at his dorm? Probably. But is he ever this excited? Maybe not. You get to see him at full energy, unhinged and expressive, a side that the public might not see in him. And you felt so incredibly lucky.

Shota liked the way you stared at him, and the way a smile would creep up on your face. The way you’d hit a table over and over again or clap your hands when you found something funny. The way you’d pick up on his subtle hints and gestures and how you’d always found a way to make him feel better, the way you’d instantly recognize what’s wrong. You were patient with him, and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

He saw Keeho like an older brother; he acted the same way you did, but there was something different about the way you approached things. The way you weren’t afraid to be so physical with him, and how he wouldn’t recoil from your touch. He loved your hugs, and the way you’d bury yourself in him whenever you did.

Soul finds himself thinking of you at the dorms. He always thinks of you, but this was thinking of you at an extreme. You were on his mind 24/7. He’d think of how much fun certain practices would be if you were there. How you’d criticize him for putting the seasoning packets after putting the ramen in the bowl. Sometimes he’d imagine getting surprised by you. What would happen if you walked through the door right now?

You two saw each other’s quirks and you loved them. You saw sides of each other that the public couldn’t, and it made you both feel special. When you felt your heart racing when you thought of him, you couldn’t help but feel full of dread.

When he saw your photos or clips of your shows, he hated that his face went warm when you came on screen. That he was so hyper focused on you and nothing else.

You were smart. Emotionally and academically. You knew what was happening, but didn’t want to accept it. Really, it was process of elimination.

You started to have feelings for your best friend.

And you hated it. You hated it because him being in the industry pretty much means that he can’t date at all. You’d have to live with feelings that would never be reciprocated, and sometimes it hurt whenever you saw his face, especially when he was looking so damn good.

So you always stayed in denial of your feelings. You gaslighted, convinced, manipulated yourself to get over it, but nothing worked. You couldn’t help that your best friend was just that talented and attractive that when he texts you, you feel butterflies in your stomach and a smile grows onto your face.

Soul, however, was much more unaware of it. He never liked anyone. He was left alone with his thoughts for majority of his childhood, and had female friends but no romantic attraction to anyone.

When he finds himself pondering at the kitchen table, spacing out as he tries to figure out his feelings, his older brother figure, Keeho, sits down with him, after noticing Soul leaving the last bit of food in his bowl and just staring blankly. “You okay?” His voice snaps Soul out of it as he nods.

Intak sits down in the other seat with his own bowl, unintentionally now being a part of the conversation. “Something’s on your mind. You can tell me, I won’t judge.” Soul knows Keeho won’t judge. Intak, however…

Soul’s gaze moves from Keeho to Intak. “Intak won’t care. What’s bothering you?”

“What are we talking about?” Intak asks, clueless.

“L/N.”

“What’s up with L/N? Didn’t you just see her last weekend?”

“Is L/N that girl Soul’s friends with? I saw her advertising a brand at a department store the other day.” Intak overhears, pitching into the conversation. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“What’s wrong? Did she insult you or something?”

The more Soul tries to think about it with the words in his head, his heart beats faster and faster that he brings his hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, strong pulse against his palm. How did you manage to make him feel like this? Like he was speechless?

Keeho seemed to notice something, because he moved Soul’s hand and put his own on his chest, feeling how fast it was beating and how powerful it was. “Your face is all red. Are you having a fever?” Intak asks, totally opposite to what Keeho is thinking.

“Oh my god.” He starts, acting overdramatic. “You like her.” When Keeho says it, it makes Soul cringe, and he hates that he came to the same conclusion. “Soul likes who?” Intak is still clueless about the whole situation, probably tired out from practice that day.

“L/N, you idiot, get your head out of the clouds.”

“I like her. A lot.”

“You like her as more than a friend?” Keeho clarifies, Soul nodding. He can see the conflict in his leader’s eyes, a sense of understanding yet a tinge of guilt. “I know we can’t… date. I really want to. She’s the first person who’s ever understood me… ever since I got here.”

His leader sighs. “I think you should tell her. But… be careful. You’re putting a lot of things at risk here.”

“I know I am.”

“Soul’s a pretty quiet person. He should be okay. I mean, as long as none of us ramble about it, we should be fine.” Keeho nods along, his face content. On the inside however, he knows damn well all of them ramble way too much.

And they could ramble about you and Soul.

“Should I text her?”

“Tell her in person. If you really like her, and you really do mean it, you need to tell her the next time you two meet up.”

“But what if I can’t say it?” Keeho is well aware of Soul’s problem with freezing up when talking to others, yet this was something bound to happen, even with you. “She’s patient. She’ll wait as long as she needs to for you to say it. You’ll be okay, Soul. I’m pretty sure she likes you back.”

“She does?”

Keeho scoffs. “Have you seen the way she is around you? Sometimes she stutters over her words when you’re around, she’s always waiting for you, she lets you take her food… there’s a whole list that goes on for a while.”

Soul’s gut feeling was right. He did have a crush on you. A really big one that would only grow if he didn’t do something about it quick.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He arranged to hang out with you the following week. His heart would not stop beating as if it was about to soar right out of his chest. He swore that if you put your thumb on the right spot on his wrist, you’d feel how nervous he was getting as time passed, and he did not want that happening soon enough.

You noticed something else. He seemed a lot more tense, spaced out, and hesitant. To be honest, you were almost the same. You hesitated to hold his hand like you usually did when you walked with him, worried someone would recognize either of you and see what was happening.

Anything simple you’d over-romanticize. He’d block you from the wind. He’d freak out and any display of you and take a picture of it, smiling as he checked them one last time for any retakes. How he’d play with your hand when you two sat together. When you’d share your food.

Everything you did normally was now something you saw as something beyond your friendship. You wanted it to be that way, you really did, but knowing Soul, as clueless as he is, he probably didn’t mean anything at all behind his actions. Everything has just been so normalized between the two of you.

Your heart raced as fast as his. One could say that if you compared both of your pulses, they would sync up, or be extremely close in heart rate. His face had the slightest tinge of pink that you noticed under certain lighting— you didn’t get to look at it long since he didn’t want to call you out for staring.

“I really like your hair colors. They’ve all looked really good on you.” You say, Soul surprised at the sudden compliment. “I’ve only dyed it once or twice…”

“And it looks good. Even your hairstyles! The braids are so cute! If it gets long enough, I should give you pigtails.”

“Long enough that hopefully I don’t get scheduled for a haircut.”

“I’d cry, honestly.”

Shota stops in his tracks in front of your place, the sudden tug on your hand holding you back. “I need to tell you something. It’s been… stuck in my head for a while.” He admits, kicking away a stone at his feet. “What is it?” The look you give him almost makes him back out, but he knew keeping it in for longer would only eat at him. And it wouldn’t be a while until he’d see you again.

“Um, I–“

“Soul!”

Shota turns around at the sound of the voice, Keeho standing at a distance and waving at him. He turns back to face you, taking a deep breath.

“L/N…”

“I like you.”

He notices the shock in your expression, your eyes widening slightly and jaw slightly hanging open.

“I like you a lot.” He continues.

Shota doesn’t know what to make of your blank stare at him, since you do so for longer than you should’ve. “I-I know it’s hard for us to do any relationship related stuff because of our careers. Um, I get if you’re worried about all of this and dating in general but…”

“Shota.” You cut him off, his eyes landing on you. You take both of his hands, thumbs brushing over the metal of his rings. “I want to go out with you.” You say so forwardly that he almost becomes the shocked one. “I really like you. I really do. I… I don’t want your career to be ruined because of me. You worked your ass off for this and God knows how much we’ve been separated because of it.”

