#starting the new year................ WITH LOTS OF WORDS!!

[puppylove24680]

I'm not sure what I am, just not neurotypical but I still very much have the not included kid experience.

I have always been the quiet "shy" kid. Read, I had a severe anxiety problem just waiting to grow in scale. If I did something even a little embarrassing I would fully go to the other side of the playground to cry about it.

I didn't really have friends in elementary school, like, at all. I would usually wander around, walking on the wood border around the gravel playground area. I only really joined the others in playing when it was a large game, tag or something.

If I was ever invited to something outside of school it was because they were inviting either the whole class or all of the girls. I got invited to maybe three or four things total in the entirety of elementary school.

When I was with the other girls I learned that to get any kind of a reaction I had to be funny. So I played up being the weird little girl, I'd climb up the support beams of the play structure like a monkey (Their words). I was a tom boy and a weird little creature of a kid.

In elementary school there were three kinds of boys, the comedians, the athletes, and the ones who didn't really get personal hygiene. I'd learned to be funny so I always liked being around the comedian boys more than the athletes which put another layer of weird on me for the girls.

Then there's the whole, hey I'm queer thing. My dad was one of those don't date til you're thirty type dads, my mom always said to wait til I was older. So when I was a little kid I doubled down on the dating is gross type talk. I did not fit with my class at all. I became a bookworm, hardcore.

In second grade we had a ticket system, and if you turned in enough tickets you could run the class for a day or just an hour, I had gotten so many tickets from reading books and taking those AR tests that I had enough to be teacher for an hour. My mom and I were artsy so she had found a craft to do, I gave everyone a letter and we all colored them until they read "Thank You Miss Minkoff!" For the teacher. We all glued them down in a big poster, she made me take it home with me.

I did a lot of big things, me and my mom would spend hours before each valentines day running down a list of names and making crafty valentines for the boys and the girls. One thing for the girls and one for the boys, I was always the only one to do something custom.

I knew a boy for a while, who I'm fairly sure was autistic and very intense about dinosaurs, he was my best friend for a few years. My best friend was always the one person who would play with me regularly, I only ever had one at a time. Then one day he and his guy friend asked if I had a crush on him, I remember feeling really weird and saying no I just liked him as a friend. He moved away at the end of the year. I started playing with the little kids instead.

Then middle school hit and it was suddenly much more clear that I didn't have any friends. I had one girl who would play games with me back in fifth grade, who I considered my new best friend, but when given the option she would always choose the other girls, even when she knew they gossiped about her. It was during the sixth grade class camping trip I realized I was completely alone. The only one who walked the trails with me was my cousin, who was a councilor for the trip.

I eventually met fellow queer neurodivergent kids in seventh grade, but that didn't change that I was still the weird kid in my grade. Everyone I ever made friends with was younger than me, I was still standing in the middle of the room waiting for groups to be decided before going to the one that needed people.

And for the most part I was fine, it didn't matter to me, it still stung when I heard about large sleepovers that had all the girls or parties that everyone went to. I didn't get a phone until I graduated, so I was always left out of groupchats or snapchats or whatever.

My dad wouldn't let me drive out of town, overprotective of me for months after I got my license, so I didn't know anything about the neighboring city. I didn't really care about God so I wasn't in Young Life, which over half the class was in.

I went to a special job training program my senior year, for art, I just wanted to draw and not be in town for most of my day and it was good, I met people who were like me. It was clear they all had their friends and things, but I was fine, I had my people, until the class ended and I didn't. The other half of my day I was with my class, getting ready to graduate, senior projects and job shadows and all of the things that my anxiety clawed at me for. I think I had an anxiety attack during the worst practice presentation ever, I didn't practice in front of the younger grades, I think I would have died. But I presented to the three teachers that graded me and it was fine.

No the thing that really finally broke everything was a fucking yearbook and a bus ride.

We were being bussed around a lot at the end of the year, to the church for practicing the bachelaurette or something, i didnt go to the real thing. But during those rides I would sit in the back with the others, I liked being part of their road games, even if I thought they were stupid. We were playing something like telephone, I don't remember the specifics. I just know the girl next to me had gasped and went "I can't say that to [my name]" like I was some little kid.

I didn't swear around my class, I wasn't allowed at home and didn't want my cousins saying anything. That and I kind of liked when I could say a swear word and get shock in response. I'd sworn in probably three or four incidents but apparently my class thought I was incredibly innocent or something.

The thing she wouldn't say, I asked the one in front of her in telephone, it was some extremely vanilla sex thing. Which was kind of infuriating, I had been reading smut since I was twelve years old and they were treating me like I was a little kid.

I didn't say anything, it was annoying, but not worth it to get annoyed at.

A week later we were practicing walking for graduation, we had just ended for the day, everyone was happily signing each other's year books. I had worked on it that year. I was one of the editors that year. It felt like my project, like mine. It was the first year in ages we had gotten a spring delivery for yearbooks. The point was so people could sign them before summer.

I had wanted to get signatures, anything.

While the were signing each others and talking I went to my car and grabbed my yearbook, the front inside cover was covered in signatures from my art class, the teacher had drawn a little pride flag and it all made me really happy.

I walked back into the gym with my yearbook but everyone had put theirs away, they hadn't noticed I was gone, didn't see me walk up, and didn't hear me try to say anything.

I walked into the girls bathroom and sobbed my eyes out completely unnoticed.

We were meant to have a special buffet table for lunch after practice, everyone went to eat, I walked out the front door still crying, but not making a sound. No one noticed.

I drove all the way home still sobbing.

I got my cellphone the day we graduated, and yet I never even got my own cousin's numbers.

I told my dad, later. He gets frustrated when I bring it up, he moved a lot when he was a kid, so he wanted us to have stability, what good is it if no one cares. He doesn't understand how all of my friends are queer, doesn't like it, but when you're on the edges the only people to be your friends are the ones right there on the edges too.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[hardly-an-escape]

sweet | Buck/Tommy | 1750 words | rated T

let's go back to a simpler time, when we were all thinking about what might happen after their coffee date. this was originally intended to be a prequel to my fic dance with me (I want my arms around you) and at least twice as long, but the second half has been fighting me for months so I figured I'd just share what I have.

