#I keep trying to draft a post in response to the ask i got

[vrtualchg]

im on my knees begging & pleading you to make a harry potter fic of any kind 🙏🏻 hes so underrated in his own movies 💔

Oh my gosh I so agree with you and he’s so fine so I don’t understand how he’s so underrated IN HIS OWN MOVIES💔☹️ found this in my drafts, I have so many fics in my drafts that never actually leave my drafts😭✌🏽

STORM OF US

When Professor Sprout assigns a new Herbology project with randomly chosen partners, Harry Potter finds himself stuck with Y/n Zabini—Blaise’s elusive, brilliant, and infuriatingly bossy twin sister. What starts as a battle of pride and passive-aggressive tension quickly spirals into something neither of them can name, let alone control. After a tense, heat-soaked encounter in the Gryffindor dorm—one towel, one too-long stare, and one very poorly timed visit—both Harry and Y/n are left reeling, haunted by the memory of each other’s bodies and the electric charge they can’t shake. Separated by house lines but tangled in mutual obsession, they each try to forget the moment... even as they secretly relive it with trembling hands and bitten-back moans in the dark.

pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader

genre: slow-burn smut, enemies-to-lovers tension, mutual pining, Hogwarts-era, interhouse partnership, forbidden attraction

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, masturbation (f & m), mutual obsession, accidental arousal, unresolved sexual tension, detailed body/appearance focus, emotional denial, fantasy-imagining, academic rivals, Slytherin x Gryffindor dynamic, steam-heavy tension, mental spiral over each other’s bodies, emotionally charged masturbation, light voyeuristic fantasy, internal monologue thirst, Gryffindor dorm intrusion, post-shower male gaze energy, touch starvation

Professor Sprout had assigned a new project, one that would count for a considerable portion of their term grade. The catch, however, lay in the fine print: no one was allowed to choose their own partners. Names were drawn, pairs were made, and that was that. No room for negotiation. Which, naturally, is how Hermione Granger—keen, meticulous, and eternally prepared—wound up partnered with Ron Weasley, who looked like he’d just been sentenced to a month in Azkaban. Harry had braced himself for the worst, but somehow, what he got was worse than anything he’d anticipated.

Y/n Zabini.

He barely knew anything about her beyond the basics. She was Blaise’s twin sister—a fact that was often forgotten given how rarely she was seen with him. Like her brother, she was in Slytherin. Unlike him, she had a reputation for being utterly insufferable. Beautiful, yes. Brilliant, sure. But utterly, painfully, unapologetically bossy. The kind of girl who looked at you like she was mentally rearranging your entire life into something more efficient. And now, she was his partner.

From the very first moment they’d begun the assignment—a rather complicated Herbology exercise involving the cross-germination of Venemous Tentacula with Bubotuber pus—she’d taken charge with the self-righteous air of someone who considered themselves smarter than everyone in the room. And maybe she was. But that didn’t make it any less irritating.

She hardly even acknowledged his presence. Her hands moved deftly, methodically, as she muttered calculations under her breath—half of them in English, the rest in what Harry guessed was Italian. Every so often, she’d shoot him a terse instruction without so much as looking up: “Pass me the spore tincture,” or “Hold this stem still,” and Merlin help him if he asked why. Her responses were clipped and disinterested, as if any attempt at collaboration was merely slowing her down.

“You do realise this is a group project?” Harry said finally, struggling to keep his tone civil, though his jaw was clenched tight with frustration. “That usually means we work on it. Together.”

Without lifting her head or pausing her work for even a second, she replied coolly, “I’m aware.”

That was it. No elaboration, no apology, not even the bare minimum of politeness. Just two words, delivered with the effortless disinterest of someone who had already decided she didn’t care what he thought. Harry scoffed under his breath and leaned back against the edge of the greenhouse table, staring up through the glass roof at the sky beyond—cloudy, grey, and exactly how he felt inside.

He exhaled slowly, trying not to let his irritation show on his face. What had he done to deserve this? All he’d wanted was a manageable partner, someone he could at least have a conversation with. Not… this. Not someone who treated him like an inconvenience. Not someone who made him feel like a first-year holding a watering can the wrong way up.

He shot her a sideways glance. She was still bent over the cauldron, her brows drawn in intense concentration, lips moving as she calculated some obscure ratio. There was a smudge of soil on her cheekbone, just beneath the arch of her eye. For a brief moment, Harry almost considered telling her—but then she muttered something sharply in Italian, and he decided against it.

Later that evening, after an unforgiving Quidditch practice beneath a sky streaked with gold and bruised violet, and an even more punishing afternoon spent partnered with Y/n Zabini in Herbology—a far more exhausting endeavor than dodging Bludgers—Harry finally allowed himself the quiet reprieve of a hot shower. The water came down in punishing sheets, the steam curling thick and heavy around him, turning the world outside the stall into a muffled dream. He stood motionless beneath the cascade, forehead resting against the slick stone wall, eyes closed as he inhaled the humid air, letting the relentless heat bleed tension from his shoulders and scour away the scent of damp earth, sweat, and Bubotuber pus that clung stubbornly to his skin.

For a while, he didn’t move. Just let the water consume him, drip down his spine, sluice over his chest. The noise of it was numbing. Calming. As if the heat might strip not just the grime from his body, but the noise in his head too—his mounting frustration, his confusion over her.

Eventually, he reached for his towel with lazy, half-lidded movements, dragging it over his hair until the mess of it stood up in dark, damp tufts. He wiped his face, then fumbled for his glasses—wet fingers smudging the lenses as he pushed them into place. His reflection swam back into clarity. Jaw tense, cheeks flushed with lingering heat, droplets tracking slow paths down the planes of his chest. He wrapped the towel low around his hips, not bothering with clothes yet, and padded barefoot into the dormitory, still damp and loose-limbed from the shower.

“Ron, the water’s still hot if you want it,” he called, his voice casual, almost drowsy.

But it wasn’t Ron who turned to meet him.

It was her.

Y/n Zabini stood near his bed, a stack of parchment clutched tightly in her hands, the pages slightly crumpled from her grip. She looked out of place in the Gryffindor dorm—her Slytherin tie was undone and slung loosely around her neck, the top buttons of her shirt unfastened, revealing a sliver of collarbone. Her curls tumbled wildly around her face, untamed and luminous in the dying light filtering through the windows. And for one moment—one suspended, delicate, dangerous moment—they simply stared at each other, as if the air between them had turned to glass.

“I came to drop off your half of the assignment,” she began stiffly, the edge in her voice brittle with practiced indifference.

But the second she looked at him—really looked—her words faltered, as if they had caught in her throat and forgotten how to breathe.

Her gaze dropped before she could stop it, skimming slowly over the droplets that clung to his chest, mapping the slope of his collarbones, the subtle definition of his abs, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the precariously low towel at his hips. She froze. Her pupils darkened, mouth parting slightly—whether in surprise or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

Then she blinked—once, twice—snapping her eyes sharply to the side, her entire posture retreating inward like a shutter being pulled down.

“I—sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Her voice was quieter now, stripped of its usual venom. She turned quickly, facing the wall like it might swallow her whole.

Harry’s brow furrowed. Embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck, but it wasn’t just that. It was something heavier. Thicker. That quiet, rising pull he’d felt brewing beneath his skin around her—now unbearably close. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice more defensive than he intended as he strode toward the bed, yanking a pair of boxers from the top of his trunk. “And how’d you even get in?”

“I knocked.” Her words tumbled out too fast, like she’d rehearsed them. “No one answered. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. I thought—” She hesitated. “I thought you weren’t here.”

“Well,” he muttered, tearing off the towel and stepping into his boxers with his back to her, “clearly, I am.”

There was a tense beat of silence, heavy with something unspoken. Her breath came quietly—measured, but tight.

“You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” she said finally, voice low but cutting. “I was trying to help. Be efficient.”

Harry snorted. “Efficient? Right. That’s your specialty.”

Another pause. She turned around slowly—cautiously. And there he was: shirtless, hair still wet and curling at the nape of his neck, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the bedpost, watching her with a complicated expression that wasn’t quite annoyance, wasn’t quite curiosity. Her eyes flickered over him again—only briefly this time—before she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I just wanted to drop it off and go,” she said, quieter now. “I didn’t mean to… interrupt.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at her, studying the slight tremble in her fingers as she held out the parchment. A peace offering. Or a shield.

Their fingers brushed as he took it.

It was nothing. A second. A slip of contact.

But it struck through them both like lightning.

They flinched away at the same time, each pretending it hadn’t happened.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came. And for the briefest second, her eyes flicked over his face—hesitant, searching. She looked like she might say something else. Something honest.

Instead, she murmured, “You’re not what I expected, Potter.”

He arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She faltered. Her gaze slipped again, not lingering this time, but not unaffected either. “Forget it,” she said flatly, her voice sharpening like a blade being sheathed.

Without another word, she turned and strode toward the door, her retreat swift, calculated—but Harry could see the flush creeping up the back of her neck, the way her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag. She left without another glance, and the door clicked shut behind her.

The silence she left in her wake was deafening.

Harry stood still for a long moment, staring at the space where she had been, the scent she’d left behind curling in the air—ink, lavender, and the sharp green brightness of something wild.

He didn’t know what that had been.

But he knew this:

He was never going to be able to scrub her from his mind again.

Not after this. Not after her.

In the dim, lamp-lit warmth of the Slytherin common room, Y/n sat curled into one of the emerald velvet armchairs, legs tucked beneath her, idly picking at a bar of Honeydukes chocolate while her brother Blaise plotted his next chess move. The fire crackled low behind them, casting soft golden flickers across their skin, and the quiet clack of marble chess pieces echoed like punctuation between their banter.

“Well?” Blaise murmured, glancing at her with a glint in his eye as he slid his bishop across the board. “Is he ripped? Hot?”

Y/n groaned, tipping her head back against the chair and dragging a hand down her face. “Blaise, for Salazar’s sake.”

“What?” he shot back innocently, though the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Can’t I be curious? You're the one who walked into the Gryffindor dorm and came back acting like you’d seen a bloody ghost.”

“I hate you.”

“Not an answer.”

She exhaled sharply and broke off another piece of chocolate, pressing it to her lips. “No, he wasn’t... ripped. Not like the dimwitted beater types you fancy comparing people to. But he wasn’t thin either.”

“So…” Blaise tapped a finger against his chin. “He’s lean.”

“Yes, Blaise, he’s lean.” She chewed slowly, deliberately. “Are you done now?”

“Not even close.” He moved his rook and sat back, smug. “So you’ve got a little crush on Harry bloody Potter.”

She snorted, nearly choking on her chocolate. “Lord, no.”

“You sure?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were sharp. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face. The one you get when you’re thinking about someone you shouldn’t be.”

Y/n stood abruptly, brushing crumbs from her lap. “I’m going to bed before I hex you.”

Blaise grinned lazily, reclined in his chair like a king who knew he’d already won. “Love you too, sis.”

She flipped him off on her way to the dormitories, but there was no venom in it.

By the time she reached her room, the corridors had quieted into the sort of stillness that only existed in the late hours of night. The soft hum of magic laced the air, lulling the castle into something close to sleep. Y/n peeled off her uniform, trading it for a silk nightgown that clung too delicately to her skin. The fabric whispered against her thighs as she slipped beneath the cool, dark green sheets of her bed, cocooning herself in the heavy Slytherin drapery.

But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, her mind betrayed her—again.

She closed her eyes, but behind them was the image of Harry: steam curling around his damp skin, water beading down the defined ridges of his stomach, the towel hanging low—too low—on his hips. She hated how clear it was. How sharp the memory remained. The way his glasses had fogged slightly as he looked at her like she was something strange and electric.

Y/n muttered a curse beneath her breath, but her hand was already moving—slow, hesitant—slipping beneath the covers, trailing over her stomach before dipping into her panties. Her breath hitched as her fingers met warmth. Her legs shifted slightly beneath the sheets, parting. She bit her lip, her other hand gripping the edge of the mattress.

“You’re not what I expected, Potter,” she’d said.

But the truth was, he was exactly what her body had wanted.

Across the castle, in the dim quiet of the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, Harry lay in his bed, heart still hammering like it hadn't settled since that encounter. The room was steeped in shadows, the only sound the steady breathing of his sleeping roommates. He stared up at the canopy overhead, but he wasn’t seeing anything.

He was seeing her.

That look on her face—wide eyes, the stutter in her voice, the way her gaze had swept down his body like she hadn’t meant to—but hadn’t looked away either. The way her fingers had brushed his when she handed him the parchment, how quick she was to pull back—but not before something had passed between them. Something that clung.

Harry bit down on the knuckle of his hand to keep quiet, stifling a sound as the other slipped beneath his waistband. His palm cupped the hard line of his cock, already straining against the fabric of his boxers. He exhaled shakily, letting his head fall back into the pillow, hips shifting slightly as he began to stroke himself, slow, deliberate, needing—needing—to exorcise the thought of her.

But it only made it worse.

The image of Y/n Zabini was branded into him now: her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, that Slytherin tie dangling loose around her throat, her fingers trembling just slightly as she tried to hand him the assignment without looking at his chest again.

He imagined what she’d look like beneath him.

Imagined her gasping when he pushed into her, her thighs trembling around his hips, her lips parted in something close to a plea.

His grip tightened.

He bit down harder on his hand.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because nothing was going to erase her now.

Not from his head. Not from his blood.

Not even if he came with her name on his lips.

[hope-ur-ok]

.

[missarchive]

Spencer and reader get stuck in the cold weather while on a case, and after Spencer rambles about body heat being a good source of warmth (or a similar fact); reader suggests testing that theory

oh i really liked this ask 😭 i always love writing for things i havent before! i actually thought id already posted this but i found it in my drafts

cw; 18+ mdni!! needy!spencer, softdom!spence if you squint, sexy science puns, lots of heavy petting, dry humping, fingering

The cold was unforgiving. It bit through every layer of clothing, sinking into your bones with a chill that felt almost personal. You wrapped your arms around yourself, blowing into your hands as you glanced at the snow-covered road stretching endlessly ahead. The SUV sat uselessly on the shoulder, engine dead, and the faint crackle of your radio confirmed that the rest of the team was still hours away.

Spencer stood a few feet away, pacing in a tight circle to keep his blood moving. His long coat whipped slightly in the wind, and his hair, unkempt from hours in the field, fell into his face. He pushed it back absently, his gloved fingers trembling slightly from the cold. His breath puffed in front of him like small, fleeting clouds.

“We’re going to freeze out here,” you muttered, your teeth chattering as you hugged yourself tighter.

Spencer paused mid-step and looked at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Not necessarily,” he began, his voice wavering slightly from the chill but still steady enough to deliver one of his signature facts. “The human body has remarkable thermoregulatory mechanisms. For instance, shivering is a natural response designed to generate heat through muscle activity.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking despite the cold. “Not sure shivering is going to cut it, Reid.”