You squeeze his hands, looking at how they intertwine. Shota speaks up. “Is it crazy that I like you so much?”

“How much?”

“That I feel like you’re the only one who’ll ever understand me? That you’re the only one I’ve ever had actual genuine feelings for? Am I too young to be thinking about these kinds of things?”

“I ask myself the same questions. Every. Single. Day.”

He giggles, feeling your head lean against him. You look up, chin resting against him with a light in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think we’re two teenagers stupidly in love.”

“Soul, hurry up!” Keeho calls.

You can practically hear him roll his eyes the way he scoffs, making you giggle. “Go out with me.” He asks, more of a statement than a request. His chin rested atop your head, his hand rubbing your back with reassurance. “M’kay.” You agree with a smile, voice muffled.

“We’ll keep it a secret.”

“Even from the guys?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your dad is calling you.” He laughs at your joke, noticing you lost in thought. You pull away a bit, looking at the ground for a moment. In one swift movement, you tiptoe and peck his cheek. “Bye!” You briefly bid, briskly walking away. Shota raises his hand to where you kissed him, almost forgetting in his moment of bliss that Keeho had already called him twice.

The walk back is mostly in silence, Soul doing his best to stop his giddy little smile on his face from growing any more. Keeho didn’t look back at him once.

The sun is fully set by the time they arrive back at the dorms, Keeho entering with an extravagant greeting. “We’re baaack!” He gleefully exclaims. Shuffling can be heard from a distance as the boys begin to take off their shoes. “Soul, how was the–“ Theo starts, being cut off after seeing something on Soul’s face.

When he gets up from kneeling down, Theo notices a light pink mark on Soul’s face, and it for sure was not his blush. “You– She–“

“What’s happening–“ Jiung is equally as shocked as Soul walks into the main space. “Oh my god.” He mutters, hand going to cover his dropped jaw. “She kissed you!” Theo exclaims. Keeho immediately comes running over, grasping Soul’s face and turning it to find the mark. He gasped louder than he should’ve when he found it.

“Just on the cheek.” Soul felt like he had to specify, but the three boys continued to jump around and freak out over the mark. “Cute! Ugh– we need to meet her sometime!” Jiung gushes.

“She just kissed me today and you guys already want to meet her in person?”

They all nod.

“I think you guys would scare her. It’s a bit cramped in here… and we aren’t even allowed to have girls here.”

“Maybe we’ll run into her during a photoshoot! She’s getting pretty famous nowadays.” Jiung adds. “I’ve already met her so many times, just saying. She’s cool.” Keeho bragged before walking into his room.

Intak enters the living space, wondering why Theo and Jiung are crowded around Soul. Keeho goes back out to join them with his empty bottle of water, originally with the task of refilling it. Soul feels a buzz in his pocket, taking it out to see your name on his phone screen.

“She’s calling you!” Jiung gasps, Theo shushing him right after. Soul swipes right to accept the call. “Put her on speaker!” Intak whisper yells, Soul holding out his phone for his group members to huddle around it.

Jongseob comes out of his room, joining the boys even though he had no idea what exactly was going on. “Hello?” Soul greets. “Hi Shota!”

“I thought we just saw each other 20 minutes ago. Do you miss me already?” He jokes, attempting not to stutter over his words. “Oh, we’re speaking in Korean now! I see how it is.” He can hear your sarcasm over the phone, a smile growing on his lips. “What’s up? Did you forget something?”

“My parents kinda caught us outside. When I…”

“Oh. Right.”

“They want you to come over.”

“So soon?” Intak says a little too loud.

“Who was that?”

“No one– just a show in the background.”

“Oh. Well, you’ve met them before. On calls and stuff, they know who you are. You know them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Because they saw… us… they want to meet you. I told them about how busy you were and your schedule and that it wouldn’t be for a while until you were free again–“

“Y/N.” He cuts you off for a second. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Really?”

“I want them to know I’m a good person. That I am doing my best for you.” His groupmates gush audibly, and it definitely picks up on the microphone. “You’re going to make me miss you a whole lot more if you keep talking like that.” Soul chuckles. “They’re listening, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“Your group. That did not sound like a TV show in the background.”

They all look at each other, surprised. “Um… maybe?”

“Agh– they heard all of that?! So embarrassing…”

“They wanna meet you too. My group.”

“I thought girls weren’t allowed in your dorms.”

“Outside of the dorms. Possibly in a work environment?”

“That could work! I’m already looking forward to it.”

“They’re all weird.” Soul feels everyone’s eyes on him. “A bit. Just saying.” He hears you giggle on the other end.

“Shota?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

It goes dead silent for a moment, before all the boys erupt into loud cheering and hollering, Soul having to cover his ear to hear you. “Is it too soon for me to say that?” You ask.

“Did you mean it?” He answers with another question, silence on your end for a second.

“I did.”

“Then no. If anything, I think you’re 3 years too late.”

“Have you been waiting that long for me to say it?”

“Mmm, maybe just half a year.”

“Figured.”

“Y/N?” He switches back to Japanese.

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

Though in another language, the boys can understand the small phrase, their montage of cheers going on for longer than it should have.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As both of you had begun to become more globally renowned, so did your relationship with each other. At first, it was viewed as the two of you being very close friends. After certain interactions and nitpickings, people began to question the nature and status of your relationship.

People noticed the ring on your finger and how it looked exactly like the ones on Soul’s. When the string to tighten his bracelet was visible from under his sleeves, some made connections to learn that it looked like yours. Neither of you took it off, even during work events.

If it couldn’t be on your wrist, you managed to use your bracelet as an anklet. It was more subtle, but you ended up having to send pictures to Shota to show proof you kept it on.

Strings were pulled. Your company met with his, and despite their strict dating laws and restrictions, they managed to work around them. You just hoped they weren’t bribed in any way.

You did end up visiting their dorm a few times after the workarounds, and Shota was always there at the door to be the first person to greet you. His physical touch became more than just holding your hand. He clung onto you; he loved hugs, he loved hugging you.

You loved his hair, playing with it and tying it up into different hairstyles. Pigtails, braids, the occasional half up ponytail. You were always fascinated at the fact every single colour looked so good on him.

The rest of the boys had to get used to your presence. Given you didn’t visit often since Soul would rather visit you, sometimes the sight of you seated with Soul on their couch was a shocker to them. Keeho got used to it the quickest.

From your perspective, you were overall cautious but at the same time didn’t care if any news of the two of you happened to get out. It would be shocking from one end, but it would follow with claims saying that it was bound to happen sometime. Considering how young you were, sometimes you had your doubts. Most of the time you forgot about those doubts.

As for someone like Shota, with his growing popularity and presence in the K-pop industry, he was worried one little leak would cause him to get kicked out of his company. Until paparazzi footage of the two of you, his hands wrapped around your waist to meet in the front as you waited at a bus stop, was posted on a website.

You both panicked. You apologized, he apologized; it was a lot of back and forth. All that came from netizens was the mutual discussion of the chance that you two might be in a relationship. The girl on billboards across Korea going out with a rising star in K-pop? Both of them soon to be international? It was unexpected.

The public was pleasantly surprised. It was a match they hadn’t expected, so much so they decided to try and guess how you two met and how your relationship started. Though you never went deeper than cute photos and interactions that just had to happen in the public eye.

Soul was asked the question a few times.

“Is Y/N a close friend of yours?”

“What’s your relationship with the model?”

The members would either glare at the interviewer or look at Soul worried. He’d always respond with:

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Which pretty much revealed the terms you two were on to every person on the internet.

The boys always took pictures and videos of the two of you as well, if you were ever to end up working together somehow. If you came to the dorm, or if they ran into you two in public. You’re certain Intak and Theo have way too many photos of him falling asleep on you or vice versa.