“Okay.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Okay, great.”

~~~

Evan insists on throwing away the coffee he’d gotten for Tommy and buying him a new one, one he’ll actually enjoy, which is both wholly unnecessary – Tommy has drunk a lot of subpar coffee over the years – and very endearing.

“Let me treat you to something. Please,” Evan says, and he’s so sweet, so sincere, that Tommy relents. Tells him his coffee order – not that it was some big secret – and accepts the replacement cup with a smile. And if their hands brush, when Evan hands it over, and if Tommy lets their fingers linger against each other, well. That’s fine. That’s more than fine.

They talk for the better part of an hour, about everything and nothing: people they both know in the department; the crazy calls they’ve responded to, and the handful they realize they may have been working from opposite sides over the years; shows they’ve been watching and books they’ve been reading. Tommy is strangely delighted to learn that Evan is more of a reader than a watcher – that when they get on the subject of murder mysteries, he knows all about Agatha Christie’s mysterious disappearance in 1926, but takes a minute to remember what Law & Order is. It makes Tommy feel like maybe the ten years’ age difference isn’t such a big gap after all.

Evan doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.

When their coffee cups are empty he glances down at his hands. He’s still smiling, but he looks a little nervous all of a sudden.

“So, uh, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?” he asks. “Because th-there’s this farmer’s market a couple of blocks over, I was thinking about swinging through? If you wanted to check it out?”

Tommy’s sure his grin back is almost embarrassing in its enthusiasm. He gently lays a hand on top of one of Evan’s, a mirror of their earlier touch.

“I’ve got some time,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The farmer’s market is almost painfully charming. The coffee shop Evan had chosen, despite the bougie LA vibes of the patio, was a real hometown neighborhood kind of place, and the market is no different. There are local bakeries and sandwich shops with booths; abuelas selling pickles on card tables and a church selling honey from the beehives that apparently surround their community garden. There’s a kid with an honest-to-god lemonade stand.

It’s absolutely delightful. Evan flits from booth to table, utterly in his element, making friends with kids and abuelas alike. He buys a jar of local honey and one of pickled kohlrabi – a vegetable Tommy is fairly sure he had a vague idea was a real thing that exists – and lingers in front of a display of romanesco broccoli for a while with a speculative look that’s starting to make Tommy almost apprehensive, before something else grabs his attention and he’s moving down the row, asking questions about someone’s backyard flock of chickens.

Tommy learns a lot about Evan in the hour they spend wandering the market. He hears a lot about his cooking adventures, of course; Evan is cheerfully unembarrassed about how disastrous some of his kitchen experiments have been, but seems to genuinely treat everything as a learning experience. He hears a lot about the other members of the 118, especially Captain Nash, and starts to form a picture of just how fundamentally things have changed there since he transferred out.

He’s so glad, in wistful kind of way, that the satisfaction and support Evan clearly gets from his work and his firehouse family was never quashed by questionable leadership. He wonders what things would have been like for him, if he’d had someone like Bobby Nash in his corner from the beginning, like Evan has. If he’d be as joyful, as unselfconscious.

If he’d have been able, like Evan, to grab a man he was interested by the elbow to excitedly point out someone selling fresh donuts from a cart on the corner, and slide his hand down his forearm, and tangle their fingers together in order to tug him down the street.

Tommy looks down at where their hands are interlaced. Big hands, firefighters’ hands; calloused and scarred and hairy. At first he thinks Evan hasn’t even noticed what he’s done, and then he looks back up and catches those blue eyes, the hint of a smile in them. Then Evan squeezes his hand and raises it deliberately, just a little, just enough that the message is clear: Yes, I’m doing this on purpose. Yes, I like you. I want to hold your hand and buy you donuts and make you smile in this perfect sunshine.

Tommy is beginning to realize that he might be in the best kind of trouble.

They do get the donuts, which are made by an ingenious and frankly hypnotizing little contraption that squirts out perfect circles of dough, floats them down a river of hot oil, and automatically flips them, at which point the vendor scoops them out, sprinkles them with cinnamon sugar, and hands them over in a paper bag, piping hot.

Eventually, Tommy glances regretfully at his watch.

“I hate to say this, but I’ve got an appointment at 4:00, so I should probably get going.”

“Oh, no worries!” If Evan’s disappointed, he doesn’t let it show in the tone of his voice, or in his smile as they turn to head back to where their cars are parked.

“Hey, uh, before you go.” Evan ducks his head and looks up through his eyelashes with that shy smile he has that absolutely slices through every one of Tommy’s defenses like a hot knife through butter.

Tommy’s pretty sure Evan genuinely had no idea how sweetly flirtatious he’d looked the first couple of times he’d aimed that smile in Tommy’s direction – but he might be catching up, if the way he slouches back invitingly against the door of his Jeep is any indication. They’re standing so close together that Tommy can get just a whiff of some kind of herbal-smelling aftershave or cologne that Evan is wearing.

“Before I go?” Tommy prompts.

“Just, real quick,” Evan says, and hooks one finger between the buttons of Tommy’s henley, and tugs him gently into a kiss.

Sweet, is all Tommy has time to think before his eyes flutter closed and he’s leaning in, one hand still in his hoodie pocket and the other coming to rest on Evan’s hip. God, he’s sweet.

The kiss is gentle. Soft. Just lips, and their noses barely brushing together, and the sounds of birdsong and traffic in the background. Tommy pulls back to take a breath and Evan is beaming at him, eyes so bright and blue that Tommy can’t help but lean in and kiss him again.

And okay, maybe this kiss is pushing the boundaries of what’s appropriate for a coffee shop parking lot, because it only takes about half a second before Evan’s tongue is teasing at Tommy’s bottom lip, and then Tommy learns that Evan’s mouth tastes like coffee, and like the donuts they’d shared.

It’s their third kiss, technically, and Tommy realizes he already can’t wait to find out what Evan’s mouth tastes like on their fourth kiss, and on their fifth. He can’t wait to lose track of the number of kisses he’s shared with this man, who is earnest and kind and who flexes one hand against Tommy’s chest like he wants to dig his fingers in and stay there. Who chases after Tommy’s mouth when he pulls back to breathe again, who makes the tiniest little noise of disgruntlement, of longing, when they separate.

For a heartbeat they just look at each other. Then:

“Wow,” Evan says, mostly under his breath, and clears his throat, and smiles like the sun. “I, uh. I really like kissing you.”

“Well, that’s good,” Tommy says. “Because I really like kissing you, too.”

“Good. That is good.” Evan grins at him. “You know, it’s – it’s kind of stupid, but after I fumbled our first date I just kept thinking, ‘Damn, I didn’t even get the chance to kiss him again.’ So, uh, thanks for giving me another chance.”

“Thanks for asking for one, Evan,” Tommy says.

For another several heartbeats they just look at each other, and look some more. Tommy can feel the smile blooming across his face, and he knows he must look like a fool, and he cannot bring himself to care.

“I really do need to get going,” he says after a minute.

“Yeah! Yeah, don’t let me keep you,” Evan says. Keep me, Tommy thinks. “What are you up to for the rest of the week? I mean, do you want to get together again before the wedding? I’m throwing Chim a bachelor party, you definitely should come to that at least.”

“Got a long run of shifts coming up,” Tommy says. “One of our guys is out on parental leave, so I’m pulling overtime. But text me. We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll text you.” Evan’s smile is so wide that his dimples look deep enough to swim in.

Tommy can’t help himself. He darts back in for one more swift peck, but ends up mostly missing Evan’s lips and clumsily kissing the corner of his mouth instead. It doesn’t even matter. They’re both smiling so hard it wouldn’t have been much of a kiss anyway.

He manages to restrain himself and only glances over his shoulder at Evan once as he walks across the parking lot to his truck.

Okay. Maybe twice.

Twenty minutes later, he’s halfway to his appointment – only running a little late – when his phone chimes where he tossed it on the passenger seat.

He picks it up after he’s parked. Three texts from Evan Buckley.

so is it too soon to text u or…?

I had a really great time today

I’ll be thinking about you all day, hope that’s ok

Tommy smiles to himself, alone in his car. It takes him a minute to figure out what he wants to write back, but eventually he taps out:

Me too. And that’s more than okay. In fact the feeling is mutual ;)

He should feel embarrassed; he’s really not a smiley face kind of guy. But when Evan texts back a simple :D about two seconds later, he’s pretty sure he’s floating on air as he jumps out of his truck and shoves his keys in his pocket.

[ugokuna]

It Was Always You

Pairing: Sukuna Ryomen x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was just one accidental, drunken kiss after a party, something you should've forgotten in a couple of days. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you’ve moved on. That Sukuna had as well. You doubted he remembered anything; especially with every new girl he kissed and every party he was at. Sure, there were occasional glimpses and shared moments together, but those meant nothing. It couldn’t mean anything.

Tags: mutual pining, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, missing pov, playboy(?)/fratboy/athlete sukuna, college!jjk au, reader’s major is unspecified, inaccurate and glorified depictions of college/college parties (so many parties to move the plot foward) and frats, peer pressure, cliche tropes, lots of time jumps, they were roommates (but not in the way you think), situationship (also not in the way you think), reader is introverted but NOT shy

A/N: English is not my first language. It also has been a minute since I've written anything, so forgive me if this is not the best, think of it like a warm up. I just had to post this one, it has been sitting in my drafts for toooooo long. Inspired by a fanfic I read about Ushijima/Oikawa by jaaesthetixx called Two Years too long on ao3 (definitely check it out!) . Proof read but I'm only human. The picture below is not my own, copyrights to the original artist!!

Word Count: 13.6K (it's a long one)

The auditorium is loud with bustling voices all being ushered by tired returnee students through the double doors. The atmosphere is filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, you stand there quiet as the crowd walks around you. You, a little out of place, about to begin the best four years of your life as everyone has been telling you.

As you situate yourself into your seat, you hear a group of boys in front of you rough housing with each other as they make their way a row down from you. One man from the group catches your attention; in stark contrast there sits Sukuna Ryomen, a Chemistry major with a growing reputation with every passing second. With the way he carried himself, smiling and laughing at everyone, he attracted crowds. Even during the campus tour, everyone was flocking his way, each one vying for his attention, drawn by his enigmatic aura.

“Are you going to the party tonight?” A girl places a hand on his biceps.

Sukuna gives her a dashing smile. “Are you?” He leans into her touch.

She laughs. “Yes.”

A wink her way. “Then I am too. Looking forward to it.”

As the group watches her leave, another man puts Sukuna in an arm lock, nudging their knuckles into his head. “Quit it, will you?” It was Fushiguro Toji, a Kinesiology major. He was perhaps just as popular as Sukuna, constantly catching the eyes of women in a more subtle and quieter way.

“What about you?” The man is able to get out of Toji’s grasp, hair sticking all different ways.

“Um… what?” You try to play it off, as if you weren’t listening to the entire conversation while waiting for your friend.

“Ask for the girl’s name first,” Toji berates the man.

Sukuna rolls his eyes. ”I’m just trying to break the ice first.” He turned his full attention back to you.

It didn’t bother you how Sukuna’s attention seemed to be pulled every which way. It’s something you observed quite quickly from earlier interactions. Catching and keeping his attention for longer than a minute seemed to be impossible with him.

“So?”

“Sorry, what?”

He laughs. “Your name?”

You give it to him.

He tilts his head. “So then, Yn, what’s your major?”

Heat starts to rise within your body and you hate how you feel embarrassed. ”I don’t know. I’m undeclared right now.

“Totally understandable. Better than a Chem major right? Actually-” Before he can get the last words in, Toji practically turns him around in his seat to pay attention to the presentation that’s been going on for five minutes now. Not a second later, your dorm mate, Maki, makes her way back to the seat you saved from the bathroom. “Did I miss anything important?”

After the presentation, everyone’s celebrating now that the boring orientation that’s lasted all day has ended. You’re about to make way to your dorm when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Hey,” you turn. It’s Sukuna. “I forgot to ask but do you wanna go to the party with everyone?”

“It’s gonna be a pool party!” Someone yells out from the crowd.

You hesitantly shake your head, “I don’t know, I can’t swim. Maybe-”

“You don’t even have to swim,” he reassures you. “Promise it’ll be so much fun. You’d meet so many new people.”

You almost want to laugh at that statement. It had come to no surprise that he had said it; everyone was practically crowd pushing him away from you with each passing second. All he can give you is an apologetic look before disappearing into the rush of people.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When you get to the party, the music is loud, the bass reverberating through your entire body. You look to your side and shrug to Maki, who’s giving you an arched brow, before you both walk in through the door. Hands are grabbing at both of you, trying to pull you every which way. You don’t even know how you got a cup in your hand. Maki is able to shove them all off and starts directing you towards the back yard. Discreetly putting your full cup on a random table, you’re stopped in your tracks as you spot Sukuna in the kitchen, shotgunning with Toji as, you noticed, a new group of people surrounding him cheer him on. All of them chanting his name.

The night air is crisp. It’s refreshing compared to the humid atmosphere in the house. The water in the pool is illuminating so bright in contrast to the low yellow lights of the house. Maki chugs her cup before asking, “Why are we here in the first place?”

All you can give her is a chuckle.

Sukuna spots you from inside the house, talking to one other person. You seemed so deep in the conversation. He sees a bunch of his newly acquainted friends approach you with a bottle and a shot glass. His feet are moving before he can even comprehend what’s happening, excusing everyone he bumps into and makes his way to you as he sees you struggling to get them off your ass.

From behind you, he says "Thanks, I needed that" as he reaches for the shot from his friend's hands, downs it, before making his way back into the house, the group following behind him. Thank you is stuck on the tip of your tongue as you watch him take a ping pong ball into his hand, the upperclassmen cheering him on beer pong. He barely catches your eyes for a second before he turns his attention back to the game.

Maki finally makes her way to your side, asking, “Who was that?”

You can barely utter a response to her as you watch him knuckle his friend’s head when they miss the shot. You had come to the conclusion then that you were worlds apart, especially with his charisma.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Sorry about this again,” Toji grunts as you both carry Sukuna up to his dorm, on the verge of passing out on your shoulders. He’s mumbling something incoherent but you both decide to ignore the man. He had caused enough trouble already, challenging the sophomore Mahito to another drinking contest.

“It’s no big deal. It’s the least I can do after he helped me out of a situation,” you tell Toji.

“Huh,” he huffs out. “How ‘bout that.”

After taking a few stops and tumbles up the stairs, you make it to their shared dorm, one you’ve realized was only two floors above you. Toji gives you the access key as he rushes off to get the fallen objects scattered across the stairs and lobby.

You lean closer into him, quietly asking, “Can you walk?” Silence, then a hum. “Can you walk?”

You both make way to his bed before he can even give you a coherent response and start lowering him down. “Careful. You got it?” You’re the one struggling to lay him down slowly and not slam him head first into the bed.

“Oh, shit.” Tripping over each other’s feet, Sukuna slams onto the bed anyways, his arm around your shoulder dragging you down with him.

“Wait! Wait-” His lips are on yours before you know it. It’s soft, warm –probably from the alcohol– and as light as a feather. It’s almost shy, all that boldness from the morning and at the party gone. You pull away abruptly, breathing heavily, fingers deftly touching your lips. A ghost of cigarette scent lingers behind in its wake.

You’re not sure if you heard a sorry from him as you’re rushing out of the room, bumping into a flabbergasted Toji in the hallway, spitting out the quickest excuse possible. You, who runs away, ears tinted red because he stole your first kiss.

Sukuna, who is passed out drunk when Toji makes his way back, utterly confused, asking where you were going and him saying how he'd probably fucked up.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It came to no surprise that you both gravitated towards different groups on campus, enveloped into two different hemispheres. You often saw him rushing to class with Toji following shortly behind, scolding him. Some days you see him with a different group on each different day of the week; always engrossed in whatever they were talking about. You could never seem to get away from him, he was the talk of the campus between all your classmates.

He often saw you with Maki. Always just the two of you, always routine, always disciplined. Something he clearly lacked, as Toji stated to him one night when they were procrastinating on studying for a test the next day. You seemed too far from him to ever close the gap; you were involved with different organizations and people completely opposite of him.

Only ever a glimpse whenever the other person wasn’t looking. Never crossing paths, staying out of each other’s bubbles.

You see him join a fraternity a quarter into freshman year with Toji; easily sporting that black and red fraternity jacket with pride at a party. You had come to the first rugby game of the season to support Maki’s new boyfriend Yuta, who was on the team, where you happened to see Sukuna on the rugby field as well; sporting new pink hair.

Again, drawing a big crowd as they lift him up in the air after scoring the winning point for the first game of the season. Him, displaying that toothy grin as his face. It lifestyle seemed to suit him well.

As everyone scrambles to get to their cars to go to the after-party to celebrate, you quickly make your way to the stadium bathroom. You’re nearly skipping from how full your bladder is and when you turn the corner-

There’s no mistaking that freshly dyed pink hair, immediately recognizing it as Sukuna Ryomen. Here he was, kissing a girl with his jacket on in the back of the stadium stairs. You freeze. You don’t know why, this was normal. You feel guilty for catching him in such an intimate moment; guilting for something else–perhaps for getting hopeful.

He didn’t owe you anything, you had to wrap that around your head. Given how much you’ve learned about him in such a short amount of time, this was a given. This was who he was, there was no denying that by anyone.

Running back to Maki and Yuta, who’s shooting you confused looks, all you can do is push them into the car and tell them to hurry home to go pee. When they question you, all you can muster is that the bathrooms were locked. You wonder if he even remembered that night. You want that memory out of your head.

They drop you off after much persuasion that you’d meet up with them later at the party for the celebration.

When Yuta enters the frat house with Maki, Sukuna watches from a distance as the duo walks in before making his way to the couple with a practiced smile while he scans behind them. “Where’s Yn?”

“She’s coming later,” Yuta tells him, grabbing the offered drink from Sukuna and leaves with Maki.

The entire night he has his eyes glued to the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Landing yourself a job at the school library meant, though it was not often, seeing Sukuna there. Sometimes you see him studying, sometimes you see him tutoring someone, sometimes you see him playing Tetris on his computer as he tunes out an online class that seems very important.

There seems to be a backlog of books needing reshelving so you’ve been tasked with shelving books for the remainder of the shift. It really is mundane work but you believe it’s better than Maki’s physical job of carrying heavy loads. You hear a whisper then a squeal as you turn to the next aisle.

“We have to be quiet.” You knew that voice. You peek through the bookshelf, not knowing why since you know it belongs to Sukuna, his back to you.

“Or else what?” She leans into his touch as she laughs.

“Don’t wanna get caught do we? Gotta respect the rules here.”

And then he’s going in for the kiss, starting at the neck before making his way to the girl’s lips, who reciprocates with equal passion. With an attempt to give them some privacy, you accidentally knock down some books. And when you look back up, your eyes catch hers and she screams.

Before Sukuna can even turn around to see all the commotion, you’re gone. He looks back at the girl. “What is it?”

She scowls. “Some girl was snooping in on us. What a weirdo.”

Sukuna looks back for one last measure, craning his neck to see, catching anything. Nothing. And then he’s getting pulled back in.

You slam the books down and rush to get your things, stuffing your charger and papers into your bags in a hurry. “Sorry,” you spill out. “I wasn’t able to finish shelving these last books. I just realized I have a meeting to catch!”

The coworkers can barely get a response out before you’re out the doors. Why did you always have such bad timing?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It wasn’t until sophomore year that you started to find your footing here at the college. You honestly have Toge and Panda to thank for that. If you hadn’t met them, you probably wouldn’t have chosen the major you did. Toge Inumaki, though the yapper he was, really made you love all the communications class you took together. You didn’t know what to expect from Panda. Definitely not barely passing a mathematics class together, that’s for sure.

Sukuna’s head turns when he hears your voice. “At least the teacher likes me more,” you tell Panda who taunts you by sticking his tongue out. It seemed like your group was heading out downtown.

“Yea, yea sure.”

He watches you sigh in mock frustration, but not without catching the teasing smile that’s growing on your face. “Don’t come crying to me if I pass the class and you don’t.”

Sukuna can’t help the scoff that comes out of his mouth before he continues on his homework.

“What’s so funny?” Toji asks.

The pink haired man can only shake his head, hand coming up to cover the grin. “Nothing, nothing.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The crowd erupts into a complete frenzy as Sukuna scores, yet again, the winning goal. As you and the group make your way down the stands to celebrate with Yuta, embracing him in an all encompassing hug, you aren’t sure if you had caught Sukuna’s eyes. Everything was happening too fast as the crowd swallowed him up.

“Thanks man, ‘ppreciate it,” he says for the nth time tonight after another person congratulates him. He touches his cup to the man before taking a sip when he hears your laugh. He turns towards the crowd, scanning. He hadn’t seen you come in and he missed the change to talk to you at the end of his game.

He can’t seem to get a good view of you until he hears your laughter die down abruptly, followed by hesitant no’s. His body is moving even before he can understand anything, barely tuning in to everyone who’s slapping him on the back for a job well done today.

And then he finally sees you. Cornered by one of his frat mates, Mahito, shoving a shot glass into your hand, clinking it with his before tilting it towards your mouth.

One, two strides and he intercepts. Grabbing the shot just as it barely touches your lips and downs it in one fluid motion. He sets it down harshly, making you jump. There’s a silence between the two men as you watch from behind Sukuna’s shoulders before Mahito slowly raises his hand in defeat, and leaves without much protest.

“Um, thank you,” you’re finally able to muster out, raising a finger to tap his shoulder.

He turns around before you can ever make contact. “You should really-”

“I was looking for water,” you interrupted him. “Some water…” you repeat again.

He sighs, reaching behind you and opens the fridge, tossing you two cold water bottles and leaves it at that to chase down Mahito.

When the party starts to wind down, Sukuna takes the chance to move to the balcony on the second floor to smoke. He digs out a crumpled cigarette, it would have to do. As he lights the butt up, he looks up to the sound of footsteps. Taking a whiff, holding it in before blowing it out, he gives you a nod of acknowledgement. He tries to keep a neutral face but can’t help but have his brow twitch at you approaching him, almost tentatively. He leans back against the rail.

“What’re you doing up here?”

“Sorry, is this off limits?” And yet here you were, still walking towards him. You settle on one side of the balcony.

He shrugs and goes for another before blowing it out carelessly towards you. Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your lips purse at his actions.

“Yuta said I could come up here.”

“Yuta?” He says in disbelief. “That scrawny emo kid?”

You shoot him a look. “Hey!”

Sukuna huffs at the sweet noise you made, turning his head and blowing out the smoke. “Just the truth, he’s a newb.”

He doesn’t miss the way you roll your eyes. “So are you. Didn’t you and Toji both start at the same time?”

Sukuna lets his cigarette drop to the floor as he leans in closer to you. “You see me on the field today?

“I did.” It’s almost bashful.

He dares to lean a bit closer. “And what did you think? Did I look like a newbie out there?”

Everything is forgotten when Sukuna sees you reciprocating his actions. “I think-”

“Sukuna!” Toji calls out for him as he makes his way to the balcony, clearly out of breath. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were busy. Hey Yn.”

You give him a small smile and wave.

Toji’s already tugging Sukuna along by the sleeve of his jacket. “Come on, I made a bet saying you could finish the funnel faster than Mahito. Betted Gojo winning against Geto and he fucking lost. Can’t let me down now.” And he’s dragged away before he can even say anything, taking one last look at you before heading downstairs to the backyard.

And when he’s done, belly full of beer and deal won, he rushes back up to the balcony knowing very well you wouldn’t be there but being disappointed anyways.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wrapping up sophomore year is hectic and stressful. Sukuna is ever busy trying to gear himself to being vice president of his fraternity for the upcoming school year. Drawing in tabling, hosting events, and running booths that you often run by when going to class. He always looked so into it, voice booming above all others. Convincing old friends and new to vote for him, convincing fresh boys to rush his fraternity over others.

When he’s warming up for rugby practice, he sees you and Toji walking side by side. Watch as the both of you both laugh at something before parting ways. He sees you biting your lip in the cafe as you angrily tap away at your laptop, the wrinkles on your forehead more prominent than ever.

Thanking his tutor for the day, Sukuna starts to pack up his things as he’s running late to his fraternity meeting. He’s about to text one of the members before he catches a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye.

“Here you go.”

You shriek a bit before covering your mouth. After looking around, hoping you didn’t disrupt anyone, you looked up at the man standing behind you. “You scared me!” you whisper-yell at him while grabbing the book from his grasp you had trouble reaching.

“You’re welcome,” his voice hinting at something, brow raised. “Don’t they have those long ladders?”

Turning to finally face him, you hug the book to your chest. “Yes, they do, but I thought I didn’t need it.”

He only hums before leaning in closer. “Oh, yea?” He picks off invisible lint off your shoulder before bracing his arm next to it. “What’re doing in the library?”

“I work here,” you state matter of factly.

“That so…” his voice wanders off. Interesting.

“Yes,” you reply, ducking under his arm. He was too close, his proximity taking you back to that night freshman year. You didn’t need that memory resurfacing after all this time. Both of you were about to be juniors in college, it was embarrassing how you just couldn’t let it go. “I’d like to stay and chat, but I have a lot of things to do right now.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Junior year is beginning to look good. You’ve just applied for an internship and have signed a lease for an apartment. The school year starts off with great news of Sukuna as well: becoming the vice president of his fraternity and captain of the rugby team. You can't help but smile when you read it in the school’s newspaper. You’re happy for him.

It's no surprise that with the new achievement and the start of the semester, it’s a big party; the fraternity house is filled to the max. As you weaved through the crowd, hand in hand with Shoko, you couldn't help but have your eyes wander to a certain silhouette. It didn't matter anyways, you both weren't going to stay long anyway. You both have prior commitments the day after.

But nothing ever goes to plan as you find yourself staying past the time you guys agreed on. And it's not until you find her slumped against Gojo that you rush over to her. You try to drag her out of the house, men start approaching you, grabbing and pulling everywhere.

You can only offer her a smile when she mumbles something about Gojo and tell her you're taking her to the bathroom first before leaving. The line is long and everyone's giving you the stink eye and it makes you want to crawl into your own skin while Shoko is hanging onto your shoulder telling everyone to fuck off.

Toji comes to the rescue and tells you to go upstairs to the master room, no one should be in it. As you burst through the door, you stop.

Both are topless, hands skimming and touching everywhere. Sukuna’s on top in a heated make out session with a girl who screams and pushes the pink haired man away.

You quickly shield your eyes and apologize. "I- I’m sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt! Toji, he said no one would be up here and-" The girl shoves past you as she sends you a dirty remark, making you drop Shoko. You sigh out in frustration.

"It's okay," he reassures you quickly.

Your eyes notice the bruising marks on his chest and neck and you realize you're staring. You divert your gaze back to the ground as you decide to focus your attention back to putting Shoko on your shoulder.

You can't really see him that well in the dark lighting. What his face reads. What his eyes say. "Here, let me help." He approaches and you tense up in panic

"No! No," you say more calmly. You feel like crying for some reason. And you hate it. Stupid, you tell yourself. There was nothing to cry about, you've seen it before. Many times. It certainly wasn't going to be the last. "We’ll go somewhere else. Again, I-" you inhale. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, seriously.”

Sukuna calls out your name. “I know-” And then Shoko throws up on the floor. On Sukuna's feet.

And that's the last you see of him as you apologize profusely, tears brimming from ruining his carpet before you rush out to call a taxi.

Sukuna Ryomen, you really are a heartbreaker.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As Sukuna walks up to the desk, sliding the two books he checked out a week ago, he asks where you are. He hadn’t seen you working in the library for the past few weeks.

The staff scans his book. "Oh, you mean Yn? Her internship schedule didn’t work out with this job, so she quit. Heard she’s doing just fine though!”

Sukuna can only nod as he walks out the door to go to his next class, he can't help the growing smile on his face. It brings him back to the first day he saw you at orientation; how timid and frightened you looked before walking inside the big doors before him. How you nearly shook when asked by him what your major was, voice full of uncertainty when you told him undeclared. Truly, it amazed Sukuna to see how much you've grown now compared to him.

It looked like he had some catching up to do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"When are you leaving for your study group?" Uruame, your new roommate, yells from her room. You got along with her quite well for having just met her a few months ago.

"Maybe in about ten minutes or less? Why?" You close your laptop, having just finished a task for your internship.

"Oh, good. I have a friend coming over soon, that's why. He should be gone by the time you come back." She can be heard rumbling around through the room before adding, "He should be here any minute. When he does, can you open the door for him?"

You yell back a yea and within five minutes there's a knock on the door. "Hi-” All you can really do is stare.

Sukuna is speechless as well as he watches you move to the side to let him in. He passes through the threshold, unsure of what to say.

"Sorry about that," you tell him, closing the door behind him and clearing your throat. "It's nice to see you again."

He only nods. "I didn't know you were Uruame's roommate. If I knew-"

"It's okay!" you chirp up, guiding the pink hair to the living room. “Do you want some-”

"Sorry for the wait!" Uruame finally comes out, pecking Sukuna on the cheek.

You quickly look away.

He watches you. And you miss the way he's searching for you, the way he’s trying to tell you something.

"I should get going!" You chime, trying to change the mood. You round the living room and grab your things.

He notices the way your back is facing him the entire time. "Where are you going?"

You offer him a small smile but he notices how you won't look him in the eye. "The library."

Once the study group session is over, you overhear two girls talking about the books in the library. "Actually I noticed the same thing too. A lot of the books are checked out by his name.”

"What was it again?"

"I don't remember but I think it’s kinda romantic.”

