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[ode2rin]

all my flaws

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. post-argument fluff | suggestive themes | established relationship | new boyfriend!rin 

content/warnings. 2k+ wc | characters are in their 20s ! | pro-athlete!rin | making out | narration heavy! | profanity | minimal proofread (me and my word vomit) | it’s like a new installment of this rin

in which: people say new relationships supposedly need a breakthrough fight to level up, but rin swears he would rather go through hell than do this again.

Your first fight as a couple freaked Rin out, even though he appeared stoic during the argument.

In the heat of the moment, Rin abruptly left your apartment, not uttering a word. Instead, he left you with a lingering glance filled with apathy—a look he'd never cast upon you before. His eyes turned void once again, when you were just getting used to it being bright and free.

What began as a simple disagreement, like any other couple's quarrel, escalated into rhetorical questions, accusing tones, and suddenly, it was him against you.

Silently, he rose from his seat, walked to the door, and vanished like a shadow that had never existed. To Rin, it felt like the right thing to do. You can't leave him if he does it first, he convinced himself. A twisted logic, fueled by emotions creeping from his past.

Yet apparently, his logic seems to be in total shambles when mixed and driven by emotions concerning you, because ten minutes later down the road, he wanted nothing more but to turn the car around.

Even so, in Rin’s true self-sabotaging fashion, he refrained. Because he’s awful, selfish, and couldn’t even fix insignificant arguments like a normal person would. Convinced of his own flaws, he believed you shouldn’t be with him— shouldn’t give him that chance after all.

The next thing he knew, the ten minutes he could’ve made to retreat back and apologize turned into 27 hours and 48 minutes of misery, spent in non-speaking terms with you.

It sucks. Everything sucks.

That night, he slept in his own bed. The next day, the in denial and emotionally constipated side of him made himself believe that the expensive yet seemingly useless mattress felt responsible for the raging tension in his shoulders and back. Of course it wasn't because of the absence of your messages or the unfamiliarity of his own bed. Of course, it’s the bed’s fault.

Life isn’t what it used to be. The sun didn't shine properly if it didn't come through the window of your room he spent the night in, his usual protein drink tasted like absolute shit because you didn’t make it for him, and not to mention the lack of cuddles before he gets up in the morning— it was bound to be the worst day of his life ever since you happened.

To make things even worse, he’s disassociating in practice, even missing a goal making everyone stop in their tracks. It was an unusual sight, Itoshi Rin doesn’t miss, after all. 

He was acting so gloomy that Bachira even pointed out how there’s a storm cloud looming over his head. A statement that earned a curt ‘fuck off, bobcut’ from the striker.

Meanwhile, Isagi took a more rational approach of expressing his concern toward his friend’s atypical behavior by taking out his phone and sending you a message.

Isagi: Did something happen between you and Rin? He's being tenfold more insufferable. [1:13 pm] Isagi: Please do something about this. - Chigiri [1:15 pm]

On the receiving end of these messages, you couldn't help but admit to yourself that you felt a peculiar sense of relief, knowing Rin was grappling with the same turmoil after he left.

You'd had your share of arguments before—petty disagreements that were easier to fix due to forced proximity. It was simpler when you were obligated to walk together on the way home from school; otherwise, he would stand in the same spot outside your classroom if you decided to be petty and ignore him. Annoyed but still caring, he insisted on confirming you got home safely, reasoning that your houses were next to each other.

Rin was still hard-headed, much like all these years. A testament to this was his silence over the past 24 hours.

Reading Isagi’s text messages once more, you let out a sigh and made up your mind – you will force him to fix things with you. You will express your displeasure at his abrupt departure, insist he not repeat it if he wants to do this right with you, and convey that it should always be the two of you against any problem.

It might be a blow to your pride to give in first, but it is what the two of you needed. It is what he needed. 

It just happened that you loved that man enough to provide what he needed, despite all flaws.

A day of missing you must have driven him to hallucinate, Rin concludes. You, perched on his couch, delicately peeling oranges and chuckling at a whimsical show on the screen, are just a hallucination.

“You’re home.”

And would you look at that, hallucinations even speak.

From your vantage point, Rin looks like he's seen a ghost greeting him with his unblinking teal orbs and brows slightly arching upwards. You notice the subtle tightening of his grip on the strap of his gym bag as he takes measured steps towards you, as though cautiously approaching a dream he fears might dissipate.

“Rin?” you whisper in confusion. It was meek, barely a whisper of his name, yet it was all that he needed to close the gap between you in mere seconds.

You gape at him from how determined his strides were. Surprise is instantly replaced by warmth as your lover basically throws himself over you for a well-sought embrace the moment you're within his arms’ reach.

You’re real, and you’re here.

And he can’t even begin to tell you how much tension finally left his body with that realization.

“I thought…” he trails off, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

As shallow as one might say, each passing hour of being away from you has fully convinced Rin that it might have been the end to what the two of you had.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper softly in his ear, your fingers finding solace in the familiar texture of Rin’s hair, tenderly tracing paths down to his nape. Rin responds with a gentle kiss along the side of your neck, a silent affirmation of his gratitude for the comforting gesture.

Unspoken sentiments hang in the air, but neither of you feels the need to verbalize them just yet. The minutes stretch, and you both savor each other’s warmth that has been sorely missed.

As minutes gracefully slipped away, you initiated the release from his embrace, much to his chagrin. Rin openly displayed his disapproval by gently yet firmly wrapping his arms around you. But you were resolute in your purpose and slightly pushed him back.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, holding his face to look at you.

“No.”

“I’ll make you some food, then. Stay here.”

Before your intentions could take you to the kitchen, Rin pulled you back making you fall back to his lap. “don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But dinner–”

“No.”

“No? You don’t want to eat?”

“No,” he firmly replied, “Later. I want to hold you first.”

You didn’t respond to Rin, and just took it upon yourself to make yourself more accessible for him to hold by facing him while still seated in his lap. The shift in position sent a shiver of anticipation through both of you, and Rin, consumed by the moment, reveled in the exquisite sensation of your body pressed closely against his.

Slowly, his fingers reached the side of your jaw, tracing and guiding you closer to meet him halfway. With closed eyes, you felt his lips approaching, delicately and purposefully, until his lips were a breath away from yours. The distance between your lips diminished as Rin closed in, capturing your mouth in a sweet, lingering surrender. 

Rin’s strong hands explored every inch of you it could reach. You felt his touch on your neck, shoulders, down to your thighs. The teasing fingers paid extra attention to your waist, their grip subtly teasing the hem of your shirt. You melt into him more when you feel said teasing hands slide inside.

He was everywhere— your mind, your body, your very soul. Rin had them well occupied with all of him.

A soft gasp escapes you when he nips the familiar spot on your neck just below your ear, each kiss that follows tracing a path to your collarbones. Another gasp, louder this time, as Rin gently sucked the skin beneath your collarbones, mending the sweet sting with his feather-light kisses.

It was getting harder to think when a feeling of desire ran from your chest down toward your inner thigh from how impossibly hot Rin’s lips were consuming you.

And just when you thought he had had enough of you, Rin’s hand once again cradled your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. Shivers danced down your spine as you absorbed the sight of his half-lidded, glossy teal eyes.

“I need you, baby,” he breathed, “please.”

It seemed as though there was a lot to make up for in the past twenty-four hours that he couldn't hold you.

You stirred from your sleep to the sensation of lingering kisses scattered from your forehead down to your jaw.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you found your lover gazing at you with those bright and free teal eyes, and you swore you never had a better way to start the day than this.

A smile graced your lips as you prepared to reciprocate the affection, intending to reach for him and plant a kiss on his jaw. However, your gesture was momentarily halted by his unexpected outburst.

“I love you.”

Professing to you used to terrify Rin – it used to knock all the air from his lungs and make the room seem so small. Now, with a few years ahead to gather enough backbone to escape the misery of pining, professing to you— loving you, felt as easy and natural as breathing.

And he hoped, with every beat of his heart against yours, that he would be breathing just fine in the many years to come.

“I love you,” he tells you again. Just for good measure, to ensure you heard him right, and just to make sure you know he does love you.

You heard him well. His words were clear enough, and the rapid beating of his heart against yours was loud enough to attest.

“Say it back, please,” he pleaded against the soft skin of your neck.

“I love you, Rin.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

He offered no verbal response, but a palpable sigh of relief emanated from him. For a man of few words, he sure does need a lot to feel better.

His warm breath lingered on your skin as a brief silence enveloped you both. Then, with a deliberate yet gentle gesture, he gathered both your arms, placing them above his shoulders, and pulled you closer by your thigh, guiding it above his own.

He loved holding you this way. He wasn’t a big believer, but he wondered if this, right here, was the closest he would ever come to heaven.

“But we have to unlearn those bad habits, Rin,” you asserted, your voice carrying a firm resolve, “No more leaving. We will sit through it, and we will talk, baby.”

Rin’s arms around your waist tightened, as if silently acknowledging your words. You knew he was listening— Rin could be hard headed and all, but he always listened. To you, and only you, that is. 

Minutes passed in silent communion, the world outside fading away as you and Rin held each other. Eventually, drowsiness began to cast its gentle veil over your senses. You couldn't tell if Rin had fallen asleep because his face was buried in the curve of your neck, hiding away in your scent. Yet, the soft and steady rhythm of his breath made you think so.

As you closed your eyes, allowing the realm of dreams to envelop you, Rin’s voice, muffled and quiet, broke the silence.

“Are we going to be fine?”

Barely audible, his question carried a hint of hesitation. And perhaps, if you listen a little closer, you could almost hear the 11-year-old Rin behind his lucid words.

Lucky for him, you had known that little boy throughout your life, enough to love him just as he needed, despite all flaws.

“We will be.”

note. hi, my life ain't life-ing lately soooo here !! i hope all of you are fine and having a blast. but if you aren’t, i’m sending you all of my love. we’ll have better days ahead, trust 🤞🏻

[zepskies]

Maybe More Than Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

AN: Here’s another entry for @jacklesversebingo! It’s also based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @lacilou. 💜

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Request: I'd love to read about Dean and the reader who's his age or even a little older.

Song Inspo: “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, bit of hurt/comfort, bit of spice.~

💜 Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Discreetly from the passenger side of the car, you peered through the binoculars again. Your target was in view through the unusual circular window: an average looking white man in his fifties, peeling a tangerine from the comfort of his kitchen.

According to his driver’s license, his name was Martin Reynolds. Sam was investigating the sudden death of his wife, Laura, and the wives of two other men in the small town of Whitebury, Mississippi. Laura was the first victim, so you and Dean were watching Martin for any suspicious activity.

Your companion shifted in his seat. You could hear the give of the well-worn leather against denim. The Impala wasn’t exactly inconspicuous for a stakeout, but he refused to be trapped in your “tiny-ass” Toyota Camry all afternoon. You preferred the term compact.

“What’s our he-witch up to?” Dean asked.

Your lips twitched at a smile.

“We don’t know if he’s a witch,” you said, but you passed him the binoculars.

Dean’s mouth quirked to one side before he took a look. “Well, he probably isn’t a shifter.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured back at the window and gave you back the binoculars. You peered over and saw that Martin had half the tangerine in his mouth while he opened his mail with a letter opener. It flashed like silver in the afternoon light.

“If that is silver, it would rule out a lot of things,” you agreed, “but it still wouldn’t tell us why he killed his wife.”

Dean looked over as a white Porsche pulled into Martin’s driveway.

“Hmm, well, I’d say motive is comin’ in hot. Literally,” he said, watching intently when a young woman stepped out of the car. Her dress was as tight as the ponytail tied high on her head, a coil of blonde bouncing down her back.

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes. “Typical.”

You noticed the way Dean’s smirk wiped the boredom away from his eyes. It was annoyingly handsome, along with the neatly trimmed stubble across his cheeks, framing a strong jaw and the enticing bow of his lips. You had to resolve to ignore all of it, heaving a small sigh.

You wedged the binoculars between you both and toyed with the silver rings on your fingers—both a fashion statement and a safety precaution.

“Could be a demon deal,” you said. “Three men sporting Touch of Gray, three wives over 40.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” Dean shook his head, crossing his arms from the driver’s seat. Always from the driver’s seat. “That’d be pretty cut and dry though. Downright stereotypical.”

You gave him a smile. “Since when do you like it complicated?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “What I like and what I get are on two different fucking hemispheres.”

You sensed bitterness there, underneath the dry remark. You looked away from the scene in the kitchen where Martin was pouring Barbie, his presumed girlfriend, a glass of white wine. Just like you thought, Dean’s brief good humor faded, falling into his resting state. It was a harder look than you were used to seeing on him over the years. His lighter, devil-may-care attitude in his younger days seemed to gain a little bit of edge every time you saw him next.

A few decades of bullshit, blood, and loss will do that to you.

But every time he called, you answered.

“You okay?” you asked. You tried to hide the depths of your concern, but maybe you just weren’t good enough. Dean glanced at you and forced his crunched brows to relax, as if he’d caught himself opening the hatch a little too much. Letting his true depths come to light a little too long.   

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replied.

Sure. Always good.

You met him with a long look, your head rolling onto your shoulder.

“Hey. You can be honest with me, you know,” you reminded him. “What, you think I’m gonna tell Sam all your secrets?”

Dean smiled a little, but he shook his head, remaining stubborn.

“Look, I’m fine. Just the usual bullshit,” he said. “Nothing you gotta be dragged into.”

You frowned. “What, aside from this hunt? Aside from the last ten years of bailing your ass out?”

That last part was more joking. The truth was, Sam and Dean had helped you just as often as you’d tried to help them.

Now, Dean just shook his head. The fact that he didn’t levy back a smartass response further let you know that something was off with him. 

You bumped his arm lightly over his jacket.

“Come on, tell me all about your man feelings,” you teased. It had its intended effect, bringing a reluctant smile to Dean’s lips. He shot you a look, and you couldn’t help but admire how the dimming sun caught in his eyes, that pale green.

“Whatever. Like I said, I’m good,” he said, deflecting further by turning up his music. Yet another Led Zeppelin song was playing, but at least this one was more mellow. The guitar riff filled the car at a moderate volume. You guys were still on a stakeout, after all.

You shook your head, despite your smile. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

His brows popped up. “Old?”

You shrugged impishly.

“‘Cause if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a bit more mileage than I do,” he retorted.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder.   

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said. “You’re not even a year behind me. Matter of fact, you’re just a few steps shy of Touch of Gray in there. I can even help you find your shade. I’m thinking, what, medium brown with a hint of silver fox? Could be very George Clooney.”     

The disgruntled look on Dean’s face had you dying.

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” he said, even though his lips were curving upward at the sound of your laughter. Without you knowing, he took in the infectious sound, and the way you pressed the back of your hand against his arm while you tried to get ahold of yourself. It was everything he’d ever liked about you.

Easy. That was what it was, being with you.

The hard part always came afterward, watching you leave.

Letting you leave.

“It’s just…I don’t know,” you said, biting into your lower lip. You smudged your lipstick there, a dark, juicy red. It was distracting enough that Dean almost missed what you said next.

“You seem weighed down.” Your eyes were more serious then, beautiful and warm in their honesty. “Every time I see you, it’s like you’ve got fifty more pounds on your shoulders.”

Dean didn’t have an answer for you, even as he held your gaze.

His cell phone ringing cut through the guitar melody slowly fading into the next song. Dean fished it out of his pocket and answered Sam’s call.

“Hey, what’cha got?”

Your hunch proved correct. Sam tracked down the demon that made soul-claiming deals with a handful of men from the same golf club. All of them bored of their wives, and all of them with too much money on their hands—enough that they refused to lose any of it in a messy divorce.

It was like the opposite of the First Wives Club, and you were sickened.

When you and Dean questioned Martin, he felt just guilty enough to spill his guts.

Sam managed to gank the demon on his own, which left you and Dean with a conundrum: what to do with the marked men who sold their souls. No matter how much justice you thought they deserved, their souls were still damned to Hell either way. As Dean pointed out, that would be price enough to pay.

You were sour about it, but you let Martin and the rest of his scheming bastard friends go…after leaving him with a well-placed knee to the nads. At the very least, he wouldn’t be making any more scheming bastards anytime soon.

Dean was still smirking when you two piled into the Impala. Sam was waiting to be picked up at the bar across town, where he’d found the demon.

“Shut up already,” you laughed.

Dean shook his head, still grinning as he put the car in Drive.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Your smile remained, but not for long as you stared out the window. You liked the evening time, where there was still light enough to see, but the world was winding down in shades of orange-gold and violet. The streetlamps were slowly coming on, lighting the way along the road.

The car pulled to a stop at the red light, there at a busy intersection.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice, deep and a little tired, caught your attention.

“You okay over there?” he asked. He was side-eying you again, this time in concern. You could see it behind the usual gruffness.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said. “Just makes me glad I never got married. Else I might’ve gotten shivved just so he could get out of paying alimony.”

Dean sucked his teeth. “Apparently it’s a bitch.”

You gave him a dry, withering look. He chuckled and briefly reached over to squeeze your arm.

“Hey, come on. That shit’s not happening to you,” he said. “He’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind.”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile lighting up your face again. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed in a blush, especially with the way he was looking at you, all smirky and charming and unequivocally Dean.  

“Green light,” you reminded him.

He returned his attention to the road. His right hand was molded onto the steering wheel casually. His left rested on his thigh, while his fingers bounced to the beat of a song off his second favorite Zeppelin album. And you knew that, because he’d been playing it on repeat all day.

Many have I loved, and many times been bitten. Many times I've gazed along the open road…

You watched his profile, for a moment spellbound. The sky dimmed over his shoulder, casting him in both light and shadow, gold and dark.

“Have you ever…” You didn’t even know where you were going with this, but you’d already opened your mouth, and Dean was already glancing your way, with half his gaze on the road ahead.

“You ever gotten close to having something real? Someone who's not gonna shiv you when you’re fifty,” you said.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Hell, I never thought I’d see my forties, but here we are. Apparently I’m old.”

He shot you a wry look. You smiled.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid the question,” you said.

Dean shook his head, this time with a sigh under his breath. For a second, you didn’t think he would answer you. You almost didn’t blame him.

The music filled the silence in between.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road…

“Once,” Dean admitted. “I thought I had it, but uh…didn’t take.”

“Was she a hunter?” you asked.

Dean shook his head, his eyes staying on what lied ahead.

“Just wasn’t my life,” he said. “Couldn’t keep dragging her into mine.”

There was a lot there, buried deep. You couldn’t even begin to find a shovel, so you let it be. Though you should’ve predicted the way he turned it back on you.

“And you?” he said, brows raised. “Never had a douchebag in a sport coat, playing Caddyshack at the club every weekend?” 

You shook your head as you laughed. If nothing else, Dean could paint a picture.

“Definitely fucking not.” You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow finding purchase above the door handle. “You know me. I’m either too much or not enough.”

You didn’t notice it then, but Dean looked over at you with a frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t like the melancholy in your voice, or the way you turned to look out the window, like you were trying to hide from him.

Instead of putting voice to any of the thoughts rolling through his head, he kept driving.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the bar. You were ready to meet Sam for a couple of beers inside. You grabbed your bag resting on the floor between your feet, but Dean’s stayed your hand, his own wrapping warmly around your arm.

You looked over at him with blinking, expectant eyes. He met you with sincerity.

“Anybody who says you ain’t enough, doesn’t know you,” he said. And then, his smile was back, quirking up at the corner. “At least, not like I do.”

Slowly, you smiled back. Your blush fairly radiated down your neck as well as your face, but you crossed your arms.

“So I’m too much. Is that what you’re saying?” you said.

He chuckled. “I plead the Fifth on that one.”

You fell into a fit of laughter along with him, and you both climbed out of the car feeling a little bit lighter. The blaring red neon sign above the bar blinded you for a moment. You turned to see Dean fiddling with his keys, trying to pick out the right one to lock up the car.

Some deep-seated feeling compelled you to go to him. You made your way around the hood and stopped just behind him. You called his name softly.

Dean turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was surprised to find you there so close. It led him to turn around all the way.

You didn’t give him, or even yourself time to think.

You grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled yourself up to press your lips to his. It was more or less a gentle kiss. Just a sweet, slow meeting of lips. You pulled away just as slowly, the heels of your boots lowering back down to the ground.

Dean blinked his eyes open. When he came back to himself, he looked down at you in surprise and with a hint of a smile. He had the imprint of your lipstick smudged across his plush mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

You smoothed your hands over his jacket. It was a bit too hard to meet his eyes, so yours landed somewhere around his chest. It was also too hard to say what you really wanted to say, so you settled on half of the truth.

“A thank you, I guess,” you said. “And maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a little less weight on your shoulders.”

His calloused hand cupped your cheek, and he earned your gaze, blinking up at him through your lashes. You couldn’t name everything you saw in his eyes, but it was more than just surprise or lust. In fact, he seemed to be debating with himself, fighting something deep inside.

You saw the exact moment he made his decision.

“Maybe we should make it count then,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You didn’t even trust your voice, but your gaze drifted down from his eyes, to his mouth. Your shallow nod in agreement was like releasing him from his chains.

Dean framed your face with both hands and drew you into his kiss, like he was breathing life into you. You certainly felt alive.

You clung to the back of his shirt, to his arms, while he gathered you flush against his chest. His strong hands glided their way down the small of your back, eliciting tingles down your spine. All the while, he drew you in deeper and deeper with each new sensuous glide of his lips against yours.

You yelped in surprise when he turned with you in his arms, just to press you into the side of his car. Dean pulled open the door to the backseat, and you climbed in willingly. He followed after you, at the same time you dragged him over by the front of his shirt. Soon his jacket was wrenched off his shoulders along with yours, both tossed somewhere in the front seats along with his shirt.

While you explored the new expanse of tanned skin, roaming your hands over his strong, broad shoulders and dipping down his back, his lips had fastened to your neck, teasing and grazing with his teeth along your pulse point.

You were already moaning and panting in his ear, your body arching to meet his as you slung a leg across his lap. He grabbed onto your thigh and squeezed, pulling you even tighter against him.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out in the backseat?” you said.

“You can be a little old for a lotta things, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice gravel and deep as sin. “But this ain’t one of ‘em.” 

AN: Some spicy flangst there for ya! It was honestly refreshing to write some Dean after working on so much Soldier Boy. I love that guy, but he gives me stress sometimes. 😂 Trying to cure Dean's angst is a fun break! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Bonus shot! Resless Nights:

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

▶️ Keep Reading: Restless Nights

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@siampie @hell-o-kittys

[gremlingottoosilly]

Model!Reader X Mafia!Konig?

Getting accepted for one of the biggest model agencies in the city should be your golden ticket to relative stability, but you can't really shake the feeling that something isn't right here. It's not like you're ungrateful for the opportunity - it's just... a bit unusual. You heard of the type this agency had for their models, and you aren't exactly that. You had your fair share of gigs at other agencies, of course, but they were different - everything was different. Becoming a top model overnight isn't something that happens in real life, and you sure as hell weren't in a fairy tail. As much as everything felt like you are. Dressed up like a Cinderella, waiting in line of other princesses. The ball was the Spring Fashion show - everything was light and pink, so everything was not in style for the agency. It looked like actual clothes, something a normal person would wear, and not an artistic statement that high fashion usually deals with. You heard some news that the agency and the brand were bought out by some anonymous investor a few months ago - maybe they wanted new faces? You feel like a magical fairy when you take a few steps on the stage, so nervous and excited at the same time. Then you fall. It felt so orchestrated, so fairy-tale-like. You were going through the stage, turning around in front of some important guest - a guy who looked way too dangerous to be interested in fashion but was regarded with so much fear by the show organizers that you felt unease even looking at him - and then your heel cracked. The same heels that probably cost more than your life, cracking and sending you flying off the stage. In the guy's arms. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it did feel a little bit staged. He supports you gently, propping you on his lap like a broken doll. Gently caresses your twisted ankle before forcing your face into his shoulder as he twists it back in place. Chuckled a little as you yelped, cried, and sank your teeth into his forearm - his deep German voice said something about a lion cub having teeth, and you immediately wanted to punch him. Or, maybe, curl down on his insanely big and muscular thighs and just sleep. Konig props you to sit on his lap through the rest of the show, pouring a cocktail of alcohol and something else - something numbing, nice, and velvety - into your throat, even as you mumble some nonsense about minding the calorie intake. Konig thinks to himself - god, he really needs to fire the fucks who run this agency all over again. He didn't ask them to make you this skinny; he has to put some meat over your bones, as much as the model world fucking hates women with normal bodies. Oh no, his beautiful little lioness would need some thighs and a nice belly that he can squeeze and chew on during some intense sessions. When Konig bought this agency, he didn't think of actually taking models for himself - this man has no time for sex lately, even with women stupid enough to throw themselves at someone as dangerous as him. He certainly wasn't caring enough for beauty - not with his burning pile of insecurities and inability to actually talk to a pretty girl in a non-threatening setting. He had to physically stop himself from recoiling each time you tried to talk to him - and especially every time you'd smile at him, since all he sees are mean pretty girls from his school.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: You are always cold and blunt, but when Noah needs you, you show him a side of you that’s unexpectedly tender.

Tw: just fluff and taking care of a sick noah

You had been working with Bad Omens for a while now. It started as a way to get your foot in the door of the music industry, but quickly turned into a full-time thing. Touring, managing logistics, keeping the band in line, and occasionally making sure they didn't break anything or burn down a hotel room.

When you first started living with them, it didn’t take long for them to figure out that you were a sharp mix of sarcasm, gruffness, and blunt honesty. You didn’t sugarcoat things. If they looked ridiculous, you told them. If they were being annoying, you let them know. But despite your icy, sometimes cold demeanor, the band still loved you. You weren’t a big talker about your emotions, but they all knew you cared, in your own way.

Noah, though? He was different. He didn’t just take your sarcasm; he leaned into it, shyly flirting with you whenever he could.

Like that time in the kitchen when he walked in wearing a pair of jeans that were, unsurprisingly, too short to reach his ankles. He rifled through the cabinets for cereal, oblivious to the way you were staring at him over your coffee.

“You know,” you said, setting your mug down, “one day, you’re going to buy pants that actually fit, and it’s going to change your life.”

Noah froze mid-reach, turning to look at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They don’t cover your ankles, for starters.” You gestured toward his legs with a mocking smile. “Is it a fashion statement, or are you just bad at shopping?”

“I’m tall,” he protested, as if that explained everything.

“You’re not that tall.”

“I’m six three!” he said, indignant.

“Congratulations, Noah,” you deadpanned. “You’re the same height as many other tall guys in the world. Buy bigger pants.”

The rest of the band, who had wandered in during this exchange, immediately lost it. Folio was laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter, and Jolly just shook his head with a grin.

“You’re so mean,” Noah muttered, grabbing his cereal and retreating to the couch, his ears turning pink as the guys teased him relentlessly.

“Someone’s gotta tell you the truth,” you called after him. “Clearly, your friends aren’t doing it.”

But you knew Noah didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it in his own awkward way, even if the guys never let him live it down.

And then there was that other time in the living room. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Noah plopped down next to you. He shifted to face you, his signature hesitant smile already in place.

“So,” he began, leaning in slightly, “if I asked you to go out with me, what are the chances you’d say yes?”

You didn’t even look up. “Zero.”

“Not even one percent?”

“Not even half a percent,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Why? You planning to impress me with your ability to burn toast again?”

The band, as always, burst into laughter. Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was used to this by now.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’re predictable,” you shot back, setting your phone down. “Every time you try to flirt, it ends up in a disaster."

He laughed despite himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe one day I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” you said with a smirk, though you couldn’t deny the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten just a little.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Another time, the two of you had been sitting on the porch late at night, the house unusually quiet for once. Noah was writing something in a notebook, probably working on some ideas for a new song, his brows furrowed in concentration, while you sipped on a drink.

After a while, Noah looked up, noticing you looking like you were lost in thought. “What’s going on? You seem quiet tonight.”

You shrugged. “I was thinking about picking up some of those cupcakes from that new bakery in town. Some of you guys mentioned you wanted to try them, so I might as well bring some back for everyone.”

Noah grinned. “Wait, you’re actually going to do something nice like that?”

You shot him a playful glare. “What, you think I’m incapable of being nice?”

"No, it's just..." He hesitated, looking at you for a moment, "nevermind. I think they would appreciate that."

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you, though? What’s your favorite flavor?”

Noah hesitated again, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “If I tell you, you’ll just pick all of them except that one.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to sabotage the cupcake choices.”

He chuckled. “Fine. The one with the white sparkles on top. Now I’m sure this is the only one I won’t even see in the box.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one just for you.”

He shyly looked away but you were sure he didn't really believe you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you can be really sweet when you’re not roasting me in front of everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, yeah? And when exactly am I not roasting you?”

“Right now,” he said, looking up at you with a shy smile.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I’ll take what I can get.”

That night, you sat on the porch with him until it got too cold.

A couple of days later, you came home with a big box of cupcakes, the band cheered just at the sight of it. Folio kissed you on the cheek, surprising you as everyone gathered around the box like kids.

"Seriously man?" You looked at Folio.

"Ops."

Noah, leaning against the counter, had no expectation of seeing the cupcake with the white sparkles, thinking you probably even forgot that coversation. He watched as you opened the box, and there it was, right in the middle. You handed it to him, and his eyes softened in surprise.

He took the cupcake from your hand, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

"I promised. Didn't I?" You just said.

And then, of course, there was that night in the living room when the guys called you out. The TV was on in the background, but no one was really watching it. Nick leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Noah sit next to you on the couch.

“You two ever gonna stop this weird flirting slash bullying thing and just kiss already?” Nick asked.

Noah nearly choked on his drink, and you shot him a withering glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “But seriously, Noah’s been crushing on you for months, and you just keep shutting him down. Give the poor guy a break.”

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not?”

“You’re all delusional,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “This isn’t flirting. This is me tolerating him.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said, grinning. “That’s why you always smile whenever you roast him.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t bother denying it. Noah peeked at you from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, and you sighed.

“You’re all idiots,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and walking out of the room.

But as you left, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because despite your sharp tongue and cold comments, you knew that you cared about him. You cared about all of them but with Noah it had always been different.

And then, there was the time Noah got sick.

It had been a long day. You’d been out since the morning with a friend, running errands, getting things done, and by the time you finally made it home, it was late afternoon. You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as you sank into the cushions.

It was quieter than usual. You glanced around, expecting to see Noah lurking somewhere nearby, like he always did—sitting on the counter, hanging out in the living room, always popping up like a cat in need of attention. But today, there was no sign of him.

You raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. It was weird that he wasn’t around. It had been hours, and you figured he’d at least come say hi. He was always around. He was probably just in his room working on some new music, you thought.

“Hey, Nick,” you called out, when he enetered the living room. “Have you seen Noah?”

Nicholas glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Oh, uh, this morning he wasn’t feeling great. Said he had a bit of a fever and just kind of stayed in his room after that. He’s probably asleep.”

You froze for a second, immediately feeling a knot form in your stomach. Noah never liked to admit when he was sick, but you couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stayed in his room like this.

“Okay,” you said, but your voice felt off, the concern creeping into your words. “Thanks.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your feet carried you quickly down the hallway to Noah’s door, and your hand was already on the knob before you realized it. You knocked, but when there was no response, you opened the door quietly, peering inside. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dimly lit, but Noah was laying on his bed, curled up under blankets.

The sight of him immediately set off alarm bells in your head. He looked... pale, almost ghostly, and he was barely moving. His breathing was shallow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. The moment he noticed you standing there, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, as if trying to focus.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper.

You walked over slowly, concern heavy in your chest. “I’m just checking on you,” you said softly, walking closer to his bed.

You crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin made your heart drop. He was burning up. The soft shiver of his body confirmed the fever.

“You’re hot,” you said, your voice betraying the concern you didn’t bother to hide.

"Finally you admit it." He murmured.

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re burning up,” you said, your hand gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Did you take anything for it?”

He shook his head weakly, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I... I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You let out a breath. “Noah, you’ve probably had a fever for hours. You’re not okay.” Without waiting for him to protest, you stood up, “I’m going to make you take some paracetamol, alright?”

He didn't respond, and you weren't even sure if he registered what you said. When you returned with a glass of water where you had dissolved the medicine, Noah looked up at you with droopy eyes. His pale face looked even more fragile in the dim light, and you could see how exhausted he was, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He tried to sit up, but his arms trembled, unable to sustain him. He swore under his breath, wincing as the strain pulled at his muscles, too weak to follow through on the effort.

"It's okay. Here." You quickly moved to his side, one hand gently supporting his back while you propped him up. His head rested heavily against your shoulder, and you felt a tightness in your chest as you steadied him.

His brown eyes fluttered, looking at you through half-lidded, his expression soft with confusion and exhaustion.

You moved slowly, carefully, making sure he was comfortable before grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand. You held it up, making sure to keep it steady as you brought it closer to him.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment. It was almost as if he didn’t expect you to be so gentle with him, yet here you were, taking care of him without hesitation.

You placed the glass against his lips, guiding it toward his mouth. “Come on, Noah, you need to drink this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. His lips parted weakly as he took a small sip, the medicine sliding down his throat, though he barely seemed able to swallow.

His hands trembled as he gripped the glass, trying to help, but it was clear how difficult it was for him.

You supported the glass, steadying it in his hands, urging him gently, as your other hand still rested on his back, softly caressing it in slow, reassuring motions.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, watching as he weakly took another sip, his body shuddering slightly from the effort. When he pulled away, you pulled the glass back, but your eyes never left him.

He gave you a tired, almost apologetic glance as he let his head rest back against the pillow, his body sinking deeper into the blankets.

His lips parted in a soft sigh, and you smiled faintly, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your thumb gently rubbing his temple for a moment. It was a quiet gesture, one that said more than words could express, as you continued to sit beside him.

A few minutes passed, and then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, “I knew you were sweet.”

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you at the simple, quiet words. You leaned down, letting your hand go through his hair, murmuring, “I knew you knew.”

He let out a soft sigh, his breathing finally evening out as he fell deeper into sleep.

You stayed there with him for hours, the quiet of the room broken only by the soft hum of the house around you. You let your hand gently run through his hair, the touch almost rhythmic as you tried to soothe him.

Every so often, you’d press your hand to his forehead, checking if the fever had gone down at all, the heat still radiating off his skin, but a little less intense.

Every time his body shifted or he made a faint sound, probably from some fever-induced dream, you softly spoke his name or whispered a quiet, reassuring phrase, just trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

"You're okay," you murmured gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead when his brow furrowed slightly. "Just rest, Noah. You’re gonna be fine."

There was something incredibly tender about the way his breath would catch, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids, almost as though he could hear your voice even in his sleep. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

Noah shifted in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning closer until his face pressed gently against your side. The soft, unconscious gesture made your chest tighten, but you didn’t move. Instead, you noticed the blanket had slipped from his shoulder, leaving him partially uncovered. With careful hands, you pulled it back up, tucking it around him securely. Your fingers brushed lightly against his hairline as you settled back, letting him stay close.

As the evening drew on and his breathing steadied, the fever seemed to break a little. You let your fingers linger over his temple, softly caressing his arm when you noticed the tremble in his hand. It felt like such an intimate moment, one where all the usual sarcasm, sharp words, and teasing were left behind, replaced by something quiet, simple, and real.

Your fingers traced over his knuckles as you kept his tattoed hand in yours before you gently leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. You pulled away just as quickly, unsure of what had made you do it—maybe it was the tenderness of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet realization that despite all the banter, despite everything you’d told him, you cared about him more than you ever showed.

Wild for the girl who acted like a bitch all the time, right?

But in that moment, with Noah asleep and calmer than he’d been all day, you couldn’t care less about how it seemed or your usual weird ways of protecting your feelings. You just wanted him to feel better, to know that, despite all your sharp words and sarcastic remarks, there was no place you’d rather be than right there beside him, making sure he was okay.

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe he knew exactly what you meant when you said, "I'm here, Noah. I'm not gonna leave."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[literaila]

the brunch

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get jealous, just so everyone knows

a/n: (that previous statement was a lie) the brainrot is real

last part | next part

year four.

it’s a bit unusual for the house to be this filled, especially this early in the morning. 

chatter echoes throughout the space, loud exclamations, and secret whispers, all making up a terrible-sounding symphony. 

megumi and tsumiki are playing some elaborate board game with onlookers on the coffee table, both of them smiling proudly. 

satoru is trying to tidy up the many different plates and cups everyone's left lying around, laughing when shoko rolls her eyes at something he's just said. 

and you're in the kitchen, talking with nanami like you haven't seen him in several years--it's been three weeks. 

it's very strange for the four of you. to let anyone--not to mention a dozen people--intrude on your carefully planned out saturday mornings. to invite others into your world of burnt breakfasts and uncombed bedhead. 

but here you all are, managing. 

and you’d reminded satoru probably seventeen times—too many times, he thinks, with far too many knowing glances—that hosting was not something to be taken lightly (and that you weren’t going to help him ((both of you know that you are)). 

but he doesn’t mind this. 

the crowded house, or the many different phone calls he had to make about getting this party (which he swore wasn’t one) set up. the loud sounds or the inevitable cleanup he'll try to swindle his way out of. 

it’s quite nice. actually, satoru is a little proud of his makeshift brunch, and the fact that everyone came, and everyone seems happy. he likes that he can barely hear his thoughts, that there's nothing important enough for him to think about anyway. 

and honestly, with all of it going on, satoru should not be this discontented with the fact that you’re smiling at someone else. 

he invited nanami because he knows that you miss him and that you’re too embarrassed to admit that. or too proud, maybe. too forgiving. and he knows that you wouldn’t have done it yourself, had he not gotten involved. 

but still. should satoru really have to sit back and watch as you fawn over a man who wore a suit to casual brunch? 

no, he should not, thank you. 

"what's wrong with your face?" shoko asks him after the silence has drawn on for too long, sounding very uninterested. 

satoru shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "what?" 

"you've got a weird look." 

"no, i don't." 

"it's like that time that you chugged the entire carton of expired milk someone left in the fridge." 

"don't remind me," he says, trying to put on a theatrical wince, but he just ends up looking back at you, with a blank face. 

there is no time for joking, or flamboyancy, or caring about anything else in the world. 

shoko does the same, her eyes trailing where his are, watching as you tilt your head at nanami, laughing when he murmurs something. 

in typical nanami fashion, his lips only twitch a little bit, but it's enough to tell that he's amused by whatever conversation you're having. 

that he's got your full attention, and he gets to watch your eyes as they shift from one glance to another and--

shoko nods, looking back to satoru, who is trapped in his stare. chained down at the mere thought of you. "oh," she says, rolling her eyes. 

satoru doesn't look away, but grunts in the form of a question. 

"you're an idiot, you know that?" 

he frowns. "what?" 

her eyes are exasperated, and her smile is all-knowing. she has always alluded satoru, and his very short attention span. and he kind of hates her, at this moment, for distracting him. 

"seriously," she scoffs at his perturbed face, "after a whole year of living basically in the same room, i thought that the two of you would finally get over it." 

"who?" satoru asks, smiling confusedly. "get over what?" 

"you. get over yourself. honestly, only you and y/n would raise two kids together and pretend like there's no intimacy in it." 

"what?"' satoru repeats, dumbly. 

"and, by the way," shoko tells him, sipping on her drink. "jealousy is not cute." 

and then she walks away, like she's answered a single one of satoru's questions. 

and he frowns, thinking about it. 

because--no, there's no way she was talking about him--he shakes his head. where would she even have gotten that idea? there's--

no. 

and it’s—it’s not jealousy. he laughs off that thought.

satoru gojo is the strongest. he's the one everyone looks to. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

and besides satoru knows that you don’t get enough time away from your discombobulated family. that your life revolves around them, and they around you. 

and the two of you have talked—at length—about the fact that you’re both young, and neither of you should live the lifestyle of some middle-aged parents, with no way to connect with the people in your age group. the people that would’ve been your family, in some alternate universe. 

satoru knows that you don’t carve out the things that you need without being asked to, that you get anxious about these types of occasions--he's watched it happen before, when you were forced into a corner at one exchange event the two of you shared, or when yaga took you all out to dinner, and you'd shrink yourself in your seat until someone noticed. 

he's seen you try to make yourself smaller at the convenience of others, and as he's grown (he almost winces at the thought) satoru has sworn to himself that he'd keep you from any situation where that might be necessary. 

so he shouldn’t--he doesn't--mind that you’re having a good time. he should be--is--happy with himself, for setting it up so you could, for planning it around you, and the kids. he should be preparing himself to gloat in your face about the fact that he thought of this, and he set it up all on his own. 

god. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but that doesn't change the fact that satoru can't really see beyond you, ten feet away from him, laughing at something that nanami said. 

and maybe it's not the fact that you're talking to him, or that you're smiling at him like satoru wants to be smiled at, he thinks, but more that you don't act that way with him. 

satoru is well aware of the grounds in your relationship, and he knows that you spend most of your days rolling your eyes at the obnoxious things that he says, trying to protect the children--and him--from the antics that you've all grown used to. 

he's not jealous, but maybe he's a little bit annoyed that he hasn't seen you this easy, and light since you were still in school. since you were still younger than him, and still someone he could look down upon. 

you cling to nanami like satoru clings to you, he realizes, sullenly. you smile and tease--if just the way your eyes crinkle means anything. 

you grin at nanami like you're trying to irritate him. like you're the reckless one between the two. 

and maybe it hurts satoru more just to know that you are the reckless one.

he'd lived with the two of you for three years. he'd experienced nanami's typical brooding--which, now, reminds him a lot of megumi, actually--and the way he'd think through everything. maybe a little bit too much, even. 

satoru was always there to watch you giggle alongside the austere man, pull him out of whatever thought process was darkening the mood, and remind him that none of it was all that serious. 

satoru knows--he knows--that you and him are similar. he knows that it's why he feels the way he does with you. that the way the two of you dance around your emotions, and say nothing that you truly mean is something to cherish, if also something to despise. 

he's not jealous, but maybe it hurts satoru because he knows that you've never been able to truly not care, with him. that he takes up all of the ignorance one household can get, even without meaning to.

or maybe it's just been a long time since he got the chance to watch you interact with anyone else. 

maybe he's just ridiculous, and he should go do something else before he thinks about this for too long. shoko is wrong, though, he thinks. he's definitely not jealous. 

he's satoru gojo. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about. 

but he's still watching when you shake your head at something nanami says, tapping him on the shoulder and excusing yourself while waving him on, still light and airy, eyes meeting satoru's with that same grin. 

it's probably worse to know that it doesn't quite belong to him. that he's not the sole benefactor of it all. 

"hey," you say, bumping into him on purpose when you come over, your hands wrapping around his forearm as you lean on him. "need help?" 

"nah, i've got it," he finally looks away. he doesn't want to watch this. 

but you're still grinning at him, trying to catch his eye--even with the sunglasses. "you're all alone over here," you coo, "i can help you clean up." 

satoru snorts. "i thought you weren't going to help with anything." 

"well, since i'm already here..." you drawl, beginning to pick up spare utensils, and napkins. all of the things he'd been too distracted to do. 

you're humming as you do it, completely content with everything. 

satoru tries not to grind his teeth at the fact that your mood is not because of him. 

"how's nanami?" he asks, unprecendented, after a moment. 

you shrug. "he's good. i guess the real world sucks too," you say it with a lilt, like there's an inside joke that satoru is missing. 

he shakes his head, trying to keep his words civil. "the real world?" 

"the corporate universe, and laws of reality, or whatever," you roll your eyes, and you sound exactly like him. "no curses or magic to liven things up." 

"no monsters, you mean." 

"or that," you smile at him, looking almost giddy. 

satoru hums. 

you put all of the trash you've collected on a serving dish, piling things up without a care in the world. and then you turn towards satoru, and he can feel your slight frown before he can see it. "you okay?" you ask him. 

satoru freezes. "what?" 

"is it getting to you? the brunch?" 

"what? no, i'm fine," he tries to look at you like you're ridiculous, but his face feels stiff, and wrong, and far too happy for you. 

"you look like your tongue is too big to fit in your mouth." 

he sticks his tongue out, almost on command. "does it look any different?" 

"hmm," you pretend to observe. "yeah. might want to see a doctor about it." 

"noted." 

"are you trying not to laugh at something? you can tell me if i have something on my face, you know." 

satoru's smile is a bit easier at that, but he shakes his head anyway. he kind of wants to run away to his room--something he's learned from raising two children. "no, i'm just thinking." 

you raise a brow. 

satoru scowls. "what? you didn't think it was possible?" 

"no, not really."  

he shakes his head. he tries to turn away, scoffing like it's a joke (it's not), but your hand reaches for his bicep before he can. 

"hey," you say to him. he turns back to you, and your smile, nose scrunched up as you lean in. "how are you?" 

"busy. i have to go make sure there's enough ice in that bucket." 

"i'll come with you," you say, even though you both know that he's lying. 

"no. i'm sure nanami has more he wants to talk with you about." 

"is that what this is about? nanami? are you mad at him, or something?" 

"why would i be mad at him?" 

"i don't know, satoru, your brain is a confusing thing," you tug on his hair just a little bit. "hey, c'mon. why're you upset?" 

"i'm not upset." 

satoru should be basking in your attention, but he can't quite bring himself to notice it. or that you spend every day with him--mostly without complaint--and never fail to laugh at something he says. 

no, his thoughts are not very organized, at the moment. 

"you've got your little angry pout on," you nudge his lips with a finger. "i think you've been spending too much time with megumi." 

he grabs your hand, trying not to squeeze. "i'm fine. go hang out. you're not supposed to be helping me." 

this time, you pout. "you don't want to spend time with me?" 

he groans, throwing his head back. "i'm trying to be nice," he tells you. "you know, like how you're always telling me to?" 

"ew," you say, giggling a little bit. "i don't like it." 

he rolls his eyes. 

"seriously, come hang out with me and the kids. we can beat them at charades, or something, again. you need a little pep in your step." 

"what are you, my mom?" he deadpans but feels his heart twitch a little bit because you're still holding onto him. 

"might as well be. take a break, satoru, i miss you." 

you say it so easily and nonchalantly that satoru wants to pick you up and lock you in a little box, just so you can never talk to anyone but him again.

he stares at you, blinking beneath his glasses, feeling like you're doing all of this just to mess with him. 

honestly, whiplash is a serious condition. 

you smile at him, fluttering your eyelashes unknowingly, pouting at him a little bit, even through the smile. 

and satoru's never been able to say no to you, so he lets you pull him with you, back to the kitchen, where you grab nanami too--to the dismay of satoru, of course. he tries not to glare. 

and satoru chooses to ignore the discerning look that nanami sends him, and the fact that his arm tightens around your waist as you drag the two men along. 

he's not jealous. god, it's just very loud in here. 

*

somewhere several minutes earlier, when the two of you were standing just a little bit too close to each other, both of you pouting, looking like two children fighting over a toy--you had a couple of spectators. 

shoko scoffs, shaking her head. "that's disgusting." 

you're on your tiptoes, head tilted as you purr something to satoru. they can't see his eyes from twenty feet away, but they can all tell that they're stuck on you. glued, never to be torn away. 

megumi looks at the woman, then follows her eyes to the two of you, blank-faced. 

tsumiki giggles. 

"we know," they both say, rolling their eyes. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 6: Sidelines and distractions

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: being sidelined with Paige= fun...right?

Welcome to the chapter 6 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The crowd inside the XL Center was electric, the energy spilling from the stands as Pride Night banners waved in celebration. UConn's players were locked in their warm-up routines, dribbling and shooting on the court, but my attention was on the sideline. Specifically, on Paige Bueckers.

Her grey tech sweatpants and the  Pride Night shirt gave her an unusually relaxed look for someone used to dominating the court. But the thin knee brace imprint peeking out from under her sweats was a stark reminder of why she wasn’t warming up with the team.

“Superstar!” I called out, jogging over with my camera strapped to my shoulder. “How’s the most stubborn player in UConn history doing tonight?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “Photographer extraordinaire! Fine, but thanks for the  new title. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. M'not that stubborn.”

“You better be,” I replied, plopping into the seat next to her. “You’re insufferable when you’re sidelined.”

“Insufferable?” Paige put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

Out of nowhere Paige handed me a folded-up Pride Night shirt, the fabric soft and obviously well-worn. “Here. You need one of these if you’re sitting with us.”

I held it up, squinting. “Paige, this thing is huge. You think I’m trying to make a fashion statement or drown in it?”

She laughed, shrugging. “Oversized is in. You’ll look cute.”

“I’ll look like I’m swimming in fabric,” I deadpanned. “You’re tying it for me.”

Without missing a beat, Paige stood and motioned for me to turn around. She began knotting the back of the shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my back as she worked.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You’ve got me doing all the hard work.”

Before I could respond, KK sauntered over, grinning like she’d caught us in the act. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”

“Mind your business, KK,” Paige quipped, not even glancing up.

KK leaned against the scorer's table, shaking her head. “First tying knots, next it’s gonna be shoe laces. You’re domesticated now, Paige.”

“Jealous?” Paige shot back, tightening the knot for emphasis.

The game started, and I couldn’t help sneaking a few candid shots of Paige as the first quarter unfolded. She sat at the edge of her chair, clipboard in hand, her eyes darting between players and refs. Even off the court, she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t think I don’t see you,” she said, catching me mid-snap.

“Relax,” I teased, lowering my camera. “You look great in action, and sleeping after drinking a whole pitcher of Shirley Temple. Ya know before crashing on my couch”

“Yeah, well, not too much on me, but just get a good shot of Azzi instead,” Paige muttered, cheeks tinting soft shades of red, her focus shifting back to the court.

Azzi Fudd had just made a perfect three-pointer, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Paige clapped enthusiastically, yelling, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

But the tone shifted with 05.5 seconds left in the first quarter. Azzi went up for a block, her hand making clean contact with the ball—but the whistle blew anyway.

“That’s not a foul!” Paige was on her feet instantly, "her" clipboard hitting the floor as she pointed at the ref. “Are you blind? That was all ball!”

The ref quickly acknowledging Paige by telling her it was too a foul and she need to step off the court. Paige still on the court how with her hand in the air for "huh."

“Paige,” I hissed, grabbing her arm. “You’re not playing tonight, remember?”

“He’s out of his mind if he thinks that was a foul!” Paige shot back, her voice loud enough to earn a glance from the ref.

“You’re gonna get a tech from the bench,” I warned, pulling her back into her chair. “Sit down before they eject you.”

Paige reluctantly slumped back into her seat, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, leaning closer. “And kind of adorable when you’re mad.”

That earned a small smirk from her, though she tried to hide it. “Whatever.”

By halftime, Paige had calmed down enough to crack a few jokes.

“What do you call a referee who gets everything wrong?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

I played along, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“A consistent ref,” she deadpanned, earning laughs from both me and Sarah sitting nearby.

Azzi shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “You’re really embracing the whole sideline coach thing, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Paige replied. “These refs sure aren’t exactly playing nice. ”

As the third quarter began, I shifted focus back to my camera, capturing action shots of the players on the court. Paige leaned over occasionally, offering her unsolicited critique of my photos.

“Too blurry,” she said after one shot.

“It’s an action shot,” I argued. “It’s supposed to show motion, now go back to being bored and biting your nails you weirdo.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Motion doesn’t mean out of focus, and im not a weirdo, plus its dead skin thanks very much.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her as I snapped another photo. “Stick to basketball, Coach Bueckers.”

When the final buzzer sounded, UConn had secured another win, and the team gathered for photos on the court. I hung back, capturing the perfect shot of the players huddled together, pride shirts on full display.

Paige waved me over, patting the seat beside her. “Hey, let me see those.”

I handed her my camera, watching as she scrolled through the images. Her expression softened as she stopped on one of Azzi mid-shot.

“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming under her gaze.

She handed the camera back, leaning a little closer. “You make this whole ‘sidelined Paige’ thing bearable, you know that?”

I smiled, nudging her playfully. “And you make my job harder by almost getting into fights with refs.”

Paige laughed, her voice warm and genuine. “What can I say? I’m a multitasker.”

As the crowd began to disperse and the team filed into the locker room, Paige lingered by my side, her hand brushing against mine.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “I needed the distraction.”

“Anytime,” I replied, my voice just as quiet.

And in that moment, as the noise of the arena faded into the background, it was easy to forget that she wasn’t on the court—because to me, Paige Bueckers was always in the game.

As the night came to an end I got a dreaded phone call from back home. "Baby, you need to come home granny she's sick and she wants to see you." My mom said.

Without a second thought I got the first ticket back home, I sent my professors and coah geno an email stating everything in details of what was happening and why I won't be in class or with the team for a few days to a week.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 .... (more to be added)

[tanuki-kimono]

Hey, I was wondering if you know where I can order internationally a men's styled furisode? I've seen the pictures of the furisodes, and I wish to look like a very pretty boy.

Hi! As far as I know, "men furisode" do not exist per se. Tailoring of furisode follows classical women kimono sewing points - like opened sleeves backs, or miyatsuguchi side openings, as shown here:

The posts I believe you are referencing show furisode and other women kimono, but styled and worn by men:

houmongi worn as coat

furisode worn by men 1 / 2 / 3

other women kimono worn by men 1 / 2

Modern brands offering same fabrics for men and women garb (RobeJaponica for example, also search for Iroca or RumiRock).

Nowadays, those are """unusual""" and not acceptable in formal Japanese settings, but as I said in an old ask, as a fashion statement go and have fun :D

If wanna dress with "women" kimono, you can quite easily find something you'll like as those come in many colors and patterns - and are often much more easy to find for reasonable prices in second hand shops!

As a side note, if you wanna see fun showy kimono, look at rikishi/sumo wrestlers! They can dress with such amazing kimono with bold patterns!!!

[obsessive-valentine]

Yandere!childhood-Friend!Fae x F!reader

You grew up with a mysterious but kind friend, but when you learn the truth about him you become distant from fear that the stories about his kind are true. Despite this you still loved him and gathered up courage to see him one last time before you left town. Did you really think he’d let you leave again? Fae are know to abduct humans to be servants, entertainment or even lovers.

Use of y/n

You grew up on the edge of a small town, in a house with little garden space, enough for a small bed of vegetables and some pretty flowers. However there was plenty of wild land stretching till the next town over, most of it a forest with healthy oak trees and soft mossy ground. Some land was a meadow that always seemed to be glow with a golden hue and and sprout the most beautiful flowers and large daisies even on the gloomy days. Other bits of land had desire paths stomped into the ground, some by your own doing and some by strangers, there was a creek that ran through the town and into the forest then over to the next town. You liked to sit there as a child with the daisies from the meadow and make daisy chains and to fashion into jewellery and crowns.

Your parents though you were a unusually quiet child, never really playing with other kids to long not because of a fault on yours or theirs part; were just happily reserved. So they didn’t bother you to much, believing you were just a thinker who enjoys their own pace, maybe you could grow to be a great poet. However while some of that true you were quieter for other reasons.

You were content with with the friend you had already, you understood early on that one close friend is better than all the friend in the world (maybe with slight persuasion of the friend). You in fact wasn’t slinking out the back door to the forest, promising you’d be home before tea time, to be alone but instead to meet your woodland friend.

You never connected the dots that the friend that you had grown up with was far from human until you began to read more widely, therefore learning about old tales and creatures like werewolf’s, witches and... fae ? Fae that sounded eerily similar to the now young teen in the forest, small horns that will sometimes poke from his hair that you shrugged off to be knotty hair or odd lighting, or the sharp black nails you’d assumed to be a odd fashion statement, or the odd colour of his eyes that you didn’t know was possible but blamed good genetics.

You freaked out a bit when you first realised that this boy wasn’t just a boy from the neighbouring town who enjoyed the forest but rather a fae who are usually depicted as evil, cunning and unpredictable. Maybe the stories are dramatic or just false, he’d never lay a rough hand on you before, rather he’d gently wind together plants and branches with your daisy chain to make you a more extravagant crown, and when he’d gently coax you over the creek holding your hand telling you what rocks to step on, or rub certain leaves on your cuts carefully that ease the pain almost crying himself from seeing you tear up.

You found it hard to believe he was anything like the stories, so after a few days to process the possibility you set out to meet him again. Hopeful that you were over exaggerating and he was just a human boy.

...

Fiddling with the hem of your shirt you walked deeper into the woods following the desire path you and your friend had made through the years, reaching the creek you stepped on the rocks he had guided you over and met the muddy bank on the other side with a squelch as your boots sunk a bit. You watched your footing as you trudged back onto the dry mossy ground, having made the clumsy mistake of falling into the mud many times before, you missed the boy dropping what he was doing and jumping down from a tree before rushing to you.

“Where were you?” The boy sighs frustrated, you jolted on edge from the sudden intrusion but relaxed when you saw it was just him. Although he looked angry as he stomped closer you could understand why “I’m sorry, I was just a bit busy” you chewed your lip, annoyed you hadn’t come up with a better excuse “I’m here now though” you said more like a question and forced a smiled, searching his face for forgiveness.

His eyes softened and a toothy grin crept onto his face “you’re excused” he half joked and your shoulders relaxed fully and almost forgot why you were here when he slipped his hand into yours. Looking down at your fingers intertwined with his soft fingers with talon like nails at the end you couldn’t hide the was your face dropped, he luckily wasn’t looking but rather guiding you to the meadow.

Walking beside him you were as silent as a church mouse, even treading carefully on the forest floor. You couldn’t help but be fearful of what he might be, taking a quiet breath you decided to walk along side him instead of being dragged behind. Now beside him you tried looking at his hair hoping you had made this all up in you’re head, but you saw no horns. Maybe you had just been dramatic so you tried to enjoy the walk with peace of mind.

Finally reaching the meadow you both collapsed into some taller grass that would make a padded place to lay, laying side by your side he talked about his week while looking up at the clouds and occasional butterflies. His parents always sounded strict and unloving, his brother sounded cruel and he had no friends from what you heard, maybe one day he could come for tea ‘mom would love him and maybe that would make him happier’ you thought; feeling guilty you had such a idillic live and him not so much.

Turning your head to face his with a sad smile as he ranted wanting to emphasise or comfort somehow but you found yourself become chocked up, he turned his head to and saw your sour face “but never mind that, I’m here with you and the forest that’s what makes me the most happy”. You however weren’t comforted not even hearing his attempt of lighting the mood, no you were sickly unsettled for another reason. Small but sharp horns that glimmered under the sun, now exposed slightly as his black curls fell oddly when he turned his head uncovering all the evidence you needed.

You jolted up so fast from the grass that your hair ribbon that wrapped around your head keeping stray stands from you face had unraveled from its lovingly tied bow and fell to the grass, the wind began picking up and everything around you became chaotic with the sound of the trees groaning and leaves shaking violently you stumbled back away from the grass that tickled your legs, every piece of grass now feeling like needles. He jumped to his feet just as fast or maybe quicker and grabbed your arm “what is it? Are you okay?” He pushed the hair from your face and tried pulling you closer, there they were again, the horns exposed from the wind. He saw you looking at them and his face dropped his mouth opened to protest but you didn’t give him a chance as you ripped your wrist from his hand and began running for the forest.

He followed closely yelling for you to come back, it started desperate then became frantic before turning demanding , you could have sworn the woods were becoming darker and branches were reaching to trip you. However you got to the creek and ran straight through instead of minding the stepping stones, it’s reached your knees but splashed higher. Climbing the muddy bank with your hands before you became steady enough to climb the rest on your feet you glanced back seeing him run up to the creek and stand there as you ran further away. You never saw him look so angry, fully convinced he was a malicious fae like the ones from the book you ran all the way home.

...

It might have been slightly naive to believe that he would still be in the woods after all these years but you needed closure, needed to walk through the woods and see there was never any threat, that afternoon you had accused a harmless boy ���of being something he’s not, something that didn’t exist, and the woods hadn’t grown a conscience and tried to trip you and consume you or left a story book monster decide your fate. You wanted to remember this place for what it was, a wild but joyful escape from ordinary life.

Memories change and you believed whole heartedly that everything you experienced that last afternoon in this place was all childish imagination from reading to many books. So it did come as a disturbing realisation as you faced a young man, probably your age with curly dark hair, bright unnatural eyes and shiny dark but sharp winding horns. “It’s okay y/n, just come here for me okay? Then I’ll explain it all to you” he spoke softly just like he used to when attempting to soothe your scrapes. He stood tall with a hand outstretched persuading you to cross the creek and for some reason you couldn’t take another step back but only forwards, it was like you were in a trance like state but still partially conscious.

Maybe if you and done your research, and learned that giving your name to a fae means bad news, you might have had a clue as to what was happing as to why you were compelled to cross the water and let him pull you into a desperate and crushing hug “it’s okay now my love, I’ll never let you leave like I foolishly had before, I’m so sorry” he pulled back a bit to hold your cold cheeks and look into your terrified eyes, his eyes softened from their frantic state as he pushed the stray stands from your face.

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a ribbon, no it was your ribbon the one that unraveled from your hair as you fled the forest. He wrapped it under your hair and around your head, keeping your hair from your face he kissed your forehead. Had he been here the whole time waiting for you with your old flimsy ribbon? “We’re going to go home now okay?” He spoke slow and condescendingly, holding your face to look him in the eyes. You nodded slightly but stopped when you noticed the subconscious action, he was however satisfied with that and began dragging you into the woods with a hand in yours.

He had only walked about a minute before he heard your sobbing, turning quickly he saw your reluctance in your eyes and your mumbled pleas, but as much as his heart broke seeing you so upset he refused to let you out of the trance he had over you and risk you leaving for good. Instead he slowly picked you up and held you close encouraging you to hide your face from the cold bite of winter and cry into his shoulder.

He continued walking deeper into the woods without regret, he would have taken you kicking and screaming over his shoulder if he had to. Just this way he can rub your back, talk to you calmly and comfortably walk through the entryway to the world where most fae beings reside to take you to his home.

[naomijoestar]

Hewwo!! May I request a platonic bruno gang reacting to a team member who has like. A creepy doll fashion aesthetic? Like makeup and clothes make them look like a spooky porcelain doll? Idk if this makes sense 😭

Masterlist here <3

Ofc you can, and this makes perfect sense! I’m sorry for the late reply 🫶🏽, also I have noticed how much you interact and support me, I always see you in my inbox and I wanna thank you so much for that❤️

Bucci Gang with a member who has a creepy doll fashion aesthetic (platonic)

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno is polite as always, though you can see a flicker of surprise when he first sees the new look. He leans in, his sharp eyes studying the details with interest. “You have quite a unique style,” he says thoughtfully, his tone carrying genuine appreciation. Though it’s unusual, he respects the confidence it takes to pull off such a distinct appearance. If anyone else reacts poorly, he’s quick to defend your aesthetic. “In our line of work, we’re not exactly traditional, are we?”

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s reaction is… complicated. At first, he just stares, his mouth pulling into a skeptical line. “Are we fighting enemies, or are you one of them?” he mutters, though there’s no real malice in it—just his trademark sarcasm. Over time, though, he becomes unexpectedly tolerant, even giving a rare compliment. “I suppose it’s better than whatever ridiculous things Mista throws together.” You’d catch him glancing every now and then, as if trying to figure out the logic behind the look, but he’ll never admit he’s intrigued.

Guido Mista

Mista’s first reaction? Pure shock. He almost jumps, then laughs nervously. “Geez, you look like one of those creepy dolls in horror movies,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Despite his initial fright, Mista warms up quickly and becomes obsessed with the details, poking at your outfit and asking questions about the makeup. He’s always trying to convince you to try other creepy accessories and suggesting wild horror-inspired looks. He’s one of the few who tries to add the doll aesthetic to his own wardrobe, with questionable results.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia doesn’t hold back—he’s visibly freaked out. “That’s freaky!” he exclaims, staring wide-eyed with a mix of awe and fear. He starts throwing questions your way. “How do you even make yourself look like that? Do you practice in the mirror? Doesn’t it hurt to keep such a serious face?” His curiosity overcomes his initial wariness, and he’ll sometimes follow you around, pestering you to teach him how to do some of the makeup tricks. He ends up respecting it as a “totally hardcore” look.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo does a double-take, and for a moment, you can tell he’s genuinely startled. His reaction, however, is more reserved compared to the others. “It’s… very specific,” he says carefully, trying not to sound rude. He’s probably the only one who might subtly encourage a less eerie style, especially if he thinks it might distract or unsettle the group. Still, he eventually realizes that your look actually gives you an air of mystique, and he learns to appreciate it in his quiet, slightly uncomfortable way.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s reaction is subtle but layered. The first time he sees you, his gaze lingers, taking in every detail with a discerning eye. Unlike the others, he doesn’t show surprise or discomfort; instead, he offers a small, approving smile. “You’ve crafted a look that stands out,” he says, and there’s genuine admiration in his voice. Giorno appreciates art and self-expression, and he understands that your aesthetic is more than just a “creepy” look—it’s a statement.

There you go ml <3 I hope you like this! I honestly think this was super cute especially because I personally love experimenting with aesthetics and love dressing up different! Also, if I’m not very active it is because I have been working on something special for my birthday (october 31st; yes, I was born on halloween 👻) 👀, I hope you guys will like it once its out, hehe 🙃

[modrntravlr]

i drew curtains closed - alec hardy

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

cw: vague references to sex (like the vaguest) during literal showering together

summary: When Alec finds out you've been sick after not seeing you for a few days, he takes a step back from work to comfort you and nurse you back to health.

Title from The Great War by Taylor Swift

wc: 3.1K

In all honesty, Alec had been planning on paying a visit to your flat that evening since he woke up that morning. He had spent yet another late night at the station, swearing he was close to a break and would come across something he had missed if he only put in a couple more hours of reviewing the statements he and Miller had taken so far. It was by no means unusual behaviour from him, but since you two had started seeing each other, he tried his best not to go more than a day without taking a break to see you, even if it meant just grabbing a quick lunch together, and if he didn’t get to see you today, it would’ve been his third full day away from you. Just like he did every morning, he sent you a message, this time ending it with the promise of seeing you that evening, even if it meant showing up at your doorstep long after the sun had gone down. He knew it was unfair to you, being put on the back burner simply because he was in the midst of one of his unhealthy work obsessions. 

As far as Alec was concerned, the morning passed by as normal as any other morning would. He got ready for work as quickly as his body would allow him to, and set off back to the station, after only a couple hours of sleep, where he met up with Miller and the rest of his team, debriefing them on his findings from the night before and calling out assignments. He and Miller would be out most of the day, poking around every crevice of the small town that they could find, leaving no stone unturned. Also like most mornings, he kept his phone in his coat pocket, never taking it out knowing that any calls or messages from his team would come through Miller. It wasn’t until they finally decided to take a break to grab some lunch that he gave his phone a thought, pulling it out to see if he had received any calls or messages from either you or perhaps Daisy. Like most days, there had been nothing from Daisy–she only seemed to reach out to him when she wanted something, or had gotten into a fight with her mother, pleading for him to side with her and tell Tess that she was being unreasonable, even though she knows he’d never contradict her parenting decisions. Unlike most days, however, there hadn’t been a reply from you to his message that he had sent that morning, nor had there been a missed call or voicemail. Despite being a bit unusual, Alec didn’t give too much thought to it, quickly deciding you must have slept in late and had to rush off to work, or maybe your work day had just been busy, leaving you with no time to check your phone or fashion a response. He returned his phone back to its usual space in his coat after sending another short message letting you know he still had every intention of seeing you that evening. 

The afternoon had been just as normal as the morning. Some people from his team had come across a witness that they had initially missed, and they without hesitation went to the station and gave Alec their official statement. With a success like that and eager to see you, he sent his team home early with the promise of a hard day’s work tomorrow before returning to his office to finish up the last of the urgent paperwork regarding the witness statement and tidying his desk. When all work was accounted for and all sensitive documents filed away under lock and key, not to be surveyed until he returned to them in the morning, he left the station. As he got into his car, allowing the engine to warm up and tossing his coat into the passenger seat, he once again pulled out his phone, this time finding a message from Daisy asking if he could please convince Tess to give her permission to go to a concert that weekend with some friends from school, to which he replied he was not in objection to, however her mother, as always, had the final say. To not have heard from you for one morning was one thing, but to not have received a reply well into the afternoon was certainly another, and certainly not something you’d have done under any normal circumstances. Alec would’ve been lying if he had said the first thing that ran through his head wasn’t that you were more upset by his neglect of you over the previous few days than you had let on to, leading you to now ignore him, but the thought left him nearly as fast as it had come. He knew for a fact he was no stranger to bottling up his true feelings, refusing to communicate, but he also knew that you certainly were not the type. The two of you hardly ever had any arguments or miscommunications, but that was all attributed to the fact that you insisted on making your feelings, wants, and needs known, thus forcing him to make an attempt at getting into the habit of doing the same. He was sure that if you truly had been so upset by his absence, you would have told him before it got to the point of feeling the need to ignore him, meaning your silence had to be the result of something being very, very wrong. 

He wasted no more time once coming to his conclusion, and drove as fast as the traffic allowed him, not even bothering to stop at his own home first to change clothes into something more casual and comfortable. When he finally arrived, he found your car parked outside in its usual spot, although not unusual for the time of day, as you were usually out of work by this particular time. He jogged up the steps to the front door, knocking, and calling out your name, announcing his arrival, only to receive no response. You’d not yet given him a key to your flat, but the two of you had been seeing each other long enough that he knew where the spare key was hidden, and on many occasions, and with your general consent, he had let himself in while you were both out and at home. He waited a moment before knocking again, and when he was met with silence once more, he decided to retrieve the spare key. Your flat was nearly always tidy, hardly ever a thing out of place, but when he walked in, it seemed eerily even more put together than usual, almost as though not a thing had been touched since the last time he had come over. He called out your name into the silence once more as he began to move around the flat, finding no sign that you had sat on the settee, or turned on the telly, or even grabbed a snack from the kitchen upon arriving home from work. Finally, he worked his way over to the bedroom, where the door was open, but barely a crack, gently pushing the opening wide enough to allow him to look inside, and saying your name, almost whispering. It was finally here that he found you in bed, underneath the covers and fast asleep. He walked in quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching up with his hands to brush the stray hairs away from your face and patting them down into place. You were here, safe in bed, and breathing. 

He sat there for a moment, gently caressing the parts of your hair and cheek not being obscured by the blankets that had seemingly been tucked all the way up to your chin, and since shifted upwards. He tried his best not to disturb you, but eventually you began to stir and soon woke up. Not even a little bit startled by his presence, you groggily mumbled something incoherent, leaning into his hand which hadn’t left your face. 

“Hello, darling,” he cooed, continuing his movements only now in your hair. He was met with a groan and mumble once again. “Sorry I haven’t been by in a while, but I’m here now,” he finished.  Eyes still droopy with sleep, you blankly stared at him through half closed eyelids. His face took on a worried look, and as he was about to ask if you were alright, you suddenly turned over, letting out a dry cough into your pillow, trying to shake it to no avail for much too long for Alec’s taste. He stood up, announcing he would get you a glass of water before leaving the room in a hurry and returning a few moments later, at which point your coughing had stopped. He helped you sit up properly before handing you the glass giving you a moment's silence to drink and recover from the fit. When you were satisfied, you dropped the half-emptied glass down onto the bedside table, hoarsely forcing out a thanks, trying not to trigger another coughing fit. 

“Oh, darling, are you feeling alright?” he asked, returning to his previous spot on the bed. 

You shook your head no in reply, before beginning to talk again. “I’ve been feeling a bit off the past couple days now, but it was worse this morning when I woke up. I had to call in sick,” you explained with a raspy voice, painful and strained from the sore throat you’d had all day. He reached out with his hand, taking yours as he began to rub circles into the back of it with his thumb. Staring down, and intently at the touch, he frowned, before speaking. “I should’ve been here,” he nearly whispered, voice dripping with sorrow. “There was nothing you could’ve done,” you offered, tightening your own grip on his hand.

He stood up eventually, and after having been informed of your symptoms, made his way towards the bathroom, pulling pill bottles out of the cupboard, as well as refilling the glass of water. A headache, which had been one of the worser symptoms, prompted him to pull the blinds closed, and shut the drapes before switching off the overhead lights, which he had turned on when he first walked into the room. Once the pills had been taken, and you were laying back down under the covers, he made his way back to the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry. He had never really learned how to properly cook, and never really felt the need to, but in that moment, as he realised he would have to make due with a can of soup that required nothing more than being heated on the stove, he wished he had learned, if only to be able to make you a proper one. Leaving the soup to heat up in the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom, and opened up the wardrobe, as quietly as it allowed, so as not to disturb you. He didn’t occupy much space in your flat yet, not that he occupied much space in his own home apart from work related documents and files and evidence, but he did have a small section in your wardrobe that was home to a few changes of clothes, although you left plenty of room for him if he ever wanted to add more to it. He silently slipped out of the suit he had been wearing all day and into his more comfortable clothes before returning to the kitchen to see to the soup. 

He prepared a small tray with a bowl of the soup along with some soda crackers he had found while he had been looking through the pantry. Alec Hardy was the last man on Earth who would be caught in bed before the sun went down, but tray in hand, he cautiously slid onto the bed, careful not to spill anything before handing it over to you as he tucked himself under the covers and pressed up against your side, wrapping his arm around you. You ate the soup, grateful that Alec had prepared it for you, as he cooed at you, still apologising for his absence, and promising he’d stay with you through the night, occasionally helping himself to a soda cracker or a spoonful of soup as well.  When you’d had enough, he returned the tray back to the kitchen before returning to his own spot in bed, this time with the promise of sleep on both of your minds. It was early in the evening, but he had only slept a couple of hours the previous night, and in all honesty he truly was exhausted after pushing himself to the brink over the past few days. If your body was insistent on getting some more rest, he figured he might as well sleep for a bit as well. 

The two of you had lulled into an easy sleep, and awoke a few hours later, the winter sun having already set. The medicine and the soup had eased the symptoms a bit, but you definitely weren’t anywhere near back to normal just yet. Feeling better rested himself, Alec on the other hand was ready to jump back into his work, body and mind already conditioned to run on minimal hours of sleep at a time, but he’d be damned if he left your side anytime before he absolutely had to go into the station to meet his team in the morning. “I feel much better now thanks to the soup, I hadn’t had food in all day,” you whispered, still laying in bed, curled into his chest. “I think I need a shower now though, I didn’t have much energy for that today either and I haven’t had one since I got home from work yesterday,” you continued, making a slight half-hearted effort to move away from him. He stood up then, holding his hand out to you as you soon followed after him. Hand still in his, and with a quizzical look on your face, he led you to the bathroom, letting go of your hand to make his way towards the shower, turning the water on. When he turned back around, he reached for the hem of your shirt, hand resting on it with a questioning look on his face awaiting your approval to continue. When you didn’t protest, he continued, pulling your shirt and remaining clothes off of you, with gentleness and care before repeating his ministrations on himself. 

Fully undressed and under the warm spray of the water, Alec, considerate as ever, massaged your scalp, working your scented shampoo through the roots of your hair as you relaxed into the heat radiating through the room from the hot water. When your hair was clean and the water had washed away the shampoo, he took to a washcloth, rubbing slow and gentle circles over your skin. Alec wasn’t a greedy man, you had learned early in the relationship. He loved and appreciated every inch of you, worshipping it when given the opportunity to, but in moments like these, any lingering touches his hands may have made left behind only warmth and comfort, never once begging for something more, something you probably couldn’t and wouldn’t give him in your ill state, something he would never dare ask or expect you to give him in it. When he had finished working his way down your body, and as the warm water was beginning to turn cold, he gave you a moment more under the water to rinse away the remaining soap before quickly and carelessly cleaning himself off. Unlike you, he had showered that morning before returning back to the station, but he had no interest in taking a moment to relax into the warmth. He did what he had to do to be decent and presentably clean, but he took it no further than that apart from the times when in health, you had been the one to coax him into a shower or bath, taking time to thoroughly massage the knots out of his muscles and work over-priced, fragranced soaps into his hair and skin that he otherwise would have never thought to use himself.

When he finished cleaning himself, he shut off the water, quickly reaching for your bath towel and wrapping it around your dripping frame, hoping to shield your skin from the cold air before reaching for a towel of his own to wrap around his waist. He abandoned his focus on his own towel soon after, instead focusing on drying you off first, patting away the remaining water still dripping from your hair and down your skin. Not until you were both content did he hastily repeat his actions on his own body, eventually leading you back out to the bedroom, sitting you down at the foot of the bed. For the second time that evening, he made his way over to your wardrobe, this time pulling out a set of clothes from your own section and passing them over to you, allowing you to dress yourself while he did the same for himself. He returned to the bathroom, hanging the towels to dry and grabbing your hairbrush off the counter before once again going back into the bedroom joining you on the bed. Brush in hand, he beckoned you over to him, and you allowed him to settle you in front of himself, back towards him before he slowly and gently began to work the brush through your hair, beginning at the ends before making his way up to the roots. You hummed and sighed in content, sinus now feeling much more clear after the hot shower. When he was happy with his work, he placed the hair brush down onto the bed side table, moving back to lean against the head of the bed, pulling you along with him. Adjusting both you and himself, he pulled the covers up around the two of you as he held you against him, half clinging to his side and half on top of him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his embrace, burying yourself into him.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me,” you replied. He didn’t reply, choosing instead to plant a kiss into your hair.

[cursedbyastro]

hello i hope you’re having a good day!

can you describe uranus opposite asc?

uranus opposite ascendant

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST, SOLE PROPERTY OF CURSEDBYASTRO

(of course depends on sign, placement, aspects, etc.)

unusual or sharp facial expressions, sometimes looking deep in thought or detached to others, most likely even when you aren't or these features are the opposite of what you actually are feeling or thinking

in short, people see yo differently than you may see or express yourself to the world

leaning towards more unconventional fashion items — heavy metallics, clothing that lights up, geometrics

always making a statement with your look or style, even when you don't try

you might get bored of your style quickly, feeling the need to reinvent yourself

may have a certain androgynous quality to your appearance

there’s a feeling that you can’t be pinned down. whether it’s through your style, facial expressions, or body language, you give off a sense of being slightly out of reach or constantly shifting.

you may move in a way that feels disconnected—either they have a stiff, awkward stance or they seem too fluid

even when you’re quiet, you exude a sense that you’re observing or studying everything, making people slightly uneasy (even if they like it

you might feel like you don’t fit into one aesthetic or category, but people will still try to define you in ways that feel limiting or inaccurate

you might feel like people project their own ideas of “difference” onto you, even when you’re just being yourself

[plaguedocboi]

what are some of your interests that would surprise yr followers or maybe that you just dont post about? are all the things you are passionate about interconnected in your head?

I think I talk about most of my interests at least a little, but one thing that might surprise people is that I’ve always been kind of interested in fashion. I really like making photo compilations of clothes that my characters wear, I like shows like Project Runway and games like Covet, and whenever I had dances or formal events in high school I really enjoyed getting to go try on fancy outfits.

That’s something that always felt very disconnected from my other interests, and I was a tiny bit ashamed of it growing up because it seemed like such an unusually “girly” thing compared to the rest of my very androgynous vibe. But I’ve realized that it’s actually tied into my love of costumes and cosplay! I loved wearing fancy prom dresses for the same reason I love wearing my plague doctor attire; because it’s a costume. It’s a crazy statement outfit that you wouldn’t normally wear and I think that’s really fun, especially when everyone around you is also wearing crazy statement outfits. Honestly I didn’t even care about the dances, I just enjoyed dressing up and taking pictures with my friends. Which is basically exactly what I do when I do cosplay photoshoots, and it’s still super fun!

[arthistoryanimalia]

#InsectWeek fashion:

Elsa Schiaparelli (Italian, 1890–1973) for Maison Schiaparelli (French, founded 1927) Necklace & Suit, Fall 1938 collection necklace: rhodoid (cellulose acetate plastic) & metal; suit: rayon, silk, plastic Metropolitan Museum of Art 2009.300.1234, 2009.300.2374

Necklace: "From the fall 1938 pagan collection, this iconic necklace epitomizes Schiaparelli's Surrealist tendencies, perhaps more than any other design she executed because of the unreal idea of insects crawling on your skin as a fashion statement. Because of the clear Rhodoid, a type of cellulose acetate plastic, the multicolored insects seem to be resting on the wearer's skin. Rhodoid was a newly developed material and Schiaparelli was unafraid of using inventive materials for her designs. She appreciated the avant-garde quality and element of surprise infused into the design by using unconventional materials. The pagan collection was inspired by Botticelli's lush paintings; therefore flowers, woodland creatures, foliage, and insects decorated dinner suits, evening gowns and accessories. The multicolored metal insects were also seen securing a ribbon hatband on a doll hat and resting on the collar of a suit [shown here]. This necklace was worn by Millicent Rogers (who also owned the suit previously mentioned), one of Schiaparelli's best clients who was brave enough to wear her outré designs."

Suit: "Elsa Schiaparelli was influenced by the Surrealist art scene of Paris in the 1930s, and references to that movement frequently materialize in her designs. Artists were using collage, photography and paint as their medium; Schiaparelli was using clothing. Here, in a suit from her fall 1938 Pagan collection, she incorporates three elements that have become hallmarks of her career-- interesting fabric, Surrealist elements and unconventional buttons. Schiaparelli scoured fabric houses to find fabrics that perfectly translated her artistic ideas. The crepe used for this jacket and dress is highly textured, adding a rough dimension to the overall design. The Surrealist elements here, the plastic bug ornaments, are shockingly realistic and in juxtaposition to the delicate pink silk of the collar where they rest. As Dilys Blum states in Shocking! The Art and Fashion of Elsa Schiaparelli, many designs from this collection featured earthy decorations inspired by Botticelli's paintings, like flowers, fruits, animals and insects. Buttons were another form of expression for Schiaparelli. In this case, the leaf-shaped buttons represent foliate forms, another common motif seen throughout the Pagan collection. This unusual ensemble would require a certain level of fashion bravado, and the previous owner, Millicent Rogers, definitely possessed that."

[dmitriene]

— intoxicated confession.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ «do you wanna talk?»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ «but i'm not thinking straight»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌«i guess i'm gonna pay for this»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«do you wanna talk?»

summary: an unexpected turn of events turned an evening of doubt and detachment into a beautiful moment of affirmation and intimacy. content: fuckboy re4 leon kennedy x gn reader tags: fluff, emotional hurt and comfort, mentions of alcohol, established but confused relationships, hugs and kisses. author's note: heyy!! so, basically, i was inspired by art that belong's to @glacierclear where leon is fuckboy)) and i wanted to go further with this idea and write a fanfic, hope you'll like this one! enjoy your reading) 🔗

HE was a captivating blend of rugged charm and unconventional style, his striking features and unique fashion choices creating an atmosphere of undeniable intrigue.

His face had sharp angles and a strong jawline that exuded confidence and determination, dark shadows often lingered beneath his piercing bright blue eyes, hinting at a life of adventure and challenge, those eyes held a depth of emotion and a sense of mystery that left a lasting impression at anyone who met his gaze.

His hair was disheveled and unkempt, as if he had just emerged from an exciting adventure — it framed his face in a way that added to his rebellious charm, making him look like a man who refused to conform to social norms.

One of the most distinctive features of his appearance was the piercing on his tongue, it was a bold statement of his refusal to conform, a rebellious streak hinting at a desire to challenge convention, the glint of metal on his tongue was a subtle reminder that he was not an ordinary, «run of the mill» man.

There was an atmosphere of extraordinary charm and undeniable magnetism surrounding Leon's appearance, he carried himself with a confidence that attracted people, leaving them captivated by his unique combination of ruggedness and rebellious style — whether he was flirting with every girl in the room or simply standing in silence, Leon's presence was impossible to ignore, creating an atmosphere always filled with anticipation and curiosity.

His swaggering gait, demeanor and the knowing sparkle of his bright blue eyes made him stand out from the crowd — these eyes attracted people like moths to a flame.

Leon didn't just flirt with girls — he practically had a magnetic force that attracted them like bees to honey, every interaction imbued with a teasing charm that made hearts flutter and cheeks flush.

Your first meeting with Leon was simply strange and unexpected, he boldly approached you, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he unleashed his flirtatious charm, the circumstances were unconventional to say the least, but his audacity intrigued you despite your initial doubts, there was undoubtedly something attractive about him that was difficult to resist.

When you decided on this unconventional relationship, doubts began to swirl in your mind.

The unpredictability of his life, the constant presence of other girls in his orbit and his flirtatious nature made it all seem surreal, it was a relationship that defied logic and reason, but you were drawn deeper into his mysterious world.

Leon's courage and free spirited nature created an atmosphere of excitement and uncertainty, every moment spent with him was an exhilarating roller coaster ride filled with unexpected twists, it was a life far from your comfort zone, and yet it was undeniably intoxicating.

For you, the relationship with Leon was shrouded in an atmosphere of uncertainty, you met him under the most unusual circumstances, in a chance meeting where he flirted with you shamelessly, his actions were bold and confident, leaving you both excited and intrigued, and more like a scenario that seemed straight out of a love story, a whirlwind attraction that defies explanation.

You didn't cling to the relationship, partly because you weren't sure of its true nature and partly because you didn't want to be hurt by unrealistic expectations, the atmosphere of your relationship was defined by a delicate balance between passion and detachment, a tightrope of emotions.

In the midst of this uncertainty, it is impossible not to be drawn to Leon's charismatic presence, his bad boy persona was like a powerful magnet, drawing you into a world that was both exciting and mysterious, you succumbed to his charm and willingly entered into relationships that challenged conventional norms.

It was a whirlwind romance that kept you on the edge of your seat, never quite sure where it would lead, but unable to resist the irresistible pull of the bad boy who entered your life in the most unexpected way.

The atmosphere of that period, when you and Leon were dating but living separate lives, was characterized by a delicate balance between attraction and uncertainty, it was a paradoxical mixture of desire and detachment that hung in the air like an unspoken truth.

The physical separation between you meant that your meetings were infrequent, creating a feeling of longing and anticipation whenever you met, Leon's active lifestyle of unpredictable adventures and social antics often kept him away for long periods of time, this added an element of unpredictability to your relationship — making it difficult to predict when you will see each other next.

Amid this backdrop of sporadic encounters, you refrained from fully investing in the relationship, you were aware of Leon's magnetic charm and his penchant for flirting with others, which led to constant doubts, it was as if you were both dancing around the unspoken question of exclusivity, preferring don't face the possibility that he might be involved with someone else besides you.

What was going on between you was a delicate balance of desire and detachment, a mixture of emotions that left you both hesitant to fully commit to a business, you didn't hold on to the relationship partly because you were afraid of getting hurt and partly because you accepted the fact that Leon's lifestyle might lead him to explore other relationships.

The rollercoaster of emotions, doubts and delight from communicating with him created an atmosphere that was both inspiring and nerve wracking.

This mindset created an atmosphere of both attraction and apprehension, where the charm of Leon's charismatic personality battled the uncertainty of where your relationship really stood.

Until that fateful evening.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌━━━━━━━━━━━━

There was an atmosphere of loneliness and routine in your apartment that evening, the soft glow of warm lighting creating a cozy atmosphere, creating a cozy haven where you were absorbed in your own affairs, the muffled sounds of the outside world seemed distant as you went about your business, blissfully unaware of the impending changes.

And suddenly your phone rang, breaking the silence of the room, your interest increased, you picked up the phone and your heart began to pound when you recognized Leon's name on the caller ID, you had no idea what prompted him to call, but a mixture of curiosity and anxiety drew you into the conversation.

As you raised the phone to your ear, you were greeted by the unexpected sound of Leon's voice, sad and slightly slurred from the effects of alcohol, his words, once confident and flirtatious, now carried vulnerability, almost like a puppy's, the contrast was startling, and you momentarily speechless.

— «Babe.. can you pick me up?» he muttered, tenderness slipped from his lips, an expression of affection that you had not heard from him before, it caused a surge of emotions in you, a mixture of surprise and tenderness, without thinking twice you agreed to pick him up from the bar, the insistence and sadness in his voice did not leave you another choice.

Leaving your apartment, you stepped out into the night, the atmosphere changing dramatically — from the comfort of your solitude to the anticipation of what awaited you at the bar, your car became your refuge, the purr of the engine accompanying your racing thoughts as you drove to your destination.

Approaching the bar, you noticed Leon, his silhouette framed by neon lights, the atmosphere here was in sharp contrast to the tranquility of your home, the bar was full of chatter, the clinking of glasses and the noise of conversations, it seemed that Leon navigated this world without much effort, but today everything was different.

When he got into your car, the atmosphere inside changed again — from the bustling noise of the bar to a tense, intimate silence, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the engine and Leon's uneven breathing, you glanced in his direction from time to time, your heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation.

Leon's gaze from the car window seemed distant and pessimistic, sharply different from the confident personality you were used to, the air in the car was laced with unspoken emotions, a feeling of vulnerability neither of you had experienced before as you drove him to his apartment, the world outside blurry, clouded by the weight of his unexpected call and the uncertainty hanging in the air.

The dialogue was marked by a drastic change in Leon's tone — from a flirtatious bad boy to a vulnerable, almost fragile man, his gentle word «baby» brought up a lot of emotions that resonated with you, it was a departure from his usual confident demeanor and it surprised and touched you both.

Your willingness to take him without hesitation spoke volumes about the connection between you two, the unspoken understanding, care and willingness to be there for him created an atmosphere of genuine care and affection that transcended the uncertainty that had plagued your relationship all along.

As you drove, the dialogue between you was sparse but filled with unspoken feelings, the silence spoke volumes, conveying a shared sense of vulnerability and the newfound depth of your connection.

The decor in Leon's apartment was a mixture of dimly lit coziness and the lingering smell of alcohol, when you walked inside, the soft, warm lighting created a calm atmosphere that was in stark contrast to the noisy bar you had just left, the subdued atmosphere felt like a sanctuary — a refuge from the outside world.

You led Leon to the couch and helped him sit down, the silence in the room was filled with unspoken emotions as you turned away, intending to leave, uncertainty in the air and you wondered if this moment would be another fleeting encounter in your relationship.

However, the atmosphere changed suddenly, without warning Leon's arms wrapped around you from behind, his strong embrace pulled you closer to him, the feeling of his chest on your back, his face buried in your neck sent a shiver down your spine, it was an unexpected, intimate gesture that took your breath away.

His voice, soft and full of emotion, broke the silence — «Please, don't leave..» he muttered, his plea touching your heart with surprising ease.

The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor as he continued to speak, his words a gentle, sincere declaration of love and gratitude.

— «I really love you..» he whispered, his voice barely louder than a sigh, the words hanging in the air, a confession that seemed to hang by a thread, waiting for your response.

Your heart fluttered at his words, your own emotions stirred by the sincerity of his voice, you couldn’t resist the urge to stay.

Slowly, you sank down onto the couch next to him, gently stroking his fluffy hair with your fingers, Leon snuggled up to you like a lost puppy, seeking comfort and reassurance in your presence.

When you leaned down, your lips gently pressed against the top of his head, it was a soft, gentle kiss, a wordless confession of your feelings — «I love you too» you whispered, and your voice was full of warmth and tenderness.

The words expressed your emotions, confirmation that your connection was sincere and deep.

The atmosphere at that moment was full of intimacy and vulnerability, the room seemed to close around you, enveloping you both in a bubble of affection and love, the dim light cast soft shadows on Leon's face, emphasizing the seriousness of his eyes, the room was filled with a quiet, soothing hum of your shared emotions, creating a cocoon of tenderness and connection that transcends the uncertainty of your relationship.

In this intimate space, the air was filled with unspoken feelings, and the dialogue, although quiet and whispered, was a powerful testament to the depth of your feelings for each other.

He began to speak again, his words still slightly slurred from the alcohol, but filled with a raw honesty that was both surprising and touching — «I am tired..» he admitted, and his voice reflected emotions — «Tired of behaving this way, like i don't care.. i never wanted to let anyone get too close»

The atmosphere in the room seemed to change again, the walls he had carefully built around his heart were crumbling, revealing the man underneath the fuckboy façade, it was a vulnerable moment and you listened to him intently, your heart aching for him.

Gradually, Leon's words became a mumble, a rambling narrative of his life, his choices and his regrets, he spoke of the burdens he carried, the expectations placed on him, and the loneliness that led him down this path.

As you sat next to him, his head resting on your shoulder, you could feel his weariness, both physical and emotional, his words a desperate plea for understanding and acceptance, an acknowledgment of his longing for something deeper and more meaningful.

You listened without interruption, allowing him to share his innermost thoughts and fears, as if a dam had broken and his emotions flowed freely, in that vulnerable moment you realized that the image of the bad guy was just a mask, a shield that he used to protect himself from peace.

Finally, as he spoke, the weight of his words took its toll, his voice became softer, his sentences became incoherent mutterings, he poured out his heart and weariness took him.

With tenderness coming from a place of deep affection, you leaned down and kissed the top of his head again, a quiet gesture of comfort and care.

The vulnerability he showed brought you closer, creating a deeper connection between the two of you, in the stillness of the night you closed your eyes, deciding that the morning would be a smarter time to discuss things further.

As you both drifted off to sleep, the dim room maintaining a sense of peace and acceptance, that night became a turning point in your relationship, a moment of deep revelation and connection.

And as you lay there together, you knew there would be time to deal with the complexities of his past and the future of your relationship when the morning light came, bringing with it a sense of clarity and hope.

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