Soul scrolls on his phone, noticing a few posts of the two of you as he goes deeper down the rabbit hole. As he goes to rewatch his dance practice of the day, he gets a text from you.

Shota

Haku

Haku Shota

Hi （╹◡╹）

Um

I know this is gonna sound like really stupid and crazy and weird

What is it?

Is it okay if I stay at your dorm tonight

Soul looks up from his phone and the condition his shared room is in. It’s decently clean, at least his area is. Theo and Jongseob’s area is debatable.

It’s okay if not! I was just wondering

You can

Just let me ask the guys first

It’s really messy in here

He puts in his phone in his pocket before he’s able to check your next text, reluctantly getting out of bed to go and ask. He opens the door, at first sticking his head out, but then fully shuffling through the door.

“Hey Soul. I thought you were sleeping?” Keeho says, going to sit on the couch. “I need to ask you guys something.”

“What is it?” Intak adds.

“Y/N wants to come over.”

“This late?” Sometimes it surprises him how dense Intak could be sometimes. “She wants to stay over. Sleep.”

The boys all look up and around at the area, noticing the slight mess. Despite you seeing the area in such conditions most of the time when you came over, they suddenly felt obligated to do something rather than have you sleep in an environment with said mess.

“We’ll clean up. Tell her we said yes. Is everything okay?” Keeho said, getting up from the couch.

“We?”

“Get up, Jiung, and let the girl feel welcome.”

“Should I help?”

“Maybe clean our room.” Theo pats Soul on the shoulder, letting him walk back into said room.

Shota???

Are you there?

Pls respond

Sorry

I asked they said yes

I’m already on my way

We’ll talk more when I get there

I’ll text you

He can hear shuffling and commanding outside his room as he tosses the dirty laundry into their basket in the corner of the room, fixing his nightstand and somewhat making his bed since he was gonna lie down in it immediately afterwards.

By the time he gets a text, the room is mostly clean and tidy, prompting him to go and open the door for you. Your eyes meet with his, though they look dull and tired, more than they would be after a day of shoots.

“Hey.” You hide your gaze with the top of your hood. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“Let’s talk about it in your room. Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. Come in.”

You nearly stumble over your own feet going to take your shoes off, Soul noticing there’s something more going on and it’s not just that you’re exhausted.

Not wanting to be rude, you briefly greet the rest of the boys before swiftly going into Soul’s shared room, Jongseob lying on his bed on his phone and simply acknowledging you when you enter the room, dropping your bag on the floor and plopping yourself on Soul’s bed. He sits next to you, your face covered by your hood.

He gently takes it off in case you’d stop him at the motion, seeing those dull eyes of yours, a bit pink and swollen. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?” He softly asks, holding your hands in the same manner as his voice. “I’m having a few problems at home. Nothing with my parents. Extended family.”

“What happened?”

“My parents are having some maintenance and small renovations done on our house, so we’re staying in an extra room at my grandma’s for a little bit. My aunt lives in the other room.”

You inhale, trying to grasp onto your words.

“Um, my aunt is being,” you start, “being a real bitch. I know I can’t say that and it’s rude to even think so but God knows everyone in that room was pissed at her. She insulted my mom and her decision to move here and put me through modelling at such a young age.”

“She called me a wannabe, and that I wasn’t gonna get anywhere in life just posing for the camera. Called me a slut for allowing to be in shoots where I show a lot of skin when really it’s usually just a tank top and a skirt.”

“She said she felt bad for whoever I was dating that they had to be with a girl who loves showing herself off to the general public. Said I was practically naked if I showed too much skin.”

“So I don’t feel safe or comfortable in that house right now, and my parents were nice enough to let me stay someplace else. They agreed when I told them about you.”

Soul sat there, a silent rage burning through his veins. You had a completely valid reason to address her with such vulgarity. He couldn’t offer any advice in the moment, all that he could do was hug you.

“No wonder she still lives with your grandma.” He mutters into your shoulder, your hand hitting his back hard as you chuckle. “You can’t say that, Shota!”

“Who’s stopping me? I know you want to say it too.”

“Shota…”

“Fine. Only because you don’t want me to. Still, I’m sorry you had to go through all that. Stay as long as you need to.” Soul’s eyes meet with Jongseob’s, their stares translating into sentences.

‘As long as she needs to?’

‘Just let her. Please.’

‘Don’t ask me, ask Keeho.’

Shota rolls his eyes at his roommate, attention back on you. “I’m gonna go change now.” You say, pulling away. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“Um, I was thinking we could share your bed. But I can always take the couch if you don’t want to–“

“Share. Yeah– yeah, we can share.”

You smile, kissing his forehead before you leave the room. Jongseob’s eyes are on Soul the minute the door shuts. “What did she say?” He meant to ask: ‘What did she say to make her kiss you in front of me?’

“She wants to share my bed.”

“You look really nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, just surprised. And I’ve… obviously never shared it before.”

“Just sleep normally, Soul. What’s so hard about that?”

“Do I snore?”

“You don’t. Theo does. Maybe get her some earplugs.”

“I don’t have any.” His roommate shrugs his shoulders.

“Jongseob…”

“Fine.” He tosses Soul a clean, unopened pair of foam earplugs. “Are you actually that nervous?”

Soul’s ashamed to admit it. “We’re close, but we haven’t been this close before. Not at all. I have no idea if I kick in my sleep– what if I kick her?”

“You kick like once or twice but not every other second. Besides, if L/N says she’s in love with you, she’s gotta be in love with everything about you. Including your sleeping habits. She’d love you regardless of what you do in your sleep.”

You come back in sweats and a loose shirt, going to lay on the bed while Shota sat on the edge. You place your hand on top of his, prompting him to turn around and look at you. “Are you that tired?”

“Korean all of a sudden?”

“I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

“By the day, Shota.”

“To answer your question, since I was crying for 10 minutes at home, yes, I’m tired. Are you gonna just gonna sit there or are you gonna get some rest?” Soul simply responds moving you over on the bed so he can sleep on the side closest to the wall. You turn to face him, all flushed and doe eyed. “Am I too close?” Your head rests against his chest and atop his arm, probably the definition of close.

“No.”

“I can always move if–“

“Just stay here. You’ve had a rough day.”

His other arm wraps around you, his hand on your back and pushing you closer to him. “Do you think we’re too young to be this in love?” You feel his head move. “What do you mean?”

“That we aren’t old enough to make bigger decisions for ourselves? This… this is a big thing. People say that we’re really young to already be dating, and I always shrug it off, but it’s bothering me. What if they’re right?”

“Are you doubting us?”

“I’m not, I’m really not! People are just overlooking what’s going on between us and they’re making assumptions and–“

“This relationship is only between us and no one else. We don’t need to worry about what others think. We only need to worry about each other.”

“You’re getting good at switching languages smoothly.” You say, trying to sneak a bit of humor in there. “I learn from the best.” His hand once on your back now moved to your head, stroking it smoothly. “I’m really grateful for you, actually. I hope you know that.” His words melt your heart as they always do, but somehow you find them more meaningful.

“When you first helped me here. When you offered to keep in touch and look where that brought us. When you don’t get bothered every time I ask you how to say something in Korean. And you still like being with me even though sometimes I can be a bit…”

“Bothersome?”

“I was thinking annoying, but what you said sounds nicer.”

“Shota, I never thought of you as annoying. You’re teaching yourself with the help of your group getting around and the culture and its differences.”

“How did you get used to it so quickly?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been here so many times to visit but living here? Oh, it was a culture shock to me.”

“So I’m really not alone in this?”

“You were never alone, Haku.”

You called him by his first name.

