#they just remind me so much of each other

[livebeforeyoulearn]

All of Me Is for All of You

Warnings: angst?? smut, 18+

Word count: 3.7k

Request (tweaked it slightly hope you don’t mind!)

-

Alexia and you are the perfect pair. Sure, there are arguments now and then, what couple doesn’t have those? But deep down, it feels like fate brought you together, like you were always meant to be. You met through mutual friends and clicked instantly, the kind of connection people dream about. Now, years later, your lives are so intertwined that it feels like you’ve become part of each other’s world in every possible way. You wouldn’t call it codependency, but sometimes it feels that way. When she’s away for games, the days stretch unbearably long. But when she’s home, when she’s in your arms, just there, everything feels right with the world. A glance, a touch, a shared silence is enough. You are hers as much as she is yours, and that kind of belonging is rare.

But there’s one shadow on your happiness; her ex, Jenni. It’s not the fact that they dated, that’s ancient history, water under the bridge. What gnaws at you is what Jenni did to Alexia. When Alexia finally told you the whole story of why they broke up, you couldn’t hold back your anger. You don’t just dislike Jenni – you want absolutely nothing to do with her, to keep her at arm’s length for eternity. Alexia, always the diplomat, tries to downplay it, brushing it off with a casual shrug. But you know better. You can see the flicker of pain in her eyes when she talks about it.

Even now, Alexia and Jenni are close. Too close, maybe. You remind yourself it’s not about jealousy. You trust Alexia, and you know they’ve been through so much together, things most people wouldn’t understand. Still, when you watched them during the World Cup, practically joined at the hip, something in your chest tightened. But Alexia explained it all to you. The federation’s mess fucked with them all, and they needed to come together, to be there for each other to survive it. You wanted to believe her, and for the most part, you did. After all, Alexia is your person, and you’re hers.

–

Your pinky links with Alexia’s as you walk through the restaurant doors. The noise of clinking glasses and overlapping conversations fills the air as she guides you through the crowded tables, weaving effortlessly until she spots her friends gathered at a large table near the back. Smiles and greetings are exchanged, hugs shared, and soon you’re settling into seats near the end of the table, side by side.

The evening starts off perfectly. The food is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You’ve always enjoyed being with Alexia’s friends, they feel like family, a circle you’re grateful to be part of. Laughter bounces around the table, stories are shared, and everything feels light and easy.

Then Patri, seated directly across from Alexia, changes the tone with a single question. “Alexia, did you hear from Jenni? Is she coming?”

“Yeah, she said she could make it,” Alexia replies with a small smile, taking a sip from her glass.

The words catch you off guard. Your mouth parts slightly as your eyes dart between the two women. “Coming to what?” you ask.

Alexia doesn’t look at you. Her expression remains carefully neutral, her eyes fixed on the table as she avoids your gaze. You glance at Patri, silently hoping for clarification. Unaware of the feelings building inside you, she answers, “The vacation! Jenni’s joining us for the trip.”

The revelation hits hard. You sit up straighter, pulling away from the relaxed posture you’d had moments ago. Alexia already knows she’s in trouble – you can see it in the expression on her face. And then it clicks; she’s known this for a while.

It isn’t Jenni’s presence that angers you most – you could have tolerated her, ignored her, and still managed to enjoy yourself. What hurts is that Alexia knew and chose not to tell you. She didn’t give you a chance to talk about it, to process it together. You could have reasoned with her, but she robbed you of that chance.

Alexia leans back in her chair, her fingers nervously toying with the rim of her glass as she waits for your reaction. When it doesn’t come right away, she slumps further, clearly anxious. She thought she could let this slide, brush it off as “not a big deal” and deal with it later. She was wrong.

Patri senses the mood changing. Though she doesn’t directly address the tension, she changes the subject and starts talking more in-depth with Alexia about Jenni’s travel plans. At first, you try to tune out the conversation, not wanting to let your irritation show in front of everyone. But Patri presses on, unknowingly unravelling the truth.

“When did Jenni confirm? I thought she wasn’t sure about her schedule,” Patri asks, leaning forwards.

Alexia hesitates, her response slower than usual. “She told me a while ago. She just wasn’t certain at first.”

A while ago. She’s known for weeks, maybe even months. Your mind starts to spiral. If she didn’t tell you about this, what else has she been keeping from you? Was she afraid of your reaction? Or worse, does she not trust you enough to have an honest conversation?

By the end of dinner, you’re barely holding it together. You mumble quick goodbyes, eager to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts. Alexia follows you out of the restaurant, her steps hesitant, her silence heavy.

The walk to the car feels longer than it is. When you climb inside, you buckle your seatbelt, cross your arms, and stare out the window, avoiding her entirely. Alexia slides into the driver’s seat, closing the door softly. She buckles herself in but doesn’t start the car right away.

“Please, don’t be like that,” she says finally, her voice almost pleading as she rubs her temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, shaking your head as she starts the car and backs out of the parking space.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was going to tell you,” she says firmly, though her tone is careful, her eyes flicking towards you nervously.

“Oh, sure. When? When we’re boarding the plane? Or maybe when she’s already sitting next to you on the beach?”

“You’re being so dramatic. It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends,” she says, her voice rising slightly.

“Dramatic?” you snap, turning to face her. “You deliberately didn’t tell me something you knew would upset me!”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” she counters, her frustration evident as she glances at you.

“Because it is a big deal! But, of course, my feelings don’t matter, right? As long as you and Jenni are happy,” you reply bitterly. You clench your jaw, your gaze returning to the window.

“That’s not fair,” she says sharply, her tone demanding as though her words alone should convince you to drop it.

“What’s not fair is you keeping things from me!” you fire back. “You knew how I’d feel, and you still didn’t say a thing. Not one word!”

“Because I knew you’d overreact like this!” she snaps, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

You scoff, choosing to ignore whatever else she has to say. The fact that she chose to hide this from you is a betrayal you can’t quite shake. You’re partners, communication should be the cornerstone of your relationship, the one thing you could always count on. You thought she trusted you enough to talk about things like this, to be open and honest no matter the circumstances. The anger that first surged through you has ebbed now, leaving behind a more painful ache. It’s not just the omission that hurts; it’s the way it feels like she didn’t think you could handle the truth. 

When you arrive home, you unbuckle yourself quickly and, in a petty flourish, slam the car door shut. You know how much it annoys Alexia, that’s precisely why you do it. After the night you’ve had, she deserves to feel a sliver of the irritation that’s inside you.

“Don’t slam my door,” she calls after you, her voice clipped. You ignore her, heading straight for the elevator. The doors nearly close on her, but she slides her hand between them just in time, glaring as she steps in beside you. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath.

“What’s ridiculous is me finding out about your secret vacation plans. At dinner. With your friends!” Incredulity laces your voice.

“It wasn’t a secret. I told you–”

“Nothing! You told me nothing, Alexia,” you cut her off. 

“Because I didn’t want to deal with this exact situation!” she counters, her tone rising, her words bouncing off the elevator walls.

The elevator pings open, and you step out, “Well, congrats. Now you’re dealing with it. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Alexia, helplessly trailing behind you, starts rambling, her voice rising with excuses you have no patience for. You ignore her completely, the words flowing out of her like nonsense that you can’t be bothered to absorb. As you dig through your pockets for the keys, you can feel your frustration heightening with each passing second. It's a perfect, almost satisfying moment when you finally find them and stand in front of your door.

Once it swings open, you make a beeline for the kitchen, the need for a glass of wine urgent. Alexia follows you, naturally. As much as you love her and her presence, right now, all you want is some space. But you know her too well. She won’t give you that, not until this is somehow resolved.

You grab the wine bottle and twist it open, holding the glass in your other hand, your fingers lightly cupping its base. As you tilt the bottle, the deep red liquid pours smoothly into the glass, filling it just enough to satisfy your need. The bottle returns to its place, and you bring the glass to your lips, taking a deep breath before you sip.

Behind you, Alexia exhales audibly. You turn, shooting her a glare, your patience already thin. She inches closer, the gears turning in her head as she processes your silence. Her eyes narrow before that damn smirk slowly spreads across her face.

Does she think this is funny?

You lower your glass slightly as she steps closer, but when her hand reaches for it, you pull it out of her grasp and take another sip, just to spite her. Her smirk widens at your defiance, her dark eyes sparkling with something teasing. 

“Are you… jealous?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement.

“Jealous?” you repeat, incredulous. The idea offends you. How could she think this was jealousy? All you wanted was respect and trust from your girlfriend. “What the fuck? No. Why would I be jealous of Jenni?” 

Her voice raises again, her smirk disappearing, “If you’re not jealous, then why are you so mad about her coming? You blow everything out of proportion. Every single time.”

“Because when you’re around her, it’s like I don’t exist. All you care about is Jenni, Jenni, Jenni, and did you forget what she did to you?” The words come out before you can stop them.

Her hands find your hips, the heat of her touch seeping through your clothes and silencing your words. Your mind stumbles, the argument dimming as your cheeks burn under her gaze.

“You are jealous,” she murmurs, her voice steady as her thumbs brush over your sides, ignoring the question.

“No, I’m not,” you protest, but your voice falters, betraying your doubt. A nervous gulp follows, and she hums, the vibration visible in her throat as she leans closer.

Alexia knows you, maybe even better than you know yourself. What if she’s right? What if this ache in your chest isn’t just hurt or betrayal but jealousy you’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge?

“I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s all I want in life,” she says softly, her voice breaking through your spiralling thoughts. One hand reaches for the glass, and this time, you let her take it, watching as she places it on the counter behind you. Her gaze locks with yours again. “There’s no need to be jealous. She’s nothing compared to you.”

Your heart beats in your chest like a moth under a dome of glass. The way she looks at you is intoxicating and you can’t find the will to look away.

“So show me,” you whisper, your voice is barely audible. Her face hovers close enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

She isn’t gentle when she leans in to kiss you; her lips latch onto yours with fervent intensity. She’s hot and she’s messy. Her urgency shows with the way her hands roam over your body with a sense of desperation, as if she’s discovering you for the first time and cherishing you like it’s the last.

Her fingers grope at your chest before sliding over your shoulders and down your back, settling on your ass, where she gives a firm squeeze. Then, without hesitation, she lifts you. You instinctively jump, wrapping your legs tightly around her waist and your arms around her shoulders, one hand cupping the back of her head to keep her impossibly close.

She carries you blindly towards the bedroom, her movements hurried as if every second counts. Your mouths remain fused, the connection deepening as her tongue slips past your lips, licking into your mouth with an eagerness that takes your breath away. You gasp softly in surprise, parting your lips further to make it easier for her.

When you reach the bedroom, she throws you onto the bed roughly, her chest heaving as she steps back to take you in. Her eyes, dark with lust, rake over you while her tongue slides along her bottom lip. She looks at you as if she’s cataloging every possibility, silently deciding how to make you feel everything – loved, wanted, needed, hers.

“Get undressed,” she commands, her tone brooking no argument.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you quickly comply, unsure of what might happen if you didn’t. As the last piece of clothing falls away, you recline on the bed, your eyes never leaving her as she moves to the drawer where you keep your things.

She strips off her remaining clothes, the sight leaving you breathless.  When she steps into the harness, pulling it up over her toned legs and adjusting it around her waist, your mouth goes dry. Each second of her not touching you feels torturous, your craving for her becoming unbearable.

She starts making her way back to you, your eyes drawn to her toned torso and the perfect curve of her breasts.

Instinctively, you press your thighs together, the ache between them becoming too much to ignore. As she crawls onto the bed, you lift your knees slightly, seeking some kind of relief. But she’s quick to act, placing her palms firmly on your knees and forcing them apart. The sudden motion has you gasping, though the sound is swallowed as her lips crash against yours.

The kiss is intense and demanding. It’s all teeth and tongues colliding, lips biting, and breaths mingling in a heated clash for dominance. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow as her hands trail up your thighs, her fingertips gathering the evidence of your desire and spreading it deliberately along the tops of your thighs. Her lips curl into a smirk against yours, her confidence radiating as she revels in how easily she can unravel you.

She pulls back slightly, her teeth catching your bottom lip and releasing it with a snap. Before you can catch your breath, she finds a heartbeat to put her lips to in the crook of your neck. Your head tilts back, granting her access, and a needy whimper escapes your throat. 

A finger slides through your core, teasing your entrance before gliding upwards to begin harsh, tight circles on your clit. You moan, her name escaping your lips like a whispered mantra, repeated again and again in the air.

Your hips start to buck in response, but the sensation isn’t enough, you need more, all of her. “Ale, please,” you gasp. She grunts against your neck, nipping at the bruised, sensitive skin before lifting herself slightly, leaving a sting in her wake. She runs the toy through your slickness, coating it before pressing the tip teasingly against you.

“What do you want?” she asks, a smirk tugging at her lips as her eyes meet yours. The control she wields over you is absolute.

“You,” you breathe.

She bites her lip, tilting her head slightly.

“I need you inside me,” you plead, knowing it’s exactly what she wants to hear. “Please, Alexia.”

Her smirk widens, dripping with pride, before she pushes the tip inside. The stretch is intense, your body adjusting quickly as she didn’t take the time to prep you with her fingers. Her thrusts begin slow but quickly build in rhythm, and before long, the entire length fills you with every movement, driving deeper each time.

Alexia’s hands move to your breasts, squeezing them firmly as her gaze stays locked on your face, watching you arch into her touch. Your head falls back, your eyes shut tight, your body radiating pure bliss.

She grunts with each thrust, her hips snapping against yours in a perfectly timed rhythm. You match her movements, rolling your hips to meet her, the sensation intensifying with each stroke. That familiar tightening in your stomach grows stronger, signalling your impending release.

Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, she stops. You let out a breathless whine, eyes flying open to meet her steady gaze. Slowly, she pulls out and settles beside you. 

“Get on top,” she orders.

“What?” you stammer, momentarily confused, until she takes your arm and helps you up. Your legs tremble as you straddle her hips. Her hands steady you as you position yourself, the toy poised at your entrance, before you lower yourself down.

“Ride me like I’m yours.” 

The words alone almost draw a moan from you. Her hands glide over your thighs, squeezing lightly, before moving up and around to your ass. She grabs hold, helping lift and guide you as you begin to bounce along her length. Your own hands find purchase on her thighs behind you, bracing yourself as your hips set a heady rhythm.

Her expression is intoxicating, a sight you want permanently etched into your memory. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her head tilting slightly as if she’s losing herself in the connection between your bodies. A moan builds in her throat, but she traps it behind her teeth, biting her lip as she tightens her hold on you and urges your movements faster.

“Fuck, Ale, oh my god,” you gasp, leaning forwards and pressing your palms against her abs for balance. Your nails dig into the defined ridges of her muscles as she begins to meet your pace, her hips rolling into you. 

At first, the pace remains controlled, giving you time to adjust to the sensation of being on top. But soon, her hands find your waist, her grip firm enough to promise marks tomorrow. Then she takes over completely, thrusting into you with an intensity that makes you cry out.

Her movements become relentless – harder, faster, deeper than you thought possible. It’s primal, raw, and consuming, her strength evident in every powerful thrust as her legs and core drive her into you.

“Don’t stop,” you manage to moan, your voice catching in your throat. “Please, don’t stop, Ale.” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the familiar tension builds in your lower stomach, the knot tightening with every thrust. Your back arches prettily, drawing Alexia’s gaze to your chest. She aches to lean up and take your nipples into her mouth but instead drinks in the sight of you, undone and lost in her touch.

“You close, mi amor?” she rasps, lost in desire.

“Yes, Ale, so close,” you whimper, your moans growing louder, more desperate, a sound that defies words.

“You wanna come?” she asks, her tone teasingly questioning. You hum in reply, nodding weakly. “Go ahead, amor,” she murmurs, her voice softening unexpectedly, catching you off guard.

Your fingers curl, nails digging into her skin and leaving crescent-shaped imprints as you cry out her name, your voice breathless and broken as wave after wave crashes over you. She holds you down firmly, not letting you move as she keeps rolling her hips, guiding you through the peak.

It’s powerful, stealing every coherent thought, leaving you lost in ecstasy for what feels like an eternity before it begins to ebb and you regain awareness of your body.

Her knees provide support against your back, her thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your skin. She sits up, brushing strands of hair away from your face before burying her head in your neck. Her lips trail tender kisses along your skin, your collarbone, shoulder, jawline, and just beneath your ear, before finally returning to your lips.

Your breaths come heavy, but your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I love you, and only you, mi amor. All of me is for all of you,” she whispers against your lips.

You lean in to kiss her again, then she rolls you onto your back, positioning herself once more between your legs. 

[kekewrites]

tw. mention of creampie, size kink, wholesome(?), reader is unable to speak human language + limited vocabulary, mention of abuse, abandonment issues

Imagine being a puppy!hybrid who's been saved by your current owner months ago. He found you wandering the streets alone, cold and starving.

It was pouring hard and the wind was extra harsh that day. Oh, how pitiful it is to see a hungry little pup girl rummage through the dirty trash bins, hoping to see scraps and edible food. That sight of you tugged on his tender heart, unable to walk away from such scene, he approached with quiet footsteps, not wanting to scare your cautious figure.

Your sharp senses have been dulled by fatigue and hunger as you didn't even notice his presence behind. Normally, you would've bolted away, afraid of how humans have treated you, but the way his voice sounded to your alert furry ears made your guard down. It was different from the people who abused and abandoned you. So gentle, the way his voice sounded like a lullaby.

That was the last thing you remembered after your first meeting.

***

You really are the best pet or companion he could ever ask for. Such a baby to take care of truly. He found out how you were unable to speak human language, often babbling and butchering words if you do try to talk. You do understand simple phrases and tones, which made it easier to communicate with you. He's not that knowledgeable about hybrids but he do know how to take care of a regular dog. It's hard to compare you to a dog or a human, you're neither closer to the other.

He severely underestimate how much of an attachment you formed with him.

It's not a bad thing.

But it certainly becomes harder for him to leave you for work.

"Come on... Don't look at me like that."

He really didn't want to leave you alone. Truly, he wants to be with you 24/7 but he needs to work, or else he won't be able to spoil you.

Your small pout and cute begging eyes, along with your droopy ears nearly made him stay. Nearly.

"Baby... I need to go. Don’t make that face," he murmurs, his voice soft as he takes in your pouted lips and droopy ears, tugging at his heartstrings. He gently pulls you up, pressing a kiss to your cheek, trailing to your lips, and peppering your face with soft kisses.

Don’t worry, he always thinks of you while he’s typing away at his lonely desk, his mind wandering to what you’re doing without him by your side. Were you playing just fine? Eating the meals he prepped for you? Being a good girl for him? His heart aches at the thought of you waiting by the door, staring at it just as he left it.

He never anticipated how slow time would crawl as he counted the minutes to the end of his shift, refusing to let a single minute become overtime. The moment he could, he raced through the garage and drove home.

"I’m back!" he calls, dropping his case of files and loosening his tie.

Thump, thump, thump.

Oh, how he loved the sound of your footsteps racing across the floor to reach him. It was the kind of sound that melted away the stress of the day, the kind of sound that reminded him why he hurried home in the first place. But this time, he wasn’t prepared for the way you threw yourself at him, arms flung wide as you collided with his chest.

He stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but quickly steadied himself, wrapping his arms around you instinctively. Your warmth, the way you buried your face in his suit—it all made his heart swell.

"Whoa there!" he said, chuckling softly as he ruffled your hair. "I missed you too, baby."

You looked up at him, your eyes bright with joy, and his exhaustion melted away completely. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as if he’d never let go. Moments like this made everything worth it, every long hour and every sleepless night. You were his home, his safe haven, and the best part of his day.

"W-Wel... um," you stammer, your cheeks flushing slightly as your little fangs peek out with each syllable. "Wellum... b-back!"

He freezes for a moment, blinking as he stares at you, his head tilting slightly in confusion. Then, it hits him like a soft breeze, the realization dawning across his face.

Were you trying to say welcome back?

His heart squeezes as the thought sinks in, and a wide grin tugs at his lips. Aren’t you just the cutest? He crouches down to your level, his hands gently resting on your shoulders.

"Wellum back, huh?" he teases softly, his voice warm and playful. "Thank you, sweetheart. I feel very welcome now."

You shift nervously, glancing away with a little huff, but your lips twitch as if you’re trying not to smile. He chuckles and taps the tip of your nose affectionately, unable to resist how endearing you look.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" he says, his tone dropping into something softer, almost a whisper, as he pulls you into a hug. "Hearing that from you just made my day, you know that?"

Coming home was the best part of his day, he might quit his work and become a full-time freelancer if it meant spending more time with you.

Then one day came something with you. Your behavior became odd, strange even...

It didn't take too long for him to realize that you were approaching your heat. He read about it while researching about hybrids, the heat suppressants pills already stock in his drawers. The only problem was how uncooperative you were, spitting out the pills, running away when it was time for bathing, and being skittish whenever he was out. You were still his sweet girl, but you'd get moody and have an outburst.

"Come on, it's not that bad... Come here, baby." His voice is soft, coaxing.

Bath time was his least favorite thing to do. Not because he didn’t enjoy the idea of it—cleanliness was important—but because it always turned into a battle of wills. He never liked having to wrestle with you, and yet here you were, backed into the corner of the room like a wary kitten—wait, like a dog your arms wrapped protectively around yourself.

His gaze softens as he takes in your cowering, guarded figure. The way you look at him, a mix of defiance and uncertainty, makes his resolve waver. But the small trail of dirt smeared across your cheek and the strands of hair sticking to your face remind him there's no way around this.

"Baby, you can't stay like that forever," he says, tilting his head with an amused grin. He takes a cautious step forward, his movements slow, deliberate. "I'll make it quick, I promise. No bubbles this time, okay?"

You narrow your eyes suspiciously, not buying into his negotiations just yet. Inching further into the corner.

He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "This time, no tricks, just a nice, warm soak. You'll feel so much better."

When you don't budge, his grin turns sly. "But if you're going to make me chase you…" He starts rolling up his sleeves, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. "Then don't blame me if I catch you."

Your eyes widen slightly, and he sees the tiniest twitch of a smile forming on your lips, your tail wagging despite your best efforts to hide it. In that split second, he lunges forward, scooping you up effortlessly despite your squeals of protest. "Gotcha!" he declares triumphantly, carrying you toward the tub, half-heartedly squirming in his arms.

His smile softening as he presses a quick kiss to your forehead. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, stubborn little thing."

It was a nice warm bath, you placed on his lap as his arms wrapped around your waist for preventing your escape.

"See? Not that bad, hm?" He murmurs, almost groaning at how blissful he's feeling. The warm and comfortable water around him plus your nice, soft and plush figure on his lap made it ten times better than usual.

You were oddly quiet, your ears flopping. Your temperature higher than normal, he can see how you were breathing heavily.

Oh.

It's starting again hm?

Well, he's here to help... just not with the pill.

***

The scent of your arousal filled the air, sweet and intoxicating, making his own body react in kind. His cock twitched, already starting to harden.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" He asked softly, his voice rough with concern and desire. He tightened his arms around your waist, holding you close as you shifted restlessly on his lap. "You're burning up. Do you need me to cool you down?"

Your tail thumped against the side of the bathtub, betraying your excitement. His hands slid up your sides, tracing the curves of your body through the water. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I can help you feel better. I know just what you need," He murmured, his voice low and seductive. His hands continued their exploration, cupping your breasts through the water. They were swollen and sensitive, the nipples hardening under his touch. His cock was fully hard now. Pressing his hips up against your ass, letting you feel his cock throb with need. He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. Your breath hitches, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he works you, bringing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, let me hear you," he rasps.

His tongue laves over your pulse point, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Marking you, claiming you. His fingers never stop their relentless assault on your clit, pushing you higher and higher until you're trembling on the brink, teetering on the edge of release.

"Come for me," he demands.

And you do, your back arching, a scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. He holds you through it, his fingers still working your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you're boneless and spent in his arms.

But he's not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

He read that hybrid's heat last long for a few weeks, worst case scenario, for months. It could affect your well-being so he won't take any chances for that to happen.

"Hold on tight, baby," He murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. With a smooth motion, he stood up in the bathtub, water sloshing around them as he carried you in his arms. Stepping out of the bathtub, water cascading down his muscular body as he made his way to the bedroom.

He'll do anything for his girl.

Anything.

[firestarter91]

I utterly adore this episode, it’s probably my favourite, it’s got so much Merthur goodness in but it’s also got moments for all the cast to shine which is unusual (Uther, Gwen, Morgana, Gaiius - they all get a look in).

However, the one thing that has allways got me was how both boys were prepared to sacrifice so much for each other within such a short time of meeting each other. It was probably a few months may be if that? I thought the episode was perfection aside from that nagging feeling that they advanced Merthur a bit too quickly to feel naturalistic but then this is a fantasy show and so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.

Sadly they rowed back on the relationship in season 2, in fact they made it worse which upset me. It’s almost as if the writers realised they had moved too fast too soon and were tying to walk back the deep connection they seemed to have forged. Either that or they just wanted to remind people coming to the show in season 2 about season 1 and the way things had sarted but this never made sense to me, if you've been watching the show you should remember basically what happened, if you can't remember you'll soon catch up lol.

Merlin Was Truly Willing To Die For Arthur From The Start

Okay, I know we talk about The Poisoned Chalice all the time, and how gay it is, but I don’t think any of us truly acknowledges how fucking insane Merlin is. Please consider this.

Merlin drinks the poison not knowing:

what kind of poison it is

how lethal it is

how fast acting it is

if it has a cure

if the cure is something Gaius can make

if the cure is something Gaius can make fast enough to save him

What the hell was Merlin's plan?

He would have died. It's arguable that he does die, but his immortality brought him back.

Gaius couldn't make the cure the key ingredient was in a dangerous location and difficult to get to

the poison was magically enhanced it was enhanced by Nimueh to act faster than normal, effectively cutting their timetable in half

Arthur could've been prevented from going after his fight with Uther, he only decides to go possibly hours later, after talking to Morgana

Arthur would've died without Merlin's aid, he would have died in that cave and the cure never would've made it back

it was already too late Arthur gets the flower back, but he gets arrested and locked up, the flower gets crushed, and only gets to Merlin after Guinevere sneaks in and Arthur hides it in the food

the cure required magic Gaius had to use magic to activate the cure, so if he couldn't have gotten Guinevere out of the room, he couldn't have used it, and there was a strong possibility that he wouldn't have had the strength to do it because of the lack of practice

Merlin possibly died anyway he's immortal, and his breathing and heartbeat stop for a significant amount of time before he wakes up; I've written about it being possible that he's able to die and come back to life

So if Merlin was mortal, he would have died, and there was no way for him to know that they would be able to cure him prior to drinking the poison.

He had known Arthur for maybe a month if we're being generous. They were still on rough, getting-to-know-each-other terms. Merlin was still adamantly opposed to the whole "destiny" thing. Despite all of that, he willingly drank that poison without any hesitation.

That is fucking insane.

[antimonyandthyme]

WHAT IF CARCAR REALLY HAD MAGNETS BETWEEN THEM

/or a stuck together au

“It’s like Eat Pray Love,” Carlos says.

“I’ll be honest,” Guanyu says. “Neither of you remind me of Julia Roberts much.”

“Please just,” Oscar massages the bridge of his nose, “point to a place on the map. Any place.”

“Why China,” Guanyu presses. Of course he’s curious. “Why not Spain or Australia?”

“Neutral ground,” Oscar says quickly.

“Ah I see,” Guanyu says. “You can’t agree on a spot, right?”

“I keep telling him,” Carlos says, always with the over-the-top gesticulating. He tries it with both hands first, then realizes Oscar’s being all sorts of petty and weighing his left arm down on purpose where they’re joined, so he continues gesturing eagerly with his right. “Come to Madrid!” He nearly smacks Oscar in the nose with his hand. Oscar scowls. “We have so much good food. I can show you all the things, but no! Piastri will only agree to get sunburned on Australian sand. We have beaches in Spain, too!”

“Guanyu,” Oscar urges, “a place, now.”

“Here,” Guanyu says, index finger plopping down. Like some cartoon scene, both Oscar and Carlos automatically lean in to squint at the map, and bump their heads against each other.

“I hate you.”

“Hard same.”

“Lijiang is actually a famous honeymoon destination,” Guanyu says.

“I hate you,” Carlos says.

“Hard same,” Oscar says.

“Hey.” Guanyu grins like this entire situation is wildly hilarious. Maybe it is, for everyone else. Oscar kinda wants to jump into the sea, but Carlos will only drag him down, their uncoordinated conjoined limbs tangled and thrashing. “You guys asked me to choose. Look, don’t you want to see pandas?”

Carlos makes some sort of shocked noise. Oh, for the love of—Oscar groans. He knows when someone’s just bought something.

“Carlos wants to see pandas,” Guanyu says, sounding far too delighted. “Chengdu’s like a fourteen-hour drive from Lijiang, that’s totally doable.”

They stare at him blankly.

“Oh my god. Chengdu, you know? Research base for giant panda breeding? Panda capital of China?”

Twiddle-Dum and Twiddle-Dee: “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah, now you got it. In between, you can hit a dozen other places and never grow bored.” Guanyu taps his finger along the map, tick, tick, tick. “So why not? Complete the journey. Transform into Julia Roberts.”

“And break the curse,” Carlos says solemnly.

“Break the curse,” Oscar repeats miserably, but with his left hand, goes to look up flight tickets on his phone.

--

They discover that the only way they can pull on extra layers is if they yank themselves apart with all their might, creating just a sliver of space between their elbows. It’s painful. Oscar never wants to have to do this again.

“Now,” Carlos yells, and in a flurry of movement Oscar gets his coat on before their elbows snap back together.

Ow, ow. Oscar’s eyes are watering. He suspects Carlos’s is doing just the same.

“Okay, okay,” Oscar says. “Now your turn.”

Carlos waves him off. “I’m not cold.”

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos is already dragging them off toward a sign with a car on it. The rental cars are left-hand steering, and it dawns on both of them at the exact time that Oscar will be doing all the driving, with the way they’re stuck to each other.

“No fair,” Carlos moans, as Oscar fist pumps the air. It would be too childish to stick his tongue out at Carlos. So he doesn’t.

A part of Oscar’s a spectator to all of this. Watching with his mouth hanging wide open, some disembodied shade looking from outside in, as his own body purchased tickets, packed a luggage (with Carlos in the same room), and boarded a plane. None of this makes sense. Getting into a car with Carlos, firstly. Then with the added condition that both of them have to clamber in from one side, before Carlos can climb over the middle console into the passenger seat. Fourteen hours of this, huh? He’s going to give Guanyu hell when they get back.

If, they make it back. Oscar guesses it’ll be two hours before they attempt to murder each other. You don’t go road tripping with people you can’t stand. It’s the one and only sacred rule of road tripping.

“I think I saw this in Final Destination.”

Oscar, zoned out staring at the road, manages a stupid, “What?”

“You know that pileup where everyone dies?”

“Everyone always dies in Final Destination.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, shakes their joined elbows for emphasis. “The scene where the logs fall off? A lot of screaming? A lot of swerving? All because they were stuck behind a logging truck?”

“Carlos.” Oscar takes one deep, deep calming breath. “Are you asking me to overtake?”

“If you can, yes,” Carlos says, like Oscar’s the one being thick. “Go on. I’ll help you hold the wheel steady.”

Oscar cranes his neck and glances around the side of the truck. The opposing lane seems clear, not a headlight in sight. What the heck. You can take the driver off a track, but he’ll still want to race.

“Woo!” Carlos yells, as Oscar zooms around the steadily plodding truck. A little clumsy, with Carlos almost overcompensating the steer as they merge back into the right lane, but successful, nonetheless. No one dies.

Mismatched hands on the wheel. Adrenaline spiking for just a few seconds of speed. Oscar finds himself wearing a grin to match Carlos’s. Maybe they’ll cut it down to thirteen and a half hours like this.

--

“Guanyu was right,” Carlos says thoughtfully.

Oscar’s got his nose buried in a helpful English guide. A sense of ambitious adventure appears to have overtaken them. He wants to hit at least three lookout points today. “About?”

“Look,” Carlos points in some vague direction. “All the couples.”

“Huh,” Oscar says. “That is a lot of couples.”

No one pays them any mind. They haven’t been recognized since they stepped foot here. For all intents and purposes, they could just be another one of those peaceful couples, milling about.

Well. Peaceful, would be a bit of a pipe dream.

“YOU CAN PLAY GOLF AT JADE DRAGON SNOW MOUNTAIN.”

“Carlos,” Oscar hisses. “Quiet.”

“You can play golf,” Carlos repeats, softer but no less excited, eyes larger than two sparkling coins, “at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain!”

Oscar snatches the guide back from Carlos’s hand. “I’m pretty sure I just read that the mountain’s considered holy.”

“They let people play golf on a holy mountain,” Carlos says for the third damn time. “I love it here.”

“We’re not playing golf,” Oscar says.

“Oscar,” Carlos says, dismayed.

“You have one hand, remember?” Oscar wriggles their stuck arms, a reminder he didn’t even know Carlos would have needed.

“Riiight,” Carlos says, shoulders drooping.

“We can still see the mountain though,” Oscar says, is alarmed at the tiny skip-hop going on in his chest when Carlos brightens again. Doesn’t take a lot to keep this guy happy. That’s, good for him. That’s good.