Later that night, as you’re eating dinner with Uruame, you learn that she and Sukuna were in a situationship. They had been hooking up for a couple of weeks now and wanted to test the waters a bit before confirming anything. You muster up a smile and wish them the best. Truly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For the next couple of days, something inside your core shook. Nothing you ate sat right in your stomach; it was nonsense really. You both really never had any deeper relationship than a few conversations sprinkled in the past three years.

Unintentionally, you had buried yourself in work, having a backlog of tasks and assignments to juggle alongside your job. Sukuna came by a couple of times a week at the apartment and sometimes it was Uruame who would be gone for a few days at his frat house. A few acknowledged nods whenever you were in the living area before he disappeared into Uruame’s room, that was all. You made sure to keep it minimal.

Whenever you heard the door close to Uruame’s room with a few laughs and a belt hitting the floor, you always made sure to leave the unit as quickly as possible. You always timed when your shift ended and when he would leave the house; it was for the best.

Sometimes you weren’t so lucky. Hearing the roar of the engine outside your apartment was something you’ve come accustomed to at this point. Sometimes Sukuna drops Uruame off when you leave for your work shift, who's leaning against his motorcycle, a cigarette lazily resting between his lips. As you acknowledge him, he slips the cigarette butt out of his mouth and onto the floor to stomp it out, before giving you a curt nod back. His eyes follow you as he watches you get into the car.

Or when you accidentally come out of the shower with just a towel around you just as Sukuna walks in. Who immediately apologizes and covers his eyes and turns around for invading your privacy.

But you like to think you’ve done a good job of giving Uruame and Sukuna the privacy they need. It’s the least you can do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Sukuna gets a late night text from Uruame to come over, he sneaks in quietly, unlocking the door from the key that you told him about under the doormat, to which he had practically scolded you for how easy and cliche it was for anyone to discover. He’d have to find a better spot next time.

Quietly removing his shoes, Sukuna makes his way through the house. Then he sees you knocked out on the couch, laptop on the verge of falling off your lap. He huffs out a low chuckle as the man rounds the couch to close the laptop, putting it away, and grabbing the throw blanket to keep you warm. Once satisfied, he looks at you before kneeling down and moving some hair out of your face.

“Don’t work too hard, hmm?” he tells you. He’s there and gone before the sun even rises.

Sukuna could never seem to catch your eye wherever he’s over at your place, he notices. You’re either in your room, or running an errand right when he arrives, or over at Yuta’s place studying. But that’s okay, because sometimes if he concentrates enough, it’s moments like these that he likes.

Sukuna can smell whatever you're baking as you hum in the kitchen from Uruame’s room. He wonders what it’d taste like. What you look like. Were you hopping around dancing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand? Were you covered in flour when he heard you scream as you burned and messed up the measurements for the brownies you were making for your co-workers?

And when he leaves your apartment for the week, passing by the island in the kitchen, he sees a note that reads “feel free to take some” with a smile-y face scribbled on it.

· · ─���───── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The apartment has become more lively lately as the first round of midterms for the semester are coming around. You, Maki, Toge, Yuta, and Panda are supposed to be studying for the upcoming test for your class but somehow the monopoly game ended up on the table and you’re in jail for the eighth time.

"No deal," Toge tells you.

"What!?" You complain. "I'm literally giving you the last Railroad to make a complete set."

"Yea, and why would I exchange The Boardwalk and give you a complete set. It’s totally unfair."

The other bystanders grumble out agreements and you hate how they're on Toge’s side when they were the ones who encouraged you to make the deal in the first place.

Sukuna is leaning against the door that separates you and him, trying to get even the smallest detail of what's going on on the other side. Uruame was asleep and he was supposed to have left thirty minutes ago, but when he heard your voice along with your friends, he froze.

And now he's listening to you angrily yell and try to miserably seal a deal that he, unfortunately, also doesn't agree on. It's the worst thing Sukuna’s ever heard and he's trying his best to stifle the rumbling in his throat. Oh God, you were so bad at this.

"You know," Toge deadpans, “Why don’t you just admit that you’re just threatened by me."

"Oh please," you bite back. "When have I ever felt threatened by you?"

"What are you talking about?" he flabbergasts. "If I gave you The Boardwalk you'd max out the hotel immediately and you'd win the game."

"Which is only two spots!” Your fingers emphasize the number two. “You have four!"

"Which I always land on!" He leans forward on the table, not backing down. “Do you know how unlucky I have to be to always land on them?”

"What if she gave you fifteen percent of the revenue as part of the deal?"

Everyone jumps at the voice, startled. He’s done this many times, and yet he always catches you off guard. You stand up right to turn to look at him.

"Oh, I thought you already left."

Maki watches you, flicks her eyes towards the pink haired man before silently reorganizing her cards.

"Overslept," Sukuna tells you nonchalantly. He nods towards Toge. "What do you think of that deal?"

Toge can barely muster out a nod as Sukuna explains to him the terms and conditions. All you can do is look at him. Perhaps what Toji said to you in secrecy was true. It did look like he was going through a rough time at home. Toji didn’t delve too much into it, wanting to respect Sukuna’s privacy. All you knew was the one sentence that stuck with you, “He may not look like it, but family means a lot to him.”

He did seem a bit softer around the edges now. The tattoos that were littered over his body didn’t seem all that intimidating anymore. His eyes, though not evident unless you look closely like you are now, have eye bags under them. His eyes flicker to you as he says, “That sounds good to you?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. “Um… what? Sorry.”

Maki couldn’t help but smirk down at her lap.

Sukuna leans one arm on the back of the sofa, the other pointing at the board game. He’s so close that you feel the heat radiating off of him. The proximity makes you stiffen. “Toge’s gonna trade The Boardwalk with your Railroad as long as you give him twenty percent of the money anytime someone lands on it. I raised the profit for him to accept, that okay? You’ll still be able to keep a majority of the money anyways, especially with the other cards you have.”

You highly doubt Toge accepted it because of the terms and not because he was Sukuna himself. You only nod.

He nods back and pushes himself off the couch, groaning as he stretches his arms up before making his way to the door but not before saying goodbye to everyone. You walk him to the front door to see him out as he tells you “hope you win” before closing the door behind him.

You do win that night. By a landslide.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Would it be weird?” You’re laying on Maki’s bed, head hanging off the end as you wait for her to freshen up for your hang out today. “To…you know…”

Maki laughs from the other end of the room, throwing the jacket she’s finally settled on towards you. You catch it without hesitation. “Invite your roommate’s situationship?”

“They’re just taking their time,” you try to defend them once again.

“After three months?” You move over a bit as Maki settles in beside you. “Look, I think inviting him would complicate whatever you already feel about him. You already know what I’m going to tell you: do whatever you wanna do; but just think about what I’ve told you.”

Maki gives you a look when Sukuna invites himself in without even knocking, putting the spare key in his pocket and greeting everyone. You shoot her a look back.

Uruame greets the pink haired man before you can even reach the entrance. “You made it!” And gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

Toge reaches for the snack bowl. Panda suddenly chokes on his popcorn and Maki takes a big gulp from her drink.

Sukuna’s line of sight goes straight to you, offering a sheepish smile. “Hope you don’t mind, Uruame invited me.” He holds up a small gift bag, almost like a peace offering.

You finally move from the couch to grab it. “Not at all.”

Everyone has settled in, given with the help of a few mixed drinks Maki and Panda made. Uruame and Toge were in a much heated argument that has gone off course that started with toilet paper and has now changed into cereal and milk.

Taking the chance while everyone’s preoccupied, you head towards the kitchen to get the cake ready. You take a sip from your cup as you’re struggling to find both the candles and lighter. A hand comes up behind your back as you feel someone brush up against you to open the cabinet above you.

“Here you go.” Sukuna sets down the box of almost empty candles on the counter.

“Thanks,” you tell him, almost amazed that he knew where it was.

He shrugs. “Saw it here when I was cooking for Uruame.” Then gestures toward the plastic cup. “Didn’t think you were a drinker.”

You open the box and start putting the candles around the cake. “Never said I wasn’t. Just always seemed to find myself in situations where I didn’t want to.”

He huffs at that, tilting his cup.

You laugh, picking up your own to tap it against his before taking a drink together.

Sukuna watches you take a sip before finally trying his own. He could get used to this side of you.

You get back to putting the candles around the cake, putting six mix-matched colors around the border. When he sees you frantically searching for a light, Sukuna reaches into the front pockets of his jeans, flicks his cigarette lighter open and lights all the candles with ease, before putting it back.

And when the lights are turned low and everyone sings happy birthday, Sukuna wonders what you wished for as you blow out the candle. He wonders if you liked the gift he got you. Wonders if he’ll have other birthday celebrations with you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the year goes on like that. Balancing school with the internship while hosting study sessions either at your apartment, the school library or at your friend’s place. You go with the entire group to help cheer on Yuta at the rugby games, sometimes cheering on Sukuna and Toji as well.

A call erupts from your phone; unknown number. You answer it, “Hello?”

“Yn?”

His voice makes your heart skip a beat. After all, you guys don’t really talk. Not like this anyways. “What’s wrong?” You sit up in bed, removing the phone to check the time.

2:03 a.m.

The phone returns to your ear. “It’s…fuck,” you hear shuffling before a disgrunted groan. “It’s Uruame. I don’t know what’s up with her today. She can usually hold her own but she's out like, bad.”

You’re already out of bed and grabbing the keys. “I’ll come as quickly as I can. Your house right?”

He huffs a hum. “Thank you and I’m sorry.”

Pulling up to the curb of the house, you barely put the car in park as you rush out of it and meet Sukuna and your roommate on the lawn. “What’s wrong? How is she?”

The pinked haired man looks to his side, where Uruame is hanging lifeless on his shoulder. “Threw up twice so far, probably will throw up again.”

You curse under your breath as you go around to the other side to help relieve some of the weight. He brushes you off. “It’s okay, you can just open up the back of the car.”

Once having arranged the blanket you brought on the backseats, you help Sukuna put your roommate in as easy and comfortable as possible. All you guys can do is stare at her in silence.

He breaks it first. “Make sure you change her out of those clothes and have her sleep on her side with the trash next to her. And water, ones with electrolytes would be even better if you can,” he adds at the end.

You nod to everything he’s saying. “Okay, okay. Maybe I’ll stay up tonight to keep watch of her, yea?”

“Yea,” it’s the first time you’ve seen him rub his neck. “That’ll probably be good. And uh… sorry about this again. I would have driven her myself but I drinked a bit and didn’t want to risk it.”

You rock back and forth on your heels. You wanted to close the gap, to reassure him. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

And then Sukuna’s shoulder slumps, looks up at the night sky as he buffs out an air before looking back down at you, his face softening. Hearing that from you, Sukuna can’t help but ruffle your hair. He holds it there before letting it run down the rest of your arm, his hand barely a touch of a whisper against yours before he says, “Get home safe,” and turns around walking away. Shoving his clenched hand into his pockets.

You put your hand onto the place he just touched, still feeling the heat from his palms. You hate how you know it’s something you’ll remember for the next couple of days.

Sukuna has his eyes trained to his phone, reacting to every vibration and every notification. He knows he shouldn't get his hopes up. You aren't obligated to update him at all. He's half listening to Mahito’s conversation when he receives a message.

You: Got home safe.

And he stares at it for a long time.

“Careful there,” Shui joins him on the backyard patio and offers him a cigarette, “you might burn a hole into your phone.

Sukuna waves it off. "I dont smoke anymore."

Shui’s eyes are still stuck on Sukuna’s phone before Sukuna quickly turns off the screen, which causes the senior to raise a brow at the man before putting the box back into his pocket. "Huh…”

“What?” The junior says almost begrudgingly.

Shui only shakes his head. “Nothing… just curious when you started caring about your health."

He remains silent. A ping! gets both of their attention but Sukuna swipes the notification away quickly but Shui caught it.

You: Thank you again. Have a good night :)

"Oh." Shui says. "It's like that.”

Sukuna ignores his upperclassmen and looks up to the sky in silence, teeth grinding.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When you settle into the bed in Uruame’s room, she mumbles, “I think I’m in love with Sukuna.” You stop whatever you’re doing, frozen, wishing you could freeze time itself right now. This last thing you never wanted to hear from her. You had promised yourself you’d be happy for her if it ever came to this very moment.

“I was too much of a pussy to tell him tonight, which is why…” she burps and you immediately move the trash closer to her. And the next thing you know, she’s asleep and you’re darting out of the room, out the apartment, and rushing back to the library to check one thing.

Your body automatically moves to that aisle, the very same one you saw Sukuna kiss that girl two years ago. You push that thought away as you pull a random book off the shelf and flip to the inside of the book cover. You’ve always had an inkling of what was in the books after you caught the two girls talking sophomore year. You never checked it because you didn’t want to confirm what you already knew. Didn’t want to give yourself hope; wanted to deny yourself the reality because it’d just complicate things.

There, on the book checkout log, written in all caps, reads Sukuna Ryomen. Checked out on Monday.

You pick up another book, this time at the very bottom. Again, it reads, Sukuna Ryomen. Checked out on Wednesday.

You pick another one. Sukuna Ryomen. Checked out on Thursday.

Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen. Sukuna Ryomen.

And it’s hard to keep your breath steady as the books lay there telling a story. One you don’t want to read, one you don’t want to finish. He had checked out all the books in the aisle you often worked in. On all the days where you had a shift. On the dates even after you resigned from the job.

It's the first time you break down into tears.

Finally back at the apartment, you get into the covers with Uruame, who’s sober enough to take you in her arms. “What’s wrong?” She rubs your back.

You shake your head and bury your head into her chest. “Nothing.” Even that word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Before you know it, Sukuna’s birthday comes around and Uruame has invited you to tag along. Afterall, it was only common courtesy to show up since he came to yours. That didn’t mean you weren’t dreading this night, especially not when your roommate had confided in you that tonight was the night she was going to make it official with Sukuna. So you’re here as Uruame’s emotional support, it’s the least you could do.

“Wish me luck,” she told you, squeezing you into a hug as you both went different ways at the party. You lost her quickly in the sea of people as you made your way to Maki and Toge.

Maki’s dipping her toe in the pool while Toge is floating next to her. Their hair dripping, evident of having already swum before you arrived. You join them.

“Ten dollars she’ll back down like last time,” Maki teases you, nudging your side with a wide knowing smirk.

“Hey,” your voice stern. “Leave her be.”

Toge swims over to you. “What? She’s backed down like, five other times.”

“Be nice.” Your feet kick water his way, he dodges easily. “I think she’s serious about it now.”

“Yea and Sukuna had to call you to pick her drunk ass self up.”

Maki dismisses the comment with a wave of her hand. “And you’re okay with that? With her making it exclusive with Sukuna and everything.”

You shrug, looking into the pool water, focusing on the bracelet he had given you for your birthday. “It’s not about me being okay with it, it’s about me being supportive and happy for her.”

Maki hums. “Speaking of, have you said happy birthday to the birthday boy yet?”

You shake your head, thankful for the quick conversation change. “Nope. Didn’t see him when I walked in. I’ll do it later.”

Toge snorts before diving back into the water. The night continues on like this, with Yuta joining after finally being able to get away from the guys. All while this is happening, you can’t help but constantly scan the lawn and house in hopes of catching those eyes. You keep telling yourself it’s Uruame’s you’re trying to keep watch of but your heart knows otherwise.

You’re on your way back from the bathroom, heading back to the poolside when someone taps your shoulder.

You turn and it's the man of the hour.

The smile begins to grow on your face before you even know it. "I was beginning to worry if I'd get to see the birthday boy," you tease him a bit.

Sukuna rolls his eyes at that. "'m sorry. Being the host and birthday boy is not for the weak.

As Maki, Toge, and Yuta get out of the pool to dry themselves to join you both, a group of frat boys head your way. Mahito at the front, holding a tray of shots. “You guys wanna take a shot for the birthday boy?” His smile on his face gives you chills, and you haven’t even gone in the water.

Before you know it, everyone has a shot in their hand. Everyone besides you. Mahito notices this and nudges the glass into your hand. Sukuna scowls at this and brushes his hand off as a warning. “She doesn’t want a drink.”

“It’s okay,” you offer a small smile to your friend before timidly taking it. “It’s for Sukuna, right?”

Mahito throws a smile you don’t catch to Sukuna before stepping closer and raising his glass, “The one and only.”

Everyone incoherently says cheers before downing the shot. As you bring the glass to your mouth, you wince at the burning sensation. Mahito takes the opportunity to begin pouring you another shot. A tattooed hand covers yours before it can reach your lips. Just as smoothly, Sukuna somehow takes the glass out of your hand and downs it just as quickly before giving a cold stare at Mahito. “What did I just tell you?”

Mahito only laughs. “What? It’s just for fun, it’s your birthday.”

“Yea, so fuck off.”

You’re all just standing there timidly, frozen, unsure of what to do. Afraid to make one small move in the tense atmosphere. You watch as Mahito raises a hand in surrender before turning around and leaving.

Sukuna turns to your group before sighing, “Sorry about that. Mahito’s… just ignore him. Don’t think too much about it.”

You give him a reassuring smile when he lingers on you. “Alright.” You rock on your heels. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he says almost sheepishly and you want to tease him.

“Actually-” You rummage through your pockets, wondering where the keychain was when Toji hollers at him. You both look at the man and he freezes, realizing he’s interrupting a moment again. You laugh and wave Sukuna off, “Go.”

“You sure?” he’s already walking away backwards, trying to read your face for an absolute answer.

You nod your head enthusiastically before Sukuna turns back and yells back at Toji, nearly tackling him down.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the hours go by, you aren’t ever able to reconnect with the birthday boy. There were fleeting moments whenever you both caught each other's eyes from across the room. Moments where you are both so close to closing the gap, your hand in your pocket for the keychain you want to give him before you’re both pulled away in different directions.

The moment you are able to get away from your friend croup and the entire crowd, you stumble upon your roommate in a corner on the verge of blacking out. You immediately rush over, gently tapping her. When she doesn’t respond in the first few taps, you start to panic.

As her head falls into your hand and you feel her wet saliva coating it, she mumbles out your name. Her eyes are unfocused, darting everywhere, not quite focusing on one thing. You hate that you know this is a sign that whatever Uruame planned didn’t go accordingly. You curse under your breath.

You repeat her name over and over again. “Do you want some water?” you ask quickly, trying to squeeze in as many questions and information in the small time window before she’s unconscious again.

The moment she nods, you pull her into a lounge chair nowhere near the pool and frantically make your way inside the house. You’re scrambling around the kitchen before you bump into the man of the hour.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he teases, grabbing onto your hands to steady yourself.

You look up at him and his smile immediately drops.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Getting out of his grip, you sigh, pinching the space between the eyes. “It’s Uruame again. She’s literally on the verge of blacking out.”

“Again?”

Turning your head to your side, you look outside to make sure she somehow hasn’t moved. “What did you say to her?”

Sukuna cranes his head down, trying to catch your eyes, hand barely twitching as his side.. “Nothing that would have caused her to be like this again.” He calls out your name. “Really, what is this about?”

If he truly didn’t know why Uruame was like this, then who did? You wouldn’t entertain the thought. Wouldn’t allow yourself to. You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I was looking for some water bottles and it’s- I think it’s time for us to go home.”

As reluctant as he was, the tall man can only nod. “At least let me help.”

You shake your head, hands moving in disapproval. “No, I can’t allow that. It’s your birthday.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind”

And so you’re walking side by side with the pinked harried man as you take him to Uruame. All you both can do is look down at your roommate and sigh. “Lemme go get her stuff. Try to make her drink some water, okay?”

You hum. Just as you’re finished giving some water to Uruame, Mahito calls out your name. Before you can even fully turn to him, he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders, making you freeze. Goosebumps immediately forming. “Let us be friends, yea? I feel like we were never properly introduced by the Sukuna all these years.”

“I’m sure it’s because it wasn’t necessary.”

Mahito cuts out a quick laugh, raising a brow to his friends. "I had an interesting talk with Uruame about it earlier tonight about you and Sukuna."

You’re trying to halt your steps at that. “Was it you?”

He laughs and that’s when you realise how much closer you’re walking along the edge of the pool. “Please, no.” The grip he has on you is deathening. “No, no, no!”

Sukuna stops rummaging around the pile of bags when he hears your distressed voice on the opposite side of the pool. “Mahito stop it!”

“I have to test one thing first,” he tells himself as he pushes you into the water.

As Sukuna watches you fall in, the sounds of laughs, cheers, and clapping erupt around him and he’s taken back to freshman year all over again. The way you had told him you couldn't swim when he tried too hard to invite you to a party as a means to talk to you more. The way your eyes got so big and filled with worry.

Sukuna doesn’t care how many people he has to push out of his way before he’s jumping in right after you. He’s not taking any chances on seeing if you resurfaced. As he swam in the water, he saw the way you were struggling, clawing at the water for anything to grasp onto.

When you nearly rip his skin off from grabbing him, Sukuna emerges from the water, holding you close to him. He cradles your head as he searches for you, “It’s okay. I’m here, just breathe. Breathe.”

The crowd slows to a murmur before it’s completely silent as they watch Sukuna carry you out of the pool, face hidden in his neck. Toji is standing there, breathless, having run from upstairs of the house to see what the commotion was. He stalks to the nearest person and tears their phone out of their hand and into the water. “Anybody else want to be next?”

Mahito shoves past Toji, displaying his best grin. “It was just a joke, Sukuna. No need to be so fucking serious.”

Sukuna walks past him, not sparing his president a single glance.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sukuna gently sets you down on his bed, not caring for one moment about it getting wet. He’s frantically moving around the room, almost as if he were trying to collect his thoughts before handing you a towel and turning away to look through his drawers. You’re trying to dry yourself before he tells you, “Hands up.”

You listen immediately and feel him pull your shirt off and replace with a new one. You know this scent, smell it all the time whenever he’s over at the apartment. You look down but you already know it’s his shirt you have on.

You’re still shaking, trembling even. Where’s Uruame? The last time you saw her, she was drunk and making a scene. You only had one drink, but would you even have the capacity to drive you both home? Especially in the state you were in? Maybe-

He calls your name. “Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Sukuna’s voice is soft but stern. He crouches down to be eye level with you, combing your wet strands away from your face. “Listen to me carefully, okay?”

You look at him and his eyes are dark; serious. Not a hint of that glint and playfulness he usually has. You swallow.

“Use my towel and dry up. I found some of Uruame’s sweats in my drawer, so you can change and put those on.”

As much as that statement hurts, you need to focus. More than ever. Everything was too hectic. You can only nod.

“Okay, okay,” he runs a hand through his still wet hair. “Toji’ll help you guys leave the party, I can’t do much right now. You didn’t drink right?”

You can barely shake your head.

He curses. “Then he'll also get you guys a cab to go home, got that? Make sure Uruame lies on her side when she sleeps. And put the trash can beside her in case she throws up.”

Why was this happening? What had Sukuna done? What had Majito done? You didn’t really understand what was happening. One moment you were having the time of your life and the next you were pushed into the water.

You’re pulled back into reality when he grabs your chin to look up at him. “You’re gonna be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You can barely hum out an acknowledgement before a tear slips from your eye, and he’s there to catch it. His thumb tracing over the contours of your cheek. The moment is fleeting as he leaves the room. There, he stops, barely looking over his shoulder before saying “I’m sorry” and the door clothes behind him. His warmth you felt on your face lingers a little longer than he ever has.

And it’s moments like these where you wished freshman year never happened. That you never knew the man called Sukuna Ryomen. All you can do is curl up into yourself.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Sukuna, listen-” Toji approaches the man of the hour after he helps you take Uruame home. But all the man does is brush past him in quiet fury.

All Sukuna can think about as he stalks to him is the look of terror painted in your face as you wer shoved into the water. They way you had begged Mahito to not do it, your voice laced with fear. The way your body went from fighting with the water to being limp within seconds.

Most importantly, he remembers the sneer on Mahito’s face. The way his eyes lit up in sadistic joy. The way his group of friends laughed with him. The way everyone laughed along with them.

Sensing the birthday boy, Mahito turns with that lopsided grin.

Sukuna punches him in the face before letting him have the first word, causing Mahito to stumble a bit. Before he can gain his footing, Sukuna grabs him by the collar of his shirt and punches him again.

Heterochromia eyes look up at him in shock then humor as he stays seated on the ground, nursing his bruising cheek. Everyone who’s watching already knows how ugly the bruise will be tomorrow.

Tattooed hands grab him by the collar of his shirt again, lifting Mahito up to his height. “I told you not fuck things up.”

The grey-blue haired man turns his head to spit out the blood accumulating in his mouth, offering Sukuna a blood coated smile. “I was just trying to have some fun.”

“Fun?” Sukuna spits out, bringing Mahito’s face closer to his. “She doesn’t know how to swim, you could’ve killed her.”

“Well, lucky that her knight and shining armour came to the rescue just in time.”

Sukuna growls and goes for another punch.

But before he can do more damage, Toji shoves them both away. When the red eyed man tries to come at Mahito again, Toji has to use all his strength to push him away again. “Stop it,” he grits out. He turns to look at Mahito. “Both of you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Slamming the door to his room, Toji yells at his friend. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

Sukuna runs his hands into his now dried hair, not turning around. “He deserved it.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

It is only then, with that statement, that Sukuna spins around. “It doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter? Because of him, Yn could have died. Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

The scar-lipped man looks down at him. “You know that’s not what I meant. You just made things more complicated.”

“I don’t care. Because…”

“Because what!?” Toji finally snaps. “You don’t even know what you want!”

“I want her!” Sukuna professes. And then there’s silence as the words sink in. Toji refuses to speak as he simply watches his friend process those words. Watches as dread follows realization.

In a softer tone, Sukuna continues, “From the moment I saw her, I knew.” He swallows. “I have always wanted her.”

“You don’t mean that,” But when his friend gives Toji that look of resolution, of unwavered certainty, it’s his turn to swallow. “You can’t possibly mean that, you’re with Uruame.”

“I tried! I tried so hard to get her away from me!” Sukuna pulls on his hair and looks to Toji for help. “I just couldn’t stay away from her!”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I can’t do anything!” The pink hair holds up his wrist in agony. “I’m stuck! Jin’s health is deteriorating and father refuses to help because of that woman, so no one can watch over Itadori but me. I can barely make it to my classes in order to take care of him. I’ve been avoiding Uruame because I know she wants more than what I can give her and I can barely stand to be in the same fucking room as Mahito without wanting to strangle him! So tell me Toji, tell me how I’m supposed to push this all on Yn? She doesn’t deserve to be part of this mess, she-”

Toji grabs Sukuna and pulls him into a hug. “It’s okay. You know I’ll be here for you. It’ll be okay.”

And then Sukuna breaks down.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sukuna’s visits become less and less to the point where he stops coming at all. You try not to think too much about it until Uruame comes back to the apartment slamming the door closed yelling at the top of her lungs about how much of a bitch the pink haired man can be before she gets into a sobbing mess about how polite he was in turning her down even after months of hooking up.

And so you never see him around ever, anywhere. There are occasional times when you see him rushing to class, but that’s about it. His group dwindled smaller and smaller until it was just him and Toji. Most of the time, he was alone. Headphones on. Shoulders a lot heavier. Hair longer and messier. You notice the black and red varsity jacket that he always wore proudly that displayed his fraternity was no longer seen on him. You also weren’t sure if you saw it correctly, but you were sure you saw a cast on his leg one day too.

“Broke his ankle,” Maki says, so nonchalantly that you almost miss it. “Got it stepped on in a qualifying game. Out for the rest of the reason.”

“What?” you stop taking notes and stare at her.

“Heard it from Yuta. Covered his face when he was carried off the field.” She sighs and looks at you. “Luckily no surgery was needed.”

“Yea…” Panda adds. “He’s in some deep shit right now from what the rumors say.”

That only deepens your furrowed brows.

“He punched the president of his fraternity straight through the face in one of the parties last week." Panda smirks. "Wished I was there to witness it."

Your pencil stops. That was the night you fell into the pool.

"He got kicked out," Toge states matter of factly.

Panda hums. "Makes sense. Supposedly he and the president never got along in the first place. Sukuna wanted to run for president and was shot down at any chance he got. They were always disagreeing on things. Pretty sure the fight was the perfect excuse for the president to use against Sukuna to kick him out."

“Do you know why?” you finally have the courage to muster out, afraid your voice would betray your emotion if your face wasn’t already.

Maki shrugs. “Not really. Yuta just told me the president had whispered something into his ear and the next thing he knew, he saw Sukuna punch Mahito in the face. Even Toji struggled to get the man off. Toji of all people. Can you believe that?”

Whatever concentration you have has dissipated. None of this made sense. Sure he looked like a rough person but you've seen him. Seen the way he put leftovers in the fridge and wrote, “feel free to take some, made too much,” on a hello kitty sticky note whenever he cooked for him and Uruame when you came home past midnight. Who, even after two weeks of you having eaten it, asks how you liked it. Sukuna, who as Uruame recounted for you, had helped you into your room when you stumbled into the apartment a little bit past tipsy and that you should be grateful towards him. Sukuna, who, after a rugby game and after putting down Uruame from a tight embrace, greets and bows to you and your friend group politely. Not leaving a single one out.

It just didn’t add up. It wasn’t the Sukuna you knew, was it? Then again, you guys were barely friends. Not even considered acquaintances. Just fleeting moments and encounters sprinkled across three years.

That was the last anyone ever saw Sukuna for the last half of the semester of junior year. Not even Toji. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell ya." He answers you after weeks of persistence before quickly walking away from you. Expelled. Dropped out. That was what you hear around campus.

As rapid as the fire was, it dissipated just as quickly. A whisper of a ghost. Sukuna who? No one knew of that person. The rugby team spoke about him as a martyr. The fraternity scorned it out of existence.