Your eyes meet at your mention of it, Shota looking at you with such a pure, joy filled gaze that was silent behind his irises. It was moments like this where you got to admire his beauty, how pretty he was, his features and how they worked so well together.

You’re drawn to him. So much so that you end up giving him a soft, gentle kiss on the lips.

As much as it was a moment of euphoria, the moment you pulled away, you immediately got flustered and embarrassed, turning around since you weren’t able to face him. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have–“ And seeing Jongseob on the other bed? He heard a lot and probably saw a lot which made the whole thing more embarrassing for you.

You kick your feet slightly, hiding your face in your hands and just then feeling how hot your it was in the moment. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist like they did in the photos of you two at that bus stop, bringing you closer into him. “I liked it. It was my first.” He mutters, voice slightly muffled.

“It was my first too.” You reply, hands off your face and turning around to bury it in his shoulder, still embarrassed to face him. You wrap an arm around him as to hug him loosely. “I love you, Haku.” You raise your head to bump your nose against his. He giggles, hugging you tighter.

“I love you more, Y/N.”

“Even more than your games?”

“More than my games and my rings. Get some rest now.”

You want to kiss him again in that moment, but he does it for you. Short and chaste, your lips meet long enough to feel each other’s connection, but short enough that it doesn’t escalate.

“At this point, can you two just sleep already? I’d rather you hug and spoon than hear you kiss all evening.” Jongseob sneers, almost forgetting he was even in the room. Soul feels you giggle into his shoulder, having you so close being the least of his worries. In fact, it was something he cherished.

Soul never let you out of his hold, and you never let him out of his.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

☀️: guys look at this

☀️: [Two images attached]

🐿️: OMG

🐿️: THEY’RE SO CUTE

🐿️: THEY’RE LIKE CUDDLING AIDHSIDNW

🐿️: IM SAVING THESE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

🐺: theo why are you taking pictures of them while they’re sleeping 🤨

🐺: that’s a little bit weird

☀️: ok but they’re cute

☀️: you’d do it too

🐺: tbh i would

🐯: they kissed

🐺: HUHH???

🐿️: SJAODJEBDIEBDK

🐶: wait actually

🐿️: where did you come from

🐶: i was disinterested until i saw jongseob’s text

🐺: are we talking like a kiss on the cheek or forehead cuz they do that a lot

🐯: lips

🐿️: OH MY GOD WHAT

🐺: WAIT ACTUALLY

🐺: SOUL GOT HIS FIRST KISS

🐶: keeho u probably havent kissed anyone why r u talking

🐺: shut up

☀️: yeah i walked in on them

🐯: they didnt make out or anything tho i think they’re both disgusted by the idea of it

🐺: thank god

🐶: you actually thought they were gonna make out or something just from the word ‘kiss’??

🐺: hey you can never be too careful

🐿️: i understood half of what they were saying until they switched back to japanese ugh i could hear them through the wall

🐯: are the walls actually that thin

🐿️: i hear you scream at your phone every time u watch something scary

🐯: okay anyways they were probably flirting with each other

🐯: i was literally there the whole time

🍟: (*^◯^*)

🐶: oh shit

🐺: morning soul!!

🐿️: why aren’t you just talking to each other instead of texting in the group chat you literally share a room

🍟: y/n is sleeping (( _ _ ))..zzzZZ

☀️: she actually is do u guys want proof

🐺: stop taking pictures of people in their sleep theo ur weird for that

🍟: [One image attached]

☀️: and when soul does it ur not gonna say anything

🐺: soul dont do that but yall r cute okay

☀️: this is so unfair

🐯: i have a picture of him taking that picture

🐺: what

🐶: this is so confusing

🐯: [One image attached]

🐿️: trippy @—@

🐺: soul how is she not waking up while you’re texting us

🍟: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🍟: she is so pretty (//∇//)

🐿️: UGH EILFIWRNOAN

🐶: you are so down bad its crazy

🐺: jiung is literally squealing into his pillow rn

🐯: yeah we can hear

☀️: fr tho u guys r cute

🐶: soul pulls

🍟: (・・?)

🐺: it’s okay soul you’ll figure out what that means eventually

☀️: just tell him what’s stopping you

🐺: he spends a lot of time on the internet he’ll see it one way or another

🍟: jongseob i never gave her the earplugs u can have them back

🐶: is it cuz theo snores cuz honestly thats understandable

☀️: i do not snore that loud okay

🐯: my bed is right next to yours so that makes it 10 times louder

🐯: also just leave them on the nightstand soul ill take them back thanks

🐺: is someone gonna get up or are we just gonna keep texting here

☀️: soul would but he’s too busy holding his gf rn

🐯: do u guys want more photos

🐿️: yes

🐺: jongseob and theo you two need to stop taking pictures of y/n while she’s sleeping she’s gonna think you guys are creepy

☀️: you never said no

🐺: and i never said yes

🐯: soul is shielding her face in some of them tho at least its covered

🐿️: just send them

🍟: you can send them jongseob (^^)

🐯: see even soul says we can

🍟: wanna show how pretty y/n is

🐿️: oh my god you guys are so dsibwsidhsi

🐺: jiung is freaking out

🐶: soul i think u killed him

☀️: breaking up at this point would just end the world

☀️: treat her well soul

🐶: yeah you’ve got a good one

🍟: im too in love to let go (*´∀｀*)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and i am but a man, orbiting ‘round your sun. and it’s you that makes my day, after day. 🎧

[definitelyisd1ce]

“It’s always been you.”

K. Baji — Tokyo Revengers.

Synopsis : Being somewhat affiliated with gang because you like one of its members; leaves you feeling strung along. Although, if it all fells, it’ll end well. Right?

Content Warnings!

contains the following ; unestablished relationship(s) , light angst to fluff and comfort, sweet nothings and sweet sorrows! ——— very much SFW!

As always, A/N! : My content is for those who wish to read it, though it is heavily recommended that you are 18+. I have no control over what you read, nor is it my business. Read at your own discretion. I’m not holding your hand.

WC; 2.3K !

Viewer Discretion Advised. <3

7:32pm.

The sun had cast a bright orange-yellow through the sheer white curtains of your bay windows, praising its rays on you as you decided it was time to crash in for the night. It was Friday, so there was nowhere to go. All your homework and upcoming assignments had been done, so you were basically just… here.

You settle in your bed with a book, letting the sun set in on you, and watching you read the book (it's more like reading the words and not retaining the information).

You needed help figuring out why you weren't interested in the book. It fits your taste; it was on your "To read!' list, so what was the problem? Unbeknownst to you, the deep-rooted desire to text your situationship was brewing, and it annoyed you.

You tossed the book to your side and picked up your phone, looking at the time and date on the home screen, though there was no notification from the guy you were looking for.

Keisuke.

You didn't like to accept the fact that he ghosted you every now and again, mainly because he always dragged his sorry ass to see you before anything was said and done. You still couldn't hold that over his head because he had a gang, family, mom, and school to cater to.

He wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend; at least, that's what it comes out to be after you do the mental gymnastics.

You laid your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling, the ridges in it doing imaginary dances to entertain your brain and distract you from the impending silence. Eventually, your eyes grew shrouded, and you fell asleep.

--

2:43am.

The light taps of rocks hitting your window roused you awake and caused you to sit up and glance at your phone.

The time read 2:43, and the day was a new day. The only thing different was a couple of missed notifications: various calls and text messages, Instagram, TikTok, etc. But the one that stuck out to you was from your ravenette.

3 new messages and 2 missed calls from 'Baji <3."

It was weird; you didn't even know you had fallen asleep, exhausted and missing everything lively before the world went quiet.

