#brain won’t ever shut up like yes I get it years and years and years of built up shit that I never properly dealt with and still hold blame

[milo-is-rambling]

I wish I had friends near meeeeeee to distract me from my brainnnnnnnnnn

[n1k0laa5]

EXPLAINING LOA AND SHIFTING… LIKE YOU’RE A FIVE YEAR OLD

AKA overly simplified deepdive

okay okay sit down. i know you’re bouncing around like a squirrel who just drank six juice boxes and found out you can go to any universe ever and be a dinosaur with laser eyes and your name is queen starlight sparkle. i get it. i really do. but we gotta talk. about what? about shifting. about loa. about that weird little ugh feeling in your tummy called doubt. and yes. we’re doing it simple. like i’m your sleep-deprived babysitter half running on caffeine and sheer delusion and you’re asking me for the fiftieth time what happens when you dream. buckle up.

WHAT IS SHIFTING?

okay imagine this. you are in a big playroom. and there’s, like, a billion doors. you can walk through any of them. you wanna go to the world where you’re a mermaid and live in a sparkly seashell palace and everyone calls you supreme jellyfish commander? there’s a door for that. you wanna go where your favorite cartoon is real and you’re besties with that character you’re in love with but won’t admit it? there’s a door for that too. now guess what. you don’t need a special key. you’re the door. yeah. you heard me. you are the door.

shifting is just moving into another reality, with your big ol’ imagination steering the wheel and your mind deciding to hop out of this one and hop into another. no rocket needed. no secret spell. no fairy dust. just deciding. like “yup. i’m going there now.” that’s it.

people make it complicated because they’re bored or scared or trying to make it sound fancy and exclusive like an adult telling you taxes are hard. but no. it’s just deciding. the way you decide to eat the red gummy instead of the green one.

now don’t go telling me “but i tried and it didn’t work!!” because here’s the thing. trying means you’re still peeking through the crack of the door, not stepping through it. you’re still thinking “am i there yet?” like asking if the oven’s hot while your cookies are still goo. you gotta step. not peek.

WHAT IS LOA?

law of assumption. law of attraction. law of whatever you wanna name it, sweetheart. it’s all the same sparkly cupcake of a thing.

basically, if you assume your teddy bear talks, your whole world becomes one where your teddy bear talks. if you assume you’re the fastest racecar driver in candyland, guess who’s on the track next sunday? you.

your mind is a magic marker. you say it’s true? your brain says “oh okay boss!” and then starts painting your world around it like “pink sparkly trees? got it. talking lollipops? sure thing.”

the universe isn’t judging you. it’s not checking if you’re ready or deserving. it’s just copying and pasting what’s in your mind onto your life. it’s literally lazy like that. you think “i’m rich and wear gold shoes” enough? your brain’s like “ugh fine i guess i’ll make that true now.”

it’s just what you assume is real, becomes real. not because you earned it. but because your mind said “this is my room now” and slammed the door shut like a moody teen. done.

BUT WHAT IF I DOUBT?

aw baby. listen. i love you but you are not special for having doubts. you’re not cursed. you didn’t break the universe. doubt is just brain farts. you know how sometimes you’re really sure you turned off the light but your brain goes “but did you really?” and you go back to check and the light is off? yeah. that’s doubt. it’s annoying. it happens. doesn’t mean the light wasn’t off.

doubt is just your brain being like “are you sure we’re allowed to have that thing we want?” and you have to say “yes.” like a mom ignoring her toddler screaming in a grocery store. keep walking. don’t look back. you already said yes. you don’t argue with a toddler. you don’t argue with your doubts.

you don’t have to get rid of doubt to manifest. you don’t have to kill it. you just have to not feed it. don’t invite it to tea. you can shift while doubting. you can get your dream life while doubting. you’ve already done it before. you assumed your friend liked you. you assumed you were getting a birthday present. you didn’t fight doubt, you just kept going.