The only recorded memory was his name scorched in those books.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You tap your feet to the ticking of the clock, hoping that it'll help fasten up the pace at the coffee shop. You were angry at yourself for losing a bet with Toge and now you are going to be fetching the group coffee in the morning for the next month.

"I can help the next person here!" A worker calls, frantically trying to set up the cashier station. Quickly wiping off washed hands, he asks, "Sorry ‘bout the wait, what can I get you?"

"Sukuna?"

He looks up from his hat, frozen in place by who’s in front of him. "Yn?"

Sukuna sees the way you look him up and down and he’s almost embarrassed. "I didn't know you worked here. Um, three iced Americans please, if you would."

He shrugs, punching in the order. "I actually work in the back. Had to open up this cash register to help with the rush hour. Medium size?"

You can only nod as you continue to stare at him. He had a cap on but from the tips poking out, you can tell his pink hair has faded to a warm salmon color, a whisper of the past he’s trying to forget, or correct. You purse your lips and look at him. Really look at him. It's been almost six months since you've seen him. His arms look a little stronger. That smile, though a little awkward right now, is just a little softer. His eyes are just as you remember. You pass him your card.

He pushes it back, shaking his head. "It's okay. It's on me."

"No,” you huff, trying to smile but failing. “I couldn’t-"

And then he's yelling out the order to the back and passing the receipt. "It was nice seeing you again, Yn." And the next person is already approaching his register.

For some reason, you feel guilty for not telling Uruame about running into Sukuna. In fact, you don’t tell her at all. Or anyone, really. Your secret to keep, your secret to tell.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Somehow, it slowly became a routine for the both of you. Oftentimes, you’re surprised no one in your friend group has caught on to you, sometimes purposely losing the monthly bet just to catch Sukuna at the cafe.

It’s harmless, you often told yourself. You weren’t doing anything wrong, per say. It had taken you a few weeks to get Sukuna’s work hours right, but when you did, even he couldn’t help but have his eyes drawn to the door whenever the chime rang through the cafe.

You crouch in front of the little boy, offering him a soft smile with a tilt of your head. "I like your pink beanie."

Itadori beams in his seat. "Thank you! Me too!" Then he leans in closer and you can't help but reciprocate. "Grandpa says I can't dye my hair pink like Uncle Sukuna or else he’d kill me so Uncle Sukuna bought me a pink beanie instead."

You can't help but chuckle. "Oh, that's too bad."

"It's okay! He told me secretly that when I move in with him he'll dye my hair the same color!" He closes his eyes with satisfaction.

You offer him a high five and he takes it.

Sukuna scoffs teasingly and you turn at the noise. He's drying off a mug as you walk up to the counter, pulling up a seat. "Don't encourage his behavior. I don’t want him to turn out like me."

You give him a lopsided grin and he nearly drops the ceramic object. "Would that be so bad?"

"Yes," he looks past you, his eyes softening. Something you haven't seen often now. "I want him to be better than me.”

You toy with the sugar packets. “I think you’re a good role model in his life.”

Sukuna finally sets the mug down, shaking his head. “What good am I? Some college drop-out working at some deadbeat job?”

“You’re just taking a break right now to focus on your family. You’re doing it for him.”

The barista puts his hands on the edge of the counter, flexing it, looking once more at Itadori, who gives him a big smile before Sukuna’s line of sight is back on you. “You don’t understand. I’m not a good person.”

“You are,” you tell him firmly.

“I’m not, just look at me.” His voice is full of disdain and poisonous venom.

“All I see is you, Sukuna,” your voice a soft whisper.

He frowns at that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Maki flicks her gaze your way before quickly looking away and at Toge instead, bulging out her eyes out as if sending him a message. Toge raises both his eyebrows and jerks his head to Panda, who is sitting besides you, sipping his milkshake. Panda, shaking his head in refusal, silenting slices his neck in the air with his finger before pointing it at the platinum blonde boy.

Toge frowns and resorts to stomping on Maki's feet, to whom yelps and bangs her knee on the table. It is only then that you stop staring at your phone and look up at them quizzically.

Maki throws her fist in the air as a silent threat to Toge before putting on a smile to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yea, why wouldn’t I be?” you tell them curtly.

“Well I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you haven’t even noticed the fries that Panda has been stealing or the fact that you’ve been staring at your phone as if- OW!” Toge’s knee jerks up to hit the table as Maki shoots him a death glare.

“You haven’t been engaging with us at all today,” Maki clarifies.

It was true, but you couldn’t help it. After that conversation with Sukuna, he wasn’t messaging you as much nor was he in the cafe whenever you stopped by. You didn’t think you had done anything that day to set him off. Actually, you were entitled to anything. But instead, all you can muster is, “I’m okay, really. Just a busy day at my internship, you know how it is.”

As Panda nods in fake understanding, milkshake forgotten as he makes eye contact with the other two.

Given the signal, Maki reaches over the table to touch your hand. “We know.”

You freeze at that. “See? So there’s nothing-”

The twin shakes her head. “No, we know.”

“I don’t- I-”

Panda finally speaks up. “It’s okay.”

This time it’s Toge who steals one of your remaining fries. “Do you know how often you were smiling at your phone? How much happier you were suddenly? Not to mention, how often you were losing the bets when we all know how good you are at winning them?”

You open your mouth to deny those claims but Panda steps in again nonchalantly.

“Plus, you left your phone open when you went to use the bathroom two weeks ago at Yuta’s apartment. We all saw the notification from him.”

All you can do is stare at them in silence. Afraid to speak. Afraid to understand all of this. They look at you in return, just watching. Not a single one is pressuring you. Finally, “What do I do guys?”

“That’s for you to finally decide on. What you both decide on,” Maki tells you.

Toge chimes in, “What we’re gonna do is order another milkshake and fries.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sukuna is sweeping up the floor when he hears the sharp chime of the door. “We’re closed-”

And then he looks up, because he can hear the heavy breathing and his ears tell him all that he needs to know before even looking up. He stops sweeping. “What are you doing here?”

“Have I upset you?” you can barely breathe and you’re not quite sure if it’s from the running or the adrenaline coursing through your body from spontaneously showing up like this.

Sukuna leans the broom against a chair and stuffs his hand into his pockets. “No?”

His body language ticks something off inside of you. “Then can you explain why you have been avoiding me? Whenever I come into the cafe, I never seem to catch you when you’re in. I’m sorry if I offended you the other day, I didn’t mean to.”

The tattooed man looks up at the ceiling for a long time. So long in fact that you’re about to repeat what you’ve just said again, a hundred times if you needed to, until he says, “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?!” you finally tell him, trying your hardest to catch his eyes.

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What you don’t understand,” you step closer to him, voice catching, “is that I don’t know my own heart anymore. I don’t even know how to name what I'm feeling. I thought we were friends, and yet--”

Sukuna physically flinches. “We can’t be friends.”

Your brows furrow, getting further and further from ever truly understanding what’s going on in his brain, what’s going on with him. You can’t even comprehend what he’s saying. “What?”

“Because,” he finally says, voice shaking, “I don’t want to be your friend. We can’t be just friends.” He looks up at you and his eyes are so full with pain and longing it actually takes your breath away. “I love you.”

He breaks.

His voice. His face. His heart.

He can’t meet your eyes, almost shameful. “I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft and vulnerable all at once. “But this isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

“Sukuna-”

He trembles at the sound of his name falling from your lips, finally, finally looking at you. “Please, leave. I can’t bear it anymore.”

And then you’re digging into your pockets, fishing out the worn out baby tiger keychain from years of carrying it. The same keychain you had mistakenly taken with your belongings when you rushed out of his dorm room after the kiss. The constant and only reminder that it had happened, that it wasn’t somehow a mistake. Amongst the warm metal, the keychain trembles in your hand as you hold it out to him.

“I’ve carried it all this time,” you tell him softly. “I meant to, somehow, give it to you earlier, but there was never a proper moment. But I think now is a good time to let it go.”

Sukuna takes it into his hands, face unreadable as he turns it over in his palms.

It was you.

The lucky charm, a matching keychain set Sukuna bought for Itadori when he was born. He still can remember the devastated look his nephew gave Sukuna when he broke the news of losing his pair.

It was the same one he spent all these years looking for; turning over each furniture in the house and driving Toji up the wall because he refused to play in any rugby game, be in any conference, or take any test without it. He thought he had lost it but all along it was you who had it. Yes… all along it was you.

He looks up and he finds that your eyes are searching his just as his are to yours. The keychain somehow burning in his palms with every passing second.

Sukuna can feel lit. He can feel you slipping away as you turn away from him and start to walk away. His voice catches in his throat and he has to swallow twice before finally saying, “I want you.” You stop. “From the moment I saw you at orientation, I have always wanted you.”

“From the moment I kissed you, I was yours. You were never going to be just an easy hook-up but I was afraid of hurting you. I’m not a good person.” He wants you to turn around, but Sukuna knows he doesn’t deserve that from you. Not after all that he’s put you through. "You are my oxygen. When I'm with you, it's like a breath of fresh air. When I’m not near you, I can't breathe without you.

“I do,” you state simply, words hanging on by a thread, “I do think of you. All the time. I wanted to forget but I couldn't.”

You finally turn around to look at him. “You stole my first kiss, and my heart. These past three years I tried to forget these feelings, forget everything, ashamed because I thought I was the only one.

“Never.”

Your entire body is trembling as you turn in resolution. “Don’t. Don’t give me hope. I can’t- we can’t. Uruame-”

“I know.” Boldly, he closes the distance between you and cups your face. In a whisper, “I know. I’ll figure something out, we'll make it work. I promise you that.”

“Sukuna,” you cry out, hand on his wrists. Unsure, just like him. You want to shake your head but his hands stop you from doing so, eyes never leaving yours. You’re unsure about all of this and you think he is too but then soft lips reach yours.

The kiss is tentative, wary, hesitant and when you open up to him and reciprocate, you hear a sigh leave his entire body. Sukuna’s grip on your face tightens as if he doesn’t want to let this moment go; as if he didn’t hold you tight enough you’d disappear. The kiss, started shy and uncertain, becomes bold and unyielding.

You pull him just as close. Lips following a steady rhythm, almost like a song written on a track record you had forgotten all these years. With every passing moment, the kiss deepens, as if it were trying to make up for all the longing stares and stolen touches, of unvoiced desires and quiet understanding.

Sukuna savors every breath and taste and commits it to memory. His hand makes it to the bottom of your shirt, finger slipping under to simply stay there on your abdomen. Something to ground him. His lips are slow and searching, drinking you in one moment and barely there the next.

Before you step back, he pulls you in for one more kiss. He sighs your name as he holds you close. Too soon, he pulls away. He’s breathing hard, and his gaze is still fixed on your mouth.

You attempt a deep breath, but there’s no oxygen in the room. Everything is him. Everything is Sukuna. His fingers clench tight around your waist, holding you in place.

You try to tilt your head so you can fuse his mouth to yours but he takes over the movement, guiding your head to the perfect angle so he can trace his tongue over your lips.

Every little insignificance and coincidences, all the struggles and problems fade to nothing as the both are able to embrace each other.

Sukuna runs a thumb across your cheek before tucking a strand back into place. He sighs your name as he holds you close. “I-”

Your lips are still warm. You feel his lips on every syllable you speak. “I love you, Sukuna.”

He puts his forehead against yours and smiles. “I love you too.”

And you know, whatever happens next, you'll both figure it out.

[caveate]

YES. I go through this all the time at work. "But it was never like this before, I don't understand this new software/process!" I now have a Reputation on my team as being the person to funnel these folks to because I am patient and understanding with them. I've been there, I'll talk to them about how horrible it was to have to learn the ribbon menu in Word or any other major software change and establish a rapport. I'm one of them, I've been there, I understand how horrible it is to have The Way Things Are ripped out from under them. And then! Then I can help them learn and make progress! A trick I often use with this is to have some kind of diagram of the new process available. If it's not available then ask them to step through the workflow, "ah, so you used to hit the button and it'd create a report that you'd have to manually filter in Excel? Okay, this is similar, but now the report is in the app and all the filters are in the drop down here." Then ask a question which makes them actually look at whatever it is. "Do you see any missing options you're used to using in the filter drop down?" This causes them to actively look at whatever it is and gives a better chance of sticking in their brains.

Documentation is another step in here. I can make reams of documentation, but if I don't make it so that the person using it can follow along using their "I do better with rote" tendencies then it's worthless. If it is more than 3 pages, including screencaps with arrows and highlighted areas, it gets a table of contents. I always bump the font up 2 points as well - I have a lot of older coworkers who don't notice the font size change but will tell me that my documentation is much easier to follow (i.e. read) than other folks' and the font is a big part of that. Above all? Patience and sympathy. It IS hard for them. It'd be like driving an older Japanese or Korean car for 15 years and then getting into a brand new Chevy or BMW. Where's the windshield wiper lever? How do I turn on the headlights? (And in the case of the BMW, why won't the car start and why is the button to access the glove compartment where the manual is kept located down by the heating controls instead of on the compartment?? I want to RTFM to be able to start the car and I can't access the manual!) They're going to have to start from scratch and this is deeply frustrating to them as it more than likely has been for you at sometime in the past.

Don't get upset at them, work with them, and if you find yourself starting to have issues remaining patient then get back to them after a 30 minute "meeting" which is actually time when you go do something else. Getting upset with or at them is a surefire way to make them retreat back into their "I can't, it's too hard" hole.

today was the day we finalized the migration of essential software at work from some old and busted shit that was ready to die at any time, to the new cloud version of the same software that we are no longer responsible for maintaining. which is good because no one was actually maintaining ours. it's just been slowly crufting into unusability for a decade. so anyway they set aside an hour for a teams meeting where they'd walk us through the different interface and how to go through normal processes.

"it's not that big a change," they said. "it's all the same stuff, it just looks a little different," they said.

they did not account for the fact that the primary user of this software is someone who doesn't actually know how it works or what it's doing. they learned how to do their job entirely through rote memorization. they know which buttons they are supposed to press in which order, and that is the full extent of what they know. they also did not account for the fact that this person's processes were learned thirdhand from other people who were not using this software normally to begin with.

it's like. imagine if someone had only ever used tumblr in the app. and you try to get them to use it in a desktop browser, but they cannot figure out how to post. and you go through explaining where the button is and how to format text and add tags, even though you could have sworn it was all the same in the app. but then they're like, "okay, but what's the phone number" and you're like "what" and they're like "the phone number to call to make a post?" and it turns out somehow they still had the ability to post by calling a phone number, and every time they posted on the app they called the post in first and then edited the audio post to transcribe it into text before screenshotting the text for a photo post. and nothing you can say to them will make them understand that none of that is necessary or correct. they shouldn't have even been able to do some of that. they can just type into the post box now, like a civilized person. "okay," they say, "but what is the phone number, though? because when i made my account my friend gave me this checklist and the first thing on it is to call the number."

so anyway we were on that teams call for almost three hours and they still don't have a handle on the new software

[pinkiemachine]

Currently thinking about the way the BatFamily is perceived by the tabloids. Like yeah, the Wayne family, it’s one of the richest families in America, but they keep to themselves mostly, no one really knows any intimate details about them, they’re more locally famous than anything. Then Thomas and Martha come along, and they’re regarded as kind-hearted, good natured people by most, heavily involved with charity work, so when they die so suddenly, it makes national news. A massive family fortune and the rights to a major corporation have been left in the hands of an eight-year-old? But thanks to people like Alfred, the press isn’t able to get close to Bruce all that much, and the story mostly dies after that… until Bruce goes off to college and gets into his first series of scandals, and everyone’s thinking, “oh no, the good parents died and we’re left with their idiot son who’ll probably squander the family fortune and make a mess of the company.” Then he straight up disappears??? Most common theory is that the Wayne Estate forced him to lay low for a while to keep him from ruining the family image any further, or he’s in rehab, or something to that effect. Then when he comes back a few years later, it’s more of the same wild-child act. Eccentric man being eccentric. The tabloids eat it up.

Dick Grayson, I feel, wouldn’t get as much media attention as others in this list overall. The initial adoption case gets printed everywhere, naturally—“Play-Boy Bruce Wayne Looking to Adopt?” Nobody likes the look of it, but Bruce swears he has no ill intentions and will do everything in his power to care for the boy, and he makes good on that promise, so… after the initial shock wears off, the tabloids wind up with not a lot to work with. Dick is protected by people like Bruce and Alfred, he generally doesn’t do anything in public that might count as a scandal, and when he’s flown the coup, he goes on to do charity work mostly. All good stuff, but as far as the gossip columnists are concerned, he’s not worth their time.

Jason is an interesting case, because when his adoption was pending, I imagine everyone sat up and said, “wait, didn’t we already do this?” There are a few raised eyebrows at Bruce adopting *another* orphan, but hey, maybe the guy got lonely after Dick moved away? It’s certainly grounds for a potentially interesting story, but once again, the paparazzi are foiled in their attempts to dig up some juicy dirt. Just a fight at Gotham Academy, maybe, and a rumour or two about Bruce developing a strange new coping mechanism, and not much else. When Jason dies, it’s sad, but most people don’t really care. Either they got confused and thought, “wait, there was a second adopted son of Bruce Wayne?” or they went, “I knew something bad would come of that Bruce Wayne’s odd behaviour.” Either way, they didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Jason, so his death passes and then people forget.

After that, Timothy Drake, son of another famous wealthy person in Gotham, loses his parents and gets adopted by Bruce. Now this one spreads by word of mouth among the socialites before the tabloids get their hands on it, and it generally sounds like this, “The Waynes and the Drakes were very close, it’s no wonder—with Bruce’s history and his connection to them—that he would open his home to Timothy.” Things don’t really start picking up until Bruce starts considering him for Wayne Enterprises and bringing him to meetings and showing him the ropes. That’s when the cameras come out and everyone’s suddenly very interested in this young man. Will he inherit the fortune? The company? He’s young, he’s handsome, he could be getting the keys to the Wayne kingdom, it’s all very exciting.

Then Damian comes along and it’s at that exact moment that the Secret Love Child rumours go flying. Like, Bruce is up to four kids who all came out of nowhere as far as the general public is concerned, and they all kinda look like him. It does make sense—everyone knows he was a play boy back in the day—the ages of the kids make perfect sense too—so the next few news cycles are just everyone trying to guess who the “mothers” are. (Damian also makes a name for himself by not being able to hold his tongue in front of the press and generally being a little scandal generator, namely the first time he broke a reporter’s hand… yeah…)

Then Jason comes back, and he’s going straight to the reporters, looking into the cameras, and saying, “the details of my death were greatly exaggerated” just to annoy to Bruce, and now there’s even more confusion and speculation. “Wait, who’s Jason?” “Jason was alive this whole time?” “They pretended Jason was dead?!” “What is going on at Wayne Manor???”

Cass arriving was what compounded the newest popular theory: Wayne Manor was hiding a cult. They don’t know what kind; they don’t know what’s going on inside of there; they don’t know why Bruce is obsessed with adopting all these kids, but it’s definitely some kind of cult. Several investigations of the estate have been made and Bruce has made several statements assuring the people that there is no cult. (But no one believes him or the reports.)

Duke just made it worse. Suddenly, people are becoming afraid to leave their kids alone near Wayne Enterprises and every time Bruce does anything, everyone’s expecting him to suddenly debut another adopted child.

Now, over time, there will be lots and lots of theories thrown around about the family, but the mainstream media will likely forget the cult speculation after a while, if things appear to be relatively normal and there’s no drama about the Waynes they can stir up. However, they still keep tabs on all the members. They don’t know if, where, or when something’s gonna happen, but something’s gotta happen sooner or later. It’s just a matter of time.

Any other fun tidbits you would add? Anything I missed?

[cloudyluun]

Polished in Love

Summary: When Y/N, a passionate nail artist, first paints her boyfriend Harry Styles’ nails, she doesn’t expect it to become their thing. But Harry, ever the devoted and supportive boyfriend, falls in love with the ritual, and with her talent. Soon, he’s booking actual appointments at her salon, showing off her designs to the world, and, in classic Harry fashion, scheming something in secret. When he finally reveals his surprise—a nail polish collection inspired entirely by her, Y/N realizes that love, much like a good manicure, is all about the little details.

A/N: If you’ve ever dreamed of being in a soft, fluffy relationship where your partner is your biggest fan (and also happens to be Harry Styles), then welcome! This little story is my love letter to all things cozy, romantic, and slightly ridiculous—because let’s be honest, Harry being obsessed with getting his nails done is peak adorable. Expect lots of heart-eyes, some happy tears, and a man who is completely and utterly whipped. Hope it makes you smile! Based on this request!

Word Count: 4,3k

Warnings: 

Extreme levels of fluff (proceed with caution if you're allergic to sweetness)

Harry Styles being the softest, most supportive boyfriend ever

Excessive nail polish talk (you might leave wanting to paint your nails)

Emotional tears caused by overwhelming cuteness

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It starts on a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sun filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks, dust motes swirling lazily in the warm glow. Y/N is perched on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, a tiny brush held delicately between her fingers as she finishes the last touches of a new design on her own nails. The scent of fresh polish lingers in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Harry’s cologne as he lounges beside her, his head tipped against the back of the couch, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

She catches him watching her out of the corner of her eye—curious, maybe even a little intrigued. It’s not the first time she’s caught him looking like that when she works. There’s something in the way she loses herself in her craft, how steady and precise her hands are, that seems to mesmerize him.

Y/N grins, setting her polish bottle down with a little clink. “You wanna try?”

Harry blinks, his gaze flickering up to meet hers. “Try what?”

“Nail polish.” She wiggles her fingers, flashing the delicate design she just finished. “I think you’d look great with some color.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “D’you now?”

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, playful and enticing. “Let me do your nails.”

There’s a beat of silence. Harry tips his head to the side, eyeing her like he’s trying to decipher her true intentions. He’s not against it—he’s worn rings, pearls, mesh tops, even feather boas—but this? Letting her sit and paint his nails like they’re at some childhood sleepover? He exhales a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb along the inside of his palm.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Y/N raises a brow, then reaches for his hand without waiting for permission. His fingers are warm beneath hers, calloused in places from years of playing guitar, strong yet gentle. She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, noting the contrast between his larger fingers and her smaller ones.

Harry watches, amused but not resisting, as she starts rifling through her collection, muttering to herself about what color would suit him best. He lets her have her fun, stretching his arm across the couch cushions, and before long, she’s settled in, fully focused as she uncaps a bottle of deep navy blue polish.

“Alright, superstar,” she murmurs, dipping the brush into the bottle. “Try not to move.”

He scoffs again, but there’s something in his expression—fondness, amusement, maybe even the tiniest bit of anticipation. He lets her guide his hand onto her thigh for stability, and the first stroke of polish glides smoothly across his thumbnail.

Harry is quiet as she works. The soft strokes of the brush, the way her fingers gently adjust his own, the faint smell of acetone and floral-scented cuticle oil—it all lulls him into something warm and comfortable. He watches her intently, observing the slight furrow in her brow as she focuses, the way she occasionally chews her bottom lip when she’s being extra careful.

“This is kind of nice,” he admits after a moment.

Y/N looks up, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Told you.”

By the time she finishes the last coat, Harry is fully relaxed against the couch, his fingers resting easily in hers as she blows gently on them to help them dry faster. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, his lips pursed in thought.

“Alright,” he says finally, lifting his hand to inspect her work. “This is actually pretty sick.”

Y/N beams. “See? You were meant to be my favorite client.”

Harry laughs, low and warm, before pulling her in for a quick, lazy kiss. His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they mold perfectly against hers.

That night, when he leaves her apartment, he doesn’t remove the polish.

The habit sneaks up on them quietly, unintentionally. At first, it’s just a joke—something lighthearted and fun, a cute little activity that makes Y/N laugh and lets Harry indulge in something he never really considered before. But then, it turns into more.

After long days at the studio or on the road, he finds himself gravitating toward her little salon space, dropping into his usual seat with a sigh.

“Rough day?” she asks, tilting her head as she starts gathering supplies.

He nods, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah.”

And that’s that.

She doesn’t need to say much—just gets to work, painting his nails while he rests his head against the couch cushions, humming softly to whatever playlist she has on in the background. Sometimes, they chat; other times, they sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

One evening, after she finishes painting a delicate celestial design on his nails, Harry glances down at his hands with a lazy smile.

“I’m keepin’ these on.”

Y/N looks up from putting away her polishes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, running his thumb over the dried design. “Gonna show ‘em off.”

She doesn’t think much of it until the next day, when Twitter explodes with pictures of him at an event, hands adorned in her handiwork. The designs are small but intricate—tiny constellations, a few scattered stars, all meticulously painted in gold against a dark blue base. Fans go absolutely feral over it.

“Okay, but who did his nails???” one tweet reads, with thousands of likes beneath it.

It doesn’t take long for someone to find the answer.

“My girlfriend did them,” Harry says nonchalantly in an interview a few days later, flexing his fingers slightly as the interviewer compliments the look. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

And just like that, the world takes notice.

Y/N doesn’t even realize it at first. She’s busy at work, carefully painting a client’s nails when her phone starts buzzing insistently in her pocket. She ignores it, assuming it’s just her group chat blowing up over some drama. But when she finally takes a break and checks her notifications, her screen is flooded.

Harry’s latest interview clip has gone viral.

The video is everywhere—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. Fans are gushing over his nails, zooming in on the intricate details she’d painstakingly painted just days ago. The internet is obsessed, not just with Harry’s latest look, but with the fact that she did them.

Her DMs are a mess. There are requests for appointments, compliments from strangers, and even a few messages from beauty influencers asking where she gets her inspiration. Y/N stares at her phone, overwhelmed, before calling the only person who could’ve caused this.

“Harry,” she says the moment he picks up, voice caught between exasperation and amusement. “What did you do?”

He chuckles softly. “I just told the truth, love.”

Y/N can practically hear the grin in his voice.

From that moment on, painting his nails isn’t just something they do in the privacy of her apartment. It becomes their thing, a little ritual of care and closeness.

Harry, ever the extra and devoted boyfriend, takes it one step further.

At first, he still lets her do his nails at home—lounging on her couch, feet propped up on her coffee table, stealing kisses between coats. But then he starts showing up at her studio. Unannounced. Like he’s just another client.

The first time, it’s almost comical.

Y/N is midway through buffing a regular client’s nails when the bell over her studio door chimes. She barely glances up—until she hears an unmistakable voice greeting her receptionist.

“Afternoon, love. I believe I have an appointment?”

She snaps her head up so fast she nearly knocks over her polish display.

Harry stands there, casually dressed in a loose jumper and beanie, dimples on full display as he flashes her an innocent smile.

He waves his fingers at her. “Figured it’s about time I booked a proper session, don’t you think?”

Her client, wide-eyed, looks between them. “Wait. Is that—?”

Y/N groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Harry, you don’t need an appointment. You could’ve just come over.”

“And deprive you of a paying customer?” he teases. “Absolutely not.”

That’s how it starts.

Harry starts officially booking nail appointments—never mind that Y/N refuses to charge him. He insists on getting the full salon experience.

And of course, he never comes empty-handed.

Sometimes, he brings her favorite coffee, balancing two cups with practiced ease. Other times, it’s a fresh bouquet of flowers, a new shade of nail polish he found, or pastries he claims he baked himself (though she’s convinced his private chef helped).

One time, he walks in carrying a ridiculous heart-shaped box of chocolates, looking so smug about it that she can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she plucks a chocolate from the box. “You really don’t have to bribe me to do your nails, y’know.”

He hums, settling into her chair. “Can’t a man spoil his favorite nail tech?”

Y/N huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re the only client who gets this treatment.”

Harry just grins, completely unbothered.

At some point, he starts referring to a specific chair in her studio as his.

“Oi!” he calls out one day when he walks in and finds another client sitting in it. “That’s my chair.”

Y/N chokes on her laughter.

Her client, startled, looks up. “Wait—what?”

Harry gestures toward the seat with mock seriousness. “That’s Harry’s Throne. Reserved for me.”

Y/N groans, facepalming. “Harry, stop.”

But it’s too late. The nickname sticks.

From that day forward, whenever he comes in for an appointment, her staff jokingly refers to it as his throne. He leans into it shamelessly, draping himself dramatically over the chair whenever he sits down.

“Ready for your royal treatment, your highness?” Y/N teases one day as she sets up her tools.

Harry smirks. “Always.”

And honestly? He loves it.

Not just the pampering, but the way she focuses when she works—her brow furrowing in concentration, the way she tilts his hands just so, the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin.

Sometimes, he hums softly while she paints, some unfinished melody floating in the air. Sometimes, he watches her intently, admiration clear in his gaze.

Other times, he just reaches out, squeezing her hand for no reason at all.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N murmurs one day, not looking up from where she’s carefully adding tiny details to his nails.