You were pulled out of your stirring thoughts by another pebble thrown at your window, forcing you to pull yourself out of your bed and head to the window. You pulled the curtain back a little, only giving you a view of the ground below it without being seen, and there he was.

Baji, standing in his toman uniform and leaning against his motorcycle, tossed another pebble in his hand, almost nearing to look like he was about to throw it before he glanced at you and put his hand down.

You drew the curtain back and made a questioning face at him, which only caused him to throw his hand up, insinuating for you to open the window.

You grabbed the crank of the middle bay window, the biggest of the three, and turned it until it was open enough to talk with him.

"What are you doing here?!" You whispered-yelled to the boy below you, who only displayed a shit-faced smirk as he saw you.

You were wearing a fitting tank top, nylon shorts, and a bright pink bonnet—a scene that was way too familiar for Baji. It brought him clarity as he saw that, for the first time in a couple of days, you were facing bright even though your expression was dark as you looked at him quizzically.

"I just wanted to see you. I thought you were with Hina or Emma for a while. You really are a heavy sleeper," he answered, kicking the gravel as he chuckled out his response. His hair was in his all-knowing fighting-style ponytail, blood that may or may not be his, and a snark attitude just for you at this unearthing hour.

You rubbed your eyes and fetched your glasses to get a better look at him. Once you returned, you leaned on your window sill and spoke.

"Yeah, well.. when you have basically nothing to look forward to, what's the point of sleeping light?" you asked, head propped up in your palm.

Baji stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you with a slight tilt to his head, a light pout to his lips. He looked around, trying to find an answer to lighten the mood.

The streets were empty, with the occasional car passing through. People were either on their way or coming back home from work. Bright orange streetlights shadowed the midnight sky, giving Baji a talking point.

"You normally never miss my calls; if you do, you call me straight back. What up with you, babydoll?" he asked honestly, wanting to understand the scarcity of your two moments.

This sent a countdown in your brain, counting the seconds you were about to have a meltdown or self-implode. What's up with you? More like, what the hell is up with him? Who just randomly ghosts people you claim to be infatuated with? But you digressed.

"What's up with me? Nothing is up with me, Keisuke. It's you. I should be asking that question, considering you act like you don't know what phone or a response is." You answered in a quiet yet tired tone, still putting heavy emphasis on his name.

Being woken up from her sleep was warranted, though her calling him by his name caught him off guard.

You could see the look on his face after you called him his name and not his last name or a pet name, slight appalment, and the look of being taken aback. He couldn't lie; it hurt a little, but his pride was too big to show it.

"First name basis, huh…" he muttered back before standing back up straight and opening his mouth to speak again. "I understand. But can you put off being mad at me for a tad bit longer? We can talk it out, yeah?" he asked, feather-light pleading and a somewhat sincere smile on his face.

"And what makes you think I want to do that?" you asked back, deadpan and with a smirk of sarcasm.

Baji looked back at his motorcycle and then back up at you, clicking his teeth as he insinuated a joyride on it.

“Uhn uhn.. uhn uhnnnnn Baji, no. It's too late, and my mom would kill me if she found out I left to go on a joyride. Especially with you." You gritted through your retainer-ridden teeth.

His bike, Ol' Alessia, was almost as old as Baji. You looked at his bike just about two or three feet from behind him, the memories of your shared laughs, your tears, his sweat and blood, and long conversations flooding your senses.

"Come on, I won't keep you out long—just long enough to fill in the missing time." He begged, a slight smirk on his face, his mischief fang, as you like to call it, on display.

After some thought, you caved and rolled your eyes, strolling to your already shut bedroom door and locking it. A slight prayer to hope for an easy in and out slipped past your lips as you put on your robe and house slippers and came back to the window.

"20 minutes?"

"20 minutes."

You sighed once more and climbed out the window, using the tree next to it as your way down. Once you got on your feet, you avoided Baji and went straight to his bike, putting on the helmet he kept for you.

He got on the bike, pulled it out of its idle stance, and revved it to warm it up. You got on right behind him, your body immediately going to backpack him as he pushed off and started to ride down the street.

The light breeze brought a sense of security that you haven't felt since you've last been with Keisuke. You used to reflect on your non-situation-relationship with him in times like these. Sometimes, he'd be with and around you like a lovesick puppy; others, he'd go with so much without a slight acknowledgment toward you.

You laid your cheek on his back as he made precise turns in your neighborhood, fighting the urge to break the stiff silence between you both. He found you being deep in thought cute, but since it was he who was on your mind, he had stirred the conclusion that it was probably a bad thing.

"I'll give ya a penny for that thought.." he spoke up a while after a mindless 7-8 minutes.

"You can keep your penny. I'm just thinkin'," you responded, perching your chin on his shoulder.

"About?"

"You, me, something I'd normally call us," you mumbled, paying attention to orange-hued streetlights. "It doesn't really feel like it's been that recently, y'know?" you urged.

Rueful silence racked through the air as your question surfaced, and Baji's hand was forced to speed the bike up a little.

"Yeah.. but you know I have good reasons, right?" he wondered, also wanting to see where you stood in understanding.

"No, Kei, I don't." you started, leaning up to sit up straight, "I don't know that you do because you don't communicate that."

He hung his head a little, sucking in his bottom lip. He knew he wasn't (and still isn't) the best at communicating. He wholeheartedly felt awful after Mitsuya and Chifuyu dogged him about it.

He guessed being together and not committed drew a fine line between his girl and his gang. He was together with you, but committed to his gang; thus causing a painful realization. After that brief realization, he got slightly startled out by feeling your hand creep up to his and guide Alessia back onto the road.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a lot more than I give you, huh?" he asked, feeling the hell-ridden embarrassment creep up his neck and rest on his cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like to think so. I mean, for god's sake, Kei. I know we aren't in a relationship, but you can at least have some decency and acknowledge that you treat me more than just somebody. You and I have both admitted that." She ranted, pausing occasionally to push down the urge to cry.

"I don't ask for so much as a 'why, what are you doing, run this by me'… just something. Don't even let me get started because it makes me feel like I'm talking in circles, then I'm wasting my brea-"

"Hey! Hey! It's alright. I hear you." He cut you off, looking over his shoulder at you.

You bit your bottom lip, sniffling a little as you finally caught wind of your word vomit. You shook your head, not knowing what more to say. The silence was filling the space you two as he turned back onto your street, the light cruise bringing you back to a level head.

"Look, it's always and has been about you. I just need to work some things out before I can officially say I'm all yours, yeah?" he murmured, pulling up back under your window.

As much as you wanted to scream and hit him and tell him it was not fair, you understood he wanted to go through the troubles to get rid of them before being with you. And for that, you had to commend him.

"Okay, Baji. I guess I can't argue with that." You answered, taking off your helmet and getting off the bike.

It had been exactly 17 minutes since you left, and you still had 3 minutes to return to your window. Baji had gotten off his bike and came for a hug, wrapping his arms around your neck and bending down to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry, ma. I am immensely sorry for not making you feel like a priority, not holding myself up to a higher standard, and leaving you in the mud. It's not so manly and Toman code of me." He spoke, etching his apology into your forehead.

You grinned a little at his formality and apology, hugging him back. You pulled back, looking at his pale brown hue, smooshing his cheeks in your hand.

"I understand. I'll forgive you when I see you change and hold yourself up to what you say. But as for now, come on. I'm not letting you drive back home this late," you confided, motioning for him to help you into the window.

He nodded, boosting you into the open pane, allowing you to climb in and make sure everything was in order. Baji turned off his motorcycle and climbed into your window himself. He looked around, feeling the sense of familiarity creep up on him.

"Hey, while you stand there, close the window." You whispered,-demanded, already back into your tanktop and shorts.