They decide the cable cars up are too much hassle, with the queues already stretching out for hours. The mountain’s basically viewable from anywhere, so Oscar steers Carlos toward Old Town. Where he discovers that Carlos is terrible at haggling. Absolute nightmare. He hands over money to anyone who so much as gestures him over. The singular tote bag Oscar brings starts to get filled with random trinkets, from fans to calligraphy pens.

“What’s this,” Oscar says, when Carlos shakes his head as Oscar prepares to pack away two wooden charms in the shape of a very rotund cat.

“Not for keeping,” Carlos explains. “They’re for wishes. We hang them up in the temple.”

“Oh,” Oscar says. Carlos had gotten one for him too. “I didn’t think you believed in these things.”

“I don’t,” Carlos says quickly, before looking away, like he’s afraid Oscar will laugh at him.

Oscar chews at his lip. He didn’t mean to suggest it was silly. It’s a little unfair for Carlos to think so lowly of him. If they could, this is where they’d walk their separate ways and browse different shops, long enough for the awkward tension to diffuse. Come back refreshed and recharged for more time spent in each other’s company. No such grace, here.

The stream whispers as it flows by the stone-paved path. The wooden house clusters look as if they’re linked, hand to hand, a never-ending line all the way to the top. Everything here’s older than Oscar, older by years and years and years.

“I keep an amulet in my helmet,” Carlos says. His eyes wander around like he’s sightseeing. “I don’t know why I lied.”

“A little belief can’t hurt,” Oscar blurts out, just so Carlos would stop looking so wounded. “That’s what I always say.”

Carlos nudges him. “You never say that.”

Above them, a thousand colorful prayer flags blow gently in the wind. Wooden charms as numerous as the birds adorn the roof of the temple. Wishes for health, prosperity, family. Oscar tries to peek at what Carlos is writing, only for Carlos to shove him away so violently that they both fall over.

Oscar laughs as Carlos strains to keep his charm out of prying reach. No easy task, both of them being joined and all.

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For my family and friends, good health always. For myself—

Oscar wrenches his gaze away. Some things aren’t for anyone else to know.

He watches Carlos hang his charm up carefully. And then Carlos waits, back turned as much as he can, for Oscar to write his own wish. It’s simple. Fast car, many wins. Happiness. Oscar ties his somewhere near Carlos’s. Closes his eyes and listens to them jangle together.

--

For myself, patience.

--

Oscar’s pretty sure he’s dying. He’s pretty sure this is what dying feels like.

“I thought,” he gasps, in between gulps of warm tea that only makes things infinitely worse, “I told her not spicy?”

Carlos is cackling like the unhelpful asshole he is. “This is not spicy.”

When you explore some place new, local recommendations for food are a must. Oscar’s seriously reconsidering Travel Tip 101 when he gets fed hotpot that turns his tongue worryingly numb.

“Well, it is a little spicy,” Carlos concedes. “But nothing I can’t take.”

“Isn’t Spanish food not spicy?”

“It’s not,” Carlos says. “Actually, I wasn’t good at taking spice until after I started driving.” He fans exaggeratedly at Oscar’s overheated mouth, like that could even help an iota. It’s so Carlos it’s endearing. Shit. “I only started putting hot sauce on all my trainer’s meals because everything tasted so bland.”

Oscar coughs, wiping at his leaking nose. “It burns,” he moans.

“There, there,” Carlos says, mock sympathetic. “Don’t cry.”

“Seriously.” Oscar blinks rapidly, is it affecting his eyeballs too? His pulse thuds like the hoofbeat of a runaway horse. “How are you not even sweating?”

Carlos winks at him. “They don’t call me chili for nothing.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Aw,” Carlos says, and finally puts himself to some use by waving down a server, and sweettalking her into bringing a pitcher of iced water over.

Oscar calls first dibs on the shower, claiming the need to wash the spice out of his pores. Carlos rolls his eyes but acquiesces, gallant about it for once. They force themselves not to make it awkward. Pull apart for just long enough to slip their clothes off, eyes everywhere but on each other. Carlos stands outside the curtain as Oscar tries to shampoo and soap himself down in the narrow tub with one hand.

When it's Carlos's turn: “Oh my god,” Oscar says. “Carlos, are you using soap for your hair?”

“I’m trying to be quick,” Carlos says, voice disembodied even though he’s right next to Oscar. Separated by the thinnest sheet of translucent nylon. The shadow of Carlos is unmistakable in the light. The broadness of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. “So you do not stand outside for forty-five minutes like I did.”

“I didn’t take forty-five minutes!”

Carlos laughs, the cackle now almost familiar. “And how are you knowing I’m using soap? Are you peeking?”

“I hate you,” Oscar says, waits for Carlos to return with a Hard same like they’re in on the same joke. Waits and waits until Carlos emerges from behind the curtain, not fifteen minutes later, lips still sealed together like withholding some secret.

--

As designated shotgunner, with no say in the matter, Carlos is in charge of the GPS and the AUX cord. After the second album of Enrique Iglesias, Oscar relegates him to Captain of Pointing Out Exit Signs Only. Carlos pretends to pout about it, but he reclines his seat, as far back as their joined elbows will allow. Closes his eyes, limbs loose, all relaxed. He looks so good like that, when he’s as easy as easy can be.

Oscar swallows the click in his throat back down.

“I feel bad,” Carlos murmurs, sounding like he’s close to drifting off. “You’re doing all the work.”

“I don’t mind,” Oscar says. He’s getting real good at one-handed maneuvers now. Hah, maybe this will be beneficial on the track. “I hate getting driven. I rather do it myself.”

“Control freak,” Carlos says.

“Yeah,” Oscar admits. “A little bit.”

When Oscar dares to look over at Carlos, there’s a smile curving his lips gently up. They didn’t magically learn how to talk to each other. But it’s a start, trading little morsels of information like passing notes in school.

One of Guanyu’s other suggestions had been Emei Mountain, boasting an altitude of over three-thousand meters and some ridiculous number of stairs.

(Sixty thousand, to be precise. Oscar had opened his mouth to complain, but Guanyu had responded with a report of the monkeys that lived in the mountain. There came that dazed, excited noise from Carlos again, and Oscar knew it was a lost cause.)

Jet-lag’s working in their favour, and they’ve arrived before the tour buses can deposit too many people for them to stomach. Ambitions are dampened when they realize climbing’s harder when surgically joined by some unknown force at the elbow. When Oscar lifts his left leg, his right arm wants to go, which means Carlos’s left arm needs to go, which means Carlos’s right leg needs to lift. They clunk around clumsily for the first chunk of steps, griping and critiquing each other’s technique. The fog rolls in and laps at their ears, and for a while, there’s nothing much to see.

An elderly lady pressures them into an early lunch, and Carlos gives in effortlessly, like always. It ends up being the best thing Oscar’s eaten since coming here. They fight over the last slice of barbecue pork, and Oscar wins, by virtue of being slightly better at using chopsticks.

By the time they’re halfway up, they’ve got climbing down to an art, limbs moving like clockwork around the constriction. Carlos takes advantage of their newfound skill to increase their pace to a march.

“Carlos,” Oscar’s not ashamed to beg. “Please, won’t you stop and look at the monkeys.”

Carlos laughs at him and calls him slow. Because Carlos is crazy, he’s taken off his light sweater even in this weather, and the threadbare white shirt he’s wearing leaves little to imagination. Chest hair, nipples. Oscar looks away before he can be caught staring. The fog’s given way to some amazing views. Rich vegetation, more trees than Oscar’s brain knows what to do with. Beautiful things all around.

Carlos’s face swims into view. “Come on.” The tugging at the elbow doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. “To the top! There are giant golden statues!”

The statues are indeed golden. And they are indeed giant. The largest one weighs six hundred and sixty metric tons, according to the pamphlet. Larger, surely, than the feeling expanding in his lungs.

“Look, Oscar!” Carlos points with their joined arms, all delight.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. Quickened pulse from the strenuous activity, and he wills it to settle. Control freak. “I’m looking.”

--

Designated phone time on the bed is an hour long. Oscar uses it to text his mum, sift through photos from the day. With how close they’re forced to be, it’s hard to get a picture without a body part of Carlos making its way in. Oscar finds he doesn’t quite mind. He’s got one of the cloudless, blue sky, the backdrop for the Leidongping cable car station. Carlos is pointing at something again, his finger situated artistically right in the middle of the lidless eye of the sun.

Guanyu’s the one who got them into this mess, so he probably deserves a photo update. Oscar sends it over WhatsApp and receives an O-M-G!!! in return, along with nine panda emojis.

No pandas, we’re not at Chengdu yet, Oscar types.

Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it this far, Guanyu says.

Wow, thanks

Oscar squints, rereads Guanyu’s message.

Wait, you were the one who gave us this itinerary!

Hahaha, is all Guanyu says, followed by multiple peace sign emojis.

加油!

Oscar has to google translate that, learn that it means to add oil. To go for it. Go for what?

“Teto says he wishes he was here too,” Carlos says sleepily, looking up from his phone.

“Teto’s out of luck,” Oscar says, ignoring the flash of something hot and possessive down his spine.

He plucks Carlos’s phone out of his willing fingers. Reaches over Carlos for the pull chain of the lamp. Beneath him for just a second, Carlos shifts, comfortable, cozy. Oscar gets the ludicrous notion that if he were to collapse down, right now, Carlos’s body would welcome him.

Shit. How long until they come apart?

Click, off go the lights. Meekly, Oscar makes his way back to his designated side of the bed. Carlos mumbles a soft Good night. More intimate than he could ever mean. Oscar mumbles something back, and satisfied, Carlos closes his eyes. He likes sleeping on his side. Coincidences of coincidences, so does Oscar. Carlos falls asleep faster though, and it gives Oscar a lot of time to stare without accusation. Trace the planes and slopes of Carlos’s face before he drifts off himself.

--

At long last. Chengdu panda base.

After jostling with the crowds to watch the pandas tumble around for their food, then tumble around to play, then tumble around to sleep, Oscar turns to Carlos.

“Well?”

“Eh,” Carlos makes a see-saw motion with his hands. “It’s a little anti-climatic.”

Oscar barks out a laugh. A joined body part, three shared showers, thirteen and a half hours in a car together later, and Carlos still surprises him. He really doesn’t do Oscar well on a neurochemical level.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

“I thought it was,” Carlos says. It’s no longer only their elbows touching. Now it’s bicep to little pinky, pressed up against each other like puzzle pieces which fit slightly crooked. One long, unbroken line of heat. “I thought—”

Carlos tapers off. Oscar waits.

“Well, it’s the journey that counts, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“They’re very cute, too.”

“Uh huh,” Oscar says. “Pictures or Guanyu’s never going to believe we made it here.”

Oscar takes one of Carlos with a sleeping mama panda in the background. He’s halfway through checking if it’s any good when Carlos grabs the phone.

“Come here,” he says.

It’s not easy arranging themselves together and catching a panda as well, but heck, didn’t they climb sixty-thousand stairs with some careful coordination? Carlos holds out the phone with his right hand, smooshes their cheeks together. The scrap of Carlos’s stubble against his skin—that’s, there’s a new sensation, in every way possible.

“Say panda,” Carlos says.

“Panda,” Oscar says, the same way he would say, Alert, or Danger, or Abort. His cheeks are going to show up pink in the photo. And Carlos will notice and say something completely asinine—

“Hee hee,” Carlos says. “Your eyes are closed, Oscar.”

--

Once they get enough panda souvenirs to shower the grid, the rest of the day passes in the laziest of fashions. They’ve hit their goal now, so there’s no need to rush. Oscar actually bothers to look through Yelp for restaurant options, and after all his hard work, gets yanked by Carlos into some random alleyway with plastic stools to eat hand-pulled noodles.

Meandering like leaves on an easy stream down the folk and culture street, the promise of a hot shower eventually calls to them. Oscar, gentleman that he is, lets Carlos go first.

Oscar stares unblinkingly at a water spot on a tile as Carlos hums and soap himself, as easy and as relaxed as if he weren’t stuck with Oscar listening to the way the water hits his skin. The first time in the shower, when Oscar had unwittingly brushed his hands over his dick, he’d jumped, then stood still for a whole minute, waiting for Carlos to call him out on it. It’d felt forbidden, with Carlos standing not two inches away.

To Carlos’s credit, he doesn’t punch Oscar when the curtain is pulled back, with a force that can only be described as resolution. He only yelps like a little pup, clapping his free hand over his chest, before the hand trails self-consciously down.

“I’ll help you shampoo,” Oscar says. “It’s faster this way.”

“Well,” Carlos says, “if it’s faster.”

They’re staying at the Shang this time, and there’s fancy shampoo smelling like bergamot and orange. Oscar douses Carlos with half a bottle, squeezing too much out by accident. He keeps bumping his hand into Carlos’s while they attempt to scrub. The lather gets into Carlos’s eyes, and Oscar has to try and hide his smile while Carlos whines piteously. It’s not actually faster in any way.

“There, there,” Oscar says, in a similar tone as to when Carlos had observed Oscar leaking copious fluids over hotpot. “Baby.”

Carlos makes a face and pretends to start crying again, and something terribly fond constricts the entirety of Oscar’s ribcage.

Towelling each other dry is a whole new learning curve, just like putting clothes on, and driving one-handed, and climbing stairs. They’re looking at each other this time, too. That’s also new. Huh. Carlos is very, very gentle as he dries the back of Oscar’s ears. The kind of gentle that speaks of someone having done this for him before, resulting in an insistence in getting this right. Oscar gets all warm, even with the water cooling rapidly on his skin.

“Phone time?”

“No need,” Carlos yawns.

It’s Carlos that leans over this time for the light switch, even though Shang’s posh enough to have light switches at both sides for easy access. Carlos hovers over Oscar for a suspended moment, and Oscar sucks in a breath, straining with anticipation. The head pat is unexpected, but enough for now.

Satisfied, Oscar closes his eyes.

--

“Hey!” Carlos exclaims. “Oscar, we’re free!”

“Whuh,” Oscar says blearily. He’ll never acquire Carlos’s habit of waking up at eight.

“Look, look,” Carlos says, all childish delight. He waves his arms in front of Oscar’s face. Both his arms.

“Hey!” Oscar says, shooting up, suddenly awake.

“Yeah!”

“So all we needed was a shower?”

“Oscar,” Carlos says disapprovingly. “It wasn’t just a shower. We wrote this on prayer cards.” Oscar doesn’t point out neither of them wrote this on a prayer card. “We climbed a mountain. We saw pandas!”

“And took a shower,” Oscar says.

Carlos sniffs. “Have it your way.”

“Fine, fine,” Oscar says. It’s too early to be feeling all warm and crumbly, like the center of a freshly baked pie. “It was the journey that counts, yes?”

“Yes,” Carlos nods. “Maybe. Maybe it was something I—we had to learn. In preparation for. For—”

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For myself, patience.

Their hands are no longer joined, but Oscar takes Carlos’s, and presses a quick, dry kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Carlos is so surprised he lets him.

“Ah,” Carlos says, voice trembly and a little hopeful. “What happens now?”

Oscar looks down at their hands. Going through all of this to separate, only to choose to stay touching. There’s something about a journey being full circle, but Oscar doesn’t want to finish that thought for fear of actually transforming into Julia Roberts. And anyway—

“Now we drive back.”

They’re not near done, yet.

[tkwrites]

Soft Launch; Hard Launch - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @kawhh

Title: Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc) 

Warnings: Though most of this is fluff, there is a really nasty comment left on a social media post and mentions of poor self body image.

Summary: 4 times Quinn soft launched his relationship with Sarah, and one time he did it for real.

Word Count: 2,900

Comments: The idea of writing a 4+1 fic for my 500 mark has been rolling around my head for a while, so when I hit 500 followers about a week ago, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Many thanks to @aloragrace and @captainlexaproluvr for looking over this piece and calming my fears about doing new things. I’ve never written in this format before, but I quite like the way this turned out.  I’d love to know what you think!

I'm just bowled over and so excited! Thank you all so much. Knowing people enjoy my writing has been so fulfilling to me. I’ve wanted to write since I was about thirteen, but never had the guts to publish anything for people other than my friends to read. Now that I have and know that people like it, it feels a bit like I’m giving my little inner awkward teenager the best gift she could ever ask for. Thank you for your encouragement, kindness, and support! I can’t tell you how much it means to me.  

If you did enjoy this Snapshot, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

1.

The first time Quinn put Sarah on his social media was after they got home from the family reunion. The Monday after she left, he was looking back through his photos while he waited for her to get off work. He found one from their beach day he’d completely forgotten he’d taken. Sarah was kneeling over a tide pool with a few of his cousins, pointing to something in the water, while they looked into her face with rapt attention.

Even though her face was mostly hidden from view, she looked beautiful in that casual way he loved so much. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a pair of denim shorts along with her orange swim top.

Do you mind if I put this on my stories? he asked later that night, once she'd texted that she’d arrived home safely and would call as soon as she changed.

“I don’t mind,” she told him after they said their initial hellos, caught up on each other's day, and he asked again. “I’m a little surprised this is the first photo you want to go with,” she admitted. 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want to go with something more…” she trailed off, unsure exactly how to phrase what she was thinking. She’d only glanced at it, but from what she remembered, the photo wasn’t anything special. It was from the tide pools, and though it fulfilled the mission of showing her without showing her whole face, she didn’t look excessively beautiful or anything. In fact, the first thing she’d zeroed in on were her stomach rolls. Echoes of girls calling her too fat to be with NHL superstar Quinn Hughes rang in her mind. 

“I like it,” he defended before she could find the right words or slide down the slippery slope of body image woes. “You’re doing what you love.” 

It melted something in her that he looked at that photo and saw her passion. “That’s really sweet, Quinn.” 

“So it’s okay?” 

How could she say no now? “Yeah. It’s okay.”  She reminded herself she wouldn’t see any of the things people were saying about her unless she sought them out, which she had no intention of doing.

He put it up with nothing more than an orange heart in the corner as soon as they hung up from the FaceTime call.

Less than a minute later, Eunice raced into Sarah's room. She was so overly excited, she ran into the door jam, bouncing off of it before regaining her balance. She thrust her phone into Sarah's face. “Quinn put you on his stories!” 

Glancing at the screen, Sarah smiled. “Yeah, he just asked me if he could put that photo up.”

“Oh my god. This is so dreamy,” she gushed, turning the phone back around to look at the picture again. “You look so pretty.” 

2.

The second soft launch was on his main feed at the end of the summer, though he still didn’t show her face.

It wasn’t until they got home from Hawaii and all shared their photos that Quinn realized just how many pictures his mom had taken. He was used to her snapping pictures of them - it was a very common occurrence to look around at any given moment, especially on vacation, to find her brandishing a camera to document everything she could.

He’d never appreciated it more until he was looking through the shared album and saw all the moments his mom caught. There were photos of him and his brothers and him and Sarah once she got there. There was even a video of his and Luke’s shock at their girlfriends’ arrival.  

His favorite picture she took was from the beach outside of their vacation rental. Anxious for a quiet moment together, Sarah pulled him outside to watch the sun set.

The rest of the family was inside, debating something about dinner. They had been on a kayak and hiking tour that day, and he was so tired, he was beyond caring. As long as some kind of food was provided, he’d be fine.  

His mom must have walked out onto the back porch to snap the photo. 

 The sun, sinking into the ocean in front of them, turned them into shadow as Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. It was the kind of photo people put in vacation advertisements, and when he’d seen it, he knew it had to be included in his end of summer review.

He uploaded it with a carousel of six other photos before captioning the post, One for the books. 

After receiving sixty notifications in the first five minutes, most of them from people he didn’t know asking who the girl in the 5th photo was, he muted the app.

It wasn’t until he looked at the comments that evening and saw, I think this must be that fat bitch he was dating during the season. I was hoping they’d broken up since he didn’t stay in Vancouver this summer and she did, that he disabled comments all together.

He’d been so angry that someone who didn’t know either of them would say anything like that, he had drafted a reply before realizing he was about to engage in a reactionary argument with someone he didn't even know or have any emotional ties to. He wanted to correct them, but knew he should really get PR help to do that. 

When they talked about social media for the first time in their relationship, Sarah explained how the comments from these so-called fans made her feel. Even though she knew they didn’t know her as a person and didn’t have any place in their relationship or lives, it was difficult not to let them get to her. 

He knew the feeling well. He’d gone through the same thing when he accepted the captaincy. The pressure to perform had been so immense, it had turned him into a snappy, short-fused, irritable person until, at the advice of some other captains in the league, he started putting his phone down regularly. 

3. 

The third came when it was his turn to sit for a 32 Thoughts podcast episode with Elliott and Kyle, and they were shooting the breeze before the actual interview began. 

“We missed you at dinner,” Elliott said, referencing a banquet that the league had hosted the night before for all players and press on site for the whirlwind pre-season media tour.

Without really thinking about it, Quinn found himself explaining, “my girlfriend's family lives here, so Jack and I had dinner with them last night.”

“She's not here?” Elliott asked. 

“No, she has stuff going on back home so she couldn't be, but it was nice to see them.” Some players brought family to the media tour, but not many. It was a short stint, shorter than most road trips during the season, so most didn’t bother.

Their producer, Shanna, flashed a red light, letting them know it was time to start the formal interview. Kyle counted down, “three two and one,” before introducing Quinn and starting with the questions. 

At the end of the recording, both Elliott and Shanna asked if he wanted them to cut his talk about his girlfriend and her family from the episode. Usually, they left those anecdotal conversations in, especially on the youtube videos, but this one was a bit more nuanced. 

“I think it should be fine, but can I talk to her about it and get back to you?” 

“Of course,” Shanna said, smiling. “It’s not slated to go up for a few weeks, so just let us know by the 17th.”

When he'd asked Sarah about it that night after arriving home, she seemed unconcerned. 

“I think that's kind of up to you.” She knew from their FaceTime conversation the night before that Quinn, Jack and their agent had eaten at Rachel's house, so there was no risk of someone posting photos and making the connection they were with her family.  

“I mean, people have been speculating you have a girlfriend, right?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” It was more than speculation at this point - most people knew he had someone. They just didn’t know who she was. 

“And people who found my instagram already know I’m from Nevada, so I don’t really see what the worry is.” 

He’d expected her to be more worried about it, but now that she was responding to him with cool logic, he had to admit she had a point. 

The next day, he messaged Elliott along with his agent to let them know they could keep the anecdote in the recording. 

When it hit the airwaves, Sarah purposefully didn’t check any of the messages Eunice sent her for a few days. Eunice had taken it upon herself, and continued at Sarah’s request, to report big gossip to her so Sarah wasn’t tempted to go on the blogs or fan accounts. 

Most responses were sort of victorious bragging, posting about connections with Sarah’s instagram “about me” section where she talked about being from Nevada, feeling that this interview proved them right. 

4. 

The fourth time wasn’t planned. 

When Quinn got home from their first regular season road trip, the apartment was dark. It was past two in the morning, and Sarah had a therapy appointment at eight, so she hadn't waited up for him. 

In his trek through the apartment, he paused by the dining room table. Until Sarah moved in, walking into the apartment after a road trip was often the worst part of the whole thing. He was always glad to be back in his own bed, but nothing seemed to exasperate his singleness more than coming home. Not only was he going from being surrounded by the team to being totally alone, he was coming home to an empty house. The combination of the two felt stiflingly lonely.

The mess of textbooks, highlighters, and notebooks left out on the dining room table was such proof of someone else living in the house, it made his chest feel full. 

In a spur of the moment act, he snapped a picture of the dimly lit chaos and posted it to his Instagram stories. No caption, no explanation. Just the simple proof that he wasn't alone.  

“Why did you put a picture of my books on your instagram?” she asked the next day after getting home from her appointment. 

He shrugged, “I liked it.”

The season before, anytime she would study at his house, she would clean everything up, organizing it all back into her bag before going home or coming to bed. 

Now, her books often stayed out on the dining room table on weekends. He offered to convert one of the spare bedrooms into an office for her, or let her use the office he had a computer in now, but she turned him down. 

“I like studying out here,” she'd said, glancing up to look out of the windows. “If it bothers you, I can put everything away.” 

“It doesn't bother me,” he'd said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I just want you to be comfortable here.” 

She had beamed at him and turned her head to brush her mouth over his. 

5. 

Quinn waited until the one year anniversary of the day he and Sarah met to officially announce their relationship. 

He knew by that time that they could go the distance. He'd seen her through every month and every season and saw no major red flags. Not to mention the fact that everyone in his life liked her, and her family and friends seemed to like him.

Over the course of the year, he'd moved pictures he liked of Sarah and pictures he liked of them together into a favorites album he simply called S. So, in late January, he put together a post and sent it to his PR rep to look over. After they sent it back with some edits, he showed it to Sarah. 

Sarah, who for her part, knew this was coming but wasn’t quite sure what to expect, was taken a bit off guard. She knew Quinn read a lot and was thoughtful with his words, but reading his simple summary of their relationship made her melt. 

He’d included 5 pictures of her that were interspersed with 5 pictures of them together. The first photo was that perfect, golden hour sunset selfie. The rest were all photos she knew he loved. She’d seen some of them, and some of them, she hadn’t. There was a candid shot of her laughing with Jack and Luke that she hadn’t seen before as well as a picture she never knew he’d taken of her sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, looking pensively at the screen, fingers poised to type. There was the photo of them in front of their Christmas tree, and one of them laughing so hard, they were falling all over each other on a beach in Hawaii.

Under the photos, he’d simply written, The best year. and tagged her in the final photo - the dreamy picture Kaitlyn had taken of them under the mistletoe. 

“Quinn,” she breathed, looking up to find him smiling expectantly at her.

“You like it?” he asked. 

“I really like it,” she said, fighting back the tears that pushed at her eyes. 

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

He was ready for the world to know that not only was he taken, he was taken with her, and not afraid to say it, but he knew it would likely open up another door of criticism she’d never been exposed to before. 

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m ready.” 

The fact that Quinn wanted the world to know, without a doubt, that she was the one he was with made her heart race. 

They didn’t have to hide anymore. To her, it was the last, final cementing block in their relationship. It spoke of his faith in their future and his dedication to staying with her. He wouldn't put it out for the world to see if he had any doubts. 

He posted it right before practice two days later so he could work the anxiety of it off. 

When he got back to his locker an hour and a half later, he had 1,654 likes and over 200 comments. At first glance, they all seemed positive. Not that what random strangers thought of him meant much, but it was nice to know his fans were happy he was happy. 

Bonus scene: 

On the afternoon of the anniversary of their one year of meeting, Reece stopped Sarah as she walked into the building after work.

“I’ve got a delivery for you, Ms. Roberts,” he said, walking with her over to the security desk. 

Before he’d even picked them up, Sarah knew it must be the large bouquet of flowers that were an absolute riot of color - purple and yellow, red and pink, white and green. 

Quinn was out of town - playing in Toronto at that very moment, in fact - and she knew he must have sent them in place of being there in person. 

“Thank you, Reece,” she said, accepting the flowers and a card from him before heading upstairs. 

Trying to manage the vase, card, and her school bag, as well as press the button in the elevator, resulted in her accidentally slopping a large amount of water down her front. Thankfully, the large bouquet hid the spill from anyone else in the elevator, and she was the only one to get off on the top floor. Upon entering the apartment, she set the vase and card on the bar and went straight up to change. 

It wasn’t until she wandered down to make dinner during the second intermission and saw the bright flowers that she remembered the card. 

Her full name was on the envelope in someone else’s writing, and the front of the card was completely blank, so when she flipped it open, she was surprised to find Quinn’s handwriting filling most of it. 

It’s been one year since I took refuge in the aquarium, only to stumble upon a beautiful woman giving a talk about octopus and took the chance to ask her out. Back then, I just thought she was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Now I know that not only is she beautiful, she’s smart, kind, supportive and so driven she inspires me to do better. I don’t like to think what my life would be like if she’d turned down my offer for lunch, or I didn’t get up the guts to talk to her. This time with her has been a whirlwind and the best year of my life. 

I wrote this for the caption of the post that went up today, then realized the only person I really wanted to read it was you. 

Happy one year of meeting, Sarah. I’m so glad you took a chance and went out with me even though I was more than a little awkward. 

I love you. 

Love, 

Quinn 

Moved to tears by his thoughtful words, Sarah snapped a picture of the flowers to put up on her stories, adding the caption, Love you, @_quinnhughes, before texting him.

I love you. I can’t believe it’s been a year. Here’s to a million more.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[spanktony]

“I’LL DO ANYTHING.” - anora.

summary: when you snap at anora, she leaves your place pissed, and you come back begging to make things right.

words: 2.3k +

warnings: 18+, fem!reader, oral (a receiving), fingering (a receiving), begging, ani calls u a good girl, reader is a meanie for a bit then turns to a lil bitch, this is bad, and yeah let me know if there’s more.

navigation. request.

tired would be an understatement of how you felt right now. your head pounded, each beat following up with a sigh from your boss's mouth, reminding you of the looming deadline for the project that still needed to be completed.

so, here you were on a call at 9:48 in the morning, on a day you were supposed to be off, with three other colleagues discussing the next steps for the project.

you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled deep in your bones. you sat at your desk, a few feet away from anora's side of the bed, which made it harder to resist the temptation to crawl back under the covers and ignore the world for a little while longer. but you knew better. you couldn't afford to.

literally.

your phone buzzed on the desk, shifting your attention from one screen to the other. oh shit. the driver. you had planned a low-key day with anora—just the two of you—but now it seemed like that might have to wait.

your stomach sank as you glanced at the message: i'm here. do you want me to grab anything for you two?

you quickly typed back: no, that's fine. you can come inside and wait. i'm in a meeting; it shouldn't take too long.

hopefully…

you hoped anora wouldn't be too disappointed with the change of plans. the message sent, and you set your phone down again, the screen lighting up, showing the call you've been on for... three ongoing hours?!

behind you, anora stirred, waking up from her deep sleep. "good morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

you turned slightly, offering a tired smile as you double-checked to make sure you were still muted on your work call. "good morning, babe. sleep well?"

"mmm-hmm," she hummed, stretching. you heard the soft crack of her spine as she reached her arms over her head, a sound that made your heart swell a little. she padded across the hardwood floor with that familiar grace, her feet quiet but sure.

you could feel her before you saw her, like a magnet drawing you in. then she was there, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on your neck. it made your skin tingle, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been up for hours, haven't you?" she whispered, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"i have to finish this report," you murmured, half-distracted.

but anora wasn't deterred. her lips trailed to your jawline and then to your cheek, playful and persistent.

"ani," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "i'm on a call."

she ignored your plea, her hands sliding over your shoulders as she planted another kiss on your temple.

"ani, seriously," you hissed, though a hint of laughter betrayed you.

"what? i'm just showing my hardworking girlfriend some love," she teased, grinning against your skin. it was sweet; it really was. but your boss's voice in your ear reminded you of the pressing deadline, and her teasing felt like too much in the moment.

"anora, stop!" you snapped, louder than intended.

her hands froze, and the warmth that had been cocooning you suddenly vanished. you heard her inhale sharply, and when she stepped back, it was like a cold breeze had replaced her presence.

"what the hell?" she asked with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows, still in the same position, looking hurt and confused. you felt your stomach twist. "i—" you started, but the words got tangled.

"i'm sorry for trying to spend time with you," she said, her voice raising in pitch before she swallowed hard. "god forbid i... i don't know, make you feel appreciated or something."

"i'm just trying to work, anora! i have deadlines, responsibilities—"

"and i'm a distraction, right?" she shot back, "just a little nuisance in your way?"

you opened your mouth to apologize, to explain, but she was already moving, grabbing her overnight bag from the floor and shoving her things inside haphazardly. it was like a fire was spreading through the room with how quickly she was packing up to leave.

"ani," you called out, your voice more desperate now. "please, wait. don't go."

but she ignored you, shoulders tense and eyes avoiding yours as she zipped up her bag. you heard the soft thud of her bag slung over her shoulder, and before you could say another word, she was at the door.

"y/n? are you here?" your boss's voice reminding you of the meeting you were supposed to be in right now. you looked at your phone, then the door your girlfriend had just rushed out of. sighing heavily, you unmuted your phone and replied, "yes, i'm here."

the hours that followed felt like eternity. the empty apartment was so quiet, so still, that it almost felt suffocating. by the time night fell, you couldn't bear it anymore. you gathered a few things—her favorite snacks, the earrings she had been eyeing for weeks but never bought, and a small bouquet of flowers you'd picked up on a whim.

your driver pulled up to her old place, her place that she rarely stayed at anymore because she was always at your apartment. she had even given you a spare copy of her key so you could move her things to your place when she was busy.

you opened the door and found the living room empty, thankful her roommate wasn't home. you knocked on her bedroom door, calling out her name softly.

the door creaked open, and there she was. anora's head peeked out from behind the door, her eyebrows furrowing both in anger and confusion, as she clearly wasn't expecting you. she was still in the clothes she'd left in, her hair slightly disheveled.

"what are you doing here?" she asked, opening her door slightly further to get a better look at you.

"i... i came to apologize," you said quickly, holding out the flowers like a shield. she eyed them, unimpressed.

"anora, please. i was an idiot. i shouldn't have snapped at you. you were just being sweet, and i let my stress get the better of me." she leaned against the doorframe, silent, her gaze piercing.

"i brought your favorite snacks," you added, holding up the bag. "and earrings. i even... i don't know, i just..."

you trailed off, realizing how desperate you sounded. but you didn't care. "please," you said softly. "i miss you. i miss us. i'll do anything to make it right."

anora sighed, stepping aside to let you in. you stepped inside her room, slowly closing the door behind you, watching as she stood a couple of feet in front of her bed. the tension in the air was thick as you set the flowers and bag on the nightstand beside you.

her expression softened, just a fraction. "anything?"