Harry doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can’t help it. My girl’s an artist.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, but she hides her smile.

Harry is, without a doubt, her most dramatic—and devoted—client.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It starts off subtly.

At first, Y/N doesn’t think much of it—Harry’s always been the curious type. He asks random questions all the time, sometimes just to hear her talk, sometimes because he’s genuinely interested in whatever she’s passionate about.

But then the questions start getting oddly… specific.

They’re all about nails.

“What’s your favorite nail polish finish?”

Y/N pauses mid-brushstroke, glancing up at him. “What?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at the glossy black polish she’s carefully applying to his nails. “Just wondering. Do you like matte? Glossy? Maybe something with a little shimmer?”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “I mean… it depends on the vibe. But I usually go for a high-shine finish. Why?”

He grins. “No reason.”

The next time, it’s even weirder.

“What ingredients should a really good polish have?”

Y/N stops filing his nails, giving him a long, unimpressed stare. “Are you planning to start making your own, or…?”

Harry just laughs, but he doesn’t answer.

And then, a few days later:

“If you could design your own collection, what colors would you pick?”

Y/N puts her tools down.

“Okay. What is going on?” she demands, crossing her arms.

Harry looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Too innocent. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been asking so many questions about nail polish,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And not just casual questions—like, very specific, detailed ones.” She tilts her head. “Are you planning on opening a rival salon? Should I be worried?”

Harry smirks, leaning back in his chair—Harry’s Throne, as he insists on calling it. “Maybe I just want to be well-informed about my girlfriend’s industry.”

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Can’t a man ask questions without being interrogated?”

“No, Harry. No, he cannot.”

Harry just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

Y/N studies him, trying to piece it together. She knows him too well. He’s up to something—she can tell from the way his dimples keep threatening to show, the way he’s biting his lip like he’s holding back a secret.

But no matter how much she pries, he won’t crack.

He just sits there, letting her work, humming under his breath like he doesn’t have some mystery scheme in the works.

And Y/N, for all her determination, has no choice but to let it slide.

For now.

Y/N doesn’t realize it at first.

Sure, she notices when Harry starts posting more pictures of his nails. Sometimes it’s a casual Instagram story—his hand resting against the steering wheel, rings gleaming, nails freshly painted. Other times, it’s a candid shot of him mid-performance, microphone in one hand, the other adorned with intricate designs that Y/N had carefully painted herself.

But it’s not until a week after she finishes a particularly detailed set—deep emerald green with delicate gold accents—that she wakes up to something different.

Her phone is blowing up.

It’s not just the usual notifications. It’s thousands of them. Tags, mentions, DMs flooding in faster than she can process.

Her stomach flips as she clicks into Twitter (or whatever the app is calling itself these days).

And there it is.

A tweet—no, several tweets—from popular beauty bloggers, fashion accounts, and actual magazines, all talking about her.

“Harry Styles’ latest manicure is an art piece. The woman behind it? The insanely talented Y/N, who runs a small studio in London. We need to talk about her work.”

She blinks. Scrolls down.

Another tweet:

“Y/N’s nail artistry is insane. Look at the details on this design. Someone get this woman a brand deal IMMEDIATELY.”

And then, a TikTok—one of many—where a beauty influencer is attempting to recreate the very design Y/N had painted on Harry’s nails just days ago.

“Alright, so today we’re trying to do THE Harry Styles nails—yes, the ones by Y/N. No promises mine will be as good as hers because, like, have you seen her work??”

Y/N’s jaw drops.

It’s not just one person. It’s everywhere. People attempting to recreate her designs, tagging her, gushing over her work.

And just like that, her little nail studio—the cozy, quiet place she’s built with so much love—is suddenly the hottest spot in the industry.

Her phone rings, startling her out of her daze.

Harry.

She answers immediately. “Did you see this?”

“I did.” He sounds entirely too smug, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Kinda amazing, innit?”

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh. “I—I don’t even know what to say. It’s… overwhelming.”

“Yeah?” His voice softens. “Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”

She swallows, looking at the endless flood of notifications. “I mean… good, I think? Just… a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, then:

“See, love? You’re brilliant.”

Her heart clenches.

It’s such a simple statement, yet the way he says it—so full of quiet certainty, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world—makes her throat tighten.

She bites her lip. “You really think so?”

Harry scoffs. “I know so.”

And, okay. Maybe the attention is a lot to process. But with Harry in her corner, she feels like she can handle anything.

And she’s going to have to—because things are about to get even bigger.

Her studio is fully booked within days.

Appointments she would have normally spaced out over months are now being snatched up in seconds. Celebrities—actual A-listers—start reaching out to her, inquiring about appointments, collaborations, anything to get a piece of her work.

And through it all, Harry remains her most loyal, most devoted client.

“Hope you’re still making time for me, love,” he teases one night, winking as he drops off her favorite coffee.

Y/N laughs, squeezing his hand. “You’ll always have a spot in my chair.”

Harry grins, his fingers curling around hers, warm and steady. “Good. Would hate to think fame’s gotten to your head.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging his arm. “Oh, please.”

But she doesn’t miss the way he’s looking at her. Fond. Proud. Like he’s known all along that this moment—her success, her recognition—was inevitable. And somehow, that’s even more overwhelming than the notifications still buzzing in her pocket.

--

A few days later, Harry texts her out of nowhere.

H: Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Y/N frowns at the message, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

Y/N: Excuse me? Am I normally walking around looking like a gremlin?

H: No, you always look perfect. But tonight is special.

That makes her pause. Special?

Harry isn’t the type to get cryptic—not unless he’s planning something.

And judging by the way he shows up at her place that evening, hair perfectly styled, rings glinting in the golden glow of the setting sun, dimples fully engaged, he’s definitely planning something.

“Okay,” she says slowly, sliding into the passenger seat of his car. “What’s going on?”

Harry just smirks, shifting gears as he pulls onto the road. “Patience, love.”

Y/N groans, throwing her head back against the seat dramatically. “You know I have none of that.”

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “It’s worth the wait.”

She grumbles but lets it go, letting the warm hum of the radio fill the space between them as they drive.

He takes her to one of their favorite little restaurants—small, cozy, the kind of place where no one bothers them. It’s tucked away from the chaos of London, all dim lighting and soft music, the scent of fresh bread and wine hanging in the air.

And yet… he’s nervous.

Harry never gets nervous.

But she can tell—by the way his knee bounces slightly under the table, by how he keeps fiddling with his rings, by the way he’s not eating, which is the biggest red flag of all.

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried. Are you dying? Did you commit a crime? Blink twice if you need me to hide a body.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, love.”

“What?” she says innocently. “You’re acting weird.”

He exhales, rolling his lips together before finally—finally—meeting her eyes.

And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, sliding it across the table.

Y/N stares at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

“…I swear to God if this is an engagement ring and you’re proposing to me in the middle of a risotto course—”

“It’s not that,” Harry interrupts, laughing, cheeks pink. “Just—open it.”

She eyes him warily, then flips open the lid.

Inside, nestled against the black velvet lining, are three bottles of nail polish.

Not just any nail polish.

Her colors.

She recognizes them instantly. The deep emerald green, the soft blush pink, the inky midnight blue—all shades she’s used on him before, all shades that have become his favorites.

She blinks. Her heart stutters. “Harry, what…?”

He leans forward, hands clasped together on the table. “I’ve been working on something,” he says softly. “For a while now.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, like he’s really nervous now, like the words are heavy in his mouth.

“I’m launching a brand, called Pleasing.” he finally says. “Beauty, lifestyle, all of it. And the first collection?” He nods toward the box, a small, almost shy smile on his lips. “Nail polishes. Inspired by you.”

Y/N’s breath catches.

She looks at the bottles again, hands slightly unsteady as she picks one up.

It’s not just the colors. It’s the details—the names on the labels.

💚 Green like your eyes 💖 Blush when I call you mine 💙 Midnight Hums

Her throat tightens.

She flicks her gaze back to him. “Harry…”

He reaches for her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “Because you love nails,” he says, voice low, steady. “And I love you.”

Y/N’s heart shatters.

Not in a bad way. In the best way. In the I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-this-level-of-love way.

Because he did this. For her.

Her vision blurs slightly. “You—you made these for me?”

Harry chuckles softly, squeezing her fingers. “’Course I did, love. Everything about them—the colors, the branding, even the formulas—I made sure they were exactly how you’d want them.”

Y/N stares at him, completely overwhelmed.

She blinks rapidly, trying to process everything—how he’s been working on this in secret, how every little detail screams her, how this isn’t just some business move for him, but something deeply, intimately thoughtful.

And then her vision blurs again.

“Oh,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Oh, no.”

Harry’s brows lift in alarm. “No?”

She lets out a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. “No as in—God, I’m gonna cry.”

And she does.

Right there in the middle of their cozy little dinner, with candles flickering around them, with the soft murmur of other diners in the background, she completely breaks down.

Happy tears, grateful tears—tears that carry all the emotions she can’t quite put into words.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He reaches across the table, thumb brushing gently under her eyes, wiping away the warm, glistening trails down her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She sniffles, smiling weakly. “You always make me cry. You’re disgustingly sweet, it’s offensive.”

He grins, dimples deep and warm. “That’s a bit rude, considering I just launched an entire line of nail polish inspired by you.”

Y/N lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, shaking her head. “Exactly.”

Harry chuckles, leaning back, then suddenly reaches into his pocket again. “Well, since I’ve already got you crying—” He pulls out a single bottle of polish, holding it up with a boyish glint in his eyes. “So, love, what color are you painting my nails tonight?”

Y/N sniffs, still laughing through the last of her tears. “You—you brought a bottle?”

He shrugs. “Was hopeful.”

And God, she loves him so much she aches with it.

Without thinking, she grabs the bottle from his hand, twisting it open. “Give me your hand.”

Harry’s grin widens, and he immediately obeys, stretching his fingers out across the table.

They’re surrounded by warm candlelight, by the soft hum of quiet conversations, by the smallest flicker of fairy lights strung along the restaurant’s windows. It’s intimate, private, theirs.

She works with slow, careful strokes, the same way she always does. Harry watches her, his gaze unwavering, soft as ever.

And when she glances up, meeting his eyes—she swears he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world.

From that night on, Y/N isn’t just Harry’s favorite nail tech—she’s his muse.

She becomes part of the Pleasing process, helping him pick new colors, testing formulas, brainstorming ideas over coffee and late-night chats.

Her little studio, once a quiet hidden gem, now has a months-long waitlist. But no matter how busy things get, she never gives up her chair—never stops doing what she loves.

And Harry?

Harry never lets anyone else touch his nails.

It becomes their thing, a quiet tradition.

Before every event, every launch, every moment—she’s there, polish brush in hand, fingers steady as she paints his nails, grounding him the way she always has.

Even when life gets chaotic, when they’re traveling, when he’s on tour and she’s juggling her own work, they find moments for it.

Sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, half-dressed for the next show. Curled up on a couch after a long day, with Netflix playing in the background. Backstage before a performance, where the only thing keeping him still is her touch.

And it’s not just about the polish.

It’s about love. About care. About the way it all started, with one perfect manicure.

And, if Harry has it his way, it’ll never end.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

[mercurio-shadowz]

I LOVE U.

ahem, anyways-

art tutorial when?? man i love your artstyle sm and i wanna learn how to draw these gay mfs too 😭😭

fr though how do you do it. like as a new artist, HOWWWW??

<333

OMG HIIIIIII

Aaaaaaa

Honestly, my only advice as a non expert and frankly kinda mediocre sonic artist is to practice a lot by copying references and don’t be discouraged when you don’t get things right at the first attempt

This was my very first Shadow. My son. He has every disease

At the beginning I really refused to use references for some strange reason, which truly hindered my progress, making it go at a snail’s pace compared to if I kept on studying and copying reference images (my references are post reboot archie comic panels, Sonic X screen caps and SA2 2d renders, by the way xD)

ART PROCESS RAMBLE UNDER THE CUTTTT (with funny looking art lol)

Plus I had no clue how to deal with mobian anatomy after exclusively drawing humans for years… so poor shadow would either look like a hot air balloon or like Sonic’s weirdly shaped little brother [ b A D]

Eventually I started letting moderately loose with the whole anatomy shebang, but things were nowhere near how I wanted them to look.

It all still felt rough around the edges. In fact, someone thought my shit was so ASS they traced the second drawing and posted a version in their style to their twitter without any credits xD. that’s a story for another day, but I honestly don’t blame them, shit’s kinda poopie!!

Anyway, I started to find my footing the more I used references and the more I studied the style in my own way [by tracing the references and seeing which shape goes where ] So, lesson learned basically, if you wanna learn how to draw the blorbo, you shall study the blorbo

The only other piece of advice I think I can give is . Circles. Use circles for their faces. It makes your life so so easy holy shit why did I stubbornly refuse to DO SO FOR WEEKS AAAAAA . Child me had the right idea sfbjvkf.

And that’s all for blorbo tips and tricks from my own perspective I think XD. It’s basically just a whole lotta looking at reference and figuring out how things work ;w;. I still have a lot to learn though, so don’t take my word as law🙏

I hope someone finds this helpful or mildly interesting at the very least xD

[erodasfishtacos]

F*cking Sellout - NFL!H Part II

prompt: the morning in the hospital trudges up a lot of good and bad memories.

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: angst, brief mention of nausea/throwing up

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first ten to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

-> NFL collection <-

Harry is awoken to his phone vibrating in his pocket.

For a moment, he is completely disoriented and doesn’t have a clue where he is.

He had been in a deep sleep, when his eyes crack open and he sees that it’s a hospital bed, the first thought is that he had injured himself during the game and was now getting treatment.

It has happened quite a few times over his career, where the on-site trainers couldn’t mend his injury, and he had to go get evaluated at the hospital but never to where he didn't remember the journey there.

But there’s a heavy warmth on his chest, blinking down, it’s fucking jarring to see his high school sweetheart laying across him like she owns him - like nothing has changed in three long years.

There’s a familiarity, that’s not even that right word because it’s stronger than that, to their bodies because they’d been together for eight years.

They had been each other’s first everything from kiss to heartbreak and those were memories that would never be forgotten.

As he stared down at her, he couldn’t get over how pretty she was.

The bruising on her face was absolutely gnarly but it didn’t do anything to hide what was underneath all of it.

A beauty that he would never get over, and through the eight years, he never got used to being with someone who looked like her.

But more importantly, who was as smart, kind, empathic, and downright funny.

Harry had been on PR dates, actual dates, and slept with a few models.

A lot of it was boredom, most of it was, and he didn’t like who he was when he had these random hookups.

He’d been in a serious relationship up until his senior year of college.

He had never cheated or been unfaithful in anyway which meant going into the NFL was a new experience in so many different ways.

The way he projected up as one of the best football players in the league had people drawn to him like he had some magnetic pull.

It was like that in high school and college, but it was easy to dodge any advances from interested individuals because YN was constantly at his side, they didn’t have time or the privacy with him to even get close enough to flirt.

++

Harry was desperately searching for YN in the group of sweaty, drunk college students in the backyard of the frat.

It was a massive party where the boys had strung up cheap fairy lights in rows, set up cornhole boards, and multiple tables for a beer bong championship (Harry always won).

If YN was clung to Harry’s side like a koala, then it was vice versa.

Teammates had made comments in the past, ‘isn’t annoying that she never leaves your side during the parties? Never have any room to breathe.’

He loved the lack of air, the suffocation, if that meant he was constantly accompanied by her.

Never through all the years of their relationship had he ever wanted distance, he never felt overwhelmed or smothered by her - she had always been his safe person.

But the teammates also didn’t see the flipside of that.

When YN wasn't by his side at parties, he was seeking her out, and saddling up to whatever conversation that she was in if he felt like he could without intruding like a prick of a boyfriend.

They didn’t see that when she had gone off to talk to someone else for too long, Harry would find her with a pout and mumble, “Missed you.”

Despite whom Harry was, the face of the football team, the winner of the Heisman trophy, and getting scouted by NFL teams since he was in high school - he had severe social anxiety.

All the attention was fear-inducing for him, he hid it well for interviews but off-the-field, he hated the large crowds, the random people that wanted to hug and talk to him, and the amount of social interaction that he had to have on the day-to-day.

It was constantly a lot for him to process, YN helped, she was always his safe point that he could come back to when his anxiety started to elevate, and she knew every single time how to make it better.

Harry was starting to get the quickening heart rate, the party was loud, everyone was exceptionally drunk, and it was hot outside - enough that the curls peeking out from under his backwards snapback were starting to wilt onto the nape of his neck.

His management team had pretty much forced him into the frat without choice, stating that it would be absurd for the face of the football team to not have a spot in the most desired fraternity on campus, and crushing his dreams of sharing an off-campus apartment with YN.

She was understanding, supportive but he wasn’t blind to the sacrifices she’s made for their relationship since they were fifteen.

Harry much preferred YN’s quiet, single suite that shared a kitchen with three other individual suites.

All of her suitemates were nice, school-oriented girls who were in their own committed relationships.

YN was never one to be involved in drama, she was always rooting for everyone around her, supportive and kind which made a lot of people flock to her, come to her for advice, a shoulder to cry on.

Harry and YN would curl up on her tiny twin mattress, limbs twisted, and he’d still rather be there than his queen size at the frat.

His anxiety was starting to raise which was a sure sign that he was ready to leave the party if YN was.

He had a huge game in two days, no matter how natural of an athlete he was, he still had these near debilitating nerves before each and everyone of them.

It was a blessing and a curse to be ‘the face of the football team’.

As the captain, the MVP, he got all the kudos, awards, and accolades that others could only dream about getting.

He also had the weight of the team riding on his performance.

It always seemed to fall back on him when they lost a game, a flock of pointed questions at the post-game interview that shifted blame to his performance rather than his teammates, and as the captain, he took responsibility.

The music was pounding, vibrating in his ears, and did he mention it was hot?

It was almost impossible for him to make a clear line towards the backdoor of the house without being bombarded by someone slapping him on the back or wanting to talk about the upcoming game for fifteen minutes.

Where was YN?

She had squeezed his hip as he was talking to a friend, telling him that her best friend, Kai, just texted her that she had arrived at the party after her work shift, and she was going to go find her.

There's a large wrap porch that he had a feeling they were on, nobody conjugated out there except to smoke a cigarette or have a private conversation where they didn’t have to be screaming in each other’s faces to hear what they were saying.

There was a rickety wooden porch swing, chains rusted and has probably been hung there since the nineties that YN liked to sit on, curl up like a cat and lay across Harry’s lap when the weather was cool but not chilled yet, the sun warming her.

And his hunch was right.

When he steps onto the porch through the front door, YN and Kai look over with a knowing expression.

There’s nothing but love and concern in her voice when she says, “Ready to go, baby?”

Harry never wants YN to miss out on opportunities to have fun if she had wanted to stay and that made him a little anxious too - that he was constantly ruining her time because he’d rather leave and be alone with her in the dorm.

“I can wait,” Harry assures her, waving to Kai, “I..just when you are, I wanted to let you know. I’ll be ready.”

“We were just bullshitting. I better go find Jackson before he passes out in someone else's backyard again,” Kai cracks a smile, her and Harry got along well, and Harry enjoyed spending time with her boyfriend, Jackson, who was on the team as well.

Kai disappears inside with a pat to his shoulder, mumbling about how muggy the house felt from all of the bodies in such a small, poorly ventilated space.

“Where are you?” YN asks softly as she stands from the swing, walking right into his arms and letting him bury his face in her hair.

“Six,” Harry responds with a sigh, “The game and all these people. It’s just starting to overwhelm me.”

It was a question YN asked a few times a day, if not more, asking where he was - she was checking in on his level of anxiety.

Then she responded accordingly.

“Let’s get you back to mine, yeah?” YN slips her hand under the back of his shirt, sliding upwards and rubbing his tensed muscles, “Get your anxiety down. Have a good night sleep.”

“My anxiety is already starting to lessen,” Harry replies mulishly as he pushes into her touch, the pressure she was putting on his muscles was heavenly, she knew exactly where to press, “It always does when I’m with you. S’just being away from you.”

“I know, it’s a good thing we’ll never be apart, huh?” YN smiles as she thumbs at his spine, there was so much love in every single touch, every time, and he didn’t realize how much he took it for granted until he was alone in bed, cursing everything in existence when all he wants is that contact again.

++

Harry tries not to disturb YN, she definitely was going to need a lot of rest with her injuries and trying to recover.

He manages to slip his phone from his pocket, sliding it up to his ear with a barely audible whisper, “Hello?”

“Styles, Coach Greene wants you on a private jet in an hour. He wants us to get to Dallas to have a strat meeting before practice starts with you. He really feels like you're the key to getting them through. You’re really the only member on the team that he’s not doubting. I already have the jet set up, send me your address so I can get a driver to pick you up,” Harry’s manager, George tells him, he can hear rustling in the background because George would now have to be on that flight too.

“I -” Harry’s eyes darted down to YN, who was sleeping peacefully on him, and this is the thing he has missed for the past three years.

The thing that he had grieved, still hasn’t completely healed from, and if he had been anywhere close to healing - now that wound was ripped open, raw, and oozing.

Possibly even more painful than the first time.

“I’m not supposed to fly out to Dallas until tomorrow,” Harry tells George with frustration, he had quite literally promised YN that he would be here, and he wanted to be here more than anything else, “I…I have shit planned.”

It wasn’t an option, Harry doesn’t even know why he’s arguing.

He’s under a contractual obligation, he really couldn’t say ‘no’ because his life was assumed to be football twenty-four hours during the season, and this wasn’t something that he could blow-off or turn down.

Coach Greene wasn’t asking.

If he refused, not only would it result in a fine for breach of contract but his coaches would surely have consequences for him - extra training hours, extra workouts, the list is endless.

“Harry,” George sighs, he was most likely rubbing the bridge of his nose under his thick-rimmed glasses, “Greene was pretty upset with some of the linemen’s performance yesterday, I don’t think now is the time to push his limits. You know?”

“I’ll send you the address,” Harry relents before hanging up, he was devastated and he didn’t know how he was going to leave her again, after promising her that he’d stay because that’s the main reason she broke it off in the first place was because of too many broken promises.

++ a few weeks before the breakup ++

Harry lets himself into YN’s dorm room after his late-night practice that the coach had called last minute after a few players had gotten in trouble for drinking off campus.

YN was sitting on her bed, still in a pretty flowing dress, makeup done but there were steraks of her mascara that weres starting to stain her cheeks.

She had her phone to her ear, eyes blinking up at Harry as she sniffles, clears her throat, and rasps croakly, “I’ll call you back later, Kai. Yeah, yeah, I know. Yeah. Bye.”

Harry drops his duffle, frown on his face because seeing her upset was the worst thing that he could imagine, “What happened?”

YN swallows harshly, putting down her phone, and her voice is still soft, calm as it always is, “I…I feel like I do so much for you, Harry. Which I want to do, I love supporting you, your career, anything you need. Lately you…It feels very one-sided recently.”

Harry’s stomach starts to churn, hearing her talk like this was horrible, and the worst part was that he knew he had been slacking.

The journey of getting into the NFL had been extensive, stressful, and all-consuming. 

He couldn’t remember to take a shower somedays which led to a lot of different things falling to the wayside.

The biggest thing was the love of his fucking life.

“Did I forget something?” Harry asks with a dry throat, he already knew the answer.

YN chuckles without smiling, “Why do you act like it’s a surprise? You don’t remember anything anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry’s heart was pounding, rushingi nto his ears like he just ran a play, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Can you even remember what tonight was?” YN asks as she smooths out a pleat of her dress, trying to stop tears from falling.

He couldn’t.

Harry feels like the biggest piece of shit when he admits, “No, I don’t. I’m sure if you give me a minute-”

“The Young Photographers of America dinner ceremony, where I was nominated for an award?” YN can’t control the tear that slips down her cheek, she couldn’t even look at him.

Harry remembers now the excitement that she had when she found out that her professors had put her up for the award.

“Nut, I-”

YN waves her arm limply to her desk, “I won.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry feels tears stinging, god, he can’t stop messing up, “I’m so-”

“Just…don’t,” YN shakes her head, voice dull and disconnected, “I don’t want to hear it. If you were proud of me you would have been there to support me like every other nominee who had their partner there. I was alone with an empty seat and a place card with your name on it.”

YN had told him that if he didn’t make it to her final’s art gallery, it wasn’t going to be a good thing for their relationship.

It was the first time she’d really ever had an ultimatum, she never had to before, and she thought it would work.

And Harry forgot.

++

“Mm, time s’it?” YN slurs sleepily, wincing as soon as she tries to sit up, “Ow. My head.”

“Whoa, be careful, nut,” Harry calms, dread seeping into every fiber of his being, “You have a pretty gnarly concussion.”

“It’s really painful,” YN groans as she relaxes again, wriggling her body even close to his, and it hurts.

It fucking hurts because he can’t make things right.

“The lights are going to stay off, blinds closed to help. Try to keep your eyes closed as much as possible for now,” Harry reminds her, he wants to cuddle her but his body is tense because he knows he’s about to seal their fate because he’s choosing football. 

“Do you want to watch something with me?” YN sounds so much like his YN, from three years ago, like she hasn’t changed at all, “I can listen. Despite the concussion, I slept so well. I haven’t slept right since we’ve broken up.”

“I…”

YN knows him better than anyone else.

Even from the first syllable.

Her eyes open, narrowing, and she pushes herself to sit up despite the ache in her skull.

“You promised,” YN tells him, voice stern and hurt, her bottom lip was trembling.

“My coach called -”

“Get out of my room,” YN raises her volume which was so out of character for her, “Now.”

“Can I just exp-”

“I’m…I shouldn’t have given you another fucking chance. I knew better. I just see you and have this stupid idea that you’re still the Harry that I fell in love with,” YN pushes herself even further away until they’re not touching, “I can’t believe I- Just leave.”

Harry has never felt more desperate in his life, “Please, it’s my contra-”

“I don’t need excuses. I shouldn’t have put your name on the list, I should have trusted you,” YN turns until her feet are off the bed, hunched over, and retching like she’s going to be sick, “Go get the nurse and leave. Please. My concussion-”

“Okay,” Harry’s response is shaky as he wants to touch her, help her, “I love you.”

He shouldn’t have said it.

But it had to let her know.

“You sure don’t know how to show it,” YN manages through another wave of nausea, “You’re a fucking sellout.”

++

[sramoonlight]

In Gotham you can be a new girl

What if Damian Wayne had a sister?

Content you’ll see here: Batsis, batfamily, reader

English it’s not my first language so please be patient!

More color was added to your nails as you looked how it changes your whole hand shape, your tanned skin looked pale next to the purple on it but you couldn’t say anything about it, not because you didn’t care but because the girl who did your nails only had that color

— Purple suits you — the blonde hair said before letting go your hand, then you can finally look at it

It does, your short hands look larger than usually, not much because you’re use to chop your nails once they start growing, if someone ask you it is because it’s more practical

You can’t say you hated when the blood gets under them..

— If you start growing them I can make them in an almond shape, oh! You must ask Bruce to give you money for acrylics, I prefer gel but you need to prove all —

The chat seemed like a thing you couldn’t remember after, you kept looking at your hands more feminine than before, it felt weird to not see Damian’s hands on it

Not in a weird way, you’re use to be Damian’s literal reflection, your mother used to say that it was better for you both to be alike, so you could replace the other when it’s required

But this? This feel like you

— Let me see them — the black haired girl moved over your shoulder to see your hands and shyly you showed her the work, with a hand on her chin she hummed in approval

— you have pretty hands, it’s a matter of time before they take a feminine shape —

And it makes you look at them again, she’s right, they started getting slimmer even if they were as short as before and you could easily tell them apart from Damian’s

For the first time that makes you happy, maybe that wasn’t bad at all

— You’re still Damian’s clone — ah, that words made you feel like throwing up not knowing why.

Your head started to spin trying to get an answer about it

— What about makeup? — Cass said looking and the blonde one, she thought about it

— I don’t know much about it, we can ask Babs — a name you didn’t recognize but the thought of trying new things makes you feel good, maybe it was because being raised next to a boy didn’t let you be as feminine

Feminine? You thought about it, the word tasted good in your tongue, you can try being like that for a while; your eyes moved to Steph who was putting aside her nail polish, she wasn’t a stereotypical feminine woman but she knew a lot about it, her hair is long isn’t that enough? Now you looked at Cassandra, her hair was shorter but that doesn’t make her look like a boy, instead it makes her look delicate

A good haircut for a face like hers

— How a new haircut would look on me? — you mumbled without noticing, Cass looked at you thinking about what you just said

— Well, we have almost the same haircut and once it gets longer it looks pretty — she said shaking your shoulders trying to be supportive about it

You imagined how it looked longer and you found it good enough

— But that would make you look like Thalia — a shiver ran along Steph’s back and she laughed about it

She’s right, you and Damian are almost like your mother but what makes Damian different it’s because he’s a boy, but you? Well that doesn’t matter, before you could look like her you had to let your hair grow for a few years

The thought made you smile, another difference

It didn’t lasted long before you thought about Damian, not being his identical twin feels wrong, you reminded yourself that you were the way you are just because you need to be the plan B if Damian needs it