He blinked, his face taking on that familiar, earnest expression as he shifted gears. “Well, there is another method that’s proven to be highly effective in conserving warmth. Sharing body heat—specifically, skin-to-skin contact—can significantly reduce the risk of hypothermia. It’s a technique commonly used in survival situations.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh that fogged the air between you. “Skin-to-skin, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he stumbled over his words, his hands flailing in a nervous gesture. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, not like that—just, you know, from a purely biological standpoint. It’s logical.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips, despite the fact that your face was half-frozen. “Relax, Spencer. I’m not accusing you of anything. You’ve got a good point.”

His head tilted slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to decide whether or not you were teasing him.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer and gesturing toward the SUV. “Let’s test that theory. Unless you’ve got another way to keep us from turning into popsicles out here?”

He froze for a second, his cheeks turning pink—not just from the cold, you noted. “Oh. Uh… okay. Yes. That—that makes sense.”

You led the way back into the SUV, grateful for even the limited shelter it provided. Spencer followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there. You shrugged off your heavy coat, setting it aside, and gestured for him to do the same.

He hesitated, his hands hovering near the buttons of his coat. “You’re sure about this?”

You rolled your eyes, though your tone was light. “Unless you want to freeze out there alone, yes, I’m sure.”

Spencer nodded quickly, shedding his coat and draping it over the seat. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he were calculating every step.

“You know, this is purely for survival,” you teased as you slid onto the backseat.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Settling beside him, you turned to face him fully. “So, how does this work, Doctor?”

“Well,” he began, his tone shifting into that of a lecture despite the awkwardness in his posture, “the idea is to maximize surface area contact to facilitate heat transfer. The skin is an effective medium for conduction, and by—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “Just hold me.”

His lips parted in a silent “oh,” and he nodded, his cheeks darkening further as he opened his arms. Tentatively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His body was lean and sharp beneath the layers, and his arms wrapped around you with a hesitance that made your heart squeeze.

“Warmer already,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you pressed closer.

He let out a nervous laugh, his breath brushing the top of your head. “That’s… good. It means the method is working.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, save for the faint sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of clothing. Gradually, his grip on you became more secure, his hands resting lightly on your back. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick and irregular, as though he were nervous.

“You’re like a walking space heater,” you teased softly, breaking the quiet.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of his usual matter-of-fact tone. “The human body only generates a limited amount of heat—around 100 watts at rest, give or take. It’s not comparable to a—”

“Spencer,” you said again, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “I was joking.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him.

You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his gaze already on you. His brown eyes were wide, soft, and filled with something that made your stomach flip—curiosity, vulnerability, and a hint of awe.

“It’s okay. I like when you ramble. Especially when you get all excited about sciencey stuff.” Your voice was soft, meant to soothe, and you tilted your head to meet his gaze. The small smile you offered was an invitation, a reassurance that he hadn’t overstepped. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

The effect of your words was immediate. Spencer blinked rapidly, his expressive brown eyes widening as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. His eyebrows shot up, almost vanishing beneath the tousled strands of his hair. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Oh,” he finally managed, his voice unsteady. “I, uh... thanks.”

You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his eyes darted to the side, searching for an anchor in a moment that felt too big for him. Your heart ached at his reaction, and without thinking, you raised a hand to rest your palm gently on his chest. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, and you felt the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

The muscles beneath your hand tensed slightly, a reflexive reaction, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stood frozen, his eyes fixed on yours, his vulnerability laid bare in the way he held his breath. You let your fingers drift upward, brushing over the edge of his collarbone and the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The movement was slow, deliberate, meant to ground him.

Spencer’s breath hitched audibly, a faint gasp escaping his parted lips. His wide eyes flickered back to meet yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the snowy storm outside fading into insignificance.

“Y/n?” His voice was barely a whisper, your name fragile and questioning on his tongue.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. The sound he made in response—a soft, involuntary whimper—sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. His lips parted slightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and you could feel the way his body trembled ever so slightly under your touch.

The kiss deepened by degrees, slow and exploratory, as if neither of you wanted to rush the moment. His hand came up tentatively to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There was a sweetness to his touch, a kind of reverence that made your chest tighten with affection.

When you finally broke the kiss, you stayed close, your foreheads nearly touching. Spencer’s breathing was uneven, and his eyes were dark, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

“I like when you ramble,” you murmured again, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw. “It’s one of the things that makes you, you. And I love that.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. “I... don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me before.”

“Then it’s about time someone did,” you said, your voice firm with conviction.

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, shy and a little uncertain, but so genuine it made your heart squeeze. You leaned up to kiss him again, this time lingering a little longer, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

“Tell me something scientific,” you murmured, your voice muffled as you turned your face into the curve of his neck. Your lips found the soft spot beneath his ear, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him.

Spencer cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he obliged. “Humans have a remarkable capacity to generate warmth through muscle activity. For example, shivering alone can increase your metabolic rate by up to ten times.”

“That’s interesting,” you hummed against his skin, the vibration making him swallow hard. Your lips trailed lower, brushing against the tender skin of his throat before settling at the hollow where his pulse beat steadily. You kissed him there, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched. “Do you know what else can generate warmth?”

For a moment, Spencer froze, his body stiffening slightly in your embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, and the single word seemed to catch in his throat. “Uh... friction?”

You grinned against his neck, the curve of your smile pressing into his skin. “That’s a good one.”

His exhale came out in a shaky mix of a laugh and a gasp, his nerves and amusement intertwining. “You- you think so?”

Shifting beneath him, you arched your back just enough to press your hips against him, and the reaction was immediate. Spencer groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your chest as you undulated again, slow and deliberate. “I really do,” you clarified, your tone teasing as you moved against him.

Spencer dropped his forehead to your shoulder, letting out a low chuckle tinged with exasperation. “God, Y/n. You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I learned from the best,” you shot back, your grin widening as you tightened your grip around him. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, every slight movement feeding the growing tension between you.

He lifted his head, his expression softer now, his gaze locking onto yours. Without hesitation, he kissed you, his lips tentative but sweet as they met yours. “And I learned from you,” he murmured against your mouth, the words carrying a weight that made your chest ache. “Everything.”

His kiss deepened as he spoke, his tongue slipping past your lips to meet your own in a slow, intoxicating dance. “Everything,” he repeated, his voice husky as he pulled back just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. “Including this.”

Spencer rolled his hips against you, the hard length of him dragging against your center with a pressure that made your toes curl. The friction was maddening, delicious, and you gasped into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back as you arched against him.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Spencer whispered, the confession raw and unguarded. Despite his words, he didn’t stop moving, his rhythm steady and almost instinctual. “I just—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, the mix of lust and affection swelling in your chest until it felt like you might burst. “You could never mess this up,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as your fingers traced the lines of his spine. “Spencer, I—”

The words faltered on your tongue, the depth of your feelings too overwhelming to articulate. How could you possibly express how much you cared for him, how long you’d admired him, how deeply you craved this closeness? The enormity of it all made your throat tighten, the emotions too big and too raw to put into words.

So instead, you kissed him. You poured everything you couldn’t say into the press of your lips against his, hoping he would feel the depth of your emotions in the way your hands held him, in the way your body pressed against his, in the way your heart beat wildly in sync with his own.

Spencer's fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm tentative but burning hot against your side. His touch was so light it sent a shiver skittering down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat as he hesitated. “Can I...?”

“Spencer.” You reached down to capture his hand, guiding it higher and pressing it firmly against the flat of your stomach. “You don’t have to ask.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, there was a hunger in his kiss that hadn’t been there before, an urgency that made your pulse race. His other hand found its way to your chest, and he palmed you through your bra, his movements still cautious but full of intent. “I want to be good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and raw against your lips.

You arched your hips into his, the movement slow and deliberate, eliciting a sharp gasp from him when his cock dragged against your clit. “You already are,” you whispered, your words a mix of reassurance and pure honesty.

He pulled back slightly, his lips parting as he searched your face. His gaze was soft but piercing, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Really?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, your throat tightening with the weight of your emotions. “You’re perfect.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost bashful smile, his face softening at your words. His gaze drifted downward, his lashes dark against his skin as he took in the sight of your bodies pressed together. “You are, too,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making your heart stutter.

Without warning, Spencer pushed himself up, his hands bracketing your hips as he knelt between your legs. His fingers fumbled at his belt, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked to undo it. After a moment of struggling, he gave up with a quiet huff, opting instead to slide a hand into his jeans. When he began stroking himself, his lips parted on a soft, unbidden moan, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

The way his hand moved, slow and deliberate, combined with the way his jaw tightened and his breath came in ragged gasps—it was intoxicating. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, your mouth watering as you imagined replacing his hand with your own, with your mouth. You wanted to feel him, taste him, make him lose himself in you.

“Spencer—” you breathed, the single word thick with want.

But before you could finish your thought, he was shifting back down, his body settling against yours as his lips found your neck. “I want you to get off on me,” he whispered, his voice rough and urgent against your skin. His mouth trailed along your jawline, the light scrape of his teeth sending sparks of heat through you. “Is that okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, your hands finding purchase on his hips. You dragged him closer, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass to pull him against you.

The friction was delicious, the slow roll of his hips against yours making your head spin. The heat of him, the weight of him, the low, breathy sounds he made—it was almost too much and yet not enough all at once. You tilted your head back, offering him more of your neck as you ground against him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his body against yours.

Spencer gasped as your hips rocked up against his, the friction of his cock sliding over your clit drawing a soft moan from you. The two of you found a rhythm, slow and deliberate, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, the growing pressure between your thighs impossible to ignore. His hardness rubbed against you with each motion, his movements unpracticed yet intoxicatingly eager.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. His groan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you as his body tensed. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips in response, your hands sliding up his back to hold him closer.

He felt incredible like this—hot, hard, and trembling with need in your arms. You pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, feeling the dampness of his hairline as you drew back to take in his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes... God, his eyes. They met yours, dark and stormy with a desperate hunger that made your breath catch.

“What do you want?” you asked softly, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t waver. “You,” he breathed, his tone raw and unguarded. “I want you.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, high-pitched and giddy with affection and desire. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “You’ve got me, Spencer.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you rocked your hips against him again, drawing a sharp inhale from his lips. His voice was rough with longing when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I know. I want—I want to...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing in frustration as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his forehead before trailing down to his ear. “Tell me,” you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. “Whatever it is, Spencer. Tell me.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your lips as he searched for the words. His breaths were shallow and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “I want—fuck. I just want to make you feel good.” He exhaled sharply, his hand sliding between your bodies to cup you through your underwear. His palm pressed against your cunt, tentative but deliberate, and your breath hitched in response.

“I want to feel you come,” he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. His fingers twitched against you, his touch gentle but insistent. “Is that—can I—fuck—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a heated press that said everything words couldn’t. His hand flexed against you, and when you rocked against him, a strangled moan tore from his throat. You felt his hesitation melt away as his fingers pressed more firmly, his eagerness making up for any lack of experience.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, your hips moving in time with his touch. “Yes, Spencer. Please.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to spur him on, his confidence growing with every gasped moan and whispered plea that fell from your lips. His movements were clumsy but earnest, his need to please you shining through in every stroke and press of his hand. It was intoxicating, the way he gave himself to you so completely, so openly.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your breaths coming faster as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. “Spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name. “I’m—God, I’m so close—”

His response was immediate, his free hand sliding to your hip to hold you steady as he pressed harder, his movements matching the rhythm of your hips. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice shaking with both nerves and determination. “Let go. Please, I want to feel it.”

And when you did—when the tension snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you—it was his name that spilled from your lips in a cry, his hands anchoring you as you trembled in his arms. Spencer held you through it, his own breaths ragged and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

[magikdarkholme]

ooohhh ok hear me out…what abt joaquin and reader at like a arcade or fair and they make a bet on how many tickets/prizes they can win. just fluff galore yknow!!

(ps this is tea—tumblr won’t let me ask on my other acct.😭😭)

— Ringpops and Clawmachines

pairing - Joaqín Torres x fem gf!reader

summary — Joaquin and gf!reader go on an arcade date. Maybe J lets her win, or maybe reader is just better at him (its the latter)

warnings - pure fluff!!!, established relationship,

notes — i forgot i had this in my drafts so im finally posting lolll!!! here you go tea :) hope this is what you wanted bb <3

masterlist

You barely stepped one foot onto the fairgrounds before Joaquín was tugging your hand, eyes sparkling like he was a kid again.

“Arcade first,” he said with mock urgency. “Before the cotton candy coma sets in.”

You laughed, fingers laced tightly with his. “Are you trying to distract me before I destroy you in ticket count again?”

“Destroy me?” he gasped. “Mi amor, you got lucky last time.”

“Lucky? I outscored you in Skee-Ball and beat your sorry butt at air hockey.”

“That was a technical glitch,” he muttered. “The puck had a vendetta.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Excuses, Torres. Just admit your defeat like a good boyfriend.”

He made a dramatic show of being wounded before shoving a game card into your hand. “Fine. Rematch. Same deal. Winner gets bragging rights and gets to pick the prize we take home.”

You squinted at him. “Loser buys snacks?”

“Obviously.”

You bumped shoulders. “Hope you brought your wallet, flyboy.”

The arcade glowed with neon lights, the air full of the beeps, buzzes, and explosions of pixelated warfare. You and Joaquín hit every game like a mission: Skee-Ball, Whack-a-Mole, hoops, racing sims. He tried to look all serious and tactical, squinting like he was on an actual op—but every time you glanced over, he was grinning.

He absolutely flopped at the claw machine. Again.

“Why is it always this one?” he asked, staring at the stuffed banana plushie that had slipped from the claw’s grip at the last second. “I had it.”

You giggled. “It knew you weren’t ready for the responsibility of banana parenthood.”

He snorted, bumping your hip with his. “One more try.”

He failed. Again.

“Babe, I think the claw hates me.”

“It’s okay,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I love you enough for both of us.”

He melted right there, smile softening as he kissed your forehead. “That’s not fair. You can’t say cute things in the middle of my emotional downfall.”

At the basketball hoops, he bounced back. Literally.

He landed every shot with precision, flexing like a goof and mouthing, “Get on my level,” while you booed dramatically and tried to sabotage him with a tickle to the ribs.

At Dance Dance Revolution, it was chaos.

He was all limbs, bouncing to the beat like a man possessed, while you tried to keep up through gasps of laughter. The machine awarded you a “C” and him a “D,” which sparked a very loud (and extremely incorrect) debate about the scoring algorithm.

“Clearly rigged,” he said, hands on his hips.

“You fell off the pad twice.”

“I was giving the crowd a show!”

“No one was watching except that four-year-old eating popcorn.”

“He was watching respectfully.”

Eventually, you both collapsed onto a bench near the prize booth, game cards drained, ticket stacks stuffed in your pockets, sleeves, and your tote bag.

Joaquín slumped beside you, leaning his head against your shoulder.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Tally time. You ready to admit defeat?”