"anything," you promised, stepping closer, inches away from her.

"you really hurt my feelings," she said finally, a hand coming to cup your cheek, and you stumbled even closer to her, your lips ghosting hers.

you looked so fucking adorable in that moment, with that vulnerable, almost lost look on your face. like a kicked puppy—those sad, pleading eyes. you looked so damn cute, but she wasn't going to let you off the hook that easily.

her thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone. "you said anything, right?"

you nodded quickly, your hand wrapping around her forearm, and her heart skipped a beat. the way you held her arm, like you couldn't stand the distance between you two, made her lips twitch upward.

there was something in the way you looked at her now, something so earnest, so full of regret, that made her resolve waver just slightly. her eyes darted to your lips, feeling the heat between you both rise. god, you were so close, and she was fighting every instinct that told her to pull you in. to kiss you like she wanted to, to let you wrap her in your arms, to hold her.

her gaze flitted up, catching yours.

"anything," you repeated again, barely a whisper.

"get on your knees," she whispered. without hesitating, you lowered yourself in front of her, her hand running a hand through your hair. you stared up at her, waiting.

"beg."

"please," you said, the frustration clear in your voice.

"please what?"

"please forgive me, ani. i shouldn't have snapped at you."

"no, you shouldn't have. you didn't mean it, did you?"

you shook your head.

"that's right. because you wouldn't dare treat me like that. right, baby?" you nodded again, your hands finding their way to her thighs, gripping them tightly. anora's hands left your hair and cupped your face gently. "good girl," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

you licked your lips when your girlfriend began pulling her shorts down, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. she watched you the whole time, smiling, that smile that made your heart race with anticipation.

you leaned in, kissing the insides of her thighs, and she hummed. it was a gentle kiss, the kind that she needed after the day she had today, and it sent a wave of pleasure through her.

"such a good girl," she whispered, and your lips trailed higher, pressing against the clothed heat between her legs. she let out a soft moan, her hands finding your hair again to stop her legs from trembling.

you pressed a lingering kiss to the spot before pulling back, your gaze meeting hers. anora's eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks flushed, and she looked so gorgeous; what kind of an idiot would raise their voice at her? oh, that's right... you did.

"ani," you murmured, looking up at her, pleading.

"i forgive you, baby," she breathed, pulling her underwear to the side, revealing her glistening pussy. you could see the desire in her eyes as she guided you closer, silently inviting you to continue. with a soft smile, you leaned in to fulfill her unspoken request, eager to make things right between you.

you kissed her again, harder this time, your tongue slipping between her folds, tasting her sweetness as she moaned softly in response. you kept going, your tongue circling her clit slowly, teasingly. you couldn't help yourself, not when she was this wet and not when you owed it to her.

her grip tightened on your hair, and you moaned against her, sending a shockwave through her body. you looked up at her once more, taking in the sight of her, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath she took.

"more," she whispered, her hips rocking forward, covering your chin with her slick wetness. you obliged, increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, your hands digging in the back of her thighs, trying to pull her even closer to you.

you continued like this, listening to her soft moans and pleas until she was close. she tugged on your hair, trying to pull you away.

"wait," she gasped, "not yet."

you pulled back, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. "did i do something wrong?" you asked, suddenly worried.

"no," she breathed, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, her hands still tangled in your hair. "it's just been a while, and i want your fingers." you smiled like an idiot, rising off your knees to kiss her for the first time that night.

her lips were soft, pliant, and you savored the taste of her on your tongue. "fuck, i missed you," you mumbled, her lips parting to let out a soft chuckle, falling against the bed with you in a tangle of limbs.

"me too, baby. now be good and finish what you started." you nodded eagerly, sliding a hand up under her shirt, your fingers grazing her skin until you reached her chest, cupping her breast in your hand, feeling her heartbeat quicken beneath your touch.

"i'll make you feel so good," you whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck as she arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. "hurry," she urged, her voice breathless.

you slid your hand back down her body, tracing the outline of her curves before finally reaching your destination, sliding your middle finger into her pussy and feeling her wetness enveloping you. she gasped at the sensation, her hips instinctively moving against your hand as she whispered, "don't stop."

her head fell back, her fingers gripping the sheets when you added another finger, increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her eyes closed and her mouth fell open as she let out a moan, her back arching against the mattress.

you continued like this for a few minutes, watching her writhe underneath you, her hips rolling against your fingers. her moans were music to your ears, and the sight of her like this was enough to make you let out a low growl of satisfaction.

her breathing was labored, her hips bucking wildly, and you knew she was close. extremely close. her body tensed, her hands gripping the sheets so tightly that they were shaking, and her moans became louder and more desperate. you kept going, not letting up, ignoring the ache in your own hand.

"come for me, ani," you said softly, curling your fingers inside her, hitting that spot that drove her crazy. her moans grew louder, and her body stiffened, and then she finally reached her peak, letting out a loud cry of pleasure. "yes, fuck!"

you felt her walls clench around your fingers, pulsing with the force of her release. her head fell back against the pillow, and her body went limp, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

you watched her, mesmerized, not wanting to take your eyes off her for even a second.

you finally pulled out your fingers, bringing them to your mouth and sucking on them, tasting her sweet juices. her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you, her expression softening.

"what candy did you buy?"

[the-voice-beckons-below]

the end of the (red) line

bucky barnes x steve rogers x gn! reader

synopsis: red string au, in which a thread, invisible to others, tangles you and your soulmate together. you’ve been waiting a long time to meet the person at the other end, the problem is, they keep damaging the thread, leaving you unable to track them down.

warnings: angst (it’s a fic involving bucky, it’s to be expected), fluff, reader is down bad, mentions of death, self loathing, reader is technically an orphan (blame new york not me), big muscly super soldiers !! reader is confident!

word count : 2,928

this whole red string business had cost you many nights of sleep. all your friends had been lucky, bumping into their supposed soulmate in a store or cafe, or getting a new job and seeing a prominent string dangling from their coworker’s fingers.

see, it isn’t visible at all times, which is arguably less and equally more frustrating. there’s only certain times you can follow it, or tug on it if you’re impatient. there’s a possibility you walk past your fately betrothed and you’ll miss them, because the universe decides you’re not ready.

it’s been five years since it first showed up, looped around your fingers snuggly. it happened after a nightmare, which were all too common. witnessing the attack on new york first hand had been devastating, bodies upon bodies. screams and cries and families torn apart, including your own.

it was just you now, scattered in the vast expanse of the world like a drop in the ocean. friends were distractions, only so much could tackle the constant ebbing and aching deep within your chest. tucked away so far that it was normal, like it had always been there.

it was at a bar when the familiar red showed up, and in frustration, you yanked hard. standing up from the booth with your friends and determinedly walking to try once more. the bond was fickle, or maybe, it was just yours specifically. seemingly disappearing each time some ground was made, like someone had purposely cut it.

you learnt to be fast, coiling the thread and pacing swiftly. weaving through crowded streets on a winter’s eve, eyes narrowed and scrutinising. your lips dried at the cold air, and a small voice reminded you that the jacket you’d been wearing was still slumped in the bar’s booth. was it worth it? getting cold and also getting a dead end?

the trail never seemed to end, with each tug and pull, there was no resistance. leaving a yarn-like pile puddled at your feet. it could’ve been the frustration or exasperation that triggered the next moment, gripping onto the thin crimson and jerking it with every ounce of might you had.

it wasn’t noticeable at first, but steadily a burning littered your palms. for the very first time, you’d gotten rope burn from wrenching the thread.

there was also a man who was distinctively dishevelled, like he’d been displaced.

he was littered in crimson.

not only was it looped around him, it also continued from him. which was just too much to comprehend at the given moment, was it possible to be attached to multiple people?

the man whipped his head up, almost like he’d been shocked, and belatedly met eyes with you. locking with a shudder, his gaze was almost frantic.

at the same time, you both spoke, your voice edging on angry and confused. while the stranger’s seemed unbelievably stunned.

“you!”

in all years of imagining your future partner, you’d never expected them to be so…unfairly attractive. adorned with dull blonde locks, a sharp jaw and icy blue eyes that held a depth you hadn’t prepared for. he was tall, and built, gods he could crush you.

it almost cooled the anger in your veins.

“why did you keep cutting me off?” you snapped, fists clenching from anxiety this time. had they seen you before and decided you weren’t enough? could you be enough? why wait all this time? why sever the connection over and over?

“what?” he breathed, the air in his lungs fled. the blonde’s train of thought was completely dismantled, a flicker of hurt and confusion flooded his face. “that - that wasn’t you?”

steve still remembers when it appeared. just after his major transformation from frail to superhuman. the sight caused him to stutter, whole body feeling just as weak as he was before. immediately he’d gone to find peggy, hoping it was her, she was breathtaking. first woman to see him as someone, and who looked at him with a hint of softness that he melted for each time.

and he still remembers the way his heart had plummeted upon finding out his newly acquired string was not attached to peggy. it shattered a part of him, he’d never felt like this with anyone before, and yet peggy wasn’t the one. her bold lipstick would not litter his cheeks or lips, her soft yet strong hands would not rest in his own.

it was confusing.

but what was truly heartbreaking was finding out who it was attached to.

after rescuing bucky from hydra and finally having his best friend back, steve thought maybe it would be okay not to know the person on the other side of the string. him and buck would be alright if they had each other, his fondest and happiest of memories included barnes.

on that train, time stopped. bucky dangling from a scrap of metal, steel eyes terrified and begging for steve to haul him back up.

he couldn’t reach him. he tried, god he tried.

the worst part of it all had been seeing glimmering thread falling into the snow with his best friend. he’d found and lost his soulmate - best friend, at the exact same time. it was a good thing to have crashed that jet into the ice, he was content with it. knowing if there was an afterlife, buck would be there with open arms.

but that’s just not how it went.

instead he woke up from a presumably deadly sleep.

all he had ever known was gone, apart from peggy, who after a little while, was gone too.

thread was still attached to him, he felt it, it was heavy, dragging him down in what felt like every step. the weight was there, but he didn’t see it.

not until a masked assassin stood in his path, mask strewn across concrete. his beautiful bucky was alive, and almost unrecognisable with the torment that surrounded him.

he cried that night.

eventually, after he fought through what felt like hell, he’d pulled bucky back from the torturous programming he’d been under. they’d come to realise that their thread, ignited since the 40’s had changed, it went in another direction.

“multiple soulmates huh?” buck realised, if steve was observant enough, he would’ve seen the defeat in his former best friend’s (now lover’s) language.

“i don’t think it will be a bad thing, it’s, exciting.”

bucky’s bit his lip, “maybe.”

it had taken years to let steve in again. he was on edge all of the time, was real panicky too. spent so much time locked in his room, and went between eating so much his stomach hurt and not having an appetite at all. it felt undeserving to have what he wanted, to have a soulmate, to be potentially happy after what he’d done.

the lives he’d taken.

the guilt had crushed him, and the self hatred never dulled. he didn’t deserve steve, he was too good. too sweet, too soft. too, steve.

when it became clear that someone else was out there, linked to steve and him, he panicked. it had been hard enough coming to terms that steve didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him. no one else could get close, what if he hurt them? what if they took steve?

what if this string thing didn’t work out all the time? everything was fine with steve. he felt safer than ever, with a calm so alien to him.

it wasn’t purposeful, but whenever the other string popped up, every time he went to touch it, it frayed. like the bond didn’t want him.

time after time it dissolved after bucky touched it, no matter how gentle or rough, it vanished. it was humiliating. after a while he just swiped at it whenever it did reappear, wanting it gone. it was just there to insult him. of course it would fray when he touched it, it was naive of him to think that a killer, someone drenched in the blood of others, could be wanted.

steve would disagree of course.

steve loved him with every fibre of his being, so fiercely it was near startling. it was more than he deserved. every embrace was simultaneously his oxygen and his undoing.

captain america was righteous, strong. believed in bucky and nursed him back to ‘health’ as much as he could. rogers was more than a tight suit and a impenetrable shield. he was everything.

he knew that steve was searching for their other, other half. knew that he was excited to meet them, wanted to show bucky that it would be a good thing. steve hadn’t accounted for one thing, bucky’s fear.

bucky was internally petrified of losing his everything.

he swiped at the string over and over, and the guilt was way lesser than the fear.

the name you’d gotten was steve, you’d quickly texted your friends not to worry.

followed string, please hold onto that jacket, it’s my favourite. i’ll be sad if you lose it :(

he had ordered two coffees, “this may take a while.” the man wrung his hands nervously, it was mildly comforting to know you weren’t the only one with a pounding heart and a sweaty brow.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be.” it had come out in a splutter, scrounging for a conversation, it would be embarrassing to confess you just wanted to hear him talk more.

the raise in his brow only made your heart thud faster, eyes becoming half amused and half apprehensive. “how so? i’m sorry if uh, don’t cut it.”

you had practically interrupted him, “no - you’re just, i mean for one you’re captain america. makes sense why i couldn’t find you, you’ve probably been all over the place.” after years of pondering about your soulmate, finally coming face to face with one of them was exhilarating and overwhelming. and you couldn’t stop talking, spilling too many words. it was a wonder that he kept up. “and secondly, you cut it, how you look is borderline unfair to the general public.”

you had caught him off guard, and his laugh, it came from his chest. deep, rich and warm. “fighting takes you all over. i’m glad - that i cut it. been worrying that you were making it disappear, that you didn’t want to see me - us.”

mid sip, you halted. he drank his own coffee with a small smile. “you uh, know the other one?”

his lips quirked up more, a fondness shining in his pupils, “you could say that.” steve cleared his throat, thumbing the handle of the coffee cup, “i’ve known him my whole life,” he hesitated, “his name is bucky.”

everyone who’d paid attention to the news was aware who this ‘bucky’ was. captain america’s best friend who was taken in by hydra and brainwashed so severely he’d lost himself along the way, who was used as a weapon for a long, long time.

steve was prepared for a bad reaction, people weren’t always understanding when it came to buck. more often than not, they’d call him a killer or become uncomfortable. it made him incredibly protective, and he struggled to stay present in a conversation after judging bucky so poorly.

“you don’t need to be on edge you know.” you spoke, spotting the super soldier’s tense posture. “i know who he is,” you started carefully, sweeping across the expanse of steve’s face, “and anyone with a brain knows what happened to him, is not his fault.”

steve inhaled with a shaky, but relieved breath. “thank yo-“

“you don’t need to,” you cut in, “i’ve been waiting for years, for you, for you both technically.” a blush quickly swarmed your cheeks, and you broke the eye contact between the two of you. the rest of the sentence was silent, but steve would’ve decoded it as: i don’t give up so easily.

being connected by fate to one extremely attractive man was already hard to grasp. but two of them? it was almost sending you to an early grave. it was easy to see just from a small interaction that steve was sweet, protective, handsome and you were bound to him.

“he’s a tough nut to crack.” a part of you laughed at the innuendo, but outwardly, just managed to keep it in. “he’s probably worried, said i’d be back by 5, always make sure im never late.”

“trying to escape already?” you teased, before asking for his number. he fumbled around with his phone, shaking his head at your question. it was slightly endearing how steve’s fingers shook as he pulled up his contact details. despite the pair of you trying to appear confident, you were equally as nervous and giddy.

as soon as you finished inputting the information, the door to the cafe dinged, and in walked the reincarnation of sin itself. brown messy hair and the most hypnotising steel irises. red thread wrapped around the metal of his arm beautifully. you sucked in a breath, not out of fear of who bucky was, but the dawning realisation you were linked with perhaps the prettiest men on earth.

his face was hard set, pulled taut and serious. clinically, and methodically, he swept over the cafe until he found his target. the tension from the man visibly eased, enough so that he didn’t even clock the person sitting across from steve. who, if he had noticed, was staring at him unashamedly.

“it’s 6, you’re never late.” bucky narrowed his stare pointedly, quickly checking to see if steve was perhaps held back by an injury. when he found nothing, he almost looked offended.

steve’s lids fluttered at the timbre of his partners voice greeting him, “mhm.” amusement quickly overcame his expression, “well, i was busy.”

“busy with what?” bucky almost growled, frowning at the pleased glint present in steve’s pupils, and how his partner seemed smug. he was happy about not coming home? he’d been waiting at home like a damn dog, until noticing the string and following it to steve like he was on a mission. steve shifted to look at you, and couldn’t help the smile that burst from him. oh you were perfect. not afraid or judgmental of bucky at all, you instead looked all but ready to devour the ex assassin.

at steve’s silence, and sudden interest looking at something else, bucky cranked his head to the side. all words dying on his tongue the second he caught onto you, the string cocooning you and your ecstatic half crinkled eyes. “oh.”

“oh.” steve echoed with a poorly hidden smirk, anxiety tugging at his chest, waiting to see how bucky would react. it all depended on this moment.

it was basically a staring contest with the amount of eye contact between the two of you. it was like bucky was searching for something within you, trying to dig into your core and assess what laid there. “this is an acceptable reason for being late.” and with that, he turned away.

steve sighed exasperated, “i’m sorry for him, that, that was rude buck.” back in the 40’s bucky was an unrivalled gentleman, polite to women and men alike. he was guarded, too much so. steve had desperately wanted to forge a connection with their third partner, and didn’t expect bucky to seem almost against it.

“don’t apologise for me.” he withheld a small scowl, flicking back and forth between steve and you. it didnt deter you, rationally maybe it should have, but you waited 5 years. you’d be damned if you gave up on the first hurdle. steve had said he was a ‘tough nut to crack’, so cracked he would be.

“it’s alright,” you waved steve’s concern off, “it’s good to meet you, years of waiting was worth it.” you raised your hand expectantly, bucky hesitated, until stubbornly wrapping his metal fingers around your flesh ones. the lack of alarm or fright from touching the metal limb had him faltering.

you truly weren’t affected by him or the history and baggage he carried.

with a confidence you weren’t sure you had, you leant closer, heart hammering at a speed that felt dangerous. slowly, and tentatively, you placed a tender kiss upon the back of the silver hand. bucky’s reaction was a sucked in breath and a sharp twitch in the prosthetic limb. it was almost as if he’d felt the sensation coursing through him. “i am sorry for keeping your partner, do forgive me.”

“i’ll think about it.” his stoic facade was ruined by the smallest lopsided lift of his lips. all three of you had trouble slowing your pulses, all frantic and strangled by adrenaline. “here again, tomorrow at 2.” he all but demanded, pulling away and walking towards steve.

“bucky! you can’t just - buck!” the blonde groaned, jumping at bucky interlinking their hands and dragging him away. before he was completely swept, steve fumbled through his wallet and laid money on the table for the coffees, “i hope tomorrow at 2 is convenient.”

“i’ll think about it.” you replied, slyly laughing at steve before he disappeared through the glass cafe door.

there was no doubt about it, they would cram into every space hidden within your head, without any resistance. one interaction with them both, and you were a goner.

you leant into your hands, muffling the borderline painful grin painted on your face. after a moment, you turned on your phone, sending the fastest text.

you are never going to believe this, i’m coming back for my jacket, and for drinks.

your index hovered over the new contact in your phone, and before you could think it through, you typed away.

you both cut it ps. do you or bucky want flowers or chocolates?

a/n: so i started this fic today, and it was meant to be a very short one, more of a drabble than anything. i’ve become more attached than initially expected, and it became a longer fic. divider credits are me just in case anyone was about to ask about them, i might post them!! i think i need some more to do a batch though.

i don’t normally see more confident readers/a mix of flustered and confident, and i’m not sure how well received it will be because of that. i hope there’s people that can appreciate a cheeky hand kiss and a little bit of flustered steve and bucky. reader would spoil them both, gifts and open affection, would be so supportive and protective, steve and bucky would end up so possessive of them in return.

i hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it !! merry early christmas <33

[sugurus-thoughts]

❅ pairing — soldier!nanami kento x nurse! reader

❅ summary — I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know May your days be merry and bright. And may all your Christmases be white.

❅ w/c — 8,23k

❅ warnings — WW2, mentions of death,pain, heartbreak, takes during 1940's WW2, nsfw, angst,mentions of memory loss (amnesia), fluff, smut, MDNI.

❅ a/n — honestly I don't even know where to start, this is actually such a sad sorry I thought of I was inspired by the movies called The English Patient. I immediately thought of Nanami and how the story would fit him,i cried so much writting this but I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading and please do tell me what you think!!! Merry Christmas to everyone out there!! 🎄🤍

❅ taglist — @getobitchs, @coffee-and-geto 🍰

15 December 1954

You were his everything. You still are. Yet here you sit in a stark white hospital, holding his hand, hoping that some flicker of recognition will spark in his eyes.

But his eyes. Just the weight of his gaze empty and unfamiliar, and the cruel reality that he does not remember you, not even your name.

The man you loved once looked at you as of the sun had risen in your smile. Now he looks at you as if you are a stranger. And still you remain here : wiping his brow, cleaning his burning wounds, reading him stories, trying to remind him of the life you once shared. Because if you let him forget, it would mean letting him go forever.

During

World War II - 1946

The slow rustling of doctors, nurses rushing as if a life was at stake,but you are— you stand there as your trembling figure tries to hold every little ounce of yourself together. Never have you thought the war would take such a toll on him. His body covered with bruises and burned marks, his scarring figure in pain—for you cannot bear to see him like this. Every bit of memory you have shared was not lost “My dear Kento”, as tears threatened to spill, like a snowflake falling to the ground and slowly disappearing… as if there was no trace.

“Y/N”, Mei gave you a small nudge as the tears pricked down at the corner of your eyes.

“Go sit down, we will take care of this”, your colleague helped you regain the little bit of strength you had left and set you in one of the chairs.

Never have you thought, your life would change, just by the snap of a finger.

16 December 1954

Slowly nightfall approaches as all the nurses and doctors that took care of him have been sent home, only for you to stay behind. It was your duty as nurse, to take care of him and your other patients.

“Y/N…”your friend Shoko and her husband Haibara appeared next to you. She was a doctor, and Haibara was a veteran just like Nanami. You smile softly at the two, for some reason they looked so perfect next to one another —something you wish you had in that moment.

“I'm… sorry, Y/N, if there is anything the two of us can do for you know that we are here”

Haibara pointed out and looked at his friend's lying body,as Shoko approached your frail figure in a hug.

The two of them, giving you an empathic smile as they left the hospital's doors. You stood there in your worn out uniform,as a few tears left your eyes.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Today was the day he returned to the hospital, just as he had every year for the past nine years. And yet, despite all the time that had passed, he still hadn’t regained any memory of you—not even your name.

Heartache crept into your chest like a familiar intruder, but you pushed it aside as you always did, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Memories of the life you once shared threatened to spill over, but there was no room for such thoughts now. Not when others needed you. You moved through the hallways like a ghost, checking on each patient, ensuring they were tucked in, safe, and resting peacefully.

Finally, your feet brought you to his bed, as if by instinct. His familiar form lay still beneath the dim light, and your breath caught when you found his eyes wide open, staring into yours.

“Thirsty,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady enough to make you spring into action.

You hurried to his side, lifting him gently as you pressed the glass of water to his lips. Despite his weakened state, his eyes never left yours. They held a quiet intensity that made your heart ache.

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of him sipping the water. You wished, desperately, that he could say something more, something that would spark a memory—a fragment of who you were to him. But his gaze, though warm, held no recognition.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, his voice rough but unmistakably tender.

You froze, caught off guard by the observation.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, brushing quickly at your eyes. “Nurses aren’t supposed to show emotion. I got carried away.”

But the truth was far deeper than that. Inside, your heart burned with the need to reach for him, to take his hand and beg him to remember. You longed to hear him say that it was all going to be okay, that his memories would return, that he would return to you. But the fear of his blank stare, of the emptiness where love once was, kept you silent.

“Could you read to me?” His voice broke through your thoughts, hoarse but so gentle it tugged at something deep within you.

Your smile faltered but didn’t fade entirely. “Of course. I always do.”

You reached for the worn copy of "Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman" , the same book you had read to him countless times before, both in the past and now. The edges were frayed, the pages soft with wear, but it was a comfort to you. It was the last thread tying you to the man he used to be.

As you read, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill, your heart ached. Every word, every line, felt like a plea to a man who had forgotten you. Was there any hope left after nearly a decade?

Suddenly, a hand brushed against yours.

You froze, your breath hitching as his fingers curled slightly around yours. His gaze met yours, and though his smile was faint, it was there. It wasn’t a memory—not yet—but it was something. A flicker of connection, subconscious and fragile.

So you kept reading, your hand still in his, holding onto that flicker as tightly as you dared.

17 December 1954

The next day, the hospital was unusually quiet. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you stepped outside for a moment to catch your breath. The cold December air bit at your cheeks, but it was refreshing after the suffocating warmth of the wards.

That’s when you saw them: the Lanterns.

Hung along the hospital’s stone walls, their golden glow flickered like tiny stars against the encroaching night. The sight stole the breath from your lungs, not because of their beauty, but because of what they reminded you of.

Lanterns. The lanterns.

Your knees felt weak as the memory came flooding back.

Before the World War II

14 February 1944

Borgo Fiorito is a small, picturesque town nestled in the rolling hills of Tuscany. Known for its cobblestone streets, vibrant flower boxes, olive groves, and a quiet town square with a stone fountain. It was quite small but nothing compared to its wonders it had to offer during summer and winters.

Not far from the small village—a historic hospital called Santa Maria della in Florence, an hour from Borgo Fiorito. It’s housed in a grand, aging building with high ceilings, wide windows overlooking the Arno River, and the faint smell of lavender from the surrounding gardens. The hospital rooms were simple, with a large window framing the rooftops and a hit of lavender which covered each window with its beautiful colour.

It was the little things that made this hospital bloom but during the cold midst or air that is when you clung to your cross, on— your knees begging to the heavens.

War.

War.

It poisoned everything it touched.

Every corner you turned, it was there—etched into the broken faces of soldiers, painted in the dark crimson stains on your uniform, and carved into your soul with every life you couldn’t save. The halls of the hospital were a cacophony of suffering: groans of agony, the scrape of gurney wheels against blood-streaked floors, and the faint murmur of words spoken by men too weak to cry out.

Why must there be war?

The question haunted you, an ache that throbbed with every heartbeat. You asked it as you worked, stitching wounds and holding hands, as though the answer might somehow reveal itself in the lifeless eyes of those you couldn’t save. But there was no answer. Only the unrelenting march of chaos and death.

War turned men into shadows of themselves. It robbed them of their laughter, their dreams, their limbs, and often their lives. You hated it for its cruelty, its unrelenting appetite for destruction. The sight of blood had once made you queasy; now it was as common as water, soaking into your skin, your clothes, and the deepest corners of your mind.

The hospital was no stranger to the foreign men who stumbled in, limping, shattered, and pleading. They came from different places, spoke in fractured sentences, and carried photographs of families who would never see them whole again. And you—what could you do but try? Try to patch them together, to offer comfort, to shield yourself from the unbearable truth that it would never be enough.

You wanted to scream at the futility of it all. For every man you saved, there were ten you couldn’t reach in time. For every life you mended, there were countless others torn apart. War didn’t care about your efforts; it didn’t care about anyone. It swallowed everything in its path, leaving behind nothing but ruins.

And yet, you kept going. Not because you believed it would change anything—not because you believed it would ever end—but because stopping wasn’t an option. Because in the face of something so monstrous, all you had was your hands, your skill, and your humanity.

As you walked the halls, you tried not to think about what lay beyond the hospital walls: the battlefields littered with bodies, the towns reduced to ash, the lives that would never be the same. You tried not to think about how war had taken everything from you too.

But it had.

And still, you fought back in the only way you knew how.

Despite these inner conversations and confusion of the dark side of this world there was always a way to overcome these challenges and for you that was— family, friends and your faith. Although you have lost so much, you have also gained plenty more.

Like Him, during those times

Lanterns.

It was a warm summer evening in Borgo Fiorito, and the air was alive with the hum of laughter, distant music, and the faint scent of lavender carried on the breeze. The annual lantern festival was a cherished tradition, illuminating the cobblestone streets with golden light and bringing the small Italian town together under a blanket of stars.

You stood on a rickety wooden ladder, your arms stretched high as you tied a delicate paper lantern to a post. The lantern swayed slightly, catching the soft glow of twilight, and you bit your lip in concentration.

“Careful up there,” a deep voice called from below.

Startled, you looked down to see a young man standing with his hands in his pockets, his honey-brown eyes warm with amusement. He was tall, broad-shouldered, blonde hair, and unmistakably out of place in this little town. His neatly pressed shirt and polished boots stood in stark contrast to the casual attire of the locals.

“I’ve got it,” you replied curtly, adjusting the knot on the lantern.

His smile widened, revealing a hint of mischief. “Are you sure? Looks like you’re one strong gust of wind away from disaster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the corner of your lips twitching upward. “I’m fine. Just hold the ladder steady if you’re so worried.”

He stepped closer, his hands grasping the sides of the ladder with steady confidence. “Consider it done.”

As you finished securing the lantern, you glanced down, catching his gaze for the first time. There was something about the way he looked at you—equal parts curious and captivated—that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” you muttered as you climbed down, brushing your hands against your skirt.

“Happy to help,” he replied, releasing the ladder and stepping back. “I’m Nanami Kento , by the way. And you are?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. “Busy,” you finally said, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you walked past him.

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. “Busy, huh? Well, Miss Busy, do you at least have time to show me around? I just got stationed here, and I’d hate to miss out on the best parts of this beautiful town.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Stationed? You’re a soldier?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “For now, yes. But tonight, I’m just a man enjoying the lanterns.”

Something in his tone made your heart ache, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you gestured toward the square, where the festivities were in full swing. “If you’re not afraid of getting your boots dusty, follow me.”

Present

The soft glow of the lanterns outside the hospital cast long shadows across the snow-dusted courtyard. They swayed gently in the cold December breeze, their golden light reminiscent of the festival you hadn’t thought about in years.

You stood frozen, staring at them as the memory flooded your senses. For a moment, you were no longer in the hospital. You were back in Borgo Fiorito, laughing with him beneath the lanterns, your heart light and full of hope.

“Why are there so many lights?”

His voice pulled you back to the present like a tether,and you turned to find him standing in the doorway. His frail frame leaned against the doorframe for support,but his eyes—those honey - brown eyes were fixed on the lanterns.

“They’re lanterns,” you said softly, stepping closer. “They’re meant to bring light to the darkness.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “I’ve seen them before… haven’t I?”

Your breath hitched slightly, hope began to flare in your chest but yet you feared so much.

“I believe you have, yes”

His brows furrowed, in frustration flickering across his face as he rubbed his temple. “It's… familiar. But I…. can't”

“It's okay” your voice steady even though there was a storm within you.

“Don't push yourself. Just…. take your time”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.“Were you there?”

Your heart clenched, and you forced a smile. “Yes. I was there.”

You wanted to tell him everything but you know that his recovery was frail and if you said anything it could ruin him just like that. Besides the storm that ruffles within you, you weren't going to shatter him.

“Let’s get you back inside,” you said gently, moving to his side. “It’s too cold out here, and we still have to wash you up”

He didn't protest as you guided him back to his bed, but as you helped him settle, he grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly firm.

“The lanterns,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. “They mean something, don’t they?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Yes. They mean hope.”

He nodded faintly, as you started to take off his badges. For a moment you felt hopeful again and the lanterns were the one thing that gave you that.

19 December 1954

The morning light filtered softly through the hospital windows, casting a pale golden hue across the quiet ward. In your hands, you carried a simple vase of fresh flowers—white camellias and sprigs of rosemary. Their scent, earthy and sweet, filled the air as you stepped into his room.

You placed the vase on the table beside his bed, arranging the blooms carefully. The flowers were a small act of devotion, a way to bring life and beauty into a place so often filled with sorrow.

The scent lingered as you worked, subtle but insistent, and suddenly, it hit you. You froze, your hands trembling slightly as the smell transported you back.

Before the World War II

23 June 1944

The olive trees stretched endlessly, their twisted branches heavy with silvery leaves. The world felt suspended in a timeless moment as you walked beside him, your steps crunching softly against the earth. The air smelled of ripening fruit and wild rosemary, a fragrance so intoxicating you could almost forget the war that loomed beyond the horizon.

He had asked you to meet him outside the village, promising a surprise. You had gone, curiosity outweighing your hesitation, and found him waiting beneath the shade of an ancient olive tree.

“This” he murmured and he inhaled the air, “is my favorite place in the word” as he gestured towards the tall grass of the field.

The rows of olive trees surround your figure out like an ocean green sea. The scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth hung filled your nose as you couldn’t help but smile at the smell,the faint chirping of birds could be heard in the background.

“It's beautiful” you whispered softly as if the words were only meant for you, turning to look at him.

But he wasn't looking at the grove. He was looking at you.

“Yeah”, he said softly yet so tenderly he whispered. “It is”.

The colour crimson dashed against your skin and he only smiled at your shyness.

He held out his hand,and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. Together you walked through the grove, hands swaying and you walked. The sunlight filtering through the leaves painting patterns on the ground.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked tenderly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“Because this place is special to me,” he said, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “And so are you.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words sinking in. He didn’t wait for a response, instead pulling you gently toward a clearing where a single white camellia bush bloomed, its flowers bright against the green.