Plan B?

Are you just that?

— I don’t think so — You put the thought aside, maybe it’s still not time to change.

The next night you were preparing your bed, even if it wasn’t a bed at all, Damian next to you was reading a book with Alfred the cat on his lap, you repeated the words in your head before looking at him

— Uhm, brother? — you talked, Damian replied with a hummed giving you the thought he was hearing you

Your mouth felt dry but you brush that thought away

— Maybe I should start sleeping in a different room — Damian didn’t looked at you, he kept reading in silence making you think he didnt heard you, and as soon as you tried to repeat it.

— It’s practical for both of us, we protect each other — the way he say it like it was nothing was enough to make you think otherwise, he was right, you can only trust your reflection do you?

That word, reflection, sounds awful not knowing why

— Yeah, you’re right — You put the thought aside nodding at it, now laying on the bed.

You were eating breakfast on the dinner room, Damian had to leave for school and you were left there without nothing to do

You checked your phone, only two contacts there but you kept looking at one

Your mother, you felt weird to be ask to do a mission, maybe she let you go so easily because you need to do a mission at Gotham, of course, it isn’t because she doesn’t need you anymore

You’re still necessary right?

— Oh, I forgot that you had a phone — Dick said behind you and you dropped the phone, he catches it typing something on it at a speed that concerned you

After a seconds he gave it to you, the contact “big bro” made you think it was his phone number

— I put B’s too, so you don’t need to ask him — he ruffled your hair as he was used to, even if he only met you a few days ago

But now, it didn’t make you feel weird, again with that warm feeling

— Little bird — he said asking for your attention once again, his eyes burned into yours and you had to look away

— In Gotham you can be a new girl — he left the room as you thought about it

“Girl” it sounds weird to be said to you, you’re used to hear reflection but this? You liked it

— Gray- Dick! Can we go somewhere?— it all started when you put the “Damian” way aside.

You get up following him through the halls, yours hands found comfort holding each other and in other moment you would force you to stop fidgeting but you don’t feel like you need to do it anymore

Instead, you let it be as you tried to keep Dick’s speed just because you needed him to hear you, but you found yourself having to stop

He changed his speed to match yours.

— Go to somewhere? We can go to see a movie if you want, I have the afternoon free — you nodded instantly out of words, for the first time you maintained Dick’s visual contact making sure he felt like you were listening him

Wait, in a flash all the times someone at the manor looked at your eyes when you talked, were they making sure you knew they were listening to you?

The thought made your heart warm and you didn’t hide a smile

— Yeah! It would be nice —

You don’t know how much you’re going to stay there, but you feel like you need to get all the feelings you can

It’s too good to waste it.

— What’s your favorite singer? — Dick asked walking next to you

— I don’t have one, I usually listen to classical music when I need to concentrate — the talk about your favorite things made you happier

— What?! Oh no! We need you to find one for you —

As you leave the manor you feel like finally you belong there, it didn’t matter how bad Dick’s taste on music was or how excited you were about eating popcorn you were

This was finally your moment! Not being a league of assassins’ member but yourself, you laughed as much as you could enjoying the time with your new big brother, and Dick couldn’t do more than laugh at your side

It felt bad to say it, but you enjoyed more this than training with Damian back at your house

House?

— Dick, how do I ask father to stay at the manor? — The question left your mouth like a normal thing, and it didn’t felt weird because Dick didn’t question it

— You don’t need to —

A four words sentence, which only made that time happier than before, you belong there, enough to not have to ask for permission to stay

With a lighter heart you kept having fun, hearing trash songs at the radio, not trash enough because you found yourself humming the melody or maybe it was just the excitement.

You both entered the manor again, the sound of Dick’s keys on his hands were enough to alert the people on the living room

— I never thought that popcorn could be sweet! — you said to your new brother, as your hands moved side to side making your point be hear, but instead of being shushed he listening to you with a little smile.

You kept yapping about how fun it was when you felt a gaze on your back, then you turned to see Damian looking at you like you just killed someone (that would be normal for him, actually)

— Where were you? — He asked, arms crossed as he moved closer

— Uh, out with Dick, we went to see a movie — you explained curious about the way Damian acted

With a groan he walked past you talking now with Dick, but you didn’t care instead you went to talk with Bruce who was minding his business

— Father, may I ask for something? — You asked, hands fidgeting as before

The man stopped doing what he was doing looking at you waiting for your next words, now the gaze didn’t felt like a judgment

— I want to stay at the manor for a few months, if that’s okay with you —

Your hands moved behind your back taking a more secure posture trying to make your point

And even if you knew already the answer you smiled.

[axtonorian]

I know I said I was nervous about word vomiting on here but I really NEED to talk about Eclipse. Specifically what's happening and leading up to his breakdown.

I wanna talk about everything leading up to it. Moving dimensions, the dead kids, Ruin showing up, the stuff with Lefty and Captain, The mimic, Puppet, Charlie. There's so much that's been going on in his life during the past...5-7 months? And I just have to talk about it.

The reason I bring up moving dimensions as contributing to the breakdown and stress is, change is hard. Moving is hard. Even if you want to move or go somewhere else it can still be overwhelming. Not only that but he had to meet all these new people that, at first, he hated and wanted nothing to do with them. Not only that but because of Sun and Moon he was basically forced to deal with his own trauma and get over it to help these two goobers who couldn't even communicate normally. He also had people constantly coming into the theater, which was supposed to be somewhat his space, and asking him for help and needing him to do things. Which had to have been stressful. Then the lab was supposed to be his space but everyone else found that too and went in without his knowledge.

Then the murders started happening. Everyone was stressed out all of the time, but he especially. I don't think that the situation was worse or easier for anyone involved but his upset was the most noticeable because it felt a bit out of character. We weren't really used to seeing him so vulnerable yet? Even with him helping Puppet and Earth it was still kinda weird. But the more it happened the more in character it felt. It was easy to tell he was not well. He's never really been well but he was doing a bit worse. I don't think anyone ever really addressed to each other how all the kids were affecting them. Eclipse, Sunlight, and Puppet are all THE WORST at doing this. I don't put Moonlight in this list because I actually think he's pretty good at talking about what upsets him and getting his emotions out, from what I've seen. But they should've talked about it. Especially Eclipse. He definitely felt useless during that time because he couldn't save some of those kids. And it's essentially happening again. His kids are in danger because of THE SAME MURDERER + another murderer and he feels useless.

There's so so soooo much grief and anger piling up that it's crushing him. The Mimic showing him what "could've been" if only he had tried to talk things out or hadn't been so "stupid". Losing Puppet, FC and Foxy leaving him behind to pick up the pieces of what happened. Trying to take care of Charlie and trying to get two of his kids back. He hasn't even finished Andrew, Jake, or Andy's bodies.

Now onto the breakdown itself. It started before that call, you could hear it in his voice. Then William gave him two weeks and Roxanne walked in at actually the perfect time. If she hadn't showed up he might not have gotten to let his emotions out the way he needed to. Then he started projecting on her HEAVILY and you cannot convince me otherwise.

"Is it in your nature to screw me over?" -This one might be pushing it but he's always been in his own way. Eclipse has always had an issue with getting out of his own way. Keeping himself from making good healthy relationships with people, putting up walls, overworking himself until he gets like this.

"You're such a failure." -Saying that to Roxy didn't make any sense. What would've made her a failure??? This one sounds A LOT like him telling that to himself just out loud.

"Got some more brain-dead ideas in there?" -This goes with the previous one. Eclipse has made a lot of plans in the past three years and they almost always fail or just get ignored. Specifically with Puppet and giving her a different alternative instead of dying or telling William that he can get him a different body and William saying he wants that body.

"Suddenly you care?" -This one is a big one for me. Eclipse said he doesn't understand why he cares so much. Like this man has spent the last 2-3 years "not caring" about anyone and doing whatever he wants. Killing and torturing whoever he wants or anyone who has wronged him in some way. Then he started getting close to people. The first being Earth. I think she was literally the first person (that he didn't make) to genuinely be nice to him and try to help him. Then there was Puppet followed by FC, Ballora and everyone from that dimension, excluding Lefty and Captain, our Monty and his kids. Even if it's been about a year since he helped Earth and started caring it still seems to be a foreign concept to him.

Then there's when he starts talking about how he's supposed to know what to do "be the best" and stuff. "I'm supposed to be good at this." "I'm supposed to be good at this stupid thing." "I'm supposed to find them." "I'm not supposed to struggle." "I'm supposed to be the guy who finds stuff, who gets it done, who kills, who gets stuff situated." this reminds me of Nexus. He felt like he was supposed to be what Old Moon was and more even if no one told him he had to he that way. I don't think anyone has told Eclipse he's supposed to be the best or anything except himself. Maybe that stems from when he was Moon. Just something that came with everything else. There's a lot of "I'm supposed to" going around.

And when he started talking about his Kids is when it seems like it starts to sink in for him. The way his voice sounds and the hesitation paired with forcing his voice to say what he needs to say. Then he goes back to "I'm supposed to be good at everything." He's so frustrated and so stressed out. Frustration is literally I think one of the worst feelings for me because it feels so infuriating and it can happen so often. Even just the build up of small things inconveniencing me can make me break as badly as he did. Being frustrated sucks. Especially when it's something as big as his kids.

Another thing I want to point out is that he says "If I can't find them, who can?"

He doesn't realize there are people who CAN help him and are probably willing to help. Like Monty or Ruin. Both are smart enough and could help. And if not anyone from the dimension he's in, maybe someone from the main dimension. Genuinely I think I would go insane if he actually asked for help from someone in the main dimension. The first option is definitely Monty since those two get along. Solar is a BIG maybe but I bet he would understand especially with everything that just happened with Jack. Might not be willing to help all the way but could give hims some outside ideas. Personally I think it would be huge if he asked Moon. It probably will literally never happen but Moon is EXTREMELY intelligent and idk that's just something that would show a lot of growth for the both of them. Again it's like literally the least likely to happen.

But he's putting so much pressure on himself when there IS OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE AS SMART AS HE IS. MAYBE SMARTER??? That can help.

Not only that but he is terrified that Andy and Jake are going through what he went through when he was stuck in his head during the Mimic situation.

"They're stuck in their heads. Their body just being used like a tool."

Eclipse was a tool. He was stuck in his head and was a tool for someone else who would've just killed him eventually or toyed with him until he snapped. Thinking that someone else might be going through that sucks and even worse thinking your own kids are going through that? Without knowing how to help?

Now the part I wanted to talk about THE MOST.

"I'm not a dad. I can't ever be a dad. I can barely take care of myself."

Oh boy. This. This hit hard.

Taking care of yourself is hard. Keeping yourself healthy and alive and well is difficult. The world feels like it's against everyone. Pair that with suddenly having to take care of other people? Small people who are more vulnerable to getting hurt or lost than you are? That's terrifying. That's really really scary. It's even worse when you believe that you can't do it or don't deserve it. Now times that by four. This mf really is a single dad who just got four kids dropped at his doorstep with absolutely no instructions or any idea on how to take care of them. Not only that but he's extremely bad at taking care of himself. Thank god he's an animatronic cause I think if he was human he would be dead.

I think he wants to be their dad. He wants to hang out with them and teach them and help them be healthy people.

He can also kinda connect to them in a way that's like...his life was basically taken from him. He never got the chance to be someone on his own. He was just a killcode that went rogue. All his kids also had their lives taken from them. All of them were robbed of a childhood. Both Andrew and Andy were murdered in probably horrific ways. Jake died from cancer at a young age and Charlie was taken from her life and put in an environment that literally poisoned her and eventually killed her.

But he does want to be their dad. He just doesn't think he can be. Parenting is one of the hardest things anyone can do. You are responsible for this person until they are an adult and can take care of themselves. You are responsible for making sure they can take care of themselves. You're responsible for making sure to teach them how to be a good person and what empathy is. Teach them what kindness is and help them become someone who helps others. Help them become someone that can be special to someone else. How you treat them can affect how they treat EVERYONE they will ever meet or ever have any kind of relationship with whether that be romantic, platonic, familial, etc.

He already feels bad about how he's taking care of Charlie. He doesn't have time to help her but at the same time parenting is about making time for all of your kids. Even then it's still hard. Eclipse has so many examples of himself failing to do things and its taking its toll. If you feel like you failed at everything else what's going to make this time different?

Everything, all of it, is sinking in. To him the whole world is on his shoulders. He has to fix everything and he doesn't understand that he can't. That there are other people who can help. And he's scared. There's a deadline. That deadline isn't like failing a class or getting fired. That deadline determines whether or not someone gets to live or dies in a horrific or gruesome way.

The fact that it took him THIS LONG to have a full on breakdown is insane. It takes so much strength to make it that far while holding it in. He's changed so much and has grown so much and oh my god the amount of stuff going on is crazy.

ANYWHIZZLEE...that's my rant. Wow that is a lot. I genuinely love this character with my soul. I love the way he developed, I love how complex he is, it's just amazing to me. I love most of the characters Davis plays and I love the whole story as a whole. Does any of this even make sense??? 😭😭😭

[folkwhoreberry]

I NEED MORE MILES HAMILTON X VERSTAPPEN READER

Against The Odds pt. 2

hamilton!oc x verstappen!reader

or... the one where the past rivalry doesn’t stand in the way of something new.

word count : 749

warning : none, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : lost in japan by shawn mendes

part 1 part 3

🦁🧡 X 🤙🏾💜

it started with a few photos - innocent enough. you and miles walking side by side in the paddock, laughing at some inside joke. nothing unusual, right? you had grown up around the track together, so people didn’t think much of it at first.

but then there were more. strolling the streets of monaco, sunglasses on, heads dipped low, yet still unmistakable. miles’ arm brushed against yours in one photo, and in another, you were standing by the marina, a little too close, faces turned toward each other. the media, of course, took notice.

speculation grew quickly. blogs, fan accounts, and sports news outlets all started running with the idea that maybe, just maybe, something more was going on between a hamilton and a verstappen. f1’s most famous rivalry turned love story? the headlines were wild. people began dissecting every little interaction between you and miles - every glance, every laugh, every time you were seen together in the paddock. they wanted to believe it.

the questions started popping up during interviews. after qualifying one afternoon, lewis was asked directly about the rumors.

“lewis, a quick question - your son, miles, and max’s daughter have been seen together a lot lately. is there anything going on between them?”

lewis, already aware of your relationship but not one to feed into media speculation, smiled and shook his head. “they’re just close friends,” he said casually. “they’ve known each other since they were kids. people like to make up stories, but there’s nothing to it.”

the reporter, sensing lewis wasn’t going to give much, tried again. “so, no truth to the rumors that they’re dating?”

lewis laughed lightly, deflecting with ease. “no, no truth to that. like I said, they’re friends. anything else is just people trying to stir things up.”

over in max’s interview, the question was just as direct.

“max, your daughter and lewis’ son have been seen together a lot recently. is there anything more than just friendship between them?”

max, who was fully aware of the relationship but not willing to confirm anything to the media, smirked slightly. “nah, they’re just friends. people like to talk, you know how it is.”

the reporter pressed further. “but they’ve been spotted together quite a bit, even outside the paddock. are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

max’s expression didn’t waver. “yeah, I’m sure. like I said, they’ve been close for years. people can speculate all they want, but I don’t get involved in that. they’re just kids having fun.”

despite both lewis and max denying anything more than friendship, the media refused to let it go. each time you and miles were seen together - whether it was grabbing snacks in monaco or walking through the paddock - there were more whispers, more rumors.

“they’re relentless,” you muttered one afternoon, as you and miles walked back from lunch. the sun was setting over monaco, casting long shadows on the streets, but you could feel the weight of people’s stares even then.

“let them talk,” miles said, sliding his sunglasses back onto his nose. “they don’t really know anything.”

you sighed. “yeah, but it’s hard when our dads keep denying it. I mean, I get why, but…”

miles stopped walking and turned to you, his expression soft. “I know it’s frustrating, but our dads are just trying to keep things private. they don’t want the media blowing this up into some huge story.”

he was right, of course. both lewis and max had been supportive of your relationship, but neither wanted to give the media more fuel for the fire. they preferred to keep things under wraps, letting people speculate but never confirming anything.

“yeah, I get it,” you said with a small smile. “it’s just… a lot.”

miles reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “we’ll keep it quiet as long as we want. our dads are on our side, even if they’re denying it. and if people find out eventually, we’ll deal with it then.”

you nodded, feeling comforted by his words. the media could speculate all they wanted, but the truth of your relationship was something you, miles, and your dads had control over. and as long as you had that - your little bubble of privacy - you could handle the rest.

you leaned into miles, the two of you walking side by side along the harbor, knowing that no matter how much the world wanted answers, you weren’t ready to give them just yet.

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : oh miles hamilton my beloved🤍🤍 part 3 soon!!

[forsaken-headcanons]

With survivors sharing a cabin and each killer having their own personal limbos, there’s absolutely no way anyone would ever encounter each other outside of rounds… right?

c00lkidd found out how to leave his limbo and visit everyone else very quickly. The Spectre has definitely tried stopping him and “patching out” whatever methods he uses, but the child somehow keeps doing it.

He doesn’t visit the other killers much. c00lkidd basically never visits 1x since he’s genuinely too terrified to risk annoying him. He also doesn’t see Jason much; although Jason is overall polite to him, it’s hard not to be wary of the guy with a chainsaw who’s surrounded by strange whispers. And John… well, he hasn’t exactly been there for a long time. There is one exception to this rule though… Bluudud! c00lkidd loves having someone there who’s only a few years older than him and loves games, and likes to see him very often! (Meanwhile, Bluudud is just begging for the red one to leave him alone and get out of his room so he can get back to his Overwatch match)

As for the survivors, c00lkidd likes to see them… but that doesn’t mean they’ll see him. And by that, I mean he likes pranking them a lot. Besides the many, many times he “redecorated” the cabin to be Team C00lkidd-themed, survivors have also woken up to their faces covered in marker, had every single record replaced with ones that only had Spooky Scary Skeletons on it, and were sent hurtling into the endless void along with the entire cabin, amongst other lighthearted antics.

He used to try talking to his dad as well, but even when the other survivors didn’t immediately freak out, rounds would start before they could get more than a few words in. Eventually, c00lkidd noticed the correlation and relented, never meeting with his dad in the cabin ever again. But on an unrelated note, 7n7 has stumbled upon several hidden messages addressed to him. Sometimes they talk about things like how the writer spent all day watching his new best friend play Overwatch, and sometimes they’re crayon drawings of things like drakobloxxers. And these notes may or may not have been hidden away from all prying eyes, both mundane and supernatural, only viewed by a father looking to remind himself that not everything has been lost yet.

These were all inspired by that one image of 7n7 sleeping while monster c00lkidd stand over him with a marker, by the way.

One last unrelated headcanon, but I was once in a match with a Bluudud and a Two-Time, and the both of them just danced together the entire time. I fully believe this something that would happen in canon; Bluudud dances to taunt everyone, but then Two-Time decides to dance with him and he decides to forgo killing everyone just so they can do the Monster Mash together. The other survivors are now more concerned for the both of them than they were before.

Well that's adorable. C00lkidd is really just a little guy.

[ki2rins]

⟢ swim - sjy

pairings: transfer student! jake x fem! reader || fluff, angst || wc: 2.5k

synopsis: you have always been the star on your swim team, bringing your school to glory. but everything starts going downhill when jake, another talented swimmer, transfers in. as you start a one-sided rivalry with him, you realise that hes less of a rival and more of an ally.

warnings: high school au, rival swimmers au, one sided rivalry (you see him as a threat, but he isnt), confident jake, petname (jake calls you jelly like twice?) brief hinting of jake liking you.

rin's yap: thankyou anon for the req <3 hope you love it! (btw im a big fan of the anime, free! so this was fun to write! )

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

“welcome back, team! good job at the last prefectural competition, especially you, yn. our two-time champion of 100m free! you broke your own record with a timing of 1 minute and 11 seconds. we are so proud of you, yn!” 

applause erupted as coach choi, your swim club coach, praised your achievement. 

you picked up swimming at the age of 5, joined your first competition at 8 and won your first medal not long after.  now, you were a two-time champion, the best in your category. freestyle was your best stroke, the one you have been fine-tuning for years, the one that everyone praised you for. people admired your technique, your stamina, your precision. 

and you intended to keep the praises rolling in. 

unaware, you hadnt notice a figure entering the locker room - someone unfamiliar. 

“to the rest of you, continue to improve for the next meet that’s coming up in two months.” 

“uh coach choi?” an unfamiliar voice spoke up making your club members, including yourself, turn their heads.

“ah jake! here you are, i have been waiting for you!”

you looked this ‘jake’ up and down. with one glance, you could tell he was one of you guys. 

he was a swimmer - the tanned skin tone gave it all away. 

coach choi smiled proudly, turning to the rest of the team. “jake is the new transfer student from australia. he’ll be training with us, so make sure to welcome him. hes got a lot of experience under his belt, so dont be shy about picking his brain!”

you couldnt help but roll your eyes at your coaches’ words. pick his brain? yeah, like you needed advice from some new guy that just joined your team moments ago. 

jake, clearly unfazed, grinned at the team. “hey everyone, glad to be here. hope i can keep up!” his smile easily charmed the girls on your co-ed swim team and something about him already irks you - his confident yet annoyingly laid back composure. 

one of your teammates, eunjin, leaned in, whispering to you. “look, look! isnt he cute? should i go ask him for tips? do you think he’ll talk to me?” 

you glanced over at jake, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he chatted with some of the others. he was already making himself at home, and the fact that he was so comfortable in this new environment threw you off even more. 

this was definitely going to be a problem.

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

it was like jake was everywhere. 

and everywhere, it was literally everywhere in your sight. 

at practice, in the locker rooms and even in the hallways. every time you turned around, there he was - chatting with your teammates, making small talk, laughing at things that werent even funny. 

at first, you thought maybe you were just imagining it. you had been busy with your training, pushing for a new personal best, but by the way jake seemed to be seamlessly integrated into the team irritated you. he had only been here for a few weeks, yet it felt like he had been with the team forever. 

the more you saw him, the more it bothered you. hell, you were fully convinced that the ‘egg theory’ is more than fiction. 

his confidence was too much, and the ease with which he navigated everything made your stomach churn. it was like he was constantly reminding everyone that he was better - even when he wasnt even trying, even when he wasnt even in the water. 

it didnt help that you were already feeling the pressure to hold on to your position as the team’s best. you had been the one everyone looked up to, the one who had earned all the accolades, leading your school to its fame. now, jake was walking in and getting all the attention. 

jake was stealing your thunder, and it drove you insane. 

one afternoon during practice, you were doing your usual drills when jake casually swam in the lane next to yours. as you caught your breath after one of those sets, you heard jake calling out to you. 

“i noticed your breathing pattern is a little off, you might want to time it better with your strokes. you are wasting energy. if you are aiming for a better timing, you should focus on that.” 

you bit back a sharp retort, forcing yourself to stay calm. you always appreciated constructive criticism, some even helped to perfect your form. but hearing it from jake pissed you off, it felt like him pointing out flaws he wasnt even supposed to see - especially when you hadnt asked for his opinion in the first place. 

“i know what im doing.” you muttered, not looking at him. 

jake shrugged, unfazed by your cold response. “alright, just giving you my thoughts, no big deal.” 

you glared at the water, looking at your own reflection. the water was your safe space, your haven, but being criticised while in your element made it feel more than a big deal. it made the water surrounding you feel foreign, like it was no longer yours. 

the worst part? jake was right. his critique wasnt wrong, but it stung all the more because it came from him. 

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

for the next few days, jake’s presence annoyed you more and more. every time you came to practice, he was there, effortlessly gliding through the water, as if he had been part of the team longer than you had. his form was near perfect. no matter how hard you tried to beat him, he was always ahead, cutting through the water like he belonged. 

and that infuriated you. 

the final straw came one day when you found yourself in the locker room with jake again, though this time, the tension was thicker. you had just finished another gruelling set, drenched in sweat and trying to keep your cool. as you walked towards your locker, you saw jake standing there, chatting with one of your teammates, a wide grin plastered on his face. 

you tried to ignore him, like always, focusing on your towel and your bag. but then, of course, you heard him speak again. 

“yn, how about we work on those breathing drills later?” jake’s voice was casual, easy. “im pretty sure i can help you shave off some time.” 

you froze. 

this time, it wasnt just some advice he was giving, it was him acting as if he was more than just the new guy. 

“i dont need your help, jake.” you snapped, more sharply than you intended. 

he raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your outburst. “alright, jelly. no need to bite my head off. just trying to offer some help.” 

“first off, what did you just call? secondly, are you sure youre offering ‘help’ or are you just trying to show off?” you crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. 

jake’s expression softened for a moment, and he leaned against the locker, his grin replaced by something more genuine. “look, im not trying to steal your spotlight, okay? im just here to train, like everyone else. and since you are aiming for a new best, im just trying to help you as well.” 

you felt the anger rise in your chest. “you are not like everyone else. you have been here for five minutes, and suddenly you think you know everything”” 

jake hesitated, his eyes searching for yours, and for the first time, there was something more in his gaze. “im just trying to help. but if you dont want it, i’ll back off” 

you looked away, suddenly unsure of how to feel. part of you wanted to snap at him, to remind him that he didnt belong, that he couldnt just come in and take everything from you. but the other part, the part that knew he was right, that knew he wasnt trying to undermine you, just felt confused.

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

you couldnt shake the feeling that something was off. all day, you felt a tight knot in your stomach, as if every little thing was working against you. you kept replaying the moment in with jake that happened in the locker room - his words, the confidence he exuded and that stupid nickname he gave you. jelly. you didnt even know what to make of it, but it stung more than a jellyfish did. 

you knew you needed a release, so you headed to the indoor pool after practice. the one place you knew you could find peace and quietness in. it was already two hours since practice ended, so you knew no one was going to bother you.

you dove in the water, letting the coldness shock you back into focus. stroke after stroke, you pushed through the water, letting your mind drift. for a moment, you were back in control, nothing was blocking your thoughts. no jake, no tension, no schoolwork, just you and the rippling sound of water. 

but then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him. 

jake. of course.

he was standing by the side of the pool, arms crossed, watching you swim. you didnt need to see his face to know he was there. you could feel him, his presence and you knew his eyes were on you. you tried your best to kept swimming as though you didnt care, but obviously you couldnt. 

you stopped at the wall, pulling yourself up and taking in a deep breath, trying to steady your breath. then, you heard his voice. 

“practice ended two hours ago, what are you doing here?” 

“why do you care?” you shot him a glare as you pushed your goggles up. 

jake raised his hands in mock surrender, a slight grin tugged at his lips. “woah, calm down jelly. was just watchin’. looks like you have something to prove tonight, huh?” 

“just go away, jake. i dont need your help. i dont need anyone’s help.” you said in frustration. 

his smile faltered slightly, but it was still there. “you sure about that? you have been pushing yourself harder than anyone here. i just thought you might-” 

“i dont need your advice.” you cut him off. “not from you, not from anyone.” 

there was a moment of silence lingering in the air before jake took a step closer to the pool, leaning over slightly. “look, if you think you can do it all on your own, fine. but maybe you would be faster if you didnt push people away.” 

you could feel anger bubbling inside you, a big contrast from the serene sight of water in front of you. the sting of his words were biting into your chest, eating you up alive. “what the hell do you know about it? you have been here, what? couple of weeks? you think you have figured it all out?” 

jake’s gaze softened, the playful energy from before draining away. “i dont have it all figured out. but i do know that im not here to take your spot. im here to train, just like everyone else.” 

you clenched your jaw, frustration swirling in your chest. “then stay in your lane. this is my team, my spotlight.” 

jake didnt flinch. his eyes were steady, watching you closely. “but im part of your team now. thats the change you have to accept. and maybe its not about the spotlight. maybe its about getting better. together.” 

his words hit you harder than you expected. you looked away, trying to steady your breath. you didnt want to admit it, but part of you, knew he wasnt just speaking about swimming. and this made the situation feel more complicated than it already was. 

“i dont need anyone.” you muttered under your breath, almost to yourself, before you could hear it. 

but jake heard you. he stepped even closer, standing at the edge of the pool now, watching you carefully. “you dont have to do it alone.” he said, quieter this time. “and im not here to make you feel like you have to.” 

the words lingered between you both, thick with unspoken tension. the distance between you, once measured in simple rivalry, had shifted. now, it was more than that - more than the frustration, more than the anger. 

and for the first time in weeks, you werent sure if you were ready to face what came next.

➽──────────────❥➽──────────────❥

slowly, you accepted jake’s help. 

it wasnt easy, not at first. there was still a part of you that resented him for making you feel like you werent enough on your own. but as the days passed and practice went by, you started to realise something - maybe, just maybe, you didnt have to carry the weight of everything by yourself. 

at first, you still kept your distance. it was subtle - small things like not looking hin the the eye when he offered advice, or pretending to be focused to engage when he swam next to you. but he didnt push, didnt force anything. he was patient. 

the first time you actually took his advice was after a particularly brutal set. you were pantin g for air, hands gripping the edge of the pool, when you felt him approach. 

“you okay?” he asked, his voice low, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of water slapping against the sides of the pool. 

you nodded, too tired to even respond. 

he crouched by the poolside. “i saw you struggling a little with your timing. if you want, i can show you a drill to help with your breathing rhythm.” 

the words hung in the air between you, your pride bristled at the thought of needing his help, but a quiet voice inside you told you that he wasnt trying to undermine you.  he was just trying to help. 

“fine.” you muttered, pushing yourself off the wall and drifting back into the water. 

as he demonstrated the drill, something inside you shifted. it wasnt just his skill you were admiring - it was his ability to give without expecting anything in return. he was simply…there. no judgement, no agenda, just set on helping you improve, because he knew thats what mattered. 

it wasnt easy to admit that you didnt have all the answers. but as the weeks went on, you started seeking his advice more often. first, it was small things, like adjusting your stroke or the timing of your breaths. then, slowly, you began to see that his presence didnt just make you better in the pool - it made you better outside of it, too. 

you still hated admitting it, but jake was starting to feel less like the enemy and more like an unexpected ally. 

and when he grinned after watching you perfect a new stroke, you couldnt help but grin back. 

“not bad.” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“thanks, i guess, for the compliment…and maybe for the help too.” 

there was no big moment or revelation, no dramatic scene where everything clicked into place. but slowly, day by day, you allowed him to help. you didnt expect everything to change overnight. you were still wary, still holding on to that part of yourself that didnt want to rely on anyone. 

but with jake, it was little easier to take it one step at a time. 

“anytime, for you, jelly. whenever you want.”

© ki2rins 2025, please do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[she-whatshername]

Celebration

Onyx Storm spoilers below the cut, you’ve been advised

Did I miss it in the books but did Xaden get any celebration when he became Duke of Tyrrendor? I know it was like a, whoa moment that came with a lot of “what now” conversations. However I’d like to imagine that there was some type of celebration for the rightful duke to reclaim the duchy.

So let’s headcanon

After news spreads Xaden is confronted with a group of about sixty students, riders, infantry and healers all of varying years

There are some fliers as well

Xaden thinks it’s an ambush but Bodhi points out that they all are smiling

Then they all bow to him

One healer cadet steps forward and hoists up a series of patches and fabrics sewn together to form the flag of tyrrendor, shouting in Tyrrish

Turns out all the students from the other quadrants are all Tyrrish

And all celebration breaks loose

People are coming up to him, hands on shoulders, handshakes, a girl kisses his forehead (a Tyrrish sentiment of luck and protection)

Xaden is eventually draped in the makeshift flag

Imogen actually wipes a tear from her eye, but no one saw that!

Garrick convinces Xaden to let the Tyrs celebrate for the night and it didn’t matter what other cadets would think, he’s the duke now and it’s not like he could make the people in leadership dislike him more

So they do it

They head out into the woods near their meeting spot

There’s food, lots of drink and music

Dancing, absolutely

It’s a Tyrrish celebration

Bodhi mentions to Xaden thet he should give a speech or toast. Xaden doesn’t want to do Bodhi lifts his mug and Ts it up, much to Xadens displeasure

Xaden says a few words, in Tyrrish, Violet translates to the common language and Xaden just falls for her again

Now we party

Vibes are like a combo of an Irish craic and some Afro carnival, it is lit

Garrick gets up on a tree stump and sings a Tyrrish song, nearly falls off after a spin because you can’t sing a Tyrrish song without dancing

Bodhi is dancing with a few other cadets and starts teaching some of the non Tyrrish cadets how to dance.

Imogen and Quinn are dancing too, both laughing as they turn and twirl

Violet manages to pull Xaden in for one dance

The two of them then disappear after but the party goes on

The celebration goes on all night

Garrick is passed out with a partner on each side

Bodhi is shirtless passed out

Im and Quinn are still drinking together

It was a goodnight for for everyone

[demigodsanswer]

Percy had a girl on almost every side. Sophia was on his left, Nella his right, and Olivia was strapped to his chest, snoozing away. Fate had given him and Annabeth something of a break in their twenties, but now their thirties were a chaos of their own making. Literally.

They'd all gathered on his and Annabeth's bed to keep Percy company before bed time. Actually, he shouldn't be letting Olivia sleep like this. If her sisters woke her up (which was likely), she'd never get back to sleep on time. But he needed one of his girls to be relaxed. And the four-month-old's soft weight on his chest was calming.

Percy wished he could say the same about the presence of his other two girls. Nella tugged a bit of his hair roughly into a clip while Sophia, the oldest and most coordinated at four years old, braided a bit of his hair. Percy tried not to let their pushing and pulling and brushing and braiding distract him from the absolute mountain of Latin midterms he had to grade. The other Latin I teacher, an old man who looked exactly like you'd expect, had suffered, but survived, a heart attack a week before midterms. Percy already had a lot of exams to grade on his own. And now, he had double that.

His eyes barely skimmed over students' translations, looking for key words, sufficient length, and reasonable English and/or Latin grammar, depending on the direction. He'd always been an easy grader, but now he was giving out points for just about anything.

While he focused on Latin, Percy's hair had become the unwilling source of entertainment for his four and almost-three year old, while Olivia, only four months, and Max, their beagle, had the right idea. Both were snoring away. Percy was keeping a close eye on the clock. Twenty more minutes. Then bed time. The girls were fed, bathed, and dressed in pajamas.

He missed his wife.

Annabeth had been called in as a consultant on a New Roman shrine that was under construction. Seemed that, even in their Roman forms, the gods remembered the great work she did on Olympus and wanted her and no one else. Thankfully the gods had little concept of human money, and Annabeth had been able to secure a few years-worth of private school tuition as payment. There was no turning the gig down. Even if it meant leaving her four-month-old behind with a big kiss and freezer full of breast milk.

One more week, Percy reminded himself. Two weeks without Annabeth. He could handle all the technical parts of parenting no problem. But what was he supposed to do when the girls cried because they missed their mom, except join them with a lamentable "Me too!"?

Annabeth was dying out West too, he knew. Every picture of her babies was responded to with some variation of: "Stop, I'm at [important event] with [actual god], and I'm going to cry."

Percy typed a brief comment to a student about the genitive case and hit submit, hoping they didn't feel too bad about their C+ grade.

Nella gasped suddenly, the sound loud in his ear.

"What?" Percy asked, his hand flying to his head to make sure he hadn't suddenly lost a patch of hair.

"I have to go potty!" Nella announced loud enough to wake Olivia.

Olivia started crying as Percy said, "Okay, go, go," helping her climb off the bed. Nella scurried into Percy and Annabeth's bathroom. It didn't have the kiddy potty seat attached like the girls' bathroom did, or a step-stool in front of the toilet, so he had to lift her on, and hold her so she didn't fall in, all while trying to sooth the still-fussy baby attached to his chest.

"All done!" She announced after a minute.

"Great," Percy said, helping her down. "Wash your hands." They did have a little step stool by the mirror. It was the first time he got to see himself. He had a bunch of glittery clips on Nella's side, and several padawan braids on Sophia's side. Some were tied at the ends with rubber bands, some were holding on for dear life on their own. Percy smiled.

"High five," Percy said, holding up both hands to congratulate the recently potty-trained girl on not peeing in his bed. Nella jumped, gave tow high fives, and landed on her feet on the floor. "Sophia," he said as they walked back into the room, "help your sister clean this hair stuff up."

The girls set to collecting their accessories.

"Do you like your hair?" Sophia asked.

"It's perfect," Percy promised. "Should we show Mommy?"

There was a chorus of "Yes!" from both of them. Even Olivia cooed, looking up at him, wide awake gray eyes waiting for Daddy to face time her favorite person. (Percy hadn't been keen on Olivia as a name. But when she came out with big, gray, owl eyes, wider than even Annabeth's in her baby pictures, they took is as a threat sign from Athena. "I think this means the next girl's name has to be horse themed," Percy said. Annabeth laughed, but Percy had found the perfect name: Rosalind. Rosie, for short, he imagined.)

Both girls brushed their teeth and got under the covers. They'd started sharing a room when Olivia was on the way, giving their baby sister her own nursery. If they had one more baby, which was the plan, it would probably mean finding a bigger place.

Annabeth answered the face time on the first ring.

"Hi girls!" She said. They called every night. It was only five in California, so she was still in her work clothes, hair pulled back off her face.

"Hi Mommy!" The girls said in unison. Percy had gotten Olivia out of the baby wrap so she could face forward. He waved her little sausage arm at the phone and, in a falsetto baby voice said for her "hi Mommy!"

Both girls got a few minutes to ramble to Annabeth about their days, before they asked her: "How was your day?" And Annabeth got to tell them about all the cool things she designed.

"And what did you girls do to Daddy's hair?" Annabeth asked at the end of her story.

"Do you like it?" Percy asked, tossing back some of the braids.

"Oh it's beautiful," Annabeth promised. "What do you think Livy?" Percy had come up with that nickname, and it seemed to be sticking. The Latin teacher's revenge for his daughter's olive-themed nickname.

Olivia vocalized a few non-specific sounds.

"She likes it!" Nella announced.

"Of course she does," Percy said.

"Alright girls, it's time for bed," Annabeth said. They blew kisses to each other, before Percy walked himself, Olivia, and Annabeth out of the room, with a "good night, love you sweet peas," to his older girls.

Back in the bedroom, Percy rested Olivia in her bassinet before walking his phone into the bathroom to start undoing his daughter's masterpiece.

"I miss you," Percy said, unclipping a sparkly barrette that had somehow become hopelessly tangled up in his hair.

"I miss you too," Annabeth said with a sigh. "I have to have dinner with Venus tonight, and the last two times we've met, all she does is talk about you. I swear, she's putting some love magic on me when she does it, because by the end I'm so ..." Percy was familiar with what horny Annabeth looked like -- bit lip, pink cheek, deep breathing -- and this was it.

"This is a new story," Percy said with a smirk, trying to look hot, despite his dumb little braids.

"I've been here a week and my vibrator has already died," Annabeth said.

Percy laughed. "Well, I'm sleeping next to an infant, so you're jerking off for two."

"I am," Annabeth said, her voice almost solemn in its seriousness. She touched her breast then. It wasn't meant to be sexy, but Percy felt a bit of a thrill anyway. He missed her. "Gods, the amount of breast milk I've had to dump ... do you guys have enough?"

"We're doing fine," Percy promised. Annabeth was bent down out of frame. When she came back in, she had her breast pump and was undoing her shirt.

"The New Rome nursing rooms are great," she remarked as Percy's gaze fixed on his wife's breasts, swollen and heavy.

"If I tell you we're out of breast milk, think they'll let you come home early?" Percy asked.

Annabeth laughed. "No," she said, "it's the gods were talking about. We'll be set for a decade after this week."

"Two weeks of abstinence, financial and educational security for our kids," Percy said, weighing each option on a hand. He lowered the "security for our kids" hand. "Ah damn, guess that is more important." As if he'd ever pick something else.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes as Percy finished undoing his hair, and she finished pumping. Sure, there was plenty to say. He wanted to hear about her day, she would want to hear about his and the girls. But for a moment, they stayed quiet, enjoying an almost meditative calm they'd found a way to cultivate over the years.

"I told Lady Diana that we wanted four children," Annabeth said as Percy carried her back into the bedroom. "She gave me her blessing. So we should be careful when I come back, unless we want Irish twins."

"I think technically just enough time has passed that they wouldn't count as Irish twins," Percy said with a smile. "What would we name a fourth one?"

"Well, Oliver was always my favorite boy's name, but I think that's out," Annabeth said.

"Absolutely," Percy agreed. "What about Chase?"

"I like it, but I still use that last name professionally. People might think I named my son Chase Chase," she pointed out. "What if it's a girl. Any ideas?"

Alright, here was his chance. Dock the boat.

Percy pretended to think. "Rosalind is pretty," he said. "It's from Shakespeare."

"Oh that's nice," Annabeth said. "Does it mean something?"

"'Beautiful rose' in Latin," he said. Of course, the Germanic origins of the name meant "gentle horse," but Annabeth didn't speak German.

"I love that," she said.

"Rosie for short," Percy said.

"Rosie," Annabeth cooed, "gods that's so ... Oh Venus is gonna have a field day with me later tonight."

"What?" Percy asked.

"I mean --" Annabeth flushed and laughed at her own poor phrasing, "she's going to use this miss-my-husband naming-my-babies energy to get me all riled up. I think she feeds on it, really. Like a lust vampire."

"One more week," Percy said.

"Tell your swimmers to really focus on XX. I'm a bit attached to Rosie already," Annabeth said.

Percy smiled. Success.

[love-quinn]

— LEFTOVERS

summary — summertime at your cafe job yields a lot of new faces, none so comforting as remus lupin.

warnings — swearing, probably dreadfully unrealistic, post!hogwarts no voldemort au, reader with anxiety, reader with not a great home life

pairing — remus lupin x fem!muggle! reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 10.5k

note — hi lovelies i hope you enjoy this is a bit of a beast it's also kinda heavy but if there's one thing about me it's that i'm going to write a fic and it's going to be LONG and it's going to be self-indulgent. if a reader works in hospitality there's a high chance that i'm projecting, do with that what you will <333

The bus route is long but familiar. You know it well enough that you’re able to hunker down in one of the middle seats and close your eyes. The bumps in the road are close enough together that it’s irritating and far enough apart that they catch you off guard every time. The ride there gives you enough time to listen to your cassette from front to back exactly one time. Sometimes you fall asleep but the muscle memory of the last song in your ears is a preventative enough measure that you’ve never missed your stop. 

The fatigue sits deep in your bones, and the sinking feeling doesn’t stop there. It’s been hard consuming art lately, with everything so messy. They feel heavy, weighted with emotions you’ve never felt before. Or maybe you have, you can’t name things up there anymore. 

The routine is old enough that the novelty has worn off but new enough that you still feel as though it could be ripped from you at any moment. That all it takes is one silly question to your manager, one time you catch her at a bad moment and you’re unemployed. Doesn’t matter that you’ve worked there for eight months. 

You don’t even have to think about it anymore; kill 90 minutes before your shift, clock on, smile so long your cheeks hurt, clock off, kill 90 minutes after your shift, catch the bus home, go to bed. 

The cafe is small but busy. The hours are consistent and for the most part the customers are nice enough. You get through most days with little upset, little upset that boils over hour by hour, but it’s manageable. It’s not what you thought you’d be doing, three years after finishing A levels, but it’s money in your account and it’s hours in your day. 

The walk to your spot isn’t long, it’s shady and secluded, a walkway that no one goes down, covered from the rain and, most importantly, it’s been yours for the last eight months. Which is why it’s so off putting that there’s a man sitting right where you usually do. He’s lanky, it’s the first thing you notice about him, laying splayed out on the rock wall you usually use as a table with a jumper-covered arm covering his face. 

You don’t hesitate, you whirl back around and pretend you didn’t see him. You don’t have a back up spot. Sure, there’s plenty of places to sit around the main street, but none of them are your spot. It ends with you back against a wall in an alley beside a deli, a chef smoking on the stairs around the corner and the scent seeping into your clothes. 

You get up. You work your shift. You take the bus home. 

He’s back again the next day. You spray perfume on your shirt before your shift starts to get the cigarette stench out of your clothes. 

Day three you’ve accepted your new way of life and you show up wearing a different shirt. Then, before your shift you duck into the employee bathroom and put your uniform on. You’re not getting your spot back. The guy who has taken it has unintentionally ruined your life. Your routine is draining but it’s yours, that’s the one thing you have going for you. You don’t have to think about what you’re doing. That’s how you like it. 

It’s the second week of changing into your work top and hurrying out of the employee bathroom to flip the sign while tying your apron around your waist when you see him for the first time outside of your bench. 

He’s smoking a cigarette on the footpath, watching the cars on main street go by as you shoulder open the door. It’s heavy and broken, it’s been broken since you were hired. Mary helped you close your first afternoon and showed you the only way it would stay propped open.

You’re kicking the door wedge to shove it under the door, he’s turned around and looking at you, and you’re trying not to make it seem like you’ve noticed. You’ve never seen a boy look gorgeous the way that he does. He’s taller than you realised, head on kilter with the morning sun rising, with deep angry lines diagonally across his nose. His eyes are dark and warm, partially hidden by honey coloured curls falling down his forehead. 

“Need a hand?”

You slam the wedge into place with a huff, turning to him. “No, that’s okay.”

He puts out the smoke with the toe of a well-loved doc marten. “You guys open?”

You nod, realising you haven’t been in customer service mode yet. “Yeah, just a sec.”

He watches you flip the sign and get yourself ready before you’re behind the till, ready to get the transaction over with. “Can I put in a pastry order for later?”

There’s two small glass cabinets on either side of the till, with one refrigerated and one heated, and an assortment of pastries made by the kitchen. Mary starts two hours before you do every day, and she’s in charge of them. You don’t get pre-orders often, the menu changes at her whim, so it seems. 

“Yeah,” you rip off a piece of paper from the pad you carry, ready to take down the details. “If you want stuff we have out, we can keep it aside for you for the rest ot the day, or if you’re after something specific we can have it ready for you by tomorrow morning, depending on what it is.”

He watches you as you root around in your pockets for your pocket for a pen, not bothering to even glance at the display cases. “Can you do croissants?”

You can. Mary will have a fit about it but that’s not your problem. 

“How many?”

“Six?”

“Are you sure?”

He looks uncertain. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

He bites his top lip and cracks his index finger under his thumb. “They’re for my friend.” You feel a pang in your chest. It’s the type of desperation that comes from wanting something so badly that you can’t even hear about it in passing. You bite the end of your pen to stop thinking about what kind of person would be friends with a boy like this. “I’m not sure how many he’d want.”

You nod, the end of your pen still in your mouth. “We should have some in the hutch,” you say hesitantly. Most days you do, but you don’t want to make promises. “I can set some aside if you decide you want extra.”

He nods slowly, considering it. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be great actually. Six now and maybe two or three tomorrow?” 

You nod, scribbling it down. You’re going fast to avoid the awkward silence of waiting. You’ll fix it up later. “Great, awesome.” You look back up at him, hunched over the counter while you’re right. “Can I just grab a surname for it?”

“Lupin,” he replies. It’s a nice name, it suits him. 

You jot that down beside the order. “Lovely, and so I’ll call you tomorrow? I just need a number and a time.”

He startles for a second, physically startles, his shoulders twitch and his eyes dart up to yours where he’d been previously looking at the cabinet. Then he sees your hand, paused mid sentence, and relaxes. “Uh, I’ll be working tomorrow, I’ll come grab them on my lunch break if that’s okay? You can call up at like 11, I’ll give you the store’s number.”

You nod and he recites it to you. “You work around here?”

He gestures noncommittally out the front window. “Yeah, up at Clarks,” he says bashfully, as if you’re not both standing in the cafe you work in. “If you call up at 11 I should pick up but if you ask for me I’ll be around. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you write down the order and then punch it into the till. “It’s going to be a tenner, we charge a bit extra for the order fee and stuff, is that okay?” 

He digs around in his pocket for a worn deep brown wallet, which he hands you a ten pound note from. “That’s great, thanks.” He smiles at you, the corner of one of his scars lifting up with his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You can’t say anything back at him as he smiles at you, turning away. He’s still looking at you, head turned, as he leaves the cafe and you’re left alone. His skin looks silver in the morning sunlight. 

———

The house is dark by the time you reach it. It’s nearly seven in the evening, and the late summer sun is still lighting up the street. You don’t flick any of the lights on, instead toeing off your shoes and collecting them in the hand you’re not clutching your bag strap in. 

The family cat comes to curl around your legs and you don’t have the hands to scratch her head. You’d had a very strict curfew of 5:30pm while you were in school, and then you’d started working and sometimes you were home as late as 9:00pm, so your parents eventually stopped caring about where you were and what you were doing. It’s not like you were going out partying. 

The latest you’d ever been out was 11 for the work party, and you’d left the city almost entirely sober and very overstimulated. 

The TV is playing and you can hear voices in the living room, knowing you’d need to make an appearance lest your parents think you’re avoiding them. You step into the living room, your mother’s eyes flitting to you momentarily. You wave. She looks back at the television. 

Your bedroom is clean, bed unmade but tidy and you have to fight the urge to curl up. Your bones sting as you get a glass of water, as you shower, and as you feed the cat, and as you clean the kitchen from your parents’ supper. 

By the time you finally lay down, it’s dark outside. Your hair is clinging to your face, damp and smelling distinctly like conditioner. You don’t like sleeping with the curtains open but you don’t bother to move, the sounds of the road by your house mostly quiet by this hour. There’s the occasional car, the whine of the late bus as it turns the corner to go back to the depot, and one of your neighbour’s dog’s barking. Then there’s sleep, and your alarm blaring, and yelling outside your door. 

———

You sincerely regret not asking for a first name when you call up the shoe shop down the road.

“Uh, his name’s Lupin? He told me to call.”

The boy on the other end sounds younger, maybe school aged. It’s a Saturday, you realise. You’d thought it was Wednesday. “I’ll go get him.”

You’re hoping he knows who you’re talking about. You don’t know Mary’s surname, or any of your other coworkers. If someone had called up asking for you using your last name, you’re pretty sure none of them would know who you were.

“Clarks shoes,” the voice on the other end is warm the way Lupin’s was, but you don’t want to put all your eggs in one phone call. You stumble over your introduction, and you can feel the familiar tug of words pouring out of your mouth involuntarily.

“Oh, right, yeah. My croissants.” He cuts you off unintentionally, and you’re grateful. “I’m on break in thirty. I’ll pop by then?”

“How much longer are you on for?” The question tumbles out before you can remember you’re a deeply shame-filled person. 

“Uh,” there’s rustling. “Finish at six.”

“You’re gonna leave them in the shop all day?”

“That was the plan, yeah.”

He’s not mean spirited, just sarcastic, you have to tell yourself. You don’t know him, though, so the thought provides no comfort. 

“We can keep them here,” you offer quietly. “They’ll keep better in the cabinet, we keep it at a specific temperature, and-”

“What time are you guys closed?”

The word vomit halts, and you have to remind yourself to take a deep breath in, one that he probably hears from down the receiver. “Four but I’m usually here till six.” Your bus is at 6:13, Mary lets you stay after you lock up. 

“Can I come by after my shift? I don’t want to keep you.”

“I’ll be here,” you repeat. 

You’re trying to keep your voice steady, to exhibit a cool girl, ‘yeah, random beautiful man, you can come by after we close, I’ll wait for you, casually’ energy. You feel that trying to exude that energy automatically disqualifies you from it, but he doesn’t say anything other than “sick, I’ll be there.”

The close routine is practically second nature, but it stresses you out every single time. You work six days a week, it’s ingrained in your head, it’s listed on the wall by the sink, and yet every time you spend at least five minutes staring behind the counter, trying to figure out what you’ve missed. The door is still unlocked, but you haven’t left yet, and you’re expecting someone. It’s only half past, you have plenty of time before you have to leave. You’ve already filled your timecard in, so any work that you do now isn’t paid for anyway. 

You follow the closing schedule, and then you follow the post-closing anxiety schedule you’ve created for yourself to make sure you don’t fuck up the only job you’ve ever held down. 

You’re perched on top of the counter, beside the till, book in hand that you’re not really reading. You’re more focused on the clock. Forty minutes until Lupin’s due, and you run through it a third time. Twelve minutes. You realise you left the notepad in your pocket. You put it behind the counter so Lucas can find it when he opens tomorrow. It’s your day off. 

It’s 6:03 and you feel foolish for expecting he’d be on time. No one’s on time. Not the way you are. You forget that. 6:03 isn’t late. 

He’s knocking on the glass door, an apologetic smile on his face and polo shirt collar sticking up. 

You nod - it’s unlocked - and he steps inside. You realise suddenly this is very much against the rules, and if he robs you you’re fucked. 

“Sorry,” he pants. “Was helping Ruby in the stockroom and you don’t know who Ruby is- it’s fine, sorry. Sorry I’m late, is what I meant.”

Any emotion you felt towards his tardiness, regardless of your inability to name it, evaporates.

“Sorry for saying sick earlier, by the way,” his cheeks are tinged pink. “I don’t- I’m not a guy who says sick.” You wouldn’t mind if he was. “I meant great. You’re great. Thank you.”

Working hospitality comes with an understanding that 80% of ‘thank you’s are faked for politeness. This one isn’t. His eyes are baring into yours with a sincerity almost entirely alien to you. 

“It’s okay,” you hop down. It’s far from graceful but he doesn’t seem to care. You’ve wrapped his croissants in liner and one of the nice bakery boxes you usually charge another pound for, nine croissants arranged neatly inside. The other four had been left overs that Mary had let you take. You’d donated to his cause.

There’s a post-it note on the top with his surname. “For Lupin.”

He grins at you crookedly. “Uh, it’s Remus.” He says. “I just…” he nods at your chest and you feel a sharp rush course through you before you realise he’s looking at your name tag. “I know yours, is all.” He’s looking at you in that ineffable way again. “How much do I owe you for the rest?” He holds the box with one hand, palm flat on the bottom. He reaches into his pocket with the other. 

You shake your head, “It’s fine.”

He’s looking at you in a way you can’t decipher. “Do you like croissants?”

Who doesn’t? “I don’t dislike them.”

He’s still looking at you. You’ve never seen someone look at anything the way he’s looking at you. You look down at yourself self-consciously. Rumpled work skirt, the only pair of tights you own that haven’t laddered yet, white blouse ironed late this morning with the urgency of someone who should’ve done it last night. Name tag gleaming silver in the only light on, black text embossed onto it. 

Remus opens his mouth to say something when you hear the familiar whine of the metro taking a corner. You brush right past him to the glass door and watch with dismay as your ride home breezes right past your bus stop a whopping seven minutes early. 

He watches you still. You avoid cursing under your breath. He’s still a customer, you suppose. “That you?” 

You nod. “It’s early.”

He shakes his head, looking the very picture of a disappointed parent. You know those looks well. “They shouldn’t be allowed to leave early.”

You sigh, readying yourself mentally for another hour of waiting. The next bus, the last one on rotation, isn’t until half seven. “I mean, this is the time on the schedule,” you admit, glancing down at your watch. “But it has never been on time the entire time I’ve caught it.” You know you sound foolish and double down, “I mean, someone even crossed out the time at the stop and wrote the new one with a marker pen.”

“They did it just to trick you then,” he says resolutely. 

You feel yourself flush with the knowledge that he’s teasing you to make light of your situation, not to make you feel bad. Like there’s a camaraderie between you. “How awful of them.”

He turns back to you. You’re still looking at the deserted bus stop. 

“That brings me back.” To what? You ask him. He realises he hadn’t voiced the thought out loud well enough and frowns. “You like croissants?”

“We’ve established so.”

Despite the angry scars crossing his face, the rest of his skin is smooth. The high points - his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his forehead - shine. Not oily, something else. You’re envious for a sickening moment.

You sort of just want him to get to the point. You don’t understand what he’s trying to say and you’re tired of feeling stupid for it. You’re tired of the day, if you’re honest. You want to be in the post-day purgatory, where you don’t have to deal with anybody or anything but you haven’t quite fallen asleep yet.

“What do you like more?” He asks. “Is there anything? There’s something.”

You’re caught off guard. That’s not a question you think you’d ever be asked. It’s also an impossible one. “What?”

“The croissants,” he hefts the box with one hand. Now no longer reaching for his wallet his free hand is dangling by his waist. You become acutely aware of where yours are resting. “Is there anything else here you like more?”

You shrug. You haven’t eaten a pastry from work in months. The novelty wore off fairly fast. “Probably. Can’t think of anything, though. We haven’t got anything left.” The leftovers were taken by Mary. She donates them. 

He shakes his head like you’re not getting him. “No, I just…” he trails off like you’re meant to infer what he’s saying. Like you’d have some sort of context for whatever it is. He glances down at the box, then back up at your face. “My friend. I think he’d like you. I think…” he says it like he’s aware it’s crossing a line, a boundary, a whatever between two people who are whatever and whoever. “Just curious, that’s all.”

When he leaves, he’s dashing across the street to his car, looking both ways even though the roads are deserted, still glowing under the moonlight. 

———

You don’t see him again until a week later. You’re not quite sure how to act. You’d had an extended interaction, but you weren’t friends. You needed to be on the same page as him, you would not be caught in the humiliation that was caring more than someone else did. 

He’s out the front of the corner shop you go in sometimes. They have a fizzy lemonade in the back corner fridge you buy on mornings you aren’t feeling well. It’s something at least. He’s smoking again, and you’re lucky you’re already in your spare shirt. You can tell Mary suspects you’ve taken it up. 

He nods at you on your way in, and you spend the next five minutes inside the shop kicking yourself for having the audacity to have cared. 

Lemonade in one hand, bag strap in the other. He’s still there, leaning against a post. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You try to keep it light. You have no idea what he’s apparently done. 

“For the,” he nods again, a caricatured imitation of the nod he’d done earlier. He tosses his head back in a way that can only be described as douchey, giving you a blank look. “You know.”

You don’t know. “Right.”

“The croissants were a hit.” He straightens up, lifting his elbow off where it’s resting on one of the yellow bollards. “He loved them.”

You smile. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Do you do cupcakes? Can we custom order them or…?”

You’re not really the person to speak to about things like this. Mary’s the one who organises all the bakery orders besides the things you keep in the hutch. “Uh, maybe. What kind?”

Remus reaches into the pocket of his pants with his free hand and pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. “Uh, they’re for a one year old, so… whatever’s easiest I s’pose, he’s just gonna mash them all up anyway, and I’d hate for you to put in effort.” 

He doesn’t look nearly old enough to have a one year old, and you feel bad for thinking it. It’s born from a selfish want, you’re ashamed to realise. He could have a little one, it’s not completely insane. Two people from your high school got married two weeks ago. You’d come home to the spread in the paper sitting on your bed one night. 