He playfully rolled his eyes as he shut your room off from the outside world, removed his uniform, changed into basketball shorts and socks, and prepared to climb into bed with you.

He followed suit, climbing back into your plush sheets, big-spooning you to give you a tinge of protectiveness. You curled up into his caged arms; his faint cologne that wafted on his wrists seeped into your nose and started to lull you into brief, deep sleep. At least not before you got your final words out for the night.

"Kei?"

He grunted politely.

"Just promise me you won't keep me waiting."

"I won't keep you waiting, n/n. I promise. I want nothing but you. I want your past, your present, and your future." He answered, holding you tight and secure.

You smiled, keeping his promise close to you as he kissed the crown of your head.

And with that, you fell asleep.

silly little a/n!🤭: hey guys! second fic, how we feeling about it? Keisuke Baji is my man so there DEFINITELY will be a lot of fics about him as i write more. Feel free to drop suggestions. i’m open to just about any fandom i’m familiar with. as always, im open feedback and critiques! (though do be nice.). and as per usual; divider by @benkeibear:). reposts are highly appreciated ;).

[yjhariani]

Tea

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN!Reader

Word Count: 2300± Warning: Profanity, cat Summary: Simon came to you asking for tea, but he was looking for something else.

For some reason, you did not see it coming. The knock came out of nowhere in the middle of the night. Based on experience, only Simon Riley would do that.

However, when  you opened your door, you were face to face with someone else. A tall handsome man who looked somewhat familiar. His brown hair was a little flat, but it seemed that he was trying to tidy it up a bit, at least. You were sure you had seen him before, but not sure where or when.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

For a second, the man hesitated, but when he spoke, you immediately recognised his voice.

“I ran out of tea,” he said.

You were frozen, eyes widened.

Simon, who was only looking at you plainly, now looked at you with a little bit of concern. However, he was also trying so hard to hold back his smile.

“Do you have any?” Simon proceeded.

There was a train of cursing running through your mind. Maybe you were dreaming, after all it was the middle of the night. Maybe he was an angel or even a devil playing tricks into your brain whilst you were asleep because you have missed Simon quite badly since the last time you saw him.

“You alright?” Simon asked.

“I d—where the hell is your face? I mean, your face is there, I meant to say that your face is not, uh… you know, uh—what?” you tried responding, gripping the handle of your door.

The urge to palm your face had never been stronger. Instead of that, however, you went behind your door and closed it, trying to catch your breath and to slow down your heartbeat.

You were about to move on, but realised that you had not invited Simon in.

On the other side of the door, Simon scrunched his eyebrows upon getting a door closed on his face. Honestly, he always considered himself good looking even though very few people had only seen his face. The door made him think that maybe he was not as handsome as he thought he was.

He was expecting that you would stare and he would ask, Something on my face? Hopefully after that, you would say, There’s nothing on your face. Then you both would laugh. Well, you would laugh and he would smile at you because he loved it when you laughed.

Simon had to go with the other joke later, then. He just needed to wait for the opening.

Then, you rushed to open the door wide and his face loosened.

“Yes, I do have… tea,” you said. “Do you want tea or tea? I mean… do you want to—do you want just the tea or do you want me to brew some for you?”

Simon took a moment before saying, “I was thinking maybe we both have tea together.”

Hearing his voice whilst seeing his face felt almost weird. Sure, you had seen his lips moved and his voice came out of his mouth, but seeing his whole face gave out a different vibe.

Behind the mask of death and scary voice as well as the heavy, built stature that he had, you did not expect such a friendly, handsome face.

“Come on in, then,” you said.

As Simon stepped into your flat, he looked at you.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon said once you closed your door, emphasising the later sentence in hope that you would laugh.

“You come to my door without your mask and that’s what you say to me?” you questioned.

“What else do you want me to say?” Simon asked.

You only looked at him, maybe for too long. Simon looked back at you just as long.

“You seriously look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon pointed out, in concern this time.

You playfully pushed him on the shoulder, but he did not move at all and only looked at you with a little tweak on the end of his lips.

In the brief moment of silence that you two had, another voice echoed. A gentle, curious meow and the furry little thing nuzzling against your legs.

Simon looked down and found a black cat with a white patch on its face. The cat had grown a little bigger than the last time he saw it, but he would recognise the cat anywhere.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Simon said.

“Turned out they’re up for adoption,” you chuckled, picking the cat up, but the cat kept looking at Simon and was actually trying to get towards him.

So, you handed the cat over to Simon. He did not take the cat at first, but you put the cat on his shoulder and he had no choice but to handle the furry thing. He immediately pet the cat, scratching the cat's chin.

“Are you actually here for tea?” you asked.

“I can’t sleep,” Simon admitted, cradling the cat in his arms.

“So, you want a cuddle,” you concluded.

“I never said that,” Simon stated.

“You do want it, though,” you continued.

Simon only looked at you. Smiling at him, you pecked him on the lips. Simon still only looked at you and his lips were spreading a little more. You smiled even wider.

“I do want the tea, though, love, if you don’t mind,” Simon said.

“Okay, sit down, I’ll make you tea,” you replied.

Simon leaned over and pressed his lips onto your forehead.

“I’ll help,” Simon stated as you walked your way to your kitchen.

“You’ve worked for weeks, just let me do things for you,” you said.

“What if you trip?” Simon questioned.

“I tripped once, lieutenant, let it go,” you said.

“You injured yourself,” Simon recalled. “You made me a nurse.”

“You made yourself a nurse,” you replied.

“You’re welcome,” Simon shrugged.

Talking whilst seeing his face was different compared to seeing his mask or half of his mask. You could see the way he looked at you even more clearly and it was doing stuff to your heart.

You both proceeded to prepare the tea. You set up the cups and let Simon take care of the tea. Hopefully he was not disappointed with the tea that you had. He still had the cat in his arms and he put his hand on the cat’s head, scratching the space in between the cat’s ears.

From there, you boiled some water and waited in front of it. Simon stood by you, looking at you.

“When did you arrive?” you asked.

“Barely half an hour ago,” Simon answered.

“Yeah? How’s… work?” you continued.

“It’s work,” Simon replied.

“Of course,” you sighed.

“How’s your foot?” Simon asked.

“It’s my foot,” you answered.

“Yeah, how is it?” Simon asked again.

Upon not getting an answer from you, Simon stepped closer. When you looked away, he led your gaze back to him with a finger under your chin. Said finger was immediately hugged away from you by the cat.

“It’s much better,” you finally said.

“Good,” Simon nodded, reaching for your hands.

Putting the cat down, Simon held your hands in between the two of you. Whilst he was busy looking at the pair of your hands, you were looking at his face.

Sure, you had seen the top half of his face and the bottom half of his face separately. You had an idea on what his whole face would look like, but this was beyond expectation. The way he came out of nowhere and did this was also unbelievable.

“Why now?” you asked.

Simon took one of your hands and kissed your knuckles. Behind your hand, his eyes were clean and exhausted. Nonetheless, he looked great.

Moments passed, he was not giving an answer. By this time, you had learned that there was no use fishing for any answers from him that he did not want to give.

Soon after that, you both returned to your living room with tea in your hands. Simon sat down, relaxed. You were leaning back against him. He took one of your hands in his, brushing the back of it with his thumb.

Ghost the cat had climbed onto Simon’s lap and curled into a ball. If Simon was in the mood, he would have cursed the hell out of that cat. He looked like he would.

There was something off. Something probably happened within the span of the last few weeks and he needed a little bit of comfort. You should have known since he said that he ran out of tea. There was no way Simon could run out of tea.

“Are you alright, Simon?” you carefully asked.