“They only grow here,” he said, plucking one and tucking it behind your ear. “Just like you. One of a kind

You giggled softly, the sounds didn't go unnoticed by his ears. “Now you're just making things up, stop”

“And if I say no?” he asked you teasingly. You couldn’t answer,not once as his lips quietly pressed against yours. Your hands slowly wrapped around his neck as his gliding their way to you hips pulling you flush against him

And in that moment surrounded by olives trees, wildflowers and camellia, you knew.

Present

The camellias in the vase seemed to glow in the soft morning light, their white petals pristine against the sterile backdrop of the hospital room. The scent of rosemary mingled with their delicate fragrance, weaving through the air like a ghost of the past.

You stood there for a moment, your fingers lingering on the edge of the vase as the memories washed over you. The olive groves, the sunlight, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

A soft rustle behind you broke your reverie, and you turned to see him awake, his honey-brown eyes watching you from the bed.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “The flowers.”

“They reminded me of you,” you replied before you could stop yourself.

His brow furrowed, his gaze flickering to the vase. “The scent… it’s familiar.”

Your heart leapt, but you kept your expression calm, your voice even. “They grow in olive groves. There were camellias like these back in Borgo Fiorito.”

“Borgo Fiorito,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. His eyes narrowed slightly, his hand twitching against the blanket. “I know that name.”

You took a step closer, your breath caught in your throat. “You do?”

He nodded faintly, his gaze distant. “It’s… it’s on the edge of my mind. The smell, the name… I’ve been there before.”

A flicker of hope ignited in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain steady. “Yes,” you said softly. “You have.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, they were filled with something you hadn’t seen in years: recognition, or perhaps the shadow of it.

“Were you there too?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached, but you smiled, keeping your voice steady. “Yes,” you said simply. “I was.”

He didn’t say anything more, his gaze drifting back to the flowers. But as he reached out and brushed his fingers against one of the petals, you saw something in his expression—a spark, a glimmer of the man he had been.

And as you stood there, watching him, you let yourself hope. Maybe, just maybe, the flowers would lead him back to you.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

The night had settled in, cloaked in a shroud of stormy gray, the faint patter of rain echoing through the halls of the hospital. The cold crept in like an uninvited guest, seeping through every crack and corner, chilling you to your bones. You weren’t beside him this time. Duty had pulled you away, leaving him alone in the quiet of his room.

You moved through the dimly lit ward, tending to the others who needed you—feeding those too weak to lift a spoon, bathing those unable to move. Your hands worked tirelessly, but your mind kept drifting back to him. Was he sleeping? Did he call out in the night?

Finally, as your tasks come to an end, you let yourself breathe. Retreating down the corridor, you nearly stumbled into Shoko. Her presence was a welcome relief, a familiar face in the ever-turning wheel of your routine.

Her tired eyes softened when she saw you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” she said lightly, though there was an unmistakable note of concern in her voice.

You tried to smile, but it wavered. “I’m fine,” you murmured, brushing past her, but Shoko wasn’t convinced.

“Wait,” she called after you, her voice gentle but firm. “Come with me.”

You followed her, your legs moving automatically as she led you down the stairs to the small chapel nestled beneath the hospital. The tiny room was quiet, the storm outside reduced to a faint hum. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, the silence pressing down on you like a weight.

Shoko turned to you, her brows knitting together. “How are you really doing?”

For a moment, you opened your mouth to give the same rehearsed response, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, your chest tightened, and your carefully constructed walls began to crumble.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I—I can’t keep hoping, keep waiting. It’s been ten years, Shoko. Ten years, and he doesn’t even remember my name.”

The tears came then, spilling over like a flood you could no longer contain. Your body sagged under the weight of it all, and before you could collapse, Shoko was there.

Her arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you into her warm embrace. “Let it out,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “You’ve carried this alone for so long. Let it out.”

You clung to her, the sobs wracking your frame as the storm within you broke free. Shoko held you without judgment, her hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“I know it hurts,” she said softly, her tone laced with empathy. “I see it every day. But you’ve been so strong, stronger than anyone I know. And if anyone can hold onto hope, it’s you.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “What if… what if it’s all for nothing? What if he never remembers me?”

Shoko cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her steady gaze. “Then you’ll have loved him enough for the both of you. But don’t give up, not yet. He’s still here, and as long as he’s here, there’s a chance.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, soothing the raw ache in your chest. You nodded, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Thank you, Shoko.”

“Always,” she said with a small smile, squeezing your hand. “Now, go to him. He needs you, even if he doesn’t know it.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you left the chapel and made your way back to his room. The storm had quieted, the halls now silent save for the soft hum of machinery.

When you opened the door, you found him awake, his honey-brown eyes meeting yours the moment you stepped inside.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

“I am,” you replied, moving to his bedside. “Did you need anything?”

He shook his head faintly, his gaze drifting to the book on the small table beside him. “Will you read to me?”

Your heart clenched, but you managed a small smile. “Of course.”

You settled into the chair beside him, picking up Leaves of Grass. The words flowed from your lips, familiar and comforting, filling the quiet room. As you read, his gaze remained on you, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Finally he was asleep, you sigh with relief. Setting the book neck to you,as you open your bag to look for your dairy.

Usually, you would write in it but it's been longer than three months now. Opening the book you smiled reminiscing as you discovered little to do lists you wrote down for yourself. As you flip through, a pressed wisteria flower falls to your feet.

Your breath hitched, at the sudden sight.

The memories, of that day

15 August 1945

The village of Borgo Fiorito was in full bloom, its cobblestone streets lined with bright bursts of flowers and the scent of fresh citrus carried by the warm breeze. The war seemed like a distant shadow that day, as if the world had conspired to offer a brief reprieve from its relentless cruelty.

He had asked you to meet him in the lemon grove just outside the village. You found him there, standing beneath the canopy of trees laden with ripe, golden fruit. The sunlight dappled his face, catching the edges of his smile as he turned to you.

“You’re late,” he teased, though his tone was light.

“I’m not late,” you countered, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re just impatient.”

He laughed, the sound so rare and genuine it made your heart ache. He stepped closer, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression suddenly serious.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness.

Your stomach flipped, the playful air between you replaced by something heavier, more profound. “What is it?”

He reached out then, taking your hands in his. His palms were rough, calloused from months of war, but his touch was gentle, grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he said, his voice low. “The war, the uncertainty… It terrifies me. But the one thing I’m sure of, the one thing I’ll always be sure of, is you.”

Your breath caught, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you,” he continued, his gaze locked on yours. “And I want to spend whatever time I have left by your side. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The war, the fear, the chaos—all of it faded away, leaving only the two of you beneath the lemon trees.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He smiled then, a smile so full of relief and joy it left you breathless. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear.

The scent of lemons and wildflowers filled the air, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was a perfect moment,

But the moment wasn’t over yet. When he pulled back, his gaze softened, deepened, filled with an unspoken longing that made your breath hitch.

“Do you trust me?” the question came out vaguely as he held out his hand. You tilt your head to the side as if to ask him —I literally just said yes to marry you, how can I not? —he chuckled, when you put your hand in his.

After his proposal, the two of you had walked to the little cottage at the edge of the olive grove, your hands intertwined like they were meant to fit together. You could still feel the faint weight of the ring on your finger, its presence grounding you in the surreal beauty of it all.

Inside, the room was simple yet inviting—rough wooden beams overhead, the scent of lavender from a spring tucked into the windowsill, and the faint flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. You had been nervous, but so had he. It was written in the way his hands hovered just above your shoulders, unsure of where to land, in the way his breath caught as you stepped closer.

“I…as you know I-I…” his stuttering got the best out of him as always. You smiled, as you kissed him. Your hands wrapped around his neck as he found comfort around your waist.

The kiss was slow, much more tender than usual almost as if he was being careful not to overstep any boundaries but you both knew tonight, there were no boundaries. You acted on your own as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist, a small giggled escaped your childish actions when he laughed while carrying you to the bed slowly.

He carried you to the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“I'm sure Kento,I've always been sure about you” you said as he looked you deep in the eyes, almost looking for a sign, any sign of hesitation.

You smile. And that was all it took for him. His lips found yours soft at first, tentative, as if he were afraid this moment would shatter. But then he deepened, the kiss and everything else melted away. You forgot the world outside—the war, the uncertainty, the shadows of tomorrow. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and it was enough.

The kiss grew so much his lips started making its way down to your collarbone. Kissing the skin softly, he kissed a certain part which made your hands find home in his hair and the sound that escaped from your lips was beautiful to him—it's as if he could hear an angel. His eyes never left your features as he sucked on that certain part—the simple sounds only rushed to his pants now becoming tighter by the second.

“Kento” a hoarse moan escaped your lips while his calloused hands, traveling down to the skirt of your dress. For a moment you looked him in the eyes, almost like a silent reassurance. His hands reached the corners of your silk underwear, “May I?” his voice laced with uncertainty but yet deprived from like a man's natural hunger.

You nodded softly as you felt the air hit your bare core.

Honestly you were very shy, he was the first man to see you like this,and he will be the last. With your dress still covering you,and for a moment before you could prepare he finally kissed you.

The spot where you needed him so desperately, your hands flung to the bedsheet as you gripped them hard so your knuckles turned white. Your breathing hitched as he licked you for a second.

“Kento,my love” he gave you a little hum, to acknowledge your calling upon him. You knew that at this moment he had lost himself within your waters. One of his hands found you intertwining your fingers with his, as he prepared you for his next coming mission.

Like a starving predator, he was devouring you as if you were his last meal. You back arching slightly as his name rolled off your tongue.

Never in your life have you felt this amount of pleasure. Yes you have sneaked off many times with your past lovers:kissing, caressing and canoodling but never like this.

This was your first time, your first time making love to a man you've loved so much.

Your moans grew louder by the minute, and your grip on Kento tightened.

“Kento, oh my…. my-my” a shiver ran down your back and you heard him mutter “ you taste so sweet” his lips came into contact with your clit, and he slowly sucked on it.

You could feel it.

The feeling of erotic bliss creeping into your. You were so until you felt him enter a finger. A low gasp escaped your lips

“Forgive me my love”, the apology sounded so sincere, while he penetrated through your walls.

Slowly that feeling started to build up again. Your hands flung to his hair, begging to find a solution to this feeling.

“Relax, for me sweetheart” he whispered against your wet womanhood.

The fresh scent of lavender surrounds your state,as the wind gushes through the window.

“Oh my god, you smell amazing” the sudden compliment threw you off guard. Your walls tighten around his finger, back arched fingers between the loose strands of his hair.

You whine, as you start to move your hips against the rhythm of his tongue and fingers. You were so close—that feeling was starting to dwell within you again.

Like a bliss you felt a release, your thighs shaking as you were coming down from the pleasure. Nanami held your hips in place and he kept lapping up your waters. You squirm, at the sensations you were feeling.

“So sweet, like lavender I swear”, he whispered against your thighs kissing his way up to you,only to find your foreman against your eyes.

“My love…” he murmured softly. Trying to remove your arms and what he saw could not compare to anything in this world.

Your beauty, it was your beautiful eyes that he so adored. It was the way your lips curved into a sudden smile even though droplets of tears seem to form at the corners.

He cupped your cheeks and whispered softly “You are so beautiful”

You shy away from his gaze,but he kisses you again. It's as if you can feel the love even through every little action.

His hands wander down, to your chest. The feeling of his rough calloused hands squeezed your fully clothed breast.

“Kento… my-my god” you moans against his lips. His lips traveled down to your chest, slowly unraveling the button. His eyes never left yours, just to be sure that you were okay with this.

Your dress discarded on the floor, you fully naked in front of him was something he always imagined but never thought he could have. His eyes darted down your figure, taking in every single detail, every scar, every single birthmark. You were beautiful— laying there lips parted, half lidded eyes, nipples erected just for him. Only now he realized that you finally belong to him, and that he is finally yours.

“Kento, you know it's rude to make your fiance wait” a teasing smile spreads across your lips

How could you just lay there and look so beautiful. He smiled and took off his briefs, your eyes ranking over this masculine figure l, your eyes widened slightly at the sight of his manhood. You swallow, loudly enough for him to hear,only for him to smirk at your reaction.

Finally reaching you, he leans down framing your head with his forearms. You gasped, feeling his torso against yours,the feeling of it against your thigh was enough to make you wonder if it would even fit.

The pad of his fingertips traces patterns against your cheek , his eyes searching for any concerns.

“Kento… ” your tone is so soft and low, wondering if you'll ever get the chance to say the words. “make love to me” as you looked into his eyes.

The confession itself made it clear that you wanted just as much as he wanted you.

“I promise I'll go slow”

The weight of his words lingered in the air, and finally he kissed you. The kiss wasn't as tender as it used to be. Instead there was passion, desperation and a pleasant force of love. Your hands flung around his neck as his hands slowly ran down the silhouette of your body, settling against your hips.

You could feel his member lining towards your entrance. One push was all he needed and that's what you felt, him finally stretching you out slowly. For the first time you felt it, and it was painful, yet so pleasurable.

His eyes found yours, with such concern. He mumbled “Are you okay?” you could only nod and smile. He kisses your temple before he withdraws slowly, but then pushes again the pattern following thoroughly—but steady.

At first it was as if you were dying from pain but now as the rhythm of his slow and gentleness suppresses you could only feel pleasure seeping through and that wasn't enough.

“Sweetheart I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to move a bit faster” his half lidded eyes ranking your features.

He kisses you again as the rhythm of his strokes begins to increase.

“Kento….ahhh oh my god” you moaned loudly.

“You feel so good, god Y/N” it's as if his hips were snapping with pleasure. You could feel every bit of him so deep within you.

Your breath hitched, quickening with every movement, as he angled his firm length to press against a spot that left you trembling.

“I know, I know sweetheart” he says as he kisses your now wet skin slowly making his way to your breasts,sucking the soft flesh as he continues his ministries.

“Kento I can't - can't” you moaned loudly, the stinging sensation was there. Your hands searching for anything to grip on,he kissed you so suddenly the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your eyes met for a brief moment as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You feel the rhythm of his hips, while his heavy member keeps pushing into you.

The feeling of his groin rubbing against your clit ws enough to send you into the stars.

“I'm so close,sweetheart” you heard him whisper “tell me you're close, oh just tell me you're almost there” he continued.

And you were, “Kento…. I…I think I'm gonna-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt him thrust against that one spot. Just like that you came, your thighs shaking to the core. Your toes curl and your hands find their way to his hair gripping onto him for dear life, not even soon after you feel long strings of ribbons follow after you,with the sounds of Kento’s groans stringing along with your name.

Moments pass, moments of silence where you both could hear the sound of birds singing. It wasn't morning but it's as if they were singing for you—after your wonderful bliss.

Afterward, you lay tangled together under the thin linen sheets, his arms wrapped protectively around you. The cicadas sang their nighttime song, and the moonlight painted silver streaks across the floor. He traced lazy circles on your back, his voice a soft murmur in the darkness.

“Mia Stella” he whispered to you.

You tilted your head to look at him,you frowned and he laughed at your confusion.

“You’re my guiding light in all this darkness, my star.” he whispered to you as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Kento…” you couldn’t help but be emotional, tears started to build up again.

“You really are the light of my life, Y/N” he said again and in those final moments, you knew that you were his and he was yours.

Present

The hospital room was quiet save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat by his bedside, your fingers brushing against his as he slept, your mind still lost in the memory of the lemon grove—the day he proposed, the night you gave yourself to him completely. It lingered in your chest, both sweet and devastating, knowing that he didn’t remember it.

You reached for his hand again, searching for the man you once knew in the warmth of his skin. But as you turned his wrist slightly, your eyes caught the faintest mark—a thin, pale scar wrapping around the back of his neck.

You froze.

It was the scar left by the chain of the locket you’d given him all those years ago.

Your breath hitched as your heart clenched, and in that instant, you were no longer in the sterile, somber hospital room.

1 Day

Before the World War II

13 September 1945

The train station buzzed with the chaotic energy of departure. Soldiers in uniforms stood in lines, their faces hard with resolve or softened with barely hidden tears. Families clung to one another, desperate to stretch seconds into minutes, minutes into hours.

But for you, the world had gone still. All you could see was him—Kento, standing there in his olive-green uniform, his jaw tight as he avoided meeting your eyes. His hand gripped the strap of his pack, his knuckles white from the effort.

“Do you have to go?” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

He finally looked at you, his amber eyes softer now, filled with sorrow and love. “You know I do.”

The tears you had fought so hard to hold back began to spill as you clutched the small locket in your hand. You’d chosen it for him the day he received his orders, a tiny token to keep him grounded, to remind him of home. Of you.

“Then promise me,” you said, your voice cracking as you fumbled with the chain. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He reached out, his rough hands gentle as they closed over yours, helping you fasten the locket around his neck. The silver pendant rested just below his collarbone, glinting in the weak sunlight.

“I promise,” he said, his voice steady even as his eyes betrayed the fear and uncertainty he couldn’t voice.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as sobs wracked your body. “Don’t let it take you,” you begged. “The war… don’t let it take you from me.”

His arms came around you, holding you tightly, as though he could shield you from the cruelty of the world. “Nothing could ever take me from you,” he murmured into your hair. “Not really.”

But as the train’s whistle pierced the air, cutting through the haze of desperation, you felt the lie in his words. The world could take him from you—just as it was about to.

When he pulled back, his hands lingered on your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. “Stay strong,” he said. “For me.”

You nodded, though your chest ached so fiercely you thought it might shatter.

The final whistle blew, and with one last lingering look, he turned and climbed aboard the train.

You stood there on the platform, clutching yourself against the cold as the train pulled away, its wheels screeching against the tracks. He leaned out of the window, his locket catching the light as he waved to you.

And then he was gone.

Present

19 December 1954

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you blinked back into the present, your hand trembling as it hovered over the faint scar on his neck.

That locket. You remembered how he’d sworn to return with it, to bring it back to you when the war was over. But he never did.

Tears welled in your eyes as you swallowed hard, the ache of that day at the train station crashing into you like a tidal wave.

“Kento…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you still feel it? Somewhere, do you still feel me?”

He stirred slightly, his lips parting as he murmured something too soft for you to hear. The faint motion pulled you back, grounding you, though the pain in your chest lingered.

Wiping your tears, you leaned back in the chair and opened Leaves of Grass again. Your voice wavered as you began to read, the words trembling with the weight of love, memory, and hope.

You didn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Because you still believed—somewhere deep in your heart—that the man you loved was still in there, waiting to find his way back to you.

25 December 1954

The morning sun filtered through the frosted hospital windows, its weak rays casting a golden glow on the endless white expanse outside. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the heavens, blanketing the earth in a serene stillness. The halls of the hospital buzzed with quiet activity, nurses exchanging soft smiles as they wished each other a Merry Christmas. You, too, wandered through the corridors, stopping at each room to offer gentle holiday greetings to the patients.

But your heart felt heavy.

It had been days since the flood of memories had overwhelmed you, each one more vivid than the last—his smile under the lemon trees, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace. You carried them like fragile glass in your chest, terrified that holding them too tightly might shatter you completely.

Today was Christmas, a day of hope and miracles, but for you, it was just another day to face the ache of loving someone who didn’t remember you.

With trembling hands, you approached his room, your heart thudding in your chest. The small, wrapped gift in your hand felt heavier than it should have. It wasn’t much—just a token, a gesture—but you’d hoped it might bring a flicker of light to his eyes, even if he couldn’t recall why it mattered.

Pushing the door open quietly, you stepped inside. He was sitting up, his body still frail but his presence strong. His amber eyes turned toward you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something there—something familiar, something real.

“Merry Christmas,” you said softly, forcing a smile as you approached his bedside.

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Merry Christmas.”

You placed the gift on the small table beside him, your fingers lingering on the ribbon as you tried to steady your breath. “It’s not much, but I thought… I thought you might like it.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You’ve been crying again,” he said, his voice hoarse but gentle.

Your eyes widened, caught off guard by his observation. “I’m fine,” you whispered, shaking your head. “It’s just… the season. It brings back memories, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the silence between you was suffocating. Then, he reached out, his fingers brushing yours as they rested on the edge of the bed. “Tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“About the memories,” he said, his voice quieter now. “About… us.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes as you struggled to find the words. “Kento, you—”

But before you could finish, his hand tightened slightly around yours. “Mia Stella,” he whispered.

The world stopped.

You froze, your eyes snapping to his as your heart began to race. “What… what did you say?”

“Mia Stella,” he repeated, his voice stronger this time. His eyes, once clouded with confusion, now shone with a clarity you hadn’t seen in years. “That’s what I called you. My star. You were my light, even in the darkest times.”

The tears you’d been holding back broke free, streaming down your face as a sob escaped your lips. “Kento…”

“I remember,” he said, his voice cracking as his own tears began to fall. “I remember everything. The lemon grove. The nights under the stars. The way you always smiled, even when I was too stubborn to. And I remember… how much I love you.”

You collapsed onto the edge of the bed, your hands clutching his as you wept. “I waited for you,” you choked out. “For ten years, I waited. I never gave up, even when it hurt, even when I thought you were gone forever.”

He reached up, his hand trembling as it brushed against your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For all the pain I caused you. For making you wait. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

You leaned into his touch, your tears falling freely as you nodded. “You’re here,” you echoed, your voice breaking. “That’s all that matters.”

He pulled you closer, his arms weak but steady as they wrapped around you. “Mia Stella,” he murmured again, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re my everything. You always have been.”

For the first time in a decade, you felt the weight of your heart lift. The man you loved had returned to you—not just in body, but in spirit.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in white, you held onto him, knowing that this Christmas was a miracle you would never forget.

It was the White Christmas he had always promised you.

©suguru's-thoughts 2024, do not copy or translate my work. Art work does not belong to me and my deviders are from the lovely @adornedwithlight 🍰🤍

a/n — I will not lie the dates got me mixed up but I hope you enjoyed this story it was so nice to write but yet so emotional. Feel free to comment your thoughts one this :')✨

wanna be on my taglist, comment 🍰🤍✨

[kurokawaia]

DAY TWENTY THREE - BABY TRAPPING 彡 Aizen Sosuke

WARNINGS :: x fem reader, afab, yandere, coercion, manipulation, baby trapping, no protection, missionary, fingering, cervix kissing, NC cumming inside, + more

| WC :: 2.8k+ | MDNI | 18+ | kinkmas m.list

You knew about Aizen, what he wanted to achieve-you were the only person he had told apart from three others. You were going to go ahead and help him make this dream a reality. To be in the company of Aizen was to be with a God-the level of control he had, it scared you, couldn't tell if you felt safe too. He's always there to protect you, keeps you hidden away so you can't get hurt. Still, something has always been a bit off about him; you noticed it, how his eyes would follow your every move, every breath. It started innocently enough with Aizen as a perfect gentleman, never forcing and yet giving you just enough space to feel independent. Subtle changes began to happen over time. "Are you going out again?" Aizen's voice came out soft, he is masking his disapproval, he's waiting for the right moment to force you to stay with him. You lifted your gaze from the mirror in front of you and finished styling out your hair. "Just for a little while. Soon I will be back." His eyes stayed on you a moment, his smile false as he stared at you. "I worry about you," he said, moving in behind you and setting his hands on your shoulders before trailing off down to your hands. "The world is a dangerous place, and I'm not always going to be here to protect you. You're only a healer, you can't do much, my love." Comforting, even, his words were sweet. You think. A lump, tense feeling began to grow in your stomach but you laughed it off, brushing his hands with a soft touch. "I'll be fine, Sosuke! I can take care of myself." But the seed had been sown. Over weeks, he came further into your life, and what you used to decide for yourself would, it seemed henceforth, have first to pass through him. And he keeps reminding you so often with a soft chuckle that he wants nothing but the best for you. "You know, you need to take more rest," Aizen said to you one night while doing reports. He leaned over you with his hand tucked in the back of your nemaki, drawing circles, almost to sooth you. "All this stress isn't good for your health." You faltered, words caught in your throat. "I need to finish this." "You don't," he returned smoothly. His fingers closed over your shoulder, tightening just a fraction. "What you need is to unwind. I don't like seeing you overexerting yourself." Before he could object further, he leaned forward and rolled the scroll shut before taking it in his hands. "I'll take care of everything," he whispered. "Just trust me." At first, it was very easy to confuse his overprotectiveness with care. He was attentive, loving in his own peculiar way. Before long, the control started to become more evident with each passing day. 

He never raised his voice nor did he yell. He didn't have to. His words had been enough to lead you to wherever he wanted you to go. And they were so gradual besides, too slight, almost imperceptible. He started taking you away from your friends, from your captain, your lieutenant, subtly making you feel they were not people you should trust. "They don't understand you the way I do," he'd say stroking your hair as you lay in his arms. "They'll only hold you back." And when you fell, he'd lift your chin so it faced his eyes, the skin of your forehead grazing his lips in a feather-soft touch. "I only want what's best for you." You had begun to lean on him, questioning your choices, and if indeed you really knew what was best for you. Then you went to Aizen to see if it was okay-the things you were doing. Aizen had this way of speaking, as though he was the only one who knew you. Lying beside him in bed, as night fell, you said what was pent up inside your mind, "Aizen, am I the only one who thinks this all went a bit too fast? I feel like... I'm losing myself." His response was immediate. "You aren't losing yourself, my love, you're finding who you're really supposed to be. With me, you don't have to worry about a thing. Always, I will take care of you," he says with a softness, but his words are like honey. Still, with those words somehow, it sent shivers down your spine. That was when the future conversations started, light at first, talks about what life could be if you stayed together. A house, peaceful life, children. "You'd make a great mother," he said one afternoon as his eyes latched onto yours. "Can't you imagine building a life with me?" Your heart had skipped a beat, but there was a growing discomfort. "Perhaps someday, but I don't know if I'm ready for that as yet." Aizen didn't press the issue then, but the subject kept coming up. He'd casually touch your belly, remark on how ideal it would be to have a family, how complete your bond would be if you were tied together in every possible way. "It's natural to be wary," Aizen told you one evening while you sat before the fireplace. His hand lay limply on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft patterns. "But do think about it. A child would only strengthen our love. We'd be forever bound." You laughed a little nervously and brushed the suggestion aside. "That's a big step, Aizen. I'm just not sure I'm ready." He smiled gently, his eyes concealing something, something that you don't notice. "You will see, in time, it is the best thing that can happen to us." You didn't know that in his mind, a decision was already made.

Aizen and you have had sex multiple times, so it isn't a rare occurrence for the two of you to have sex at least once a day, at the least, it would be once every two days. But, Aizen makes sure to leave you every night, making sure that you are so fucked out due to pleasure that you forget to notice particular things. 

Specifically, something that is about to happen tonight. 

Your arms are pinned above your head, as Aizen's fingers experimentally push past your slick folds, his fingers pressing past your clit, and a surge of pleasure courses through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for more.

 A moan left your mouth as your back arched to his touch. Your reaction made Aizen press down slightly more, and your legs squeezed around his waist, moans stringing out your mouth.

You felt his fingers slide down, and he found your seeping hols drenched with arousal. A finger slowly slid inside your heat, a whimper leaving your mouth. "Does this feel good?" Aizen asked, and you nodded frantically.

"F-Fuck... feels so good, Sosuke," you whimpered as he started to slowly pump in and out your soaked walls.

"Really?" He asked and you moaned as he inserted another finger into your walls.

Overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and intensity, it leaves you unable to hold back your moans. You lean your lips against his shoulder, muffling those sounds that burst from deep inside you. His fingers delve deep inside your core, firing a flame that engulfs every thought. Every movement, every curl sends shockwaves of pleasure across your body.

You let go and surrender to his intoxicating rhythm of touches. The junction of his skilled fingers with the intensity of our connection cossets you closer to the edge and teetering on the precipice of release. It was just a pure moment of bliss, where time seemed to stand still, filled completely with an overwhelming pleasure that coursed through the veins.

With Aizen's fingers pumping in and out of your seeping hole relentlessly, there was a familiar tightness growing in your lower abdomen, and pleasure that had tightened inside your stomach. You wrap your shaking legs around him, trying to hold on to him as the pleasure overflows. Anticipation ripples your body, reacting to every single one of his touches and movements.

You chant his name into his neck as praises leave your mouth, your voice filled with desire and need. The tears welling in your eyes are not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you whole.

At your pleading, sucks the skin around your neck once more, groaning against your neck, his voice husky with desire. His thumb starts pressing your clit with its fleshy pad, another layer added onto the sensations that are already so intense. The touch is electrifying, your back arches in response.

"Please, Sosuke," you sob. "I need to..."

"Let your body take over for you, you want this and I've got you," Aizen reassured, intertwining your mouths together, his mouth swallowing the moans that slipped out your mouth.

Waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving your legs trembling and weak from the intensity of the sensations. He slips his fingers from your hole and you continue to tremble from the aftermath of the orgasm. You managed to release myself from Aizen's neck and move away from his hold.

"Feeling alright?" Aizen asks cupping my cheeks.

"...yeah..." you breath out slowly while looking into his eyes. Aizen makes you feel so good, all the time, always focusing n your own pleasure, it's like he's trying to win you over for something, to distract you from something-

"There is more coming," Aizen said slowly, his brown eyes piercing into your own and they widened.

"More?" you tease, "What possibly could you give me more of?"

"So much, my love," Aizen hums. "Just let yourself loose, don't focus on anything, just on the pleasure I will give."

He delicately bites the shell of your ear making you let out a quiet whimper. you could feel him smile against your ear at your reaction. Aizen's touch caused you to dig your nails slightly into his chest leaving light crescent marks causing more deep exhales of breaths to get caught in your ear.

Aizen moved his head and his body suddenly firmly pressed against yours and you whimpered at the feeling of his dick pressing up agasint your stomach. His lips mingled with yours his minty taste and smell overflowed your senses making it a complete euphoria for you. you cupped the back of his neck to create a deeper angle for him to go explore deeper into your mouth with our tongues continuing to entangle with each other.

Aizen groans into your mouth, the hand that was trailing down your thigh moved swiftly back to your waist and the other intertwined with your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him. you let out breathy sighs into him as your own hand interlaced with his chocolte and your other wrapped around behind his neck.

His other hand moved its way down to tightly lift your thigh up which made his body mould closer to mine making you feel his dick press up against your soaked core. The kiss slows down and turns soft and almost desperate it's as if he wants to take his time with you, savouring every inch of your taste, to take his sweet time to memorise you.

"Look at you," he teases. "Trembling under my touch."

Aizen pants against your lips and you didn't have time to reply as he pressed them against you once more. "Please," I whimper out.

"Hmm?"

"I want you...." you mumble. "Stop teasing me."

Aizen kissing your forehead like you were a child who listened to their parent. "Good girl."

He presses his lips against mine to take your mind off. you feel a hard tip get lubricated at your entrance making your back arch into him as you let out a strangled moan of pleasure into his mouth. He continues to push further into you making your eyebrows furrow together in pain but the pleasure is still overwhelming your senses making tears prick at your eyes.

"Oh, you feel so good," Aizen whimpers into your neck. "You're so perfect."

You moan. The feeling of pure ecstasy of him fully entered you, the pain gone.

You feel his dick scraping across your plush walls in all the right places as he slowly exited your cunt, but not fully. Your moans and whimpers get swallowed by each other. you feel his thrusts speed up and you moan in response, your walls clenching around him causing the grip Aizen held on your thigh and waist to tighten.

The coil in your stomach getting tighter and your moans slightly became higher. Aizen continued to groan into your neck after he pulled away from the heated kiss.

"You make- me feel so goo- d," you say moaning throughout your sentence, "Feels so good-" you felt the coil in your stomach snap as your back arched painfully into Aizen's bare chest causing Aizen to groan and his arms moved to wrap tightly around you.

You arched your back heavily, able at last to sink further into his embrace. Aizen leaned over, drawing you near to him and initiating a messy, moist kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth, letting out grunts as he absorbed your sounds of pleasure. 

Effectively distracting you as he cums half in your cunt and the rest all over your stomach. He mimics that he's pulled out when in reality, he's got you filled with his seed, ready for you to bare his child.

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

 Aizen watched you from his chair.. "You're shaking, dear. What's going through your mind?" His voice was smooth, treacherous in a way that completely made it impossible for you to feel anything but relaxed and on edge all at once.

"I-I just don't understand...," you stammered, your hand falling to rest on your stomach, that for the last couple of weeks had started to show the signs of the life growing inside you. "How could this have happened? We were careful..."

Aizen chuckled low in his throat. "Oh, my love. Did you truly think I would leave something so important to chance? This was always a part of the plan."

You froze, your mind racing. "Wha... what do you mean?"

He stood, moving towards you with the grace of a predator stalking his prey. His hand cupped your cheek as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "I made it happen. I want you bound to me in every way possible. You're mine now-mind, body, and soul."

It swept over you, you realise everything now. Every sweet word, every tender touch, was all an act to trap you. And in one swell, tears began to well within your eyes, but a gentle smiling Aizen wiped them away.

"There is no reason to cry, dear, this is for the best. Now you shall never leave me. You shall carry my child, and we will be bound together, forever." His lips pressed against your forehead. Your breath hitched as his hand slipped into your stomach. How had you not seen this all along? All those nights he had held you close, whispering sweet promises to your ear-all part of his carefully designed trap. He straightened, watching your. "You're too precious to let slip away. You see that, don't you?" His fingers brushed your skin. "You planned this," I whispered, more for my benefit than his. "You wanted this all along..."