He extends the piece of paper to you with the air of someone offering a bribe. “His mum gave this to me, it’s a list of the dietary requirements of the adults at the party - ‘cause we were gonna have other stuff as well, I should’ve said - and we were hoping a few weeks would be enough time, it’s a bit of a big order but - oh, and you can ignore where it says banana under the allergies, he’s so fucking dramatic and-” he takes a breath. “Yeah.”

The words stopped making sense to you a little while ago, and you know for something of this calibre you need to get Mary on board. She’s usually there by now, even though you guys don’t open for almost forty minutes. Your shift starts in nineteen.

“Are you doing anything right now?” You ask, trying to make out if a smudge near the bottom is meant to be a word. 

He looks at you fully. You’re looking a little nicer today than the last time you saw him. You woke up with a little more energy that morning, you’d put a nice hair clip in and put some eyeshadow you’d had to hunt through your vanity to find. You’d felt a little silly, like you were trying too hard, but the corners of his lips twitch up. 

“I can free myself up,” he says, shifting his weight on the bollard. He drops his cigarette, snuffing it out. “Why’s that?”

You brighten up. “You’re going to come meet my boss.”

He walks at your side the whole way, stepping back as you shove the door open with your shoulder. Mary’s behind the counter, putting notes in the till drawer. She doesn’t look up as she hears you come in. “Hi, love, there’s a couple of boxes in the back I need you to unpack.”

“Yeah, sure,” you nod, shedding your bag in the designated area. “Uh, first, I have someone here for you.” You’re gesturing to Remus, hoping he’ll introduce himself. That’s never been one of your strong suits

“I’m Remus.”

Mary looks up from the till. “What?”

“Remus,” he says, hand over heart earnest, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Uh, I’m here for cupcakes?” He looks over at you, asking for help with his eyes. You smile politely. 

Mary takes Remus aside to work on his order while you open up the cafe. You catch him looking over at you while he’s meant to be listening to Mary. You realise this after you miss the third customer’s coffee order. 

———

The espresso machine makes a high pitched wail when it hasn’t been cleaned properly, and you’d made the mistake of letting someone else clean it two days in a row. Yesterday, you’d been able to deal with it and get it cleaned during a lull period. 

Now? There’s a line out the door, your Tesco homebrand Aspirin isn’t doing anything to dull the headache that’s been brewing since this morning and you have a drinks list longer than your forearm. 

It takes you messing up two drinks in a row for Mary to tell you to go outside. She doesn’t say it unkindly, she doesn’t yell. But you can tell she’s stressed. You did that. 

You’re in the alley behind the cafe, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You’d undeniably made her cross, you’d probably get scolded at the very least. What if you cry in front of Mary the way you always do when you’re being yelled at? That would be worse than a firing, because then you’d have to quit. 

You’re shaking, you can feel a coffee burn you hadn’t clocked slowly fading into your consciousness on your wrist, there’s milk down your front. There’s cigarette smoke clinging to your shirt. 

There's a hand on your elbow for a fleeting moment. 

“Are you okay?”

You reply, you must, because Remus is standing in front of you, nodding like he understands. “Are you on break?”

No, you’re not. You’re two hours into your shift, there’s two of your coworkers out there with Mary, you need to be at the least manning the till. “No.”

Remus has the tact to not ask why you’re standing outside. There are teardrops on your blouse that you don’t remember crying, and you’re shaking like a leaf. You understand that there’s a lot of jumbled information going on but you can’t lock down on any one thread of thought. “Can I show you something?”

You stare at him. You don’t want to see whatever he has to show you. You don’t know why he’s here. He’s not smoking like you thought, the smell must have seeped into his uniform the way it is with yours. 

He takes your silence as an affirmative. “Do you have a pen?”

You hand him the pen you keep in your pocket. He takes it from you appreciatively, brushing his slender fingers against yours. He holds the pen so the lid is on the asphalt below, crouching down. “C’mon.”

You drop awkwardly, sitting cross legged. He’s crouched in front of you. He holds the pen up with the tip of his finger. You can feel your chest still rising and falling unevenly, your index finger pushing your nail into your palm. 

The pen is spinning, it spins once, twice. Remus looks at you, honey eyes looking right through you. “Breathe in when it spins for me?” He’s holding it up with the tip of his pointer finger. You take a shuddering breath in as he gets the pen to twirl without moving his hand. It pauses. You pause. It starts, you breathe out.

Remus looks at you, guiding your eyes with his. His palm is flat on the hand twirling the pen. He, very slowly, very deliberately, lifts his hand. The pen continues to spin, keeping its forward momentum. 

You both watch it, inches apart from each other. You can count his eyelashes. His lips are crooking up again, the way they sometimes do when he looks at you. 

“Am I allowed to stop breathing in now?”

The pen dops. His laugh is echoing and apologetic in its own nature.

———

One of the things you hate more than anything else is the feeling of your hands being wet. If they’re submerged in water or under running water you can live. But the second you finish washing your hands you’re reaching for the dish towel you keep in your waistband. 

Only you’re not allowed to have a dish towel in your waistband when you’re at home. Neither of your parents have explained why, but it’s a rule. So now your hands are dripping and you’re hunched over the sink. 

It’s the middle of the night. Your parents have gone to bed, a sink filled with dishes left behind from a dinner for two, and you’re trying to get on their good side. It’s your day off tomorrow and you want to leave the house. That involves buttering them up with a clean kitchen. 

Remus has been swinging by more and more as the days pass. Some days your breaks overlap, he’s started hanging around, letting you pick out a sandwich for him to try. You didn’t realise spending more time away from work or home would make you feel so light. You spend your breaks in the break room, you spend before and after work in the shop. 

You don’t go out much, not even with your old friends from school. There were post-graduation parties, start of year parties for people who were continuing on with school, general house parties of strangers. Then there’s engagement parties and weddings and baby showers and looking back you’re realising that they’re all torture in the same way. 

But spending thirty minutes a day with Remus’s calloused hand in yours, pulling you away from the shop and into the sunshine, has made you feel a lot better. 

“They’re so soft,” he said the first time he held one of your hands. He’d shouldered your bag so you didn’t have to carry it. “What have they got you serving customers for?”

He stops, looking down at your palm and then back up at your face. You’re smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, and not in the familiar pinch of customer service. He’s taking you to split today’s sandwich on the hood of his car, sitting outside in what’s meant to be one of the last hot days of the summer. “These are noble hands. You should be painting and yelling at servant boys for hanging about.”

You haven’t quite figured out how to respond to his compliments yet, and they’re only speeding up. “That’s Mary’s job,” you say quietly, looking down at your connected hands so you don’t have to look up at the golden hour that sits in his irises. “She’s told me you need to stop taking your smoke breaks outside our kitchen door.”

He groans. “What’s even the point of being the manager if you can’t leave the shop once or fifteen times to go smoke down the street?”

He hadn’t become the manager out of a real drive or ambition for selling shoes, or anything. He’d gotten the job after he’d graduated at eighteen, and since then every other employee had quit or been fired. He also smokes a lot less than you’d assumed, with how often you’d seen him do it. 

“I have been doing it more often,” he admitted once you asked about it. “I usually go through a pack in a couple of weeks, I’ve been…” he tipped his head back. “I haven’t been feeling super great.lately, it helps take the edge off.”

He’d popped by the shop earlier that afternoon to confirm the order he’d made earlier, and to let you know he wouldn’t be the one picking it up. It felt horrible to think, but he didn’t look good. His cheeks were hollow and there was lingering tiredness that concerned you. You couldn’t say anything, though. You’re not his girlfriend, you’re not even his friend. Doesn’t matter that you freeze up when he gets too close, that he likes to rub his thumb over your knuckles. 

He could tell you were worried, it was the first thing he brought up. “I’m fine, don’t worry, dove. It’s just the roster, can’t find staff for next Wednesday. Stressing me out.” He leans down on his elbows, looking up at you. You like it when he’s in a position where he has to look up. Him looking through his lashes up at you makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. “I’ll be alright for Harry’s birthday tomorrow.”

Harry is his friend’s kid, which you felt very normal emotions about when he mentioned it wasn’t his child. Pulling information out of Remus is like pulling a thread of a sweater. It took a second but now it flows liberally. He’s mentioning someone every other sentence. His friend Sirius - the one who isn’t allergic to bananas and who apparently hoovered down all eight of the croissants without a helping hand (“I gave one to Lily before he could get his hands on them.”) Harry’s parents Lily and James and how James is trying to learn how to cook and Lily has taken a hunger strike in retaliation. 

Sirius is the reason you’re scrubbing the dishes after working all day, according to Remus. “He called me a tosser for not inviting you,” Remus said sheepishly, swallowing his double ham and spinach. “I didn’t think you’d particularly want to come to a one year old boy’s birthday party but you are more than welcome. He’ll be the only kid, if that helps? It’s just gonna be me, Sirius, Harry’s parents and a few friends from school, super small.”

Being in a room full of strangers sounds like torture, especially if you can’t even say you went to the same school, but the way that Remus is looking at you is crumbling your resolve. You want him to think you’re cool. An affable cool girl who goes to birthday parties all the time. 

You pick a nice outfit, a pretty dress that you haven’t worn since last summer. You don’t remember why you bought it, but you hope it’s appropriate for a baby’s birthday party. Remus said he’d pick you up, but you feel like you should be at the cafe when James arrives. It feels rude to not, despite the fact that you have the day off. 

You feel silly, standing behind the counter at work in your pretty blue and white gingham. You like your uniform; it gives people less reason to judge you for your outfit choices. Now you feel exposed.

You’re not clocked on, Mary has instructed you very firmly that you are not to be working if you’re not clocked on. 

The nerves are getting to you, however, and you can’t sit still. The shop is abuzz with activity befitting a Saturday morning in late July. Julia and Andrew are the Saturday openers and they operate just fine without you. You work the most hours out of all the staff but you’re nowhere near the most important. You’re not a manager, you’re not a supervisor. You’re just a twenty-one year old woman who has nothing better to do than to serve coffee and sandwiches and baked goods. 

You’re already overstimulated and the party isn’t until one. Remus is working the morning shift over at the shop, due off at 12, and he’d told you numerous times that you were more than welcome to come sit in with him while he did stocktake. Saturday morning at Clarks was a lot different than an indoor/outdoor cafe. It was just Remus and a seventeen year old girl he scheduled purely so she had a quiet space to study for her A-levels and he had someone to watch the store in case Sirius came over to piss him off. 

It’s the third time Mary’s scolded you for trying to run food when a messy-haired boy is leaning down, elbows on the counter and glasses on the edge of his nose. “You are lovely, aren’t you?” He’s a touch shorter than Remus, with warm brown skin and an infectious smile that threatens to take you with it, despite how startled you are. 

“Excuse me?”

He tilts his head back to look at your face better. 

“I have an order to pick up,” he says cheerfully. “It’s under Potter? It’s for my son’s birthday.”

So this is James, then. Remus had warned you about him. Very cheery, very chatty. He’d said it fondly but still like it was a bad thing. You understood where he was coming from, but truth be told you’d been looking forward to it despite your nerves. 

“Right,” you have a customer service smile, you don’t give him that. What you try to give him is a more relaxed, authentic smile, to show you have some kind of rapport, but it comes out pinched and awkward. “It’s all in the back, I can help you bring it out?”

“That’d be great,” he says, brushing a stray curl out of his face with a grin on his face where you can see his entire top row of teeth, biting his bottom lip. “Thanks, shortcake.”

There’s five boxes total, not very much to lift, but too much for one trip. James takes three with an airy “‘s all good,” and leaves you with just one; the cake. 

“The missus wanted to make one but she’s a bit poorly,” he says as he puts the boxes in the front seat of his car. The back is littered with things, cookie crumbs and toys, building blocks and energy drink cans and seemingly the popped-out lens of a pair of glasses. Full of personhood. “Did she make it with love?”

You’re helping him secure the boxes together with ribbons and his car seatbelt. “Hmm?”

“The cake,” he clarifies. “Did she make it with love? Your boss, I mean. Remus told me she was making it, I’m not misogynistic.”

“Said like an ally,” you puff out, hyper-aware of the fact that you’re bending into a stranger’s car while wearing a dress. “I trust you completely.”

When you’d heard that Remus had a twenty-one year old friend with a wife and a one year old, you’d thought two cruel things: that guy is boring, or that guy is miserable. Not because you think you’d be particularly miserable, but because you didn’t know a single man your age who would be happy in that situation. You clearly haven’t met James Potter before. “That joke doesn’t really land without Lily here to swat at me,” he says. 

“How long did it take for him to bring her up?”

Remus is at the corner, jumper thrown over his work polo and rucksack in his hand. 

“Fucking sue me,” James boos. As Remus reaches him, James slugs him dramatically on the left shoulder, before rubbing his right one gently. “Hi, mate. It’s been a bit.” Remus winces. “Am I driving you?” He says it not like a question of him doing something kind for a friend, but as a comment on the weather. As a compliment on a new haircut. As a greeting after a long time, which it apparently has been.

Remus looks a bit worse for wear, if you’re being honest. He’s a handsome guy with warm and soft features. James is bright in his expressions. You pretend not to notice the way Remus is leaning on him, or the way that he’s so pale aside from his freckles and scars that he’s almost glowing in the early afternoon sun. You wonder if he has what James’s wife has. 

Remus shakes his head. “No, I just came to see if you guys need a hand.”

James frowns at his friend. “You look close to death.”

Remus laughs, eyebrows shooting up. “Yeah,” he agrees amiably, “I’d be a lot closer if you let me drive. You’re colour blind or some shit.” James lets out an offended noise, gesturing to his glasses. “Whatever kind of colour blind means so you can’t read a stop sign.”

“Okay,” James shuts the passenger door of his car. “Fuck you, I’m not taking you anywhere.” You expect that to be the end of the interaction, but then he turns to you. “Do you want a ride? I promise I won’t kidnap you.” You stare at him. “Now imagine I said that with a very angry ginger woman telling me to shut up.”

You decline his offer, which he is visibly understanding about, and he tells you that both him and Lily are both “super duper excited” to meet you properly later at their house before leaving. 

You’re not at work, like sure, you’re there, but you have no obligation to them. You’ve spent so much time stressing about meeting James for the first time that now it’s over, you’re again left feeling unsure of what to do with yourself. 

Remus doesn’t let the silence settle for long. “My car’s up near the shop,” he says, leaning back against the brick wall. You want to help him into it on instinct once you reach it but don’t for fear of being rebuffed. Remus is awfully kind, it’s probably the thing you’ve seen the most evidence for in the way he talks to you, you don’t think he’d be awful if you were to try and reach out. 

He’s also awfully perceptive, as the second you’ve bundled your shoulder bag on your lap he’s turning to the side. “I’m okay.” His voice is so deep it’s scratchy. He looks handsome but tired. “I can tell you want to ask, but I’m alright.”

“Thank you for driving me,” you say instead. Your voice comes out squeakier than you intend, embarrassed at being caught. “Especially if you’re not feeling well.”

His elbow is on the centre compartment, hand resting carelessly on the brake. He’s looking at you in a way that makes you nervous, even more so when he reaches out, open palmed and hesitant. The back of his hand makes contact with your elbow and you feel yourself get goosebumps almost immediately. 

“Sweet girl,” he says quietly. You wait for him to keep talking, but he opts for instead stroking your arm with the flat part of his fingernails. “Thank you,” he says. “I am completely fine, it’s not catching, I am more than able to drive, but thank you for caring.” Your ears are warm while he’s doing this, you’re not quite sure how to reply to it. “And look at you,” he continues, “I’ve never seen you outside of your work clothes, other than some of those nice tops you have. You look so lovely.”

He starts the car as if he hasn’t just flustered you to the point of stunned silence. Whenever he doesn’t need the hand it’s coming over to touch you and eventually you settle so his hand is on yours, tracing the bumps of your knuckles. 

The drive isn’t very long, the radio is playing quietly and, just as you’re pulling onto the street, the first song of your cassette has started playing. It’s been a while since you’ve heard it, and you’re just realising that now. It’s a staple, usually. On the bus, before work, after work, maybe while you’re in your room in the evening when it’s too early to go to bed but you’re far enough into the day that you want to. It quiets your mind, it’s nice. But lately your head has been so full in a way that doesn’t make you freeze up and shake. 

Shocker. Sunlight and socialisation improves your mental state. Who could have predicted that?

You’re leaning back against the seat, eyes half closed and breathing through your lips to the melody of the radio. He’s watching you, touching you. You’re a stunner, windswept and sunkissed. 

You both sit there until the song finishes, the afternoon radio host starts talking about something you haven’t heard about. You wait for him to say something and realise that he has no intention to. For a fleeting second, you worry he needs the rest. He’s an adult. You don’t want to be overbearing. 

“Inside?”

“You wanna go?”

You touch his hand. “I mean, we did come all this way.” You keep the tone light. Given your track record and overall demeanour, you didn’t trust yourself to make a joke without making it awkward. 

Remus hum, running the pad of his thumb over the material of your skirt. “And you look so pretty,” he muses. “I’m going to warn you, Sirius is going to be all over you. He’s all bark no bite, though. I’ll make him leave you alone.”

The thought does little to comfort you as he takes you a few houses up to a small cottage. It’s white brick with ivy crawling up the wall so perfectly it almost looks intentional. The front door is on the second floor, and it’s being thrown open before either of you have the chance to knock.

Lily Potter is a beam of light with a red shock of hair and the cutest baby you’ve ever seen on her hip when she greets you. She brings you into a hug so quickly she then has to backtrack and ask if it’s okay with her arm already half around you. 

The house isn’t particularly full, but it is very busy. You appreciate that Remus hadn’t been lying to you about how many people would be there. There’s maybe ten people in total, and for some reason that makes it worse; this means you’ve been invited to an inner circle gathering. Every person you talk to is important. If you fuck up at a party with a hundred people, there’s a high chance that person is an acquaintance. There’s no filler here. 

James is in the kitchen with two girls, the three of them having a loud but happy conversation while he slices an apple and they steal pieces. Remus has a breath-stuttering hand on your back through your dress and he takes you through the sitting room, past a slender boy lounging on the couch with his head on a pretty blonde girl’s shoulder. Remus had told you that both Lily and James would scold you for buying a gift if you tried to, which was the only thing that had deterred you from getting anything. 

The birthday boy seems perfectly content chewing on the strap of his mum’s dress as she flitted from room to room. “Tea, either of you?” She asks lightly, barely needing to adjust his weight. It looks like he is an extension of her, which you suppose he is. Harry’s only a baby, so it’s hard to be sure, but so far you can see a lot of James in him. Lily looks pleased when you tell her so. 

You’d known of parents wanting their children to look more like them, but Lily coos over her son as if that’s the ideal. “Oh, can’t you just?” She beams at you, talking over her shoulder while filling the kettle up. 

“Why don’t you ju-”

One of the girls James had been keeping entertained spoke up in a sweet lilting voice from where she was perched on the bench, swinging her legs. 

James cut in before she could finish her thought. “Relax, Em,” he says gently. “She makes it a certain way.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Yes, I understand no one likes the way I make my tea.” She says, almost as if warning you of the fact. “Except, Remus,” she looks at him knowingly in a way that makes you insecure but James doesn’t seem to mind. 

“My mum made it the same way,” he says simply. 

It seems like everyone understands what he means by that in a way that holds more significance than you can lift, but none of them says anything. None of them says anything more about the way Lily’s making her tea, either. 

Remus pulls out a chair for you at the kitchen table, and you sit. The bakery things are still in their boxes, which James looks apologetic for. “It’s been so busy,” he says, still cutting up apples. He hands one to his son for him to suck on. “Let me just get the good plates.”

“I can help.” You’re standing before the words are out of your mouth. Remus looks up at you like he wants to come with you, but he’s slumped into his chair. “It’s not a bother.”

They’d gotten cupcakes – french vanilla, and sausage rolls. The shop also does a selection of pre-chosen sandwiches, which you cut up into triangles while you were there so they could be plated easier. It’s a fantastic spread, probably too much for the amount of people there, but if Lily isn’t feeling well then she’s probably appreciative of the leftovers. You help James lay everything out, finally putting the fact it’s what you do every day to good use. You make it look nice and pretty, wanting to be useful. 

Then came the cake. It was a double layered Victoria sponge with jam and buttercream in the centre and a dusting of icing sugar on the top. Mary had made and decorated it, but Remus had dropped in some of Harry’s Schleich dinosaurs and you had placed them tastefully on top of the cake. 

The tablecloth on the kitchen table has a slit in it that acts as a door, and upon further inspection you can see that it’s got stitching that makes it look like a house. Lily sets Harry down to finish making tea and he stumbles off, babbling about something none of you can understand, before settling on a cushion someone had placed under the table with a collection of building blocks and, somehow - to your dismay - one of the Schleich dinosaurs. 

“How do you take it?” Lily asks you, holding up a steaming mug. It has little flowers on it. You tell her and she abides, coming to sit beside Remus at the table. You take your seat again and feel the way he scoots his chair to be closer to you the second you’re in reach. “Thank you so much for all of this,” she says. “I wanted to do it myself, y’know, for his first, but I haven’t been feeling very good lately.”

You can understand that one hundred percent. The exhaustion runs deep even when you’re not under the weather, and you don’t have a baby. To be fair, you also don’t have a deeply devoted husband, you think as you watch James rub her back. 

People flit in and out, taking nibbles off the table and mingling. You stay pretty much stuck to Remus’s side, not feeling up to venturing out into the house. Harry wanders from room to room with a parent on his tail the whole time. You can’t figure out what type of person invites a stranger to their son’s first birthday party. Lily and James are incredibly involved with him, and they hold so many warm people in their orbit. None of the guests have the air that they are there for a grown up party, every single one of them is there for that one year old. 

The boy on the couch comes over after a while, plopping right into the chair beside you, freshly vacated by Emmaline, the girl from the kitchen. It’s a bit odd, the way people speak to you, but you haven’t had such a long conversation with somebody who isn’t Remus, a coworker or related to you in so long that you don’t mind. They’re all extremely interested in your work, your life, your upbringing, but most of them deflect on their own. Remus rubs your elbow tiredly and tells you that they’re just excited, they’ve all known each other since their first year of school. You’re new and they like you. 

“Moony, you sly dog,” he says, leaning in to look at you. “He didn’t tell me you were such a stunner.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Leave her alone, Sirius.”

Sirius sits back, smiling innocently. “I’m just saying, a bird like you? Remus has been holding out on me.” You’re looking between the two of them, Sirius’s shit-stirring grin, Remus’s fond but annoyed pinch to his eyebrows. “She doesn’t mind, do you?”

You find that you don’t quite. Sirius might be a lot all at once, but he’s clearly good natured. 

“It’s okay,” you force out, making Remus frown deeper. He doesn’t say anything, though, leaving the conversation open for Sirius to keep talking.

“So, has he asked you out yet or am I free to-”

“Sirius!” Remus says, exasperated. His cheeks are tinged pink. 

There’s a clattering from down the hall and Lily calls out desperately. “Remus! Can you come here please?”

Remus looks like there’s nothing he wants to do less, not with how tired he is and how much he does not trust Sirius to be nice to you, but ultimately his care for Lily wins him over and he rises from his seat. “Tell me if he harrasses you.”

“I will not harass her!” Sirius sulks, crossing his arms. Remus doesn’t leave until you nod, and the second he’s gone Sirius is leaning back in. “So your parents are…” he seems to rethink his word choice at the last second. “You grew up normal, right?”

“I think so?” 

“Do your parents have m- nice jobs?” You tell him, giving a vague explanation of their careers, not really wanting to talk about them. Everyone you’ve met in the few hours you’ve been there has been absolutely lovely, all incredibly attractive twenty-somethings with a lot going for them. You can’t bear for them to know exactly how pathetic your life is. 

Sirius watches you intently as you speak. “What are they like?” he asks after you stop talking.

You shrug. “They’re parents.”

Your parents aren’t awful. You love them and they love you. They just have expectations of you that you worry you can’t fulfil. And when you don’t meet them… they love you, that’s all that matters. 

“What about you?”

He brushes the question off instantly, “My parents are tossers who’ve never worked a day in their lives. I haven’t spoken to them in five years.”

To be honest, you kind of like that Sirius overshared. You’re not particularly good at giving the correct reactions to things, but it does allow you to worry less about the kind of things you say. 

“That sucks,” you say, because you feel you’re supposed to. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, smile on his face. “For them, maybe.” He shrugs, like it truly doesn’t phase him. His smile is pinched though, and you recognise the familiar sting of regret spreading through him. He’s grinning like he’s been caught, and you find that you don’t really mind having been left alone with him. “Are you guys doing anything after this?”

You hadn’t really thought of it. Remus had told you that he would be taking you home but you didn’t know when or if he had other plans. You were just going to follow him wherever he went.

“Probably just home.” The thought fills you with dread. “Nothing too exciting.”

You expect Sirius to reply politely, and then move on. Instead, he watches you curiously. “Trust me, you don’t even know how interesting you are,” he says. You’re not quite sure how to take it. If it’s flirting, it’s bad. If it’s a compliment, it’s weird. 

“I’m just normal, I guess,” you say, holding your left forearm in your right hand for something to do with your arms. “It’s not much.”

When Sirius speaks up again, it’s with an unexpected earnestness that doesn’t fit with the person you were just speaking with. “It’s enough.” 

Something unspoken passes between the two of you, and you nod. 

Remus comes and sits back down. “Was he awful?”

You shake your head, telling the truth. “Everything okay?”

Remus hesitates. “Yeah, just kid stuff.” You don’t press. It’s enough that you’re here, in these people’s house, sharing a special moment with them. You don’t need any more than that, not when you have Remus’s hand on your elbow. 

James has Harry on his lap on their sofa, chatting avidly with his wife and some people you haven’t spoken to yet. It’s almost three; time to cut the cake and sing, but they’re content to let the moment drag on for a bit. There’s a sense of something in the house that you can’t name, but you’ve never really felt before. 

The house is clean but messy, with toys on the floor, snacks littering the surfaces. There’s a pile of laundry you spotted behind the hallway door as it was closing behind Remus. Neither Lily nor James seem even the slightest bit stressed, a polar opposite to how your parents are whenever you have guests over at your house. Neither of them even get cranky when Harry almost pulls his house tablecloth off the table along with all the food on the table. 

You can’t imagine how you would’ve been cranky - he’s got such a sweet face - but you’d never seen a pair of parents so… tolerant. 

James stands up. “Cake time?”

Everyone starts moving towards the table, where the cake is sitting pride of place. You go to rise from your seat to make room for someone else - someone more important - to sit closer. You know they’re going to take photos, and they probably don’t want you in them. 

“Lily?” You ask as she approaches. She’s got a box of matches in hand, looking tired but elated. “Do you want me to take pictures? That way you can get everyone in them?”

“No need, love,” James waves you off before his wife can reply. He sets up a Nikon on a shelf and presses a button. “We’ve got a fancy one, it takes a bunch on a timer.”

There’s a giggle from the girl Sirius has got his arm around, but everyone squeezes in. Remus is squeezing your wrist, pulling you closer to his side. The camera flashes a couple of times, capturing Harry trying to touch the single candle nestled between his ankylosauruses. They get a couple with just Harry and his parents, then a few with just them, Sirius and Remus. You’re going to have to look into this camera. It took about twenty photos after they’d only clicked the button once. 

Lily helps Harry cut the cake by forcing his chubby fist into her hand while she makes the first slice, and then they start dishing it out. You take the piece handed to you, not wanting to be rude, but not really having the appetite for it, and lean on the wall behind Remus so you can still be near him, even with someone in your chair. 

“Thank you so much for coming,” James hugs you later in the afternoon, just as you and Remus are thinking about leaving. It’s almost dinner time and, despite the fact you believe they wouldn’t mind, you don’t particularly want to eat supper at the Potter’s just yet. “You be good to our Moony, yeah?”

It’s a nickname you’d heard a few people use on Remus over the course of the afternoon, mostly Sirius, and you can’t tell if it’s teasing or not. You’re sure Remus would tell you, but you’re too nervous to ask. It feels like you’ve been overstepping all day, you’re trying your best to minimise it. 

You nod and that satisfies him. 

When James hugs Remus, it’s with a learned gentleness that Remus visibly appreciates. He wraps his arms around the shorter boy, and you wonder for a moment what they were like in school. Surely they didn’t tower over everyone immediately. Was there ever a version of Remus who had to look up to speak to someone that wasn’t an adult?

It’s Sirius’s turn next, and he places a hand on your shoulder. “Keep your chin up, love.” You’re half touched by the sentiment and half mortified he read you so well. 

Lily makes you promise to come around again soon, and vows that she wants to pop by the cafe at some point. Remus stands by and watches as they gush over you, not interrupting until you squeeze his hand to signal you’re ready to go home. 

The drive home is similar to the drive there, except this time his eyes land on you whenever he gets a spare moment. His hand is reaching over every five seconds to brush or squeeze whatever part of you he can reach. You have him park a few houses down so your parents don’t see you getting out of a stranger’s car.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” you say, more appreciative for that than anything in recent memory. “Your friends were all very kind.”

He doesn’t bat an eye. “You deserve it, dovey.”

It’s been a long time since someone has been so nice to you just for the sake of being nice. It’s not something you feel happens to you very often, despite the fact that it’s an energy you try your hardest to put out into the universe. Remus smiles softly at you, happier than you’ve ever seen him despite how much pain he must be in. 

You can see the roof of your house through the window. The evening bus chugs along behind you. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, hopeful. You feel a shiver run through you at the thought. He has nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“You want to?”

Remus doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s looking at you like for the first time since you’ve met, he finally understands what was so confusing about you. His lips twitch up in the way they seem to when he has something he wants to say but he’s not sure how, and then it’s leaning in to kiss you. 

You don’t even have to think about it, moving to kiss him back with all the tenderness you’ve been craving. His hand comes to rest open-palmed above your ear, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you. You can taste some of Harry’s birthday cake on his lips and sorely regret not eating any now. His hands are big as one rubs your scalp and the other draws pictures on your knee. He pulls away for a brief second just to ask “Can I drive you to work tomorrow?”

You don’t wait to finish nodding before your mouth is on his again.