“I’m good,” Simon exhaled. “I’m fucking good.”

Not wanting to push him further, you held back his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Do you mind if I stay the night?” Simon asked.

“Of course not,” you answered.

Every time Simon returned to his flat from work, he returned to a dusty bed, instant food, and hardly any clean surface. He stayed hardly a weekend in his flat before leaving for weeks, sometimes months even. There was no way you would say no.

You had wondered, of course. Most soldiers would just let their job take them wherever they wanted. Sure, he might not be having a house in a base because he was not married, but it was not like he would be staying in a barrack full of other soldiers either.

Maybe it was the convenience of having his own bed even though it would be dusty every time he returned to it. Maybe he liked the idea of the actuality of going home. Or maybe he had invested a lot of his wages into this place; he paid for it and he would live in it no matter what. Maybe he wanted to see a different group of faces.

“Thank you,” Simon said.

“It’s alright,” you assured.

You both stayed there until even after you finished your tea. A soft pur from the cat hung in the background. Simon occasionally brushed his hand over the cat. Eventually, you fell asleep there.

Simon put the cat away before he carried you to your bedroom, gently laying you down on the bed and joining you. He held you in his arms and felt your warmth as he nuzzled his nose into your hair. He did not sleep that night, but at least he had steady hands now that he had seen you.

The cat somehow made its way in and climbed onto the bed, curling against Simon’s calf.

When the morning came, whether it was creepy or not, Simon watched you until you opened your eyes.

Waking up and seeing Simon’s face first thing almost felt like a slap in the face. It was not a dream, you actually were seeing his face.

You reached your hand out to his face, stopping when you saw him flinching. When Simon lightly gave you a nod, you trailed the outline of his face with your fingers. 

“In case you don’t know, you’re handsome,” you weakly said.

“Why do you think I wear the mask?” Simon replied.

With a weak smile, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb on his cheekbone.

A sudden weight shift happened and there was something blunt and quite heavy stepping on your abdomen. With one hand, Simon picked up the inconvenience as he rolled to lie on his back. He pulled himself up to sit against the headrest and put the cat in front of his face.

“Fucking cat, you stay away from Y/N, yeah? I will fucking kill you ten times if—”

The cat cut Simon off with a whiny meow. Simon scrunched his eyebrows together, looking deep into the cat’s soul.

“Cheeky bastard,” Simon named and was responded by the cat with another meow. “Well, fuck you, too.”

Chuckling, you pulled yourself to sit.

“If he’s gonna stick around, you better teach him some manners or I will,” Simon said.

“He’s actually pretty quiet right up until you got here,” you informed.

Simon looked at you for a second before looking back at the cat who gave him another meow.

“There can only be one Ghost,” Simon said.

“I’m not changing his name,” you insisted.

Simon only looked at you smiling at him, but he proceeded to put the cat onto his lap.

From there, Simon pulled out his dogtags and dangled it in front of the cat. The cat was responding by clawing on it.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Simon gestured at the cat whilst looking at you.

“I can’t believe you’ve done that,” you gestured at his face.

Simon dropped his dog tag. He grabbed your hand, kissing the back of it.

“I leave tonight,” Simon said.

“Well, now I have Ghost to keep me company while the other Ghost is away,” you replied despite your disappointment.

There was a hint of hesitation in Simon’s face. You could see his lips twitching upon him trying to say something.

“You’ll wait for me?” Simon asked.

Yeah, something was definitely off and there was no way you would know.

“Always,” you nodded.

Simon went forwards to kiss you. Just as his lips touched yours, there was a tiny paw slapping your face.

“Bloody cat!” Simon cursed. “You alright, love?”

“No claws,” you said, wiping your face.

Simon picked up the cat again, making sure he would not move as Simon kissed you again.

“I’ll go get us breakfast,” you said. “The old lady from the restaurant across the street asked me if Simon still lives in this building when I went there the other day. She said you used to come for breakfast.”

“God,” Simon sighed.

“In the meantime, you don’t mind sitting the cat, do you?” you continued.

“I’ll wrestle this fucking cat,” Simon promised.

“Sure,” you chuckled.

From there, you got ready to get breakfast before leaving to get them.

When you returned, you found Simon still in your bed. He was asleep. The cat was sleeping on his stomach.

For a while, you only watched them. You were glad that Simon was sleeping because he did not look like he slept when you first woke up.

Hopefully, whatever escape or comfort that Simon was looking for last night had been satisfied. Best to leave him to rest for now before he had to leave again.

@dragonstoneprincess @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @hao-ming-8 @here4thespice @fckwritersblock @unforgettabie @misshoneypaper @worldsworstpresident @oscarissacsslut @htm09 @efsa-lks @shoe1412 @itsasecrets-things

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[thehousepatron]

More Drow Poisons and Their Effects

Part 1 of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/thehousepatron/759600770624684032/some-drow-poisons-and-their-effects

Jal wun Jivvin (“All in Fun”)

Compared to some of the other poisons used by drow, this is no more than a gentle warning. It is not directly fatal, though the poisoned one might wish it were otherwise. It could become lethal if the poisoner is able to strike while his victim is weakened. The poison is brewed from the venom pouch of the rakhyrr, a blind species of underground toad. The victim is plagued by intense nausea, vomiting, fever, chills and malaise. A neutralize poison spell will take care of it immediately, limiting its usefulness against the priestesses of Menzoberranzan.

(This could be anything mildly poisonous, in all honesty, so I have nothing really to compare it to, save perhaps this funky little guy. This is a cane toad. Since this is the mildest poison on the list - alongside Khaless (“Trust”), I can easily imagine that this is the sort of poison drow introduce their kids to first, and when the children poison one another, it’s “All in Fun”.)

Rathrae Dos (“Behind You”)

This is a poison greatly favored by Matron Mothers for use in their torture chambers. Brewed from the venom of the ghostyk, a strange insectoid creature that resembles a praying mantis, it attacks the central nervous system, rendering its victim completely incapable of movement, though fully capable of feeling pain. Why it should be so prized by the drow should be obvious. Note that this is a biological, not magical or terror-induced effect: elves are fully susceptible.

(This is a neurotoxin, so it falls under that category. Since no praying mantises are venomous, I’m resorting to plants again. From the description, this would be an ascending paralytic - meaning that you are very aware of what is going on when you’ve been paralysed by this poison… and what fits that description? Poison Hemlock. Dosage would be weird; enough to make you ill and paralysed, but not necessarily enough to kill you, unless the House Matron decides to let you die from respiratory paralysis.)

Haszak (“Mind Flayer”)

This is not strictly speaking a poison, but a very potent alchemical creation. Using a certain nerve cluster in the brain of an illithid, the potion is magical in nature. It's cost reflects both the rarity of its active ingredient and its unusually long duration. It is an effective, if expensive, toxin to use against a spellcaster, as it acts in almost all respects as the feeblemind spell. It does have an interesting variation, though: rather than reduce the victim to a state of retardation, it causes hallucinations and paranoid delusions for its entire duration, punctuated only by interludes of catatonia. This is a potion dearly loved by the sadistic drow.

(I can’t really compare this to any poison in my repertoire, but if the drow were a bit meaner and made this a proper poison, the only toxin I could think of relating to illithids would be tetrodotoxin, the nasty compound employed by the Blue Ringed Octopus. Alternatively, if it were a mushroom - seems similar to the Tongue of Madness I would compare it to either the hallucinogenic and toxic effects of the Fly Agaric or the less harmful Psilocybin.)