Aizen smiled. "Of course. You really didn't think I'd leave a thing like that to chance, did you? I have always had a vision for us-a future wherein you would be mine-completely." You took another step backward, feeling the beating of your heart within your chest, but there was nowhere to go. "What if I don't want it?" you whispered almost soundlessly. "You are emotional now. Understandably so. But time will let you see this as precisely what you need." His voice was coaxing, speaking as he would to a frightened child. You shook your head, fighting down the panic rising into your throat. "I don't want to be trapped like this, Aizen. You can't just take away my choices." Aizen's hand rose to your chin, the pad of his thumb tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Oh my love, I have not taken anything from you. I've simply... ensured that we shall never again be parted. Is it not what you wanted, deep down?" "I... I don't know," you said, voice shaking. "Shhh," Aizen cooed, pressing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You are overwhelmed now. But in time, you shall see: our child will bind us together, and you shall understand that was the only way. You shall thank me for protecting our future. "Why?" one finally asked, barely above a whisper. "Why go to such an extent? Aizen's smile pulled taut over his lips, never quite reaching his eyes. "Because I love you. And when I love someone, I make sure they can never leave me." Aizen leaned down until his lips brushed against your ear. "There's no escape, my dear. Not now, not ever."

Do not steal, copy, modify, translate or use for ai Reblogs only!

tag list :: @love-eien @enouche @dreaddful @z8riah

@yanakurokawaaa @princesstiti14 @bontensbabygirl @mitsuyas-version

@kxrfie @clobiss @helenaxh @Tvbox_098 @fullwriterpoemp

[wynnerwynner]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄

aemond targaryen x fem!royce-targaryen!reader

synopsis: after aemond made a scene toward his wife's estranged family at dinner, he seeks her out to apologize and make a daring promise.

request: no

warnings: brief discussion of violence

wc: 1.1k

A knock came from the door. Y/N did not rise from where she laid on the bed. They knocked again.

“Y/N,” Aemond called from the other side. “Y/N—open the door, for Gods’ sake.”

She could hear conversation between him and her guard, but could not discern it.

Aemond was growing irritated.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” Ser Andry said as the door swung open. “I tried to—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish his sentence, the wood rattling against its hinges. She must stop slamming it so much herself. She was not her father.

Aemond took a couple steps into the room. Slowly, he drew closer to the bed.

“I couldn’t help but notice your leaving without a word from our dinner.”

Aemond rounded the bed, coming into view of her open eyes. He sat on the edge of it, staring at her.

“Y/N,” he said simply.

“What you did,” she spoke softly, staring off, “really hurt me … Aemond.”

“That was never my intention.”

Y/N sighed through her nose, adjusting her head against the pillow.

“My uncle is a prick. So are his children.”

When her eyes flicked to him, he froze.

I am his child, her eyes so easily said.

Once again, Aemond was reminded that he did something the opposite of his intentions.

Y/N turned over, leaving her silk-covered back to him.

Aemond sat there, picking at the skin around his fingers, unsure of what to do next. Then, he laid on the bed next to her. He faced her back, staring at her pearl and brown coloured hair.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“The intention isn’t the matter,” Y/N said softly, “it is the outcome. The result of one’s actions is often always what matters. Whatever your intentions, I know it was to rouse them. You act as though I am stupid.”

“I do not think you stupid. My uncle ignored you. He has been ignoring you,” he reminded. “Does that not anger you?”

“It does,” she snapped. “But I know him better than anyone.”

Aemond paused.

“You deserve justice,” he said carefully.

“I do,” she replied. “Though, it is my justice to serve. Not yours. I understand it is difficult for you to accept because of the hatred that’s been instilled upon you regarding my step and half siblings, but they are not just your nephews and nieces. They are now your brothers and sisters—as much as they are mine. They’ve always been kind to me. I’d’ve hoped you’d seen that.”

Tentatively, he reached out and pulled a curly strand of brown and pearl hair over her shoulder.

Y/N turned over to face him. For once, he was the nervous one.

She struggled to understand how she’d explain the complexity that was her genealogy.

“I …”

Her mouth bobbed as she choked on words, each planned sentence making less sense than the last. After nearly a minute of him patiently waiting for her to speak, she decided it didn’t matter if he thought her insane. He could label her a witch. He could look at her the same way the court looked at Helaena and it wouldn’t matter. If she lost yet another person who was supposed to love her, it wouldn’t matter this time.

“My mother and father—their blood of the First Men and Old Valyria, gifted me the ability to empathize. I can … I can feel other people’s emotions, though I cannot manipulate. The wind and the grass have their own emotions. So does the wood of this bed and the threading of my nightgown. I can feel everything. I can feel men as far as the Wall.”

Y/N found herself spewing her deepest secret, speaking faster than her brain could comprehend. She’d never spoken of her gift to anyone but Helaena, especially not to this depth.

“My father often feels like—like shame and disappointment. It is why he goes on these adventures and neglects me. Why he tries to be a father to his other children. He’s afraid of me—of what my existence represents.”

Y/N was ready for him to bleed her out in her own bed. But the knife never left its holster. Instead, his mouth opened,

“And what do I feel like, Princess?”

She blinked, then mumbled, “Sorrow.”

Aemond’s eye looked from one of hers, to the other. “And what?”

“Rain,” she whispered absently. “You’ve always felt like rain.”

She watched his expression change in the minuscule way it did when he turned inward.

His hand came up to her cheek, his thumb stroking the skin of her cheek.

“I can get you justice,” he said.

It would only take a word and he’d conspire against the lives of her father’s entire family. One word and Dragonstone would explode.

“I do not wish death,” she whispered.

“I can make you their Queen.”

He said it so casually, she couldn’t believe it.

“You mustn’t make such complex promises, Aemond.”

“You should know by now, dear wife, I don’t make promises I cannot keep.”

She got the urge to slap him, though she refrained. How dare he say such a thing?

“And I’m to believe you’d let me sit atop the throne? Higher than even you? How would that work? My father gave up his seat—there is no way, in this realm, that I’d wear that crown on my head. That is not what my uncle wishes upon his death.”

“What my father wishes is not important,” he said with irritating calm. “Have you never dreamed of what it would be like to look down on Daemon? To look down on all those who have wronged you?”

Y/N stared at him, brows narrowed. She licked her lips before reminding, “I’d be looking down on you.”

“You understand, just as I, that family is sacred. Unlike my mother, you understand how to keep our children on the throne. You do not play, as she does.”

“And what would the people think?”

“You are of the First Men. You have advantage.”

“Aemond, I do not wish to sit before my own council in a time of need, all for them to talk amongst themselves!” she emphasized. “This is ludicrous.”

He sat up. “It is truth.”

“No, it is delusion,” she raised from the pillow.

Aemond assessed her before leaning in slowly to leave a lingering kiss to her cheek. Then, he leaned toward her ear and whispered,

“I’d burn them all if it meant securing the throne.”

He pulled away slowly and retreated from the room. Even after the door had closed, Y/N sat staring at the door.

[afterglowkatie]

sliding into something real | c.f.

caitlin foord x kerr!reader | 1.1k | 'from slide tackling me to sliding in my dms,' + ‘being with you feels like coming home,’

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘I thought you two would have your shit together by now,’ A, slightly tipsy, Sam leaned on the table next to Caitlin. You had skipped the pre planned night out after how the match had gone beforehand. Losing a London derby to Arsenal was always going to sour your mood, especially when the person responsible for disrupting your last big chance to at least get the equaliser would be there.

You and Caitlin had mutual crushes on each other, but it had never been anything more than that. Or at least neither of you let it be anything more, you both didn’t even realise that the crush each of you had was mutual. Though it didn’t mean that the longing looks you both gave and the way you’d seek out each other's comfort, especially during national camp, didn’t go unnoticed. 

Sam, who frustratingly knows you better than you know yourself, picked up on the mutual feelings her best friend and younger sister had for each other. You’d skipped the night out and now Caitlin had been caught by your older sister, looking through your old instagram posts and debating on whether she should send you a message.

‘What do you mean?’ Caitlin tried to hide her phone away when she realised who was next to her, but she knew Sam had already seen anyway.

‘Just send her a message,’ Caitlin gave Sam a look, wanting to make sure that she was definitely okay with it. Sam being the main reason Caitlin had been holding back from acting on her feelings towards you, not wanting to cross any boundaries or lose an important friendship with your older sister. Sam rolled her eyes, ‘There’s only so much more I can take when she gets all pouty after showing her a picture of you smiling next to literally anyone else. Don’t get me wrong though, you better treat her well or you will have me to deal with,’ 

Sam left Caitlin to dwell on whether she actually would message you or not. Though she had a little confidence boost knowing your sister would be okay with it. She’d spent too many nights thinking about you and what it would be like to be with you, maybe she could make it actually happen instead of just thinking about it.

I thought you were unstoppable, or do you just like falling at my feet?

You half groaned when the message from Caitlin came through, reminding you of the match earlier, but you felt your heart race when you saw her name on your phone screen. Your cheeks heated up and you bit your lower lip trying to stop the grin that wanted to spread across your face. You felt like a teenager all over, smiling and kicking your feet while your crush was actually talking to you.

From slide tackling me to sliding in my dms.

Very smooth Cait.

Caitlin looked up from her phone, making sure no one was around to see the smile that wasn’t leaving her face any time soon. She’d surely be teased and everyone would try to see who she was texting. So she was thankful everyone else was preoccupied and she could focus on you. 

Smooth just like my tackle.

You rolled your eyes, but laughed a little anyway. It wasn’t often that Caitlin ever had the chance to make a tackle like that on you. Normally not playing near each other on the pitch. 

Keep that up and maybe you won’t get the chance to come here.

Somewhere you got the confidence, sending a bold and kind of risky message, especially considering you’d never really talked to each other like this before. Some conversations border lined it, but you both always stopped before implying something else.

Are you inviting me over?

Caitlin, already thinking of an excuse to leave the night early, not that any of the others would really notice if she left or not. 

Would you like to come over?

‘Thank god,’ were the first words out of your older sister’s mouth when you told her you and Caitlin had gotten together, a few months after those texts which led Caitlin to spending the night and the two of you talking and enjoying each other's company for that entire night and next day. Leading on to more talking and eventual official dates.

Sam ended up being you and Caitlin’s biggest supporter in your relationship. She also liked to take credit for the two of you actually getting your shit together, as she likes to say, and finally becoming official. Even if you did get endless teasing from your teammates when they found out, for going soft for an Arsenal player.

You waved up from the pitch where Caitlin and Sam were sitting. Arsenal had played the day before so she was able to make it to yours to support you. It was nice for you to look up and see your girlfriend sitting in the stands. You’d made a compromise and she would wear one of your Australia jerseys whenever she came to support you and you’d do the same whenever you found yourself at an Arsenal match for her.

As soon as the final whistle sounded, your hands went to your face as you let out a sigh of frustration. You’d not played your best, neither had your team, and Chelsea ended up dropping points to a club you shouldn’t be dropping points to. From the stands Caitlin could tell how hard the match had been for you. Wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around you and tell you not to worry too much about everything that happened.

Finally you made your way through the stands towards your girlfriend. Sam had already come down, giving you a little hug before pushing you towards where Caitlin was, knowing who you really needed right now.

‘Hey,’ Your voice was small, exhaustion evident on your face. Caitlin reached out, grabbing a hold of your hand before pulling you onto her lap. You laid your head against her shoulder looking up at her, small, tired smile on your face, ‘Thank you for being here. Sorry I couldn’t play better,’

Caitlin frowned a little, wrapping her arms around you a little bit tighter, ‘You always play well and baby you know I love watching you play, even if you’re wearing the wrong colour,’ Caitlin trying to lighten your mood a little, you let out a small chuckle. The two of you always ‘fighting’ over which club was better. Caitlin leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, then each of your temples, a little one on your nose and peppering kisses all over your cheeks. Your smile widened and you cuddled further into her, turning your head when she went to kiss your cheek so she’d kiss your lips instead. 

‘Being with you feels like coming home,’ You laid your hand on top of where Caitlin’s were resting against your waist. Even after a match that wasn’t an ideal result, you had the comfort of your girlfriend you could come home to. When you were with Caitlin not much else mattered.

[kbstanny]

Treatment (Zayne/Reader)

✿ Fandom: Love and Deepspace

✿ Pairing: M/F

✿ Tag: NSFW

✿ Mentions: smut, mild injury mentions

✿ Word count: 5,051

✿ Summary: She had no choice but to see Dr. Zayne for treatment after a Wanderer left her injured, but his cure for her anguish wasn't quite what she had in mind.

✿ A/N: Hey! This my first fic on this website, and it's on a game I only started playing a week ago 😭

Because I'm a new player, I don't really know the world or the story very well, so if there are inaccuracies then you know why. However, I've also avoided specific plot details for this very reason.

I hope you enjoy!

Damned Knave.

She tightly gripped the gash on her thigh, limping her way down the dark deserted path. She'd received reports of disturbances down at the old munitions factory and had gone to investigate. Wanderers had been sighted after hours, so she'd gone late into the evening, and solo, as her ever-elusive partner had been unavailable. She'd handled herself fine, but a rather tricky Knave had managed to cut right through the top of her thigh.

Once she eventually hobbled her way to a street lamp, she could investigate her injuries properly. Shakily, she removed her blood-stained hands from the wound, then hummed — It didn't look too severe. The gash was long, but not so deep, stretching from her inner thigh up toward her hip. The blood made things a lot nastier than they needed to be, and the pain was bearable, at least for now. She'd hail a taxi and treat the damage at home, and if it didn't feel much better by morning, she'd consult her physician. But Dr. Zayne was a last resort.

Once morning came, she did not feel better.

The pain woke her up before her alarm did. It stung intensely, and the surrounding skin was hot and numb. Clearly rubbing alcohol, a cocktail of painkillers and gauze wasn't going to cut it. Carefully, she unwrapped the bandage to take a look at her injury — it still didn't seem too bad. Inflamed, a little gnarly, but far from incapacitating. Just painful. But she'd faced foes much fiercer than some stupid Herte Knave, and obtained injuries far more gruesome. For now, she'd suck it up. She had a job to do.

—

"Oh my god!" Tara gasped. "When did that happen?" Her friend asked her, leaning in to the picture on her phone. She'd snapped the pic before getting ready for work this morning, thinking it would be a funny story to tell to Tara at the office. But her friend's reaction was a little more alarmed than she'd anticipated.

"Last night, at the factory. There were some serious beasts down there, but you wanna know caused that? A Knave of all things." She chuckled, shaking her head. Tara didn't look so amused.

"Aren't you hurt? Have you been to the doctor?"

"It's just a scratch, Tara, I'll be fine."

"That is not just a scratch! That needs stitches!—"

"What needs stitches?"

Captain Jenna approached the two, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had a scrutinising look in her eye, one that said 'Why are you chatting and not working?' It reminded her of her old teachers.

The hunters were silent, looking between each other. She shot Tara a warning look, but Tara ignored it, turning the phone to face Jenna. "This does."

Jenna leaned in, her eyebrows raising, breaking her steely expression. "Why yes, it does... Is this you?" She looked to her, and she sighed softly, a little embarrassed.

"Yes, but I feel fine. I promise. If I didn't, I'd take the day off."

"Have you had it treated?" Jenna cut to the chase.

"...No." She admitted, and Jenna sighed.

"Well go. At once. That could easily get infected." The captain straightened up, her tone commanding. There was no room for negotiation. "Honestly, I thought you'd have more sense than to leave an injury like that unattended." With that, Jenna walked away. She waited until her captain was out of sight before standing and addressing Tara.

"Did you really have to snitch on me?" Though she already knew she would — anything to impress Jenna. Tara gave a sheepish look.

"Well I had to do something! I'm only looking out for you." But she pat Tara's shoulder, shaking her head and smiling.

"I know, I know, you're right... as usual. I really shouldn't ignore it. Thanks Tara." Tara gave a knowing smile.

"I am usually right! Now go and see Zayne. He might be a little scary but he knows what he's doing." They both chuckled at that.

Tara knew what her friend was hesitant to admit: It wasn't that she was ignorant of the risks of open wounds, nor was she a particularly nervous patient. She just didn't want to see Zayne.

Not because the doctor was in any way cruel or unpleasant, he wasn't even scary as such. But the doctor was so cold, and the icy chill of his eyes permeated her core with a mere glance her way. Zayne had been an old forgotten friend, a dear one, but now he was a figurehead for her ailments. All that time they'd spent together as children seemed meaningless now. They couldn't have drifted further apart. Zayne was a bad omen, and a sign her past had been well and truly shattered.

But that was only half of the reason. The other reason, the more embarrassing one, was that she found Zayne stupidly attractive. Not only because he had the face of an angel and a body carved from marble, but for his work ethic, his dedication, his intelligence. And of course, she couldn't help but feel sentimental toward him over the time they'd spent together as kids. She yearned to reconnect with him. He had a potent effect on her. When she was near him, his mere presence was enough to suck the words out of her mouth, to reduce her to a shrinking violet with no resolve. Like a silly teenager with a crush. And that wasn't like her at all. She hated not having control.

She wasn't certain whether the feeling was mutual. There was something about the way that he looked at her, on occasion, that made her heart flare up. Sometimes she thought he had a tenderness to his tone that he just couldn't have used with everyone, but maybe that was wishful thinking? His concern for her health and wellbeing seemed obsessive, too. Never had her previous physicians been so zealous, but Zayne was a renowned surgeon. Perhaps it was just a sign he was good at his job, and nothing more? She didn't know, and she didn't like thinking about it.

With a deep breath, she rapped on the door to his office. With any luck, he'd be busy, and she'd be forced to return to HQ and schedule an appointment the long way.

"Come in." He answered — Damn.

She walked inside, standing by the door with her hands behind her back. Zayne was busy typing away at his computer, and he hadn't even spared her a glance. She hadn't realised she'd been quiet until Zayne spoke up again.

"Can I help you?"

She snapped out of her daze. "Yes, if you're not too busy. I injured myself while dealing with a Wanderer. I was hoping you could take a look."

It was upon hearing her voice that Zayne decided his patient was more interesting than his computer, and he turned to face her, scrutinising her slightly crooked form, and the way she carried her weight. He thought for a moment or two.

"Your left thigh." How did he know that? She looked down, but her injury was completely concealed, and no blood had seeped through her clothes.

"Yes, how did you—"

"What happened exactly? Take a seat." She nodded, heading to sit down on the chair opposite the doctor, but he shook his head.

"Not there. On the examination table."

"Right."

As she sat down, Zayne quickly punched one final sentence into the keyboard, before turning to face her, waiting for her answer.

"It happened yesterday. A Wanderer, as I said." She clarified, and Zayne hummed.

"So the Wanderer attacked you directly? You didn't sustain this injury through any other means during the battle?" She shook her head. Zayne made a note of this on his computer.

"And do you have any other injuries?" She told him no again.

"Alright. I need to examine you, if that's okay."

She nodded, looking down to where her legs were outstretched on the table, before coming to an awkward realisation: She was wearing pants. She couldn't just pull her skirt up, she'd have to strip the item off entirely.

"Yes, of course." She began to fiddle with the button to her pants, before Zayne stiffened, taking the curtain that surrounded the table.

"Tell me when you're ready." With that, he shut the curtain around her. She released a sigh of relief, grateful for the privacy, though she felt a little stupid for not closing it herself. She wasn't sure how she'd compose herself having to undress in front of him.

Once her pants were off, she came to a second mortifying realisation: Her underwear. The item was black and lacy, made from sheer mesh, hardly concealing her delicate areas. The type you'd wear for a lover, and not at all the sort of thing you'd wear to work. But she'd washed all of her more practical undies yesterday, and thanks to one pesky Knave, hadn't found the time to dry them before morning. If she'd known she'd be stripping down in Zayne's office for an examination, she would have stopped off at the shops on her way to work to buy something cheap and appropriate. Hell, she probably would have bought boxer shorts.

"Shit." She hissed under her breath.

What would Zayne think of her? Surely he'd think it was deliberate. She'd approached him for treatment, and she just so happened to be wearing semi-transparent lingerie? There was no way he'd find that coincidental. He'd think she was some sort of pervert. Was it too late to get out of here?

"Are you alright? Or are you struggling to get changed?" Zayne asked from the other side of the curtain. Her chest felt tight — how long had she been sat there worrying?

"No, I'm fine. I'm ready now." She panicked, blurting out the words despite herself, cursing internally as Zayne pulled back the curtain. The doctor said nothing as his eyes drank in the sight of her, nor did his expression give anything away — Not that she'd know, she avoided his gaze like the plague, staring intently at the floor. But despite his composure, Zayne certainly noticed her indelicate attire. And despite his healing instincts, and the rather prominent gash on her thigh, her panties were the very first thing that held his attention.

Zayne sat beside the bed, on the side of her injured leg, leaning in close to the cut. He took a long look at it, reticent as ever, before finally meeting her gaze.

"What time did this happen yesterday?"

"In the evening."

"And you didn't think to call me when it did?" Zayne pressed. Her words were trapped in her throat for a moment, before she finally pushed them out.

"Well... no. It was late, and it didn't seem so bad at the time."

"It's never too late to check yourself in to a hospital." Zayne stated the obvious. "Whether I was available or not, you should have had this seen to immediately." His tone was stern, his stare unwavering. She said nothing. "When something like this happens, you need to call me, no matter how late it is. I'm your primary care physician, it's what I'm here for. And if I can't see to you personally, I can find someone who can."

"I understand. I will do, next time."

"You really ought to take your health more seriously. You have a duty, as a hunter, to protect people. Lives depend on you. And you can't protect anybody if you can't take adequate care of yourself. Being anything less than thorough with your wellbeing is selfish, and neglectful of your duties." His words made her brows furrow, a mixture of annoyance and shame, but she still didn't respond.

"Injuries sustained through Wanderer attacks are more susceptible to infections. Some are serious, and fast-acting, as you should well know. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting wounds like these seen to as soon as possible—"

"I know, Doctor." She interrupted, a little snappy. "I told you already. I will next time, and I'm here now, aren't I?" But did she have any right to be annoyed with his tone? Deep down she knew she didn't, that she was only being stubborn, but she couldn't help herself.

"Please don't be so reckless next time." Zayne asked her, his tone softer, his eyes so tender she couldn't stand to look at them anymore. She couldn't take it when he scolded her.

The doctor sighed softly through his nose.

"This will need sutures, but I'll need to clean the wound and check for signs of infection first, which requires a physical examination. Is that alright?" His words nearly made her melt.

"That's fine." She composed herself well enough for an answer.

Zayne brought a gloved hand to her thigh, and although the gesture was purely clinical, she couldn't help the heat that rushed to the spot between her legs. His hands were cool, and his touch gentle, so gentle that if she closed her eyes and pictured a different context, it could've been a loving caress. Zayne pressed his fingers firmly against her thigh.

"Does that hurt?"

"No." She answered honestly. Zayne repeated the motion to the space surrounding her injury, his fingers travelling in a small circle, starting from the bottom of the cut, until they creeped inwards. Zayne gently pulled at her thigh, widening her legs as he continued his examination. She was trying her best not to react.

She cast her gaze downwards, to the fingers between her legs, and her heart dropped. From this angle, under the stark white lights, she was clearly exposed. Nothing was left to the imagination. She was so embarrassed she nearly screamed, looking to Zayne to try and gauge his reaction — but she couldn't. He was too focused on the task at hand.

Her breath became shaky as she observed the way he prodded at her, how his fingers crept ever-closer to her arousal. Just one budge in the opposite direction and those tough, broad hands would be swept over her cunt. Imagining how his fingertips would tickle the mesh of her panties was enough to make her wet.

She heard her name in the recesses of her mind, and then again. Only the second time did she realise it was coming from Zayne's lips.

She snapped back to reality, looking back at him with eyes wider than intended. He stared back at her with a cutting gaze.

"I asked you whether it hurt, where I was touching you." He repeated. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a few moments before she could cough the words out.

"No— no, sorry. I was a million miles away." She chuckled sheepishly.

Zayne looked back at her, giving nothing away. How exciting, he thought, that he could tell exactly what was going through her mind, yet she didn't have a clue what he was thinking? Zayne was extraordinarily good at hiding his emotions, but his patient? Not so much.

She was embarrassed, that much was clear. Whether the lingerie was a wardrobe malfunction or a bold decision she quickly came to regret, he wasn't sure.

What was also clear was that she liked it — what he declined to express was that he did too.

How could he not? If it were anybody else, he wouldn't give such scandalous attire a second thought. As a doctor, he was indiscriminate; a body was just a body. He'd seen the hidden corners of countless beautiful women and it never swayed his commitment to his work or hindered his professionalism — not once. But she was different. Surely, despite how reserved he was, she could tell that she was different? That this tension between them was all but ordinary?

"I don't believe you have an infection, but I'd like to see you in a week for observation. If anything changes, let me know immediately." He told her, his tone as stoic as ever. Yet his hand lingered at her inner thigh, so close to her cunt she was sure he could feel the heat through his gloves. Eventually, he did move his hand. Despite his feelings, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

Zayne then proceeded with the usual cleaning and dressing procedures, and she suppressed a hiss as he swabbed the wound with antiseptic. During this entire exchange, she'd been uncharacteristically quiet, whereas Zayne was as quiet as usual. The silence was unbearable, she wasn't sure she could ever recall a time where she'd felt so awkward that it hurt. Her body was so tense, and her lust swelled so needily that she couldn't suppress the words that left her mouth next.

"I'm sorry about the underwear." She blurted, her apology cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. But it didn't take long for the searing metal to scorch her skin — she regretted the words almost the moment she'd said them.

Zayne paused, placing down the suture needle he was prepping before staring straight back at her. There was a hint of mirth behind his eyes, that came into fruition through a small, teasing smile.

"Don't apologise." His tone was gentle and neutral.

Did he say that so things wouldn't be uncomfortable, or because he liked the look of them?

"I didn't wear these because I knew you'd see them, all my other pairs hadn't dried. And I wasn't even going to see you in the first place, I only did because Jenna told me to!" She couldn't help but explain herself, a grimace on her face, but Zayne remained quiet as he brought the needle to the cut.

The anaesthetic numbed the pain. She felt uncomfortable again, with Zayne's sudden silence. She wondered whether he'd respond at all, whether she'd made things too awkward, but Zayne was simply mulling over the best thing to say.

"You don't usually wear lingerie to work, then?" He enquired, meeting her gaze once he'd pulled the stitch through. She chuckled bashfully, dipping her head.

"No. Never. They've been irritating me all day." Zayne hummed at this, continuing with his sutures. "Why, would you prefer it if I did?"

She wasn't sure where such boldness had come from. Likely it was that her lips below were talking for the ones above, despite how twisted up she felt inside. Yet again, she quickly regretted her pitiful attempt at flirting, until Zayne seemed to bite.

He met her eyes again, his smile wider now. He loved seeing her so playful. "I'm not sure I can come up with an answer that's both professional and true."

Her desire burned at his words, so brightly that she swore she could feel a hole forming in her chest. She clenched, unwittingly, never had she been so eager to feel him. A Cheshire-cat smile stretched across her face, the type of smile that she was sure made her look silly, yet Zayne found it endearing.

She began to laugh, though at first it was deep in the pit of her stomach, and Zayne continued with his work. But she couldn't help her laughter, the swell of emotions overtaking her. Embarrassed, yet immensely satisfied. How unexpected that things were beginning to work out for her?

Zayne finished the sutures, gathering fresh gauze as he began to dress the wound, amused by her reaction. "Do you truly find me that funny?" He asked in a level tone, and her laughter died down so that she could respond.

"Zayne, you are the furthest thing from funny." Though she didn't elaborate, as there was no need. Her belly full of butterflies was clear without words. The doctor hummed and finished dressing the wound.

She watched him as quiet settled over them again, but this time it wasn't an awkward silence. Instead, it was charged with sexual tension. Zayne stopped looking at her thigh in favour of the warmth between her legs. He stared, unabashedly, and the look on his face struck a bolt of fresh arousal through her heart.

He took his gloves off, then slowly, he reached over, tracing his fingertip over the lacy edge of her underwear. "Why do you have underwear like this anyway? Do you have a partner?" He asked her. She thought he sounded almost a little possessive, but it was clear another man in the picture wouldn't stop him anyways. His eyes flitted up to hers.

Her face felt hot at the question. Goosebumps prickled up across her skin in an instant, her cunt twitching from the subtle contact. "No."

"No?" He tested, taking his finger directly over her heat, stroking it up and down over the thin mesh of her panties. He could feel her wetness soaking through, and the way she twitched under his touch. "Then I'm right to assume that these are only for me?" There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one that she mirrored.

"That's right."

Her answer pleased him. She spread her legs a little wider, resisting the urge to moan despite the fact he'd hardly touched her. Zayne slipped his fingers beneath her underwear, finally feeling her properly. The sensation made her gasp.

He merely trailed his touch along the length of her cunt, between her folds, sticky with her slick. He was teasing her, taking his precious time as he lapped up the look on her face.

"You're already so wet."

His voice was collected. He was completely in control, while the woman at the end of his fingers was quickly unravelling by the second. She said nothing, releasing a shaky breath. Zayne stood, sitting opposite her on the table.

He took his fingers from the lips below to the ones above, tracing them gently, before taking hold of her jaw. He pulled her forward, and their lips collided in a greedy kiss. She poured her desire into him, clasping him tightly, pulling him closer, her eyes clenched shut as he expelled the tension from her form.

Yet Zayne, as always, appeared composed. He parried her hungry affections effortlessly, his grip on her jaw becoming firm. Zayne led the charge, as he guided her lips against his, eventually setting their pace. She slowed down to appreciate him, but before long the kiss was broken. Zayne pulled away with a soft smile, his lips a little puffy as he pressed them chastely to her cheek.

He brought his fingers to her lips again. "Suck them for me." His command was gentle without losing its timbre, and she obeyed, sucking on the digits without question, briefly, until he pulled them out of her mouth. Zayne brought his wetted fingers back to her cunt, pulling her underwear to one side and sticking his fingers firmly against her.

She huffed at the sensation. His fingers were still a little cold, warmer now thanks to her mouth. She clenched, feeling empty, needing him inside of her.

Zayne rolled his fingers over her clit, and not too slowly, which took her by surprise. She moaned already, widening her legs for him. He wore a focused expression, lust sparking beneath his pointed gaze.

He sat more comfortably between her legs, taking her thigh, before inserting a finger into her cunt. She whined, though she was wet enough to offer no resistance. He pushed it deep inside of her in one, smooth motion.

She clenched tightly with her core, as if to hold on to him, wanting to keep him inside of her, sighing as he pulled his finger out, only for him to add a second.

This was a tighter fit. She moaned, trying to keep her voice down, angling her hips up to feel him better. Zayne slowly began to pump both his fingers, up deep inside of her then down to the tips. The friction of her walls against him was marvellous.

"You feel wonderful." He told her, his eyes locked on hers, fixed on every micromovement. Everything about her, from the sound of her voice, the small parting in her lips, the sight of her so uninhibited before him — it was poetry in motion. This woman, as capable and stubborn as she was, was helpless at his touch.

I do feel wonderful, she thought, scoffing at Zayne's compliment. She felt blissful, like a ball of a thousand knots had at once been untied, releasing a deep strain she'd been harbouring in her stomach. Ever since she'd reunited with Dr. Zayne, those ties had knotted. Every time she'd seen him, the palpable tension between them had grown and grown. Until now.

Zayne sat up straight, then hoisted her up, taking his fingers out briefly to pull her panties off entirely, carelessly discarding the item on the floor. It was only a momentary distraction — soon Zayne's fingers slipped past her walls yet again, though this time he was positioned beside her, his other arm hooked around her waist, holding her close.

He pumped his fingers faster, his motions mechanical, his rhythm never wavering, and she struggled to contain the sound of her mewls.

"Shh. You need to be quieter." He hushed her, gently. "As much as I love hearing you, the walls here aren't so thick." He managed a chuckle, dipping his head to her neck, pressing a short trail of kisses down its length. This made her shiver

"That's— that's the wrong way to get me to be quiet." She scolded, playfully, matching his smile. Her words were breathy and choppy from her efforts to conceal her pleasure.

"Noted." Zayne turned her head toward his, then caught her lips in another kiss, one more frenzied than the first. Zayne used his lips to muffle the noises coming out of hers, eating every moan and whine she poured into him. He pushed his fingers as deep as they could reach inside of her, stroking her walls with a beckoning motion. Meanwhile, he played with her clit with his thumb, breaking their kiss to observe her reactions.

She looked divine. Her lips were wet and inflamed, dripping with saliva, her hair tousled, her expression languid. And he could see how she tried so hard to keep quiet for him, how her whimpers bubbled in her mouth, how hard she breathed through her nose. She felt she must have looked silly, but Zayne didn't think so at all.

"So you can do what you're told?" He teased, sounding more playful than she'd ever heard him. She huffed at this, far too wound up to retort.

He suddenly began to pump his fingers again, faster than before, which took her time to adjust to. She gasped, but caught most of the sound in her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut.

She could feel her climax swelling. It couldn't be far away. Her body felt tight and hot, her face clenched with the torment of having to keep quiet. She held his hand, leaning into him, her movements becoming fidgety as she tried to channel her stimulation. Again, she clenched at Zayne's fingers, bucking her hips to take more of them. Seeing her so desperate for him was so exciting.

"You're doing so well." He didn't tease her anymore, cooing into her ear. His husky tone was enough to make her moan again, that one slipping right past her defences, ringing loud and clear. Oops.

She bit her lips, flashing Zayne an apologetic look, though he didn't seem to mind, nor did he slow down. Another pang of pleasure rippled through her, and at that she knew it was time.

"Zayne— I'm close—" She just about choked the words out, her hand coming to clamp her mouth shut. Somehow, in the heat of things, she'd forgotten she had that option.

He sped up a final time, his fingers flashing in and out of her with a series of thick squelches. Zayne fingered her like a machine, one clever in its design — to be so quick and accurate without being brutal. She felt her whole body tense, a flush of great heat washing over her, choking out her gasps as she buried her head in Zayne's shoulder. Then, at once, she reached her release.

Her body quickly went lax, the heat and strain fizzing out of her, skin tingling. It took her a few good gasps to regain her composure, eyes slowly opening. When she looked down, the light sheet on the table had been soaked through with her release, her legs glistening with sweat. Slowly, Zayne pulled his fingers out of her, earning a whine from the weary woman. He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking away her juices.

He sent her a smile, pulling her against his chest. "Did you like that?" Surely the answer was obvious, and she sent him a look that spoke a thousand words. His smile deepened. "I'm glad."

"I hope I wasn't too loud..." She mused, looking to Zayne, who leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. A delicate gesture that made her heart stir.

"You were. But don't worry about it." She scoffed at that, too tired to do anything but listen to him. Before she could return the favour and get Zayne off, she needed a few minutes to gather herself.

But Zayne didn't seem the least bit concerned about his own satisfaction — seeing her hit ecstasy was all he needed. He rubbed at her inner thigh, the one that wasn't injured, giving her a slightly regretful look.

"I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so unfortunately you're going to have to leave soon." The words weighed heavy on her chest, even though she knew that was stupid, nodding at Zayne with a cheeky smile.

"That's not a problem, I can make it quick." She reached over to the tent in Zayne's crotch, but he took her hand, moving it away.

"I can sort myself out." He assured her. She couldn't help but feel a little rejected. Sensing this, he stroked her cheek.

"You can make it up to me another time." They both smiled at that, staring at each other for what felt like hours.

"I'll never avoid making an appointment again."

They probably would have kept staring if it weren't for the startling knock at the door, and the concerned voice of one of the nurses that followed.

"Doctor Zayne? Is everything alright in there? I heard a lot of noise!"

[toxicanonymity]

the air cools

2.5k words, raider Joel x f!reader

SUMMARY: A few loosely connected vignettes taking place throughout fall and winter, ending with a raider family Christmas. 🖤⛓️ 🌸🫛🐶👱‍♂️. My gift to those of you who love these characters. I love y'all so much. This is an 18+ blog.

-------

“What do you guys give each other for Christmas,” you asked Joel in early fall, secretly digging for a lead on what to get him for his birthday. It was bedtime and your head was on his bare chest.

“What makes ya think we celebrate Christmas?"

“Yeah I know, it’s a godless world," you conceded, "but it's an excuse to celebrate each other.”

Joel took a breath as though getting ready to speak, but you cut him off, “Don't say it”

“What?” He asked.

“something like,” (you lowered your voice slightly) "no one should celebrate me."

“Wasn't gonna,” Joel claimed.

“Then what were you gonna say?” You challenged him.

“I was gonna say…” he rolled you over and glanced down at your bare breasts before bringing his mouth to your neck. He murmured into your skin, “celebrate each other all the time.” He hiked up your leg, and dragged his lips from your neck to your ear to whisper, “celebrate each other all night if ya want.”

You giggled, then a rush of desire drowned out your amusement as his arousal swelled against you.

—--

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—--

Joel would never let the dog onto the bed. That's where he drew the line. The bed was Joel's domain. It was for you and him, period. He didn't even want the dog in the bedroom, because that was one step closer to the bed.

But one time, it was storming, and Bullet was scratching at the bedroom door. You slithered out of Joel's tight embrace and got out of bed. Joel kept snoring. You were going to take Bullet back to the living room and calm him down, but as soon as the bedroom door cracked open, the dog bolted over to a pile of laundry in the corner of the bedroom and started making a nest in it. You watched him circling and nosing the fabric for a few seconds until he settled in. He lowered his head to rest on his paws, and looked up hopefully.

You petted him, “Shhhh.” His tail was down, but he wagged it a little in what felt like a promise.

You left the door cracked open as if the dog had opened it himself. He was a very good boy all night. Even with loud claps of thunder, his whine stayed very quiet, and neither you nor Joel woke up. Bullet even went back to the living room unprompted once the storm quieted. You quietly washed the laundry the next day.

-

This happened a few more times, and Joel never found out, as far as you knew. Except for one time when he woke up before you and saw the tell-tale dent in the laundry, and, upon further inspection, some light orange hairs. Joel's nostrils flared only slightly, and he shook his head to himself. But he just shook out the clothes and never said anything.

Then, one day, Joel was in the trailer park down the hill, looking for supplies and assessing how dangerous the area was getting. In a trailer that wasn't burned too badly, he saw a sofa cushion with a little dent in it that reminded him of that dent in the laundry. He put the cushion under his elbow and later stashed it in a closet with some colder weather clothes he’d picked up for you throughout the year.

—---

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—---

“I hope he likes this,” You whispered to Joel, hoping Carter wouldn't hear you over the noise of whatever DIY project he was working on outside. You were sitting on the floor, holding a thick, weathered paperback in your hand.

“Lemme see,” Joel said, and you handed it to him.

He chuckled at the cover–a pirate embracing a lady from behind, both their hair windswept. Then he thumbed through the wrinkled pages, stopped at one, and his eyebrows shot up. “engorged member,” he mouthed and his face wrinkled.

“Hard cock,” you translated.

“heaving bosom…” he read.

“That's boobs,” you explained.

Joel closed the book as much as it would close, given the warped pages, and he handed it back to you. “M’sure he’ll like it,” Joel tried not to laugh.

“What?” You asked. “Don't you ever feel bad that he's alone?”

“It's a sweet thought, baby.”

“You didn't want me to write one myself, remember….”

“sure as hell didn't,” he agreed. “don't need to be writin’ about anyone else's engorged anything,” Joel said.

“wasnt gonna do anything graphic. I just thought it might be nice if the main character was a man, and the pirates are girls and guys.”

He couldn't help but wonder, was this the kind of filth you were thinking about when you went to bed early? He had trouble believing it. You knew you were his. But he still asked. “What else ya got? Any more books?”

Joel cocked his eyebrow and warned you, “Leave it.”

Your face heated up and your eyes shifted around. “Nothing like that,” you promised.

Joel studied your face and said, “yeah?”

Your eyes flitted to the floor and his jaw clenched. You cursed yourself for the dead giveaway.

He looked under the bed and pulled out a single, tattered paperback book. “What's this?” He asked before inspecting it.

“Nothing,” you said, with your whole upper body on fire. “Just something I was–”

Joel studied the front cover. It was a battle scene with a man posing valiantly with his shirt wrapped open. A piece of paper was haphazardly fastened to the cover with some kind of glue. The paper covered the man's face but his flowing hair still emerged from the left and bottom edges. The paper was beginning to curling off on that side, and the pencil was fading. Joel swallowed as he took in the drawing. A man from the neck up, complete with a bulging neck vein. Dark hair, dark eyes, a mustache, some scruff, and an unmistakable scowl.

Joel raised his eyebrows and rubbed his lips together.

“It's stupid,” you said and reached for it.

“This what ya read?” he asked as he opened the cover.

“No, I just–when you were gone for a night, I thought it could be-”

The title page, The General and the Girl, had “the general” crossed out and something scribbled above it. He squinted and braced for what he assumed would read "raider," but it didn't. “Killer,” it read. And he wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

��Hm,” Joel observed, then noticed “the” was crossed out too. The Killer and *his* Girl. He thumbed through a few more pages and you had crossed out inaccurate descriptions of both of you and then after the first chapter or so the annotations stopped.

Joel ran his thumb over the scrawled text, and you offered, “He only kills bad guys …”

He closed the book and handed it back to you without further discussion.

A sawing noise vibrated through the wall, followed by something crinkling.

Joel changed the subject back to Christmas. “You know what I think Carter could use?”

“What?”

“Somewhere nice to sleep.”

“He doesn't have one?” you never really thought about it, because Carter always made a point of bragging that he could sleep anywhere.

“How'd ya feel about him movin’ into the trailer?”’

“Really?” You asked.

“Safer for us, nicer for him…”

You smiled and he muttered, “c'mere. You're a good girl, sweet pea.”

You were relieved he didn't find your sketchbook.

—--

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—--

Christmas Eve

It was only afternoon, and you already felt like you wouldn't be able to sleep that night. You and Joel had made up a bed for Carter in the living room, which you barely used anyway. You made sure it was away from the leak. There was a quilt and a pillow. You even nailed a sheet between the kitchen from the living room to serve as a privacy curtain since there was no door. You slid the pirate book onto the shelf among the other books.

“We should do it all tonight,” you suggested.

Joel silently laughed at you, then shook his head no.“C’mon. Let's go for a walk,” he said. He didn't really care about the timing, except that he got a kick out of your enthusiasm. It was better than any gift he could've asked for.

-

After the sun set, Carter came up the hill. “Alright, I know Christmas is tomorrow, but I gotta give ya my present tonight.”

“Me too!” You agreed.

“Sweet pea,” Joel shook his head with a chuckle.

“Aw shoot,” Carter said unconvincingly. “I left the bird behind.” Joel had also shot two birds for the other men, and Carter brought them all down to the house to pluck. He sent both you and Joel down there to get the one you would share. Bullet trailed behind.

Joel poked around the storage area trying to buy Carter some time, then he grabbed the goose and when he came back outside bullet did a happy circle.

When you got back to the trailer, a flickering orange glow was visible in the window. Carter had set up a freestanding fireplace hearth in the corner of the kitchen. Joel didn't seem surprised. After all, Carter wouldn't do something like that without permission. But apparently he had hauled the heavy unit on his own, cleaned it out, and fitted the exhaust pipe to a hole he sawed in the wall. The job looked professional.

You had a cozy dinner in the kitchen and lingered around the table enjoying the warmth together while the men drank a spiced wine you made. When the fire died down, Carter announced he better head off to bed.

You and Joel looked at each other and Joel gave you the go-ahead nod toward Carter's new quarters. Joel's eyes sparkled as your face lit up.

With Carter almost out the front door, you said, “where are you going?” He turned around, and you pointed toward the end of the trailer. “Your bed’s in there.”

Carter looked at Joel, and Joel nodded. You grabbed him by the elbow and led him through the kitchen and held the sheet aside for him.

Carter took in the view, then looked back at Joel in case you had gone rogue. Joel nodded. “Might as well crash here, whenever ya want I mean.” Joel shrugged.

Carter tried to refuse, because he was committed to keeping an eye on things down at the house and keeping things under control. “Ain't no troublemakers down at the house these days,” Joel reasoned. “Rather ya keep an eye on this one,” he nodded toward you and pinched your chin.

“You got it, boss.” Carter didn't know what else to say. He and Joel shook hands and the look they shared told you it might as well have been a hug.

Carter went to bed in the newly improved space. Bullet went to sleep on the kitchen floor, right in front of the hearth, enjoying the heat that still radiated from the metal.

-

After enjoying a leisurely Christmas eve romp in which you tried not to be too loud, you and Joel settled in for bed. As you predicted, you weren't tired enough to sleep.

“Do you know the night before Christmas?” You asked Joel, snuggled into the crook of his arm.

He looked at the ceiling and thought. “Somethin’ ‘bout ma and pa wearin’ hats,” and you nodded encouraging him. He tried to continue, “And, uh…. mouse that can't hear nothin’?”

You giggled and buried your face in his arm, again trying not to be too loud. “What?” he asked.

“not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” you recited.

“You're gonna stir all night, ain't ya?” Joel asked. “‘less I tucker ya out,” he mused. He turned over, letting part of his weight onto you. He pressed soft kisses onto your neck, then chest, then slid his mouth to your breast and the pull of his lips made you whine. Soon, he became a shape under the sheets, a silhouette stirring between your legs.

He knew how to put you to sleep.

—--

Christmas Day

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee. You dragged a paper bag out from under the bed. You'd drawn stars and trees on it in pencil and labeled it “J. Miller” Joel and Carter were already in the kitchen and there were presents wrapped in old newspaper and string.

You asked Joel to open his first but he refused, wanting to drag out your eagerness as long as possible.

Joel gave you an assortment of sweaters, just in time for the cold weather. Different colors and textures. Cozy and perfect. The last package he handed you wasn't as fluffy.

You carefully untied it and saw corduroy. You ran your hand over the ribs and the fabric was still smooth, however many years after it was made. You held up the garment and it was pants. He willingly gave you pants.

After a moment of silence, Joel mumbled “might not be *that* cold just yet, but–” Carter laughed at him.

You went and sat in Joel's lap and handed him his gift bag. He opened it and pulled out a thermal Henley, a cable knit sweater in decent condition aside from a few snagged threads. You suspected it might be a little tight on his arms, but he never seemed to mind.

The last thing in the bag was a spiral-bound notebook. Your sketchbook. He opened it and his face went serious as his eyes poured over every detail–sketches of him. Joel wiping his sweat with a rag, holding a wrench. Joel sleeping. Joel holding a figure that could only be you. His face softened and his jaw twitched as he studied that one. When he finally moved on to the next page, his face turned pink. He quickly closed the book and cleared his throat. “Sweet pea,” he laughed in faux admonishment. You could've given him that one in private, but you didn't want to tear anything out of the book.

“I drew what I like,” you shrugged, and kissed him on his burning cheek.

“You’re talented, baby,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” you wished him, and he kissed you on the forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“I'll make breakfast,” Carter offered.

“Oh. One more thing,” Joel said. “Can't forget the big guy.” Joel eased you off of his lap and stretched before going to the supply closet and retrieving the cushion with the little dip in it.

He plopped it into the floor and bullet came over and sniffed around it, then scratched at the fabric before settling into it.

“And,” Joel interrupted himself with a weak sigh. “As long as he don't get on the bed, when it’s rainin’ ya can bring it..” he nodded toward the bedroom.

You wrapped your arms tight around Joel and he cradled your head. “Alright,” he said. “I'm gettin’ hungry.”

------

Thank you for reading 🖤🖤🖤

[tojiscrack]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

summary: 11.4k words — you spend some time at megumi and yuji’s open game, but spend some more time with someone else there

notes: i was overwhelmed with the amount of asks, messages, comments, and dm’s the last chapter provoked! (in a good way ofc, i loved it 😭). now i’m just curious — a lot of you (as predicted) hated the events of last chapter. you’re definitely not gonna enjoy this one :) anyway, it’s 1hr past the 22nd of dec, and i intended to get this out for megumi’s birthday, so pretend i did. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR GRUMPY PORCUPINE! <3

tw: shouting, BELLOWING, yelling, whatever other words you might use for that lol, and blood, criminals, and gangs

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

"the raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of duncan under my battlements ... come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts!"

the stage lights cast a soft glow, illuminating you as you delivered your lines with striking conviction. it wasn't a performance for a packed auditorium, but a rehearsal for your extracurricular theatre club.

the room was mostly empty, save for a few of your peers and your director, yet megumi could feel the atmosphere buzzing with quiet focus. your voice filled the space, and he silently appreciated how you could throw yourself into a character so conniving like lady macbeth and then jump right into being your bubbly self once again, as though you hadn't just emasculated poor macbeth trembling on the other side of the stage.

not that he'd ever tell you that. the most you'd get is a pat on the head, and even that seemed to be a bit much for megumi.

the lack of an audience didn't matter to you, it seemed; you poured your entire heart into the scene, as if the world were watching.

but it was easy to remind himself of the fact that it was a rehearsal and not a real performance, for every time you reached that exact line, you'd let out a snort and turn away with the same maturity as a child. megumi became more and more unimpressed each time it happened.

"y/n," the director called out, her voice made ten times louder from the echo of the megaphone.

you nodded, but still failed to wipe that grin off your face.

"i got it," you assured her, and megumi had almost missed what you'd said when the loud movement of the seats from somewhere in the backrow had sounded for the nth time. you schooled your face with an expression of determination, but megumi could see the underlying hint of amusement, clear as day. "unsex me here! and fill me from the —"

you'd cut yourself off with your laughter, the sound of it only resulting in more groans from your peers backstage, but megumi only watched you with a raised brow, mentally cursing whoever was making that stupid chair noise from the backrow — your laughter had been drowned out by it.

"i can't do it," you chortled, using the pages of your script to hide your face. "i can't do it!"

the director's sigh echoed around the hall.

"right, adjust the flower crown 'cause it's sitting on the edge of your head, and let's do act five, scene one."

megumi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he observed the stage's organised chaos. you and your peers bustled about, setting up for the transition to the next scene.

the props crew adjusted the minimalistic set pieces while one of your friends struggled to untangle a misplaced curtain cord. you briefly stepped offstage, laughing with another castmate as they adjusted your flower crown to sit properly atop your head.

as the lights dimmed slightly in preparation, megumi looked up again, his patience steady, fully expecting to see you dive back into the character of lady macbeth without skipping a beat.

and you had — straight away.

you were now at the centre of the stage once more, standing by a fake sink — a prop — your arms extended before you, one hand holding your script, the other with fingers curled towards yourself.

"out, damned spot!" you began, voice striking. "out, i say!"

there was a pause, and megumi half believed that you had forgotten the rest of your lines (even though you were reading out of a paper script held in your hand) but then you looked up, apparently going to improv.

"out, damned fricking spot! get out of here! you damned — damned spot, get away and just — just go and leave and why don't you just leave —"

"y/n," the director called out your name, tone firm and scolding. "stick to the scri— oh for god's —"

you laughed loudly, shaking your head and standing still, your hands back at your side.

"'kay i'm sorry," you sighed, and megumi could tell that you were genuine, but he knew the director couldn't. from his seat in the audience, the director's eyes had narrowed, her megaphone now at her side as she raised a brow at you, the lines on her forehead prominent as ever.

"i'll start again," you told her, and megumi had to strain to catch that, for the stupid chair noise had echoed around the hall again.

you had lifted your script and began hurriedly rereading your lines, but when your eyes had lifted and skimmed the hall, passing megumi's, he frowned when you stumbled, almost looking as though you had attempted to retreat in fear.

"what just happened?" the director's voice called out through the megaphone again.

you furrowed your brows and squinted your eyes. megumi held back a scowl. what the hell were you up to now?

you eventually answered the question, but only after you'd become comfortable at the centre of the stage again, nodding to yourself with a smile.

"ah, sorry," you said, meeting her stern gaze sheepishly. "the outline of megumi's head just scared me for a second —"

the scowl that he'd been trying his hardest to hold back had been released, and it only deepened at the sound of the people backstage — your foolish classmates — laughing along.

there was nothing funny about that, and if he chose to tell all of them about your mermaid fiasco several years ago, you wouldn't find it funny then.

he sunk in his seat, throwing you a glare you probably couldn't see very well seeing as the rest of the auditorium was dark; the only lights being shun were the ones on the stage.

"if she wasn't my best lead, i would've kicked her out by now," the director whispered, only, it had been (accidentally) spoken with the megaphone on.

she quickly turned it off, but it had been too late: you'd already heard it.

your lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised in mild offense, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed a certain smugness. you glanced briefly at the director with mock indignation, a hand coming to rest on your hip as if you were about to deliver a snarky comeback, but instead, you simply shook your head and turned back to your script, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

megumi watched this unfold, his expression still maintaining that bitter scowl.

while the comment seemed to have both bruised and inflated your ego, he wasn't surprised. you'd always had this uncanny ability to balance between taking yourself seriously and not at all. best lead, he thought dryly, watching with half lidded eyes as you delivered your next few lines correctly. if only she knew how many times he'd seen you trip over thin air or forget half your lines in the name of a 'creative process'. still, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that, onstage, you were captivating — even if it happened to be for the wrong reasons half the time.

as the rehearsal wound down, you and your peers began packing up on stage. megumi used his phone to check the time.

it was time to go home.

scripts were gathered and props carefully returned to their designated spots by the crew. the faint creak of the stageboards accompanied the bustle, with one of your classmates complaining about how she couldn't find her missing pencil while another laughed at something whispered behind the curtains.

you slipped off your flower crown, adjusting it absentmindedly before tossing it onto a nearby prop table, and joined the group tidying up. the director had long since stopped barking orders and now stood by the edge of the stage, chatting with one of the seniors about next week's rehearsal schedule.

megumi stood from his seat with a quiet sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards the backstage area, but not without stopping to throw the annoying person at the back row with the noisy chair a glance.

the person was now standing, but the automatic chair had slammed itself shut, allowing that loud noise to carry itself around the hall.

megumi had made his way towards the wall by the side curtain, his nose scrunched at the person — their silhouette showing that it was a guy around the same height as himself.

he had left the hall abruptly as megumi leaned against the wall, waiting for you to finish up, his gaze idly tracking your movements.

you turned around and jumped.

"ah, porcupine!" you gasped, unclipping your bracelets absentmindedly. "you need to announce your arrival, you scared m—"

"shut up, mermaid," he snapped, his patience running thin.

your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, eyes narrowing as you straightened your posture and clenched your jaw, willing yourself to keep your composure, though the sharpness in your movements — tossing your bracelets into the props table with more force than necessary —betrayed your irritation.

"i'm gonna call security on you," you threatened him, the corner of your mouth twitching as if you were fighting the urge to scowl outright, but instead, you busied yourself with adjusting your hair. the flower crown had messed the top of it.

"why are you tapping your head like that?" he questioned, not even entertaining the empty threat you'd shot at him.

"'cause if i'm not careful, i'll end up looking like a punk," you answered, before intentionally eyeing his dishevelled, fluffy hair. you met his sharpened gaze with a look of faux remorse. "yikes."

there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he watched you try to unclip the necklace hanging delicately on your collarbone — a warning, sharp and unspoken, that clearly said: watch it.

"turn around," he grumbled, when it became apparent that it was going to take a while for you to finally manage taking the ugly necklace off.

you complied without much protest. however, that didn't mean that you did so silently:

"could be nicer about i— ow, porcupine! it's got my hair, it's got my hair!"

"stop moving," megumi demanded, messily throwing your hair over your shoulder to your front. he grunted under his breath when you continued to struggle against him. "squirming like a mermaid —"

your reaction was immediate, bristling with indignation as your head snapped around to glare at him, though the position made it awkward. if he wasn't fiddling with the clasp at the base of your neck, you might've been tempted to swat at his hands, but instead, you turned your focus forward, muttering something unintelligible under your breath that was undoubtedly not complimentary.

you flinched when he had finally managed to successfully unclip the necklace, but only when it continued to tug at the hairs at the back of your neck.

"porcupine — ow! oh my g— stop!" you complained, your eyes watering and knees bending as megumi tugged at the necklace again.

"how else am i supposed to take it off?" he shot back, grumpy.

"i'mgonnaendupinahospitalbedlikeallthoseyearsagoandnearlydie—"

"you never nearly died," said megumi, emphasising his point by cruelly pulling the necklace down again. you had stumbled back into him, but he remained stagnant where he stood, brows furrowed in both annoyance and deep concentration. "don't be stupid."

"ouch! you're doing it on purpose now, you — porcu—"

"right, who is porcupine?" the director's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and demanding attention.

the two of you looked up abruptly: she was standing before you, arms raised (and brows furrowed) in confusion.

deadpanned, you shot megumi a quick glance before addressing her.

"... is it really that hard to guess, looking between the two of us?"

at that, megumi had harshly pulled the necklace, taking some of your hair with it.

you squeaked, your hand immediately going up to ease the pain as you spun around and stared at his hand, the necklace holding bits of your hair cut fresh from the top of your neck.

"..."

"..."

"... okay, what is going on here?" the director asked, her eyes following the prop as megumi casually threw it over your head and onto the table behind you.

megumi barely had time to blink after that before you lunged at him, your hands diving into his hair with startling precision.

you yanked back with just enough force to rip out a few strands, his grunt of annoyance and pain echoing around the hall as the director stood frozen, her expression caught somewhere between bewildered disbelief and an exasperated sigh, as though contemplating whether this entire exchange was even worth addressing.

"right, y/n —"

"now we're even!" you snapped, as though the woman beside you hadn't spoken at all. you presented the dark hairs to megumi, and then purposefully made him watch as you slowly pocketed them, taking your sweet time and relishing in the crease between his brows that continued to deepen the longer you drew it out.

"you're a weirdo," he stated icily, but you turned away, paying him no mind.

"keep talking and i'm gonna get nobara's voodoo doll."

the two of you exited the auditorium together, the air practically vibrating with the quiet reluctance of megumi's brooding presence beside you.

he strode with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, meanwhile, you walked with an air of triumph, your fingers slipping into your own pocket every so often to toy with the strands of his hair, a small grin tugging at your lips every time you caught the subtle crackle of his growing irritation.

he deserved it.

"what did you think of rehearsal?" you asked him curiously. "lady macbeth's lines are so funny —"

"they're not funny," megumi disagreed bluntly. he sounded genuine. "you're just immature."

you showed him the strands of his hair that you'd passionately held onto in your pocket.

"say that again," you challenged, brows raised.

he merely swatted your wrist away with a scowl; you pocketed his hair with a shrug.

"as i was saying," you continued, as the two of you exited the school, "the macbeth play isn't gonna have a proper audience anyway, so i'm not too fussed about perfecting lady macbeth's lines. it's gonna be recorded tho! what did you think of it so far?"

megumi narrowed his eyes, the sun peeking out from over the clouds bright enough to blind him momentarily.

"couldn't even hear anything 'cause of the idiot sitting at the back," he told you with a scowl.

you laughed, brows raised in intrigue.

"yeah, they've been here for the past week or so," you informed your friend, chuckling at his sour expression.

"why don't you kick him out?"

"if we were to kick out every single disturbance, you would be sitting outside every day, porcupine."

"i'm not a disturbance."

"your hair is though."

"shut up."

as you neared the bike rack, you spotted yuji and nobara waiting for the two of you by their respective bikes.

yuji's was unmistakably bright — an electric blue frame with neon green accents that megumi thought perfectly screamed his excitable personality, complete with a flashy bell he had been spinning absentmindedly. nobara's, in contrast, was a sleek, matte-black with a subtle crimson stripe running along the frame. as the two of them looked up at your approach, yuji tilted his head with a toothy grin, arm raised in the air, already waving.

megumi believed that your bike stood out against the others, its pastel yellow frame and front basket adorned with a bunch of small, faux daisies that gave it a cheerful, almost whimsical vibe.

he approached his own as the three of you jumped into conversation with one another.

megumi's bike, dark navy and utterly plain, had been parked beside yours — you never failed to remind him how it looked like a sullen counterpart. he didn't care: it was his bike after all, not yours.

"my parents are working late again," yuji added brightly. he was sitting on his bike, waiting for the rest of you to clip on your helmets and do the same. "grandpa's home, and choso's at his place, so we basically have the house to ourselves tonight."

you silently nodded, hanging your bag on the right handlebar.

megumi scowled at nobara, who had seated herself on her bike, discarding her phone in her bag and zipping it up without another word.

"put your helmet on," he demanded her.

she looked up at him with a stony expression, her lips set in a straight line and brows furrowed as though to say 'are you talking to me?'.

"i'm having a bad hair day today —"

yuji frowned, looking bewildered:

"— but your hair looks nice —"

"shut up," snapped nobara, continuing as though you had not laughed loudly at the falter in yuji's bemused smile. you swerved away from his leg when he extended it to kick at your bike. "i'm not gonna make it worse by putting on that helmet."

megumi did not look impressed by her answer, throwing one of his legs over his bike to sit down and unclip his own helmet, glaring at her all the while.

"you're turning into the mermaid —"

"what the hell?" you demanded angrily, gesturing to your own helmet, which was conveniently sitting on your head. "i'm wearing mine!"

megumi's face tightened, jaw tensed as though he were biting back a sharp retort. one hand gripped the handlebar of his bike firmly, while the other toyed with the edge of his helmet, spinning it idly in a way that betrayed his rising frustration.

"i know why you're hesitating to wear yours," you shot back, offended by his jab at you, unprovoked. "it'll flatten down your sea-urchin hair and make you look like your dad —"

"watch it," he warned you icily, a short, clipped exhale leaving his nose as he glanced between you and nobara, his expression a mix of exasperation and resignation, like he'd just resigned to a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place.

the sky stretched above in a pale canvas of soft blues and muted golds, the sun dipping lazily towards the horizon, its warm light spilling across the school front in delicate, golden hues. the four of you had mounted your bikes and had already begun cycling down the road, away from the busy bus route yuji would usually take and down the quiet neighbourhood, away from the loud traffic lights.

wisps of cotton-like clouds floated idly, their edges tinged with blush and amber as the day prepared to give way to the evening the longer the four of you bickered and laughed, simultaneously being wary of the occasional car that would pass by every now and then. the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the crisp, earthy scent of early autumn. your shadows stretched long across the crosswalk, mingling with the sporadic glint of sunlight reflecting off the polished metal frames of your bikes.

"grandpa went to the store the other day," yuji loudly spoke. he was riding his bike beside you while megumi and nobara cycled just ahead. "he bought a bunch of new films for us! we can watch the nun tonight!"

"is it wise to watch a horror movie at your place?" nobara called out, her hair a lighter shade where the sun hit it.

yuji looked bewildered at her question. "but we always watch horror movies at my place..."

"no, she's right!" you added, eyes wide. "what if we accidentally trigger the s word somehow?"

yuji's expression shifted almost comically as the realisation dawned on him, his brows furrowing in confusion before lifting in sudden clarity. he sat upright on his bike, one hand tightening on the handlebars as if steadying himself, while his other hand shot up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

"oi, use both hands," megumi demanded from up front.

yuji silently complied, though his eyes remained glued on you.

"sukuna won't —"

"don't say his name," you hissed, brows furrowed in both anger and panic.

yuji's wide-eyed expression stayed constant as the conversation continued.

"wait, it should be fine, guys," nobara had intervened, one hand holding onto her bike while the other extended itself towards the brooding, dark-haired male cycling beside her. "we have megumi — he's great at protecting us!"

megumi shot her a sharp look as he swatted her hand away. apparently, he did not agree with this idea.

"remember when he pushed su—"

"nobara!"

"— the s word away from us when he said he'd rip our hair out and use them as handcuffs?" she continued, as you cycled behind her with a wariness only the demon could bring out of you. "he comes up with the most creative threats, y'know. sometimes i'm a little impressed, but my hair's too short for handcuffs —"

"he wanted us bald," you reminded her helpfully, "so that means ripping your hair from the roots, which is long enough for handcuffs, paired with mine, too."

"that's irrelevant," said megumi, his hair standing up as the four of you cycled through the breeze. you imagined him looking rather silly from the front, seeing as the back was serving enough laughs out of both you and yuji. "and i can't do much today anyway. after the movie, i have to look over sharmin and miwa's history homework."

you frowned at the back of his head.

"you're doing their homework?" you asked, sounding offended.

"they asked me to look over it before practice today," megumi answered calmly, "but i didn't have time, so i said i'd do it later today and give it back to them tomorrow."

that did not sit right with you, not when megumi always refused to do your homework whenever you asked.

you pedalled faster and slipped in between megumi and nobara, shooting him a look of disapproval.

"any time i ask you to do my homework, you refuse," you told him with a raised brow.

"same goes for them," megumi responded, throwing nobara (who was now behind the two of you) and yuji both a look a warning glance for arguing over nothing loudly. "i'm not doing their homework. i'm looking over it."

you shrugged. "yeah that's what i ask you to do, too."

"no you don't."

"yes i do!"

"you don't."

"i do!"

"you don't," megumi snapped, his patience thin. "you lie about being sick and try to guilt trip me into it —"

"accusations!" you gasped, lifting one hand to point at him dramatically. "false accusations!"

you'd nearly lost your balance on your bike due to how quickly you had sat up and let go of the handlebars. megumi, once again, extended his own arm and directed your bike properly again, but not without clicking his tongue at you in distaste.

"y/n!" nobara called for you from behind.

you looked over your shoulder and then regretted it when megumi flicked your forehead in warning. you turned back around abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him as they watered.

he didn't have to do it so hard, you thought to yourself grumpily.

"nobara, i can't look at you 'cause of the bike police over here —"

"shut up."

despite megumi's harsh criticism, nobara had continued to talk anyway.

"yuji's hair is nothing like miwa's, right?" she said, and you did not have to look back to be aware of yuji's frown of both annoyance and disappointment. "his is like a dull pink —"

yuji did not like that. "hey!"

"miwa's looks better," you responded easily. it hadn't been a difficult decision after all: you remembered the day miwa had walked past the school doors with the long, blue hair that ran past her shoulders and spine. "the blue suits her! and the bangs too!"

"told you," you heard nobara's smug voice add.

"it also matches her eyes," you commented with a smile. "you can't say the same, yuji."

"wha— megumi!" yuji shouted desperately. "help me out!"

you glanced over at megumi's face. he seemed indifferent, as always, but his response had said otherwise.

he had shrugged, relaxed. "they're right."

yuji's wail of misery only had the three of you threatening to leave him behind. he had sulked for a bit, but eventually joined in on the next set of conversations you found yourself immersed in for a portion of the remainder of the journey.

the sun hung low on the horizon, its amber glow spilling across the quiet neighborhood like molten gold. the bungalows stood neatly in rows, their silhouettes softened by the warm, fading light, and the occasional flicker of a porch light hinted at the coming dusk, while the air seemed to grow still, as though welcoming the four of you to yuji's neighbourhood again.

"you can't do it," you told yuji, who had been adamant in showing all of you a trick that choso had taught him on his bike the other day. you threw him a look of disbelief from over your shoulder.

your bike had swerved unexpectedly, and when you turned back around to regain control, you noted that it was megumi, who had his hand on the front of your bike, apparently saving you from having ridden over a large rock in the middle of the road.

"i can!" yuji protested, riding past both you and megumi to keep up with nobara, who had long since ridden ahead. "just watch!"

"don't do it, you idiot," megumi chided, glaring at the back of yuji's pink head.

"but —"

megumi cut across him harshly. "you're gonna fall."

"i won't!" yuji shouted back, eyes wide with exhilaration. "i've done it a hundred times already! just look!"

yuji surged forwards on his bike, his grin brimming with confidence as he positioned himself to attempt the trick. he shifted his weight back, tugging up on the handlebars with a flourish to lift the front wheel off the ground.

for a brief, fleeting moment, the bike wobbled in perfect balance, his exhilarated laughter ringing out in triumph.

but then the balance tipped — too far back — and the wheel slammed down awkwardly.

yuji, unable to steady himself, tumbled sideways onto the road with a loud thud, his limbs sprawling across the sidewalk. his bike clattered noisily beside him, the bell letting out an inadvertent chime as it hit the ground.

the three of you stopped, a beat of stunned silence passing before laughter broke out simultaneously: nobara had doubled over her handlebars, wheezing as she clutched her side, while you clapped a hand over your mouth, struggling to stifle your snickers. even megumi's usual stoic expression cracked slightly, his lips twitching as he muttered something under his breath and shook his head.

yuji groaned dramatically, sprawled out on the concrete road like a tragic hero, but none of you made a move to help him, not even when he asked.

"guys..." he called out weakly, face scrunched in pain. he extended his arm shakily, eyes half-lidded. "help..."

you shot a glance at nobara, holding your breath to try and stop yourself from snorting out another round of laughs, before turning your bike around and cycling away.

"just go, leave him," you hurriedly told her, your legs working quickly on the pedals of your bike.

yuji lifted his head.

she did not hesitate in following suit.

"we warned you!" she called out with a wide grin.

megumi had not said a word as he, too, seemed to agree with the both of you, his feet pressing down on the pedals a little faster.

"go, don't look back," you muttered, kicking off your bikes to continue cycling down the road.

you laughed merrily as his calls of protest grew faint the further you rode away, leaving him to flail on the ground, loudly lamenting his fate.

but of course, you weren't evil — perhaps nobara was, though — for you and megumi had turned on your bikes to get him, and she had been the only one who let out a groan of exhaustion at the mere thought of it.

but the funniest part wasn't the way you'd found yuji lying on the road in the exact same way you'd left him, nor was it the way his eyes had lightened up at the sight of you...

it was how he had remained firm on giving you all the silent treatment the rest of the way to his house, and how he had been struggling to do so, for if anyone was an expert, qualified chatter, it was yuji itadori.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the football field stretched wide under the fading light, its green expanse marked with crisp white lines that gleamed faintly in the late afternoon. you were standing on the bench at the front row, watching the football players dart across the field.

it was jujutsu high's open game for the football team, which (by the school's definition) was a practice session open for the general school public to attend.

your eyes followed the ball as it sailed through the air, a blur of motion intercepted by a leaping player — chad, you noticed with raised brows, as the whistle from coach yaga encouraged the rest of the team to push forward.

your eyes had scoured the players in search of your friends. you couldn't exactly tell who was who because of the uniform and helmet that would conceal both their bodies and their faces, so you could only rely on their player numbers displayed on both the fronts and backs of their jerseys.

player number one — who was currently sprinting alongside massive player number six — was yuji. you never bothered him when he concentrated on the game. you usually saved the disturbance for when he'd done something to piss you off (like intentionally telling your spanish teacher that you deleted duolingo off your phone to spare some storage).

player number two was who you were really looking for, and it only brought a smile to your face when you'd found him — megumi — sprinting the other way.

"you're going the wrong way, megumi!" you helpfully reminded him.

he ignored you, as per usual. but you noticed, with triumph, how his legs had started to slow down.

beneath his helmet, you were certain he was gritting his teeth.

"the ball's that's way!" you called out, one hand cupping the side of your mouth, the other benevolently pointing at player number eight, who was now in possession of the ball. "what are you doing?"

megumi had approached coach yaga, and from where you were stood, accompanied by the chatter of the other onlookers, you could not hear what was being exchanged between the two. the sharp glare that coach yaga had shot you was a lot to go by, however, not that you cared.

you hadn't cared in middle school, you wouldn't care now.

yaga knew that very well.

megumi turned away and had begun jogging towards his teammates again. you shook your head, your foot tapping the metal of the bench impatiently.

"well it's too late for that now!" you told him, tutting in disapproval. "they've gone and scored without you! oh — hi toge!"

player number six, todo, was a towering presence, and you watched as he charged across the field with the ball tucked firmly under his arm, shrugging off attempted tackles like they were nothing more than minor inconveniences. close behind, yuji darted around the defence with his usual agility, his movements quick and unpredictable, drawing shouts of encouragement from somewhere behind you, because — right, that was a thing now — he had gained quite a few admirers over the last week, not that he had been aware of it. the only reason you knew was because of an occasion last week where you and nobara had camped inside a singular stall in the girls' toilets, overhearing a conversation between a few sophomores and juniors.

megumi was now in possession of the ball, and though he wasn't as speedy as yuji, he excelled in the game by being strategic, which compensated for the lack of agility.

he's doing well, you thought to yourself. it was too bad you enjoyed poking fun at him.

you exaggeratedly waved both arms in the air as if directing imaginary traffic, calling out random, unhelpful advice about the game. his head had turned for a fraction of a second, and that had been enough to encourage you to go further.

"quick! the small one's behind you!" you called out, your expression grave. you chuckled when he actually looked over his shoulder. "haha! made you look —"

"— l/n!"

your eyes travelled across the field to meet yaga's, shielded by his sunglasses. he didn't look pleased in the slightest, but he hadn't said anything else when you stared back at him.

your name was his first warning.

you shrugged and turned back to the game, mimicking a referee's whistle sound — poorly, of course — just to see if it would make megumi glance your way again.

it didn't, but you had not missed the way he'd quickened his steps, an act to try and free himself from being forced to listen to your constant shouts and yells.

"megumi! spell red!" you called out to him, your hands cupping your mouth. he turned around and narrowed his eyes at you, a menacing glint circling in each of his irises. "no? okay, i'll do it for you! L — S — T — E — R —"

the field erupted with laughter.

number six, todo, was the first to lose it, nearly doubling over as he slapped his thigh, while yuji could barely stay upright, clutching his sides and wheezing between gasps of air. the entire team seemed to pause, their focus on the game completely derailed, as they recalled the viral meme and the ridiculousness of your performance.

yaga, however, was not amused. he blew his whistle sharply, barking at the players to get back into formation, his forehead veins looking like they might burst at any second.

"keep laughing, and you'll all be running laps until the sun sets!" he roared, but his threats only managed to stifle the laughter into barely concealed snickers. "and you — stop opening that damned mouth of yours!"

meanwhile, megumi shot you a glare so venomous, it could have melted steel. his fists clenched at his sides, and you could see the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to rein in his irritation.

"stop," he snapped, his voice dripping with exasperation.

"all right, all right," you sighed, before cupping your mouth again. "spell megumi! T — O — J — Y!"

megumi stood in the centre of the grassy field, arms by his sides, like a child refusing to comply to rules. you could see the way his jaw had clenched at your joke.

he had always had this incessant need to be right. to correct you when you were wrong. to show off his brilliance.

you could see him fighting a losing battle.

"that's not how you spell my dad's name —" he'd started angrily, but the sound of yaga's whistle had cut through anything you had wanted to say in response.

"IS THIS THE SPELLING BEE?" he demanded, irate. "fushiguro!" he'd all but bellowed, teeth gritted. "why are your legs not moving?"

megumi turned to face his teacher.

"she spelled my dad's name wrong —"

"IS YOUR DAD HERE TO BEAR WITNESS?"

"..."

"GET BACK TO YOUR TEAMMATES!"

megumi had made a move to leave, but at the sound of your snickers, he stopped, lifting his arm and pointing it in your direction.

"kick her out," he'd said — correction: demanded — without hesitation.

your mouth fell open in sheer disbelief, arms extended outwards in confusion as you glared at megumi like he'd just committed the ultimate betrayal.

kick you out? the audacity, you mentally marvelled.

you weren't even on the field, which you could've easily invaded if you had wanted to. you were merely offering a bit of moral support (albeit in your own unique, slightly chaotic way).

"that's a breach of my human rights," you alerted both your teacher and your friend. then, you shifted your attention to only coach yaga. "he's not even participating! personally, i think he should be benched!"

"l/n, sit down and SHUT UP!"

"no, seriously!" you insisted, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. "i can replace him on the field!"

megumi turned around again to face you this time. even though his helmet made it hard to see his face properly, you could see the way he'd narrowed his eyes at you. "you don't even know how to play properly —"

"well i'd do a hell of a lot better than what you're doing," you told him, standing up again and folding your arms over your chest. "which is nothing, by the way."

coach yaga had had enough:

"FUSHIGURO, STOP ENGAGING WITH HER AND MOVE UP THE FIELD!"

megumi faced the angry man with, no doubt, a glare of his own. "she's —"

"NOW!" yaga had bellowed, and you could only laugh at the way megumi's fists had clenched, but he'd obediently ran towards the other players (not without shooting you a glower, though).

you chuckled at his reaction, but choked on it when coach yaga had mercilessly turned to you next.

"SIT. DOWN. L/N," he ordered you, the hand holding the whistle lined with angry veins threatening to pop. you could see one on his forehead, too.

you opened your mouth to oppose, but he'd blown his whistle so you couldn't even hear yourself speak.

and this had become a recurring theme.

any time your lips would part — whether to cheer for a play, yell sarcastic advice at megumi, or protest yaga's increasingly dictatorial tone — the sharp, ear-piercing sound of his whistle cut through the air, drowning you out completely. he'd positioned himself nearby, whistle ready at his lips, as though waiting for the exact moment you dared to utter a sound.

you even tried whispering once, only for him to blow it louder than ever, causing you to flinch and clutch your ears.

the message was clear: coach yaga would not tolerate your antics.

but his overzealous whistle-blowing had unintended consequences, ones that had you giggling into your hands.

the players, accustomed to the whistle being a signal for key game instructions, had begun growing confused by the constant interruptions. at one point, both kamo and logan parker hesitated mid-play, unsure whether the sharp whistle had been meant to signal an offside or something else entirely, and this had led to an awkward collision on the field — logal tripping over kamo as the latter tried to pivot too late — and the two of them ended up sprawled in a tangled heap.

and yaga, visibly frustrated by both the situation at hand and the rhythm of your constant laughter, had no choice but to bench them both, muttering something about how some people were ruining his practice.

"your hair's a mess," you told kamo, when he'd approached the bench you were standing on with his helmet beneath his arm.

"thanks, didn't notice," he responded, blowing the loose strands of his hair out of his face.

you eyed him carefully as he sat by your feet, his knees an angry shade of red where he'd fallen due to the collision.

"does that hurt?" you asked, frowning. "you could sue yaga for blowing his whistle and causing confusion."

kamo peered up at you, his elbows resting on his thighs, his back hunched over in such a way that chiropractors would be disappointed by. you couldn't quite paint what he was thinking, for his face, so devoid of any and all emotion, made it so that his lips were set in a straight line and his eyes would remain half-lidded.

"you can!" you continued, as though he'd voiced his uncertainty to you. "and you can show your knees for proof!"

kamo kept his gaze fixed on the game, following the flow of plays that unfolded without him. you couldn't quite paint what he was feeling in that moment, for his expression was a mix of irritation and fatigue as he lazily tossed his helmet to the ground with a dull clatter.

"i'll remember to bring in a formal complaint tomorrow, then," he added, his eyes following player number five, who was in possession of the ball.

"i'll be your backup!" you told him enthusiastically. when he peered up at you, expectant, you clarified yourself. "y'know, for moral support."

"hold my hand and everything?"

you grinned. "all right, don't get ahead of yourself now."

"my bad," he said, bringing a hand up to brush the stray hairs out of his face. his dark hair had been tied back with a flimsy rubber-band into a low, loose bun, which apparently proved worthless in a rough game of football.

at the centre of the field, andre johnson clapped his hands loudly, rallying the players into position as he directed the next play with precision. toge stood further back, his sharp eyes scanning the field, ready to intercept, while todo, living up to his reputation, plowed through the defence like a battering ram, drawing cheers from his teammates.

you felt bad for the players that had ended up on the floor because of his onslaught of attacks.

one of them just so happened to be yuji.

and as you jested loudly at his limp body, todo stared back at him, horrified:

"BROTHER —"

"ooh..." you marvelled, standing on your tip-toes as todo ignored the game altogether and charged the other way. everyone except for megumi had moved out of the way. "might wanna put that one on a leash..."

your eyes had darted from the game to kamo, and back again.

"no offence, kamotionless..."

"none taken."

the two of you watched as megumi extended his hand to your pink-haired, groaning friend on the floor, intrigued as he accepted his help in pulling himself up.

both their heads had turned to face you.

yuji's lips parted in a comical frown, his hand clutching his lower back as he turned to glare at you with all the indignation he could muster. you could only chuckle at him, for his pink hair was dusted with grass and dirt from the collision, and his expression screamed betrayal.

raising one hand, he offered you an exaggerated thumbs-down, shaking it slowly as though to emphasise just how unimpressed he was.

you stared back at him, brow raised as you placed a pointer finger on your chest, mouthing 'me?'.

his exaggerated nod made you scowl at him and look at megumi instead, but his stare wasn't any better, for it had lingered on you longer than necessary: his sharp eyes had darkened as they subtly drifted downwards, his expression tightening ever so slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was irritation or something else entirely.

he was still pissed at your interruption of the game from earlier, clearly, for his stance had been tinged with quiet discontent, as though he'd seen something he didn't quite like.

rude, you thought to yourself, i stopped yelling at him and i'm likeable.

whatever it was, he said nothing, his eyes snapping back to the field with a stoicism that betrayed nothing outwardly.

across the field, yaga's voice thundered over the chaos.

"ITADORI! FUSHIGURO! get back to your positions — NOW!"

yuji jumped slightly at the sheer force of his command, but megumi had barely looked fazed, as though this was a common occurrence during practice.

yuji shot one last mournful look in your direction before jogging into place, his steps a little heavier than before. megumi, on the other hand, walked briskly back into formation, his gaze focused ahead, though the rigid set of his shoulders suggested he wasn't entirely composed. yaga's glare followed them both until they were back in line, his frustration simmering visibly as he blew his whistle to resume the play.

"what's the history with you and coach yaga?" kamo had asked, which had greatly surprised, your brows raised as you stared down at him. he took your silence as a sign to continue. "yuji said you met coach yaga in middle school."

"oh my god," you beamed, hopping off the bench to sit down on it. "i'm so glad you asked!"

you dug into your pocket and retrieved your phone, tapping on it excitedly to pull up the set of images in your camera roll that you'd visit so often, it would never catch dust.

the academic years of twenty-fourteen to twenty-sixteen.

"so i met him in the sixth grade," you explained, selecting an image of him from the time you had unexpectedly pulled your phone out in the middle of the corridor and snapped a headshot. "that's what he looked like back then, so, not that different. still got that weird spiky hairstyle, except it's longer now, but you get the idea."

kamo nodded, his front leaning forward to get a good look at your phone.

"he's angry," he commented idly.

"er... yeah," you confirmed, hesitant. you slowly swiped to the next photo — yaga's realisation of the image being taken. "that's 'cause i took his photo in the middle of the hallway, so..." you shook your head quickly. "but anyway! i met him during our first middle school p.e class. we were playing dodgeball and i was standing at the back to support yuji, even though we'd just met through megumi, but if megumi liked him, then i knew he was good. and then yaga just got mad at me."

kamo watched as you showed him another picture of an angry coach yaga.

"and it was a whole thing," you settled on saying at last. "rest of our time during middle school went by with a theme of pissing yaga off. it's tradition now."

kamo raised a brow, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in mild amusement as he listened.

"sounds like you've had a pretty clear mission since day one," he said, his tone dry but his gaze alight with curiosity. he tilted his head slightly as he regarded the photo on your screen, his hand brushing back a loose strand of hair as he continued. "coach only ever turns red when you're around."

there was no judgment in his voice, just a quiet humour that seemed to match the slight, crooked smile now playing on his face.

without a word, kamo shifted subtly closer to you, leaning in as though to get a better look at the next photo. his arm rested lightly on the bench beside you, and while the movement was casual, the reduced space between you both went unnoticed — or perhaps, just unacknowledged.

you didn't seem to mind at all, and the easy flow of your conversation remained uninterrupted. if anything, the proximity only added to the comfortable rhythm of your storytelling:

"there's actually a legacy," you grinned, swiping several times to get to a particular image. "you know s— mr gojo, miss ieiri, mr nanami, and mr haibara were yaga's students back when they were in school?"

kamo didn't say anything at that. some part of you couldn't blame him, especially when you would constantly spew out nonsense that megumi would immediately shut down in front of everyone.

if you weren't you, you probably wouldn't have believed yourself either.

"at least try to look like you believe me," you scowled.

"no, i do," kamo insisted, though not very convincingly.

"no you don't."

"yeah i don't."

"okay, well, now you will," you stated, showing him the photo you'd been searching for in your packed camera roll.

it was yaga's wedding in january of two-thousand-and-six. you had chosen this particular photo because of the scene in the background: the men you knew dressed sharply in suits and ties, and the women you knew also elegantly adorned in dresses and heels.

"he's married?" kamo asked, looking genuinely surprised. it was the only time you had seen any form of emotion cross his face.

"was married," you corrected him, and then laughed as you zoomed in on his face. "got divorced years ago — look, he's bald!"

as you and kamo continued discussing yaga's wedding, the conversation spiralled into unexpected detail. you pointed out the floral arrangements in the background, commenting on how they looked oddly mismatched with the formal attire of the guests. kamo had raised an eyebrow, countering that maybe yaga had bad taste in decorators. from there, the discussion veered into an animated debate over who had possibly caught the bouquet, with you insisting it was nanami and kamo scoffing at the idea of him even participating.

but just as kamo parted his lips to counter your next argument, yaga's unmistakable voice had cut through the air.

"LOVEBIRDS!" he'd roared, the two of you looking up simultaneously towards the field where yaga stood, hands on his hips, thoroughly exasperated. "FOCUS ON THE GAME, OR LEAVE!"

you pocketed your phone again, glaring at yaga like he'd personally offended you on a cosmic level.

"he's just salty we have luscious hair," you muttered under your breath bitterly. the fact that the entire field had fallen silent didn't deter you from adding more in the slightest. "got a lot of nerve for someone with a wedding album collecting dust..."

unbeknownst to you, chad smirked knowingly, glancing towards kamo with an exaggeratedly teasing expression, waggling his eyebrows as if he'd just uncovered the secret of the universe. kamo, predictably, ignored him entirely, his focus unshaken.

meanwhile, megumi's reaction had been far sharper.

his eyes darted between you and kamo before settling firmly on you, his brow furrowing so deeply it looked like he was judging you for a crime against humanity. his glare lingered, sharp and unyielding, like you'd just desecrated something sacred — which, knowing megumi, might've been the concept of behaving during practice.

"just get him back on the field," he stated firmly, shooting coach yaga a glare.

"kid's right," said yaga, before blowing his whistle again. "KAMO, PARKER — BOTH OF YOU — BACK ON THE FIELD!"

obediently, kamo rose to his feet, brushing off his knees before bending down and retrieving his discarded helmet, and then giving a short, wordless nod to logan parker, who had been waiting nearby.

from the sidelines, yaga's gaze immediately zeroed in on you.

"AND YOU!" he barked, pointing a commanding finger. "stop distracting my players! you've got five seconds to zip it, or you're out of here!" his voice had carried across the field with the same force as his whistle.

you frowned deeply. his reaction felt like an overreaction to you — typical yaga behavior.

but then, the realisation hit you like a sudden spotlight. you glanced at your watch and felt a jolt of panic. you were supposed to stay for only a bit before heading to rehearsal.

"ah, shit! i'm late for rehearsal!" you panicked, hurriedly grabbing your bag and scrambling to leave. the theatre director was definitely not going to forgive you for being late again, especially with the lead role hanging in the balance.

as you ran across the benches, you looked over your shoulder, ignoring the crowd and team laughing at you.

"lady yaga, this is all your fault by the way!"

as you darted towards the building, the teasing chants from the football team had started fading behind you. despite the growing distance between you and them, you could hear yaga cursing you from where he stood, as though he were right next to you.

you were not, however, aware of the two pairs of eyes watching you retreat, one of them mildly amused, the other beyond annoyed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

bonus scene:

the cracked pavement beneath satoru's feet echoed faintly as he strolled through the unfamiliar neighbourhood.

during a conversation about toji's dark past, he had showed off to the family about never having stolen anything, as well as never being stolen from, which only resulted in ogi demanding that he walk in a sketchier neighbourhood and see if he could come back saying the same thing.

and he had been confident, of course, as he looked around at the graffiti-covered walls and flickering streetlights, which might have seemed intimidating to anyone else, but he remained blissfully unfazed, humming a tune under his breath.

in one hand, he'd held a slightly squished cupcake, the frosting a little smeared but no less delightful to him. his sunglasses perched jauntily on his nose, and his long strides carried him through the shadows as though the neighbourhood itself were lucky to have him gracing its streets.

...

that had been before he'd found himself trapped in a phone-box, the gang that had caused his sealing surrounding the box in awe.

'we seriously stole the gojo guy's money?'

'aw heck yeah! he's filthy rich, too!'

'look at that sleek, black card!'

'awesome! his phone's the new model as well!'

satoru stared at the gang leader, scowling.

his balaclava had fallen when satoru had thrown a punch at him earlier, exposing his tattooed face, the dark line that crossed his nose and the thin arrowed lines that went down his eyes.

satoru thought he looked silly with those pigtails.

"how much are those glasses?" the leader had asked, throwing his balaclava over his shoulder for one of his minions to scramble for.

satoru, his neck bent in an attempt to not bump his head, flashed him a grin.

"more than you can afford."

the guy gritted his teeth at him. satoru felt satisfaction bloom in his chest at that, but he noted how the tattooed male could be no older than seventeen or eighteen. what the hell was he doing as a leader of a gang?

"but you should probably open the door to try and get them," satoru suggested, bending down a little to meet the kid's face.

"i'm not stupid," the kid scowled. he was bagging all of satoru's expensive belongings right in front of him.

"if you were smart, you wouldn't style your hair like a five year old girl."

"if you were smart, you would dye your hair."

satoru scowled at him. "if you continued your education, you wouldn't need to join a gang for money."

the kid didn't look too pleased with satoru's rapid riposte, for he looked around at his minions, slinging the bag of satoru's possessions over his shoulder, and turning away with a raised brow.

"come and get your stuff," he had challenged the trapped, white-haired male, who could only watch in anger as one of the minions marvelled at his stolen cupcake.

his cupcake.

satoru let out an exaggerated groan, his head lightly thudding against the very top of the glass wall of the phone box as he tilted his chin to the ceiling (that happened to be so very close to his face).

this was beyond annoying; his cupcake was gone, his wallet and phone stolen, and now he was cramped into this tiny, outdated relic of communication...

but then, a flicker of excitement sparked across his face, the edges of his mouth curling upwards.

out of all the traps he could've been stuck in, it had to be a phone box. how retro. how tragically iconic.

with a sigh, he tapped the dusty dial pad, punching in one of the numbers he knew by heart: shoko's.

the faint hum of the dial tone filled the tiny space as he leaned back, arms crossed, waiting with a fading grin to hear her undoubtedly sarcastic greeting.

but it had been taking a while.

"this is such a pain," he grumbled to himself, annoyed.

and then looked up excitedly when her voice sounded through the speaker.

"hello?"

"shoko, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause some poor kid with his gang jumped me," he explained hurriedly. it wasn't a completely accurate retelling of the story, but it got the main gist of it, and he was punched for time. "i need your help!"

there was a pause. was she seriously contemplating helping him?

"..."

"shoko?"

"hm," she hummed, her voice nasally. it usually got like that when she was working. "have you returned my lighter?"

satoru furrowed his brows. he had never promised to give that back, not when he hated it when she smoked.

"no —"

BEEEEEEP...

she had hung up.

satoru angrily punched in the numbers of another friend, one who had to be more sensible than her.

"hope she has an asthma attack," he cursed quietly, as he expectantly waited for nanami to pick up the phone.

"kento nanami, who's calling?"

as formal as ever; satoru expected no less. had he been in a better predicament, he would have made a joke about it.

"nanami!" he cheered, and then hurriedly got to the point. perhaps he ought to go a different route, if only to avoid the same outcome with smoke-addict-shoko. "remember when i helped you pay for yuu's birthday expenses?"

he heard him let out a breathy sigh from the other end of the call.

"what's this about, gojo?" he asked, sounding exhausted.

satoru explained his situation as best as he could. he had high hopes for this call — nanami was always the serious, sensible one. there was no way he'd turn him down now.

"you're stuck in a phone box with no way out?" he repeated, though even nanami wouldn't be able to fake amusement even if he tried. satoru felt his stomach drop. "what a shame."

BEEEEEEP...

and he was left with that same ringing beep...

no, the next one would work. he was certain of it.

the kfc disagreement might have occurred a year or two ago, but it was all right. satoru knew that.

they were best friends, after all.

he hurriedly pressed suguru's phone number into the dial and waited.

and waited.

and waited...

...and waited...

and then gave up.

i would've picked up his call, he thought to himself bitterly, before dialling the fushiguros' telephone.

he prayed to god that megumi would answer, and not —

"erm... hello!"

you.

he found you funny, a great kid, one to match the zenins' wit in every way. but you could be so very... chatty.

especially when he didn't have the time.

"y/n, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause of some sketchy kids in a gang," he explained, though something in his gut knew that this was futile, "where's megumi's mom? where's your mom? in the event that she'd even care —"

"my mom is —"

but you had paused, for megumi's voice had entered the line, but distant:

"i know you stole my book, y/n. give it back."

"i didn't — ugh! satoru, i can't talk to you right now 'cause i'm in the middle of making fun of megumi 'cause he said i stole his boring, non-fiction book when i didn't —"

"— yeah i don't give a shit, where's your mom?" he interrupted, because there was only so much he could take.

your gasp on the other end of the line was telling.

and it came as no surprise to him when you hung up as revenge:

"oh you— okay! bye!"

"wait, y/n —"

BEEEEEEP...

"oh for fucks —" he began, but kept his cool as he pictured his wife. his wife who, surely, would help him. she was his only hope at this point, because if not her, then it had to be ogi.

if not her, then it had to be toji.

he shivered at the thought.

he waited for her to pick up.

"hello? who is this?"

he had no time to waste.

there was a long pause after satoru's rushed explanation, the muffled static on the other end of the line filling the silence. he leaned forwards slightly, gripping the receiver, his hope wavering as the seconds stretched on. surely, his wife was gearing up for some clever solution, for she was smart, he remembered that well during high school and college — or at least, that's what he convinced himself of.

then came the sound of her laughter.

it started low, building into something unrestrained and far too amused for his liking.

and before he could say or do anything else, she ended the call with a click, hanging up the phone herself. satoru stood there, staring at the receiver in disbelief, the faint beep of the disconnected line mocking him.

BEEEEEEP...

reluctantly, he had called both ogi and toji next, and each regret stung more than the last. ogi sounded all too pleased by the event, and had hung up to, no doubt, inform everyone he knew of 'the gojo heir' being a victim of mugging.

toji's brutal honesty hit harder.

his voice had been laced with smug amusement, delivering one dismissive insult after another before abruptly cutting the call. by the time the phone clicked silent again, satoru felt something he rarely experienced — genuine, soul-deep irritation.

with a frustrated growl, satoru clenched his fist and swung it towards the glass, the impact reverberating through the phone box.

a sharp crack echoed as small fractures spread across the surface, and a few shards broke loose, tumbling to the ground.

he flexed his fingers, inspecting the streaks of red beginning to stain his knuckles. the sight annoyed him more than the pain — bleeding wasn't part of the plan. still, the partial break in the glass was hopeful, and he prepared himself for another attempt.

as he paused to assess his next move, his gaze caught on a young blonde-haired girl walking along the street nearby. she couldn't have been older than you or megumi, about ten, her small figure striking against the gritty surroundings.

desperation took over as he called out to her, motioning with his uninjured hand. the girl stopped and turned towards him, but her wide, wary eyes said it all — she clearly thought he was some sort of lunatic. satoru would have tried to understand his viewpoint if he wasn't so irritated with his situation.

she hesitated, clutching her backpack tighter, and stared at him as though deciding whether to run or stay.

"you're a pedo!" she'd decided altogether, which only got satoru to clench his jaw at her.

his neck was starting to hurt with how the height of the phone box had bent him at its will.

"i'm not a pedo, and if i was, you'd be safe, you blonde, bob-headed, little shit."

she furrowed her brows at him, but she'd taken several steps closer, which told him that there was a certain level of trust there between them.

"i'm trapped," he explained, for the eighth time. he looked around and saw a discarded hammer on the dusty floor. "get that hammer and pass it to me through the hole i made."

"my mom told me not to speak to strangers," said the child, her white dress notable in comparison to all the dust and dirt surrounding them.

"your mom also left you unattended in this sketchy neighbourhood," said satoru, brows raised. "you think her opinion matters? help me out."

the child still seemed reluctant. satoru groaned loudly.

"i'll buy you a cupcake."

she ran over to the hammer and presented it to him. satoru encouraged her to push it through the hole, but the way she was looking at it made him pause.

and he was right to do so, for she unexpectedly held it over her head, and then slammed it into the glass window, his hands immediately going over his head to prevent the glass from cutting into his face and sensitive areas.

"sick," he marvelled, as she continued to smash up the glass.

and after a little more smashing, she had finally had her fun and handed the hammer over to satoru through a much wider hole.

he took it gratefully, looking down at her through his round glasses with his head tilted.

"might wanna step back, kid," he warned her, before releasing all his pent-up anger on the phone box, enough to smash its front in a way that made it unrecognisable.

he stepped out, throwing the hammer away, leaving it discarded somewhere forgettable behind him.

"i'm getting my stuff back."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the gang gathered around satoru's possessions with wide eyes, each of them marvelling at the loot they'd just stolen. the leader, with a smug grin on his face, rifled through his wallet, fascinated by the sleek, black card inside.

"this guy's loaded," he muttered to himself, feeling more than a little victorious, for there had been four different sleek cards, and he was certain if they chose to rob his house next, they'd find more.

his fingers hovered over satoru's phone, still in pristine condition despite the earlier struggle.

the rest of the gang members, too, admired the items with greedy satisfaction.

but their smugness was short-lived.

in a blur, everything around them seemed to freeze for a moment, only to snap back into chaos. one second, they were standing in the middle of the street, basking in their victory, and the next — a flash of white filled their vision.

it was as if the world had shifted, disorienting them completely. the last thing they saw was satoru's towering presence, the white of his hair and his eyes like blinding light.

then, with only one warning from one of the members ("guys, he's coming! he's coming!"), they found themselves in a dark alley, each of them battered and exhausted, sprawled out on the ground.

the gang leader himself could taste blood in his mouth, his head swimming as he tried to piece together what had just happened in the space of five minutes. his body screamed in pain, the bruises already beginning to form, and his mind struggled to understand the impossible speed of the attack.

they hadn't stood a chance.

satoru stood over him now, his foot casually pressing down on the younger man's face, pinning him to the ground with alarming ease. his grin was feral, manic — a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

his possessions, now securely back in his grasp, were scattered around him, including the cupcake, which he held up to his lips, barely noticing the bloodstained mess of the street around him. his body was tense, like a coiled spring, filled with untamed energy as he looked down at the leader with barely-contained excitement...

there was something unnerving about the way he was smiling — something wild and unhinged, as if the fight, the chase, and the thrill had unlocked something primal within him. he was terrifying, but utterly in control of himself, and the chaos surrounding him.

"heh," he laughed to himself, throwing the bag over his shoulder. "i get why toji used to do this all the time. look at your faces!"

he eyed them all, noticing one thing they all had in common. he laughed loudly.

they were all japanese.

"what is this, the yakuza?" he joked, taking a bite out of his cupcake.

he deserved more sweet treats, he decided. perhaps he would go downtown to treat himself again.

his eyes had landed on the very criminal that had taken his cupcake intentionally. he walked away from the gang leader and bent down to present it to him again.

"want a bite?" he teased.

when he didn't respond, satoru stood up straight again.

"what, you scared?"

but despite asking the question, he didn't wait for a response. instead, he turned around, spotting the little, blonde girl that had helped him out, and walked off without looking back.

"go back to school," he advised them. "you guys are shit criminals."

satoru strolled over to the little blonde girl, who looked up at him expectantly, her bright eyes wide and curious. her expression was a mix of confusion and caution, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange man who had just singlehandedly obliterated a gang.

satoru, unfazed, reached into his wallet with a casual flick of his wrist, extracting a five-dollar bill. he held it out to her with a grin, his earlier manic energy fading into something far more playful.

"here, kid. get yourself something nice," he said with a wink.

"my name's hana," she told him, taking the bill. "hana kurusu."

he raised his brows at her.

"good to know," he'd said, and without waiting for a reply, turned on his heel, the faintest chuckle escaping his lips as he walked away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

notes: turns out my law exam i told you about went super well (got an A, woohoo!) and i was being dramatic lmao. so half this chapter was scenes i knew you’d be happy with, the other half was a lot of kamo, which i knew a lot of you hate me for, but it had to be done ‘cause i was right about the shit sociology test :/ lmao anyway, this was basically just some filler hahaa (with semi-plot!) 😼

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

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© tojiscrack (previously ack4rwoman)

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

if you enjoyed my writing, i’d really appreciate it if you tipped me — tumblr no longer has the tip function, so maybe here in my tip jar :)

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER THREE PT. I: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.7K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. reader is lowkey obsessed. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. exams suck. higuruma has an old car. law firm shenanigans ensue.

❀ notes etc.

Thank you so much @ratiopoetry. If it wasn’t for you, this chapter wouldn’t exist, so a big, fat, huge thanks. You reminded me of the reason I started writing this (and why I write at all) in the first place. 💛

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @sandsorghum thank you both!

You sat there staring blankly during Higuruma’s class. He was definitely teaching… something. You had no idea what, though.

More importantly, you were laser focused on one thing, and one thing only — his crooked tie.

Burgundy, satin. Slightly bent to the left. Crumpled underneath the knot, bulging inwards. It kept pushing up anytime he moved his arms to write on or gesture towards the white board behind him.

Just enough to make you want to stretch out your hands and touch it. Straighten it.

Probably a regular black tie or even a navy blue one would’ve suited him better. 

 Worked up and yapping continuously about something that was clearly important, Higuruma would pace back and forth, and all that you wondered was how the hell this man with dozens of academic accolades didn’t know how to properly tie a tie.

That single piece of attire seemed to mock you. The off-putting dip underneath the knot looked like a cocky smile.

It was all made worse when Higuruma mindlessly tugged his fingers around it. The tie bent even further from the center.

For fucks sake.

After a while, you gave up on trying to pay any mind to his class, and let the time slide off the clock’s hand until the bells went off and you were finally free to go. 

Before you could bolt your way out of there and leave this weird obsession behind, though, he spoke.

“Hey, Sanrio.”

Is he calling me Sanrio for real now?

Your cheeks flushed a dusty pink, and you were glad that nearly all of the students had already left the classroom. You gulped and turned calmly from your half done backpack to face him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I need to speak with you, if you may,” he replied, signaling for you to approach him.

Your throat tightened, and you wondered if this could be related to the debacle from a few nights before. After all, this was the first time you saw each other after you unceremoniously gave him a pure vodka shower.

Then patted him dry with your scarf.

And spent a few moments holding hands.

Damn. 

He sat over his desk while crossing his arms, and your eyes were instantly drawn to his forearms, the way they softly bulged in that position, every corded muscle visible with his sleeves rolled up, his veins perfectly protruded down his forearm, all over the back of his hand, and his tie-

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Only then you registered that he was actually saying something, and you didn’t catch a word.

“Oh, no. I mean, I wasn’t… I got distracted.”

“I can see that. Actually, I wanted to ask if everything is okay, you seem off today,” he inquired, softly tilting his head to the side. His eyes landed first on your face, and slowly made their way down your body. For a second, you wondered if he was checking you out, or if it was just your imagination.

The thought had you blushing even deeper, because of course not, this is not happening, what the hell is wrong with me-

“Sanrio, you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Zoning out while I’m speaking to you.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I must’ve been distracted.”

“With what?”

And he did ask it in earnest.

Distracted with you checking me out, and your forearms, and the way you tug that goddamn burgundy satin around your perfect neck, and-

“Your tie.”

One of his eyebrows slowly peaked up in disbelief.

“My… tie?”

For a second, you wished for a hole to be magically conjured right underneath your feet just so you could bury your head in it like an ostrich. Not the smartest defense mechanism devised by nature, but definitely one that would save you some embarrassment at that moment.

He cleared his throat, and you could just about die not knowing what he — or anyone, for that matter — could reply to whatever that was. 

“Do you want to… straighten it?”

“… What?”

“You heard me.”

Completely dumbfounded, you wondered if that was just mockery. Or a poorly executed joke, since he seemed to be a professional at cracking those.  

“If it’s so distracting, come on over here and straighten it,” he repeated, almost like a dare, holding your gaze. Sure enough, there was not an ounce of jest in that man’s face.

Disconcerted, you slowly walked in his direction, and as you lifted your hands towards his neck, Higuruma tilted his jaw up, projecting his neck muscles and making all of his tendons much more apparent.

At the same time, your teeth clenched, your mouth watered and your hands stuttered.

“Is there any problem?” The Professor asked while raising a curious eyebrow.

His voice sounded sultrier than usual. Suspiciously raspy and velvety. Is he doing it on purpose?

You simply nodded while your brain short circuited, and the more you tried to steer away the thoughts of how much you had the hots for the Professor, the more you wanted to tug on that tie and-

“There, straightened,” you whispered in a rush, eyes glued to the floor, ready to bolt away and leave all your belongings behind, even if you were still clutching his tie in between your fingers as if holding onto a lifeline. 

An unnecessarily sexy lifeline.

Before you could leave, though, he held your shoulder with one hand while tilting your face up by pushing his index finger under your chin, catching you completely off guard.

“Are you in a rush? Do you have some place else to be?”

Absolutely not hallucinating. He was, indeed, making a move on you, and his gaze slid down slowly towards your lips. “We still haven’t talked about that night. And how you left some lipstick on the cigarette you lit up for me.”

Nothing but a pathetic whimper left your lips. He smiled.

“Is this the same one?” Higuruma asked, flickering his eyes between your gaze and your lips.

“S-same… what?”

“Lispstick.”

It felt like you were in a plane cabin and it had just depressurized. 

I have to leave, I can’t do this, this is highly inappropriate behav-

You nodded. His smile widened.

“Perfect. Now I can taste it from the right place.”

Your stomach dropped further and your heart thumped in your chest, skipping more than just a few beats as it drummed enough to have the space around you both grow even quieter to your ears.

Rational thought had abandoned you as your grip tightened around his tie, your eyes dropping to his mouth. Higuruma seemed pleased, and slid one of his hands to the nape of your neck while carding his fingers through your hair, bringing his other hand down behind you to cup your lower back. You softly jumped in surprise, and he wasted no time into pulling your body against his, having you instantly feeling his warmth all over you.

As you both inched closer to each other, you could smell some of his aftershave on his skin, and his minty breath, and his cologne impregnated all over his clothes, and…

This smells like my laundry detergent…?

The bells went off again.

This time, however, it was your morning alarm yanking you out of sleep as your face sunk into your pillow like a rock in a lake.

Peeling your eyes open to the unforgiving light that flooded into your dorm room, you slowly propped yourself up from the mattress. Your laptop was open by the edge of the bed, and on the screen, you found your shame displayed in between three different types of ads containing huge twerking asses in 4K.

You had most likely passed out on top of your vibrator the night before and wondered if the kinky Professor x Student role play porn on your anon tab was the reason you dreamt… that. Especially considering that today you had a criminal procedure lecture with the star of the M-rated movie your horny mind cooked just for you.

Is there anything worse than meeting someone you shouldn’t be interested in right after having those types of dreams with them?

Fun. So fun.

At least this time life spared you the little mercy of having no company after Nobara decided to sleep over at Maki’s again.

Carrying yourself with the few shreds of dignity you still had, you rolled out of bed, and while getting ready for that day’s class, a realization suddenly dawned on you.

Where is my red scarf?

***

Higuruma’s car.

The beat up 2015 Toyota Passo had a lot of personality as an old piece of junk that failed on the road more often than not, but even so, it had been his reliable companion for nearly a decade. Its glossy navy blue paint was covered in dirt, and Higuruma wondered to himself as he entered the vehicle that morning if he should perhaps take it out for a wash, which, in all fairness, he never did. The rain will wash it clean was his motto, one that rarely proved itself to be true.

His car was always crawling with old food wraps, random papers, spare change and some clothes. While Higuruma looked frantically for something to wrap around his neck in the cold — a beaten up old yellow shawl all weaved in sunflower patterns he received as a gift from his grandmother —, his phone rang.

Using a makeshift bluetooth haphazardly rigged up to the radio, Higuruma answered the call while twisting his arm beside the passenger seat.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s Kento, good morning.”

“Morning. May I ask why such an early call?” Higuruma asked with a strained voice while he dove down his seat, a hand reaching between the passenger seat and the handbrake.

“It’s not early. Actually, I thought I’d find you at the campus, but since you weren’t in the teacher’s lounge, I’m calling.”

“Oh, I’m just… late,” Higuruma muttered under a tense breath, still bending himself over while prying his scarf out of its death trap underneath the seat beside him.

“I figured that much. Are you on your way?”

“Kind of.”

Nanami found that reply to be suspicious, especially considering his friend’s usual antics.

“… Did your car break down again?” Nanami asked with a hint of judgement to his inquiry. If the Toyota Passo had a hater club, Nanami would be its president, especially considering all the times he found himself stranded with Higuruma by roadsides while on past trips. This was the main reason Nanami would never be caught dead taking a ride with his best friend nowadays if he could help it.

“Shh, don’t say that. It can hear you,” Higuruma chastised while half joking, being more acquainted with Murphy’s Law than he’d like to admit. It had turned him into a somewhat superstitions man, at least when it came to the Passo.

“Hiromi, that’s not how cars work.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he quipped. Hearing Nanami sigh on the other side of the line was an amusement that served him some semblance of comfort as he battled his way through his current predicament. “Now, what did you want to speak to me about anyway?” 

Hitting just the right slant, Higuruma felt the already familiar wool-weaved pattern on the tips of his fingers.

“Well, it’s about what I told you last Friday,” Nanami ensued.

“Go on.”

As Higuruma contorted his limbs and spine on the driver’s seat in some sort of malevolent pilates while searching for a better position to pull his shawl up, he slowly elevated his arm with a firm grip on the thing, doing his best to not have it tangle on its way out. 

“We’ve allocated some revenue to open more departments in the Firm, and to make some changes to others. I’d like your input, if at all possible.”

Higuruma’s tie contracted uncomfortably around his neck with every wiggle his body made, prompting him to pull around it in a feeble attempt to not have his windpipe crushed. It worked, but barely, messing up his already disarrayed outfit even further.

“My input?” he asked, taken aback while adjusting himself in his seat. “I mean, I’d like to help, but I don’t know if my input is what you’re looking for. I didn’t have that many years of experience as a private lawyer.”

“But you do have a lot of experience dealing with a team of people working with you, and impossible criminal cases absolutely no one would accept.”

“One intern and one assistant,” Higuruma noted, “and those cases weren’t impossible. No case is, even in our Justice System.”

Nanami smiled softly before replying. “Okay, ‘remarkably challenging lawsuits’, then. In any case, we’re creating a criminal law defense department, and considering your experience, you input would be much appreciated.”

Higuruma managed to haul nearly the entire shawl out of its hideout, but before he could consider himself victorious, it got stuck.

He sighed.

“My input or my participation, Kento?” Higuruma asked, even if it wasn’t an actual question. “I know you. You’re not that smooth when attempting to get me on board for something. I remember all the times you casually mentioned a group project in college — which all coincidentally had themes I was studying in depth at the time — while trying to act all nonchalant about it.” 

Nothing gets past him, Nanami thought to himself at being caught red handed.

“Yes, I’d like your participation.”

Higuruma stopped in his tracks, and placed the pulled-up end of the shawl over the passenger’s seat, propping himself up to sit. In silence, he brushed his fingers over his temples, and remained like this for a few seconds, not realizing how his whole body had stiffened up like dried bamboo.

“Kento, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I just…” Higuruma mumbled as he let his forehead lay over the steering wheel.

“Do you trust my judgement?”

Nanami’s question came without missing a beat.

“Of course I do,” Higuruma replied, “I don’t know if I trust myself.”

“Let me worry about that,” Nanami interjected, “I’ve gotten other attorneys on board that can work with us. With you.”

With an uncertain hum, Higuruma cleared his throat.

“I’m… late. I should get going. And sort my damn scarf situation. It’s awfully cold today.”

“That hideous little thing with the sunflowers?” Nanami’s disdain was evident, and Higuruma chuckled.

“Morning, Kento.”

With that, the Professor ended the call, and put his whole mind to solving his current dilemma.

As a final Hail Mary, Higuruma held all he managed to pry out with a firm grip, and slowly descended his other hand, feeling his way over the piece in an attempt to find whatever was hooking it.

Quickly enough, his fingers met something else entirely. It had a softer texture, almost like old frizzly, worn out cotton.

Well, I think I’ve found the culprit.

With a careful tug, he pulled everything out, and a snaky, crimson, polka dot fuzzy worm surprised him. Upon further inspection, Higuruma realized that such horrid sight was actually your ugly red scarf entwined with his sunflower shawl.

This… what? How did her scarf end up here? 

Blinking once, then twice, the Professor found himself still completely dumbfounded. For a moment, Higuruma wondered if this was all a figment of his imagination. That is, until he recalled last Friday, and remembered you used your scarf to pat him dry after an accidental alcoholic skin care routine.

Out of all the things I could’ve picked up by accident, this is what I got? This hideous little thing? 

He snorted at the red polka dot scarf while holding it with the tips of his fingers, wondering if you’d really care to have this back.

Smiling to himself, Higuruma remembered the exchange, your laughter, and his eyes slid towards the cigarette butt from that day. It was currently shoved into the ashtray he kept right in front of his handbrake.

He noticed there was still a faint red stain around it. Against his better judgement, his mind wandered for a moment as he reminisced on the occasion, and how smoking that cigarette left a soft tinted smudge on his lips too, one that he noticed upon arriving home that night and looking at himself in his elevator’s mirror.

I… really shouldn’t. 

Shaking the thought away, Higuruma mindlessly spoke to himself as he turned the engine on.

“I have to give this back to her.”

If only his memory didn’t betray him just like his car — more often than not.

After an uneventful drive, Higuruma stood in front of the white board ready to resume his criminal procedure class as all of the students made their way into the classroom, including you. 

Picking a seat not too close to the main stage, you noticed that Professor Higuruma had his back turned to the rest of the class as he wrote something on the white board. That day, from what you could tell, he was wearing just a plain white buttoned shirt and linen black slacks, not accounting for a coat and whatever else he had haphazardly tossed over his desk like a ball of garments.

There seemed to be a small red something tangled right under his coat. 

Your dream prickled you in the back of your mind, and you cleared your throat trying to feign off the thoughts.

This is real life, at a real class, and not my Orpheus domain. This is real life… You kept repeating mentally to yourself, like a mantra. Even if his shirt draped perfectly over his shoulders and highlighted his slender build.

I’ll just focus on today’s class and that will get my mind out of the gutter.

Higuruma stepped back from the white board and the word “truth” was written on it. Before you could think anything about today’s main topic, though, he turned around to face the students, and your day just became that much more awkward.

For a second, you couldn't truly believe your eyes.

His tie — which at least wasn’t burgundy, nor satin — was crooked. Actually, truly crooked in the real life of real events during a very much real class.

My life is a bad joke and I’m the punchline.

You straightened your posture in your chair with the sudden piercing, delusional self-awareness that anyone who looked at your face would know telepathically what you were thinking, because your cheeks felt suspiciously warm. You tried brushing your bangs down your face to no avail, and a small lock of hair poked out of it like a sore thumb.

In an attempt to distract yourself from that nonsense, you tried as best as you could to check how Higuruma was looking like today — apart from the crooked tie, that was — and noticed his hair was more disheveled than usual. It seemed like he hadn't shaved for at least two days.

Finally, Higuruma ensued his grand introductory lecture on the value of truth for criminal proceedings, and you were actually listening to it.

Good. Deja vu is not Deja-vuing enough. I’m fine. This is fine.

“Truth. Who can tell me the three main concepts of truth in western philosophy?” Higuruma asked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You saw a familiar hand raising in the very front row, and Higuruma nodded for the person to proceed. 

“The three main concepts of truth are the correspondence, coherence and consensus ones,” Megumi answered. 

“Exactly. The relevance of truth in legal proceedings has been an ongoing debate for centuries, and some lines of thought even consider it to be completely irrelevant. We won’t be tackling that. For those who think truth is important, the most well established position is that truth as correspondence is the one we should strive for, even if our true knowledge of facts that occurred in the past through evidence can be, at best, approximate.”

A few people nodded, and Higuruma continued his exposition.

“Truth as correspondence… In simple terms, a statement can be considered to be true if it corresponds to a fact that has happened in the real world. For example, by this, if I say ‘today I was at class at the inhumane time of 07:05AM’, and here we are at that very same time, it means my statement is true. In criminal proceedings, the truth finding task revolves around verifying if a crime has occurred or not, and in order to do such verification, we need evidence,” he paused for a moment and pulled a bottle of water from his briefcase, carefully putting it over his desk, “and one of the main types of evidence in criminal proceedings are witnesses’ testimonies.”

You were able to follow his exposition so far, and not get distracted by the crooked black ti-

Exposition. Truth. Witnesses. Focus, woman.

You could still feel the lingering sensation of his dreamt tie in between your fingers, and it wasn’t doing you any favors.

“What is a testimony? A testimony is basically someone’s account of an event they have witnessed, and formed a memory of through their senses — sight, hearing, etc. In that regard, it’s safe to say testimonies are a type of evidence that depends on memory, and human memory is fallible. What we can apprehend through our senses and actually remember is deeply affected by what we can or choose to focus on,” Higuruma concluded. 

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his tie once again. 

Goddammit.

The class was considerably peaceful so far, and you wondered if he would require a victim for his usual slaughter sessions. It would certainly serve the purpose of getting your mind out of your fantasies. Fantasies about running your fingers down the fabric of his clothes, clutching them, crumpling everything in the messiest-

“You.” 

His voice fished you out of your daydreams and into the very much real and concrete reality presenting itself. Subconsciously — involuntarily, perhaps — his finger pointed in your direction, and you knew you’d be the prey for that class’ expository capers.

“Please, step forward,” Higuruma asked as he stood beside his desk.

You did like you were told, as a robot would, and walked in his direction, ready for whatever insanity he had to throw your way this time. Perhaps a marker for the white board. Or the water bottle.

“So,” Higuruma proceeded, “we need police to retrieve information from people that may have witnessed a crime in order to investigate it. That’s usually how investigations begin.” He quickly paused to check if everyone was following, and resumed his explanation, “after the investigation is completed and someone is actually charged or indicted, these same people, the witnesses, will be asked to repeat what they told to police right in front of the judge or a jury. The main question is… how reliable is that initial information relayed to the police at the beginning of it all? How reliable are these testimonies that give the very foundation for a criminal proceeding to exist in the first place?” 

You didn’t know the answer to that question. You knew nothing, really, staring dumbly at your feet while trying to not make a fool out of yourself.

 Before you knew, Higuruma grabbed the water bottle that was on top of his desk and approached you. When he was about a foot away from you, his cologne seeped into every neuron dedicated to smelling you had inside your nostril. Musky, fresh, and-

I can’t deal with this.

You tried fixating your eyes on the bottle of water he seemed to be giving you — anything but his face, his eyes, his nose.

His tie.

When you touched the bottle, he retreated it, and you felt somewhat confused. Then, he leaned it towards you again, you tried grabbing it again, and he retreated it once more. 

Is he teasing? What… what is he doing?

“Do you guys see where I’m getting at?” Higuruma asked, pointing towards the water bottle.

He was met with silence.

Higuruma then pointed at you, and your focused gaze on the bottle that was damn near boring a hole through it. “This is what we call the ‘focus on the gun effect’. You can all see that so far, her eyes pay more attention to what I’m holding than on any of my features. If this were a gun in a stressful scenario, it would probably only heighten such effect even more.”

Sir, this is a stressful scenario.

Your eyes flickered to his tie right before landing on the bottle again, and he did notice your gaze wondering elsewhere, but didn’t think much of it. 

“So at the moment she’d be testifying and was asked to describe my features, how well do you all think she’d be able to do it, if she hasn’t paid any attention to my face, focusing only on object I was holding? How trustworthy would such a testimony actually be?”

Tired hangdog eyes, aquiline nose, thick black frame glasses, white dress shirt crumpled at the hem, loosened black tie crooked to the right, criminally good-looking forearms, black linen pants-

“You can go back to your seat,” he remarked, and you did your best not to stumble on your way back.

The rest of the class went on painlessly, and by the end, Higuruma sat at his desk, lumbering back on his chair. He pushed aside the bundle of coat-and-other-stuff-in-a-ball, took his briefcase and opened it up to grab a pile of paper sheets from it. Upon further inspection, you gulped, knowing full well what those were.

“Before you all go, for those who are also my criminal law students, please come by my desk and take your corrected exams with you.  Give some special attention to the questions you got wrong, I made a list of the most common mistakes in these and will start off our next criminal law lesson by correcting them with the class.”

Shortly after, a line formed in front of Higuruma’s desk, and one by one, each student took their exams in their hands, either grunting displeased or sighing relieved with their result, leaving the classroom subsequently. You occupied yourself with slowly putting your things into your backpack, knowing full well that the walk towards that exam — and how poorly you did in it — would feel like a walk of shame. Only after the line was nearly done that you actually made your way to it, dragging your feet each step closer to what felt like doom.

“Good morning, Professor,” you mumbled as you reached for your exam and picked it up.

“Good morning,” he offered, bowing his head.

For the lack of a better term, your exam sheet looked like a crime scene, completely scribbled with red pen ink all over it. The discontent in your expression must’ve been incredibly evident, because Higuruma  spoke immediately.

“You know, these tests don’t truly assess your actual knowledge of a subject. Not entirely. It’s also about knowing how to take the test, and how the questions are phrased.”

You nodded half-heartedly. 

“Mm-mhm, I know. I just… I felt like nearly every question here could have-”

“Two answers?” He promptly interjected.

“Yes!”

He acquiesced.

“In criminal law, most things are determined by which line of thought one chooses to interpret a topic. You were not the only student to struggle with this, don’t worry. It’s easier to learn how to take a test than to learn the actual subject,” Higuruma offered, and as you looked at him, he welcomed your gaze with a soft smile.

“Is it?” you inquired, shoving the sheet of paper into your backpack. You looked back at him, and your eyes involuntarily dipped towards his tie. You averted your gaze while silently coughing. 

My future is on the line and here I am obsessing over a stupid tie. God.

He lifted a brow, intrigued, and continued.

“Absolutely,” Higuruma said, “you see, these types of standardized tests are terrible. Take a look on question number 15, the one about excess in self-defense.”

“Oh, I remember that one! The question in which guy 1 killed guy 2 through choking because guy 2 tried to kill him first with a sharp object but dropped it accidentally, right?”

“That one.”

“I was unsure, because even though he ended up killing guy 2, to be a target of an attempted murder must be horribly stressful. I mean, with all the adrenaline and everything, sometimes the body just reacts by itself, and the person is not even thinking.”

“Exactly!” Higuruma responded, clearly getting excited by this little exercise, “but the ‘right’ answer was that it was an excess in self-defense, because given the method — choking —, he could’ve ’stopped at any time’. Could he, though? Shouldn’t that be up for debate instead of…” The Professor took the list of answers and shook it in his hand, “this?”

He looks so adorable when talking passionately like th- stop. 

You shook your head before continuing.

“Yes, I agree. However, there’s not much we can do other than learn how to take these exams in order to get to where we want to, right?”

Your voice sounded more disheartened than you thought it would, and your self-disappointment dripped from it in a saddened cadence. You looked like a cornered animal who had just accepted its fate. Higuruma noticed it, and looked the other way to take a moment before speaking again, mindlessly tugging around his already loosened tie. It seemed like it could fall from his neck anytime soon.

Jesus Christ Almighty, can you stop fidgeting with the thing already? You brushed your face in quiet discomfort, and he barely noticed it, too immersed into whatever he had simmering in his mind.

“The main thing is… I just hope you and the other students don’t think less of yourselves because of this short assessment test,” he stated, “college shouldn’t kill the hearts of people who have dreams just because the way it works is not suited for everybody from the get go.”

What he said touched some deeper part of you, one you weren’t usually much in contact with. You stood there silently letting his words sink in, and curiously, they did have some tranquilizing effect of sorts. It must’ve been a while, because Higuruma looked at you with confused eyes when you finally snapped out of it.

“Is everything okay, San-…” he coughed, “I mean… are you alright?”

Pulling yourself together, you drew in a breath before you replied. Once more, you slotted your hands through your hair and his eyes involuntarily peeped over your pseudo ahoge in your bangs before landing on your face again.

“Yes. It’s just what you said about dreams,” you began, “I was worried that this test would nuke my future dream of becoming a criminal defense lawyer, but… I doesn’t quite feel like it now, somehow? It feels like not all is lost, it’s just an exam.”

Higuruma listened to you attentively before sparing you a modest smile.

“I suppose so. We are allowed to falter and make mistakes, especially here, in a classroom. You’re here to learn, after all.”

You nodded.

“Thank you, Professor. Truly. Your words have really helped me,” you stated, not realizing the smile  all over your face in a beam while you bowed towards him, “and for whatever it’s worth, your classes inspire me even more to chase my dreams. You are an amazing teacher.”

Higuruma seemed surprised and retributed the gesture, bowing his head towards you, his own cheeks pooling a soft pink.

“It’s my honor and privilege to teach you all, and I hope you get to realize your dreams in the future.”

You sighed content, and you both remained silent for a short while. Considering the conversation was already done, you bid him a “bye” and turned on your heels to leave the classroom, but his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hm, may I ask something?” Higuruma inquired.

“Of course, Professor. What is it?”

“You kept looking at something on me, is my shirt dirty or something like that?” he asked, trying to look down and assess his state.

Your ears went deaf for a second with the blood rush from your thumping heart at the realization he had, indeed, noticed your stupid obsession. And for a split second, you wondered if you should explain it. The dream flashed through your mind, and better not obviously was the answer you arrived at.

“Ah, uh… your tie, it’s crooked, and- yeah, it’s just crooked. That’s it. I tend to notice these things,” you blurted out, letting each syllable tumble over the other carelessly. You did your best to pretend you were scratching your nose, just so you could hide the small flush you felt over your face.

Whatta’ lousy liar am I. 

“Oh.” Higuruma gently glided his fingers over his tie, and tightened it slightly around his neck, “thank you for letting me know, but I figure that’s okay. My crooked tie has not prevented me from teaching today, or my students from learning, I presume,” he jested, and you acquiesced trying to hold down a chuckle unrelated to his lukewarm joke.

“Well, thank you for the talk, Professor. Have a good day!” you said, finally making your way out the classroom.

The door closed behind you, and instead of getting up immediately, Higuruma found himself still caught up in the conversation you both just had, being brought back to his old memories, his own old dreams and how he had once lived them in the past before everything went wrong. It felt like eons ago.

 The Professor pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his chat Nanami, thinking back on their earlier conversation.

“Dreams, huh?” a lonely Higuruma mused before typing, failing to realize he had been softly smiling to himself for the past minute.

HH: Kento, if you’re really going forward with this idea, you should put up a notice for an intern opening

NK: Already did, for two positions actually.

NK: Did you think about what we discussed earlier?

Sighing to himself, Higuruma finally got up, stretching his legs and arms as if he had been sunk in it for millennia. He picked his briefcase up in one hand, and pulled his coat with the other. As he did so, your red scarf fell on his desk beside his shawl, and Higuruma realized how human memory, more often than not, was indeed pretty fallible.

“Argh, dammit.”

PT. II WILL GET POSTED ON DEC 26TH

I had completely forgotten to feature this amazing fanart of chapter 1 (that I’ve already screeched about like a banshee on more than one occasion) when I posted chapter 2. Traffi, as always, this is STUNNING, I JUS- Thank you 🥹

all credits for this amazing art go to @traffi -

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu

[ikkyfics]

Rings

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: "Well, now that we have the rings... what else is on the list? Invitations? Music? Or can we just run away and get married tomorrow? You know I’d be up for it, right?"

Warnings: none

Part 2 of Marry Me

Masterlist

The wizarding jewelry store was a charming place, almost like a solid dream. Floating chandeliers glowed softly, casting colorful beams of light that danced across the display windows. Each piece on display seemed unique, as if it told its own story, shining in delicate shades of gold, silver, and platinum, with gemstones that pulsed lightly, as if they had a life of their own. You were holding hands with James, his fingers intertwined with yours, as he looked around with an almost childlike excitement.

"Well," he began, gently squeezing your hand as his vibrant blue eyes scanned the shop, "I think we need to find something that’s... perfect. Something that will make everyone know, without a doubt, that you’re mine."

You laughed, but felt the warmth rise to your cheeks. "James, I’m already yours. The ring is just... a detail."

He stopped in his tracks, gently spinning you so you were face to face. "Oh, love, it’s so much more than a detail. It’s the symbol of all this," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "Of me and you. Of all the times you made me laugh, of all the nights I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be, just because you were there. I want it to be the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen."

Before you could respond, a shop attendant appeared, an elderly wizard with a kind demeanor and a silver beard that looked like strands of light. "Ah, young lovers," he said with a warm smile. "Welcome to our shop. I’m sure we’ll find something as unique as your story."

James immediately got excited, beginning to describe what he had in mind. "Something simple, but... special. Maybe with our initials or some detail that has meaning. Oh, and that matches her hands," he said, holding up your hand and lifting it for the attendant to examine.

"Of course," the man replied, picking up a fine wand and gesturing to a nearby display. Small rings began to float, each with a unique glow. Some had stones that changed color slightly depending on the angle, others had small enchantments that made engravings appear and disappear with a touch.

"Look at this one," James said, pointing to a delicate gold band with a small stone that seemed to shine with the light of a tiny star. "It looks like your eyes," he added, smiling at you.

"James," you said, trying not to laugh. "I don’t need something that extravagant."

"Extravagant? This is just the beginning," he teased, pulling out another ring with small carvings that seemed to form a map when illuminated. "Maybe something that reminds us of that trip to Hogsmeade, when you finally said you liked me."

"I said I liked you because you were impossible to ignore," you replied, crossing your arms with an amused smile.

"And it still works today," he shot back, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.

In the end, the attendant suggested a personalized idea: a fine ring, with your initials engraved on the inside, accompanied by a simple spell that would make the initials glow lightly every time you were near each other. When he explained that the rings could also pulse gently, as a constant reminder of each other’s presence, you saw James' eyes light up.

"This is it," he said, without hesitation.

"Are you sure?" you asked, glancing at him sideways.

"Absolutely," he replied, holding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours once more. "Because that’s exactly what you are to me, love. My constant presence. My reminder that, no matter where I am, it's with you I want to be."

The fitting process was almost magical. As soon as the rings were enchanted and dipped into the finishing solution, the final glow was revealed. James carefully held it, sliding the ring onto your finger just to "test" it.

"See? Perfect," he said with a side smile, his eyes locked on yours.

James held your hand firmly, even more excited after the ring’s approval. He couldn’t seem to hide the smile that lit up his face. "Well, now that we have the rings... what else is on the list? Invitations? Music? Or can we just run away and get married tomorrow? You know I’d be up for it, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head, but the warmth in your chest grew with his comment. "James, you know I want the full wedding. No running away. And besides, you promised you'd pick the music with Sirius, remember?"

He made an exaggerated grimace, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, right. Because everyone trusts Sirius Black's taste in music. You know he’ll suggest something completely inappropriate, right? I bet he’ll want to play some Queen anthem for the entrance."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you wouldn't think that’s amazing?"

James tried to hide it, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a contained smile. "Maybe. But only because I’ll be too busy looking at you to hear anything."

The comment made your cheeks flush, and you turned your gaze away, pretending to study the shop windows around you. James didn’t miss the opportunity and leaned in a little, trying to catch your face again. "Hey, no point in hiding. I’ve said it before and I’ll repeat it until you believe me: there’s nothing in this world that makes me happier than seeing you like this. Than knowing that you’re mine."

You looked at him, a shy smile escaping before teasing him, "You always know what to say, don't you?"

"No," he replied sincerely, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Actually, I get kind of goofy around you. A walking disaster. But somehow, it always works."

He stopped abruptly, gently pulling you to a quieter corner of the street. "Seriously, love... you know how grateful I am for you, don’t you? For every second, every laugh, every moment. You make everything worth it. And these rings are just the beginning of everything I want to give you."

You felt your eyes begin to well up, but before you could respond, he leaned in, his fingers gently gliding to hold your face. The kiss he gave you was delicate, as if trying to convey every word he couldn’t say. When he pulled away, his smile was softer, but his eyes still shone brightly.

"Now," he began, resuming the intertwining of your fingers, "I think it’s time to find an excuse to celebrate this. How about lunch? Or maybe we stop by my parents' house to show them our choice? My mum’s going to want to know every detail, you know that."

You nodded, your heart full. "Yes, but only if you promise you’ll defend the choice if Sirius starts teasing."

James threw his head back, laughing, and kissed your temple quickly. "I promise. But who knows, maybe he’ll give in to the charm of these magical rings."

The two of you walked hand in hand through the busy streets of Hogsmeade, mentally planning the next steps and the visits you still needed to make. Every little detail seemed to bring more excitement and certainty that the future you were building together would be everything you had always dreamed of—and so much more.