You pulled out your ticket pile and laid it on your lap. “Count 'em, Torres.”

He stared. Then groaned. “Nooo.”

You grinned. “What’s the damage?”

He held up his smaller pile, dramatically tossing a few on the ground. “By like sixty! This is sabotage.”

“You picked the Dance Dance game.”

“And you picked my heart,” he sighed, collapsing sideways across your lap.

You laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Nice try, but that’s not getting you out of funnel cake duty.”

“Worth a shot,” he mumbled, turning just enough to kiss your stomach lightly before sitting up again. “Alright, what prize do we want, champ?”

You both ended up choosing a pair of matching plush dogs and some candy rings for the walk home. He made a whole thing out of fake-proposing to you with a ring pop in front of the booth attendant, who gave you both a slow clap and a sarcastic “congrats.”

“Next time, real ring,” Joaquín whispered to you as you walked away, slinging his arm over your shoulders. His voice was soft now, warmer than the summer breeze around you.

Your heart did a whole somersault, but all you said was, “Only if it comes with more cotton candy.”

“Done.”

[sanakiras]

TIDAL WAVE OF LOVE

PAIRING — choi seungcheol x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.3k

SYNOPSIS — even the strongest of people break sometimes. you’re used to hiding your feelings; your boyfriend is there for you when everything gets too much.

TAGS — angst, self-esteem issues, fear of failure, mc has a bit of a breakdown :(( but also a lil comfort

NOTE — cleaning out the drafts! this is wayyyy shorter than my usual works but i still felt like posting it <3 i had a very stressful semester in uni before the summer break and i came across this video on twt of coups giving wonwoo a little comforting squeeze which i found very endearing sooo that kinda became the inspo for this!

THE MOMENT SEUNGCHEOL CALLS OUT A GREETING TO YOU FROM HIS KITCHEN, YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES FOR A MOMENT. it would’ve probably been wiser to have gone home instead of his place.

you greet him the same way, hoping he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice.

“how was your day?” he asks you once he’s returned to the living room, giving you a kiss.

you press your lips together. “fine. nothing special.”

the first thing he notices is the lack of eye contact you make with him. you’re also being considerably less touchy with him than usual, which he finds strange.

“everything okay?”

“yeah.” you put up a smile that doesn’t appear genuine in the slightest.

he figures you could just be in a bad mood — but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

he knows for a fact that it’s not with the way you’re trying real hard to hide your face from him. you only do that when you’re upset about something.

“baby, talk to me.”

“about what?”

the response comes out snappier than you meant it to. you two have been together quite a while — so he’s come to know that you tend to get a little colder and distant before the dam breaks.

you look at him so briefly to the point where he’d miss the motion if he blinked. the expression equals a silent apology.

of course he always does his best to give you whatever space you need. that being said, he’s also come to know you get into your own head a lot, and sometimes there’s someone who needs to pull you out of it.

you bite your lip in a pathetic attempt to hold back your tears. “it’s fine, cheol, just let it go.”

“well, i care about you, sweetheart. what’s going on?” he’s persistent but gentle about it. you have a habit of keeping your feelings to yourself and hardly ever letting anything out, which leads to everything just piling up and making things worse.

“i don’t wanna talk about it.”

the lump in your throat begins to rise.

“i can see that, but you’ve clearly got something you need off your chest. are you okay?”

you don’t show anyone when something’s wrong unless they mention it first. and even when they do, you’re hesitant.

it’s an exhausting way to live, but you still choose to do so.

it’s one of the reasons why you hate crying. your glossy eyes always betray you.

then you make — what you consider to be — the mistake of looking into his big, worried eyes once more, and you just completely fall apart in front of him.

the tears begin to flow before you can even comprehend it.

“it’s just—god, i don’t even know why i’m so fucking emotional, i just—” your breath shudders, the mildly angry expression that was previously on your face now nowhere to be found, “everything’s been so stressful recently, and i’m scared i won’t pass my classes, and i feel like such a slow learner compared to everyone else—”

he’s rubbing your back, just allowing you to you let everything out. he keeps quiet.

“i feel fucking fragile. and weak. every little thing is just too much right now. i’m sorry, i feel stupid.”

he lets you cry into his chest as his arms are wrapped around you, one hand softly rubbing the back of your head. “don’t feel stupid, baby. you can vent to me, always.”

the sound of your heavy sobs hurt him, because he feels like you’re always so hard on yourself, but he’s glad you’re releasing them. it’s healthier to let it all out than to keep it in.

“it’s just like i can’t breathe, y’know?” you mutter in the crook of his neck, subconsciously wetting his shirt with your tears, “i can’t take a single break ‘cause i’ll fall behind. i’m so tired. i feel like i’m not even smart enough to take the damn course, let alone pass the fucking test—”

once he feels like you’re about to start hyperventilating, he moves back to let him look at you. “long breaths. you’re okay, just breathe with me.”

he purposefully takes long, deep breaths, counting the seconds out loud to guide you, and it works. your breathing is steadying bit by bit, sobs faltering, melting into soft hiccups and numbness.

with dried tears and a slightly hoarse voice, you let out a sigh. “i just hate feeling so incompetent. for once, i’d love to feel smart. i wanna feel like i’m able to keep up as well as everyone else does, y’know? i’m… i’m procrastinating everything and i don’t know how to change it. it all sucks.”

“it’s not easy, baby. don’t be too hard on yourself.” he presses a swift kiss to your skin, and you hold him tighter, as if he were to slip out of your hold if you didn’t.

“it’s not easy for me. it is for them.”

“there’s nothing wrong with that. would you think differently if someone in your class had to put more effort into passing the course? you wouldn’t, right? because at the end of the day, you both make it to the finish line. that’s what matters.”

deep down, you know he has a point. you put the pressure so high on yourself, yet don’t apply the same logic to your peers.

you don’t really understand why.

“and you say it’s easy for them, but i know for sure that they put more effort into it than you might think. trust me. you’ll get to where you want to be, one way or another. if you take a little longer to do that than a classmate, who cares. it’s your life. i know you’ve worked so hard—” he twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers, “even if you don’t pass that class now, it won’t be the end of the world, and there’ll be another chance. you’ll get there.”

now there’s just a few last tears running down your cheeks. “except i’m worried that i won’t.”

“you will. and once you do, you’ll be happy that you got to that point because you worked hard and deserve that success. if not today, then tomorrow. yeah?”

you take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, the last shudders of your breakdown bubbling to the surface as your heart rate finally slows back to normal. “yeah. thank you.”

to show your gratitude, you give him a hug, which he happily embraces, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“anytime. i’m here for you.”

even the strongest of people break — but they can still pick up the pieces and start over.

do your best (but maybe not sometimes) <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[mistymisfit]

Hounds of love

Summary: Jason wakes up from a bad dream, lucky for him he's got you to make him feel better. Based on the song Hounds of love by Kate Bush (and that post I made in april)

warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship ,I think it's gender neutral but lmk if I missed anything.

wc: 1,5k

a/n: sorry for the --summarized-- psychoanalysis class lol (this has been in my drafts since april idk why I didn't post sooner)

Jason had always yearned for love, any type of love he could get. Ever since he was a child, afraid and hiding in the dark cold streets of Gotham, he's always wanted to be loved- to be so full of love he wouldn't be able to take it anymore. But he's always been a coward, every time someone would get close enough he'd start fighting it, self-sabotaging as if he subconsciously knew he did not deserve it. His own father, his mom, his stepmother, Bruce, he'd been let down time and time again by the adults in his life supposed to protect him. If they couldn't give him what he wanted, love him, who could?

The dread, or rather the certainty he had over being unlovable shadowed over him, as much as he tried to push it down and pretend he didn't need it. His own biological parents left him, they never wanted him. The very people who were supposed to love him, he was their son. They brought him into this world, it was their responsibility. Then he'd say he didn't even like Bruce to begin with, who cares if he chose to adopt him? Who cared if he looked up to him so dearly once as a child? He had died under his care, Jason had almost everything he wanted and went ahead and ruined it-- all because he was too afraid to accept it, because he was too stubborn. You just had to go after him on your own, he'd blame himself.

Now he keeps having this recurring dream; he's being chased by something in some woods, and he keeps running. He wants to ask for help, he really does but his mouth won't open. Then he gets to a lake, takes his shoes off, throws them in the lake and takes two steps on the water. Some days that does it, he feels like the thing is no longer chasing him. But most days he wakes up before he can feel he's lost the thing chasing him.

Tonight he's holding a wounded fox in his hands, attacked by bigger animals, in the midst of escaping. The poor thing looks at him with kind, almost human, eyes. He feels its little heart pounding fast on its chest, the little animal feels familiar. He knows this fox from somewhere else. How else would it let him hold it? Why else would he stop running, too guilty to leave it alone? He feels ashamed of running away, but he has to. He's too scared to be there, he doesn't know what makes him so afraid to leave the poor animal on its own. None of this was real, there was nothing following him, he's never seen what's after him. So why couldn't he stay with the fox?

This night he wakes up sweating, agitated and with his heart kicking his ribs. He immediately kicks off the covers, and takes off his shirt when he feels the cotton starts to itch and stick to his skin. He knows he should try to calm himself down before he wakes you up, you had to be up in a few hours.

"Jay?" You slur, barely a whisper.

"Sorry my love," He apologizes, looking back to you rubbing your eyes "I'll go sleep on the couch"

"mmm, stay" you hum, still groggy with sleep but a hand of yours reaches out for him "bed's too cold"

He takes your hand in his before cuddling back next to you under the covers, limbs getting tangled together once again. And before he knows it he's got his head on your chest as you wrap your legs around him to keep him close.

"Where'd your shirt go?" You mumble, hands softly going across the expanse of his back.

"You complaining?" He teases to distract you and it works because you shake your head no with blushed cheeks. His hands sneaked under your clothes to hold you in a way that was almost a tradition now. He'd reach for your skin just to feel you there, to make sure you're safe and next to him and you weren't some hallucination he'd made up in his loneliness. If Jason had to he'd die and come again, crawling out of his coffin if it only meant he'd get to hold you like this one more time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask

"About what?" He hums, too comfortable in your embrace to even be bothered with remembering what he was so stressed about.

"Why you are awake" There's a beat of silence after the sentence has come out of your mouth. The only thing that can be heard is the city's never-sleeping traffic in the distance. He doesn't want to burden you with something as measly as a dream, so what if it made him wake up in a sweat? It made no sense so he had no reason to be upset.

"Had a bad dream, wasn't really a nightmare..." He confesses after the silence." 's stupid go back to sleep"

"It's not stupid, tell me about it"

"Baby" He sighs, hoping he sounds pissed off enough for you to drop the subject.

"What? A dream can be your subconscious trying to get something you can't when you're awake"

"Mine must hate me"

"It doesn't, but it may want something youre not aware of"

"Since when do you know so much about dreams? Nerd" He teases, nuzzling his head to you. Realizing you're just as stubborn as him, he accepts defeat and tells you about his dream, "There's a thing chasing me and I'm running through some woods"

"What's the thing?" You ask

"I don't know" He scoffs, quick to dismiss it.

"Just think about it," You hike your leg higher up his waist and squeeze him closer to you if it was possible. "how did it feel?"

Tangling himself with you to the point where he can't tell where you end is where he feels like he can be vulnerable. Only when it feels like he might just become one with you he can let his guard completely down. So he sighs and takes a moment to do what you ask. He knows damn well what is after him, he's always known.

"Me, I think," He hides his face even further into your chest."my feelings"

You only hum in response, so he asks "Is it hard to love me?"

Now you understand where the dream came from. The moment he connected the thing chasing him with its meaning awoke an insecurity, something he was trying to keep buried down. So you waste no time in your reply.

"Loving someone has never come easier to me"

He finally lifts his head up, big blue eyes swelling up with tears. He looked so helpless but at the same time so full of devotion for you. He's loved, you love him, so it must mean that he can be. If he's deserving of your love, your selfless and pure love, then he's not unlovable. He kisses your jaw, and then your neck hearing a soft sigh of his name coming out of your lips. Knowing he's handed you his own heart in a silver platter, that he is yours to do as you please, Jason can rest at ease that you'd never harm him.

"Why do you ask?" You don't let yourself get distracted by his kisses.

"It's just that-" He sighs, maybe he can be vulnerable one more time with you. So he fights against the need to push you away and tries to find the right words "Don't think anyone's ever felt that with me, ever"

"Jay, your father became a henchman to provide for you," you point out, holding his face with both of your hands "Catherine raised you like her own, and believe it or not Bruce loves you, even if he's too emotionally constipated to show it"

He scoffs at that last part, blinking away the tears brimming his eyes, which, in your opinion, made them look shiny like a tainted glass panel in a church.

"Your older brother, loves you too, he calls me to see how you're doing every other week 'cause you won't answer him" You continue, "So does Alfred"

"Let's go back to sleep, okay?" He stops you; the sudden reality check is much more than what he could process at the moment. He's been so deep into his own thoughts, what he believed to be truth, that he didn't even bother to see it from a different perspective.

"You didn't even tell me what happened in your dream" You insist with a pout.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, I'm sorry I kept you up"

"I'm not" You smile, giving him a quick peck on the lips. A hand cups your cheek, making the kiss longer. You know that if he was on a better mood he would've said something along the lines of it not being a proper kiss. You giggle against his lips, and Jason just wonders how was he ever able to function without you.

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[stylesispunk]

'You gave me something to lose'

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel is afraid of losing you.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst, mentions of panic attacks, fluff. Messy writing cause this is an old draft.

a/n: this was on my drafts for so long so I'm posting this as a gift because I'm going to London for the next two weeks and I won't be very active on here. So once I return, I promise I'll write the pendant things and requests I have. I hope you like this one. Happy reading 💌

dividerers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel didn’t fear anything, not dying nor being alone or even broke.

Not the clickers, not darkness, but you.

when his mission to take Ellie to the fireflies became into caring for the teen, he felt panicked.

And when he learned he had fallen deeply in love with you, you gave him something to lose.

And he was frightened.

Joel had always been a fortress, walls built high and strong to keep out the pain and loss he had endured. But now, those walls were crumbling. Each moment he spent with you, each secret you both had shared, each tender touch, chipped away at the defenses he had so meticulously constructed.

Since the day Joel met you at the QZ in Boston, you had stolen something from him. He didn’t decipher what back then, but every time you weren’t on his sight, a knot formed on his stomach. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, his blood rushed into his cheeks.

And God, every single time you smiled at him, he could find a reason to keep surviving in this world, again.

And that’s why when you had decided to go after him, when he and Tess took Ellie with them to the fireflies. He had made up his mind, between the anger and tinted loved was feeling for you right at that moment, he had decided he was going to protect you more than anything or anyone. Even when you got on his nerves.

The journey to the fireflies was grueling. The roads were treacherous, infested with clickers and hunters. Every step was a battle, every night a gamble. But Joel was relentless. He led the way with a grim determination, always keeping you and Ellie close. The tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked in every shadow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the desolate landscape, you found a moment of respite. The group set up camp in an abandoned building, its crumbling walls offering a semblance of shelter. Joel, ever vigilant, took the first watch.

You approached him, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows across his weathered face. He looked up as you neared, his eyes softening slightly. “You should get some rest,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

You shook your head, sitting down beside him. “I can’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

Joel glanced at you, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I get that.” There was a pause, a comfortable silence settling between you. “You know,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I never thought I’d feel this way again. Not after everything.”

You looked at him, searching his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve…” he paused, “Never mind.”

You furrowed your brow, sensing the weight of his unspoken words. “Joel, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s just… it’s hard to explain.” He paused again, just a few seconds, lifting his gaze up to yours “Why did you followed us three?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, but you didn’t hesitate in your response. “I didn’t follow all of you. I followed you.”

“Why?”

“Because back in the QZ there wasn’t a life after you” you confessed, “Life sucks in there, but without you it would be worse.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, the vulnerability of your words hitting him harder than he expected. He stared at you, trying to process the depth of your feelings. “I never knew…”

“Of course you didn’t,” you interrupted softly. “You’ve always been so focused on surviving, on protecting Tess and yourself, that you’ve never stopped to see how much you mean to people. How much you mean to me.”

He shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “Good to know it because I feel the same about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his admission filling you with warmth. "Joel..."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “When I met you, I didn’t think I could care for anyone again. But you... you changed that.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to break the cosmic moment “I’m glad. Because I can’t imagine going through this without you.”

Joel reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. “Now can you, please go to sleep?”

“Can I sleep here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he nodded. “Yeah, you can.”

He shifted, making room for you to lie down beside him. As you settled in, the warmth of his body next to yours was both comforting and grounding. You felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you snuggled into his embrace, feeling safe and protected.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For what?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your hair.

“For letting me in. For trusting me.”

Joel pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I trust you more than anyone. And I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, the weight of the world feeling just a little bit lighter in his arms. “We’ll figure it out together. “As the night deepened, the sounds of the wilderness outside seemed distant, the crackling fire casting a gentle glow around you. Joel’s steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest were the lullaby that finally coaxed you into sleep. In his arms, you found a peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

He felt his heart giving up for you.

That had happened a few months ago.

And Joel had become afraid. He found himself lying awake almost every night, staring at the sky and the stars, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind. What if something happened to you? What if he couldn't protect you? The thought of losing you, of seeing the light fade from your eyes, was a nightmare he couldn't bear. It was a fear far greater than anything he had ever faced; greater than the harsh realities of the post-apocalyptic world he had navigated for so long.

During the day, he tried to push these fears aside, trying to focus on the present. But it was impossible. Every smile you gave him reminded him of what he stood to lose. Every time you reached for his hand, his heart ached with the weight of his love for you and the dread of its potential loss.

He watched you with Ellie, how you cared for her, and how you brought joy and laughter into her bleak world. He saw how you made her feel safe and loved, and it only made his feelings for you deepen. Ellie, too, had become a part of this fragile, makeshift family, and his love for both of you intertwined, creating a web of vulnerability he couldn't escape.

The wind howled outside, carrying with it the bitter cold of the frozen winter night. Inside the small, dilapidated cabin, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. You, Joel, and Ellie huddled close to the fire, trying to fend off the chill that seemed to seep through the very walls.

Ellie poked at the fire with a stick, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "What do you think it’ll be like, Joel?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Joel looked up from the map he was studying, his eyes softening as he met Ellie’s gaze. "What do you mean?"

"After the cure," she said. "When this is all over. What do you think it’ll be like?"

Joel leaned back against the rough wooden wall, his mind drifting to a time long past. "I reckon things will be...different. Better, maybe. People could rebuild, start over. There might be schools again, towns with shops, places where kids can just be kids."

Ellie smiled at the thought, her imagination running wild with possibilities. "I want to learn to play guitar," she said. "Like you, Joel. You promised to teach me, remember?"

Joel chuckled softly, a rare sound in these harsh times. "Yeah, I remember. We'll find one, and I'll teach you. Maybe we can even have a little concert, you and me."

You watched the exchange, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "What about you, Joel? What's something you’d want to do?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes flicking to you. "I... I’d like to have a place of our own. Somewhere safe. Maybe a little house with a garden. We could grow our own food, live a quiet life. Just...be together."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "That sounds nice," you said softly. "Really nice."

The conversation drifted into a comfortable silence, each of you lost in thoughts of a hopeful future. You leaned against Joel, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. His arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer.

Ellie yawned and stretched out on the floor next to the fire. "I think I'm going to get some sleep," she said, her voice already heavy with exhaustion.

"Good idea," Joel replied. "I’ll keep the watch."

Ellie nodded and pulled her blanket tightly around herself, quickly drifting off to sleep. You and Joel stayed by the fire, the quiet crackling of the flames the only sound in the room.

"Do you really think there’s hope for a cure?" you asked quietly, your head resting on his shoulder.

Joel sighed, his fingers gently stroking your arm. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I have to believe there is. For Ellie. For you."

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his. "You’ve been through so much, Joel. Yet you still find it in you to hope. That’s incredible."

He shook his head slightly. "It's not hope," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's you.”

Joel’s panic attacks had become more frequent as the days passed. Every quiet moment seemed to stretch into an eternity of worry and fear. He could feel the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him, and the constant fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect you or Ellie gnawed at him relentlessly.

When the three of you had finally arrived at Jackson, Joel’s thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Jackson was a sanctuary, a place where you could all be safe, but his fears didn’t dissipate. If anything, they grew stronger. The more secure the surroundings, the more he worried about what could go wrong.

Jackson was bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolate landscapes they had traversed. Children played in the streets, people worked in gardens, and there was a sense of community and hope that was almost overwhelming. Joel watched it all with a heavy heart, his mind racing.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to die, that some unseen danger would take him away from you and Ellie. The thought of leaving you unprotected was unbearable. That’s when the idea started to form: maybe the best way to protect you was to leave you in Jackson, where you’d be safe. Where you could even find someone younger than him to kept you alive.

Joel sought out his brother. He found Tommy in the community hall, finishing up some late-night paperwork. The room was quiet, the only sound the scratch of Tommy’s pen against the paper.

"Tommy," Joel said, his voice low and strained.

Tommy looked up, immediately sensing the urgency in his brother’s tone. "Joel, what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Joel took a deep breath, his hands trembling. He sat down across from Tommy, his eyes filled with anguish. "I need to talk to you. It’s about Ellie and... and my….my " He couldn’t find the words to describe you. Calling you his lover wasn’t a proper word to use, it felt so weak. There was not nickname that could make justice to what you meant to him.

“Your girlfriend?” Tommy asked.

Joel nodded.

Tommy set his pen down, giving Joel his full attention. "Alright, tell me what’s on your mind."

Joel’s voice cracked as he spoke. "I don’t know how much longer I can do this. The fear... it’s eating me alive. I’m so scared something’s going to happen to them, and I won’t be able to protect them."

Tommy’s expression softened. "Joel, you’re in Jackson now. It’s safe here. We’ve got walls, people who care about each other. You don’t have to do this alone."

Joel shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "You don’t understand. I feel like I’m going to die, like something’s going to take me away from them. And then what? What happens to them if I’m gone?"

Tommy reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Joel’s shoulder. "We’ll take care of them, Joel. You’re not alone in this."

Joel’s tears began to fall, his voice choked with emotion. "I’m asking you to take Ellie with you. Keep her safe. And let my baby stay here in Jackson. She deserves a life that’s not filled with running and fear."

Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. "Joel, are you sure about this? You’re talking about leaving them behind."

"I’m not leaving them," Joel said, his voice trembling. "I’m trying to protect them. They’ll be safer without me."

Tommy sighed, his heart breaking for his brother. "And what about you, Joel? What happens to you if you leave?"

Joel wiped his tears, trying to steady himself. "I’ll find a way to keep going. I just need to know they’re safe. That’s all that matters."

Tommy nodded slowly, understanding the depth of Joel’s fear and love. "Alright, Joel. If this is what you think is best, I’ll take care of them. But you need to talk to them first. They deserve to know why you’re doing this."

Joel nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. "I will. Thank you, Tommy."

Tommy pulled Joel into a tight embrace; his voice filled with emotion. "We’re family, Joel. We take care of each other."

Joel clung to his brother, the tears flowing freely now. He knew the conversation with you and Ellie would be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, but he also knew it was necessary. The fear of losing you both was too great to ignore, and he hoped that, in time, you would understand why he had to make this choice.

Joel walked slowly to Ellie’s room, his heart heavy with the burden of what he was about to do. He knew this conversation would be one of the hardest of his life, but he also believed it was necessary. He took a deep breath and knocked softly on her door.

“Come in,” Ellie’s voice called from inside.

He opened the door and stepped into the room. Ellie was sitting on her bed, reading one of the books she had found in Jackson’s library. She looked up and smiled when she saw him, but her smile faded when she noticed the serious expression on his face.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

Joel closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked at Ellie, her young face full of life and determination, and it made his heart ache.

“Ellie, we need to talk,” he said softly, struggling to find the right words.

Ellie set her book aside and gave him her full attention. “What’s going on?”

Joel took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. “Ellie, I’ve been thinking a lot about our journey, about everything we’ve been through. And... about what comes next.”

Ellie shook her head, her voice rising with emotion. “Joel, no. We’re supposed to stick together. We’re a team.”

Joel looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “Ellie, I’m not sure I can keep doing this. The fear... it’s too much. I’m scared something’s going to happen to you, and I won’t be able to protect you.”

Ellie reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We protect each other, Joel. That’s how we’ve always done it.”

Joel swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “I’m asking Tommy to take you to the fireflies. He’ll keep you safe until you arrive to the hospital.”

Ellie’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head fiercely. “No, Joel. I’m not going without you. We’ve come this far together, and I’m not leaving you.”

Joel’s heart ached at her words, but he forced himself to continue. “Ellie, you need to understand. I’m not... I’m not your father. I can’t be the one to keep you safe forever.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Ellie’s tears began to fall. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father, Joel. Don’t you get that? Fuck”

Joel’s own tears threatened to spill over, but he steeled himself. “But you’re not my daughter and I’m not your father.”

Ellie shook her head, her voice filled with desperation. “No, Joel. Please. Don’t do this. We need you.”

Joel reached out, cupping her face in his hands. “I need you to trust me, Ellie. This is the best way to keep you safe.”

Ellie pulled away from his touch, her face a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I don’t want to be safe if it means losing you. You and her are all I have, Joel.”

Joel stood up, his heart shattering at her words. “I’m sorry, Ellie. But this is how it has to be.”

He turned and walked toward the door, each step feeling like a lead weight. He paused at the doorway, looking back at Ellie one last time.

With that, he walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against the wall, his heart breaking at the sound of Ellie’s muffled sobs. He knew this was one of the hardest decisions he had ever made, but he believed it was the right one.

As he stood there, trying to compose himself, he heard footsteps approaching. You appeared at the end of the hallway, having heard the conversation. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he saw the same mix of anger, hurt, and confusion that Ellie had shown.

You approached Joel slowly, your face a mix of anger and hurt. He could see the questions in your eyes, the need for an explanation that would make sense of the pain he had caused.

"Joel," you said, your voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

Joel looked down, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm trying to keep you both safe. You and Ellie. This place, Jackson... it's where you can have a real life."

Your eyes narrowed, and you took a step closer. "And you think abandoning us is the way to do that? How could you even consider leaving us behind?"

Joel sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's not abandoning you. It's making sure you're protected. If something happens to me—"

You cut him off, your voice rising with emotion. "Don't you get it, Joel? We need you. Ellie needs you. I need you. You're the reason we've made it this far. You can't just walk away."

Joel's eyes were filled with pain as he looked up at you. "I can't shake the fear that I'm going to die, that I won't be there when you need me most. I thought if I left, you'd be safer."

You stepped even closer, your anger giving way to desperation. "Safer? Joel, we've faced everything together. We protect each other. How can you think we'd be better off without you? How can you think I would be better off without you?""

Joel's voice was barely a whisper. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you knew you had to make him understand. You reached out, taking his hands in yours. "Joel, I love you. I need you with me, not just for protection, but because you're my love. Leaving me won't keep me safe; it'll break me."

Joel looked at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't know if I can do this. The fear is... it's too much."

You squeezed his hands, your voice gentle but firm. "We'll face it together, Joel. Just like we always have. You're not alone in this. Please, don't leave me."

Joel pulled you into a tight embrace, his tears finally spilling over. "I'm so scared," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion.

You held him close, your own tears falling. "I know, Joel. But we're stronger together. I need you. Ellie and I need you"

As you stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the hallway, Joel felt the weight of his fear begin to lift. The love and determination in your voice gave him the strength he needed to keep going. At least for a bit.

After a long moment, Joel pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I was trying to do the right thing.”

You nodded; your heart full of relief. "We'll figure it out, Joel. Together."

Joel took a deep breath, cupping your face in his hands. “I love you so much,” he said, pecking your lips.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you returned his kiss, a soft, reassuring touch. “I love you too, Joel,” you whispered, your voice steady with conviction.

Joel rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as if trying to etch this moment into his memory. “I just don’t want to lose you or Ellie. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to either of you.”

You stroked his cheek, your thumb brushing away a stray tear. “We’re not going anywhere, Joel. We’ve made it through so much already, and we’ll keep making it through. Together.”

He nodded, pulling you into a tighter embrace, the warmth of his body a comforting reminder of his presence. “Together,” he repeated, his voice more confident now.

You pulled back slightly from the embrace, looking up into Joel’s eyes. "Come on," you said softly, taking his hand. "Let’s get cleaned up. It’s been a long day."

He nodded, allowing you to lead him down the hall to the bathroom. The room was small, but it had a functioning shower—one of the many luxuries you had come to appreciate in this place. You turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right.

Joel stood there, watching you with an exhaustion and adoration. He started to undress, his movements were slow You did the same, your eyes meeting his with every piece of clothing that fell to the floor. There was an unspoken understanding between you. Both of you bared int front of each other, stealing glances of your bodies in display.

Once you were both undressed, you stepped into the shower together. The warm water cascaded over your bodies, washing away the grime and tension of the day. You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before gently running them over Joel’s shoulders and back.

He sighed, leaning into your touch. "You don’t have to do this," he murmured.

"I want to," you replied, your voice tender. "Let me take care of you." You said, pressing a kiss on his wet shoulder.

You continued to wash him, your hands moving in soothing, circular motions. The warmth of the water and the intimacy of the moment began to ease the tension in his muscles. When you reached his hair, you took the shampoo and began to work it into a lather, your fingers massaging his scalp.

Joel closed his eyes, a soft groan escaping his lips. "That feels nice," he admitted.