And so concludes the lesson 💅🕷️🕸️

[maokomi]

ᥫ᭡ Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

.ೃ࿔*:･ 「𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬.」 vv minimal angst with a lot of comfort, Kaeya’s inner demons hinted at but not directly confronted in this one, 2 AM depression hit my man hard rip, established relationship, soft stuff tbh, domestic fluff

Its 3 AM and the sheets feel too goddamn warm. Half-stirred back to consciousness by the sudden heat, you reach back over to Kaeya’s side of the bed, grabby fingers poised to drag him into an cool embrace—

Only to be met with empty space.

Half asleep, you grunt in dissatisfaction as you root around a bit more, but as your brain slowly stirs more and more to life, you realize that Kaeya’s not in bed.

You can’t help the seed of worry that plants itself in your mind. So, biting the inside of your cheek you hurriedly getting out of bed, eager to leave behind the suffocating warmth of the comforter, and find Kaeya.

Luckily you needn’t go far— you find the vision holder in your kitchen-slash-dining room, leaned back in a chair, staring solemnly at the icy-blue vision that blinks back up at him from your dining table.

“Kaeya,” you call to him when you see him, relief making you sag. Your voice is soft and hoarse in the early morning hour but Kaeya still shakes himself out of his daze to turn to you.

The worry immediately returns when you see the plastered, practiced little smile on his face and the distant look in his eye.

“Hey,” he calls back just as softly, beckoning you to approach. You do. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t sleep without me?”

His weariness only makes itself more known the closer you get. The bags under his eyes (eye?) the sallowness in his skin and how his lips are dry and cracked from him worrying them. You glance at the vision on the table before flicking back to him.

“Yeah, actually. The bed got too hot without you,” you settle on instead.

“I told you we didn’t need that incredibly thick comforter, darling.”

His small smile is the littlest bit more genuine, thankfully.

“Yeah, well, I like the weight, so sue me,” you playfully stick your tongue out at him, interlacing you fingers and delighting in his low laughter. 

But there’s still something so exhausted in his gaze— something you know that doesn’t disappear with a good night’s rest. It’s not your first time seeing it, but Kaeya doesn’t often let people see his inner turmoil like this. Not even you.

You’re lost on what to do, unsure if he’d prefer to be left to his thoughts or if he’d want your company, even if just to know he wasn’t alone in this house. It’s the faint grumble of his stomach that decides for you, though, and before long you’re pressing a kiss to his forehead —“I’ll make something for us to eat.”— and heading to the stove to prepare the tastiest 2 AM breakfast you can.

“You… you don’t have to,” Kaeya says behind you, protesting like you didn’t literally hear his stomach grumble less than a meter away. “I’m not even that hungry, really. There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” you tell him, flashing him a grin over your shoulder as you put all your ingredients on the counter. Some meat, carrots, bell peppers and tomato sauce, among other things. Decidedly, you begin hunting in the cabinet for a pot and a ladle. “If you’re not that’s fine, you don’t have to.”

Kaeya doesn’t protest much after that, merely falling silent once more at the table. As you cook, you stay silent too, not wanting to pressure or push him, but letting your constant movement and the harmony of the kitchen remind him that you’re there with him.

He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. If he ever wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen. No matter how long it may take, you think to yourself, cutting the peppers, carrots and meat to toss them into the brewing pot. The soup bubbles happily over the fire, engulfing the kitchen in a delicious scent.

It takes a while but when it finally seems finished you turn off the heat and scoop it carefully into a bowl, making sure to get lots of the good bits in it. “Do you mind if I sit?” You ask, and as soon as he gives you a nod, you’re planting yourself and your bowl of fresh Goulash across from him at the dining table. 

Kaeya still looks distant as you down the first spoonful of soup, but you mentally pat yourself on the back because damn that’s a damn good Goulash right there.

He’s a little surprised when he sees the bowl and a spoon pushed into his line of vision, though. 

“Have some,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat a bit. “It’s really good, and going very long on an empty stomach isn’t good for you, you know.”

Kaeya chuckles, but doesn’t bother to protest. He just gratefully eats one spoon, feeling the flavors envelop his tongue and the warmth travel all the way down his throat into his stomach, like wrapping him in a blanket from the inside out.

“I’m impressed,” he says, smiling at you. You smile back. “‘Pretty good’ is an understatement.”

“Have some more, then.”

And he does. He eats spoonful after spoonful, letting the warm, homemade soup settle in him, and chase away the chill that’s settled in his bones over the last few hours. Before he even notices it, the bowl is empty and Kaeya is feeling at least a bit better than before.

You look happy though —even if he’s essentially stolen your meal— if the way you smile contentedly at him is anything to go by. Wordlessly, you take the bowl and head back to the pot, ready to get him another serving.

Just as you’re spooning some diced tomatoes into the bowl, Kaeya speaks up behind you. 

“You deserve someone better than me.”

It doesn’t even sound like he’s saying it to you. Just like he’s speaking his mind, letting Like this is just one of the many thoughts that had managed to slip past his lips.  Like he wholeheartedly believes it.

Your hand stills for a moment, eyes blinking as you try to process what he just said. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but you go back to scooping soup back into the bowl nonetheless. When you next speak, your voice is even. 

“Hm. Don’t I get a say in it, though? Isn’t it up to me to decide what I deserve?”

Kaeya doesn’t say anything, and when you turn to head back to the table, his eyes are glued on you. 

Gently, you slide the bowl over to him once again, the look in your eyes still so soft and patient that Kaeya thinks his heart is both ripping at the seams and mending itself at the same time. “You make me happy, Kaeya. You. In the end, all I really want is to be with you.”

And he might not fully believe it now, might still have trouble overcoming the loneliness and the troubles that have followed him all his life, but that’s alright. Because you will always be there to hold his hand, time and time again.

“I love you,” is what Kaeya finally says, after staring long and deep into the bowl of goulash. He sounds the slightest bit choked up, but you pretend not to notice.

Your hand finds his across the table, interlacing your fingers easily. “I love you too. Now eat up— you and I are way overdue for some cuddles.”

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

* comes out of the void *

Darling, dearest ! 🩷

Sorry for delaying a bit in my response to your Part 1 AU! Yakuza and Geisha story.

I tried my best to write a decent comment in your inbox for this Part 1. Try to be as worthy as possible to the height of this story !

OMG I am flabbergasted, in shock and awe at this ! As well as on my tippy toes in my 5'3" measurement. You got be trapped and chained to this AU from the first sentence! The ambience, the words you decidedly chose to sew this tapestry.

The build-up is deliciously smooth as also filled with a silent threatening power. A Tiger story indeed! As soft as its fur, ferocious as its jaws, compelling as their eyes. I want more ! Nanami Kento has me already on my knees, wanting to learn more and explore him. His portrayal is utter perfection, even though we saw a little of the other JJK boys, they are stunning as well. I can't wait too see what else your are brewing for this !

All the choices of kimonos and all it's symbolism I love that ! That little peek of his tattoo got me howling ! Their encounter, is like embers starting to pick up heat and burn. A good slow burn, like the start of a burning incense slowly filling the air with its sensual aroma.

I am in love ! I'm already crawling up the walls in despair of all the feelings this will befall upon me ! Somebody has to be responsible and accountable for my fainting and probably losing the little rest of my sane brain.

I still swear one of you marvelous Muse inspired writers,.will be the end of me. Shall it be you !? The final twist of the blade inside my heart to ensure death ? I am playing a dangerous Russian roulette here .

Cause really, every story is heartbreaking good ! I could see this perfectly turned up into a beautiful anime or dorama. I love ya ! ♡

Thank you ! Thanks you! Thank you! * kisses your hand reverently and bows *

I'm so grateful for you. Do you even know...? I'm very slow at writing but I have this whole story planned out so please stick with me, I'll be putting it out at some time. Some time...

For anyone wondering what we're talking about, here: