#we are delighted to accept your paper''

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I'D MARRY YOU WITH PAPER RINGS.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ J. POTTER

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since you were kids, james has always given you paper rings—little promises of forever. but as you both grow up, things start to change. the rings stop, the treehouse burns, and suddenly, james is standing with lily, holding a paper ring meant for someone else… or so you think

WARNINGS ಇ. fluff overload, pining, a sprinkle of angst but resolved quickly, excessive paper rings INSPIRED BY ಇ. (a bit) ➺ paper rings by taylor swift A/N ಇ. childhood best friends to lovers is james potter’s ultimate trope. argue with the wall ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 3,438

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

James Potter was seven years old when he decided that he was going to marry you. He didn’t understand much about marriage—only that it meant you’d be together forever, which sounded like the best thing in the world. After all, you were his best friend, and if forever wasn’t you, then who else could it be for?

The Potters and your family were close friends, and most weekends, you were bundled into the fireplace to floo to their house. James would meet you on the other side, grinning wildly and already tugging your arm to drag you outside. The two of you were inseparable, whether you were building forts in the garden or chasing each other around with toy brooms.

“Sunny, you’re supposed to catch it!” James exclaimed one summer afternoon as he tossed a quaffle your way. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up impatiently.

“I’m trying!” you yelled back, laughing as the ball sailed past your outstretched arms. You were too busy giggling to notice James running to retrieve it. He came back with dirt on his knees and his hair even messier than usual.

“We’ll practice until you’re as good as me,” he declared, puffing out his chest in mock importance.

You scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at him. “What if I don’t want to be good at Quidditch? What if I want to be the best cake-eater in the world?”

James grinned, his own cheeks turning pink. “Then I’ll be the second-best. We can do it together.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

By the time you were eight, James had discovered the fine art of crafting paper rings. It started when he saw his mum making origami flowers for a party. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed near the good parchment—but his dad handed him some scraps, and the rest was history.

The first paper ring James gave you was lopsided, crumpled at the edges, and had a faint ink smudge from where he’d tried to draw a flower on it. You’d accepted it with wide, delighted eyes, slipping it onto your finger like it was made of gold.

“What’s this for?” you’d asked, holding it up to inspect the crooked folds.

“It’s…” James hesitated, suddenly bashful. “It’s a promise. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be there for you.”

You grinned so brightly he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll always be there for you too, Jamie!” you chirped, and the name stuck, much to his parents’ amusement.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

At nine, you and James built a treehouse. Or at least, you started to. James had insisted on using magic, and after much begging and wheedling, his mum had charmed a few planks of wood into place.

“It’ll be our secret hideout,” James said as you hammered nails into the rickety ladder.

“For what?” you asked, holding the ladder steady. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, and there was a streak of mud on your cheek, but you couldn’t have been happier.

“For… secret plans,” James decided. “Like how we’ll sneak extra pudding without anyone noticing.”

You beamed. “And maybe we can put all the paper rings here too. Like a treasure chest!”

He thought that was the best idea ever.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

By ten, James had made you more paper rings than either of you could count. Some were decorated with little doodles, others with clumsy attempts at flowers or hearts. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasuring them like the precious artifacts they were.

One rainy afternoon, you and James sat cross-legged on the rug in his room, watching the droplets streak down the window.

“Sunny,” James said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you know what love is?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Not really. I think it’s when someone makes you really happy. Like my mum when she bakes my favorite cookies.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think it’s when someone does things for you. Like… like when you gave me the bigger half of your pie last week.”

You grinned, your toothy smile making his cheeks heat up. “Then I think love is when you gave me your scarf when I was cold.”

He grinned back, lopsided and bright. “Maybe love is when we’re best friends forever.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

When you turned eleven, everything began to change. A letter arrived, delivered by an official-looking owl, and James practically dragged you across the room to celebrate.

“We’re going to Hogwarts together!” he exclaimed, lifting you off the ground in his excitement. “This is going to be the best year ever!”

You squealed, clutching onto him as he spun you around. “Jamie, I’m so excited!”

Later that day, he gave you another paper ring. It was neater this time, folded carefully with gold-trimmed parchment he’d begged off his mum.

“This one’s special,” James said solemnly as you slipped it onto your finger.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Because it’s the last one before Hogwarts,” he said. “But I’ll make you loads more when we’re there.”

You beamed, clutching the ring to your chest. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” he promised.

And that was the thing about James Potter. Even when he didn’t fully understand what love was, he knew one thing: it was always going to be you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

At Hogwarts, you quickly became part of the infamous Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and you. Whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks or plotting pranks on the Slytherins, the five of you were inseparable.

James had a knack for getting the group into trouble, and you had a knack for talking your way out of it.

“It’s not my fault Snape looks so funny when his robes turn pink,” James argued one day, as you all hid in an empty classroom after a particularly successful prank.

“You used an entire bottle of dye,” Remus pointed out dryly, though he was biting back a smile.

“Totally worth it,” Sirius said, high-fiving James.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Do you think he’ll ever figure out it was us?”

“Who cares?” you said, laughing. “Jamie, you’re brilliant.”

James beamed at your praise, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

But while James was fearless in most things, there was one subject that turned him into a bumbling mess: Lily Evans, although you understood the feeling, cause she was gorgeous.

“Merlin’s beard, just look at her,” James sighed dreamily one afternoon as the five of you sat under a tree by the Black Lake. Lily was a few yards away, reading a book and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

James turned red. “I am not!”

“You absolutely are,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “If you’re going to pine, at least do it with some dignity, Prongs.”

“I’m not pining!” James protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You drew a heart with her initials in your Transfiguration notes yesterday.”

“I did not!” James said, horrified.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “You did. I saw it too.”

You burst out laughing, leaning into James as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Jamie, it’s okay to have a crush. Especially if it's on Evans. I do too but the difference is you’re terrible at hiding it.”

“You lot are the worst,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Despite the relentless teasing, you were always James’ biggest supporter. When he finally worked up the courage to ask Lily out in your fifth year, you were the one who gave him the pep talk beforehand.

“You’re James Potter,” you said firmly, gripping his shoulders. “You’re charming, funny, and completely brilliant. If she doesn’t say yes, it’s her loss.”

James smiled nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently.

And even though a small part of you felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name, you pushed it aside. Because James was your best friend, and you’d always be there for him—just like he’d always be there for you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It happened gradually, so slowly that you didn’t notice at first. The paper rings, once a constant in your life, became fewer and fewer. By sixth year, they stopped altogether. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, you and James were still thick as thieves. He was busy with Quidditch, the Marauders, and his relentless pursuit of Lily Evans.

But deep down, you missed them.

Then one day, an owl from your parents arrived during breakfast in the Great Hall. You tore open the envelope eagerly, only to feel your stomach drop as you read the letter.

The treehouse at the Potters burned down.

Your chest ached as you reread the words. The treehouse, your secret hideout, the place where you’d kept all the paper rings James had ever given you—gone. Reduced to ashes.

You left the Great Hall in a daze, clutching the letter as tears blurred your vision. It wasn’t just a treehouse. It was years of memories, laughter, and promises that now felt lost forever. You needed to tell James. He would understand.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You found him in the courtyard, a broad grin on his face as he spoke animatedly to Lily. She was laughing, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and for a moment, you hesitated.

Then you saw it: a paper ring in his hand. Your heart clenched painfully as he turned it over in his fingers, showing it to Lily with the same excitement he’d once reserved for you.

You felt a lump form in your throat. It was silly, really. You’d known for years that James fancied Lily. You’d encouraged him, teased him, supported him. And yet, seeing him with a paper ring—your paper ring—meant for her…

It felt like losing a part of yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could see you, the letter crumpled in your hand. As you hurried back to the common room, you tried to push the image from your mind, but it clung stubbornly.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe Lily had finally agreed to a date. Maybe the ring wasn’t even for her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the ache in your chest told a different story.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You didn’t sleep much that night. The weight of the treehouse’s destruction—and the memories it held—pressed heavily on your chest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to breakfast, your usual bubbly demeanor dimmed.

James was already there, sitting with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, recounting some Quidditch play. He caught sight of you as you approached, and his grin faltered.

“Morning, sunny,” he greeted, nudging the bench beside him. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

You plopped down next to him, twisting the edge of your sleeve. “James… the..the treehouse, it burned down.”

His face froze, confusion quickly giving way to shock. “What?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

You handed him the crumpled letter. He read it, his expression shifting to heartbreak. “Our treehouse? The one we built with my mum’s old cushions and all the fairy lights?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “All the paper rings… they were in there, James.”

For a moment, he just stared at the letter. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like they used to when you were kids, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the familiar scent of parchment and pine comfort you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—”

You missed the way his breath hitched, his soft oh of realization. Missed the quick glance he threw across the table to Lily, whose knowing gaze met his. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, as if she understood something neither of you had quite pieced together yet.

But you were too caught up in the hug, too lost in your own heartbreak to notice anything else.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

James Potter was not one to do things halfway. The moment he realized how much those paper rings had meant to you, he made it his mission to bring them back into your life in abundance. It started small—a single paper ring folded neatly and tucked into your Potions book during class.

“James,” you whispered, holding it up with an amused smile. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he whispered back, grinning mischievously before turning back to Slughorn’s lecture like he hadn’t just slid a tiny masterpiece of folded parchment into your life.

But James Potter didn’t stop at small. Soon, the paper rings started appearing everywhere. One in your bag during Transfiguration. Another tucked into your scarf at breakfast. A stack of them slid under your pillow one night. He even charmed one to float down from the owlery like a paper snowflake as you walked past.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The grandest moment came during Transfiguration. James, thinking he was being discreet, crept over to your desk mid-lecture to slip a particularly colorful ring onto your parchment. Just as he leaned down, a shadow loomed over both of you.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. The class went silent, every head swiveling to witness James Potter caught red-handed.

James straightened, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just delivering a very important piece of classwork, Professor,” he said smoothly, holding up the paper ring as if it were a prized essay.

McGonagall’s lips twitched, though she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But if I catch you again, you’ll be writing lines until your quill runs out of ink.”

“Yes, Professor,” James said solemnly, though his wink to Sirius betrayed him.

As McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, you swore you saw her glance over her shoulder and wink—wink—at you. For a moment, you questioned your sanity.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

By the end of the week, you had more paper rings than you knew what to do with. You didn’t have the heart to throw them away—not after all the effort James had gone to—so you started collecting them in an old chocolate box you found in your dorm.

Every night, you added the day’s rings to the collection, tracing your fingers over the creases and folds as you smiled to yourself. It was ridiculous, really. They were just bits of paper, after all. But each one felt like a tiny promise—a reminder of a boy who made the world brighter simply by being in it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It was another morning at the Gryffindor table, and James was unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be drumming his fingers on the table, bantering with Sirius, or laughing at something Peter said. But today, he was poking at his eggs, lost in thought.

Remus noticed first. Of course, he did. “You haven’t mentioned Lily in a while,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened? Did she finally hex you into silence?”

Sirius barked a laugh, and Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice. But James just shrugged, looking nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” he said casually, as if he weren’t about to drop a bombshell. “Well… that’s not happening.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. “Really?” you blurted, a little too loudly. You immediately ducked your head, heat rushing to your cheeks.

James smirked, but it wasn’t his usual mischievous one—it was softer, more thoughtful. “Yeah, she kind of pointed out that I might have feelings for someone else.”

The table went silent. Even Sirius, who rarely let anything keep him quiet for long, was staring at James in surprise.

“And?” Remus prompted, leaning forward like he already knew the answer.

“And I realized… she was right,” James admitted, his voice quieter now.

“Oh,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” James said, turning to look at you with a curious expression. “It is.”

For a moment, his hazel eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out if you knew what he meant—if you felt the same.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius, who clearly couldn’t handle the suspense, interrupted with a loud, “So, who’s the lucky person, Prongs? Don’t leave us hanging!”

James flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius teased, elbowing him. “Out with it, mate!”

But James just shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not telling,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

The conversation shifted after that, Sirius dragging Peter into a heated debate about whether or not owls secretly judged their owners, and you found yourself staring at your plate, your thoughts spinning.

You didn’t know what to make of James’ words. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Was it… you?

You glanced at James out of the corner of your eye. He was laughing now, teasing Peter about his messy handwriting, but there was something different about him—something softer.

You pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be you. Could it?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤ���ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The Owlery was quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls roosting in their perches. You had just tied your letter to your parents onto a barn owl’s leg, stroking its feathers as it took off into the morning light. Beside you, James was doing the same, his handwriting as messy as ever but filled with his usual warmth and charm.

As his owl soared into the sky, you lingered by the ledge, watching the horizon. James leaned beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the kind that came with years of friendship. But you couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast, about what he’d said, and about the way he’d looked at you.

“So,” you started, your voice soft, “this… someone else you might have feelings for.”

James froze, his hands gripping the stone ledge. “Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “That.”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, that.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Right. Well…” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, taking a step closer.

He glanced at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours. “Because, well because it’s you,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, delicate and trembling. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” James said, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s always been you, I think. I just… didn’t realize it until Lily pointed it out. And then when I thought about it—about us—it just made sense, you know? You’ve always been there. You’ve always been you.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “James…”

“I know it might be weird,” he said quickly, misinterpreting your silence. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just thought you should know, because I—”

“I feel the same,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

He blinked at you, his mouth hanging open. “You do?”

You nodded, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I do.”

For a moment, James just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“Brilliant,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You laughed, the sound light and bubbly, and he joined in, his joy infectious. Before you knew it, he was stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

“I, uh, don’t have a proper ring,” he said, his voice nervous but warm. “But…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar folded strip of parchment.

Your breath hitched as he gently slipped the paper ring onto your finger, his touch lingering. “There,” he said, his smile soft and a little shy. “Perfect.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest swelling with warmth. It was so James—simple, sweet, and utterly wonderful.

“Perfect,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you looked up, he was already watching you, his hazel eyes filled with something so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“Does this mean you’re stuck with me?” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” James said, grinning.

And as the owls cooed above and the sunlight bathed the two of you in gold, you knew you would. Forever and always.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[elodieunderglass]

But there must be a way to save hobelars in the cultural memory right? Can we reprint the document that has the poem?

Just yesterday, i had heard my friend say something along the lines of war is rock paper scissors and i accepted that without a second thought and your post about hobelars came at the right time to add delightful nuance. And i want to remember and share about hobelars

References: this post where I note, on a post about medieval mounted warfare that articulated this as knights and horses in armour charging pikemen, that the overlooked mounted unit of the “Irish” hobelar - a lightweight cavalry skirmisher, mounted nearly-bareback on pony-horses called hobbies - would have neatly fitted into the gaps in that narrative. Here’s another post about hobbies i wrote too.

By asking, you are doing the work. Thank you./.

In their time, hobelars were a useful unit of medieval warfare; originally in defending themselves against the English, and then used abroad against others. A contemporary poem, which describes the Siege of Calais, mentions a hobelar on a hobby, describing their fighting style; but the only copy of this poem on the internet is a single badly scanned document of a book from the 1840s that will be reasonably difficult (but not impossible!) to source on paper.

There have been a total two books written about hobelars - one in 1914, and one in 1954 - and they are mentioned in passages of two or three out-of-print books about medieval warfare. They have a Wikipedia article which contains incorrect information like claiming that the hobby is the same horse as the Connemara Pony (it isn’t.) There is one single medievalist who has published recently and sparsely on hobelars, and necessarily he does this by arguing with The 1914 and 1954 Guys. He has not brought in any horse knowledge or political connectedness to his theses, but he’s all I’ve got, so I cling to him like he clings to the other two guys.

Irish Hobbies, the hobelar’s little horses, fare a bit better. Before going extinct, they gave their name to “hobbies,” activities done for pleasure, and we still use “my hobbyhorse” to describe our personal passions. @mylittlehony , a Horse Expert, produced an incredible list of mentions of hobbies in sixteenth and seventeenth century literature, including in other languages, which is literally an advancement on the internet’s collective knowledge of hobbies. Any piece of work you’re doing here is a contribution.

Still, without any in-print documentation, or active scholars, or any interest in them at all, they’re a very niche hobby! As I said in the post you’re asking about, a well-placed EMP could destroy all of our knowledge of hobelars and prevent us from making connections to recover them. .

To answer your question? That’s what PhDs are for. That’s what they’re supposed to give to humanity. Spending three years of dedicated research time, learning and gathering all the sources available, and collecting every lost scrap of data about hobbies and hobelars that has been scattered and lost. We know they’re in the quartermasters’ receipts, where they were described as cheap units without special equipment; we know that an English king specifically prevented hobbies being exported to Scotland fight against him, because they would have granted the Scottish an advantage. There are documents that mention them sidelong and sideways and misspelled, and a PhD could delightfully be spent fossicking about in libraries and archives and museums, working out exactly what their “darts” were like, and whether hobbies ambled or paced, and what social class hobelars had been in Ireland, and how far they made it in Wales, and whether they WERE the missing piece of European horse archers, and whether hobbies DID come from Spain, and maybe even whether the Thoroughbred racehorse has any hobby in them at all. The person doing this PhD could probably recover the shape of the extinct horse, the fighting style of the rider, and so on.

And they’d publish their papers, and their thesis, and on the Internet and in the backups and in the journals and in the great library of their Alma Mater and in their own home, that knowledge would be stored and connected, networked and made accessible, known and signposted, forever. Resilient to loss, resistant to disruption, a piece of work to add to humanity’s grain store - designed and destined to outlive you.

That’s what a PhD is. That’s why they’re meant to be done.

Why haven’t they already? Obscurity, probably; and as I’ve written, medievalists tend to take the tone of English and French kings to dismiss Celtic influence as primitive and negligible. There have to be intersecting spheres of nerdery to make the person who will take this on. They will probably have to be a horsegirl first, a medievalist second, and probably from a Celtic culture themselves, to better pierce through the political layerings; they ought to be the kind of nerd who gladly takes on the case of the underdog; and, ideally, be someone with a lot of hobbies. Just as you can see the missing shape of the hobelar, you can see this person and know that someday they may answer the call.

(Possibly even because of these posts. That’s, secretly, part of why I write them like I do. They’re not ragebait or clickbait; they’re go-to-grad-school-about-it-bait. I hope to catch someone someday.)

But in the absence of some person taking on this PhD, here’s how I’m doing my part.

The reason I am tumblr’s biggest hobelar apologist is because I have a character in a larger writing project who is a time-ghost of a hobelar and his hobby. They appear in a pattern in the story, which is called Throw Your Heart Over, based on the saying for jumping: throw your heart over the hurdle and your horse will follow it.

I toy with the idea of The Hobelar being the originator of the saying, after jumping a notable hurdle on his hobby.

But it won’t be enough to just self-publish an ebook about it, especially since it won’t break containment. The best way to get a correct answer on the Internet is to post a slightly wrong answer, in a tone of authority, and have everyone pile in on you for the joy of being the one to correct you.

So I’m going to write something provocative and tantalisingly incorrect-sounding about hobelars, just to provoke and annoy. It will have to be ragebait of unparalleled mastery. I will have to construct a scene that is SO WRONG, and somehow get the story SO IMPOSSIBLY POPULAR, that hopefully someone will be forced to do, like, a YouTube essay to horsesplain my sins to me, and THEN they’ll discover that first they must do a PhD.

And when they call me out, after four years of study, and tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about, I will lower my eyelashes demurely 🫦 and say oh dear what a shame if people started acting like they’d always known about hobelars because of all this, and a breeding project started trying to recreate the extinct Irish Hobby, and a video game came out about them or something, or anything. if I fuck it up again will you do more? Do you prommy??

So I’ll say: once upon a time, Killie’s ancestor was a hobelar. And he fucked up - or something, I don’t know what yet - and he asked his hobby to jump a pike-wall -

And the people will be jumping up and down saying THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT- he wasn’t there, he wasn’t wearing that, he didn’t ride that way, he probably wasn’t barefoot, NOBODY CAN JUMP A PIKEWALL, that can’t be right!!

And i said: none of this was right-! It’s a story about generational trauma. Nobody should have been there. And he grabbed mane, and asked for the jump, and the horse didn’t want to, but she trusted him -

And it didn’t happen, and it didn’t happen like that -

And it didn’t happen, and it didn’t happen like that -

And people will say: it never could have happened, and CERTAINLY not like that -

And I’ll say - and everyone else should say this too - make an OC or tell a story or find some way to hang on: some of what our ancestors gave us was garbage!! Some is useful!! Some should be lost and some should be kept!! And if academia won’t keep it then we will! Until they come and do it better!

We’ll all say together: he threw his heart over and she follows it still; and they’ll never land! and they’ll never land!!!!

[taintedcigs]

— late night blues

pairing: roommate bsf!eddie munson x f!reader

summary: you can’t seem to sleep, so eddie offers to drive you around, but you have something else in mind that can make you relax and help you fall asleep faster; his fingers. (wc: 3.1k+)

author's note: not proofread. entirely self-indulgent. and normally i would gaf about interactions but i literally dont rn. i needed this <3 and for all my insomniacs out there... i appreciate u and i am u. hope this is like a warm/horny hug to all of u as much as it is to me. bc i need it desperately. the ending is kinda rushed i am so v sorry. pleaseeee reblog to support me. ty!! mwah.

Hogging the blanket you sank deeper into the couch, the light illuminating from the TV screen enough to have you squinting, but never enough to lull you into sleep.

You huff, impatiently, trying to shut off the voices in your head, thoughts swirling around everywhere and anywhere, making it impossible to let you embrace the sweet sleep you so desperately need.

"Why are you awake?" A low groan of Eddie's voice almost startles you, slight gasp leaving your lips, making you sit up straight with a deep breath.

"Couldn't sleep," you shrugged, "didn't wanna wake you."

"Should've," he grumbles, stomping on his way next to you, "y'know I can't sleep knowing you're awake, right?" A lazy smile is placed on his lips when he slouches right next to you.

The couch sinks with the impact and so does your stomach, the implications of his words not going unnoticed, the two of you have always been close, too fucking close to being considered as just friends.

Yet, none of you ever made any effort.

And you were growing tired of it, because, shit, did you like him. And a part of you, as well as everyone else in the gang kept teasing you about, told you he liked you too. Just waiting to be pushed.

"Wanna smoke?" He asked with a hum, "might help you sleep better." The brunette placed a lazy kiss on your forehead, another act the two of you always did, affectionate, too affectionate to be just friends, yet none of you ever dwelled on it, despite it leaving your entire body on fire in its wake, and Eddie's stomach churn with delight as you always smiled up at him. Sweet, almost peaceful, making you nod quietly, looking so fatigued that his chest ached for you.

"Was t'tired... couldn't roll one." You point toward the mess on the coffee table, grinder open with strains stuck in it, crumpled-up rolling papers, and a bunch of filters sprawled everywhere.

"How about we take a drive, princess?" He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the pad of his thumb slowly circling your face, tender and making you melt into him.

You shake your head quickly, not wanting to bother him in any way. "Eds, it's too late, I don't want you to-"

But he's quick to scoff. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Eddie, I mean it, we can just smoke this here and-" He tuts you quickly, already getting up, his Garfield sweatpants fully in view, making you giggle.

He takes your hand in his, dragging you while you huff and puff. "Grab a jacket or one of my hoodies, and let's fuckin' roll, honey."

Once you throw over one of his oversized hoodies, he almost carries you to the car, not wanting you to lose that sleepy state, knowing that it'd be hard for you to get it back.

You buckle your seatbelt, just watching him in his groove, head falling into the headrest as you admire him rolling a joint so quickly that it makes your head spin. "How the fuck can you do that?" You groan, "'s not fair." A pout overtakes your lips, causing him to grin. He wants to kiss it away, yet all he does is tuck the strands of your hair that are covering your features, turning your lips into a mellow smile, matching his.

"Well it helps if you were a dealer in high school." He rambles, a hearty giggle escaping from your lips, "I'll teach you some time too, honey, promise." You nod in acceptance, and another kiss is planted on your forehead, one you happily accept, let his warmth overtake your skin, eyes glazy and lidded as you look up at him, sleep deprivation so apparent in your face that it tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, seeing you this miserable. And not being able to do anything about it. Yet.

Quickly retrieving the lighter from his back pocket, he places the rollie on his lips, letting the igniting flame heat it quickly, sizzling sound as he inhales a small huff before passing it onto you calming you further.

You suck on it with a hum, watching the way Eddie quickly turns on the ignition, windows rolled down, the same relaxing tape playing over and over again, volume dimmed, Good Feeling by Violet Femmes serves as a background drop, one of your favorite songs, and of course, Eddie knows it.

The velvety dark sky steals your attention as you once again suck on the fragrant joint gently cradled between your fingers. Letting it engulf and numb you, for your bloodshot eyes to have a reason other than being restless.

A gentle breeze whispers through the cranked windows, rustling your hair in front of your face, making you giggle lightly. Three puffs, and you are already feeling giddy, "not too strong is it?" he asks, glancing at you with the biggest grin on his face, amber hues watching you intently.

"Nuh-uh," you hum, and his hand tenderly droops down to your thighs, giving you three gentle squeezes as a form of comfort. At least, he intends it to be for comfort.

But all you can think about is how thick and warm his fingertips are, cladded rings bringing a coldness that makes you hiss, tummy doing a flip as your hazy mind craves more.

It is the last piece of the puzzle you need to finally fall into that deep slumber, Eddie making you cum on his long fingers, curling inside of you, rings slicked with your juices, it's all you can think about.

You whine at your thoughts, throat growing dry at them, not knowing if it is cotton mouth or how stunning Eddie looks while focused on the road.

The perfect side profile that you can't help but admire; chiseled jaw with the slightest stubble that you'd do anything to have it rubbing against your clit right about now, Adam's apple bobbing slightly the more he gulped, lips plushy and so soft that you wanted nothing more than to bite into them, have them suckling your neck.

Fuck, this could be it, couldn't it?

You were already a bit dizzy, giving you enough courage to ask him to, and if he rejected you, you could always just turn it into a joke, couldn't you?

You rasp a desperate breath when his hands squeeze your thigh again, prominent veins making you mewl. His head cocks towards you in worry at the sound, "you okay?"

You barely register his words, gaze too focused on the tempting hold he has on you, "hmm?"

He quirks a brow, a smirk playing on his lips when he realizes how hazed you are, "are you hungry or something, sweetheart?"

Yeah, you were. Hungry for him.

You shake your head slightly. "You sure?" He asks, more attentive, and you can feel your wetness pool around your thighs, slicking you.

"Mhmm," you reply, head turning to meet his gaze, and when he slightly tilts his head, his shaggy bangs fall onto his forehead, making you gulp physically, he looks beautiful.

"Do you want anything?"

If he was any more attentive, you were going to crawl into his lap and grind on his bulge that hugged the print of Garfield on his sweatpants, "Nope," you gulped, prying your eyes away from the outline of his huge cock forcefully.

"Need anything?"

"You." The words slipped past your lips without any interference from you, it's like your subconscious was doing all the talking you had been so afraid of.

The insomnia and weed becoming a dangerous combo.

He choked out a laugh, cheeks crimson red, spreading across his bone like crushed raspberries. "Hah, funny aren't ya?"

He avoided your gaze, yet your head snapped to meet his. "Eddie- I-I mean it."

"Sweetheart," he mumbled, a low groan awaiting in his throat.

Doe-eyed, melting, and pleading hues finally met his. "P-please, Eddie, need it so bad, need to cum, relax," you coaxed, hand placed on his, squeezing it back, causing a drawl of sigh out of him.

He can't bring himself to ease into your touch, his lips quivering at the thought of finding you soaking for him, "Honey, you're high," he tries to reason, voice squeaky pitch, he wants it, so goddamn bad, but he can't take advantage of you in any way.

You huff, disagreeingly. "Oh, c'mon, Eddie, I just took like three huffs, you know I'm not a lightweight!"

"Sweetheart, I know but it doesn't feel right-"

"But I'm begging you to!" Your pleading voice crushes him, cock stirring just at your squeaky tone, you're going to be the fucking death of him.

"Y-you have no idea how fucking stupid I feel for turning you down when all I want to-" He sighed. "I don't wanna do anything that you might regret."

You huff at that, does he not realize how desperately you want him? How badly you have wanted him all this time?

"Fuck, Eddie, just-" Fingertips graze his once you grab his rough hands, they are powerless in your hold, and you're quick to dip them down your pajamas, rubbing them against your cotton panties that are now entirely soaked with your juices. "Do you feel that?" Your voice is shaky, and low groans rumble in his chest, his focus on the road becoming dizzy.

It feels surreal, you begging for him, for his fingers, how wet your panties feel just because of him. His brain can't comprehend a thought, your name slipping past his lips like prayers.

He can't help but press his hand further against your panties, just to feel more of you, cock straining against his own cage of boxers, knuckles white from the harsh grip he has on the steering wheel.

And you can see the desperation in his eyes, spurring you more and more. "How fucking wet I am just because you squeezed my thigh? Do you think I'd regret anything when I'm this soaked for you?"

He can't help it, roaring the engine again before he abruptly comes to a stop on the side of the road, his mind too dizzy to comprehend anyfuckingthing. "Fucking christ, baby, I-"

You interrupt him again, head lulling to his side, giving him those desperate, lewd eyes again. "I've wanted this for so fucking long, Eddie, p-please, you said you'd help me sleep... relax, I'm more than okay with it."

You know he's on the verge of caving in, he wants this as much as you do. "Angel..." he mumbles, tone so pornographically lustful that you feel the need to show him how much you want him.

You shove his hands inside of your panties in frustration, and he groans lightly at it, fingertips run up and down your slit, never entering your hole, taking his time to fully feel how badly you want him.

He collects your wetness at the tip of his digits, smearing them over the hood of your clit, earning a shallow gasp from you, just enough to break him, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you're soaked," he grunts, eyes watching you hungrily.

"Mhmm, all for you," you hum, head thrown comfortably into the headrest, eyes lulling. He runs his fingertips over your sides, teasing, covering you in your juices, and all you can do is mewl for him.

A digit slips inside of you easily, making you moan so loud that Eddie's cock aches in the confinements of his sweats, admiring the way your mouth gapes at how good his fingers feel. "God, you're perfect like this, princess," he hums, fingertips circling around your clit, knowing exactly what to do to get you worked up.

It makes you whimper pathetically, turns out Eddie really does know you. So much so that all you want to do is cum on his thick fingers, have him take you home, make you bounce on his cock again and again.

He pushes another finger inside of you, watching the way your cunt takes his fingers all greedily. You're the one who's supposed to be high, yet he feels dizzy, so fucking dizzy that he can barely comprehend it.

This is all real, you just begged him to finger you, and now you're mewling on his fingers, pussy throbbing as he stretches you out slowly.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, listening to the sweet sounds of your whimpers, "doin' so good f'me," his praises drive you even crazier, and loud moans escape from your parted lips the more his thumb circles around your clit.

"So greedy, hmm?" He coos condescendingly, relishing in the pretty faces you make, his ring finger joining inside of your soppy cunt easily, "E-Eddie," you mumble, lost in him, fully.

His fingers pump in and out of you at a rough pace, getting you closer and closer to the edge, he can feel your cunt squeezing his ringed fingers desperately.

"You close, angel?" He grunts, and a sheen of heat creeps its way across your chest and up your throat at how good he is, all you can do is nod pathetically, too dizzy and too lost in his fingers to even speak.

You take your plump bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to stiffle your pathetic moans, but once he adds another finger, cold rings brushing against your clit, you can't help yourself.

"E-Eddie, fuck!" You moan, and he watches in awe, keeps his praises up, eager to see what you look like when you cum. He knows you'll be even prettier, screaming out his name, soaking his fingers in your pretty juices.

Your chest heaves with how much you're feeling him, stuffed full of his fingers, you can't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you. Shit, maybe next time.

You pathetically rut your hips into his fingers, and he groans so filthily that your body feels frail, "That's it, baby," he praises. "Use me, honey, use my fingers to get yourself off."

Your face contorts with the sweetest pain and pleasure, his fingers plunged deep inside of you, padded thumb still continuing it's circles. Once his fingers curl inside of you, you know you’re a fucking goner.

Each of his movements, his touch, ignites a fire within you that is heightened by the weed, you are so desperate to cum that you don't even realize how pathetically you've been soaking his fingers, so wet and Eddie relishes in it.

"Oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" You moan out once you feel that dizzying pleasure bubbling in your chest, he can feel your pussy flutter around his thick fingers, making his chest swell with pride. "Mhmm, just like that, darlin', cum on my fingers."

It's all the confirmation you need before you cry out his name again, back arching as pleasure explodes inside of your stomach, vision growing white and dizzy. Your fucked out face, pathetic moans, and your gaping mouth making Eddie's cock strain tighter and tighter, as if that’s even possible.

His fingers don't leave your soppy cunt until he makes sure you ride your orgasm out, relishing in the pretty expressions your face contorts to as you fall apart for him.

Bringing a stupid wide grin to his face that has you feeling giddier. The weight of what the two of you did doesn't dawn yet, you're too tired, too fucked out to care, and all Eddie can think about is going back to the trailer and rubbing one out while thinking about the pretty sounds you made, the pretty shapes your face took as you came on his fingers. His.

He'll think about how pretty your eyes look rolled all the way back inside of your head when he's slamming into you, cock stuffed inside of you, parted lips repeating his name like a fucking prayer. Your tight cunt fluttered around his cock, milking him dry.

With a groan, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking clean the remains of you, pathetically groaning at how sweet you taste. You watch him with lulled eyes, breath growing heavier, and if you weren’t about to pass out, you’d beg him for more, have his hard cock stuffed inside of you.

“Tastes so goddamn sweet,” he grunts, licking any taste of you left off his lips, your sweet juices engrained in his tastebuds.

You blink quickly to process all of it, mind numbed out. Fuck, he’s making this so goddamn hard for you.

“E—Eddie,” you say breathlessly, chest heaving as a shy smile appears on your lips, mind hazy as you try to form words. "T-that was amazing, shit."

"Yeah?" He beams, the praise is all he needs. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes glimmered at his words, air between the two of you was charged with a sweet tension. Breaths almost synchronized with the way both of your chests rose and fell on the rhythm of what just fucking happened. And all the feelings that led up to it.

You wanted to talk about it, take this further, maybe even continue back home.

But sleep began to settle inside of you, eyelids betrayed your pent-up feelings for him, already drooping in surrender.

And of course, Eddie knew by the sheepish smile you gave him, you were almost on the brink of sleep, and it was more important than his stupid feelings because the two of you had all the time in the world to talk about... whatever this was, tomorrow.

But if you lost your sleepy state, he knew you'd never get it back, “You sleepy yet?" He asked, thoughtful, caring gaze watching you intently, making you nod.

"Mhmm," you hummed, "But, Eddie..."

"Yeah?" He prompted, eager to soak up each and every one of your words.

"I don't want this to be a one time thing," you admitted, shyly, your heart leaping out of your chest in excitement.

"Thank fucking God." Slipped past his lips unintentionally, causing a hearty giggle to bubble up within you, easing away all of your worries.

Pools of warmth swam in his gaze, fully melting into you. "Me neither, sweetheart," he whispered, starting the car again, engine humming to life.

He met you with a saccharine smile. "But we have all the time to talk about that tomorrow, promise."

It hung in the air, the promise, almost like a warm hug engulfing you. All the confirmation you need.

"You just go to sleep, now, honey, I'll carry you inside," he urged, pressing a light kiss onto your forehead.

"T-thank you," you hummed, resting your head comfortably, deep slumber not taking long to find you while he watched intently, mind still running with thoughts of you.

Both of you had no clue what would happen with this; yet, you were now sure that this wouldn't remain as a one-time thing.

After all, you had a hard time sleeping almost every night, thankfully, you would now have Eddie to fix that.

[sunday-bug]

Can you write something about Bucky and reader having a pillow fight?

Light as a Feather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Content: maximum fluff

Synopsis: While babysitting Sarah’s boys, AJ & Cass, you meet the famous Uncle Bucky. Cue the giggles.

A/N: Thank you for this sweet request, anon! I hope you enjoy the featherlight fluff.

Whomp! You’ve been hit across the back of the head with yet another pillow. Sam’s nephews, AJ and Cass, were wild ones, but easy enough to babysit if you let yourself join in on their shenanigans. Tonight’s mission - a covert pillow fight. And you? You were losing. Painfully.

Another pillow smacked you in the chest and you heard a small tear as feathers exploded out of the side and littered the room. Oh no. Before you can assess the mess, you hear the back door lock click and the door open.

“We’re in here, Sarah! Don’t look at the mess!” You shout from the living room, but no answer returns. She must have called it an early night with her date. Footsteps creak on the floorboards and you wait expectantly to see her smiling face, but you are met with a strange man holding a crowbar. You immediately square your shoulders, shielding the boys behind you. The man smiles and waves, and the boys erupt in giggles, running to him yelling “Uncle Bucky!”

Oh thank God. They knew him. The boys are climbing his legs like a tree and hanging from his left arm. Ah, this must be the guy Sarah was telling you about.

“Hey,” he waves with his free hand, swinging the crowbar in the air. “I’m Bucky. Sorry, I thought Sarah would be here. Just need to grab a few tools for the boat.”

“Bucky. Yeah, Sarah has mentioned you. You’re Sam’s friend, right?”

“Yeah,” he clarifies, looking at the mess in the living room. Feathers, paper mache, Legos, and an empty pizza box complete the babysitting aesthetic you have going on.

You introduce yourself and smile sheepishly, ”I know it’s a mess, but I always tidy before I leave.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Were you guys having a pillow fight?” He directs the last question at the boys and they squeal in delight.

“Yes, Uncle Bucky, we were winning too!” They yell, continuing to barrage him.

Bucky sets the tool down on the kitchen counter and walks to the living room. He absentmindedly removes a feather from your hair like you hadn’t just met moments ago. “I can see that, boys. But it was two against one. How is that fair?”

The boys look at each other and shrug. “Uncle B, will you be on my team?” Cass asks with a smile that’s missing a front tooth. AJ groans, “Aww man, but she stinks at pillow fights!”

“Hey, let’s give her a chance for a rematch,” Bucky says as he hands you a couch pillow. You accept it as he pushes the coffee table out of the way, making room for a proper fight. You try not to watch the way his back muscles flex under his t-shirt. Cass and Bucky square up on one side of the living room, and AJ is on your side, using a pillow as a shield just like his Uncle Sam.

“3… 2… 1… go!” Bucky yells, and the chaos ensues. You hit Cass in the leg, he gets you back in the stomach. Bucky lets AJ pin him to the ground and smack him repeatedly in the chest and face.

“Man down!” AJ exclaims through giggles before standing up, triumphant. “I got you, Uncle B!”

Bucky fakes some heavy breathing and dusts the feathers off his shoulders, “You sure did, tough guy.” Bucky has a glint in his eye before he takes the pillow and whacks it into AJ’s side. The boys start to laugh again and start going at each other with the poor couch pillows. You plop down on the couch and watch, the night’s busy activities starting to catch up with you. The boys and Bucky form a huddle and start whispering so you can’t make out what they’re saying. Before you can make a move all three of them are coming toward you, pillows raised above their heads.

The attack is painless, and you can’t stop genuinely laughing as the boys giggle. You get a peek of Bucky between barrages and see a huge smile on his face. Your cheeks heat and you look away. You pretend they’ve killed you and lie limp on the couch.

The boys start to yell your name and shake you, still laughing. Bucky whispers to them, loudly enough for you to hear, “Maybe if you tickle her, she’ll wake up.”

You feel two sets of tiny hands on your arms and sides, digging in and tickling and you can’t help but open your eyes and laugh. Bucky is seated on the other end of the couch, watching you. You get up and get the boys both a glass of water and look at the clock.

“Ok, guys, time for bed,” you say. “Upstairs and in pajamas!” Thankfully they never fight you at bed time. They run upstairs and you turn to Bucky before walking up yourself, “It was nice to meet you. I see why Sam and Sarah speak so highly of you.”

He smiles and looks down, “Yeah, you too. I’ll let myself out.” You nod and walk up the stairs, feeling a bit unsatisfied.

The boys get into their pajamas and into their beds. After a quick story, you turn out the light. AJ is already asleep and Cass is drifting after your fun evening. You pad back down the creaky stairs slowly, ready to clean up the aftermath in the living room. You do a double take when you get downstairs. The Legos are picked up, now in the Rubbermaid container on the floor. The paper mache lions you made are sitting nicely on the coffee table which had been pushed back into the center of the living room. There wasn’t a feather in sight. You hear a creak and walk to the kitchen to see Bucky putting the pizza box in the recycling.

“Hey,” you say quietly, looking around. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No need to thank me. Want to catch the last few innings of the Mets game?” Bucky grabs two beers from the fridge and gestures to the TV. You take a beer.

“Um, yeah. Thank you,” you say with a slight blush. He makes his way to the couch and sits down, resting one arm across the back. You sit down in the middle, not too far but not too close. He turns the game on and you bring your feet up to rest underneath you. You didn’t realize how much the A/C was blasting when you were so warm from the pillow fight earlier.

“Cold?” He asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“A little,” you say, and he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and hands it to you. You smile and wrap it around yourself, feeling better. A few trapped feathers float out of the blanket, one landing on Bucky’s chest. He picks it up gently and holds it in his palm.

“Make a wish,” he says quietly, holding it up to your face. You smile and look at him, surprised by the sweet gesture. As you close your eyes to make a wish, you hear familiar giggling and your eyes snap open. Cass is standing at the foot of the stairs, peeking his head between the railings.

“Cass,” you say, “I thought you’d fallen asleep, kiddo.”

“Uncle Bucky, can I make a wish?” He asks, walking over to the couch.

“Sure, buddy,” Bucky chuckles softly, offering him the feather.

Cass closes his eyes and says his wish aloud, “I wish that Uncle Bucky would make you our Aunt.”

You and Bucky both look at each other, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks yet again, but Bucky doesn’t stop looking at you. You turn your gaze to Cass and smile, “It’s time for bed, buddy. You need me to tuck you in again?”

“No,” he says, shuffling back up the stairs. “G’night.”

“Night!” You both say in unison. You turn your eyes back to the baseball game, willing the blush in your cheeks to disappear. Bucky mutes the TV and turns to you.

“Some wish,” he mutters with a smirk.

“Kids. They say the darndest things,” you joke as Bucky puts his arm around you. “What’re you doing?” You ask as you lean into him, relishing in his warmth.

“Working on making that wish come true,” he whispers, turning the game back on and pulling you close.

🪶

[naffeclipse]

A Question

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

When I tell you that it is such a delight to have another commission from @vixenfoxpup, I mean it! We continue the tale of the news reporter, and the mob boss brothers from where we left off in the previous fic. The aftermath of the mob bosses taking the photo of the ex comes upon you while at work. Someone needs to ask you an important question. You don't know what to think or feel anymore, but you have to do what is right.

Content Warning for suggestive themes, implied abuse, death, and bruises.

———

A fan lazily blows on your desk, combatting the rush of heat that had descended upon the city. Some of your coworkers remarked that it might be the eternal punishment the city is owed and laughed off the omen. There are plenty of reasons to deem this city too far gone to be saved, but there are still good people, and you try to give them something to read that isn’t just murders and gang violence and another politician accepting bribes from a questionable source. 

Unfortunately, the page stuck into the top of your typewriter remains empty. You flick a pencil absentmindedly. Everytime you try to think of resources or someone to interview, or even simply put your fingers to the keys, your mind tumbles down into a dark wandering path.

It’s been a long week. Seven days since the mob bosses of the Celestial Gang entered your apartment and took the only evidence you held onto about your ex. You wish you had never kept such a memento. Now, you’re wondering what they’re doing with the photo—the brief flicker of happiness you had with your ex before it all got bad.

You brush the pencil against your wrists. The yellow marks of healing bruises have been wiped away, and the lingering signs of damage to your throat have disappeared like mud washed down the drain. As if it was all a bad dream after a terrible storm.

You’re grateful. You’re not sure you could endure more high-necked sweaters in these kinds of temperatures nor having your arms covered and hot. 

Shaking your head, you push the pencil behind your hair, half sliding into your hair, and straighten in your seat. Pushed into an attentive position, you churn through your mind. There has to be something you can write, anything.

Would Sun and Moon hurt your ex?

Maybe they wouldn’t leap to conclusions so quickly. Perhaps they wanted to know your history. If they had asked about any previous boyfriends, you’re not sure if you could have lied. At least, not well. 

You’re not going to have anything to give to the editor if you keep this up.

Groaning, you slump back and press your hands over your face.

You can’t think of anything but of what those two dangerous animatronics are capable of, and what motive that would spur them on to find the one who left you bruised and beaten, but not broken. No. You survived. You picked yourself up and kicked your ex out, and you were doing just fine—

Until the mob bosses picked you up in their car. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, right?

Footsteps hurry down the hallway. Your office is a destination, not something to pass on by. Removing your hands from your face, you straighten just as your open door is engulfed by your boss.

“Mr. Singh,” you say quickly, caught off guard. You reach up a hand to your typewriter, but how could you hide a blank page? You give up and fold your arms into your lap. You speak quietly, half-defeated, “I’m still working on my article.”

Mr. Singh is a big man who smiles wide with white teeth. He’s a great boss. You’ve had little issue working on his paper as he is one of the few good ones. The ones that actually talk about what’s going on in the city instead of skirting it with small, unnoticeable articles and minor notes before moving onto lighthearted happenings such as the mayor throwing a parade or the stock market statistics. 

And he might be wondering where your next piece is. It’s already well past lunch. 

“Relax, I’m not here to hound you,” he tugs on the flaps of his jacket, relaxed and confident, all at once. “I know you’re working up a storm on your next article. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You glance at the pale, empty paper on your desk then back to your boss. “What is it?”

You grimace at the thought of another grievance coming from someone high in authority not liking what you wrote. It wouldn’t be the first time. Your boss has little concern for those who seem to look down upon his paper simply because he is proud of it, no matter the cost. Which is a brave, albeit dangerous, thing.

“I received another compliment on my paper today. Do you know what a stranger told me, just before I walked into the building this morning?”

“I can’t imagine,” you confess, all while in awe.

“She said she found the article about the gang slayings down near the bridge disturbing, and that was the whole truth. There was nothing hidden nor brushed under the rug. She said she found your article unbiased and real.”

He laughs, fixing his suit jacket again.

“A lot aren’t brave enough to do that. Not in this city.” He holds your gaze. “But you are.”

A flinching, guttural spasm within you reflectively says ‘no’. You are not brave. You feel anything but. And the very words you wrote that seem to make you so defying might be exactly what got you caught in the crossfire of the mob bosses’ attention. 

You have no idea what might have been different if you kept your head low and never sought out more of the dark underworld dealings to put into your pieces. 

You squeeze your hands into a tight fist, hidden in your lap. You murmur, “Thank you, Mr. Singh.”

“Of course. I’m glad to have a reporter still willing to do good. Keep it up.” He tidies the collar of his shirt before flashing you his big, perfect smile again. “It’s good to see you doing better after getting rid of that no-good boyfriend of yours. You seem happier.”

You startle. For one moment of adrenaline surging fear, you wonder if he knows something, anything about your ex and the mob bosses. Then your senses regain control and you recover enough to mumble through a, “Yeah…”

Talking about your ex was never something you set out to do, but you did speak of him when you two were together, and then, you dropped off into silence. Mr. Singh noticed. He asked now and then, before you offhandedly mentioned that you were no longer together. He seemed glad for it, which you’re not sure how or why. You didn’t say that much, did you?

Maybe you didn’t have to. It was written underneath your skin, on your wrists and throat.

You fidget with your neckline before Mr. Singh levels you with a look that you do not want to decipher.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, waving to your desk, “and I can’t wait for the next article from you. Good luck!”

He departs from your office, carrying his big grin, and leaving you even more discombobulated than before.

What are you going to do? You sigh and brush your fingertips against your wrists, before glancing up to the paper, waiting for inspiration, waiting for you. 

There is something you’ve been thinking about and have yet to write. Maybe now would be a good time, no? You make a few notes, search up a few experts from little cards noting names and occupations that you might use as references and quotes, before you finally face your typewriter and put your hands to the keys.

The topic of domestic violence is difficult. It’s hush, and meant to be kept under wraps and behind make-up and under scarves. Maybe this could be a brave piece too.

You still don’t feel brave, but that’s never stopped you from going after the truth.

Only a few minutes pass by that you can cram into the beginning of the article before a sharp rap against your open door pulls you out of the working zone. You turn to find Mr. Singh, once again.

He’s not smiling.

“Is everything okay?” You try to stop your heart from dropping into your shoes, and fail. “Mr. Singh?”

“Come with me,” he says, his face serious. “You’re needed in the meeting room.”

“What’s this about?” you ask, standing up.

“Quickly now,” is all he says, before ushering you into the hallway. 

He wastes no time in pushing you towards the large room filled with a great table and many chairs, meant to serve as a gathering for the reporters and editors while discussing what goes into tomorrow’s paper. It’s not unfamiliar, but there’s a tension clinging to Mr. Singh’s shoulders. You try to ask him again what this is about. If he meant to discuss some serious matter with you about the backlash rising from one of the articles you wrote, he’d do so in his office.

The blinds are pulled down. There’s a shocking lack of cigarette smoke as usually rises from many of the employees in the building. When Mr. Singh opens the door, he looks you carefully in your face, once again, wishing you luck.

You step inside, much to your confusion. You’re met with a figure who freezes your blood into ice.

There, seated at the head of the table, is Police Chief Eclipse. 

An animatronic no less. You wrote about the day of his anointment, and his many promises and vows to clean up the city. He towers in the small chair. An almost unearthly presence with his clean, professional suit and golden optics that burn in the slightly shadowed space. A lone lamp burns, the light pointed toward a chair opposite of him—your chair, you must assume.

A female officer is seated close beside him. She holds a notepad. Her gaze is heavy, penetration underneath the brim of her uniform hat. 

You struggle to swallow a lump in your throat. She looks at you like you’re a criminal.

The police chief smiles. His face plate is dark and maroon, spanning out around his head in a crown of piercing rays. 

“Thank you for seeing me. This is Officer Cafarro. Would you mind taking a seat?” He gestures to the chair with the beam of the lamp set before it.

Upon numb legs, you reach the chair before sinking into it. The light falls between you both, highlighting a graveness to his expression despite his warmth. 

“What’s this about?” Your eyes snap between the officer and the police chief.

“I’m afraid I have bad news.” He faces you completely, his eyes burning low.

Your heart threatens to leap out of your chest. Did the mob bosses do something? Did they frame you? Maybe it could be any of the other plethora of enemies you’ve made. There is no reason for the police chief to visit you that does not spell danger.

You clench your hands tightly together.

“Louis Nelson was found dead in an alleyway several days ago.”

You don’t move, caught in the quiet. The inexplicable falls upon you. The echo of the impossible fills the room.

Your ex.

“Dead?” you repeat, almost inaudibly.

“Yes.” He pauses, and you realize you are under his observation. “He was murdered.”

Murdered?

No, no… that can’t be.

You start to shake your head. A burning blooms behind your eyes, and the world becomes blurry.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says with real empathy. He regards you quietly for a moment, “I need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you can do that?”

You blink against the fire and tears overflow down your face. You quickly wipe them away, smearing the liquid across your cheeks. Inhaling, you try to find strength somewhere deep within you. 

But you are horrified. You didn’t think—you didn't want to imagine that this is what the mob bosses would do when they found that photo. But what else would ruthless and dangerous crime lords do? Sun and Moon are violent and efficient. You have countless eye witnesses and testimonies you’ve recorded over the months to speak to that.

“It’s alright, you take as much time as you need.” The Police Chief sits patiently, and plucks a tissue from the box upon the table. He holds it out to you, the light from the lamp beaming on his metallic digits. Automatically, you take the tissue, but you don’t lift it to your eyes. You squeeze it in your hand.

Everything that’s happened, all that your ex has put you through—you never wanted him dead. You didn’t want him murdered and left in an alleyway like trash. You just wanted the hurting to stop. Did the mob bosses consider that? No. Why would they?

This doesn’t fix everything. It only makes the pain compound, built upon a layer of complicated emotions that you’re still trying to unravel from the relationship.

Sniffling, you push your shoulders back and face the police chief.

“What do you need to know?” you ask, water in your voice. You’re unable to lift your gaze entirely to meet the police chief. There’s still a blurriness to your vision you must blink away, then catch the tears that follow.

The female officer, Cafarro, digs into you with her gaze alone, but she makes a note as Police Chief Eclipse interlocks his fingers. As if gauging your strength, he sweeps a hard look up and down your person before speaking.

“Were you still in a relationship with Louis?” His optics lower, pulsing like embers in a hot hearth.

You finally use the tissue for its intended purpose, feeling foolish when the paper rips vigorously in your effort to wipe away the stains on your face. Defeated, you lower your hand back into your lap, sopping wet tissue paper torn down the middle.

The last time you saw Louis, you told him to never come back. That was for the best, wasn’t it?

“We broke up a while ago.” Your shoulders hitch with a sob. Steeling yourself with the muscle memory of your trade, you finally meet the police chief’s gaze. “How was he murdered?”

Your hand twitches, clenching the tissue as if it were a pen. But this is not a news article. You just have to know. You can’t look away from the brutality of it all with bliss and ignorance. Whether the mob bosses intended this, for you to be stained in their work, you will never know.

Eclipse pauses carefully, allowing the space to fill with your tight, sobbing breaths.

“He was beaten severely. There was also a gunshot wound to his temple.”

You stop breathing. Your mind turns violently, wondering how long he suffered before it was all over. Was it just a flurry of attacks before the deadly fire? Or was it drawn out, slow? Was he taken for several days or several hours? You have to think of the black car, driving slowly by, before your ex was forcibly stuffed into the vehicle and driven to a second location. Mob bosses don’t do their dirty work out in the open.

The nature of this violence is personal. Upclose, and only definitely delivering a blow that would end it all when there was nothing left to do. There was true hatred behind such an attack.

A churning in your stomach begins. You start to shake your head before stopping yourself.

“When did you last see him?” the police chief continues gently on, handling the gravity of the conversation with grace and compassion. 

You do not feel worthy of any of it.

“When we broke up,” you breathe. Clenching your fists, you ask, “Was he kidnapped before he was found dead?”

The animatronic tilts his head slightly. Officer Caffaro’s eyes briefly narrow before she scribbles another note down upon her paper. Your pulse is crashing in your ears, almost drowning out the police chief’s answer.

“He was reported to have missed his Saturday shift, and then his Sunday. He was found early Monday by a garbage collector.”

The blood turns to ice in your veins. Two whole days. 48 hours.

“Oh, no…” You press a hand over your face. 

No one deserves your ex’s fate. Not even him. You want to turn away, maybe find a garbage can to unload whatever remains from your breakfast, but you’re paralyzed. The reporter side of you wants the details, and needs them described in length, but the other wishes you never walked into this room today. 

��Where were you Friday night?”

“At my apartment,” you answer automatically, “I went to bed.”

“All night?” the police chief leans forward slightly. His presence nearly cuts into the lamp light, and you are very aware, suddenly, of how small and inconsequential you are. Well—not inconsequential enough, it seems.

“I slept all night,” you stress, much more deliberately. 

“Okay,” the police chief seems to believe you. Officer Caffaro, less so. “Do you have anyone who could verify your whereabouts that night?”

You stare. No, you don’t. Neighbors could have seen you go into your apartment, but any investigator wouldn’t stop at just that. There would be something more concrete, something that gives results—especially pointing into a singular, perfect conclusion. 

Swallowing thickly, you ask, “Do you know who’s responsible?”

“We’re still trying to determine that.” Police Chief Eclipse smiles in a way of reassurance, but it does not reach you as it should. 

You grow colder the longer you sit here, half touched by the shadows where the lamp light doesn’t quite reach.

Something else is going on. The intuition that pushes you further into a scoop has never failed you before.

“What is this really about?” you ask, as if holding your breath.

Officer Caffaro seems less than impressed, but the police chief spares her a glance. Quickly, she fixes her expression to something more neutral. 

You’re hit by the realization that this is an interrogation. Blindsided by the news of your ex’s murder, and left entirely off-balance, you grow sicker in the pit of your stomach. Clenching the arm chairs, you force yourself to sit up straighter.

Surely this should be the job of some detective, not the head of the police department. 

The police chief opens his jacket and removes a small bag labeled as evidence. He sets it upon the table, close to where you can see the contents within. 

The photograph. Upon it are little brown blots of something dried and dark. Your smiling face is left unmarred by the mess, somehow. The vision of your ex is nearly doused in the splotches. 

The amount of blood that could have reached such a small photo couples with the information of his demise. You must choke back a wretched sound, burying it in your throat. 

A dizziness spins you around and around, but you hold onto the chair for dear life. It was no accident that the photo was left there. Was it to get rid of the last remains of your previous boyfriend or to send a message or to simply frame you?

You don’t know anything anymore.

“Chief,” you say, over the sickness overtaking you, “Do you believe I’m responsible for this?”

You are, in a way. If you hadn’t let the mob bosses find the pictures, your ex would still be walking and breathing. 

“No.”

You lift your salt-burning eyes.

The police chief regards you with a mixture of pity and compassion, and he seems exhausted, somehow. The briefness of this crosses his face plate. Then, it’s gone in a flash of the lamp light.

“I remember your restraining order coming across my desk. I reviewed it personally.”

You stare, shocked into muted silence. He knows about your history with your ex? And he doesn’t find it suspicious that he’s dead and you would have good reason for wanting him to be so?

The police chief fixes you with a level gaze. “That photo came from your apartment. Is that correct?”

You simply nod in your confusion.

“There were reports of gang members being spotted near your apartment building a week or so ago. Some of those reports even said it appeared to be the leaders of the Celestial Gang. Did you see anything of that nature around that time?”

You fall back against the chair slowly.

He knows. 

And somehow, past your lips, falls the words, “You know.”

A look darkens his face, as if you confirmed exactly what he was hoping to not find.

You just did.

“Yes, I know.” He leans forward, and you do your best to not cower under his presence. “The mob bosses Sun and Moon have a connection to you. I have come here to ask for your help.”

You balke. This can’t be real.

“My help?”

“Yes. If you are willing.” He straightens, his expression somber. “You can help us make an arrest on the crime lords. But it will be dangerous.”

You look down to the tissue caught in your fist. Slowly, you unfurl your fingers. The crumpled and stained tissue unravels and falls to the floor.

It’s the right thing to do. They are criminals. They are violent and dangerous, and they have flooded the streets with their illegal dealings and bloodshed. They are the leaders of a vicious gang that nearly controls the city.

Then why do you hesitate? 

The slow touches of their hands. The swiftness of which they drag you close. The low purrs of their voices, pressed close to the shell of your ear. The way they acted upon seeing the bruises on your wrists and throat. It comes together in your mind, exploding into a kaleidoscope of colors, staining everything else.

You lift your head slowly. The shine of the light is harsh upon the police chief’s sun rays, almost cutting through the shadows of the rest of the meeting room. He waits, determined to have your answer.

You look back to the photo stained in what might very well be your ex’s blood.

You tell yourself to swallow it all down and do what is right. Because this is the right thing to do… right?

“I’ll do what I can,” you turn to the police chief, “but I’m not a good liar.”

“That’s alright.” He nods to officer Caffaro who begins writing furiously. “You need to only focus on what you’re doing. Be calm and clear. Do not show your fear or else they will know. We’ll take extra precautions as well. You need only to lure them into our designated spot. Then, you need only hold their attention until our officers have them surrounded.”