You smiled, continuing to wash his hair with gentle care. "Good. You deserve to relax."

After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you handed him the soap. "Your turn," you said with a playful smile.

He took the soap, his hands surprisingly gentle as he began to wash your shoulders and back. The feel of his strong, calloused hands against your skin was comforting, a reminder of how much you meant to each other. He took his time, his touch tender and affectionate, showing the love he felt for you.

When he reached your hair, he repeated the process, his fingers working the shampoo through your locks with the same care you had shown him. You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of his hands in your hair and the warmth of the water cascading over you.

For a while, the two of you stood there, simply enjoying the closeness and the rare moment of peace. The world outside might be filled with danger and uncertainty, but here, in this small bathroom, there was only love.

When you were both clean, you turned off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it around Joel’s shoulders before taking another for yourself. You helped each other dry off, the intimacy of the moment deepening the existent bond between you.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. "Thank you," he said softly.

You cupped his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "We’re in this together, Joel. Always."

He nodded, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Together," he echoed.

As you both stood there in the warmth of the bathroom, wrapped in towels and each other's embrace, the bond between you felt stronger than ever. The fear and uncertainty of the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the love and trust you had for each other.

Joel kissed the top of your head and took your hand, leading you back to the bedroom. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated the bedroom, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. You both moved slowly, savoring the peaceful moment.

You helped Joel into bed, making sure he was comfortable before slipping in beside him. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you. The simple act of being in his arms felt like the safest place in the world.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he spoke. "I love you so much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I can ever put into words."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the raw honesty in his eyes. "I love you too, Joel. So much."

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't think I've ever felt this way before. I mean, caring this much for someone. Not since Sarah. And it's... it's scary. But it's also the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt."

Your heart ached for him at the mention of Sarah, but you knew how important it was for Joel to express his feelings. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "It's okay to be scared, Joel. But you're not alone in this. We’re in it together."

Joel nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You've given me something I thought I’d lost forever. Hope. A reason to keep fighting. And I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to protect you, to make sure we have a future together."

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "We’ll protect each other. And we’ll build that future, one day at a time."

He wrapped his arms around you tighter, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feeling of having you in his arms. "I promise you, I'll never let anything happen to you. You and Ellie mean everything to me."

You snuggled closer, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "And you mean everything to us, Joel. We're stronger together."

Joel sighed contentedly, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "Thank you for standing by me, for believing in me. I don't know what I’d do without you."

You smiled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his love envelop you. "You'll never have to find out, because I'm not going anywhere."

With that, you both drifted into a peaceful sleep, the worries of the world outside momentarily forgotten. In each other's arms, you found solace and strength, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

Hours later, Joel woke up in the middle of the night, the room shrouded in darkness. He instinctively reached out for you, but his hand found only empty space. Panic surged through him, his heart pounding as he sat up, his eyes scanning the room.

"Baby, where are you?" he muttered, throwing the blankets aside as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He quickly pulled on his pants and a shirt, his movements hurried and frantic. The fear of losing you, so deeply ingrained in his mind, took hold as he rushed out of the bedroom.

He moved swiftly down the hallway, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Had something happened? Had someone taken you? The thoughts were unbearable. He reached the top of the stairs and bolted down them, nearly stumbling in his haste.

When he reached the bottom, he paused, his eyes darting around the living room. Relief washed over him as he saw you sitting on the couch, a cup of tea cradled in your hands. You looked up, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Joel, what’s wrong?" you asked, concern etching your features.

He let out a shaky breath, his heart still racing. "I woke up and you weren’t there," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I thought something had happened to you."

You set your tea down on the table and stood up, crossing the room to him. "I’m sorry," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to make some tea. I didn’t mean to scare you."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if to reassure himself that you were really there. "It’s okay," he murmured into your hair. "I just...I can’t bear the thought of losing you."

You held him just as tightly, feeling the intensity of his emotions. "You won’t lose me, Joel. I promise."

He nodded, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "I know. It’s just...sometimes the fear gets the better of me."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "I understand," you said gently. "But we’re safe here. We have each other."

He sighed, the tension slowly easing from his body. "Yeah, we do."

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. "Sit with me for a while. The tea is still warm."

He followed you, sitting down beside you on the couch. You picked up your cup and handed it to him. "Here, takes a sip. It’ll help you relax."

He took the cup, his hands still slightly trembling. He sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through him, helping to calm his nerves. "Thanks," he said, his voice steadier.

You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "We’ll get through this, Joel. Together."

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "Yeah, we will."

The two of you sat there in the quiet of the night, the warmth of the tea and the comfort of each other’s presence soothing the fears that had momentarily overwhelmed him. In that moment, Joel felt a renewed sense of peace, knowing that as long as you were by his side, he could face anything the future held.

As the minutes passed, the tension in Joel's body melted away. He looked down at you, your eyes closed, content and calm. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying all the weight of his heart.

"I love you too," you replied softly, without opening your eyes.

Joel took another sip of the tea, its warmth soothing him from the inside out. The night was still and quiet, a rare tranquility enveloping your home. He gazed around the room, taking in the modest, yet comforting surroundings. This place, this sanctuary in Jackson, could become more than just a shelter. A home.

You snuggled closer to him, and Joel felt a profound sense of gratitude. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to truly believe in the possibility of a future filled with hope and love. The horrors of the past, the constant threats of the present, they all seemed a little more bearable with you by his side.

"We’ve been through so much," he said quietly, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "But sitting here with you, it makes it all worth it."

You opened your eyes and looked up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "We’ve found something real, Joel. Something worth fighting for. And no matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together."

Joel nodded, feeling the truth of your words settle deep within him. "Together," he echoed, his voice filled with conviction. "Always."

The two of you sat there in the stillness, the warmth of each other's presence a balm for your souls. Joel felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in years. With you, he had found a reason to hope, to believe in a better tomorrow.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion of the day began to catch up with him. You noticed his eyelids growing heavy and gently took the cup from his hands, setting it on the table. "Come on," you whispered, standing up and offering your hand. "Let’s get some rest."

Joel took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bedroom. The room was still bathed in the soft glow of the lamp, casting a warm light over the bed. You both slipped under the covers, and Joel pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

With you in his arms, the fear and anxiety that had plagued him earlier faded away. The rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart against his chest, all served as a reminder of the love and strength you shared.

"Goodnight, Joel," you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness. "Goodnight," he replied, pressing a final kiss to your forehead.

As he closed his eyes, Joel felt a deep sense of contentment. No matter what the future held, he knew that with you by his side, he could face it all. Together, you had built something beautiful amidst the chaos, and that was something worth holding on to.

In the quiet darkness, with you in his arms, Joel finally allowed himself to drift into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of the life you would continue to build together, one filled with love, hope, and endless possibilities.

[vanishingcherry]

YN YLN and Charles Leclerc Take a Couples Quiz

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

author's note: this has been in my drafts for wayy to long, so ive decided to just finish it off and post it. im sorry lmao but i just couldn't watch this rot away in my wips any longer.

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

The video cut to you and Charles, sitting opposite each other in front of a yellow to red gradient, smiling at the camera.

"Hi! I'm YN", you say cheerfully.

"And I'm Charles"

"And we are here to take a couples quiz!"

You are handed a stack of questions from a person off screen, and turn towards Charles.

"Are you ready?"

"Is that the first question?" he retorts.

Your face drops, now showing slight annoyance but there is still a small smile you try to hide. "That's it. Minus 1 points."

"Oh c'mon! That is not fair."

You turn to argue but the video cuts to a different scene in which you ask the actual first question.

"What things do I have, of yours, that are my favourite?

He looks up in thought before chuckling and replying. "Theres a lot, you steal my stuff all the time."

You grin. "Yes, but what's my favourite?"

"My shirts? No wait! My bracelets?" He asks.

"Yeah!" you exclaim. Turning to the camera you add. "He gets so many bracelets from fans and they are all so pretty. We keep them in a bowl on our dresser so I like to take a few whenever I go out."

Looking back at Charles, you add. "You didn't know the answer, but you still got it right so I think you deserve half a point." The staff behind the camera gives you a thumbs up, noting it down for when they would edit the video.

"Ok! Next question- which song of yours is my favourite?"

He looks at you, his eyes widening with a confused expression on his face. He looks at the camera crew and then back at you.

"C'mon, I only have 2 it's not a very hard question."

"Then answer it." you reply, looking at him with a small smirk.

"Fine. Uh, AUS23."

"Wrong!" you exclaim, laughing at the way his jaw drops in surprise.

"Then what? I know its not Miami."

"Its the one you wrote for Baku." you slyly say, knowing fully well that he hadn't released it and you were possibly the only one other than him to have heard it.

You look down at the cards you had been given, reading off the next question. "What is the first thing I eat in the morning?"

You see his smirk growing in your peripheral vision and cut in before he answers. "If you dare make a joke, I will murder you."

He laughs at that, chuckling as he looks up to think. "Um. Breakfast? It's different things every morning, but if I wake up before her then I make cereal."

Noticing the evident confusion on the faces of the cameramen, you elaborate. "It's the only thing he's allowed to make without me present. The last time I let him cook alone, he burned the pancakes and half our kitchen."

Turning red at the story, he interrupts. "Okayy, next question amore."

"Which side of the bed do I sleep on?"

"Left."

"If I could get a tattoo of something, what would it be?"

"A bouquet of flowers. The flowers would be your favourite and my favourite together."

You are shocked at his response. "How did you remember that? I told you that ages ago!"

He smiles slyly to the camera. "That is why I am the best boyfriend, there is no need for these silly questions I am already the best. She told me so in be-"

"Right. Next question." You cut him off, eyes widening as you figure out where he was going with the statement. "This is the last one. If I could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Oh this is easy. Italy. You are always talking about how much you love it. But you also love Monaco and France so depending on how you feel, one of those three."

"Well.", you look at the camera, "I think that answer deserves 2 points." Handing your questions off to the side, you turn to Charles who has started reading the first of his questions.

"If I had a ticket to anywhere in the world, where would I go?" he reads. "This is similar to yours", he mutters.

"Home", you say confidently. "He's a mama's boy, tries to go back home as much as possible."

He blushes slightly before nodding to the camera. "Yup, 1 point."

"What was I wearing on our first date?"

You reply quick as lightening. "A shirt and pants. Very gentlemanly, I remember thinking, probably the best first impression I've had of a guy."

His eyebrows raise at the confession, cockily tilting his head in the direction of the camera. "You heard her! Next, what is something I hate?"

"A lot of things, Char."

"Is that your final answer, cherie?"

"Um." you pause. "Oh I know! When manipulate stuff that you say. It makes me really mad too. It gets really tiresome when they take stuff that Charles has said that turn into into a different story altogether."

"Thats true, I do hate that." He smiles at you, reaching over to squeeze your hand once to say thank you.

"How many kids do I want?"

"3, because you have 2 siblings. But, you said you want as many as I am comfortable with!"

"Of course, amour. You're the one whose going to be carrying them, your choice is more important here. What is something I get annoyed about?"

"Oh, when Seb and Carlos beat you at those Ferrari games you play."

His jaw drops in faux offence, shaking his head as he reads out the last question on his cue card.

"What is one my hidden talents?"

You look straight at the camera, not dissimilar to The Office. A smirk grows on your face and the lens zooms in. In the background Charles can be heard complaining.

"Oh I see! You can make these jokes, but I cant?"

The video cuts to the wider angle once again, you and Charles wave at the camera.

"Thanks for watching our couples quiz! I think it's clear that I've won."

Charles rolls his eyes, eyes shining with admiration and love for you. "Bye everybody."

Comments:

charleslover: OH MY GOD!! THEY ARE SO IN LOVE IT KILLS ME

ynandcharles: their facial expressions always kill me

username89: where do i get a charles leclerc bcs i will willingly offer all the money i have

doratheexplorer16: their love for each other hurts

[iluv-m]

Mine Mine Mine.

I haven’t uploaded in years omg, I hope someone sees this 😭 Enjoy~

This was in my drafts a while back, This is not my original idea, I lost the tumblr writer who wrote this post originally.

——————————————————————————

You decided to surprise your boyfriend by visiting him at his university. He had given you a spare key to his dorm, just in case. You let yourself in quietly, taking in the soft glow of the room lit only by the dim desk lamp. The blinds were closed, and you could see a large figure under the blanket, lying on the bed. Obviously, it was your boyfriend—he must’ve been exhausted after his long lecture, which lasted four hours. You smiled, thinking he probably needed his rest. You figured you’d let him sleep while you grabbed some ramen for your movie night.

But just before you could sneak out the door, you couldn’t resist. You leaned over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was a peck, nothing too big, but you missed him so much. After all, it’d been a while since you’d seen him. When you pulled away, feeling satisfied, you heard him shuffle a little, mumbling in his sleep.

Grinning to yourself, you started walking toward the door when—wham—you felt his hand shoot out and grab your wrist, yanking you back toward the bed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable he was, thinking of you even in his sleep.

“Babe, let go. I need to go get ramen for us!” You wiggled in his arms, trying to get free, but his grip only tightened. He wrapped his legs around yours like a human octopus, trapping you with a soft, sleepy growl.

“Mine…” he mumbled. The way he said it sounded so possessive and cute that you couldn’t help but smile. “Mine…mine…mine…” He kept repeating it, almost like he was in a trance.

You tried to shake him awake, but he only responded by squeezing you tighter, as if he was trying to make you disappear inside the blankets with him. It was adorable—but also kind of annoying.

You squirmed, trying to free your legs, but his grip just got stronger, his body practically cocooning you. “I need to go get ramen, seriously. You can’t keep me here all day…”

“Mine…” he muttered again, this time wrapping the blanket around you like a burrito. “Mine…mine…mine…”

There was no way out of this. He was too strong, and the blanket was way too snug. You shifted, trying to get comfortable, but your legs were quickly starting to lose feeling. “Okay, fine. Mine,” you said with a playful eye-roll, hoping he would let you go.

Hearing no response, only his arms slightly tightening around you like you hug your stuffed bear and his legs putting yours in a lock making them close to numb, you admitted defeat.

It felt like hours and you even tried to sleep but the thought of ramen kept waking you up and trying to get free from your boyfriend’s hold. Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Shit you totally forgot you had it with you. You reached for it with your free hand—only one hand free, by the way—and saw it was your boyfriend’s roommate.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?” you whispered, trying not to wake the monster clinging to you.

“Hey, Y/N, have you seen BF/N? He was supposed to be at the library 20 minutes ago, but no one can find him. I’ve called everyone. Where is he?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Uh, yeah, I know where he is.”

“Wait, why are you whispering? Where are you?” he asked, clearly confused.

You glanced at your boyfriend, still sleeping soundly, and groaned. “I’m stuck in his dorm. He kidnapped me in his sleep and won’t let me leave.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, his roommate burst out laughing. “No way! He’s literally holding you hostage? I’m coming to rescue you, don’t worry! I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

You glanced at your boyfriend, who was still mumbling “mine” over and over, and sighed. “Alright. I’ll wait. Wait! Do you mind getting some ramen on the way, you know the kind we like.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll be right there,” his roommate said, chuckling.

After what felt like an eternity (11 minutes to be exact), you heard the door unlock. The light from the hallway flooded into the room, and you squinted as his roommate walked in, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Hey, I’m here for the rescue and the delivery!” he said with a smug grin, snapping a picture of you and your boyfriend, who was still snuggled under the blanket, holding you hostage.

You groaned. “Hey!”

But, of course, your boyfriend didn’t wake up. He just kept mumbling, “Mine…mine…mine…” and pulled you closer. It was adorable, but also way too much.

His roommate smirked and grabbed a pillow from his bed. “Sorry, bro, this is for your own good,” he said before smacking it straight onto your boyfriend’s head.

Everything went quiet. You could practically hear your boyfriend’s brain rebooting. Then he jolted upright, blinking and rubbing his face. “What. Did. You. Just .Do?”

“Sorry! It was the only way to wake you up! Don’t kill me! Your girlfriend told me to do it!”

Your boyfriend looked at you, then down at your cocooned body. “Wait…when did you get here?”

You sighed dramatically. “You kidnapped me, remember? I’ve been stuck here for-“ You pulled out your phone checking the time, “-2 HOURS?!”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widened. “Oh…whoops.”

You tried to get up from the bed, but when you shifted, your legs, completely numb, gave out from under you and you fell . “Oh, come on! My legs are DEAD.”

Your boyfriend’s face turned into full-on panic mode. “Shit, are you okay?!”

“No, you’ve basically paralyzed me with your cuddle attack.” You looked over at his roommate, who was trying to hold back laughter. “I’m never letting you live this down.”

His roommate chuckled. “Well, at least you’re not dead, right?”

You shot him a playful glare. “I would kill him, but it seems he’s too cute to murder.”

Your boyfriend’s guilt melted into a grin, and he helped you back onto the bed, making sure you were settled. “Alright, movie night still on?”

You looked at him suspiciously. “You’re lucky I’m still willing to hang out with you.”

“Well, you know, because you’re mine,” he teased, pulling you back under the blanket and trapping you once again. You were surrounded by soft, fluffy fabric, and there was no escaping. Not that you really wanted to, anyway.

“Did you just trap me again?” you asked, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Yep. You’re mine, remember?” he said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m yours, but you’re lucky I’m too comfy to move.”

“Exactly. Mine,” he whispered into your hair, and you melted into his arms.

Meanwhile, his roommate just stood there awkwardly. “Uh… guys? Still here?”

You shot him a teasing grin. “Who told you to stick around? Get out.”

“Why do you always have to be so mean? 😭 Y/N, tell him to let me leave.”

You giggled from inside your blanket cocoon, rolling your eyes. “Bye bye~ Wait, our ramen!”

His roommate sighed dramatically. “Here you go . I’m leaving before you two make me throw up.”

With that, he left the room, and the two of you were left alone to snuggle up for your movie night, with your boyfriend repeating his favorite word: Mine

[radiomogai]

ok hi. want to get input on a blog thing. specifically, the question of transids and archiving from radqueers

one of the main values we try to have when running radiomogai is not letting history be written by the victors. as such, we try to be as unbiased as possible in what it is that we reblog and put on external archives. this means we will archive terms we disagree with, terms we believe are harmful in some manner, terms coined by people we disagree with or even despise, troll terms, posts that upset us. we try our best to be unbiased, and while that's impossible and we do notice bias in our work, we are proud of our implementation of this value

when transids first started becoming a community issue, we ended up developing some pretty bad OCD around them, as well as the topic of radqueerism. we couldn't even archive chronosian terms for a while because of this. in the past year or so we've made massive improvements on this and we're now comfortable having conversations about them. hell, we have an anthropological interest in transids and in radqueer ideology, similar to our anthropological interest in microlabels and subcultures overall

also in this time, the overall attitude of the MOGAI community has shifted. there are a lot of people now who are accepting of transid terms and experiences, and there are community members who are transid themselves. there has become an understanding that transids are not inherently tied to radqueer ideology, and there has been a rise in people being radqueer-critical instead of anti-radqueer

so with all of this said. we want people's thoughts on how we go about archiving transids as well as archiving things made by radqueers, whether or not these things are transids. at current, we're using our own judgement in each individual situation, and most things that don't go on radiomogai do get saved to be put on archive.ph later anyway. when you give your thoughts, i do ask that you keep in mind that radiomogai is meant to be a queer community resource and a historical record, and that no matter what someone does or does not believe, if they are queer then you cannot try to deny them their queerness

please let us know in a reblog, reply, or ask. do note that we likely will not respond to responses right away and may not at all. we are under a lot of stress right now in our personal life and have been having both a fatigue flare and an asociality flare, but we've been sitting on this topic for long enough that i got tired of waiting for the right time for it

additional notes i want to clarify after feedback on the draft of this:

radiomogai would not at all become a majority-radqueer or even largely radqueer archive. not only are there other projects dedicated to doing that already, but we also frankly prioritize non-radqueer MOGAI terms more

there are certain sorts of terms we would absolutely not be putting on radiomogai. we'd still be putting them on archive.ph, but for various reasons {our OCD, keeping the blog up, etc}, they would not go here. this includes but isn't limited to hate-related terms, certain harm-related terms, paraphilia-related terms, some race-related terms, anything actively advocating for causing nonconsensual harm, stuff along those lines

if you block a tag, posts that have been tagged with that in any version of the post will still be hidden. so people could block radqueer tags and any posts that have had those tags added by OP would still be blocked for you, even if we don't include those tags

we would absolutely make it more explicitly clear in our pinned post that archival does not equal to endorsement, we've been meaning to get around to that anyway lol

[brisquad-unit-4402]

taking care of drunk ike

today it is my birthday once more so here, i'm posting my favorite fic in my drafts. i'm not sure what i should do today...?!

i love honest thoughts while drunk but i wanted to keep the idea of consent in mind... this is my balance weeeee. the longer the fic goes the more dicey it gets. kinda like actual blackout drinkinggg. so if you need to dip no worriesssssssss

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, fluff and angst, pining, open ending, fluff with a sad ending, sick fic?, blackout drunk ike, ike is a cute drunk, and then an emotional drunk, emetophobia/vomit, unspecified if reader drinks or not, slightest hint of lucake and shuca if you squint while yaoipilled, one (1) swedish word

⚠️ drinking, emetophobia

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Long story short: Ike is sloshed and needs to get home.

Long story long: Luxiem just wrapped up an ambitious project, so naturally you and the rest of the guys spent all night celebrating. The evening started off with a good meal and blowing your lungs out on karaoke, but if someone told you earlier today that Ike of all people would get piss drunk, you would've laughed in their face. Dude's Scandinavian. He's not a heavy drinker by any means but Vox is the only one that can keep up with him. Even then, it usually ends up with the demon plastered by the time Ike starts slurring his words together.

Except for tonight, of course. All Vox had was a shot with the rest of the guys when the night started, so that initial effect faded ages ago.

You weren't set on getting drunk either, so you ended up being the responsible one too. Even Luca sobered up. He's usually the next to go after local lightweight Shu, but the bar appetizers must've soaked up the alcohol, and now at the wee hours of 2 AM, the other two guys were using Luca as a crutch. Seeing sleepy-drunk Shu rest his head on Luca's shoulder was common. Ike trying to break free from Luca's grasp? Completely different story.

"Luca, let me go."

"Are you going to trip in your heels if I do?"

"No."

Luca let go of Ike's hand. Ike stepped forward, stumbled, and nearly ate shit before he could even get to step number 2. Luckily, Luca figured that would happen and grabbed his arm before the novelist completely lost his balance. "See what I mean now, Ike?"

Ike just grunted in half-hearted protest.

Meanwhile, Vox closed his phone. "I don't want him walking home alone," he said. He glanced at the Luca-crutch and the rambunctious child dangling off his arm (plus the contented Shu on the other side). "Uber should be here in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Vox," you said on Ike's behalf.

"It's the least I can do. Still, do you think he can make it to his apartment? He can barely stand up straight."

You got an idea. "I can go with him and make sure he gets home in one piece."

Vox tilted his head. "What about you?"

"Please, don't sweat it! We live less than five minutes away from each other, so I'll be fine. We even have spare keys to each other's places,” you said. Behind you and Vox, Ike was trying to pull his hand out from Luca's grasp. No matter how hard he tried, he had about as much force as a wet piece of paper. Luca was immovable. You continued. "Besides, I'm a little worried too. I don't want him to trip on concrete or anything."

Which brings the long story to now: you sit in backseat of an Uber with Ike who, as mentioned, is sloshed and needs to get home.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Without Luca to hold him in place, Ike didn't have much of an authority to rebel against. He complied without much of a fight. It's endearing watching him switch up; one moment he's acting goofy with the boys and the next he's docile, staring intently at the back of the passenger seat.

"What're you looking at?" You ask.

"Pouh," he says informatively. When you don't respond immediately he pushes his head against your arm like a pillow and repeats himself. "Pughhh."

"What?"

"Pockets," he slurs. He points at the back of the passenger seat, which is as flat as a board. "This seat doesn't have them. Which is so sad. If it can have pockets we should always have pockets no matter what."

"I think you should talk to women's jeans manufacturers about that."

"I would be great at women's jeans," Ike agrees.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You thank the driver once the ride is done and open the door for Ike. Fortunately he's remembered how to walk but you support him as you climb the stairs to his apartment, one step at a time. His heels, usually quick and prompt, clunk on the ground. Ike sniffs.

Oh, no. He looks like a kicked puppy right now. Did something happen? You try to recount anything that might've upset him. "What's wrong, Ike?"

"I thought about it during the ride." He sniffs again. "Women's jeans don't have pockets and it’s making me sad."

“Sometimes they do!” You pat his back in a quick attempt to cheer him up. “I’ve even seen skirts with pockets.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Ike smiles. “They should make more skirts with pockets.”

“Sure. Where’s your keys?”

Ike produces a key ring and misses the lock, so you open it for him. His apartment smells like cotton and the greasy hint of bacon, just like how you remember. It’s organized but clearly lived in, down to the folded laundry resting on a chair rather than their designated drawers.

“Come in,” he says, not at all surplussed by you. You visit each other often, after all. He ambles through the threshold and onto the couch with a satisfied “Oof.”

The first order of business is to get Ike some water. You don’t even have to guess which cabinet holds the glasses; you get it right on the first try. Once you’re done, you turn to the couch. Ike lays down on the couch, head plopped on the armrest and his folded hands, squishing his alcohol-flushed cheeks. His drooping eyes perk up as your get closer. He’s been watching you.

“Alright, you big dork, sit up properly so you can drink.” You nudge his shoulder, coaxing him up with a groan.

He straightens as you press the cold glass in his hand. With a wave of his free hand, he tries to say, “I shouldn’t, I’ve had a lot to drink.”

You raise the glass. Despite his protests, Ike wordlessly tilts it to his lip with your help. You must look like an alien species, a tangle of limbs holding a cup to a second mouth, but Ike closes his eyes as he sips. When he parts his lips are dewy. The center turns a brighter color, now glossy from the water, rosy red to accompany the flowery pink flush over his cheeks.

He glances at you. "Tastes watery."

"That's because it's water," you say, letting him get a grip on the cup by himself. "Go ahead, have some more. It'll help."

Ike lets out a tiny satisfied sound as he mumbles, “Only because you’re cute.”

Ah?

He drinks more of the water while you stare at him like an actual alien. His Adam's apple rises and falls with each gulp as you try to shake off your surprise. "I... I didn't know you were a flirty drunk, Ike."

Ike pouts at the implication. “I'm not! I’ve never flirted in my life.”

“What was that, then?”

“The truth,” he says plainly.

“Yep, you’ve had way too much to drink.” You rise up from the couch, refusing to let his unfiltered thoughts be detected as honest. However a weight holds you down. Ike clings to your legs, preventing you from getting up. "Wh—hey!"

"Nooo, don't go."

"What's the matter?" You try to wiggle him off, but Ike's grip tightens. Fluffy sand-and-sea hair rustles against your leg as Ike nuzzles you, face hot with liquor. Nerves kick in. Ike might be an affectionate drunk, but the most you've seen him is hug your friends with one arm and playfully sock them without much impact. There's no way he's thinking straight, not if he's intent on using your lap as a pillow. "Ike, I need to get up."

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going, I just need to get up."

"But that's the same thing."

"No, it's not. It's..." You inhale through your teeth as he tugs you back down. "Oh, Ike. I need to take care of you so you don’t regret this when you sober up."

Ike rests his cheek against your thigh now that you're back to sitting on the couch. He exhales. Warm breath settles over your clothes. "I regret everything I don't do with you."

Your furrow your brow. "That doesn’t make sense."

He raises his legs to his chest, curling up in your lap. "It makes sense to—to me." He hiccups. A hand brushes against your leg, then retracts as soon as Ike realizes he placed it there.

Drunkenness has granted him a dreamy tint to his jade eyes as he looks up to you, but you're starting to realize what's gotten into him. The weight of it presses down your back, just like how you support his head in your lap. "You make me want to do everything I wish I could do. If I was braver. Or honest." Ike sighs again. "I wish I was good enough for you."

You’re not sure if this is a conversation Ike wants to have drunk. You're not even sure if this is a conversation Ike wants to have sober. It's voyeuristic, listening to his thoughts out loud, the filter dividing personal and public nowhere to be seen. He's always been a private guy with his feelings—at least, he's never told you any of them. You think you understand why now. It makes you feel dirty. Like you've seen too much.

Ike blinks. Tentatively, his fingers brush your knee again. Eyelashes obscure the blue hope in his eyes, making way for the uncertainty laced in spring and jade green. The fear in ochre yellow.

He regains his sense of shame, closes his eyes, and tilts his head away, focusing on the threads on your clothing instead of his true feelings. They come out in a whisper. "I must be an awful friend for hiding from you."

"You're not awful," you say, just as hushed. He's never been. Ike's greatest critic has always been himself. He's never going to remember this, either. You're certain he's going to black out by morning, or pretend like he did, and that this never happened. You could too.

It's unclear if you're an awful friend for reaching out to Ike. You'll decide later.

But right now, all that matters is your nails light against his scalp, stroking his messy hair, smoothing down the strands like you’re brushing the thought away. Away. Let it go, Ike, I'll brush it away, away, away.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Uggh," Ike says groggily.

He fell asleep in your lap while you consoled him. It made your heart hurt, but the pain ebbed by the time you could hear his soft snores. Now that he's stirring, the hurt has dulled to a slight, simple bruise on your heart: easy to ignore, tender when pressed.

"Something going on?" You ask, careful not to be too loud.

"Urggg," Ike repeats. It's not groggy, you realize. It's nauseous.

You snap up. "Oh, no no no no nonononononono. Keep it together, Ike, keep it together!" You help him up and guide him to the bathroom. Simply put, he gets there in time. You hold his hair away from his face as Ike leans over the toilet and empties his stomach's contents.

Naturally in a moment of sickness, Ike is inelegant. Earlier, he used his mantle as a blanket, and abandoned it on the couch when he woke up. One of his fishnet gloves is missing. He leans so deeply that you can see the ridges of his spine through his button-up shirt, wrinkled from rest. You smooth it down, brushing the nausea away by rubbing circles on your friend's back.

He expressed so much about what you mean to him, yet the only appropriate thing you can call him is a friend...

Ike gasps for air. "Hell," he slurs, just before spitting up more of his sickness. He weakly grabs at the nearest wall as support. You can feel his stomach shuddering just by stroking his back, coloring the toilet water each time he retches. "Hel-helvete..."

"Don't talk, just get it all out," you say. He makes an unflattering noise in response; the vomit splatters against the bowl.

And to think, you thought yourself alien before. Clumsiness is common for Ike, but now it’s like guiding an ungraceful animal. He plucks off his glasses, tosses them aside. It feels like holding a cat by the scruff, a bag of rice by its seam.

Ike rasps. “Don’t go,” he pleads, throaty from slumber, slurred from stomach acid. The thought has yet to go away. “Do-don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving.” You set his glasses on the counter, pat his shoulders, and rip off a square of toilet paper.

Now that he’s seemed to recover, you tilt his head to face you. Ike averts jade-green eyes as you pad at his lip with the makeshift napkin. For the first time tonight, proper embarrassment overtakes him. His lip parts to protest, but freezes before the words come out, mentally rejecting whatever is on his mind.

The freeze extends to the rest of his face as you wipe at it. You try not to focus on his eyes, scrunched up with shame. His brows lower as he shuts them. It's only when you can't see the color anymore that you realize you've been paying attention whether you like it or not.

At least now you can observe him without feeling too awkward. Ike's a wreck. Obviously. His hair sticks out from where you held it out of his face. You have to use another square of toilet paper to clean him up. Luckily he's regaining his sense of decency, despite how his face is too ghastly pale to blush.

Ike sighs, barely coherent. "I feel gross."

"It's okay, it happens," you console. Nearby on the counter is a cheap plastic cup. You fill it up with water, then offer it to him. "How are you feeling?"

"...Better." He grabs it with his gloved hand, and traces a bare finger around the edge with the other. "But still gross."

"It happens."

"And I feel bad." You spring up, ready for action, but Ike waves you off as he continues. "Not like that. Just bad."

Instead he takes the cup and swishes, trying to clear the taste of bile. He spits into the toilet (just saliva and water, thankfully). Without his glasses, it's easier to see his hooked nose, especially as he pinches the bridge of it. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"What? No, don't worry about it!" You pat Ike's back again. "I'm your friend, of course I want to make sure you're doing alright."

"I don't know how I thought I had a chance."

"It's okay, you just had too much. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"You're t-too good for me."

"No, I'm your friend."

"I should've figured." For the first time Ike seems to notice he only has one glove on. He rubs his thumb over the fishnet as he stares into the cheap plastic, the crystal water above it. "My imagination always gets the best of me and I have to pretend like I—like I didn't get my hopes up for nothing." He hiccups again. He already threw up all the booze, but you can still smell the alcohol on his breath as he stumbles through his words.

"You're drunk," you say, because now is not the time. No matter how much it pains him to express it, or how much it pains you to keep quiet, Ike deserves better than your true thoughts when he won't remember them at all. It would be cruel to play with his heart.

In the quiet introspection, Ike sits down on the bathroom tile and leans against the wall. He swallows down the alcohol taste. Shadows carve out his exhausted features, including the eye bags usually hidden by his glasses, and the lost, lamenting green of his eye. There's no way he can hear your thoughts, but the emotion sits heavy on his shoulders. He understands the hesitance.

Ike says, "I know." There's nothing to do about it. All you can do is pretend tonight never happened, or that Ike knew how to hold himself back, or that you never had these feelings to begin with.

"I wish I didn't," he adds. Already he protests the silence. It's an elaborate dance around the elephant in the room, but all he wants to do is get in his high heels and trip. If he could he would crash into everything, make a mess, stumble and slip and fall just as hard as he fell for you, over and over again, until he sprains his ankles and his body turns black and blue and the world swirls with dizziness. It wouldn’t be much of a difference. You make him go zero-gravity. Floating on air. The things he dreams of have wings in never-ending motion, away, away, away. "I think I need to lie down."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

should i make a part 2?

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[tikosblogg]

Meet n Greet… Noah Drabble..

Warning: none just pure cuteness.

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts forever. I decided to post it while I’m working on Ch 2 of who am I? It should be up by one day this week!

Bad omens. My favorite band. Here I was watching them live, along with my four year old lily.

A questionable parenting choice, perhaps, taking a small child to a metal concert. But Lily loved them. I’d played their music constantly since she was born. “There Is A Hell, Believe Me I’ve Seen It. There Is A Heaven, Let’s Keep It A Secret” was practically her lullaby. Okay, maybe not the best lullaby, but she seemed to like it.

And now, here we were, waiting in line for the meet and greet. Lily, perched on my hip, was a whirlwind of excited energy. Her tiny hands were clapping, her bright blue eyes darting around the room, soaking in the sights and sounds.

Then she saw him.

Noah. The man whose voice had carried me through so many tough times. He was standing with the rest of the band, posing for pictures with a fan.

“NOAH!” Lily’s voice, surprisingly loud for such a small person, sliced through the din. She started waving her hand, her little face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Noah! Noah!”

He looked up. His dark eyes, that I’d only ever seen in photos or on a screen, locked onto Lily. A genuine, warm smile spread across his face, transforming his usual brooding expression. He waved back.

Lily squealed, wriggling in my arms, as I sat her down beside me. The line inched forward, each step feeling like an eternity. Finally, it was our turn.

As soon as our feet hit the designated photo area, Lily launched herself forward. She bypassed the rest of the band entirely and barreled straight into Noah, wrapping her arms around his leg in a tight hug.

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent shivers down my spine. He reached down, effortlessly scooping her up into his arms. Lily, now face-to-face with her idol, hugged him around the neck.

“If I’m there’ is me and Mommy’s favorite song!” she declared, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Noah’s laugh was warm against my ears this time. “Really? I love that song too.”

“Yeah,” Lily continued, her volume increasing with each word, “but Mommy cries when she hears it!”

My cheeks flushed crimson. Mortification washed over me in waves. "Lily, shhh," I hissed, trying to silence her from completely exposing me. It was true. That song always got to me.

Noah looked at me, that sweet smile still playing on his lips. Then, turning back to Lily, and looking around us, as if expecting someone else to be with us, he asked, “Does your daddy not like our music too?”

Lily shook her head vehemently. “I don’t have a daddy.”

The laughter in Noah’s eyes vanished. His expression softened, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher crossing his features. He gave Lily another squeeze, his gaze shifting to me. He mouthed a silent “sorry,” his eyes conveying genuine sympathy.

I shrugged it off, offering a weak smile. It was fine. We were fine.

“I have a mommy,” Lily declared, puffing out her chest with pride. “I don’t need a daddy.”

Noah nodded, his gaze lingering on me just a beat too long. “That’s right. You got your mommy. That’s all you need.”

He looked at me again, his eyes searching mine. Before I could formulate a response, Lily piped up again. “Mommy says she wish you were my daddy, cuz you’re handsome!”

I gasped, instinctively covering my face with my hands. This couldn't be happening. The earth should just open up and swallow me whole. Humiliation pricked at my skin.

Noah and the rest of the band erupted in laughter. It was good natured laughter, but still. I wanted to disappear.

Noah, regaining his composure, looked at me with amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, I think your mommy is very pretty too."

My heart skipped a beat. Heat bloomed in my chest, chasing away some, but not all, of the embarrassment.

He reached out his hand. Hesitantly, I took it. His fingers closed around mine, his grip warm and surprisingly firm. He gently tugged me closer, pulling me into his side.

“Come on, let’s get a picture,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The rest of the band gathered around us, their laughter subsiding into playful grins. I felt a hand on my back, guiding me into place. I was acutely aware of his arm around my waist, the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

Someone snapped a photo. Then another. And another. Each flash of the camera a stark reminder of the surreal situation I found myself in.

Finally, the impromptu photoshoot was over. I fumbled in my bag, pulling out a CD insert of their album. It was a picture of the whole band. “Would you mind signing this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

They happily obliged, passing the insert around for each member to add their signature. Noah was last. He took the marker, his dark eyes meeting mine. He held my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable swirling within their depths.

He scribbled something on the insert, then handed it back to me with a wink. “Was nice meeting you two,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

Flustered, I thanked them and quickly ushered Lily out of the room. The cool night air felt like a welcome relief against my burning skin.

Back in the car, strapped into Lily's carseat, she chattered excitedly about meeting Noah. I managed a weak smile and started the engine.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced down at the signed CD insert, which was lying on the passenger seat. I picked it up, my fingers tracing the signatures. Then, my eyes landed on something else.

Beneath his signature, Noah had written a phone number. A real, legitimate phone number.

My breath hitched. My heart pounded in my chest. My mind reeled. Was this really happening?

I stared at the number, my fingers trembling. It was a bold move. A completely unexpected move. A move that had the potential to change everything.

I glanced in the rearview mirror at Lily, fast asleep in her car seat, her face peaceful and serene. I looked back at the number.

[djarins-cyare]

I thought it would be harder to pick and then I saw "Be-All And Endor pegging bonus scene" and anyway here I am. 😍

Ahaha, I hoped someone would ask about this one from my WIP folder! 🧡💚

This is set several months after the main story ends. My plan was – and still is (eventually) – to write some random scenes from Din and Reader’s future in lieu of a sequel.

Several readers commented they would’ve liked to have read the scene in the final chapter where Reader tells Din to go shower and meet her in their cabin to cross off another item on their “things that’ll happen eventually” list, which suggests some type of ass play for Din, based on an earlier comment in chapter 37 where he indicates he’d be interested in trying it.

As usual, the smut slowed me down when I started drafting it. Honestly, I don’t think I know enough about pegging to adequately describe it, so I put it on the back burner until I could do sufficient research.

That said, when I got your ask, I went back and checked how much I had already written, and I realised I actually have a decent-length scene leading up to the smut… it just fades to black (again) when they’re about to start.

So, Kate, since it’s you and you definitely deserve a reward for all your cheerleading of Be-All (for which I’m forever grateful), I’ve decided to give you not just a snippet but the whole of the 1k+ word scene that I’ve got so far. I’m not posting it on AO3 yet – I’ll do that later once I’ve written the second half of it and converted the AO3 version into a series – so for now, please enjoy this Tumblr exclusive bonus content!

⚠️ Please note the following contains heavy spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read the original story!

Be-All And Endor Bonus Chapter (excerpt): The Solace

Rating: Mature (18+) Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Word count: 1,150 Tags/warnings: References to sex, anal play, pegging (nothing explicit); brief reference to a past attempted SA; the dildo is referred to as a cock; some swearing and explicit language; one (1) Mando’a insult

You find the toy tucked away in the back of your drawer, hidden from prying eyes for weeks. Even though Din knows you acquired it before leaving Glavis, you’d insisted on keeping it a surprise until you could finally try it out.

But things had got in the way.

His painful Darksaber injury, worse than Nantoogen’s concussive blaster bolt on Endor. His discovery of that mythosaur marker in Kolzoc Alley, faded and ominous. His bitter disappointment at reaching the lowest level of the substrata and finding it empty. The thrill of uncovering hastily painted coordinates that revealed his tribe’s new location.

Just like that, your fun and games were on hold.

In the weeks since, everything that’s happened has overwhelmed you both – physically and emotionally – for better and for worse. The covert, the recognition of your union, your shiny new helmet… Din’s exile.

The Armorer’s final words and your defiant retort still ring tragically in your ears almost a day later, as if your helmet has trapped them there:

“You have not yet sworn the Creed; therefore, you are not an apostate. You may stay.”

“But I have sworn riduurok to Din Djarin and the gai bal manda to Grogu; therefore, I am a wife and mother. I am loyal to my clan and could never abandon them for a tribe that exiles one of its own despite his wish to atone. You taught me that loyalty and solidarity are the Way, and I will honour that. So, I thank you for your offer, but nariti lo’shebs’ul.”

You can still feel the sting of tears on your cheeks, still see Din’s dejected body stiffen as you told his alor to shove her offer up her ass. Amid the grief, you sensed a spike of shock – even pride – flicker within him for a fleeting moment.

Now back in hyperspace’s safe and superluminal embrace, you both need the relief of the release you’re about to partake in. But he needs it more.

He still hasn’t really talked. Not properly – not like you know he can. He’s been barely responsive, stiff, twitchy, and every subtle quiver speaks of his deep turmoil. Apostate. It’s an awful label. His inner storm has been yours to share through your connection, but you’ve resisted. You saw his need for solitude on Anantapar, so you’d granted him several hours alone in the cockpit – helmet on.

After several failed check-ins for food and comfort, it was to this suggestion alone that Din had responded. Once you’d assured him that Grogu was asleep in his cubicle, he’d immediately risen from his chair, awaiting instructions. You’d told him to shower and to meet you in the cabin without his helmet, where you’d unveil your purchase from Glavis.

Now, with a determined breath, you face the final hurdle: figuring out how to attach the damn thing.

You’d liked the look of the ‘strapless’ versions, but the vendor had advised that a strap would be best. More stability and a better experience for your husband, she’d insisted. Fewer distractions for you while it’s his turn, she’d winked. Fair point. You’re not sure you could concentrate solely on his pleasure with something nestled inside your pussy, rubbing your G-spot to distraction.

It takes a few minutes of fiddling, but you successfully secure the harness. It’s actually more comfortable than it looks.

You turn back to the drawer and run your fingers along the dildo’s length, marvelling at the silky texture. It cost a kriffing fortune, so it’d better be worth the credits. A snort escapes you at the thought that Nantoogen’s bounty reward paid for this. It’s almost poetic that the man who tried to sexually assault you has now purchased you your very own cock.

Once it’s nestled securely within the harness, you spend several minutes pacing around the cabin, watching it bob along in front of you. Kriff, you’re oscillating between nervous, curious, and aroused. It makes you feel… powerful.

You and Din have an established sexual dynamic, though, and he’s always in control, even when he’s seemingly not. He has also previously rejected the idea of using toys in the bedroom, fully confident that (for you, at least) he can do better with his own dick. But as much as he’s enjoyed taking your fingers in his ass on occasion, he’d eventually agreed that something more substantial would guarantee him a more gratifying time.

Given his general dislike of sex aids, you’d asked the vendor for a realistic dildo to match your skin tone, especially since you know he’s been attracted to men in the past. Hopefully, this will help him feel less like he’s having something plastic shoved up him and more like he’s enjoying someone’s body.

With the trusty Tatooine lube at the ready on the nightstand, you strip off everything but your bra and your new appendage, then perch on the edge of the bed and wait.

You’re so accustomed to every rattle on the Crest by now that even his bare feet can’t hide his ascent up the ladder, and your pulse quickens in readiness. You stand, wanting to present him with the full spectacle upon entry to the cabin.

Din steps through the door as it slides open, but he stops dead the second he catches sight of you. His uncovered gaze plummets straight down to your cock, eyes widening in surprise, brows rising in tandem with a sharp inhale.

He swallows, staring… staring…

You gulp, hoping… hoping…

And then you see it – the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s nothing compared to the wide grin you’re used to seeing on your husband’s face, but you reach out with your mind, trying to decipher that almost-smile. There’s still a heavy soup of grief, but there’s more now, too. Intrigue, anticipation… a hint of excitement. Sexual excitement.

“Do you like it?” you venture, gently steering him toward those positive feelings.

He swallows again and nods, still staring. “It looks… real.” Taking a careful step forward, he comes within touching distance yet still only uses his eyes. “I like how real it looks.”

A rush of relief pulses through you. Those credits were well spent.

With a grin, you comment, “Well, it doesn’t have balls, but I don’t need those to fuck you. My metaphorical ones are big enough.”

Din’s eyes finally rise to meet yours as he steps even closer, the smirk on his lips now more obvious, and you catch another spike of his pride over how you handled your exit from the covert. “I fucking love you,” he declares, pressing a hard, grateful kiss to your lips before pulling back abruptly. “Where do you want me?”

“On your knees, on the bed,” you command, knowing full well that this is an illusion of power he’s giving you. “I wanna see that tight little ass in the air.”

His smirk grows. “Yes, Sir.”

Mando’a translations, in case they aren’t obvious:

riduurok [REE-doo-rok] – marriage agreement

gai bal manda [guy bal MAN-dah] – adoption ceremony (lit. “name and soul”)

nariti lo’shebs’ul [nah-REE-tee loh-SHEBS-ool] – shove it up your ass

Notes:

“Trusty Tatooine lube” is a reference to the scene in the final chapter that I mentioned above – Reader picked some up before they left, which is why she suggested that particular activity as soon as they’d left the planet.

In case anyone’s forgotten, Din tells Reader in chapter 30 (after their shower sex) that whatever sex aids she used before he came along have no place in their relationship, indicating his general dislike of sex toys. I don’t think he’s a prude, but this version of Din has a preconceived notion that he needs to be the best lover he can be without any ‘cheating’. Reader could easily talk him into using toys on her, of course, simply by educating him a little better – just as she’s done regarding other things he’s been somewhat naive about. But here, she decides to respect his prior avoidance and give him an experience that feels as ‘real’ as possible. Perhaps this will help him realise that toys might be fun for her, too!

Reader also refers to having “seen his need for solitude on Anantapar”, which, as a reminder, refers to when he had a teensy bit of an emotional breakdown at the tail end of their honeymoon in chapter 38.

I adapted the lovely insulting Mando’a phrase from a previously existing phrase in Karen Travis’s novel ‘Order 66’ – Kovid lo’shebs’ul narit – which is supposed to mean ‘shove your head up your ass’, but the grammar is a little off. So I put the verb in the correct place and properly conjugated it, then removed the word for ‘head’ (it doesn’t need an object as she’s just said the word “offer”, so it’s clear what she’s talking about).

Holy crap, I’m scared now I’ve put this up. This is the first new Be-All content since July 2023! 😭 Fun timing, though, because I have another two Be-All bonus posts coming out in the next few days as the fic is about to hit a milestone, so stay tuned!

Permanent tag list lovelies:

@bergamote-catsandbooks @chiyo13 @cw80831 @finalgirl-96 @harriedandharassed

@howhighwepose @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @lilac-boo @lucienofthelakes

@pigeonmama @punkygreeny @roughdaysandart @sadisticheskiy @samarys

@syd-djarin @wrathkitty

Please feel free to JOIN MY TAG LIST

➤ MAIN MASTERLIST

[milaisreading]

Hiiii, it's me again, I saw you posted that your request are open, and was thinking if you could write something about Sae and Manager reader please? I really miss himmm, and maybe add to it wherein he gets to spend most of the time with reader making him him all smug towards the other players. That's all thank you!!! I really love all your works ❤️.

🌱🩷: This one was just dusting away in my drafts! Hope u like it!!

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

It felt like a dream to Rin that he didn't hear of or see Sae for 5 months. No mention of him on the news, the other players, or magazines. It was heaven for Rin, but all good things have to end somehow. And today it was the turn for Rin to remember the cruel reality of his brother being in the same facility as him. And, truthfully, it would have been more bearable if Sae minded his business and wasn't hogging all of (Y/n)'s attention right now!

"Rin..." The said boy turned to look at Karasu, who was resting his head on the table, glaring at the older Itoshi's back.

"What?"

"I will be kind enough to warn you now, your brother will be dead meat by the end of his stay here."

"Whose genius idea was it to host Re Al, again? This is hell." Otoya added in, narrowing his eyes as Yukimiya kept quiet. He was pissed just like the other three were, but he needed to keep quiet. He didn't want to have an outburst in front of (Y/n). Speaking of her, where was she? Well, (Y/n) was occupied with catering to Sae and whatever his needs were. The JFA did hold him to a certain standard, so someone making sure his needs were met was expected by the Blue Lock team. But why did (Y/n) have to be that someone?! She was their manager!

"I am tired to this. Can I just go and punch him?" Otoya asked as he looked at Rin for approval.

"Make sure to knock his teeth out." Rin narrowed his eyes as Sae moved closer to the girl, who was busy explaining something to the redhead.

"Don't do that. You will make (Y/n) mad." Karasu groaned, looking away from the scene.

"But-"

"Karasu is right, Otoya. Sae might use that as a way to hog even more time with her." Came Yukimiya's response.

"Sae-san, you really aren't listening, are you?" The group of four turned to look at the said boy and (Y/n), who had an annoyed look on her face.

'Adorable!' Otoya thought.

'Like an angel!'

'Can she look at me like that?! God, please.' Yukimiya and Karasu's thoughts followed after. Rin started blushing himself, not paying attention to Sae moving closer to her to look at some note she made. That was until Sae sent a small glance at Rin, his face decorated with a satisfied smirk.

'Jerk bastard of a brother!! This is war now!'

"(Y/n) this and (Y/n) that. Ahh.... when are Re Al leaving again? Why do I have to cater to Sae-san's every need?" The girl groaned as she held a basked of freshly folded laundry. Not just any laundry, but Sae's. He was training with his team so she had to finish some arrangements for him.

"(Y/n)!! Where were you?! We need your help!" The girl jumped in surprise and turned to look at some of the Blue Lock players running towards her.

"Bachira, Chigiri, Isagi? What did you three need? Also, you have a substitute manager for now?"

"It's hell! (Y/n), we need you back! The manager mixed up my shampoo with Nagi's, now my hair smells like wood." Chigiri whined, hugging the girl tightly around her shoulders. Isagi nodded, chiming in as well.

"And it's boring without you, too. You always make training more fun."

"And you don't mind feeding me. I miss that." Bachir added in as he and Isagi moved closer to her.

"Please come back."

(Y/n) blushed a little and laughed in amusement, trying to get Chigiri's hold off of her.

"You guys are being a little too dramatic. I will be back soon. After all, Re Al won't be staying here for too long."

"I hope so. They got annoying." Isagi rolled his eyes as Chigiri let her go, pouting a little.

'I lied. It's only Sae who is annoying."

"Can't you at least hang out with us now?" They turned their attention to Bachira.

"After all, you aren't doing anything with Sae now."

"Hey, yeah. You can join us now!" Chigiri said with star eyes.

"Sorry, you three. I need to bring Sae-san his laundry."

"What?! He can do it-"

"Ah, (Y/n). There you are. I need your help with something." Isagi got interrupted by Sae's voice echoing down the hallway. (Y/n) immediately looked away from the trio and back at Sae, nodding her head.

"Sure. Sorry, I need to go now." Giving them an apologetic smile, (Y/n) turned and walked to where Sae was. The trio felt deflated for a moment, but their anger ignited as Sae discreetly sent them a satisfied look.

'Sucks to suck.' What what that look read.

'Bastar!!'

'(Y/n) is my manager! Not yours!'

'Stupid Itoshi!!'

"Was it necessary for me to eat with you?" (Y/n) questioned as she took a bite from her salmon. Sae stopped eating for a moment. The boy looked around for a bit, as if in deep thoughts before nodding his head.

"Of course."

Inwardly, (Y/n) groaned as she started eating her food again. It was silent for a bit as she kept on looking at her food, but when she looked up, she felt like screaming in fear.

'Does he hate me or something? The glare is frightening.' (Y/n) thought, looking down at her food again. It was true, Sae was glaring in her direction, but not at her. He was glaring at two peers of his from Re Al, as he did notice them trying to walk up to their table.

'Nobody is interrupting my lunch with her.' The boy thought, sighing in relief as the two teammates finally backed away. Sae returned to eating his food, ignoring the glares he was receiving from the players of the Blue Lock team.

'This isn't fair! I was supposed to eat with her tonight!' Hiori thought. A gloomy aura had surrounded Niko, who was glancing at them from time to time. Barou was the most frustrated of the bunch, nearly breaking his knife in half.

'That reheaded bastard.'

'This is just a slap in the face. I wanted to eat with her. Why him and not me? I have red hair, too... kind of.' Kurona thought, putting his head on the table. Aryu kept on huffing from time to time, trying to ignore the jealousy he was feeling. It was, in his words, not stylish to feel it.

'Stupid Itoshi.'

'Is it because he is a pro that (Y/n) hangs out with him more now?' Tokimitsu gulped a little. Kunigami was gloomier than usual. 

"Hmmm... I lost my appetite..." Gagamru pouted, playing with his food as he stared at (Y/n).

"Reeooo." Nagi groaned, his eyes never leaving the duo. The said boy, who was beyond annoyed by now, sharply looked at the albino.

"What, Nagi?"

"Do you know people who can make someone disappear?"

"I wish I did..."

"Hmmm? You have food there." The group that was present watched in shock as Sae took a napkin and removed some of the food that was near (Y/n)'s lips.

"T-thanks." The girl said, blushing from the embarrassment.

"It's nothing." Although he sounded bored, Sae really enjoyed the view.

'Losers.' The redhead thought, feeling their glares even more.

'This is war!'

'Why him?! Why not me?!'

Sae eventually learned what sort of annoyance the Blue Lock team felt as he watched his captain, Luna and (Y/n) interact. The older was giving her his usual nonchalant smile as the girl was clearly flustered. He kept his annoyance in for a good 5 minutes.

"Thanks again for the help, (Y/n)."

"Ahm... No-no need to thank me, Luna-san! I will gladly help you out with anything-"

(Y/n) let out a startled gasp as Sae grabbed her wrist and dragged her away.

"Come. I need your help with something."

"You just said you didn't need anymore-"

"I lied." Sae shrugged, keeping up his cool act.

"You Itoshis are confusing."

Luna's laugh was heard from behind them, already understanding what was going on.

[thatdeadaquarius]

How was been your 2025 everything alright?ur still alive?

Thanks for asking!! <333

Sorry abt the radio silence on and off again guys, its the same old story tbh, life stuff like fulltime job, just moved again (30 min away but still woof), etc

I havent stopped thinking abt you guys for a minute i stg lol - i keep wanting to come back and post and whatnot, but the fics i promised (and am still in the trenches fighting to finish) have rlly been the big bog down of this blog for me

So i felt like anytime i had to write, i would try to spend writing the fic(s) but that meant no asks getting answered or posted 🫠💔

Ill instead take the pressure off myself to get those done, and simply chip away at it as i please, and focus on asks instead

I think the next big step ive been thinking about for a few months now and decided to go ahead with is clearing my inbox out some!

Ive got rlly old asks that either feel embarassing to answer so late,, or are out of context by now :/, and i definitely think tumblr ate some whole,, so for the new years sake and in order get myself to revive my sagau content blog again, ill be posting only some asks i feel i have good drafts for, despite it being forever ago, but otherwise ill be ready for asks again! 🥹🫶

I hope thats okay and Im geuninely so sorry for anyone who still remembers sending an ask and not getting a response back /gen :( 💔

Im very excited to come back and hope you guys arent too annoyed at me for being gone and doing this :( /gen

I encourage you if you ever sent me an ask i didnt answer to please send me something again!! Id love to hear from you guys and what youve been thinking about Genshin Sagau (x reader or not) wise for the past year (and a half?? Ooofff idekkk atppp💀)

I appreciate anyone bothering to check in, and hope to a more active (and hopefully more peaceful for me) 2025 for however much is left

☆

Oh, and abt genshin!! I havent rlly liked the direction they went what with colorism/racism in Sumeru, and Fontaine was better, but then Natlan has gotta be a low point in the story/game overall for me, and to that end, i havent rlly played it, ive just gotten to finishing up Fontaine,

So for now NO Natlan characters please!

^^ /nm /neutral ^^

I have NO idea what their personalities are, and im still trying to get over my dislike of certain character designs (cough🐮cough) and still trying to fathom Natlans story at all rlly,

Heres to hoping theyll improve with Sneznaya, bc weve been waiting too long on that for it to be a screw up ngl

Of course, if you like one of Natlans characters, or whatever else abt it, ur welcome to talk abt it in my inbox, I just mean I wont be writing abt them just yet, and yes i intend to eventually!

(im sure its established via fandom, but ill be making some interpretations when i do write them, if u dont know what i mean, just look at my non-white deffo POC Alhaitham and Tighnari I drew and referenced in the past, Natlan will be getting the same, more tasteful makeover, most likely from what I take in from others headcanons, bc i am unfortunately an Underqualified White Person when it comes to that)

☆

Also, my ao3 works are now locked down, due to recent AI scrapping, both personally thats been done to one of my works by a rando guest, and that general sweep that happened to ao3 recently.

I believe 4, maybe 5 out of my 6 works were taken.

They are still readable, but you have to be a registered user first, and I think I will be continuing that for my future works, as unfortunate as it is, because i generally like my writing to be accessible. But these idiots are making Ai wanna write stories instead of solve our math problems or clean our streets or something more useful, so here we are.

Really wish I could do something similar for tumblr, but i guess we cant have an ethical peaceful society everywhere...

☆

Whew, if you stuck around this long to read all my shit, I love you deeply and ur a real one

Thank you to anyone whos checked in, still revisited my old posts (despite the cringe and mistakes ive made along the way), and the general support ive still seen from Sagau community!!

It means everything to me that I still felt welcomed back despite going on and off so much, i felt very guilty about for literal months, so thank you all for this!!

Hope your having a great weekend, day/night, or whatever time of day it is for you,

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

:)