It seems so fast. You nod along, but you have no idea how you’re going to pull this off. The police chief gives you more details and additional instructions, a phone number to call, and where to arrange this meeting.

Really, it’s a date. 

“Thank you.” The police chief rises, and his expression seems heavier, much heavier than when he arrived. “Be careful.”

You only nod. He departs with the officer, and you are left in the silence of the meeting room before you decide to tell Mr. Singh that you have to go home early. He tries to grill you about the police chief, but you say it’s confidential, and that you promise you’ll inform him on the details when you are able, but really, you just have to escape. And you do.

You go for a walk at sundown. The night is thick and you feel a heaviness clinging to your body. The streets are not safe, but you trudge down them under each lamp light. 

What have you gotten yourself into? This isn’t a scoop. This is a plot. A takedown. Are you really going to lure in mob bosses and hope they don’t immediately gun you down when they realize you’ve set them up?

You don’t want to think about it: Sun and Moon getting arrested.

But it has to be done.

You return to your apartment, and you phone your seedy connections. She’s proven reliable in leading you to less than clear places involving gang activities, and she’s fine taking a cut from all of your hard work. But when you make it clear that you need a message delivered, she gets cold feet.

You push, and tell her that there’s a generous compensation. You just don’t tell her it will be funded by the police department. 

At last, she agrees.

So you sit down in the quiet of your apartment, half reeling, before picking up a pen and scrawling a letter to Sun and Moon.

You ask them to meet you for a date.

[sugurufic]

Nanami-Sensei (Nanami X F!Reader)

Summary: Your husband isn't that much of a grump, it seems. Especially when it comes to his favourite people; you and your "children".

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: reader is very motherly and is mentioned to be sunshine-y, other than that it's just fluff

masterlist

“Nanamin!” Yuji’s voice rang out in the empty classroom, bringing a smile to your face. Your husband let out an exhausted sigh, but the little smile on his face told you otherwise. Yuji was Haibara with pink hair, his sunny personality almost contagious. You figured your husband has a type of people he lets close - and it's most definitely the sunshine people, like yourself.

“What is it, Itadori-kun?” Kento asks in his deadpan.

“I saw these in the market and thought you might like them!” the pink haired boy said, holding up a small paper bag. “I bought some for you too, Nanami-san,”

“Thank you, Yuji,” You say, scooting over on the bench. “Why don’t you sit with us for a while?”

The boy’s eyes sparkle with delight as he accepts your offer, sitting beside you with his hands on the desk. Nanami’s brow is relaxed, and you know he enjoys spending time with Yuji as much as you do. “Nanami-san, won’t you open this?”

The bag smelled amazing, and the little box had some of your favourite doughnuts. You gave one to your husband, one to Yuji and took one for yourself. “How did you know I liked them?” you ask, a bright smile on your face.

Yuji swallows his bite quickly, then says, “Nanamin mentioned it yesterday when we were taking a break after exorcising a curse. We stopped by this shop to get doughnuts,” Yuji says, making Nanami look down quickly.

“Well, why don’t you come home with us?” You offer. “I’ll make us some spicy ramen. Then we can have the rest of the doughnuts for dessert.”

“We can pick some mochi up on our way home too,” Nanami says.

Yuji’s eyes sparkle, he is so full of life - your heart cries out for him - why did fate choose him to be Sukuna’s vessel? Why couldn’t he have been a normal child? You decide not to dwell on these questions, putting your best smile instead, hugging the young boy from his shoulders. He couldn’t yet spend time with his friends, and you wanted to keep his cheerful self for as long as he can. “Don’t think about it too much, Yuji.” You said. “We can watch a movie together.”

“Human Earthworm 4?” He says in a soft voice.

“Itadori-kun, it’s time for you to watch something else,” Nanami sighs.

“We can pick the movie later,” you intervene. “What do you say, Yuji? It will be a nice break for you to leave Jujutsu Tech for a bit,”

“Gojo-Sensei -” Yuji starts.

“He won’t say anything,” You assure him.

“Okay, Nanami-san!” He says, the bright smile returning to his face. “I’ll go see Gojo-Sensei once, then we can go!”

Yuji runs at an alarming speed, leaving you with a chuckle. “Isn’t he a lovely child?” you murmur to your husband.

“Indeed,” He says with a sigh, caressing your hand with his thumb. “He might be your son with how much energy and joy he has,”

“Well, he wouldn’t be just my son then.” You say with a coy smile. “And I think, that you might just have a type of favourite people,”

“People who are similar to you, my love,” He agrees. “But you will always be my favourite of them all.”

“I better be,” you giggle. “I am your wife, after all.”

It is adorable the way your husband has taken the child under his wing, acting as his mentor and protector - it makes you wonder how he would be with your own kids, loving and protecting them from the world. It makes you long for a normal life, where you could raise your kids without the permanent threat over them. The world you belong to is too dangerous for children.

“Nanamin! Nanami-san!” Yuji’s cheerful voice is back again, saving you from the dark thoughts forming in your head. He has a bright smile on his face and a backpack with him, ready to leave. “I’m ready!”

“Let’s go then,” You get up from your place, and wrap one hand around your husband’s hand and the other one hold’s Yuji’s arm. “A warm dinner is waiting for us back home,”

Nanami settles, with a sigh as Yuji begins to play Human Earthworm 4 on the television, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed between the two of you. You cannot help but think of Yuji as your child, even though you are too young to be his parents. He’s wonderful company to have around - helping you lift up your spirits with his contagious laugh and in general helping you in the kitchen as your husband took the laundry. Yuji is so animated, excitedly filling you in with the previous parts of the movie, doughnut box on his lap.

Hidden from Yuji’s eyes, Nanami has a rare, charming smile on his face as he watches the two suns of his life get close to each other. How you tousle the boy’s pink hair as if he’s your younger self, indulging in his gossip about everyone from school, about how his Gojo-Sensei has been teaching him, about how he misses Megumi and Nobora and wishes he can talk to them again.

Your eyes meet his behind Yuji, and you share a smile, a smile reserved for you two only. Yuji stills for a bit as the movie progresses and you take that time to set up the guest room for him - comforters, pillows, and toiletries. You know that inviting Sukuna’s vessel over to your home is dangerous, and you wonder why the King of Curses had to pick this sunshine in human-form of a child as his vessel.

“Nanami-san,” Yuji whispers, tiptoeing into the guest room. “Nanamin has fallen asleep,” 

“Oh?” You say with a grin. “I told him he should take a nap, but my husband just never listens. Come on, let’s get him a blanket.”

“Don’t you want to wake him up?” Yuji asks, confused. Wouldn’t it be better if he got into bed to sleep?

“He didn’t sleep last night,” You admit, fetching an extra blanket from the guest room’s closet. “He got up early to see you,”

Yuji’s face turns as pink as his hair, beginning to apologise, but you stop him. “My husband cares deeply for you, Yuji. Even though he doesn’t show it.” You say. “And I absolutely stand with him on the matter.”

“Nanami-san,” Yuji bows deeply in front of you, muttering words of gratitude and thanks and apologies for being a bother.

“Yuji, you’re just a child,” You say. “Don’t bother yourself with these worries. Now, let’s get a blanket for your Nanamin before he wakes up from the chill.”

You tuck your husband in on the sofa for the night, kissing his forehead before getting ready for bed. You’re in the kitchen getting some water when Yuji follows you too, sitting on the counter.

“Nanami-san, how did you and Nanamin meet?” He quietly asks, a rare moment of stillness from him.

“Oh, we met at Jujutsu Tech,” you say. “I made friends with Kento’s friend, and then we hung out together…” You are lost in thought of your youth, with Yu, Kento and your senpais. Suddenly, it’s Haibara Yu in front of you, telling you how he loves to eat, and would love a woman who loves to eat. You’re with Kento, comforting him after Haibara’s death, hugging him close as he cries on your shoulder. You’re with Shoko as she is told of Geto’s defection, and how he killed 112 villagers, including his parents. You’re the one Gojo reaches out to when Tsumiki gets her first period, panicking because he doesn’t know what to do as Megumi freaks out.

Then you’re back with Kento, as he tells you he is leaving the Jujutsu sorcery, because he cannot take it anymore. You’re right there with him, applying for a job in the corporate world because you fear if you stay a sorcerer too long, you might join Geto. No wonder they couldn’t catch him for years - you had helped him hide. No matter how much Kento believed in protecting the youth, protecting the defenceless, he couldn’t hate Geto, because he understood.

You are brought back to the present, at the sound of Yuji calling your name, and smile at him. “I was new there, and Haibara made friends with me,” You continue. “He wasn’t too different from you, so full of life. He was friends with Kento, and I started being friends with him too. Gojo would always pick on him for being an introvert, and I'd always tease him too. Then we joined corporate, and got even closer… and well, here we are.”

“Did Nanamin ask you out?” He asks, excitement returning to his eyes again.

“He did,” you say, recalling the big bouquet you had at your desk on a random Tuesday morning, signed by Kento. “He had to be thrown a lot of signs before he realised that I like him too.”

“He seems so closed off,” Yuji notes.

“He takes time to understand,” you admit. “All that toughness but he is a softie,” getting too lost in your thoughts, you decide it’s time to make some calming tea. You set the water to boil while Yuji brings out two cups while you mix up your tea and some herbs with a sugar cube.

“What do you love the most about him, Nanami-san?” Yuji asks.

You pour out the tea into the cups, taking a long sip before answering, “His heart,” you cannot help but smile at the thought of your husband. “He’s so kind, so patient. He’s just so… I love him,” you say with a delighted sigh. “He’s perfect,”

“I wish I can be like Nanamin,” Yuji says.

“You already are a great young man,” You are quick to reassure him. “Don’t change too much, Yuji.”

There’s a quiet knock on the door, and you quickly shift into high alert mode. Being a Jujutsu sorcerer came with his problems - namely enemies showing up unannounced. You reach for your cursed tool as you get to the door, looking at the door camera, relaxing and then panicking on seeing Ino Takuma. You quickly open the door with minimal noise and signal your finger to your mouth.

You give him a once over to see if he is injured, worry laced over your face. Once sure that he seems okay, you escort him back into the kitchen, locking the door after him. Ino smiles seeing a sleeping Nanami, his grin only widening on seeing Yuji. “Itadori,” he greets in a whisper.

“Yo! Ino-senpai,” Yuji 's eyes widened, his boy-ish face making your heart ache with love for him. He’s just a boy, thrust into the middle of everything. 

You set the kettle to the stove again, as Ino helps himself to some cookies from the shelf. Now with a hot cup of tea in each pair of hands, you tiptoe to the guest room, careful to not disturb your husband’s slumber. Heavens know that he deserves it.

“Takuma-chan, what brings you here tonight?” You ask, sitting on the only chair in the room while Ino and Yuji sit on the bed.

“I was fighting a curse, it seemed a bit stronger than grade 2.” He says. “It was close by. I didn’t have the strength to return home and stopped by.”

Yuji’s curious eyes fly between the two of you, wondering if he will ever feel free enough to show up uninvited. “Takuma was Kento’s first student,” you tell a confused Yuji. “He was there when my boyfriend turned to my fiancé.”

Your mind flies back to a happier time, about three years ago when Kento and you had planned a date to a fancy place but you two dragged Ino with you, he’d just successfully completed his solo first mission and you wanted to celebrate. But the restaurant didn’t know that - and hence you got a surprise pastry with a ring box on it, with your first ever child witnessing your pure joy.

“Nanami was not very delighted by me being there,” Ino notes.

“Tch, Takuma-chan I thought you knew him better,” You pout.

“He always acts like a grump,” Ino says, making you and Yuji chuckle. 

Your first child with your latest, you think, smiling at the two of them. Your husband does have a specific type for people who he lets get close to him - people like you - who are insufferable sunshine, pushing into his grumpy space with your bright smiles and twinkling eyes that he can't help but want to protect. 

[noorpersona]

Husbandry: Hinata

🌸HAPPY MOTHERS DAY🌸

--

You woke to the faint sound of whispering just outside the bedroom door.

More like stage-whispering — the kind of exaggerated hush only little kids thought was stealthy. Paper crinkling. The unmistakable squeak of sneakers on the hallway tile. A heavy tray shifting in nervous hands. Then—

“Wait, don’t open the door yet, I forgot my card!” “But I wanna go first—” “No pushing! The juice is gonna spill again—!” “Shhh!! Mama’s sleeping!” “You’re yelling.” “You’re yelling!”

You couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips as you lay still, eyes closed, pretending to sleep for their sake. The hallway fell into temporary silence — the plotting kind — and then, finally, the door creaked open with excruciating slowness.

Footsteps padded in.

You opened your eyes just in time to see one of the kids peeking over the edge of the bed, their messy curls haloed in the morning sun pouring through the curtains.

“Hi Mama,” they whispered, wide-eyed and delighted. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

A second pair of eyes popped up beside the first, their grin missing a front tooth. “We made you breakfast!”

And behind them—Shōyō. Taller now, broader in the shoulders and lean with the kind of strength built from years of training, yet still unmistakably him. His copper hair was slightly tousled from the morning rush, the ends brushing just below his ears, and his cheeks were sun-kissed, always a little pink from running around with the kids. He held the tray carefully in both hands, arms steady, the veins in his forearms faintly visible under golden skin. His shirt clung to his frame, soft and worn with time, and his mouth tugged up into that sheepish, dimpled smile he always wore when trying not to laugh at the chaos he’d somehow greenlit.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he said softly, stepping forward to set the tray in your lap. “I didn’t let them use the stove this time, promise.”

You blinked down at the tray. Pancakes — three of them, each cut into a slightly different lopsided heart. There were rainbow sprinkles scattered across the top and syrup pooled in the corners of the plate like it was trying to escape. Two strawberries, one already missing a bite. And orange juice, somehow pulpy and fizzy at the same time, in a pink plastic cup with a bendy straw.

But the best part — the part that made your throat catch — were the cards.

Two of them, folded construction paper and glitter glue, held proudly in your kids’ hands. One was covered in misshapen flowers and the words "I LOVE MAMA!!!" in three different crayon colors. The other just had a scribbled drawing of you with sparkly hair and wings, labeled “Fairy Mama” with an arrow.

You held out your hands and they immediately crawled onto the bed, sandwiching you in their warm, wiggly affection. One of them tried to feed you a bite of pancake with their fingers. You accepted it without complaint, letting them giggle as syrup stuck to your lips.

“Did you two help Papa with all this?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Uh-huh!” one beamed. “I made the juice!”

“And I put extra sprinkles because that’s your favorite!” the other said proudly.

Shōyō settled at the edge of the bed, watching the three of you with soft eyes. His hair was slightly damp — evidence of a quick morning rinse — and he still smelled faintly of the lemon-scented dish soap you always bought. He wore one of his old MSBY shirts, faded from too many washes, clinging slightly to his frame.

“I tried to get them to wait until you were fully awake,” he said, brushing a hand over your ankle beneath the blanket. “But they were very sure they’d explode if they didn’t surprise you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “You too, mama.”

Another bite of pancake was offered and taken. A strawberry was pressed to your cheek like a sacred offering. And finally, one of the kids tilted their head, hopeful and tentative.

“Do you like it?”

You looked around at all of it — the tray, the sticky fingers, the bent paper cards covered in glitter and pride — and felt your chest warm like the sun had cracked you open from the inside.

“I love it,” you said sincerely. “I love you.”

They beamed. A set of sticky arms flung around your neck. The other planted a syrupy kiss on your cheek.

Shōyō chuckled softly. “Alright, alright — let Mama eat her food, yeah?”

“But I—”

“Go play,” he said, ruffling their hair as he stood. “Auntie Natsu’s coming to pick you up soon.”

There were a few grumbles, but they complied. One more round of quick kisses and tight squeezes, and they scampered off — dragging glitter, crumbs, and laughter behind them like a comet’s tail.

Shōyō turned back to you once the room had quieted. He leaned against the bedpost, watching you with that look again — part reverence, part mischief.

“Natsu’s coming in an hour or so,” he said. “Figured you could use a break.”

You glanced at the tray in your lap. “Peace and quiet?”

“Or,” he said, grinning, “I could go with them and give you the house to yourself…”

He took a step closer, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach flutter. “Or I could stay here. With you. Keep the kids out of your hair, make you feel good—really good—for the rest of the morning.”

You arched a brow. “Shōyō.”

His voice dropped, all teasing. “What? I’m just saying — I’m very versatile.”

Your heart flipped.

Before you could respond, he stepped forward and reached into the back pocket of his sweatpants, pulling something small and neatly wrapped in brown paper. “Also,” he said, voice gentling, “this is from me.”

You blinked, surprised. He placed the package in your hand — light, but clearly something solid tucked inside. When you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was a delicate bracelet — a fine gold chain with a small, charm-like pendant at the center. A tiny sun, etched with the faintest smiling face.

“It reminded me of you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The kids are the whole sky, but you’re what keeps everything bright.”

You looked up at him, eyes stinging just a little. “Sho...”

He leaned down to help clasp it around your wrist, his fingers brushing yours. You set the tray aside without thinking, reaching to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug — warm and full and content.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, sweet and lingering.

When you pulled back, he was grinning.

“Your lips are all sticky,” he murmured, laughing softly.

“You kissed me anyway,” you said.

“I’ll always kiss you,” he replied simply.

Outside, the kids shrieked with laughter as something toppled in the hallway.

And inside — the world narrowed to the warmth in your chest, the gift at your wrist, the cooling pancakes on the nightstand, and the man who’d built this chaos with you, morning by syrupy morning.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[poekaryote]

dates! (arcade chuuya, bookstore dazai, carnival nikolai)

chuuya.

he waits for your expression when you step into the arcade, and it’s so worth it. your eyes light up like the neon ceiling, mouth parting just a little in delighted surprise.

"you planned this?" you ask, laughing as the colorful chaos of games and flashing lights swirl around you.

“course i did,” he says, like it’s obvious. like he didn’t spend half the week checking which machines were working and which games spit out the best prizes. “what, you think i bring just anyone here to win stuffed animals and shoot aliens?”

you raise a brow. “so you admit you’re going to win me stuffed animals.”

his smirk twitches wider. “bet your ass i am.”

you two start with the claw machines, and chuuya acts like he’s completely cool about it — like it’s totally fine when his first attempt drops the plush bunny right at the edge.

he exhales through his nose. “alright. okay. warm-up round.”

you stifle a giggle behind your hand. “mmhmm.”

second round, the claw grabs a purple octopus by the tentacle and flings it halfway across the machine.

“alright, now it’s personal.”

you’re cackling by now, leaning against his shoulder, and he mutters a string of half-hearted curses under his breath as he tries again. this time, there’s silence. tension. total focus.

and then — the claw jerks, drops a sleepy-looking yellow cat plush perfectly into the chute.

you gasp. “you did it!”

he puffs out a breath like it was nothing. “told you.”

you cuddle the prize close, and his chest tightens just a little when you say, “he looks like you.”

“what?! i do not look like that lazy little—” you grin. “you totally do.”

he groans but doesn’t protest when you take a picture of him holding it. he even smiles when you kiss his cheek after.

then it’s off to the shooting games. alien invasion. dual blasters. a timer ticking down. he picks the pink gun without hesitation and hands you the blue one.

“let’s go, sharpshooter.”

you’re terrible at first. laughably bad. chuuya ends up doing most of the work while you scream at the flashing targets and accidentally hit a civilian on-screen.

“you just shot a scientist, baby.”

“he looked suspicious!”

he snorts. “yeah, with his clipboard and lab coat.”

but he doesn’t mind. he’s standing behind you the whole time, arms bracketing yours as he guides your aim, whispering, “there—left corner—got it,” into your ear like it’s life or death.

you end with a C+ score and a sweaty grin, and chuuya acts like you just saved the world.

“we make a good team,” you hum, bumping your shoulder into his.

“hell yeah, we do.” he slings his arm around you, pulling you close like it’s instinct. “but next time, we’re doing the dance machine.”

you squint. “you dance?”

“i don’t just dance.” he leans in, grinning. “i dominate.”

you burst out laughing, and he kisses the side of your head like it’s the easiest thing in the world. he doesn’t say it aloud, but your laughter in this place full of noise? it’s the only sound he really cares about.

dazai.

you should’ve known bringing dazai to a bookstore was a trap.

“this one’s boring,” he says, pulling a thick hardcover from the shelf without even flipping it open. “too many metaphors, not enough meaning.”

you blink. “have you read it?”

he hums. “twice. once in italian.”

you stare at him. he stares right back.

“okay, next aisle,” you mutter, grabbing his hand before he can launch into a mini-lecture on why the protagonist should’ve just accepted death by chapter five.

the bookstore is massive — three stories tall, with creaky wooden staircases, dusty sunlight filtering through skylights, and couches scattered in cozy nooks. the air smells like paper and old perfume, and the entire place feels a little magical.

dazai fits into it effortlessly.

“you know,” he muses as you explore the second floor, “there was a summer when i tried reading a book a day. i got through the entire modern fiction section in two months.”

“how do you remember them all?”

he grins. “i don’t. i just remember the ones that made me feel something.”

you pause near a display. “and did any of them?”

his smile dims. “a few.”

you don't press, and he doesn't offer. instead, he trails behind you as you wander toward the poetry section.

when you pull a thin volume off the shelf, he tugs it gently from your hands.

“may i?”

you nod.

he flips it open, scans the page, then reads aloud softly — voice low and rich, eyes fixed on the words.

you stop pretending to browse. you just watch him.

his tone is gentle, deliberate, like he’s trying not to wake the sleeping dust in the spines. it’s the kind of voice that wraps around you like a blanket. even the sentence breaks feel intimate.

“that’s beautiful,” you say once he finishes.

he shrugs. “the poet was a bit of a mess. like most brilliant people.”

you hum. “you included?”

“me? oh no, i’m just a mess.”

he grins at you sideways, and you roll your eyes.

he wanders off to “curate a small selection for your enlightenment,” and returns twenty minutes later with six books he insists you must read — a mix of philosophy, history, weird surrealist fiction, and one comic book “for balance.”

he doesn’t say anything when you add a romance novel to the pile, just raises a brow and mutters something about “predictable tropes.” you promptly bonk him with it.

when you finally check out, arms full and stomach growling, dazai tugs you toward the café tucked into the corner of the third floor. you sit across from him with hot drinks and a slice of cake to share, and for a moment it’s all soft warmth and turning pages and the occasional sound of dazai mumbling a line to himself under his breath.

“did you have fun?” you ask.

he props his chin on his hand, watching you with an unreadable expression. “i always have fun with you.”

then, after a beat, his voice quieter:

“but today was… nice. really nice.”

you reach across the table and link your pinky with his.

he doesn’t let go. not for a long time.

nikolai.

“step right up, step right up! behold— the world’s silliest boyfriend and his lovely assistant!”

“nikolai, please stop standing on the bench.”

he’s wearing a comically large paper crown (won from a ring toss game that he 100% cheated at), waving a cotton candy stick around like a magic wand. he bows deeply, nearly dropping the bag of popcorn he made you hold five minutes ago.

you sigh and offer him a bite anyway.

“your wish,” he says between chews, eyes glittering in the neon light, “is my command, sugar plum.”

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you thought it. and i heard it.”

he spins you by the hand without warning, then tugs you forward until your forehead taps his chest. he laughs— delighted, dizzy with sugar and thrill. the noise of the carnival is loud— bells ringing, kids screaming, pop music playing out of tune somewhere— but with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, it feels like you're inside your own little kaleidoscope.

“what should we do next?” he asks. “ride the ferris wheel? win more stuffed animals? sneak into the funhouse and rewire all the mirrors so everyone looks like me?”

you snort. “that sounds like a lawsuit.”

“that sounds like a dream, darling.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer before dragging you toward the games again. you lose track of time as he flits from booth to booth like a magpie— collecting prizes he immediately gifts to you, including:

a lopsided frog plushie he names boing.

a plastic ring he puts on your finger like it’s a proposal.

a tiny fake mustache he insists you wear (you don’t).

when you pass the face painting booth, he gasps like he’s been shot.

“can we?” he begs. “can we can we can we please get matching clown makeup?”

“absolutely not.”

five minutes later, he has red triangles on his cheeks and “i ❤️ [your name]” scrawled across his forehead in sparkles. you somehow have hearts drawn on your hands without consenting to this.

you go on rides next. he convinces the carousel operator to let him stand on top of a horse instead of riding it normally (“for balance training!”). on the bumper cars, he rams into you repeatedly, yelling “drive better, sweetheart!” while laughing so hard he nearly cries.

you do not go in the haunted house. he wants to. you put your foot down.

“but i want to see you scream and grab onto me like i’m your knight in chaotic armor!”

“you do that even when we’re just getting groceries.”

he concedes. barely.

as the night winds down, he gets quiet in that rare, strange way— like a lull in a storm. he tugs you toward the edge of the carnival, away from the crowds, and finds a quiet spot under a string of fading lights.

“you looked happy today,” he says, softer now. “like… really happy.”

“i was,” you reply, reaching for his hand.

he squeezes it, twirling your fingers between his like ribbon. “i know i’m a lot,” he adds, voice tipping into something more sincere. “but i hope i make you feel like the world is a little more magic.”

you smile. “you do.”

he grins, lopsided and proud. then leans in.

“okay but… did you see how cool i looked on the carousel though—”

you kiss him to shut him up.

cotton candy on his lips. glitter on his cheeks. laughter curling warm between your ribs.

it’s the best date ever.and he makes you take boing home.

a/n i wanted to do poe but like he can only ever be in a bookstore and dazai already is :( also i just couldn't figure out bakery atsushi so i scrapped it. i might do a part 2 with other favs :) reply with who you want in part 2!

[frost-queen]

Tempting fate // part 2 (Reader!Featherington x Colin Bridgerton)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @esposamultifandom, @dutifullyannoyingfox, @markive-m, @wolf-phoenix-lover, @mellowdreamlandpost-blog

Summary: Lady Whistledown strikes, making your family suffer underneath her swift pen. Will her wrath push Colin away or while he stand his ground and stay? [ part 1 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10]

Dearest gentile reader,

This author finds herself compelled to share this news. The ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you; Y/n Featherington. The middlest of Featheringtons. One would ask what might occur for her name to fall of interest to this author. Well let this author share you all about Y/n Featherington…

Papers got stacked on each other. – “Get this out immediately. Those were the orders.” – one of the boys said taking a stack of pamphlets and giving it to the little kid. The kid nodded and ran out of the door. – “The latest Whistledown edition!” – he called out waving a pamphlet in his hand. No one was around yet on the streets, yet he felt compelled to shout it. Running as fast his little legs could carry him, he went to deliver an edition at each house of the ton.

Lady Featherington was still in her nightwear when she got woken up. A pamphlet of Lady Whistledown given to her. Baffled she accepted the pamphlet that got placed in her hands with haste. She turned the pamphlet around so she could read it. Her gaze fell immediately on a name. Her daughters name. Before reading anything more, she rushed out of her room. Knocking on each door of her daughter’s rooms. – “Wake up children!” – she called out.

You opened the door, rubbing your eye. – “What is it mama?” – you questioned as your sister Penelope appeared in her door opening as well. – “All of you downstairs.” – your mother spoke excitedly. – “What for?” – Philipa yawned out . You shrugged your shoulders at your sister, following Prudence down the stairs. Philipa groaned annoyed, ruffling her hand through her bed hair.

Penelope was the last to go downstairs, not having said a word. Mama orchestrated for you all to sit down. Philipa and Prudence sat beside each other. You sat before them on the ground. Penelope sitting alone in an armchair. – “We have been mentioned.” – mama spoke delighted, showing them the pamphlet.

“We have?” – Philipa answered curious. – “Was I mentioned too?” – Prudence asked. – “Y/n was.” – mama spoke as your eyes widened. – “I was?” – you spoke cautiously. Prudence lowered her hand on your shoulder. You took it, giving it a comforting squeeze. – “This is excellent news girls. We are finally getting noticed. Lady Whistledown finally agrees just how important we are as a family.” – mama went on. You looked up to your sisters with a hopeful smile.

You wanted nothing more for your sisters to receive the attention of noble men. For your family had not been so lucky in finding a match. – “Have you read it properly?” – Penelope said making you all look at her. Mama chuckled nervously. – “Well no… but what wrong can she write about my girls?” – Mama replied slowly getting insecure.

Philipa extended her hand wanting to read the pamphlet. Philipa got up approaching mama as she wasn’t getting it as fast as she wanted it. Philipa took the pamphlet from her, reading the first lines out loud till her words faded out to a whisper. Her eyes wide.

“What is it?” – you asked seeing the worry in your sister. – “Philipa?” – Mama spoke frightened. Philipa lowered the pamphlet, looking over at you. – “It’s about you sister… not in the nicest way.” – Philipa answered. – “Let me see.” – mama snatched the pamphlet out of her hands to read it for herself. Her hands clenched around the paper, her expression hardening. – “What is it?” – you repeated more worried.

Mama started reading a bit out loud. A section where all your flaws were openly explained. Your insecurities. How you would seduce any man just for attention. How from between your sisters, you might have the ugliest personality. Lies spread out in ink as you were none of those. Mama gasped desperately touching her forehead in distress.

You turned your head, laying it against your sister’s knees, sobbing loud. Prudence lowered her hand on you, wanting to comfort you. – “But mama that isn’t true.” – Prudence spoke defending you. – “It doesn’t matter if it is true or not! The entire ton will read this!” – she threw the pamphlet on the ground from distress.

You wiped some tears away, reaching for the pamphlet. You wanted to read it for yourself. See how lady Whistledown had dragged you through the mud. Ruined perhaps your reputation forever. For who would want to marry such a disgrace now? A girl who found pleasure in seeking men’s attention till they bored her out and she needed another one.

Reading the insults about you, made you cry loud. Prudence took the pamphlet from you, tearing it apart. You looked at your sister Penelope. Seeing her avoid eye contact. Her emotions well-hidden as she appeared unbothered. – “I am sorry mama.” – you cried out not sure why you were apologizing. Mama needed to sit down, too distressed to respond. You got up running up to your room, crying your heart out.

At the Bridgerton house it was still early. A few siblings in the Parlor. There was a knock on the door. Eloise gasped excitedly, jumping up. She rushed up to the man with a platter. A few editions of Lady Whistledown on them. She grabbed one eagerly, reading it with a flush on her cheeks. Her excitement faded out as she read more. – “What is it Eloise?” – Violet asked curious. – “Is it not exciting?” – Violet finished. – “No.” – Eloise responded. – “It is rather hurtful.” – she went on.

“Hurtful?” – Benedict questioned. – “It doesn’t feel like Lady Whistledown.” – Eloise outed. – “What has she written then?” – Anthony wanted to know. – “It’s all about Y/n Featherington.” – Eloise responded. Colin’s head lifted up with wide eyes.

He got up, going over to her to take the edition from her. He read a few lines as his expression tensed. – “Colin?” – Violet blinked confused when her son stormed out of the Parlor without a word. Violet asked for an edition, wanting to read for herself. She gasped, pressing her hand against her chest.

There were loud knocks on the door. Rushed and demanding to be opened. The door opened as he barged in, out of breath. The door from the Parlor opened as Penelope walked out. – “Oh Colin.” – she said happily at the sight of him. – “Why are you here?” – she asked curious. Colin rushed over to her, holding the pamphlet up. – “Where is Y/n?” – he wanted to know. Penelope changed her attitude just a smidge. – “Has she read this?” – he asked panting.

Penelope nodded. Colin exhaled concerned, wanting to move passed Penelope. Penelope moved, blocking his way. – “She doesn’t want to see you.” – she spoke. Colin stared with furrowed brows at her. – “I just want to speak to her. Make sure she is alright.” – Colin insisted upon, stepping aside, but Penelope followed his movement, blocking his path once more.

“She doesn’t want you.” – Penelope outed making Colin stared shocked down at her. Colin held the pamphlet up again. – “Lies! All of this are lies about Y/n. How can you stand here so coldly when your sister has been hurt?” – he wanted to know why she acted so coldly or unbothered. – “How am I to know it isn’t true?” – Penelope responded.

Colin gasped surprised. – “She’s your sister!” – he called out to her. – “Y/n would never…” – he breathed out. – “I must ask you to leave.” – She spoke showing him the door. – “But…” – Colin sputtered against her, but got pushed back by her. She practically showed him out. The door got slammed in his face. Puzzled he stared at the door, not familiar with that side of Penelope. With no other choice, he returned home. Hoping his actions might have not been the cause for these lies.

He never intended for you to be targeted. In that moment, he just wanted to show you, that his subtle signals had been projected onto you. It was you who he wanted to court. It was you who he felt compelled to marry. Not your sister Penelope. It was innocent to kiss you. He should’ve never done it, but he needed a way for you to see. For you to finally think of yourself instead of always thinking of your sisters first. Always putting them to the front and chase after their happiness while you forgot about yourself.

That was who you were. A sister who would defend and glorify your sisters at any given time. Not whatever lies lady Whistledown wrote about you. If he was being honest you had been pushing him away at any given time. Ignoring his clear signals as you could only think of your sister’s interests. Being blind that there was someone interested in you.

Mama took a deep breath. Tapping the fan in her hand into her palm. It was the clear the attention was on them. Phillipa and Prudence looking uncertain around. – “Chins up girls.” – Mama said with a plastered smile. You gulped soft, bringing your chin up to own your pride. Prudence took your hand for comfort. All of you started to walk. The crowd parting as you made your way through. It was almost unbearable to ignore the whispers. Seeing them huddle together to gossip.

Their glances and subtle points at you. You knew it must hurt your mama to be threated like this. The ton’s gossip as it did another dent in your reputation. One the Featheringtons didn’t have highly. It was hard to keep your head up. Hands were shaking as you rather disappeared. Be invisible than be the centre of attention. Prudence squeezed your hand tighter, feeling them shake in hers.

Mama took a position in the room near the walls. She started fanning herself from the nerves. Everyone was still watching, staring, gawking at you. Mama slapped her fan hard in her hand with a mean glare. Some men cleared their throats, looking immediately away. They slightly turned their posture to chatter again.

You stood beside mama, seeing how everyone did a great turn around you. Not daring to come near as if you had some sickness. – “Mama, perhaps I should head home.” – you told her. Thinking your presence was causing the illness. You were after all the reason for the gossip. – “No!” – mama answered firmly. – “That would not change anything.” – she sighed out. You hated being the cause of her worries. Deep down, you knew a part of her was disappointed in you.

Discontent you had shone such a light on the family. Your gaze fell on your sister Penelope. Seeing a certain glance in her eyes, made you furrow your brows. Something bitter in them. Holding her gaze felt threatening as you quickly looked away. – “This was supposed to be our season.” – Mama spoke, slapping her fan down her dress.

“Now look at us.” – She started fanning harder with one hand on her hip. – “Can we fall any lower?” – she sighed out. Feeling called out, your eyes became watery. You bowed to mama, before your tears could run like water. Leaving their side to disappear into the gardens. Wiping your cheek, you couldn’t hold it dry.

Hastening outside, you were greeted by a cold breeze. – “Y/n!” – you heard your name being called out. Seeing over your shoulder, it was Colin. Shaking your head, you kept walking. Colin rushed over not letting you slip through his fingers. – “Y/n.” – he said loud catching up on you. Out of breath, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop. – “Y/n.” – he repeated softer, tugging on you, wanting you to look at him. You sniffed loud, wiping your cheek dry. – “I’m so sorry.” – he spoke with a saddened look.

You turned your posture more to him. – “It’s not your doing.” – you answered. – “I shouldn’t have…” – he shook his head feeling dumb. His gaze met up with yours once more. – “Please…” – he brought his hand up, letting it brush against your cheek. You smiled saddened between the tears. You took his hand that laid against your cheek, bringing it slowly down. – “You shouldn’t be seen with me.” – you replied taking a step back from him.

“I do not care.” – he outed. Shaking your head, you turned around, walking off. – “Y/n.” – Colin called out, coming after you. – “Think of your reputation Colin.” – you told him. – “The hell with it!” – he shouted putting you to a stop.

“The hell with it all!” – he added with wide arms. – “Colin!” – you called out returning to him with fury. – “It is not because you were not mentioned yet, you wouldn’t be mentioned by her.” – you told him with frustration. – “Let her do her worst.” – Colin answered in seriousness. – “You don’t understand Colin, this was personal.” – you told him till something cliqued.

This was personal. Things had been mentioned only those closest to you knew. Things Colin didn’t even know. Looking past Colin, your gaze focused on the glass windows from top to bottom. A bright yellow figurine catching your eyes. Narrowing your eyes, you saw her clearer. Penelope.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[teliphone]

Rank F

Summary: Baekyeon Girls High School isn’t your typical day-to-day high school. We run in a voting game system of A - F rank where the students get to vote for their classmates on an app called Pyramid Game. The more votes you get, the higher you will rank. Level A students have power over students while F is the opposite. I accepted the offer letter to go to this school without thinking deeply. Level A student, Baek Harin is there to protect me in exchange for myself. Would I be able to escape this messed-up game or fall helplessly?

Warning(s): Bullying, Hitting, Threats, Guilt, Emotional Manipulation, Overstimulation, Smut, Fingering, Oral, Sub!Reader, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink 

Word Count: 7.2k

-

I shift uncomfortably on the single-cushion couch. I glance around the office, examining the architecture and interior. Compared to my current school, this one is much better. It is clear that whoever owns this school is rich. I clench onto my offer letter. 

“Ahem,” The head chief clears her throat. I snap my attention back to her. She holds her hands together on the desk and smiles. 

“Thank you for being patient with our meeting time. My schedule has been hectic, but I am glad we agreed on a day. Now, what is the question you have been asking?” She questions. I unfold the letter and place it on her desk. She tilts her head to the side as she reads the message. Her eyebrows lift with a delighted hum.

“You have been offered to go to Baekyeon Girl’s High School,” She beams. I blink at her in confusion. She continues smiling as she waits for me to speak. 

“But I didn’t do anything to get this offer,” I explain. She purses and puckers her lips. 

“Well, you see… This is a special offer letter,” She points at the signature on the bottom of the letter, “The president must have heard good things about you which resulted in you receiving an offer letter.”

“Who would tell the president about me? I don’t know anyone who goes here,” I try not to sound tense. 

“There are many students that go to this school, I am afraid I can’t figure that out. But whoever requested for you must have done a good job influencing the president,” She chirps. She brings her hands over to the cup of pens. She plays around with it a little. 

“Are you interested in taking the offer?” She asks with a calm voice. I look down at the letter, deep in thought. I have heard good things about Baekyeon Girls High School. Most of the high-power parent’s daughter goes here. If I go to this school, I may have a chance to become friends with them. It sounds selfish, but this is where I can network. What if I meet one of their parents? My mind buzzes with future opportunities that I might receive. 

“Yes.”

-

I nervously brush my uniform: classic white button-up, black tie, and a long black skirt. Today is the first day of attending this school. The head chief offers to walk me to my classroom. The walk is quite longer than I expected. The classroom is on the far left of the building. I glance around and notice how quiet the halls are. She stops in front of a door and turns to face me. 

“This is the room. You know where to find me if you have any more questions. Welcome to Baekyeon Girls High Y/n,” She smiles and leaves me. I nervously gulp while staring at the door. I feel small compared to the door all of a sudden. I slide the door open which causes all the students to pause and stare. I anxiously walk over to the professor. I give him the slip of paper. As he reads the paper, I quickly glance around the room. My eyes stop at a figure I recognize. I widen my eyes. It’s Baek Harin. Our history is not much. She’s a regular customer at a restaurant I worked at. I quit a few months ago. 

“New student huh?” The professor says. I nod my head. He gestures toward the girls and looks at me bored. 

“Well, introduce yourself,” He sighs. I lift my head higher and clench my fist. 

“Hello everyone. My name is Y/n L/n. Please treat me well,” I announce while bowing my head. He looks around the room and hums. 

“I guess you can sit in the back with Sooji-”

“She can sit with me,” Harin cuts. I look at her confused. There is already another girl sitting next to her. The girl looks at Harin in shock, but Harin remains emotionless. She turns her head to face the girl. 

“Move,” She snaps. 

“B-but,”

“Do I have to repeat myself?” Harin smiles coldly. The girl looks like she’s about to cry as she gets up from her seat. The classroom remains silent beside the sound of the girl gathering all her stuff in a hurry. I wonder how Harin has so much authority over the students. Is there a power system happening in class? Once she leaves to sit in the back, Harin turns her attention to me. 

“You can sit with me,” She suggests, but it sounds more like a demand. My feet automatically move in her direction and she smiles brightly. I take a seat next to her and I get a sniff of her perfume. She smells good. There is also a hint of something I can’t place my finger on. Maybe cigarettes? That’s not possible though. How can a pretty angel-looking girl like her smoke?

“Thank you,” I whisper to her. She nods her head happily and then returns her attention to the professor. I look around the room and notice all the students staring at me besides Harin. I snap my neck away from them. From the corner of my eyes, I can observe her more. Her brushed and slightly curled hair catches my attention. It looks so soft. My eyes lowered to look at her long and black eyelashes. She flutters them slowly, expressing she's paying close attention to the lesson. My eyes dip to her lips. They are so plump, glossy, and pink. Her lips curve into a small smile suddenly. I glance up to catch her looking at me in the corner of her eye.  Embarrassment blossoms on my cheeks and I avert my attention to my textbooks.  

It took a while, but the lesson finally ended. I lean back onto my chair to stretch a little. Harin turns her body to me and rests her chin on the palm of her hand. Her eyes glint with muse. 

“I placed you as grade A,” She starts. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“A?” 

“Yes. You are welcome. No one is going to hurt you as long as you’re here with me,” She explains. I decide not to question. I didn’t understand, but as long as I’m with her I would be okay. I slowly nod my head. She giggles and leans closer to my bubble like she’s testing how far she can go. I notice but I don’t move. She drags her tongue on her lips and I foolishly watch. She puckers her lips out in expression. 

“How did you hear about this school?” She asks. 

“I got an offer letter… and I accepted it,” I cut it short. She nods her head playfully. 

“Who do you think requested you to come?” She teases. It didn’t take long for me to realize she was the one who requested me. My eyebrows arch up in confusion. I didn’t understand why Harin would request me to come to her school. Why is it now that she wants to get close? I hear her chuckle which brings me out of my thoughts.

“Why would you do that?” I question. She bursts my bubble by leaning into my ear. 

“Because I think you’re cute. Have I ever told you that?”  Her mouth brushes lightly against my earlobe. My hands clench. I avert my eyes down and feel my cheeks blushing shamefully. I hate how much she makes me react with little knowledge of her. The way my stomach feels makes me shaky. I tap my feet anxiously. She notices my obvious reaction and smiles. 

“When you quit your job I got so sad. I searched everywhere for you. Once I found you I wanted you to go to the best school there is… which is here. Will you show your gratitude to me?” She hums. She places her cold hand on my upper thigh, halting my movement. I snap my head towards her with widen eyes. She beams happily with a curious glare in her eyes. I shake my head no. She dares by moving her hands higher, nearly touching my panties. I abruptly stand from my seat, squeaking my chair backward. My breathing is heavy as if I am a mad woman. My classmates stare at me in surprise while Harin smirks and leans back in her chair. I avert my eyes to the door. I need to escape. The only place to excuse myself is the bathroom. I shuffle my feet quickly to get out. I made a mistake by accepting the letter. Harin sighs and tilts her head towards the window. The blue sky is clear. 

“Fun,” She grins. 

-

It has been a week since that happened and Harin always wants me near her.

There was a time when I heard a loud slam from the back of the room. I flinched and turned to look. I watched as rank B students kicked rank F students in the stomach. My eyes widen and I freeze. How is no one in this room helping her? Why is everyone just continuing their day like nothing? I got up to help, but Harin grabbed my arm. She smiled and shook her head. 

“Don’t get involved. It’s just part of the game,” She beamed. I stared at her in shock. She tugged my arm harder causing me to sit down. 

“It’s okay. As long as you’re with me… that will never happen to you!” She chirped and returned her attention to her assignment. I am speechless. I hear student F begging for them to stop. I shudder in fear. 

-

Harin drags me by my arm to her secret hideout during break time. I sit on the high wooden crates and watch her light up her cigarettes. I widen my eyes in shock. So the hint of cigarette smell did come from her. How does a beautiful angelic face like her enjoy smoking? One of her hands holds her white and gold lighter, while the other grips a cigarette between two fingers. She sucks in the stick and breathes out. The smoke bothers me, but I watch her in awe. She looks at me with a playful glint in her eyes.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Are you shocked I smoke?” She laughs. I shake my head no. She walks closer to me til she can sneak her body between my legs and blows smoke into my face. I grimace at the scent. She chuckles and places her free hand on my chin. Her thumb gently grazes my button lip curiously before she pulls it down. She places her cigarette between my lips and nods her head. 

“Suck.” She orders. I shake my head no which results in her gripping my chin harder. I wince in pain, but her face remains blank. Her wide dilated eyes stare back. 

“Suck,” She repeats more sternly. I try to find a way to refuse, but with the way she looks… I decided to submit. My eyes gloss as I obey her. I wrap my lips around the tip of the cigarette while looking at her. I realize that something stirs in her every time I listen to her. She becomes flustered and watches closely as I suck in the deadly fumes. The smoke burns the back of my throat and I start coughing. Yanking the cig out, she places it back into her mouth and takes a short drag. She smiles with her dull eyes. Tears gather on the surface of my eyes as I come out of the cough. She places her free on top of my black skirt. She brings her face close to mine.

“I want to kiss you,” She hums. I immediately lean my face to the side to avoid her glossy lips. She grips my skirt in anger, her face remains emotionless, but her eyes express so much disappointment. After composing herself she fakes a smile. 

“The harder you deny me, the more I want to break you,” She admits. My heart rate picks up at her confession. I gulp nervously. She decides to stop her action and removes herself from me. I suddenly feel guilty. I didn’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want her to lose interest in me. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. She crosses her free hand and waves her other hand that holds the cig. 

“Get lost,” She concludes. I slide off the wooden crates and onto my feet. I wanted to say more, but with her back to my face, I couldn’t utter a sound. I lower my head and walk away. When I get close to the classroom door I accidentally bump into someone. I turn my head up to see who. It’s Sooji. She looks emotionless til she furrows her eyebrows at me. I feel guilty again. 

“Sorry. I should’ve watched where I was going-“

“You smoke?” She questions. I widen my eyes and wave my hands timidly. I didn’t realize how the scent of cigarettes had stuck itself onto my clothes. 

“N-no. It’s-“ I stop myself. I shouldn’t reveal Harin’s secret. It will ruin her image. 

“These guys were smoking near my bus stop,” I lie. Sooji nods her head slowly. I smile at her because she took the lie. She takes a step towards the door but I stop her by holding her arm. She looks at me curiously. Her deep and emotionless stare reminds me of Harin. I lick my lips and avert my eyes to the ground. 

“How do you feel about the game?” I ask, looking back up. Sooji grips her fist. 

“...I hate the game. Whoever made the game is a psychopath,” She reveals. As she answers me I notice she’s staring past my head. I follow her gaze and see Harin walking over. She eyes my hand on Sooji’s arm and I self-cautiously return my hand to my side. 

“Hi, Sooji!” She beams sweetly. Sooji doesn’t respond. Harin smiles widely with her teeth showing. A fake and numbing smile which I’ve seen many times before. She turns her attention to me and it makes me halt my thoughts. 

“Hi, Y/N… Ready for class?” She chirps. 

“Y-yes,” I reply, rubbing my thumb across my knuckles. She stares at me carefully before placing her hand on the door behind me. I cowardly under her pressure. Her body and the door trap me in between. I blush at her body heat against mine. I glance over at Sooji who is examining our interaction. I feel a wave of embarrassment run down my spine. Why is Harin doing this in front of her? It’s making me shy and… greedy. Harin chuckles darkly. She slides the door open and leaves me breathless. Sooji watches me silently with an unexplainable look. I turn to walk in the door without looking back. 

-

I have rejected Harin’s kiss over and over and it has finally ticked her off.

“Aren’t you grateful you’re in grade A? If it weren’t for me, you would be in F,” She hisses, “Is this how you thank me? Do you need to learn your place?” Tears threaten to fall down my cheekbones. I can’t bear to look at her further. She looks evil. Her eyes are dilated and blank. She takes small steps forward which results in me walking backwards. She grabs my tie and slams me against the wall. I wince at the pain that spread across my back. She leans her lips to my ears. I push her shoulders, but she remains taking up my space and mind. 

“Since you’re making yourself difficult for me… I have no choice but to make you rank F,” She sighs, “So that I can do anything I want to you.” I halt my movement to stare at her in fear. I am lost for words. Her true nature is revealing and it frightens me. She looks down to my lips and a sigh escapes hers. She looks back into my eyes. Lust clouds her mind. 

“Stop,” I beg. She begins to lean her face in. I close my eyes as tears roll down. I hate it. I don’t want it. The classroom door suddenly slams open. Harin removes herself from me and I weakly collapse onto the ground. I look up to see Soojin walking in. She spares me one glance before walking to her seat. Ignoring us, she starts placing her notebooks and pens on the table. I wanted to get up and thank her for saving me from that, but I remained seated at the bottom of Harin’s feet. Harin remains emotionless and returns to her seat. She pulls out her phone and types something. Her posture is straight. I let out a sound of disbelief. She did all of that and can still act normal?

“What are you doing on the ground?” My classmates ask as they start flooding in. 

“I dropped a pencil. It’s gone now,” I lie. They help me stand to my feet. I shuffle over to my seat. Harin ignores my presence and I feel a pain in my heart. I sit down quietly. I glance over her to see her emotionlessly staring at the board. Seo Doah, our class president, stands in front of the class.

“Today is the last Thursday of the month,” She says. I widen my eyes. Already? How is it already the end of the month? I look at Harin to see her lips curl into a small smile. Memories of her threatening my rank flood my mind.

“The 13th Pyramid game…starts now,” Doah announces. Shuffling sounds of students getting out the phones start. I reach for my phone with shaky hands. I press on the pyramid app and freeze. I have always placed Harin as my first vote and I assume she would do the same to me. There’s no way she would switch up now right? Just because I didn’t let her kiss me? I type down Baek Harin as my first. I look over to see that Harin had already finished. Her phone rests on the table as she crosses her arms. I quickly finish up my votes. After a couple more minutes, the voting officially ended. Doah looks at the results and hesitates. Her eyes glance at me for a second before she looks down again. 

“The results are up. Please refresh,” She says. I hover my finger over the refresh button. Sounds of students mumbling amongst each other start getting louder. I press it. My eyes gloss in fear as I lift my head to look at Harin. I am grade F just like she said I would be. Suddenly I hear a loud whistle which makes me flinch. Three students grades B, C and D surround me like predators. 

“I am surprised to see Harin’s pet drop from A to F!” Student B laughs. She strokes my hair like I am a dog. Student D pushes my textbooks onto the ground so she can sit on my desk. She tugs my chin and forces me to look at her. 

“This is exciting. I always wanted to play with you,” She chuckles. Harin gently gets up from her seat and I beg her with my eyes to help me. She looks at the three students with a fake happy look. 

“I don’t want to see any bruises or cuts on her, remember the rules,” She says. Student B giggles and pulls my head into her chest. 

“Of course~” She chirps. Tears threaten to fall down my cheek. I feel so betrayed. I feel so lost. Harin’s talking about me as if it didn’t matter if they bully me. Did she not care? Am I just another toy? I clench my fist and try pushing the student's hands away from me. 

“Harin please,” I beg. She ignores me and walks away from her desk. I am abandoned.

-

I grunt in pain as student D throws me against the basketball metal cart. She places her shoes against my stomach and leans her weight onto me. The softness of my stomach feels crushed under her feet. I claw at her ankles.

“Please stop,” I cry out. They have been bullying me for the past fifteen minutes since it was announced that I am ranked F. Student C laughs and leans down to level with my face. She brushes her thumb against my cheeks to wipe my tears.

“Awh is Y/N begging?” She pouts. She stands up and kicks the side of my stomach multiple times.  

“Hey wait. Harin told us not to get her bruised,” Student B remembers. They stop their movement which allows me to suck in a breath. I groan in pain and roll aside in an attempt to run away from them. 

“Oh shoot you’re right,” Student D worries.

“What are we going to do?”

“If Harin finds out… We’ll be in big trouble,”

“How about we-”

As they discuss amongst themselves, I pull myself to my feet using the metal cart. I bite my lips in pain to avoid making noises. I quietly walk myself towards the door. Suddenly a hand grabs my hair and pulls me back onto the ground. I let out a yelp. 

“You thought you could just sneak past us?” Student B chuckles. She tugs my tie and slaps me across the face. 

The bullying continued for another five minutes until they got tired and left me on the floor of the gym storage room. Finally, it is silent. I let out a shaky breath. Tears continue to roll down. I cry, but no sound comes out. I clench my jaw and pull myself off the ground. I drag myself to the door. 

I bump into Sooji first in the middle of the soccer field. She has a notepad in her hands which indicates she’s running an errand for the professor. Her eyes soften when she notices my watery eyes. 

“Sooji,” I start to sob. I face down to the ground in humiliation. My fist clenches to my sides and my body shakes uncontrollably. She drops the notepad and walks over. She places her fingers over the buttons on my shirt which have gotten loose during the bullying session. She fixes it as I continue to cry. 

“T-thank you,” I sniff. 

“I can help you. We can get rid of this game once and for all. If you want to join me… give me your phone,” She explains. With shaky hands, I grasp and pull out my phone. I wipe my tears with my sleeves. 

“Can you really get rid of it?” I whimper. She looks deep into my eyes.

“Do you trust me?” She asks. The wind blows past my shoulders. I pause deep in thought. I would do anything to get rid of the F rank from my name. Desperation floods my veins. Without answering her vocally, I hand her my device and watch her type in her number. She hands it back to me.

“We’ll keep in contact secretly. I still don’t know who is running this game, but I have a hunch,” She discusses. She picks up the notepad. 

“I’m going to leave so that people won’t get suspicious. I’ll message you soon,” She says before walking past me. I smile sadly and continue dragging myself to class. The pain in my stomach is starting to throb. As I walk up the stairs of the school building, I wince at each step. Sweat starts collecting on my neck. I take a break to catch my breath. This can’t be the reality I live in… I refuse. I hear footsteps which causes me to look over. 

Harin. 

She wears a beige sweater over the school's white button-up. Her neatly brushed hair rests on her shoulders. She has a bright smile on her face. She walks over and scans my body carefully. I feel small and dirty under her gaze. My white button-up has patches of dirt and shoe marks. My hair is messy and tangled. Her nose scrunches in disgust and my stomach flips. Do I look that bad?

“I’m sorry,” I don’t know why those words came out of my mouth. I don’t even know what I am apologizing for. My lips quiver in shame. She fakes a pout and leans close to my ears. 

“Hang in there. It’s not your fault,” She whispers in venom. She takes a step away from me, but I clench onto her arm. She gasps in shock. 

“Please help me, Harin. I will do anything,” I cry. She leans her face down and chuckles darkly. She tugs her arm away from me and my hand falls to my side. I stare up at her between my water eyelashes. She places her shoes on top of mine and presses down. An act of power. 

“I’ll think about it. For now, I need to break you more,” She shrugs and walks away. Leaving me sobbing. As she walks away I feel my life crashing. No! Why is she leaving me? I need her! She is the answer to my escape!

“There you are~” I hear student B tease. I freeze in fear. 

-

The bullying continues for five more days. Harin continues to ignore me. I watch as she laughs joyfully with her friends. I worry she has truly forgotten about me. I’ve started to accept my fate. The bruises and cuts on my body have gotten more intense. 

I stare at myself in front of the PE locker room mirror. My button shirt is unbuttoned, exposing my bra and stomach. The bruises and cuts have started to become more visible. I rub my fingers across the bruise on my hip and hiss in pain. My under-eye bag has gotten darker. I have started to lose weight. I hug my body tight. The door swings open and I quickly cover my chest with my arms. I watch the culprit walk over using the mirror. 

“What are you doing here?” Harin asks. I shake my head, unable to speak. She examines my exposed stomach and I see her eyes widen.

“What is that?” She points at my bruises. I stay quiet. She tugs my shirt and I try to push her hands away. She doesn’t stop til she successfully removes the shirt from my body. The cold air makes my skin prickle. She stares at my body and I blush in embarrassment. I have cuts and bruises all over. I feel ugly. I don’t want her to see me like this. She gently puts her hand over my cut and I hiss as she scraps her fingernail across it. 

“Those fools… I told them not to leave a bruise or cut on you,” She fumes. She looks up to my watery eyes. 

“I’ll fix this,” She promises. She picks up my shirt and helps me get into it. Then she hugs me. Her gentle and warm touches make me sob. I have not felt this in so long. She successfully broke me. I nervously clench my hands on her sweater. I want to hold onto her. I want to be in her arms forever. I feel safe. She removes herself from the hug. She smiles and cups my face. She brings her face close. 

“Do you agree with everything I say? I can help you with this,” She asks. 

“Yes. Please help me,” I beg. Her eyes dilate and she places a kiss on my forehead. 

“Let's get you clean up.” Her gentle fingers help me the whole way. Once she sees that I am good, she tells me to come back to class. 

I walk behind her as we enter the classroom. The room grows quiet and they stare at us. Harin looks around till she sees the three students that have been bullying me. She calls them over with a smile which they gladly obey. She suddenly pulls me forward with her hand on the back of my neck and rips the top of my shirt open. My collarbone is exposed, revealing a bruise. I blush at the stares of students on my skin. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave a bruise on her?” Harin hums. The three students' eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights. Harin waits patiently with her fingers rubbing my neck. She waits to see what kind of lame excuse they are going to come up with.

“We left a bruise?! Oh my goodness I did not know! I promise we didn’t go hard. She must have done that to herself!” Student B urges. 

“Is that true? Did you do this to yourself?” Harin asks me. Why is the attention back on me? I turn to look at the three students who stare at me with anger. I can tell they want me to lie or I would get punished worse. My fist clenches in frustration. All the days they have tortured me. They deserve to rot. 

“They did this to me,” I fum. They stare at me in shock. 

“I see,” Harin breathes. The three girls quickly bow down to our feet. I feel a sense of power seeing them at my feet. 

“I order no one to touch Y/n from now on even though she’s an F. She’s mine,” Harin announces. I feel a gush of love flood all over my body. I’m hers. She told the whole classroom. I am not a secret. She saved me. I watch as she places her foot onto Student B’s hand. She applies pressure, causing the student to wince. 

“As for you three. I have exposed your family's dirty company secrets to the world. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me,” She chuckles. The three students gasps and cry out, but Harin turns her attention to me. She buttons up my shirt and pats my cheeks. 

“Let’s go to our seat,” She chirps. Her hands never leave my upper thighs the whole class time. Rubbing her thumb against the flesh of my inner thigh. She gives it a squish a couple of times and bites her bottom lip. Embarrassingly enough, I ignore the wetness that has built up between my legs. I am addicted to being hers. 

“Come home with me today,” She whispers. 

“Okay,” I breathe. She gives my thighs another squeeze. My body humiliatingly jerks up. I gently place a hand on top of hers. She raises an eyebrow. She wonders if I am planning to remove her hand, but I wasn’t planning that. In fact I start playing with her fingers. In awe at how smooth and long her fingers are. She allows me to play with her fingers.

-

“Ready to come home?” She asks me as she puts on her backpack. I put mine on and nod my head. I don’t know what she has planned, but I trust her. I want her to do anything to me and I would be thankful for it. She holds my hands and I feel my cheeks burn up. During the whole walk, she never let go. Students would stare, but I am glad they are. They need to know I am hers and, hopefully, in some way, she is mine. We wait by the road of the school and a black Mercedes pulls up. The driver comes out and opens the door for us. I agape in amazement. She is super rich. During the car ride, she distanced herself. She focuses her attention on her phone. I stay quiet, but I deeply crave her attention and touch. I distract myself by staring out the window. Twenty minutes pass and we start pulling up at a mansion. I gulp nervously. 

“You live here?” I gasp. She laughs and pulls out a cigarette. In a quick motion, she flicks the lighter and lights the end of the cig. She smokes it and continues walking. I follow behind like a lost dog. She finishes about halfway before flicking it to the ground. She continues walking, I turn around to see a maid picking up the cig. The doors of the mansion open as she approaches. A few maid bows to greet us. 

“Leave us alone for the rest of the day,” Harin orders. They quietly nod their heads and turn to exit. I stare around the building. The ceilings are tall and the windows expose large amounts of light in. The walls are pearl white and the chandelier glow. We end up in her room. I can tell by the scent that engulfed me when I entered. I stand awkwardly at the door, not knowing what to do. Harin walks to her closet and pulls out a pink bathrobe. She hands it to me and I blush. 

“Go use my shower. I’ll be next door showering as well,” She explains. I stare at the robe. 

“What? Do you not want to?” She questions slowly. I immediately shake my head.

“I do! I will do anything you ask,” I promise. She chuckles, her eyes dilating. She licks her lips and crosses her arms. She turns her body to the door and exits. I stand like a fool in the middle of her room before enter her bathroom and bite my lips. I slowly pull the black tie from my collar, staring at myself in her mirror; watching my fingers unbutton each button on my white shirt. I tug my black skirt down til it falls to my ankle. I turn my face away from the mirror and remove my underclothes then stepped into the shower. Once the water touches my skin I relax. I hum and close my eyes. The water relaxes my tense body. 

Once I was done I walked out and wrapped myself in the pink bathrobe. I explore all her skin care products. With curiosity, I apply some to my face. The moisturizer sinks into my skin. I feel refreshed and clean. I walk out of the bathroom and see her sitting on her bed typing on her phone. With close inspection, it’s my phone she’s looking at. She’s in a white bathrobe. Her face lightens up when she sees me. She pats the empty side of the bed next to her. I shyly obey and crawl onto the bed. My knees feel the soft and smooth textures of her bed sheets. I sit next to her and play with my fingers. She places my phone on her bed desk and turns her attention to me. My face is already flustered red. She draws her fingers along my face. She drags her thumb across my bottom lip. 

“I’ve been waiting to kiss you for so long,” She sighs. She tilts her head to stare at my eyes as she continues to play with my lips. My eyes feel heavy with lust. She gets in between my legs, her skin brushes against mine. She places her hands beside my head and leans in. She doesn’t ask for permission as she grazes her lips against mine as a test. Her lips are so soft and plump. I crave more. She returns to kissing me. I sigh in pleasure as her tongue brushes against mine. I wrap my arms around her neck to pull her closer. My mind is clouded with lust, I forget to breathe. She pulls away, leaving a trail of spit that connects us. She smiles sinfully. She bends to my ear as her hands explore my body underneath the robe. 

“I broke you,” She chuckles. She nips my ear and I yelp. She laughs and brushes her tongue against the shell of my ear. She dips her face against my neck and grazes her teeth against it. She bites and I shut my eyes while wincing. 

“Please be gentle,” I choke. She tugs my bathrobe open and cups her cold fingers around my chest. She pinches my nub harshly. My body thrashes and arches. 

“I don’t want to,” She purrs. She starts sucking on my nibble. Her tongue rolls around it, coating her wet saliva all over. Every time she bites down I cry out. Tears start collecting in the corner of my eye. She glances at my teary eyes and her eyes soften. She leans up to gently kiss my temple. Her other hand sneaks between my legs. 

“W-wait!” I gasp. She quiets me by leaving sloppy kisses on my lips. Her fingers play with my inner thigh, not touching my core. She pulls away, her eyes heavy and cheeks red. I stare at her between my legs. Her white robe fell off her shoulders, exposing her body.  My thighs forcefully open between her hips. She leans back to look at me. My hair is displaced all over her pillow. My chest rose up and down fast. My cunt glistens and her mouth waters. 

‘Let me in,” She blushes. I reach down to cover my cunt, but she jerks my hand above my head. Her skin rubs against my core and I grunt in embarrassment. She pepper kisses around my neck and ear. 

“Let me make you feel good,” She purrs. I gasp for air when I feel her middle finger graze my wet cunt. She touches just the surface area and it leaves me sighing. She brings the finger to my face with a proud smile. 

“You’re wet,” She breathes. She returns her fingers to the top of my cunt and refuses to move. She leans in. 

“I am going to ask just one more time. Will you let me in?” Her eyes are dark. My train of thought is messed up. I can’t think clearly. She clouds my mind. 

“Yes,” I finally choke out. She immediately rubs her two fingers against my clit. I arch my back and let out a cry. The humiliating sound of my wet core being played by her finger starts to sound louder. Suddenly she removes her fingers, allowing me to breathe. She kneels back. 

“Take the bathrobe off,” She demands. I rub my wet eyes before obeying her. I tug the pink robe off me completely and the cold air tickles me. She takes off her white rub and I stare lustfully at her body. Her smooth skin and curves look so biteable. She places two hands on both my thighs and splits them apart wider. I widen my eyes when I see her lowering her face to my core. Her bare butt lifts up. 

“H-harin!” I blush. She sticks out her tongue and licks a long drag up. I moan, putting the back of my hand against my mouth. She spreads my wetness and her saliva around my clit. She licks and sucks. My thighs shake around her head. I moan loudly. My hands go down to touch her head. She looks up at me between my thighs. I see her mouth glisten with my wetness. I breathe heavily. My hair sticks against my sweaty forehead and neck. She pushes my thighs apart further and licks harshly.

“W-wait! I- I am,” I can’t continue my sentence without moaning. Her tongue is so good against my core. I shove my hand against her head to push her away. I am too stimulated. I don’t know how much longer I can last. She leans away with a hard look on her features. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She shoves her two fingers into my core. I cry out and thrash my body. 

“Don’t push me away ever again,” She grunts between each thrust. Tears roll down my cheeks. Her long and skillful fingers plunge into me deep. I lean my head back into the pillow. I moan loudly which makes her smile. My legs fall onto her shoulders and she leans her body forward. She watches my features carefully; examining how my eyes close and my mouth opens wide to release sighs and moans. 

“Harin.. Ah!” I cry. She continues abusing her fingers into me. Deep and fast. I knew I wasn’t going to last longer. I feel my walls clenching around her digits. My stomach feels funny. 

“Agh! I am close!” She kisses my forehead. With a few more thrusts, I come to her hand. She lets me catch my breath against her ear. She removes her soaking fingers from my core. As she examines the wetness coating her finger, my phone rings. She looks at my phone on her side desk and watches how it vibrates against the wood. I turn my head over to see who is calling me. My heart drops. 

Sooji is calling me.

Harin laughs bitterly, her eyes glinting with jealousy. I turn my body over and reach for my phone. My bare butt facing Harin. I fumble as I try to decline the call, but Harin presses her body against my back. She leans her mouth onto my ear. 

“Answer it,” She hisses. She kisses my shoulders. 

“What?” I blush. Harin rubs her hand down my back. She stops at my butt and slaps it. I flinch forward. 

“Answer it and don’t moan,” I let out a breathy sigh.  With shaky fingers, I click on the green answer button. 

“Hello?” I ask. Harin plunges her fingers into me. I fall onto the bed with my ass up. 

“Y/n, I am glad you answered. Are you free for the next five minutes?” Sooji asks. Harin thrusts harder as if she wants me to fail. I muffle my moans into the bed. 

“Y-yes,” I choke out. Harin bites my shoulders and I let out a wince. 

“Are you okay?” Sooji questions. 

“Yes! Yes- Ah! I am okay,” I could feel myself losing control. I don’t know if I could keep my moans down with how Harin is abusing my cunt. 

“Okay… I am wondering if you’re still on the same side as me. Do you want to take down the pyramid game?” Harin halts her movement which allows me to answer. 

“I am not sure,” I breathe out. My mind is foggy. 

“I found out that Harin is the creator of the game,” Sooji reveals. I freeze. I am lying here with Harin’s finger in me. The creator of this fucked up game. The game that broke me down til I am nothing but Harin’s submissive friend.

“I- I see…” I blurt. I can feel Harin breathing against my ear. I wish I could see her face. 

“To remove the game, we must take down Baek Harin,” The clock ticks and I repeat the sentence in my head. Am I willing to take down Harin? The girl who saved me? The girl who would destroy the world for me? The girl who has her fingers resting in my soaking cunt? My wetness runs down my thighs. 

“I can’t do that to Harin,” I finally answer. Harin feels her heart flutter. 

“What? Why? This game caused you to-” Sooji’s voice gets muffled out by Harins.

“Good girl,” She purrs. I moan shamelessly. She starts to gradually increase her speed again. I buckle my hips against her finger. I sigh and pant against the bed sheets. Harin picks up the phone. She places it against her ear and smiles. 

“Hi Sooji. Sorry, Y/n’s busy right now,” She chuckles before ending the call. She tosses the phone to the side, her eyes not leaving my body. She loves how my body chases after her digits. She loves hearing how I moan her name. She has broken me, but I have never felt more alive because of her. 

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Paper Thin Walls

Your neighbor, Nanami Kento, comes over four times complaining about noise. And then a fifth time. AO3

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ Only. fem! reader, grumpy! nanami, angsty, some light vouyerism, through the wall masturbation overhearing (does that count?), cunnalingus, riding, penetrative sex, reader has female anatomy, dirty talk, kissing, not explicit spit this time but i sneak it in there (and i always will), DIRTY, NASTY, WET,

Word count: 8.2k,we looooove a bad neighbors enemies to lovers, sorry y'all but i eat it up every time, i hope y'all do too. This is probably the grumpiest i have ever written Nanami but i hope the soft at the end gave you guys the sweetie that we all know and love, especially on this blog.

you can buy me a Ko.fi here, if you like!

THUNK THUNK THUNK 

You nearly dropped the bottle of wine you were uncorking when you heard the loud, impassioned knocking on your front door. Your friends quieted their conversation and looked to the door, a mixture of shock and confusion on their faces. 

How embarrassing. 

You rolled your eyes, already fed up with what you knew would be on the other side of the wood. You gesture to your friends to continue enjoying themselves as you would handle it. They tentatively turn back to one another huddled around your small coffee table dressed with snacks and cups. You had worked hard on this party, you didn’t get to see your friends very often so being able to enjoy a night together to relax and catch up was so valuable to you. And no dickhead neighbor with a stick up his ass was going to ruin it. Walking to the door you drew in a strained breath, trying to smooth your irritation, before unlocking, unlatching and just barely opening the door. Even just a crack was enough to see him seething in front of you. 

Kento Nanami, your neighbor. Your very irritable neighbor. The one man HOA of your apartment complex floor. Your neighbor who, since you moved in three months ago, has stopped by your apartment three times to badger you about your noise level. You had lived in apartments your whole adult life, not once has anyone complained about you, you were a MODEL neighbor: kind, social but not overbearing, always said hello in the hallway, happy to watch pets or plants while people were out of town, you are a goddamn delight as a neighbor.

It was this fucking guy who had the problem, huffing at your doorstep in his stupid little American girl doll glasses and overly neat button up shirt that he probably pressed every morning before getting dressed. 

And once again, here he stood, vein in his head pulsing against his skin, elevens creased in his forehead between his scowling eyebrows, jaw muscle looking on the verge of snapping.

“Ms—.” He started but you cut him off. 

“Good evening Mr. Nanami, to what do I owe the pleasure,” you smiled jovially, as though his presence wasn’t a nuisance, “this time.” 

“Good evening. Yes, it is the evening, isn’t it?” He made a little show of checking his bulky silver watch.

“I’m sure the very expensive looking watch on your arm could tell you that it’s 8:45 pm. A very normal time for people to be enjoying themselves, especially on a Friday night.” You leaned your head against the doorframe looking at him, “Having a little…movie night in?”

He stared at you a moment, his eyes moving over your face coldly, eyeing your sly smile, 

“so you know I’m here about the noise.” 

“You’ve never come to my apartment for another reason.” You sighed, “call it a hunch, I guess?” 

A laugh came from inside of your apartment, louder than the ambient music you were playing, not exactly helping your case. 

Nanami rolled his eyes at the laughing,“Quiet hours start at—“

“10. And I plan on honoring them, I just have some old friends over tonight. We’ll be sure to keep our joy and fun to an acceptable level.” You were feeding him the lines you knew he wanted to hear, but your performance wasn’t exactly impassioned. 

His jaw tightened again, you imagined the sound of his back teeth grinding together. He looked down at you silently and you stared right back up at him. A silent battle was had between your stares, him trying to intimidate you into the silence he craved, and you not backing down even an inch.

Finally he caved, “I would appreciate that. I am sure the rest of the hallway would as well. Good night.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.” You called down to him as he turned and stomped down the hallway to his own door. 

Right. Next. Door. 

You rejoined your friends and enjoyed the rest of your night exactly as you had before. Not turning any music down, not stifling any laughter, not dulling any conversation for the sake of thin walls. Every now and again you took a private moment to imagine your neighbor seething in his quiet, perfect little apartment all by himself.

“So….are we going to talk about how hot your neighbor is?” Soph, your best friend, posed. 

“Thank you for saying something. I barely saw him but oh my GOD.” Kat, your oldest friend added. 

You laughed, it was undeniable how handsome he was, when you first saw him as you settled in in your first week you secretly hoped he might stop by to introduce himself, entertaining the fantasy of him coming over to help you “fix something” a few too many times before even finding out his name.

“Sure he’s hot, when he keeps his mouth shut.” You sighed, annoyed, busying yourself refilling glasses, “What a waste, honestly. I’m tired of guys who think they’re too hot to be nice to people. Not even nice, just fucking polite is fine.” 

Your friends laughed. 

“When I moved in, a bunch of the other neighbors stopped by to say hello. Not him, I would only ever see him in the hallway and he wouldn’t wave, wouldn’t say hello, nothing. He’s so…..serious.” You sipped your drink remembering the times you had tried to say hello to him in the hallway only to be met with a half nod and a hurry into his apartment, “First time he ever even spoke to me was to tell me the sound of my moving in was too much.”

Soph pouted, sipping her refilled, “That’s a shame. I was going to say you should try and hit that.”

“Who knows,” Kat posed, “maybe getting laid would help him relax?” 

The three of you laughed, surely sending the noise through the wall and into the subject of debate’s apartment. 

This had been your fourth offense against him. Nanami was fed up, he had been polite the first few times, but this was getting out of hand. You had only moved in a few months ago, there was no excuse for him to have had to go over there this many times already. Sitting on his couch, drafting a complaint email to the main residential office, another roar of laughter rang from the back wall of his apartment. Nanami groaned and slumped against the back of the couch, rubbing his aching forehead. This much irritation can’t be good for him.

He had been spoiled by the place next to him having gone unoccupied for so long. He’s lived in this apartment for two years, going on a third, and nearly all of that time has been spent with no one next door. At first he assumed he was just sensitive and needed to acclimate to having someone nearby, but it was like you were broadcasting every sound directly into his living room.

The worst part was the bedroom walls. He deduced that the layout of your apartment must be a direct mirror of his own, inverted but identical, meaning the back wall of his bedroom must be the back wall of your bedroom as well. He could hear the noise from you sleeping with your television on, a terrible habit that he abhorred. He could hear the music you would play in the mornings when you were presumably getting ready for work. And for you to be so curt with him when he politely tries to let you know how easily he can hear you? It was unreasonable. 

The first time had been within the second week of you moving in. You were setting up some furniture, sounds of hammering, scooting, drilling ringing through the walls and keeping him from sleeping in on a SUNDAY morning. He had gotten up from bed, thrown on some more presentable loungewear and knocked on your door. That was the first time he had really seen you, kind eyes, pretty smile, smooth, even skin. You smiled up at him when you opened the door, all too awake for such early weekend hours. 

“Excuse me. My name is Nanami Kento, I live next door. Would you mind keeping the noise down a bit? It’s still pretty early.” 

Your smile sagged a bit, “sure! I’m sorry, I guess I’m getting used to how thin the walls are here. I’ll keep it down.” 

“Thank you.” He nodded, “and…welcome to the building.” 

“Thank you! It’s nice to meet you.” You had smiled back at him, small dimples appearing by your mouth. 

He could have fallen for you, allowed himself the rare indulgence of crushing on you. If that had been your only offense. 

The second incident was how he discovered that your bedrooms shared a wall. He had come home late from the gym. It was around two o'clock in the morning, he drug himself back home and into the shower, sleeping threatening to take him even under the heavy spray. Work had been about four hours too long, his head was aching, his workout had offered some relief but the only thing that would truly fix it at this point was the hard reset of sleep. Nanami pulled himself into bed, not even bothering to dress, choosing to ignore the remaining water that would sink into his sheets. That would be a problem for another day. Head on the pillow, cool bedding soothing his heated skin he could barely contain how excited he was to finally sleep, when he heard it. 

“o-oh….” 

It was so faint he assumed it was in his head, the product of an oncoming dream seeping over into his waking world. Ears tuning in against his will, he was able to hear the faint buzzing. He shot up, renewed energy brought about by the awareness of what was happening next door. You, his neighbor, were masturbating and he could hear you. He felt his ears get hot, his heart quicken, and --- oh christ his pants tighten. Soft moans sounding through the wall, quickening in pace, buzzing battering his brain to mush as he began to panic. He didn’t want to listen, it was wrong, this was wrong. Fuck, was his mouth watering? 

Fuck. fuck. Fuck!

He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his pillow, clamping the cushion around his head over his ears in desperation. Nanami was relieved when your wimpers were snuffed out. Under the darkness of his pillow he hoped he could finally begin to fall asleep, but through the void an image began to appear behind his eyes. You, his pretty neighbor laying on your back, legs open, finger in your mouth trying to quiet yourself. How ineffective. You had been just the slightest bit sweaty when he first spoke to you. The act of dragging and pushing furniture having given your skin the slightest sheen. He was willing to bet that you had a similar glow about you now; working a toy between your legs, bed covers discarded at your ankles, a wet spot growing underneath your shaking hips---

FUCK.

Nanami sat up in a jerk, shaking his head side to side as though he could physically dislodge the picture out of his mind through one of his ears. With the pillow removed he could hear your moans rising in pitch, his dick pulsed. Fuck, this was so wrong. Were you about to climax? His heart was pounding, he was rock solid between his legs, he gripped the bed sheets tight to restrain himself from caving and pumping himself into oblivion with you. In the sickest part of his mind he wanted to press his ear up to the adjoining wall, listening to your languid moans, indulging himself fully in your passion. 

Finally, as though fate could feel his resolve starting to crumble, he heard a long high pitch whine escape through the drywall. Then silence. Then the sound of laughter from whatever tv show you put on to go to sleep. He was panting, trying to catch his breath, much as he imagined you were. He laid back against his pillow, staring up to the ceiling, mind reeling over the possibility of this happening again. How could he avoid this in the future? Should he politely inform you of the mirrored apartment layout and the thinness of the walls? 

Nanami purchased a white noise machine the following day. Only after stopping by your apartment and asking you to keep the television noise lower at night, saying he was a light sleeper. He hoped you would make the connection that he was struggling towards, voice clipped and cheeks blushing furiously as he nodded and retreated to his own domicile. He leaned up the door as he shut it behind himself, sighing in relief, praying that this would be the end of it and he could forget the saccharine sweet sound of your moans.  

The third incident was far less indecent, but no less annoying. He was home early from work, having taken off an hour or so before he usually would as he completed a big project that had taken over two weeks and was dead tired. All he wanted was to eat dinner, watch a movie, relax and push all the numbers and negotiations out of his head. Apparently you had the same idea. When you arrived home, he knew because your slamming door shook his wall as well. It had been a week or so since he last heard you but still the sound brought a crimson flush to his face. He didn’t hear much after that for about a half hour, that is, until you turned on your music. Loud, bossa nova or jazz or whatever it was sponging into the insulation between your two abodes and resounding around his own apartment. He couldn’t hear the movie he had put on, he couldn’t enjoy his dinner, hell— he could barely think. He had given you a pass when it was intimate noise but this was unruly and excessive. 

He stomped out into the hallway, the music echoing out there as well. And over to your door. He knocked, maybe a bit too hard, and waited for your arrival. When you did open the door, after just enough time for him to consider knocking again, he once again had to look down to meet your eye line. Music flooded out from the doorway, warm amber light, and the smell of sizzling peppers and oil wafting out, carried by the soundwaves. 

“Hello again, neighbor!” You greeted him, smiling warmly with big, full eyes. 

“The music.” He hadn’t meant to sound so stiff, he had intended to greet you politely and remind you of the wall's thinness but he had had it. Here you were enjoying your cooking and music and inhibiting his ability to do the same, it was unfair, unjust. 

You sighed leaning against the door frame huffing out, “We just can't seem to find a comfortable level, huh? You picked a good movie, very suspenseful soundtrack, one of my favorites actually.” 

Nanami straightened up like a shot, how could he have been so stupid? His television was right up against the “back” wall of his apartment, right against your kitchen wall. The sounds of his apartment, although infrequent, had echoed through your walls too. How many sounds, he wondered. 

“You--I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” He began but then hardened again, “You should have told me to turn it down, I would have been more than happy to oblige.” 

“Hm.” Your lips formed a tight line, “I’m not really into ordering strangers around in their own homes.” 

It was the first and only time you had sassed off to him. He was taken aback, he could feel his neck heating up under the collar of his shirt, his fists balling up at his sides as he furrows his brow at your disrespect. 

Scoffing, he finds the words, “just be courteous to your neighbors.” 

Nanami descends down the hallway, flexing and un-flexing his hands in measured attempts at cooling himself, before he could step into his apartment you called down after him. 

“The therapist was dead the whole time, that’s why his wife won't speak to him! The guy at the beginning shot and killed him!” You shouted and slammed the door behind you.  

It was an incredibly childish move on your part. If someone had done that to you, or if you had even heard of someone desecrating the ending of one of the best mystery thrillers of all time, you would have been furious. But something about this man brought out such pettiness in you. You couldn't help it. You half expected him to knock again and berate you for spoiling his night once again, but instead you heard the sound of his apartment door shutting and the movie resume. 

Credit for sticking it out and watching the movie anyway. You couldn't help but smirk a bit, impressed. 

It has enough legs to stand on its own even without the twist, it really is a good movie, you felt bad for wrecking it. It really was one of your favorites, similar tastes. Maybe this whole time you could have been friends. Although, you couldn't imagine being friends with someone so stuffy and entitled. It didn’t matter that he watched some of the same movies, so did lots of people. It didn’t matter that he was handsome and well dressed. It didn’t matter that when he played music in the mornings it overlapped with your favorite artists. He was an ass and never even bothered to introduce himself once before complaining about you. 

This back and forth had brought you all the way to tonight, him trying to reign in your party, stifling your enjoyment of it and making you hyper aware of every loud burst of laughter or adjustment of the volume. Despite your efforts to ignore it at this point, the desire to be a courteous neighbor occasionally won you over and you found yourself engaging in more subtle, intimate conversations, lowering the music and talking softer. 

When the party finally came to an end and your friends kissed you goodbye and left, giggling down the hall, you waved to them and watched as they slipped down the hallway. Your eyes fell on the neighboring apartment's door, you checked the time. It was just after ten, Nanami was probably asleep, snoozing soundly after having gotten his words in about your party and your carelessness. Feeling the bile of anger rising in your throat, you decided to turn back and retreat to your own apartment. The soft unlocking sound brought you back to the empty hall. 

Nanami stepped out, wearing a pair of expensive looking sweatpants and a dark grey sweatshirt. Even through such baggy clothing you could see his impeccable build, thick, ropey neck, broad shoulders, long, sturdy legs. His hair was down and unstyled, sandy stranded falling onto his forehead, some even extending far enough to brush against the bridge of his nose. A pair of headphones hung around his neck. He looked right back at you.  

“You’ve had headphones this whole time?” Was all you could think to say. 

“Everyone has headphones.” He shrugged leaning against his door frame. 

You wanted to think of something snappy to say back, but your tongue felt fat in your mouth. You had never seen him like this before, completely undone, hair mussed, body relaxed in place of his rigid posture, clearly exhausted enough that bothering you would be too much energy. 

“Your friends leave?” He asked, peeking down the hallway past you. 

“Mmhm. Right on time.” You pointed to your wrist where a watch would be.

To your surprise a low chuckle emanated from his chest. It was warm and hearty and genuine. The sound tugged at your stomach. No -- lower than that. Maybe it was the wine, or your friend's insistence on his beauty that made him have this effect on you suddenly. 

“Sounded like a good party.” His voice mimicked his earlier clipped irritation but it felt less authentic this time, as though he were playing a part. 

“It was.” You smile already nostalgic for the company of your friends, their warm energy, “You could come to the next one, you know. We don’t actually have to not like each other.”

Nanami’s head cocked to the side a bit, dark amber eyes crinkling in confusion, “I don’t not like you.” 

You almost laughed out loud, to think that he could pretend that this whole time he has just been being neighborly? 

“Right. Because badgering people every other week for three months over petty shit is something you do to people you like.” 

Nanami made a small clicking sound, “There’s just…Rules. It’s not personal, you’re just loud and other people live here. I don’t not like you!”

“I’m not loud!” You shouted, which did not help your argument, “You’re just uptight.” 

“I’m not uptight! There are rules, both in this apartment and just socially! Who blasts music at eight am on a sunday?” Nanami stepped closer to you, almost at the midway point between your apartment doors. 

“Who goes to the gym and comes back slamming doors at two in the morning? You don’t hear me complaining about that, even though it happens every night.” You matched his advance, standing at the equivalent point to wear your living room wall would meet his inside of your apartment, “Some people are trying to sleep.” 

Nanami couldn’t stop the words before they spilled out, he leaned his head down to you venomously, “Doesn’t sound like a lot of sleeping to me.” 

Your eyes flew open, your chest caved and your throat knotted. You searched desperately for another meaning, scrambling your brain for recent late night annoyances he could be referring to, but you knew. And he knew too. Shames burned your cheeks, you felt so exposed. 

“You’ve been listening to me?” You gasped, “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“Pervert?” Nanami gaped at you, “Our bedrooms share a wall, I’m not staying up late to listen to your little audio drama. You're whimpering practically loud enough for everyone on the street to hear.”

You flushed deeper, cheeks practically on fire, “y-you should have said something.” 

Nanami sighed, “I’ve been trying!” 

You started to put things together. His flushed, nervous expression whenever you ran into each other in the mail room or the hallway. The increasingly sterile way he spoke to you about the noise. This whole time he had heard you…intimately…and tried to tell you as discreetly as he could. A bit too discreetly. 

You buried your face in your hands, “Fuck. I’m so embarrassed.” 

Nanami’s gut twisted at your distress. This was the exact situation he wanted to avoid, he didn’t want to embarrass you, he didn’t even want to tell you if he didn’t have to. For the first time in this whole mess, he touched you. He reached out and gripped your shoulder lightly. The heat of his palm warmed your clammy, shame soaked skin. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s…personal and I understand that, but it’s not anything to be embarrassed about.” He attempted to soothe you, his thumb experimenting with small strokes. 

You looked up at him, swallowing down the lump in your throat, “I never hear you…do that. You probably think I'm some weird sex freak.” 

A soft rosy blush came over his nose and cheeks. 

He decided to try and level the vulnerability, “I-uh…usually…do that… in the shower.” 

Suddenly his hand on your shoulder felt hot and heavy, he wasn't sure if he should remove it or if that would send the wrong message. What message was he hoping to send? This had suddenly become loaded and confusing. 

You nodded in response, feeling a bit better now that he had exposed part of himself to you. You couldn't keep your mind from picturing him  breathing hard in a steam filled shower, his head falling back in pleasure, hand running down his body to pump his-----

Fuck!

“I don’t think you’re a weird sex freak.” Nanami offered. 

“Thanks.” You let out a small laugh.

You looked up at him, catching his teak wood eyes. Long, dark lashes encircled them, a light dusting of freckles resting atop his chiseled cheekbones. Shapely, rose hued lips were parted slightly as he looked down at you. The air between the two of you became thick and sticky. He was curved over you slightly, maybe even subconsciously. 

“Can I ask you something?” He whispered, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“About…that?” 

He nodded. 

You nodded. 

Nanami swallowed, eyes scanning over your lips, “I haven’t…heard anyone else…with you.”

You waited a moment, “That isn’t a question.” 

“You sound, sometimes, like you might…want some help.” Nanami leaned in closer, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, “Do you?”

Your breath left you, your voice had long abandoned you, you could only try desperately to parse out how you had gotten here. He waited patiently for an answer, suddenly suave and confident. He had always been self assured, you just assumed it was arrogant entitlement. It never occurred to you that he could be so charming, so flirtatious. He knew what he was offering, you knew what this would mean. The instances of rigidity morphed in your memory into a heated chase, reaching its end here and now. You had been caught. 

Finally, you nodded your head, “Yes.” 

He closed the distance between you, pressing his hot lips to yours in an instant. The hand from your shoulder moved to the back of your neck, pulling your chest against his, as the other arms snaked around your waist. After the initial moment of shock, you moved your arms around him to grip his rippling back. The first kiss is long, passionate and deep, his arms feel so strong around you, you can feel the curves and cuts of muscles that you hadn't even considered. He pulls away only for a second to move his head to the side and realign himself to give you a hot, fevered open mouthed kiss, sliding his tongue between your lips and massaging it against yours. You felt dizzy, gripping him tighter, for stability of course, you move your hands up his back and brush your fingers against the cropped undercut at the nape of his neck. He let out a low moan, almost like a purr, into your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile a bit, testing it again and pulling another throaty sound from him. You pulled your lips away momentarily. 

“I see why you need the shower.” You tease.

He nods against your forehead, catching his breath. You capture him in another kiss, leading him clumsily back to your apartment door, struggling with the knob a bit before he reaches around your hip to turn it for you and push inside, using his foot to swing the door shut behind him. Leaning back against your front door, he pulls you close to him once again, holding your body close to his, feeling the heat and weight of you in his arms. The way your apartment smells, like food and candles, earthy scented; sandalwood, laurel, magnolia. The dim, warm secondary lighting. He absorbs it all. It's so, you. 

Your tongue is moving against his now, and he finds himself being kissed as much as he is kissing. He likes how active it is, no part of you feels not focused on him at this moment and he's so grateful. You lead him back to your bedroom, exactly where his own would be on the other side. He lets his hand travel down your back, feeling down to your waist and over your hips, experimentally gripping the flesh there. Fuck, when you werent annoying the life force out of him, you were so gorgeous. A beautiful, full, woman’s body, confident movements, alluring in every sense of the word. Your bedroom was the same as his, no shock there, still just slightly too small to comfortably house a king bed, which he cursed himself for squeezing in. You had a queen, a perfect size, the window on the side wall had sheer cream colored curtains allowing moonlight to coat the room in a magic, blue glow. You had pulled away from him, doing some light mood setting, lighting a bedside candle, brushing discarded clothes and a book from your bed. He recognized the cover of your book, he had read it too last year. 

“She dumps the creepy coworker guy and goes back to working at another store. It’s incredibly cathartic. A shame you’ll miss out on it.” He runs his spine down the copy of your book on your bed, lifting it and flipping through a few pages, a devious smile itching the corners of his lips. 

You look at him, eyebrows raised in alarm. 

Nanami shrugged, “you ruined my movie. I ruin your book’s ending. Good read though.” 

To his surprise, you laughed through a wide smile, “It is a good read, especially the second time.” 

He laughed and shook his head. It was maybe the first time you had seen him actually smile, warm and easy. The just starting lines on his face extending around his mouth in little arches. He really was radiant, sharp features highlighted by the dream like light of the bedroom, blues and amber licking shadows over his face as the firelight moves. The laughter fades and you both look into one another. He looks over your features, lips swollen from his kiss, your eyes meeting his in a trusting, conspiratorial gaze. He feels his lips twitch again into a smile, and steps towards you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He cups your face, tenderly, his other hand circling your waist as he brings you to his lips. 

The kiss has morphed into something deeper, kinder, less fevered, more focused and somehow even more passionate. When his tongue enters your mouth its not pushed or pressed, it slides languidly and easily against your own. As a polyglot’s tongue drips words, his drips kisses, sensuality. Your hands find the hem of his sweatshirt, slipping underneath, feeling the hardness of toned muscle and bone underneath. You did hear him return from the gym at god awful hours, it makes sense that he has something to show for it. Nanami hisses as you slide your hands around his hips to his back, moving up further, feeling every valley and peak of his hard work. Spurred by your action, he mirrors you, moving his hand under your shirt. Instead of following your lead, he opts to go for the front, gliding his hand up your abdomen and cupping your breast in his hand over your bra. He gives it a small squeeze, making you squeak. Another throaty hum comes from his chest. 

He guides you with his hips, not breaking the kiss just yet to seat you on the bed, with him stood between your legs. Encouraged by your pawing at his torso, he breaks from your lips to remove his sweatshirt, revealing rows of carefully built abdominal muscles, as you had felt already. What you didn't expect was the melange of scars in various stages of healing across his chest, stomach, and shoulders. Some white and flat against the surface, some pink and recessed still healing themselves. You couldn't help the small gasp you sucked in at the sight. 

What the hell happened to him? Or was it still happening to him?

“It's just skin, grows right back after enough time.” Nanami looked down at himself, following your eyeline across his body. 

You sat up further, carefully moving your hand over his toned stomach, across a particularly large, although healed line on his side. 

“Seriously, it’s--” Nanami started but you cut him off by removing your own shirt, pointing to a scar on the lower right side of your stomach, above your hip bone. 

“Appendectomy.” You smile at him wickedly, “You’re not so tough.”  

Nanami can’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes and climbing over you onto the bed. 

“I didn’t realize I was in the bed of such a badass.” one of his big hands moves over your barely scarred hip, then up your side. 

You moan and arch up at his touch trying to control your shaking breath, “m-mhm, I’m very b-bad a-a…”

Another moan consumes your sentence as he kisses the side of your neck. Taking his time to suck and lick at the soft skin from your shoulder to behind your ear. You make no effort to hide how good it makes you feel, squeezing his large, tight bicep and rocking against him, head lolling to the side. 

“That’s right, you are very bad.” Nanami bites lightly at your jugular point. 

You whimper against him, his teeth on your neck setting your body ablaze. You nod. 

“You’ve been such a bad girl, whimpering just like that all night while i'm trying to sleep. Pretending you don’t know I can hear you.” The dirty words drip off of him like honey directly into your waiting mouth. 

He has moved to hover completely over you, one hand on your thigh, pulling it around his hip, leaning on the other crooked near your head. You can feel his hips against yours, even through his pants you can feel how hard he has become. He can certainly feel how hot and wet you are becoming, you pray that your panties and pants are helping you maintain some kind of decency. That prayer goes unanswered as Nanami moves his hand from your thigh to between your hot writhing bodies, cupping your sex. 

“Is this what you need, baby? You need someone to help you feel good?” He whispers into your ear, one finger starting to move up and down your clothed slit. 

You nod before you can speak. 

“Ask me. Ask for my help, baby.” He grunts against you, you can no longer feel his erection pressed against you, but you can hear his voice becoming strained and rougher, indicating his own resolve has wavered as much as yours has. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back to your lips and plead into a kiss. 

“Please, please Nanami, please help me.” The kiss is sloppy and wet, saliva and sweat spilling between desperate lips. 

“Kento, please. When I’m fucking you, please use my first name.” He snakes an arm between your body and the mattress and removes your bra, moving down your body with hot, wet kisses. 

You arch up again, the eroticism of being undressed by him titillating your sense beyond your imagination. He latches onto one of your hard nipples, swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, dark eyes watching closely for your reactions. 

“Kento…oh Kento.” You try the name out, it fits perfectly in your mouth, tastes like honey when you speak it.

It was like he was studying you, gauging reactions and preferences in fractions of a second that other partners had been too hurried to discover. You returned your hands to his hair, threading your fingers and his blonde strands together. He bit and sucked and kissed and lapped at your breasts, giving each one equal, focused attention, squeezing them together and separately like he could never get enough. Finally he detached, a string of saliva connecting him to your skin. His eyes flicked up at you, catching his breath and moving down your body further, his hands moving over the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitched up in anticipation, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth. He met your eyes and searched for any sign of hesitation, if he were to allow his mind to process what was happening he might have stopped himself, citing how messy it could be to be involved in a sexual tet-a-tet with his next door neighbor, perhaps you were doing exactly that. 

But you moved your hand over the side of his face, brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead, smiling sweetly. 

“Please Kento…I need your help,” your voice was so sweet and so soft as you pleaded with him, “....please.” 

He kisses underneath your navel and slides your pants off of your legs, discarding them onto your bedroom floor. He took the moment of readjustment to remove his own pants, leaving both of you in only your underwear. He moved back in between your legs, he could practically see through your flimsy white panties, wetness having made the fabric dark and molded to your skin. He could see the curve of your labia, where they separated, the inner folds hidden but begging for him. Wetness has spread to your thighs, making your skin glisten and sparkle. He looped his thumbs into the band of your panties and slipped them off, joining the mess of clothes already on the floor. Now bare before him, he could feel himself drooling at the sight of you spread out on your bed. Just as he had imagined you, no. No, much better than he could have imagined. Soft, full body, marks blooming on your skin from his kiss, chest heaving and jiggling in turn as you pant for him. Between your legs a perfect oasis of petals waiting for him to part and indulge himself. 

“...stop staring..” Your cheeks burned as he sat back taking you in. 

Nanami leaned down, lips nearly brushing your mound, “I’m admiring.”

You open your mouth to say something sassy but he licks up your slit, silencing you. He smiles a cocky smile at you and does it again, this time taking even more time to reach the top. 

He’s fucked. He knows it from the first taste. He has always had a proclivity and a preference for eating pussy, enjoyed and indulged in the tastes of many women, but none like this. None that have brought him into a haze with a single taste. He dives further, separating your outer lips with two v-ed fingers, showing him the pearl of your clit and your drooling hole. He experiments with pushing his tongue into you, hearing and gauging your moans. It feels good, so good, but he knows he can do more. Feeding his tongue into you once more before he flattens it against you and laps up to your clit again and again. Your hips buck up at that, one of his big hands presses down on your stomach, keeping you in place. He swirls his devil’s tongue around your clit again and again in an agonizing whirlpool before sucking hard at the swollen bud. You can't contain the cries and whimpers spilling from you, you try to move against his hand, you try to pull at his hair to detach him from you, offering you a moment to catch your breath but he doesn't move an inch. He’s a messy eater, chin and nose dripping just as much as his mouth. He’s a loud eater too, moaning at your taste, at the sound of you writhing for him, grunting as his hips rut against your mattress unwittingly. 

“K-kento, I--I think I…” You struggle to string together cohesive words but the fevered lapping between your legs keeps you stammering. 

“Go ahead, baby. Cum on my tongue.” Nanami’s voice was low and gravely, full of need and desperation of his own. 

But this was different, there was a tightness in your abdomen that was unfamiliar, you were confused and panting, worried that something else may happen. 

“W-wait, I--” You tried to move yourself onto your elbows just as Nanami pressed further down on your stomach. 

Before you knew it you were cumming, squirting into his mouth, onto your sheets. You cried out in one long pleasure filled scream, partially his name, partially just exaltation. Nanami drinks from you like a holy well, reverent and indulgent all at once. As though he may never taste you again. FInally he lets you push him off of your twitching sex. His face is soaked, he licks his lips, fingers too, anything that may carry some of your release. You watch him with hazy, drunken eyes. Sat back on his heels, coming out of his own cloud of pleasure, he watches you come back to your body. You look beautiful, panting on your back for him. He leans over you again and kisses your lips softly, then deeper, and deeper still. His tongue tastes like you, your hands are quick to pull his hips to yours. 

“Think you can go again?” Kento huffs out as your grind against his clothed crotch, he can feel the wetness of your climax seeping into his boxers, commingling with his own leaking anticipation. 

“I need it. Please fuck me, Kento.” You have no room for coyness or pride anymore, you have only room for him. 

He nods, burying his head in your neck and removing his boxers with your frantic help. You feel his hard length freed against your thigh. He’s bigger than you imagined, thick and leaking already. You wanted to taste the beading precum, feel the heat and weight of him in your mouth, but you would have to find another time because Nanami was just as desperate to be inside of you as you were to be filled by him. He lined himself up with your begging hole, not yet pushing inside. He looks into your eyes before kissing you, hard and deep, no barriers, no holding back, as he pushes into you. He’s thicker than you even thought, the stretch burning as you arch up into him, whimpering. 

“Take it all baby. I know, I know, just a bit more. You can take it.” He soothes against your lips, thrusting further.

You let out a small, cracked cry as he continues, pressing kisses to your neck. You rake your nails across his hip, desperate for something to cling to. You’re grateful for your surprisingly wet climax earlier, the lubrication helping to ease the insertion. When he finally bottoms out, and you feel his hips flush against yours, he stills. His tip is kissing your cervix, he's trembling above you as he too struggles to adjust to the tight fit. 

“You feel so fucking good, you’re so tight, so fucking wet for me.” He mutters against your neck, your jaw, anywhere he can find to kiss. 

“Fuuuuuuck, Kento.” Your pain finally gives way to pleasure. 

Just in time for him to pull his hips back slightly and thrust into you further. Both of you moan into the silence of the bedroom, as he repeats this over and over. Setting a medium pace of intense thrusts deep inside of you. You're squeezing him tighter and tighter. 

“Please baby, relax a bit. I can’t move much more.” Nanami begs, moving one hand to your clit and circling it gently, attempting to extend your pleasure. 

You try to obey, taking a deep breath and allowing him to make you feel good, as he promised. You release some tension and find his pace more languid and fluid, assisted by his careful thumbing of your clit. Your hands move up and grip the pillow behind you as he increases his pace, pumping into you faster and faster by just a deep. A dance begins with your two bodies, moving in sync, maximizing the joint pleasure. 

“Fuck! Ah, baby. Yes!”

“Oh! Kento, Kento! Yes!! Right there, fuck!”

“There? You like that? Of course you do, bad girl”

“Uh huh, Fuck me like a bad girl, Kento! Fuck” 

Cries of pleasure fill the room, Kento luxuriates in the fact that his own bedroom, sitting empty, is just on the other side of the wall, where the headboard is smacking rhythmically. He brings you to another mind melting orgasm with his thumb and cock working in tandem. You whimper out praises of his skill, his size, his words, Him. Once you have caught yourself again from the freefall of climax, you sit up, pushing on his shoulders. He's too big of a man for you to really push, but he sees your desire and rolls the pair of you so that he is now on his back. Your thighs ache already from being spread so long, but not to be out fucked you hitch your hips up and down his length as fast and accurately as you can. His hands settle on your hips, squeezing bruises into the supple flesh. 

“Fuck baby.” His jaw hangs open as he watches you bounce and grind on him. 

Emboldened by the blush settling on his face, you take one of his large, calloused hands from your hip and slide it up your body and to your mouth, where you suck two of his fingers into your mouth. He shudders and a dangerously loud moan spills from his lips. You swirl your tongue around his thick fingers, tasting remnants of your climaxes, tasting his heated skin. Your hips never stop, riding him and sucking his fingers. You see him sweating beneath you, eyes rolling back, mouth agape, tongue threatening to flop out. The hand on your hip squeezes and pushes you down further on him. 

“Baby I-- Fuck!” Nananmi hoped he would catch it in time but you surprised him and he couldn’t contain himself in time. 

He holds you down on his pelvis as his cock twitches inside of you releasing a heavy load of white into you. You both let out long, whining moans as he fucks up into you desperately. After his long release has completed, Nanami pulls his fingers from your lips and pulls you down to kiss him, whimpering as your shifting squeezes his overstimulated cock. The kiss is sticky with cum and sweat and spit, and delicious all the same. The combined flavors of your endeavor sweeter than any wine, better than any meal you could have shared over a candle lit dinner. Nanami licks into your mouth, holding you flush against his chest as his cock begins to soften inside of you. You pull away enough to look at him, foreheads still pressed together. You smile, and he smiles back, so warm and relaxed. He takes in a breath to speak 

THUNK THUNK THUNK……….THUNK THUNK THUNK 

You two look at one another. The confusion apparent on both of your faces as the knocking continues. You pull off of him, already mourning the feeling of his cock no longer inside of you. Nanami is ready to kill whoever is on the other side of the door for pulling him away from your tight, wet heat. You wrap yourself in your bathrobe, and Kento pulls on his sweatpants. You both exit your bedroom, although you want to assure Nanami he doesn't have to come with you, it feels comforting to have him there when answering the door at night. If he weren't in the room with you, you would have assumed it was him at the door, but since it can’t be you are lost for who could be knocking so late. 

THUNK THUNK THUNK

You open the door to find Mrs. Sonomura, your neighbor across the hall. You often watched her collection of houseplants when she went out of town to visit her daughter. Her cheeks were dark pink and she was wearing her housecoat. You pulled the top of your robe tighter over your chest, praying your hair which you had not thought to fix wasn't too obvious.  

“Good Evening, Mrs. Sonomura. W-what can I do for you?”

She took you in and flushed even deeper, “I-I heard shouting and I…well..”

You were mortified, knowing that any respect this woman had for you must have completely dissolved. Before she, or you, could speak, you felt a heavy hand clap over your shoulder and Nanami’s body came behind yours. He had donned his sweatshirt quickly at the sight of Mrs. Sonomura. 

“My apologies, Mrs. Sonomure. I came over to complain about how loud her party had been tonight and I suppose things got a bit heated. I apologize for the yelling, we’re trying to find a way to be more….neighborly.” He looked straight at Mrs. Sonomura, smiling a charming smile, all while squeezing your shoulder. 

Mrs. Sonomura nodded hurriedly, seemingly happy to take such an obvious lie in place of the uncomfortable truth. 

“Well, I trust the two of you can work it out with the front office. Please keep it down after quiet hours.”

You nodded, “So sorry, Mrs. Sonomura. It won't happen again, Goodnight.”

You waved and watched her enter her apartment before shutting the door to your own. Nanami cocked his head down at you. 

“Won't happen again, huh?” He teased. 

“Oh shut up. We should be careful letting our ‘arguments’ get too loud again.” you sighed out, just relieved to have avoided the complete mortification of your kind, older neighbor thinking you're a slut, “Those walls really are thin.” 

Nanami wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in to kiss the top of your head. You hugged him, pressing your face into his chest. 

“You should probably spend the night.” You turned your face to the side, pressing your cheek against him as you spoke, “I’d hate for something to happen to you taking the train this late.”

Nanami laughed, you could hear it resonate from his chest, “That’s a good point. I’d hate to walk home in this weather.” 

The pair of you smiled before you led him back into your bedroom to sleep. 

OKAY YALL: I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, its been bouncing around in my head for a while and im so pleased with how it came out. Bonus Points if you know what movie//book got spoiled. Anyway, love you guys, and always i would love to know what you thought or if you have any ideas of your own! XX- Doodle.

[magmagicstyle]

DRESS (A)

⚠️WARNING⚠️: Ehm… Death? Poor Valentina?

Pairings: male!reader x The Volturi kings.

Slumbering with you in front of the mirror, fingertips of crimson.

Your hand suddenly showed weakness and covered your lips.

I made a promise to you that day.

Now it's just the two of us, no more memories.

The gorgeous and dimly lit halls of the Volturi Castle carried an air of solemnity and danger. It was as if a predator was ready to attack at any second… which, after thinking about it for a few seconds, wasn’t too far from reality. In the grand throne room, Aro, Caius, Marcus, and you sat upon your elevated thrones, the kings' expressions unreadable but their sole presence was commanding. 

You, on the other hand, were simply... bored. So bored that you silently wished for anything remotely interesting to happen. As if the universe had heard your plea, the silence was broken by the faint sound of approaching footsteps—Valentina, the new human secretary of your mates, cautiously making her way forward. Valentina was pretty and quiet as a mouse, which was perfect since the sole reason why she had been chosen for the job was her beauty and obedience to the kings. Of course, now her beauty was being tainted by her harsh actions, her hands were trembling to the point the delicately designed envelope she carried was shaking in her hold and her steps were clumsy and rash, the heels of her shoes making unpleasant noises against the floor.

The candlelight flickered as she stepped closer, her hands trembling as she held out a silver tray with an ornate envelope resting on top. The details glimmering softly as Valentina handed it to Aro. Your mate’s pale and slender fingers brushed the edges of the paper as he accepted it with a peculiar and a bit unnerving smile. You sighed, already knowing this wasn’t going to be the distraction you had hoped for. After all, Aro’s smile was obviously fake… The amusement didn’t even reach his crimson eyes. You hated that smile—the one he faked so well, masking whatever real thoughts lurked beneath.

“What do we have here?” Aro mused, his voice smooth as silk but edged with amusement.

Valentina swallowed hard, clearly aware of the weight of her position. “An invitation, Master Aro,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You shifted in your seat, watching as he opened the envelope with care, sliding the card out and carefully inspecting its contents.. The wax seal bore an emblem you recognized instantly—the Cullens. You were able to glance at the invitation over Aro’s shoulder and… you had to give it to them, the Cullens had always been meticulous in their presentation and aesthetic, and this was no exception. Still, your stomach twisted slightly, though you forced yourself to remain expressionless.

“Ah,” Aro murmured, his voice as soft and smooth as always, though an undertone of curiosity laced his words... that was new. Your mate’s lips curved into a faint smile as he read the words silently. “Edward and Bella…” Aro said in a breathy whisper. “It appears our dear friends in Forks have something to celebrate.” He added, looking at his brothers and you from his seat.

Caius scoffed from his throne, his irritation barely contained. “What nonsense have they devised this time?”

Aro’s crimson eyes scanned the paper, and a slow, almost amused chuckle left his lips. “A wedding… how delightful!”

Silence stretched across the room. Marcus, ever the quiet observer, barely reacted. You, however, felt something cold settle in your chest.

Edward.

Of course, it was fucking Edward.

You leaned back, folding your arms as Aro passed the invitation between his fingers. He didn’t look at you, but you knew he was aware of the storm brewing beneath your calm facade. Was it with the Cullens and being unable to follow simple instructions? Seriously, it was quite predictable at this point. Tell the Cullens to follow a rule or do something, they’ll ignore it and try to avoid the consequences of their actions. 

Caius’ piercing eyes narrowed at the card in Aro’s hands and then looked at his brother with distaste. “Delightful? No, Aro, this is a declaration, a way to announce her future union even if she’s still a human… This-” he motioned angrily towards the card and opened his mouth to continue but found his disdain too strong to continue.

“This is a way of mocking the Volturi, my king… they are mocking us for giving them another chance and they are making it obvious by daring to invite us to this union…”  You finished, expression twisting with anger.

Marcus, looking at your and Caius’ anger, and Aro’s amusement, decided to be the voice of calmness, trying to help you relax. He glanced disinterestedly at the card before closing his eyes for a second. “This hardly changes something…” He murmured, voice barely above a whisper, hoping to help to relax the tension in the room. 

Aro tilted his head, his expression thoughtful as his eyes flickered between the card in his hands and your mates and yourself. “Ah, but it gives us an insight into their plans… doesn’t it?” he said, his tone playful, though it carried an edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t quite place just yet. Seeing you stretching your hand towards him, he handed the invitation to you, letting you snatch it with a bit of irritation.  

“Do they truly believe they can ignore our authority this way?” Caius snarled, voice dripping with anger and venom. 

“Love, you know the Cullens… as usual, they think their happy union absolves them of their obligations and responsibilities…” You said towards Caius, trying to decide if you were feeling angry over their disregard of the rules or if, at this point, you were bored of how predictable they were. 

Aro rose slowly from his throne, his graceful movements echoing centuries of refinement and control. His expression turned contemplative as he turned around and glanced at his brothers and you. “Let us not act rashly…” He started, showing a smile that hid a sharp edge. “There is still time to see if the Cullens uphold their word… After all, the turning of Bella could be the same night of the wedding or even before the ceremony… And well, if they do not comply with the rules…” Finally, Aro’s eyes showed the playful and dangerous gleam that promised a dark future for the Cullens. “Then we shall remind them of the cost of defiance.”

It seemed that his words placated Caius’ anger, because your strong mate showed a sharp smile and relaxed in his throne for a second before standing up. Marcus, letting out a sigh, also got out of his throne and offered you his hand, helping you up. The four of you started to leave the room, strides regal and silent against the marble floors.

Behind your group, Valentina, the human secretary, stood frozen in her place, eyes wide and darting nervously around the chamber. She had done her job, while clumsily, and delivered the invitation as instructed, but now she remained a trembling mortal among the immortal predators in the room. Valentina was a good secretary, you liked her a bit, sadly, your mates weren’t so fond of her and with her being the one to deliver not so pleasant news… Well. 

Aro’s voice, soft but chilling, drifted back to the room while the group was walking out. “Dispose of her,” he said, not even looking at the human woman inside, almost as an afterthought. 

Your gaze snapped to her just in time to see her knees buckle. The tray clattered to the floor, and before she could even process what was happening, the Volturi guards emerged from the shadows of the room - silent, efficient, dangerous, and utterly devoid of any sight of mercy, gripping her arms in an unyielding hold.

Aro tutted, stepping toward her with a slow, almost gentle movement. “Dear Valentina,” he murmured, “such fragile creatures, humans.”

Valentina trembled violently, her pleading eyes darting between you and the kings, begging for something—mercy, perhaps. But you remained still, knowing how these things played out. There was no saving her. Your mates, unlike you, didn’t spare her another glance. Sure, her fate was sealed from the moment she entered the room with that invitation, but still, you would look at her and do your best to remember the poor girl that had lived a couple of months among you.

“You have served well,” Aro continued, “but you’ve seen too much.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Aro’s smile returned, warm and deceptive. “Don’t worry, dear one. This will be quick.”

And after those words, she barely had time to let out a choked gasp before she was whisked away to an adjoining chamber, where the pile of lifeless bodies of her predecessors awaited. The last thing you saw was her tear-filled eyes while the guards took her away.

You would save her if you could, but even as the kings’ mate, you could never deny or defy their authority, not in front of the other vampires… to do so, it would make your mates look as weak and unreliable, and that wasn’t something they could afford. 

The room fell silent once more, the faint scent of Valentina’s blood lingering in the air, and with that, you turned around and followed the kings out of the room. While walking, you kept listening to the murmurs of your mates’ discussion in the distance, their soft and velvety voices echoing faintly through the cold, stone corridos. Now, the question lingered, what would the Cullens do next? 

I'll listen to boring songs and stare out the window

I'll put on a dress and I'll dance for you.

Tell me if I'm mad.

Someday the wind will carry me away.

Now we're two people I can't remember

In the breathtaking halls of the Volturi castle, every step taken by Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, and Esme resonated with a mixture of trepidation and resolution. Bella, Edward and Alice weren’t there, not willing to risk putting Bella in front of the Kings again, especially not after the horrible situation they were subjected to before. Besides, Alice wanted Bella to concentrate on her future wedding, the little vampire had managed to take control of all the planning, but she was still trying to get the human to be more involved. After all, this was the end of her life like she knew it and the start of the new life she had dreamed of for so long. In the castle, the atmosphere was thick with the weight of impending revelation and request, as well as clung to the air as they approached the thrones where the formidable triumvirate of Aro, Caius, and Marcus sat in judgement, you, sitting by their side, waited the right moment to attack. You knew that the Cullens would do something stupid. In fact, you expected it. You were almost begging them to give you the chance to put them in their place.

As the Olympic coven advanced towards the throne room, the ghosts of past events hovered over them like spectres. The memory of Edward's betrayal and foolish actions, as well as Bella’s reckless behaviour, made a fissure in their familial bond, and it loomed large in their collective consciousness. After all, even if they were part of the same family, there were moments when they didn’t support or like Edward’s decisions. It was in that moment that they remembered the burden of concealing the harsh truth from you, that they remembered how they broke the heart of one of their own and in consequence, pushed you away with their indifference and careless actions. It was in their blindness that they hurt you in ways they couldn’t begin to comprehend and it was that what gnawed at their conscience, forming a silent undercurrent beneath their outward composure.

The vampires of the Olympic coven entered the grand chamber, or the room of judgement -as some liked to call it- where the three Kings and you awaited with keen scrutiny. It was under their harsh and bloodied eyes that the Cullens couldn't escape the echo of their past actions. Still, Aro, always the good and charismatic host, greeted them with a polite smile, though a flicker of a mischievous gleam danced in his eyes.

"Welcome Carlisle, my dear friend, I see that you brought part of your family…" Aro's velvety voice resonated, masking a subtle wariness. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Carlisle, always willing to act like the paragon of reason and compassion, stepped forward, trying to show his demeanour as poised yet respectful. "Aro… my lords, we have come to inform you of a significant development among our family members," he began, his gaze briefly meeting those of Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie, who shared the weight of this revelation. They weren’t sure if this was the right course of action, knowing how changing and hidden Aro’s emotions could be, this news could work in their favour or against them. Sure, Marcus was there to be the voice of reason, the king being one of the most compassionate and disinterested in the actions of his fellow vampires, but, Caius was also there, the king being prone to anger and violent reactions, the news could irk him and in consequence, he would push the turning date for Bella closer to the present, something they were trying to avoid… and you… Sure, legally you didn’t have any power just yet. Still, the kings were willing to hear your opinions and usually accepted your judgement over different situations, so if you decided to get rightful revenge, nobody could ensure the Cullen's safety. 

Rosalie, uncharacteristically direct, stepped into the spotlight with a hint of defiance in her voice. Sure, she didn’t want to be there, not wanting to help Edward ruin a girl’s life by turning her into the monster they were, but still, she couldn’t find in herself to be quiet and just let the kings toy with her family. "Edward and Bella are planning to marry," she declared, her eyes betraying a glimmer of frustration at the idea of the impending wedding. She didn’t support this marriage, not only because she hated the idea of Bella giving up her youth, life and capacity of having children for a lonely and cold life as a monster always running and never having a normal relationship, but because she hated how Edward had broken your heart, just to chase after a teenager. 

The mention of Bella's name drew a subtle disapproval from Marcus, the usually impassive expression on his face showing a flicker of discomfort. Sure, he was the calmest of his brothers and he usually never cared too much for anything but that had changed with your arrival to the castle, he was more involved now, more caring and well, even if he wanted to hide it, he got angry now, especially when it was related to someone that hurt you. So, he, understanding the pain that Bella's involvement had caused you, was a bit upset about hearing about the girl’s life. Not only that, but he was aware of the fact that your pain was only adding another layer of complexity to an already intricate situation.

Caius, with his penetrating eyes and composed demeanour, regarded them intently. "Yes… we received the invitation… what does this have to do with us?" he inquired with an arched brow, a hint of scepticism lacing his words. He didn’t care for a wedding, he was just thinking about the fact that Bella was still human and that the Cullens had less time to follow their ruling. He also knew that behind Aro’s playful smile and Marcus’ lack of interest, they were a bit annoyed by the fact that the Cullens seemed to be doing whatever they wanted. Especially after you so kindly offered them the chance to redeem themselves. The Cullens were being reckless, acting like they could do anything and be free of any type of punishment. Sure, Carlisle was an old friend and that gave him certain liberties that  not every vampire was entitled to but that wasn’t an excuse to act like he owned the place. 

Carlisle took -an unnecessary, but more emotional than anything- deep breath, a sense of responsibility guiding his words. "My lords, Bella's transformation has been scheduled, and, as you know, the wedding is set to take place soon," he explained. "We understand the implications of our actions and the consequences they bear… but we wanted to ask for more time."

As soon as you heard Carlisle’s words you couldn’t help but seethe with anger. How dare they? How could they be so shameless to ask for more chances after the special treatment that the Vulturi had given them until now? Not only that but it felt almost like a joke, choosing the date set as a limit for Bella’s transformation as the wedding date. It felt like a way to mock the Vulturi. You couldn’t help but let out a soft unhappy sound. It was really quiet, but still, it pushed the Cullens to look at you with apprehension. 

Our smile remained gorgeous but his eyes betrayed a clean of dysplasia well you can never lie with your eyes so it was obvious that he wasn't pleased with the reasons behind this reunion. “ you don't realize that you're behind schedule correct?”   he reminded Carlisle and the other Cullens.  it was obvious that Arrow was quite satisfied being the one making that question. “ you promised that Bella was going to be turned in a year and now it would be longer than what we agreed originally…”  

You lifted your hand and looked at your former family. If you didn't know them you will be confused and maybe even shocked… But you knew them do you understand the way they thought and they try to change the rules every time they didn't get what they wanted so you can help but feel resentful and angry. Sure! You were also a bit proud of their audacity. After all, no other vampire family would dare to ask for a second chance or try to change the rules that the Vulturi had previously established. 

Still, the pride could disappear, the anger, on the other side… Oh, the anger stayed present.. how dare they? How could they come here, asking for an extension without even considering the political ramifications of what they were asking from the kings and you?  “I must say that we are quite surprised by the fact that you invited us to a ceremony that is going to be on the same date we agreed for young Bella's transformation… huh, it’s funny, right?” 

You made a pause almost letting your words sink the mind of the people that were around you. “ it's almost like you are trying to portray the idea that we are accepting this Union between a vampire and a human it's almost like you're trying to make it seem like you are winning some type of internal war between our covens…”  you showed a sharp smirk towards the Cullens. “ even though there's no conflict we made a rule we reach an agreement between our families and accepted but now you want to change everything so, it's quite funny that you are trying to push us to make exactly what you wanted from the start…” 

Emmet’s jaw tightened, showing his tension. Your teddy bear of an older brother was clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Still, he was trying to help his father and Edward. Always the one willing to face any danger to protect his family. “We are aware of the timing…” He answered, and even if he was supposed to be talking to the kings, he didn’t stop looking directly into your eyes. 

“We are also aware that we are asking for much, still, please understand, we faced some unexpected issues that stopped the preparations for Bella’s turning… That’s why we came here to ask for more time now that everything has returned to normal… We will follow the instructions given before, but… please… we are just asking for a couple of months just a couple of months they will have the ceremony they will get married and on their honeymoon, Bella is going to be turned into a vampire.”

Jasper, your poor brother, the empathetic soul among the Cullens. You didn’t feel any resentment against him, you knew that he was desperate to be accepted by the Cullens and that he always thought himself weak because he was the newest member of the coven. It was clear that Jasper endeavoured to appeal to the king’s sense of understanding, to try to make them look like simple victims of the circumstances. “Please, we have come here to ask for your mercy and comprehension, we are just asking for a couple of months just a couple of months they will have the ceremony they will get married and on their honeymoon, Bella is going to be turned into a vampire…” 

The air in the throne room grew thick with the weight of unspoken words. They were asking for more time, for a second chance. It was obvious that the emotional fallout between you and the Cullens was something Carlisle and Edward didn’t think would affect this request. It was obvious that they didn’t realise the pull and power you had on your mates.

Fools. 

Why am I like the wind, like the clouds

Why don't I have wings that float to the sky?

Like the stars, like the moon, that wrap everything in their embrace

Like the stars, like the moon, that encompass everything…

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024

July 5th Prompt: Reunion

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 6 | Day 7

@steddie-week

“Babe,” Eddie calls from the kitchen. Steve’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, so he garbles out an unintelligible one minute! before quickly finishing.

He walks into the kitchen, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “What’s up?”

Eddie’s eyes are dancing with mirth as he helps Steve fix his collar. “You’ll never guess what just came in the mail.”

Steve raises a brow. “You’re acting like my parents are groveling at the door right now.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, no. I’d very much be laughing in their faces if that’s what was happening.” He grabs Steve’s glasses from the counter he’d forgotten them on last night, unfolds them, and carefully slides them on Steve’s face. “No migraines,” he murmurs, and Steve’s hit with a rush of love so big he just has to tell Eddie.

“I love you.”

Eddie smiles softly; a small, disbelieving, hopeful thing that’s never changed from the first time Steve said it. “And I, my love,” he murmurs back. “But no, it’s not your parents.” His grin grows into a giggle. “It’s fuckin’ Hawkins High.”

Steve makes a face. “It’s still standing?”

Eddie snorts. “Apparently-fucking-ly.” He grabs two letters; one with Steve’s name, one with Eddie’s. “One letter for each of us. I already opened mine. It’s a reunion.”

Steve furrows his brows, rips into the envelope, pulls the paper out. “Hawkins High School… forty-year reunion… de-” he frowns up at Eddie. “Decennial?”

Eddie hums, nods. “Every ten years. God knows where our other ones went.”

Steve hums. “Guess we can throw these in the trash, huh?”

Eddie shifts. “You don’t want to go?”

Steve stares at him incredulously. “You do? You, Eddie Munson, want to go back to the place where—and these are your words, here—apart from our group of friends, only the- the backwoods of inbreeding resides?”

Eddie cackles. “Oh yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” He’s delighted. Steve’s finding it hard not to smile in the face of that joy.

“So you want to go back?”

Eddie shrugs. “Think about it,” he requests. “I don’t want to go to see how anyone else is doing. Frankly, I don’t have the time to give two shits about them. But you know I’ll always jump at the chance to show you off.”

Steve raises both eyebrows this time. “You want to show me off? In fucking Hawkins?”

Eddie deflates. “You don’t want to go.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, babe, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that even though it’s legal, even though we’re officially married now, if there’s one place that isn’t gonna be accepting…” he trails off, lets Eddie finish the thought for himself.

“What if I convince Nancy to come?”

“Well, she’ll have to come if we go, won’t she? Cause you know she’ll go anywhere Robin does, and Robin’s gonna follow me, so…”

Eddie snickers. “Okay, yeah, fair enough. But babe, we’ll have Nancy and Robin on our side. The three of you took on Vecna, I think you can take on some overweight, washed-up, balding fifty-something-year-old.” He squeezes at Steve’s biceps, and Steve tries not to preen.

He’s proud of the care he’s shown his body, he’s proud of the way he looks, he’s proud that Eddie likes the way he looks. He can feel his resolve waning, is about to tell Eddie fuck it, let’s go, when his phone rings.

He pats his pockets, looks around for it. “Room,” Eddie supplies, and Steve gratefully peck his cheek before jogging to their room, where it’s laying on his nightstand. Eddie walks in as he answers it, having followed at a more sedate pace. “Hello?”

“Are you going to the reunion?”

“Hey, Robbie,” Steve chuckles, meets Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah, we are.”

“Yes!” She cheers. “You’re the best, we’re getting joint hotel rooms, right?”

He laughs and sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s Hawkins, Robs, I don’t think it has anything quite that fancy.”

Robin groans, loud and long enough that both Steve and Eddie have to stifle their giggles. “But I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“It’s been barely a week, Robbie.”

“That’s what I said!”

He relents. “I know. I miss you too. We’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, and hangs up.

Steve looks at Eddie, amused. “I guess we’d better pack. And you should tell the guys, don’t you have something going on that day?”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, and runs to the living room for his phone.

Steve surveys their room and sighs. He calls out to Eddie, “bring me a notepad on your way back, please!”

Eddie does, so he sets to work making a list for everything they need to pack while Eddie types away, postponing his plans.

While they might not get joint hotel rooms, Steve, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy are carpooling back to Hawkins in Robin’s van. She’s driving, Nancy’s in the passenger seat, Steve’s right behind Robin and Eddie’s right behind Nancy. Their luggage is piled precariously in the back, meaning every time Robin turns, the luggage slides from one side of the van to the other. Steve, with his mostly-undiagnosed OCD, flinches every time. And every time, Eddie pats his hand.

Besides the shifting suitcases, it’s a nice ride, even if Steve does grab Eddie’s hand and squeeze, just a hair tightly, whenever they pass the Welcome to Hawkins! sign.

Everyone gets a little quiet, after that. Robin fumbles with the radio, and Eddie perks up. “This song,” he says, practically bouncing in his seat.

Steve snorts. “Iron Maiden,” he tells her.

“The fact that you know that-”

“It gets worse,” he tells her, grinning. “The song is called Wasted Years. I know all the words.”

Robin grins, turns the volume up.

The joke’s really on her, though, because she’s always been good at music, patterns, and she’s singing the chorus with him and Eddie by the time they get to the end of the song, Nancy laughing at them. “So understand,” they sing, Robin glancing in the rearview mirror, Steve looking from her to Eddie and back again. “Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years. Face up, make this stand. And realize you’re living in the golden years!”

Steve and Eddie are practically screaming it at each other by the last line. Robin’s given up to join Nancy in laughing at them. Steve joins in as Eddie plays air guitar to the end of the song, collapsing in a laugh when it’s finally over.

“Okay,” Eddie says, grinning. “I think I could take on anything now.”

“Yeah?” Nancy asks, pointing ahead. “You’re ready for the reunion?”

They’d decided, since the last time they took a proper road trip had been too many years ago, they could do it the same day as the reunion.

They’d forgotten how getting old, coupled with the problems every one of them still has from the Upside Down, means they’re all very much sore from sitting in a car for upwards of five hours.

The plan was drive the five-something hours, go to the reunion, crash in the hotel, and drive back home the next day.

Steve hates the plan now and wants to go to the hotel to rest like the old man he’s letting himself be.

However unfortunate it may be, the reunion is today, which means Steve gets to suck it up, say hi to people he probably doesn’t even remember anymore, and then leave.

He hops out of the car and stretches a little, laughing when Eddie attempts the same hop out of the car and almost eats asphalt. “Dumbass,” he mutters. Eddie shoots him a Cheshire grin.

Before long they’re ready to walk inside. Steve takes a breath as he passes through the doors. The hallways are the same, but the lockers are new. It still smells like teenagers and feet, he notices, wrinkling his nose. The things you’ll get nose-blind to, he supposes.

The letters they’d gotten said the reunion was to be held in the gym, so that’s where they head.

Steve didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t a few snack tables along the edge of the room and a single Reunion of ‘85 banner. “Goddamn,” Eddie says from beside him, “depressing much?”

Steve snorts in agreement and walks over to the drink table. If he’s going to talk to people, he’s at least going to have questionable-looking punch while he does.

When he turns after getting punch, he nearly runs into someone. He quickly steps back. “Oh, sorry!” He looks up into the shocked face of Tommy Hagan. He blinks. “Tommy?”

“Steve.”

Steve smiles. “How’ve you been?”

Tommy blinks, like he can’t believe Steve’s being nice to him right now, and that’s when Steve remembers they’d parted on not-so-nice terms. Oh well, he would’ve feigned politeness even if he’d remembered. “I’m good, yeah, uh, how- how’re you?”

“I’m good,” Steve agrees. “Really good. Last I remember you and Carol were dancing around each other, yeah? What happened there?”

“We got married,” Tommy nods.

“Congratulations!”

“And then divorced two years later,” Tommy adds, smirking. Steve winces. “How about you? Last I knew, it was you and Wheeler, ‘cept she cheated on you with Byers, yeah?”

“God,” Steve laughs, “that was so long ago. Yeah, that happened. We talked it through and Nance and I are really good friends now. She’s married to someone else, as am I, but we both keep in touch with Jon, thought he’s out in California now.”

Tommy’s brow raises. “Married? Who’s the lucky girl?”

A presence beside him makes Steve turn to see Eddie grinning at him. “My ears are burning.”

“They should be,” he laughs. “Tommy, you remember Eddie?”

“Munson,” Tommy nods, then does a double take. “Wait, you’re married?”

“As of three years ago now,” Eddie says proudly. “But together for…”

“Thirty-seven years,” Steve provides, smiling at his husband before turning back to Tommy. “Did you ever get remarried after Carol?” Tommy shakes his head.

Eddie whispers in Steve’s ear, “You know he totally had the hots for you, right?”

Steve winces at the blast of static from his hearing aid and quickly shuts it off. “Ow,” he mutters, grinning crookedly at Eddie, who looks apologetic. He quickly signs what he’d whispered, and Steve laughs. “Don’t you remember my initial panic?”

Eddie thinks, back to when Steve had asked him what’s gay versus friendly, becoming increasingly confused when most of the things Eddie ticked off in the gay category were things Steve and Tommy had done that Steve had thought firmly resided in the friendly category. “Oh, yeah.”

Steve snorts, shakes his head, pushes him away. “Go talk to someone else. Rescue Robin, she looks like she needs it.”

“Nah,” Eddie says, “she can hold her own,” but goes anyways after a quick peck to Steve’s cheek. Steve turns the hearing aid back on.

“Man,” Tommy says wonderingly, “what happened to you?”

“Concussions,” Steve answers flatly. “Three of ‘em. Then I grew up.” He sighs, looks down at his cup, then up at Tommy. “Listen, man, about what we used to do-”

Tommy winces. “I know. I had that revelation a while ago, actually, but it was definitely shitty of me.”

Steve smiles, shrugs. “You had a crush on me. It’s not an excuse, but it does make a certain kind of sense you’d react that way, especially considering the kind of home life you had.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Feel free to stop listening if the therapist side of me comes out. I swear I’m not trying to, like, diagnose you with anything.”

Tommy’s brows raise. “You’re a therapist?”

Steve hums affirmatively. “Started as a school counselor, if you can believe that.”

Tommy fixes him with a wondering grin. “Y’know? I think I can see it.”

“Do my eyes deceive me,” someone says from their side, draping their arms across Steve and Tommy’s shoulders, pulling them into a hug.

Steve comes face-to-face with Carol. He grins. “Hey, Carol.”

“Hey, you,” she says, raking her eyes over him. “Time’s been good to you.”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve says happily, but its true; she doesn’t look a day over forty, instead of the fifty-odd she is now. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” she agrees.

They go through the same song-and-dance, but this time when she asks who he’s married to, he sees Eddie juggling water bottles, talking to a couple of people. “Oh, for-” he mutters, then louder, “Eddie, what in the everloving fuck are you doing?”

Eddie drops a bottle, puts the other two on the table behind him, and jogs over to throw his weight onto Steve. “Making friends.”

Steve snorts, elbows him off. “Say hi to Carol, babe.”

Carol clocks it immediately, based on the twitch of her eyebrow, but only says, “I didn’t peg you two as a couple.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie snorts, “it was Bumfuck, Indiana in the 80’s.”

Carol tilts her head in agreement, then turns to Tommy and says coolly, “Tommy.”

“Carol,” he replies, tips of his ears red.

Eddie looks between them, then turns a raised eyebrow on Steve, who quickly signs, “Married for two years a while ago. I don’t know any details.”

“He clearly is still into her.”

“I refuse to be a part of whatever you’re planning.”

Eddie pouts. “You’re no fun.”

Carol clears her throat. “Sign language?”

Steve snorts. “Turns out brains aren’t supposed to get banged around. You’ve got a real good chance of messing something up that way.”

Eddie pokes his cheek. “‘S not your fault.”

“Never said it was,” Steve placates.

Carol shakes her head. “How many concussions do you have?”

Steve hums. “Three? Four?”

“Three,” Eddie corrects. “Not that we need to get into it right now.” He gives Carol a tight smile, and Steve hip-checks him.

“Down, boy,” he murmurs with a smile. “I’m alright.” He turns to Carol with a wider smile. “Long story short, the concussions caused irreparable hearing loss. I’m almost completely deaf in my left ear, but I get by.”

“Damn,” Carol says lightly, “life, huh?”

Steve snorts. “You can say that again.” He tilts his head. “How are you?” He asks. “Really?”

She gives him a crooked smile. “Let’s walk and talk.” Steve offers her his arm, which she takes with a laugh.

“How am I,” she muses. “Well I thought I found love, but we imploded two years later. Thank god for prenups, I guess, but at the same time, that made it feel like we were doomed from the start.”

Steve hums. “Eddie and I have been legally married for three years,” he tells her. “Together for thirty-seven. We’ve got prenups. Not because we think we won’t work, but because we want the people we care about to not have to worry about any of that.” He’s silent for a few steps. “I used to think love is out of our control. That we don’t get to decide who we fall for. And maybe, to a certain extent, that’s true. But love is also a choice you make every day. Eddie and I are still in love because we choose to be.”

“You look at each other like you’re on your honeymoon.”

Steve giggles. “And to think we didn’t even have a honeymoon!”

Carol laughs, too, then sobers. “You always were more fortunate in love,” she says. “What do you think? Do we have a chance?”

Steve hums. “I think it’s obvious, just by looking at him, that he’s still into you.”

“No shit.”

“So what’s important is how you feel. Marriage is work, I’m not gonna lie and say it’s not. So are you ready, and I mean really ready, to work for it?”

She works her lower lip. “I think so,” she admits. “But I- I’m also not completely sure I’m straight.”

“Okay,” Steve shrugs. “Do you know what he and I used to get up to?” He shrugs at her look. “I’m just saying, neither is he.”

“I mean, I definitely still like guys.”

“Well duh, you’ve taken more dick than I have and I’m married to a man.”

She snorts. “But women…”

“I know,” Steve says sympathetically. “It’s hard, isn’t it.” He pats her hand. “If you’re ready to try, though, you need to talk to him.” He turns her around, gestures toward Tommy, who quickly looks away, cheeks burning. They both laugh softly.

Carol leans up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Steve. Let’s keep in touch.”

“Let’s actually keep in touch,” he agrees, handing her his phone. “Where do you live?”

“Columbus for now, but he’s in Dayton.”

Steve hums. “We’re in Detroit.”

“We’ll do phone calls,” Carol decides, laughing.

Steve chuckles, saves her number. “Plan to meet up-”

“Never actually do-”

“Oh, Carol, it’s been so long-”

They both break off into giggles. “You’re fun,” she decides. “I wish we’d kept in touch.”

“To be fair, we competed for title of bitchiest.”

“To be fair, I don’t think we ever grew out of that,” Carol retorted, and Steve snorts, gently shoving her.

“Alright, go get your man, and send mine over here.”

She gently steps on his shoe as she leaves, impish smile in place, and Steve turns only to run into Nancy and Robin. “Hey, guys,” he smiles.

Nancy gives him a look. “Making nice with Carol?”

Steve shrugs, grins at her. “Turns out we were just kids. Who knew, right?”

Just then, Eddie comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “What’re we talking about?”

Nancy smiles at him, wraps an arm around Robin’s waist. “Being kids.”

“That so?” He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, pushes back to look at him. “You look lighter.”

Steve hums. “‘S cause I love you.”

“Charmer,” Eddie mutters, turning bright red. “C’mon, seriously.”

“Seriously,” Steve agrees. “I was talking with Carol about her and Tommy, and I told her that why we work is because we work at it.”

“Very true.”

From behind them, someone cautiously asks, “Eddie Munson?”

They both turn, and suddenly Eddie’s scooping her up in a hug. “Ronnie! What the hell are you doin’ here, huh?”

She laughs and hugs him back just as hard. “Did you ever know a Jackson Starnes?”

Eddie’s brow furrows for a second, then smooths out. “Oh, Jackie! Yeah, he was cool.”

“Mhm. He’s my husband.”

“No shit? I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she laughs, then nods at everyone else. “Who’s the hunk you were hangin’ off of?”

Eddie chuckles. “Ronnie, meet my husband, Steve.”

She turns an eyebrow on him. “You got married?”

“He proposed,” Steve corrects her, grinning.

“To the preppiest of jocks,” Robin adds.

Eddie laughs. “What can I say? It’s love.” He swoons, placing a hand over his chest, almost pulling Ronnie over with the arm still over her shoulder.

She laughs and dumps him off of her. Steve swoops in before he can fall, hoisting him up with a quick kiss.

“I’m Nancy,” she says, extending her hand to Ronnie. “And this is my wife Robin.”

“Oh!” Eddie says, literally jumping back into the conversation. “Robin and Steve are like how we were.”

“Platonic soulmates,” Steve agrees.

“With a capital P,” Robin emphasizes.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Ronnie says.

“How’s Wayne?” She asks Eddie.

“Dead.” He snickers at her face. “‘S alright, Ronnie. It’s been years.”

“Still. I can be sorry.”

“You can,” he agrees. “It won’t help anything, but you can.” He digs his phone out of his pockets, opens his contacts app. “Here, lemme get your number, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ronnie says, “let’s hang out, just lemme know when so I can get a sitter.”

Eddie chokes on nothing. “You have a kid?”

Ronnie grins, a shit-eating thing as she hands his phone back. “Three.”

“Goddamn,” he says, “you got pictures?”

Ronnie rolls her eyes, grabs her phone. “What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t? Here, this is Cassie, Alex, and… that’s Elijah.”

“Oh, man, Alex looks just like Jackie, doesn’t he?”

“I carry him for nine months,” Ronnie bitches good-naturedly. “‘Nough about me, though, how’re you? Corroded Coffin ever take off?”

Eddie snorts. “You hear about the psychopath in ‘86?”

“I remember something about it.”

“Yeah. I got caught in the crossfires, wrongfully blamed, and spent…” he looks at Steve. “A year?”

“Almost.”

He turns back to Ronnie. “Almost a year hiding out. Corroded Coffin was officially disbanded after I was allowed out of hiding.”

“Fuck,” Ronnie says, “there goes my entire foot in my mouth, I guess. What’re you doing now, then?”

He chuckles. “A little bit of everything, honestly. A little music, a little writing, a little D&D. Nothing that’s made me a household name, but enough that I’m kept busy and we’re comfortable.”

Ronnie nods. “And how about you?” She asks Steve.

“Oh, nothing as fun as that,” Steve chuckles. “I’m a therapist.”

Ronnie tilts her head. “Any specialties?”

“C-PTSD, mainly.”

“Damn, I know about eight people who could use someone like you.”

Steve snorts. “That’s usually the way it goes, yeah.”

“Well it was great seeing you, Eddie,” Ronnie says. “And meeting all the rest of you. But I’ve got to find my husband and get back home, so we’ll have to continue this later.”

“Of course,” Steve says. “See you later?”

“Absolutely,” Ronnie nods, then turns and walks off.

They decide to leave not too much later. They’re all tired, so the drive to the hotel is filled with only the sound of the radio, turned almost all the way down.

“Y’know,” Eddie murmurs, tracing the ring on Steve’s finger, “she was my first kiss.”

Steve snorts, an explosive thing that he definitely learned from Robin. “She what?”

“Yup,” Eddie nods. “I knew I liked girls, but she’s the only one I got close enough to to actually know. We got stupid one night and decided to kiss and it basically went how it would if you and Robin were to kiss.”

“Ew,” Steve says on reflex. Eddie snorts.

Robin slaps at him from her seat, then yells when he slaps back, “Don’t distract the driver!”

“Bitch,” he tells her, “you slapped first!”

“You said ew about kissing me!”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Hell no!”

“That’s why I said it!”

Eddie leans up to murmur to Nancy, “should we break it up?”

“Eh, give it a minute. Once they resort to cursing their lineages we can break it up.”

He chuckles. “Always the wise one, Wheeler.”

“You’d best believe it,” she nods smugly.

“Nancy!” Robin says. “Baby! Defend me!”

“About kissing Steve? Who I’ve kissed before?”

“Oh, no,” Robin says, horrified. “I’m stuck in the car with the two people who are experts on Steve kissing.”

“Why’d you make it sound like a bad thing?” Steve demands.

And… yeah. Eddie’s glad they got separate hotel rooms.

Based on the look Nancy throws his way when they part, she’s glad, too.

[stevesgother]

American Teenager - R.B

Pairing - Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

WC - 3.9k

Part 1 of the I Wish I Knew You series

General Warnings - internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, religious and evangelical themes/descriptions, cursing, drug/alcohol use, depictions of religious trauma, eventual smut

AN - before we even start let me disclaim: this series will explore heavy topics. a lot of it is self-indulgent, as a queer woman who grew up in the church. If you find any of the themes listed above triggering or upsetting in any way, DO NOT PROCEED. i’m so excited for you guys to read this one. With love ~ emma <3

On your fifteenth birthday, your father gave you a purity ring.

Today, the sun cascading through the delicate stained-glass windows reflects perfectly off the dainty diamond in its setting; your hands clasped in prayer.

‘Our Father, as we gather in Your presence, we thank You for the blessings of this day,’

Your father’s unwavering voice echoes the service’s concluding prayer over the congregation as you sit thigh to thigh with your mother, heads bowed. A singular pleated french braid fell neatly down your back, styled just how your mother liked it. The sanctuary smells of stale communion crackers and mildew. You silently scold yourself for wishing it would be time to leave already.

‘In Your holy name we pray,’

Amen.

The old wooden pews creak as the mass starts to funnel out of the church; a cacophony of chatter and laughter erupts throughout the room as different families begin to socialize. Sues and Annes, Toms and Franks– asking each other for prayer. ‘My husband got laid off.’ they’ll say, or ‘We’re having trouble conceiving.’

Sometimes when you watch them all flock together like this, you wonder if you’re being given a prophetic glimpse of your future.

“And Y/N, how are you and your boyfriend?”

You’re snapped out of your daze, “Sorry?”

“‘Ben’ is it? How are you and Ben doing?”

“Oh we’re–” you shake your head distractedly, hair swishing along the back of your perfectly ironed dress, “We’re good, thank you,”

“She and Ben are actually going to Princeton next year,” your mother adds triumphantly, “just received the acceptance letters last week!”

“Oh!” Your mother’s friend Dorothy squeals, “Isn’t that delightful?!”

“We’re very proud of her.” your father compliments as he wraps a tight arm around your shoulder, “She’s even going for ministry.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” Dorothy laments, “you know, I went to a bible college–” she looks at you in a stern, motherly way that makes sweat prickle at your brow, a bony finger dancing in your direction, “there is truly nothing better than committing your life to our Lord.”

This is the conversation you decide to ruminate on as you sit in front of your vanity mirror, brushing your braid out in a daze. You must’ve been sitting there, running that wide tooth comb through your hair, for at least ten minutes now– your delicate strands starting to break and frizz.

The worn pages of your leather-bound journal stick to one another as you fold it open, ready to spill your guts amongst the pages,

April 8th, 1986

Tomorrow is Monday. A new week, with new responsibilities. I’m scared to disappoint daddy, but I know he just wants the best for me. Ben came over for dinner tonight, momma really loves him, I think. I think he’s sweet. He’s been bringing me flowers more often. They’re always wrapped in brown paper instead of that ugly plastic you get at the grocery store. He’d make a good husband one day, don’t you think? Write again soon.

You always sign your name in your frilly cursive at the end of each passage as if anyone else would be writing in your diary except for you. You think it feels more formal that way. More official.

...

Eight o’clock is decidedly too early for band class. Your flute keeps drooping in your hands, your notes are flat, and your breath support is terrible. Maybe your lingering drowsiness is just the excuse you’re using to deflect from the fact that what’s really distracting you is a girl across the room that you’ve never seen before, standing awkwardly and tuning her trumpet.

She’s sporting chipped, black nail polish and bright red converse covered in inky doodles. Her hair is a sandy blonde color and looks just a little chemically damaged like maybe she’d bleached it recently. It’s miles shorter than yours, though– resting just above her shoulders.

The girl doesn’t pay you any mind, nor anyone else for that matter. Mrs. Foster didn’t even introduce her to the class, and there certainly weren’t any students lining up to meet her. She stood out like a sore thumb and her style reminded you a bit of that one super senior who was still in Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class. It makes you wonder where she came from, and why on Earth she would ever come here. Two months before graduation, no less.

She had her instrument packed and was standing by the door before the bell even rang. You hoped distantly that she had someone to sit with at lunch. Claire and Ben would be totally pissed if you ditched them to keep her company otherwise.

When you got to the cafeteria, the two of them were already seated, waiting for you and looking as if they were squabbling about something stupid again. Nothing new.

“Oh, don’t have a cow, Claire,” you hear your boyfriend say as you sit beside him. He takes a generous bite of a ham and cheese sandwich and speaks with his mouth full, “your life is hardly over.” It always makes your stomach churn when he does that. He could be so boyish and gross sometimes.

“A ‘C’ is totally gonna bring down my GPA!” Claire cries in response.

“Didn’t you like, already get accepted into your top school?” You ask carefully, as not to rock the boat. Claire was like that: easily agitated. Every conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope.

Claire scoffs, “You know, some of us actually have to work for our futures?”

Ben cuts in, somehow foreseeing the words about to spew out of her mouth, “Claire, don’t–”

“--Not all of our daddies can just buy our way into ministry school. You don’t even have to know anything to get into those programs, for Christ’s sake.” She spits, a scowl painting her face.

She’s not usually so cruel. As angry as you want to be, pesky tears prick the corners of your eyes. Why must you cry for every emotion?

“That’s not fair,” you say, trying your hardest to sound stoic but the wobble in your voice betrays you. If there’s one thing Claire hates, it’s weakness. She’s like a damned army general sometimes– every tear that rolls down your cheek just fuels her anger.

She wasn’t always this way. There was a time, before Ben and before high school, where the two of you were inseparable. Hanging upside down from your knees on the monkey bars and sharing cherry popsicles in a blistering summer heat. Claire was like the sister you never had– and now? Now a sickly, dreadful feeling washed over you every time you anticipated seeing her.

“You’re right,” Claire snaps, “It’s not.”

“You know how hard I worked to get into Princeton.” You defend.

“Please, spare me. It’s all any of us have been hearing about all year.”

“Claire–” Ben spits through clenched teeth.

Without another word to either of them, you collect your things and make a beeline for the girl's bathroom. Your boyfriend picks his jaw up off the floor in time to catch you by the forearm as you’re making a run for it.

“Hey, no, wait–”

“Leave me alone, Ben,” you say as you try and wriggle your arm from his grip, tears still breaching your lash line.

“She’s just–” he searches, “she’s just stressed out.”

“And you would know right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Ben,”

As you’re walking away, you catch bits and pieces of a hushed conversation between your friends as your boyfriend sits back down.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Claire, enough. You know how her dad is.’

You don’t bother listening to the rest of their bickering. It doesn’t matter.

The swinging door of the restroom pushes open with a creak. You approach the large mirror mounted above the sinks, getting an up-close and personal look at your skin under the harshest fluorescent lighting you’ve ever seen. You look like a corpse and your mascara is running in two distinct paths down your cheeks.

It’s as you're aggressively wiping the streaked makeup off your face that you hear a small sniffle emanating from the stall behind you. You freeze momentarily, having previously been under the assumption that you were alone.

“Hello?” You call quietly into the void.

Only another sniffle echoes back at you.

“Is… someone there?”

A meek ‘yeah’ emanates from behind the stall door.

“Who is it?”

The stall door pushes open to reveal a disheveled looking girl. The girl from band.

The entire front of her is covered in some lumpy substance, you don’t even attempt at a guess at what it is. Maybe mashed potatoes? Maybe chocolate milk? Both?

Neither of you say anything for a moment, until you break the silence with a super helpful, “Oh my gosh…are you okay?”

“Well, other than Tommy H and his gaggle of idiots dowsing me in concoction of–” she glances down at her soiled clothes, “whatever the hell this is, I’d say pretty I’m dandy.”

You grimace in disgust on her behalf– can practically feel your own clothes stinking and sticking to your skin just by looking at hers, “I’m so sorry, they’re…” you can’t seem to find any appropriate words to describe that group of degenerates.

“Assholes?” She offers.

“Sure,” you chuckle, thankful that she filled in the blank for you.

She begins yanking paper towels from the machine hanging on the wall, running them under the faucet and wiping them down the front of her t-shirt, but to no avail.

“Shit!”

“Do you… have a change of clothes?” You ask hesitantly as she’s still furiously scrubbing.

“No, and my mom’s totally gonna murder me if I come home like this! She just bought me this shirt after I’d been begging and begging for it, and then when she finally did buy it, she just told kept telling me how expensive it was and then I felt bad and now I–”

You’ve never heard someone talk as fast as her in your life. Like actually ever.

“Hey, okay–” you cut her off, “why don’t we leave a little early? I can bring you back to my house and you can wear something of mine?” You gesture to her, “And I can wash your shirt.”

“Are you sure?” She winces, fully preparing for this to be just another esoteric joke at her expense.

In all honesty, you really weren’t sure. You’d never skipped school before, let alone brought a friend home without your parents meeting their parents first and giving you the greenlight. This was uncharted territory for you, but the girl’s wide and pleading blue eyes were chipping at your resolve. You wanted to help her.

“Yeah, of course,”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she deflates in relief, you can practically see the tension leaving her shoulders in real time. “I’m Robin, by the way.” She says, sticking out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Robin.” You smile and return the gesture.

...

On the ride back to your house, you learned that Robin walked to school every day all the way from where she lived in Forest Hills trailer park. Some deducing led you to the conclusion that that's at least a thirty-five minute walk both ways. She’d worried aloud and picked at the loose threads of her jeans the entire drive to your neighborhood, clearly scared of ruining the upholstery of your car; but you really didn’t mind. You were just glad to save her the trek home.

Your family wasn’t what you would consider ‘wealthy’, but to Robin, your upper middle-class home might as well have been a millionaire’s vacation house.

“So…this is me,” you state as you lead her inside, “I can give you the tour after you change, if you want?”

She looks a little awestruck, taking in her surroundings like a kid in a candy shop, “Yeah, sure…” she replies distractedly.

You lead her upstairs to your bedroom. It’s much nicer than Robin’s– just like the rest of your house– and much girlier too. All four walls are a shade of pale pink, adorned with posters of famous pop stars like Madonna and Blondie. The patchwork quilt that covers your bed matches the rest of the room's aesthetic laced with a frilly trim.

“Here’s a shirt and a pair of sweatpants,” you hold the pile of clothes out to Robin, breaking her stupor, “I hope they fit alright,”

“No, I’m sure they’ll fit great,” a beat of silence, “Where can I uhm–change?”

“Oh, duh– right, sorry,” you say with a palm to your forehead, “there’s a bathroom down the hall and to the left.”

You’re on edge the entire time you’re showing Robin around your house. Logically, you know both of your parents are at work, but the knowledge doesn’t help to ease the anxiety you feel at the thought of your father coming home to find a stranger in your house. You know what he would say about Robin– Robin and her kitchen scissor haircut and her black nail polish and pierced ears.

“Dude, you have two living rooms?” Robin asks in disbelief.

“Well, technically one’s a living room and one’s a…sitting room,” you cringe inwardly as you try to defend yourself but only feeling like a pretentious asshole the moment the words leave your mouth.

“I’ve never even had a second floor in any house I've lived in before,” she admits.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“I guess? But it’s just my mom and I now.” She answers.

“I’ve always lived here–” you start to say but are quickly cut off by the blur of Robin’s figure rushing past you and to your entertainment center.

“Holy shit! Is this an Atari?” She picks it up excitedly– the way she handles it admittedly makes you a little tense.

You laugh despite yourself at her bewilderment, “Yeah, do you wanna play while we wait for your clothes to finish in the wash?”

“Uhm, are you kidding? Obviously!”

So that’s how you spend the next two hours: thigh to thigh on your sofa with this hyper, golden retriever of a girl you just met less than a day ago, playing Slot Racers for long after her clothes are finished drying.

Just as you were about to beat Robin for the third race in a row, you hear the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock of your front door.

To say your father– who clearly was not expecting anyone to be home yet– was surprised, would be an understatement.

“Y/N?”

“Dad!” You shout, whipping around from where you’re sitting on the couch, “What’re you doing home already?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh I– I uhm–” you stumble over yourself as you watch your worst fear become a terrifying reality.

“Why is there a stranger in my house?” He asks, interrupting your attempts at explaining yourself.

“Oh, this is–”

Robin shoots up rather abruptly from beside you, sticking her hand out stiffly– just like she did in the bathroom earlier, “Hi, I’m– my name’s Robin, it’s nice to meet you.”

She clears her throat nervously as she waits for your father to return the gesture as you had, but he doesn’t. He keeps his focus solely on you.

“Why is Robin in my house when your mother and I are not here?”

“Earlier, at school, Robin spilled something on her shirt. We came back here so she could wash it.” You know before you even offer it that your explanation isn’t going to cut it. You’re not getting off the hook this time.

“I see. I want you to take Robin back to her own house, and then I want you coming straight back here. Do you understand?”

“Yes–”

“‘Yes’ what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He waves you away with this hand, signaling you to grab Robin by her wrist to drag her to the washer and dryer unit next to your kitchen. You pluck her outfit from the machine and wordlessly lead her back to your car parked in the driveway.

It’s not until you’re idling in Robin’s driveway with her stark presence still beside you that you’re able to clock how fast you’re breathing.

“Hey,” she grazes your forearm with her slender, ring clad fingers, “are you okay?”

“Yeah!” You reassure her a little too quickly, “Yeah, my dads just– he can be a little strict sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, believe me, I get it,” she chuckles, but it's mostly humorless, “my moms a lot like that too– I’m honestly still trying to figure out how I’m gonna explain why I’m wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“Maybe just say you got too sweaty during PE?”

That elicits a real laugh from Robin, one where you can see all her teeth as she throws her head back against the passenger seat. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen it but subconsciously hoping it won’t be the last.

“Honestly? Best case scenario is that she’s passed out, wine drunk, on the couch.”

She tries to mask the inherent sadness of her statement with another small giggle, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Well– here,” you say, grabbing a pen out of your glovebox and her hand, “just in case she is awake, you can call me, and I'll tell her what happened,” you offer, scribbling your landline’s number on her clammy palm.

“Thanks,” she smiles shyly, looking up at you through her lashes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” You ask, “In band?”

“Yeah, I’ll– I’ll see you then,” she calls back with a two-finger salute as she shuts the door to your passenger seat and walks backwards towards her house.

You’re not sure what compels you to wait, parked in her driveway until you see her cross the threshold of her trailer door, but you do.

...

There is hell to pay when you get home.

Both of your parents sit side by side on the couch you had just sat on with Robin not more than thirty minutes ago.

Had he seriously called your mother home from work for this?

There's nothing polite or welcoming about their demeanor. Their posture is straight and hard, like two stone statues sitting in a stark contrast to the living room that’s all soft cushions and handmade quilts.

“Sit.” Your father commands.

So, you do, in the armchair across the room from them. Palms beginning to sweat.

You try to mirror their posture out of habit but find that you can’t will yourself to be so cold as them. You’re a human girl, after all. Sometimes you think the same can’t be said about your mother and father. You wonder what they talk about when you’re not around.

“I don’t want you hanging around that girl anymore,” your father speaks again. He spits the word ‘girl’ out of his mouth like its poison– like it may physically harm him to house between his teeth for even a second longer, “she’s a bad influence on you.”

“You don’t even know her–” you try to protest, though you saw this coming.

“Perhaps we could’ve gotten the chance to if you hadn’t snuck her into the house!” Your mother butts in, “You’ve never done something like this before! I simply don’t understand it.”

“I–”

“I mean, really, what’s gotten into you?” She asks, though you know the question is rhetorical. She’s not truly expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry,” you say, defeated, “It won’t happen again.”

“Go wash up. Supper is in an hour.” Your father dismisses you.

Upstairs, you can hear their hushed voices arguing about what to do with you as if they found you smoking pot or something. Or maybe even having unprotected, pre-marital sex with your boyfriend and them sleeping in the room next door. What you actually did feels wildly inconsequential in comparison, but then again, you’d never really broken a house rule before.

You poked and prodded at your shepherd's pie for an hour before they finally sent you away from the dining table. You thought about Robin approximately every four and a half minutes. You don’t know what it was about her that made you lose your appetite, but not in the way you do when you’re angry or sad– in the way you do before a big test, or maybe prom night. The moths in your gut too restless, taking up far too much space for any food.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you kept imagining your phone ringing. The phantom sound of it driving you nearly insane. And when it does finally ring, you think you’re not really hearing it.

Picking up the receiver and placing it adjacent to your ear, expecting to hear the distinct but strangely familiar rasp of Robin’s voice on the other line.

“Hey, babe,”

Ben.

You ignore the way your stomach drops slightly in disappointment, “Hey, Ben.”

“Where’d you go earlier? I didn’t see you in sixth period.”

“Yeah, I–” Think of something. Quickly. “I wasn’t feeling well. Went home early.”

“Oh, Okay. A couple people said they saw you leaving with this girl? Thought maybe you’d ditched, but then I thought ‘that’s crazy, she’d never do that.’” He laughed as if it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. Ben. Your sweet, naive Ben.

Your reciprocated laughter sounds a touch more nervous and less sincere than his, “Gosh, no,”

A feminine giggle breaks the barrier of the call.

“Is someone there?” You ask.

“What?”

“I thought I heard something. A laugh, maybe?”

“TV’s on downstair, baby.”

You don’t think to question it again. Ben may be dull, but he’s not a liar.

When you don’t speak again, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Sweet, love you.”

He hangs up the phone before you get the chance to say it back. You don’t know why, but you’re grateful. You can’t help but notice that he’d never asked you how you were feeling. Obviously, you weren’t really sick, but he had at least thought you were.

You put it out of your mind as you open your journal:

Dear diary,

I met this girl today. She’s lanky. And tall. And has short brown hair. Her clothes are a little beat up, but in that cool way I can never seem to do on purpose. I found her crying in the bathroom, which was a little awkward. Turns out we’re both in the marching band! I know we’re graduating soon and all but, I don’t know maybe we could end up being friends? I feel like Claire’s been totally in her own world lately. She actually said some really harsh things to me at lunch today. I also ditched school. I feel guilty. I prayed about it, repented too, but momma and daddy are still really mad at me. But I was doing it to help someone! That girl, her name is Robin. I don’t know her last name. I’ll remember to ask her tomorrow morning.

divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

[heesmiles]

CHAP. 1 彡 that ship sunk

ㅤㅤ༝　 　 ₊ MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER | ENHA MASTERLIST ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎

You burst through the studio doors like a gust of caffeine-fueled wind, paper tray clutched in your hands like a golden offering to the gods. The scent of espresso and vanilla syrup trails behind you in a sweet, frantic cloud. "Okay, I come bearing salvation," you declare, breathless and triumphant, as you stride into the recording booth of In Our Era, the podcast that ruled Tuesday mornings and TikTok algorithms alike. 

Chaewon looks up from the soundboard, her lipstick still perfect despite an hour of uninterrupted talking. Her eyes light up at the sight of the coffee. “You’re an angel,” she sighs, accepting the cup with reverence. “I’ve been called worse,” you mutter, handing off the rest, Wonyoung’s with extra oat milk and two pumps of caramel, and an unclaimed Americano meant for the devil himself. Speak of the devil; Jake Sim is already leaning against the doorway, one brow cocked like he owns gravity. He's tall, infuriatingly photogenic, and dressed like he woke up in a GQ spread. He nods at you, and it’s not even a nice nod, it’s smug. It's the kind of nod that says thanks, assistant, and makes your blood fizz like soda. 

“Late again,” he drawls. “That a personality trait or just your brand of punctuality?”

You don’t even look at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of absolutely nobody asking for your opinion.” 

Chaewon snorts behind her mic. Wonyoung, lounging in her chair like podcast royalty, just hums. “Children, please,” she says without looking up from her phone. “We’re still on-air.” 

“Not for long,” Chaewon says, glancing at the clock. “Ten seconds left.” 

You watch the red ON AIR sign flicker, your shoulders finally dropping. Jake leans in behind Wonyoung to tap a button, probably something needlessly technical. You don’t know why he’s even here; he’s not a producer, not a host, not even supposed to be in this studio. But he’s Wonyoung’s friend and the golden boy of the network, which means he slinks into rooms uninvited and nobody ever kicks him out. Chaewon leans into her mic. “And that’s all for this week’s episode of In Our Era! As always, thank you for tuning in—” 

“—and remember,” Wonyoung finishes sweetly, “love is in your era if you let it be. Bye, babes!” The outro jingle hums to life, a soft, dreamy melody that usually signals the end of the show. But the mics are still hot.

“I have a date tonight,” Wonyoung says cheerfully as she turns to Jake, casually scrolling through her messages. “He’s a florist. Isn’t that cute?”

Jake snorts. “A florist? Yeah, that’ll last.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Jake tilts his head lazily toward you. “Come on. You think some guy handing out tulips and sonnets is going to be long-term material?”

You blink again. “And you think saying that out loud makes you sound smart? Or just emotionally repressed?” Jake raises a brow, intrigued now. “Oh, I see. You’re one of those.”

“What is those?” 

“The hopeless romantic types,” he says, waving vaguely at you like it’s contagious. “The ones who think every first date is fate, and love is just one ‘right person’ away.”

“And you’re one of those emotionally unavailable commitmentphobes who thinks love is a scam invented by greeting card companies.” Wonyoung and Chaewon exchange slow, delighted glances. But you don’t notice. Neither does Jake.

“You do realize how unhinged you sound, right?” he says. 

“Says the man who thinks florists aren’t boyfriend material. Like what, you need your dates to be tax attorneys to believe they’re serious?”

“I need my dates to be; wait, are we really doing this now?”

“Yes, apparently we are doing this now—” The studio door swings open. A young, pale-faced intern peeks in, dread pooling in his eyes like he’s just seen the apocalypse. “Um. Sorry to interrupt,” he says, voice tight, “but, uh… you’re still live.”

Silence. You freeze. Jake blinks. Wonyoung starts giggling so hard she nearly falls off her chair. “No. No way.” Chaewon cackles, covering her mic a second too late. “That’s going viral immediately.” You stare at the ON AIR sign. Still glowing. Still judging. You suddenly want to melt into the floor and evaporate.

Jake recovers first. “Well,” he says, grinning like a man who just found a golden ticket, “guess the audience just got a bonus episode.” 

You glare at him. “You are impossible.” 

taglists -

reg taglist. @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17

series taglist.  @nishimura-mimura @hoonkishoe @rairaiblog @orxngebloods @enhxlvr @yumaslvr @yourgirlyoi @thealchemy89 @notleclerc @omozass @thesundys @lala-loopsydoll @haechology @sumzysworld @simjaeyunsgf @eileenville @nyfwyeonjun @Rustymoons @getoxo @kiwicup1 @Yeonmuse @teenagecheesecakereview @Rikimurafx @aernx @heartheejake @cupiddolle @cripplinghooman @devilish-meangadh @enhaz1 @jvngw0nlvr @tinyteezer @yunjiiin @heejamas @zoe1love @mrsjjongstby @yuuuraaa @sourkiki @haechanlover200 

[dee-writes-anime]

Too Much? Just Enough

FEATURING Toge Inumaki x Reader

SUMMARY You never considered that you might be too loud for your quiet, warm-hearted boyfriend... maybe you were selfish not to.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, insecurities, inumaki being the sweetest, maki being maki (sigh)

AUTHORS NOTE finally got a day off from schoolwork to do some writing! Here is Inumaki's justice as promised! Enjoy! <3

The festival grounds were alive with color and sound, the air thick with the smell of sizzling food and sweet treats. Lanterns swung gently in the evening breeze, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd as they meandered through stalls of games, souvenirs, and food. The laughter of children mixed with the shouts of vendors calling out their wares, while the steady hum of excited conversations filled the background.

You had been buzzing with energy the moment you arrived, eyes wide as you darted from one stall to the next, dragging Toge with you, your fingers intertwined with his. There was something about festivals that just lit you up from the inside out—the music, the lights, the sense of celebration—it was like fuel for your soul. You’d barely stopped talking since you got there, your voice a cheerful lilt that seemed to match the lively atmosphere around you.

“Toge! Look at this!” you called, pointing to a stall selling a dizzying array of masks. Kitsune, tengu, and oni masks hung from wooden beams, their vibrant colors catching the light. “We should get matching ones!” you grinned, already picturing how adorable Toge would look in one.

Toge turned to look, his violet eyes sparkling under the glow of the lanterns. His lips quirked up in a small smile as he gave a soft nod, the affectionate look in his eyes sending warmth through you. He didn’t have to speak for you to know he found your excitement endearing.

“Fish flakes,” he said quietly, agreeing with a subtle nod.

Without hesitating, you picked out a kitsune mask for yourself and handed Toge a matching one, the white face of the fox sharp and mischievous. Toge slipped it over his head, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you both admired each other. He gave you a small, amused hum, clearly pleased by your reaction.

Yuta and Maki caught up with you two at the mask stall, Yuta laughing softly at your energy while Maki gave a small shake of her head, though the smirk tugging at her lips showed she wasn’t completely disapproving.

“Wow, you’re like a kid in a candy store,” Maki teased, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against one of the beams. “What’s next? Gonna drag us to every food stall here?”

“I might!” you shot back, grinning widely. “It’s a festival, Maki, you gotta go all in!” You tugged at Toge’s hand. “Besides, Toge’s totally down for it. Right?”

Toge’s lips curved upward again as he nodded, clearly amused by how much fun you were having. He squeezed your hand gently, his way of encouraging your endless energy. You knew you could be a lot, but Toge never seemed to mind, always steady and supportive, grounding you even when you were a whirlwind of enthusiasm.

Panda joined your group next, a huge smile on his face as he approached with a paper bag full of festival snacks. “Hey, did you guys see the yakitori stand? I got some for everyone!” He pulled out a few skewers, handing them out. “Except Toge, of course,” he added with a playful wink.

Toge waved it off, his eyes warm as he accepted the gesture regardless. You, on the other hand, eagerly accepted the skewer, practically bouncing on your feet.

“This looks amazing, Panda! You always know where the best food is!” you said, taking a big bite. The savory, smoky flavor hit your taste buds, and you groaned in delight. “This is so good!”

Panda laughed, nudging Yuta with his elbow. “See, someone appreciates good food.” Yuta chuckled in response, though his focus seemed more on keeping track of everyone in the bustling crowd than the food itself.

As you continued walking, the festival’s cheerful chaos buzzed around you like a soft hum in the background. Every so often, you’d stop to point out something new—a game stall, a street performer, another food stand you just had to try—and Toge followed you without complaint, his fingers never once leaving yours. Every now and then, you’d feel his thumb gently rub against the back of your hand, his silent way of grounding you in his quiet affection.

The two of you had always balanced each other that way. You were the loud, excitable one, the one who wore your emotions on your sleeve, while Toge was your quiet, calm counterpart. He never had to say much; his presence alone was enough to make you feel secure, supported, and understood. He let you be yourself—wild, energetic, loud—and never once made you feel like you had to hold back.

It was this easy, natural rhythm between you that made being with Toge feel like second nature. You could bounce from one thing to the next without worrying about exhausting him or overwhelming him. His patience was unwavering, his affection always subtle but present in the small gestures—the way he watched you with soft eyes, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the way he squeezed your hand every time you rambled on excitedly about something new.

And right now, your focus was on a nearby game stall. “Look, Toge! It’s one of those water gun games! You know, the kind where you have to shoot the target and fill up the balloon? We have to try it!”

Toge glanced at the stall, then back at you, his lips pulling into a half-smile. You could tell he found your excitement infectious, even if he didn’t express it the same way you did. He nodded, and with a little tug, you pulled him toward the stall, waving at Maki, Yuta, and Panda to join you.

As you grabbed the toy gun, determined to win, Maki strolled over with a smirk. “You’re really not gonna get tired of this, are you?”

You grinned at her, determined. “Nope! Toge’s got my back, right?” You shot Toge a teasing glance, and he gave a small hum of agreement, his eyes watching you with that familiar warmth.

That’s when Maki made the offhand comment. “I’m just surprised Toge doesn’t get tired of you. I mean, you’ve been going non-stop since we got here.”

Her comment was casual, even light-hearted, but something about it lodged itself into your chest, a small ache blooming out of nowhere. You laughed, the sound coming out more awkward than you intended. "No, Toge’s fine," you said, glancing up at him with a smile that felt a little too forced. "He doesn’t mind, right?"

Toge’s eyes flicked toward Maki for a second before turning back to you, and he shook his head softly, dismissing the comment entirely. “Bonito flakes,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. But even as he squeezed your hand to show he was fine, something in Maki’s words dug into your chest, planting a small seed of doubt.

Have you been too much? You were always like this—loud, full of energy, constantly dragging Toge along with you. But now that Maki had pointed it out, it was hard not to think about it. Maybe you were overwhelming him, and he was just too polite to say anything. He was quiet by nature, after all, and here you were, chattering away, pulling him from stall to stall without a second thought.

You tried to shake it off, but the thoughts lingered as the night went on. Every time you raised your voice, every time you pulled Toge along to the next thing, the doubt crept in a little more. Were you exhausting him? Were you being selfish, assuming he was fine with all of this? You couldn’t tell anymore.

As the festival wound down, the bright lights and energetic atmosphere slowly fading into the quiet of the night, the change in your mood hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where there had once been boundless excitement, your energy had dulled to a faint flicker. It wasn’t like you to walk in silence, not with Toge’s hand still held in yours, not with the buzz of festival joy still lingering around everyone.

You kept replaying Maki’s words in your head, wondering if maybe she’d noticed something you hadn’t. Maybe Toge really did get tired of you—maybe you were just too much, too loud, too energetic. The thoughts wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, making it hard to laugh or smile like you had been earlier.

The silence became so unusual that even Yuta, ever so kind and careful, furrowed his brow as he walked alongside Panda and Maki. He glanced between you and Toge, noticing your unusually quiet demeanor.

"Hey, are you okay?" Yuta asked, his voice soft with concern. "You’ve been a little quiet for a while now."

Panda, always the more boisterous of the group, chimed in with a good-natured grin. "Yeah, you were about to eat all the festival food earlier, and now you’re barely saying a word. You good?"

You forced a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m fine," you said quickly, though your voice lacked its usual vibrancy. "Just... tired, I guess."

Yuta gave you a curious look, but he didn’t press further. Panda, too, noticed the shift, his usual lightheartedness momentarily subdued. Even Maki, though she didn’t say anything, shot you a glance as if wondering if her earlier comment had something to do with your sudden change in mood.

Toge, however, had been watching you the whole time. He hadn’t let go of your hand, and every few minutes, he squeezed it, as if reminding you that he was still there, that he was still by your side. His violet eyes flicked to you again now, a gentle worry in his gaze that only you could read.

“Salmon?” he asked softly, his tone inviting, asking if everything was really okay. But you just gave him a small, reassuring nod, despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"I’m fine," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper this time. "Really."

Toge wasn’t convinced. The quiet between you two had never felt so heavy before, so unnatural, and he knew something was bothering you. But he didn’t push you in front of the others, content to wait until the two of you could have some privacy.

The group lingered a little longer before eventually making their way back to the dorms, the lanterns of the festival becoming faint dots of light in the distance. Everyone was laughing, chatting about the fun they'd had, but you remained quiet, your mind lost in its spiral of self-doubt. It wasn’t like you to hold back like this, but you couldn’t shake the worry that maybe you had overstepped, that maybe you’d drained Toge with your constant chatter and boundless energy.

When the group finally reached the dorms, Yuta waved everyone off, smiling softly. “Goodnight, guys! It was fun.” Maki gave a brief nod of farewell, Panda let out a big yawn, and you mumbled something in response, your mind elsewhere.

Toge didn’t miss a beat. Without a word, he tugged your hand gently, guiding you toward his dorm. His fingers were still laced with yours, his touch grounding, comforting, but also insistent in that quiet way of his. He wasn’t going to let this slide—not tonight.

As you followed him through the hallways, the familiar comfort of the dorms all around, your heart started to beat a little faster. You could tell from the way Toge moved—quiet but purposeful—that he wanted to talk. And the thought of sharing what had been bothering you, the insecurity you’d been trying to shove down all night, made you nervous.

Once you were inside his dorm room, the door clicked softly shut behind you. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp on his desk casting a gentle warmth over the space. Toge turned to you, his gaze soft yet determined, and led you over to sit on the edge of his bed.

He sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, I’m listening.

“Mustard leaf,” he said softly, his voice a gentle prompt. Talk to me.

You stared at your intertwined hands, your heart racing as you tried to figure out where to start. The words were stuck in your throat, tangled up with the doubt and insecurity that had been eating at you all night. You didn’t want to burden him with this—you didn’t want to be that person, the one who constantly needed reassurance.

But Toge was patient. He gave your hand another small squeeze, his thumb brushing gently across your skin, a silent encouragement. He was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I... I just... I’ve been thinking about something Maki said earlier,” you began, your voice quiet, hesitant. “About me being... a lot. Too much, maybe. And I started thinking, what if she’s right? What if I’m just... exhausting you?”

The words came out all at once, tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, the insecurity you’d been trying to hide now laid bare. “I mean, I know I can be loud and excitable, and you’re so quiet, so calm. I just started thinking... maybe I’m overwhelming you. Maybe I’m too much for you, and you just haven’t said anything because you’re too nice.”

Toge’s eyes widened slightly, his grip on your hand tightening as he shook his head, his expression full of quiet urgency. “Salmon,” he said, his tone firm but tender. No. You’re wrong.

You looked up at him, your eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. “I know you’d never say anything to hurt me, but... if I really am too much, I want to know. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to put up with me.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, the air thick with emotion. And then, Toge reached up, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm, steady, and when you met his eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and affection there.

“Tuna mayo,” he murmured, shaking his head again as he brought his forehead to rest against yours. You’re perfect the way you are.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest seemed to lighten just a little. But the doubt still lingered, clinging to the edges of your heart. “But... how do you not get tired of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m always dragging you around, talking so much, being loud... I feel like I’m the opposite of you.”

Toge pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. He shook his head again, his expression soft but insistent. He brought a hand to his heart, then pointed to you—You’re what makes me happy. You’re the one I want to be with.

You blinked, the tears finally spilling over as the weight of his words sank in. He wasn’t just tolerating you. He wanted you, all of you—the loud, excitable, chatty parts of you that you’d been worried were too much. They weren’t too much for him. They never had been.

“Kelp,” he whispered again, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. I love you the way you are.

You let out a small, shaky laugh as you wiped your tears, a wave of relief washing over you. “You really don’t mind?” you asked, your voice still thick with emotion.

Toge smiled softly, shaking his head once more. “Salmon,” he murmured, his thumb still brushing gently against your cheek. Not at all.

And for the first time since Maki’s comment, the doubt that had been weighing you down finally began to melt away. Toge didn’t just accept you—he cherished you, loudness and all.

With a soft sniffle, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he held you close, his chin resting atop your head. “I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Toge’s hand gently rubbed your back, soothing and comforting as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you like a protective shield.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the dorm and the steady beat of Toge’s heart beneath your ear. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was warm, peaceful—filled with the unspoken promise that, no matter how loud or excitable you were, Toge would always be there, holding you close, loving you just the way you were.

And as you snuggled into him, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breathing against you, you felt something return—a spark of that boundless energy, that loud, excitable girl that Toge loved so much. Because with him, you didn’t have to be anyone else but yourself.