BUT WHY IS NOTHING HAPPENING??

because you keep looking at the cake in the oven yelling “WHY ISN’T IT COOKED YET??” every five seconds. sweetheart. leave the cake alone.

you keep thinking “where’s my thing?? where is it???” but listen. once you assume you have something, you stop looking for it. you don’t stare at your socks every day and ask “do i have socks?” you just put them on.

you say you’re living in the end but then get confused when you’re bored. yeah. it’s supposed to be boring. when you have something, it’s boring. normal. you’re not supposed to be on fireworks mode all the time. you don’t wake up screaming “i HAVE A HOUSE!!” every morning. it’s just your house.

so when you manifest a boyfriend or a million dollars or a new reality, you might feel… meh. and that’s good. that means your brain accepted it as real. boring is success.

people keep starting over because they’re chasing highs not results. they’re addicted to the method. they like feeling like they’re doing something. but manifesting isn’t doing. it’s being. it’s deciding “i’m already there.” and then brushing your teeth like normal because nothing needs fixing anymore.

QUICKFIRE Q&A: SHIFTING + MANIFESTING EDITION

the “can i do this?” “what if i do that?” “am i broken?” corner

CAN I SHIFT IF I HAVE DOUBTS?

yes baby you can. doubt is like background static. you don’t have to get rid of it. just stop dancing to it. shifting doesn’t need your perfection. it needs your decision.

CAN I SHIFT IF I’M DEPRESSED/ANXIOUS/MENTALLY ILL?

yup. yup. yup. your brain doesn’t have to be sunshine and rainbows for your consciousness to hop timelines. your awareness isn’t broken just ‘cause your serotonin’s doing the cha-cha slide backwards.

CAN I SHIFT INSTANTLY?

yes. you just probably won’t notice it right away ‘cause you’ll doubt it or keep checking if it “worked.” but yes. instant like microwave popcorn.

CAN I SHIFT EVEN IF I’VE NEVER DONE IT?

you literally already have. in dreams. in tiny moments. in decisions that made your life split into new branches. you’re just trying to do it on purpose now. and yes, you can.

CAN I SHIFT TO A REAL PLACE?

all places are real somewhere. all realities exist. pick one and go.

CAN I SHIFT TO A FANDOM? LIKE A CARTOON?

yes. they exist on other timelines. your brain didn’t invent them. it tuned into them. like tv channels. go tune into your hot vampire bf and don’t look back.

CAN I DIE IF I SHIFT?

no. you’re not dying. you’re just vibing so hard you hop into another timeline. your body? still here. your soul? exploring. no death involved. unless you want your DR self to die dramatically and get reborn as a phoenix queen or whatever.

CAN I SHIFT BACK?

you can shift back. sideways. up. into an alternate timeline where bananas are currency. you are the steering wheel. turn wherever you want.

IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN’T DO??

nope. that’s the whole gag. the whole joke. the entire prank. you literally can’t be stopped unless you say “i can’t do that.” and even then… you just cursed yourself. and you can uncross it by saying nah jk i can.

CAN I USE LOA TO MANIFEST STUFF FOR OTHERS?

yes. you can influence how people show up in your world. but free will is a wild horse in other people’s realities. so focus on your own experience. wanna be loved? assume you are. they’ll start acting like it. magic.

CAN I MANIFEST PHYSICAL CHANGES?

yes. face. body. voice. reality is moldable goo. you say “this is my face now” and reality starts shifting things to match. might be slow. might be fast. but it’ll bend. it always does.

DO I HAVE TO VISUALIZE??

no. blind bitches manifest too. you don’t need a mental cinema. you need belief. or delusion. same thing.

WHAT IF I GET OBSESSED??

okay. take a juice break. go outside. touch some grass. breathe. obsession isn’t the vibe (unless ya assume it is). embodiment is. don’t chase. be. act like you already got it and chill. the universe loves a confident, unbothered little gremlin.

WHAT IF I HAVE BAD THOUGHTS??

bad thoughts? we all do. it’s called having a brain. just don’t marry them. don’t bake them a cake and invite them to move in. notice. ignore. move on.

CAN I SHIFT WHILE AWAKE??

yes. it’s called the raven method. the sunny method. the eyes-open-lying-in-bed-listening-to-your-crusty-ceiling-fan method. it’s just choosing. you don’t have to pass out. just… shift.

WHAT IF NOTHING IS HAPPENING??

oh it is. you just haven’t noticed the cracks yet. the mold is forming behind the scenes. stop poking the oven. stop restarting. stop doubting. let it bake.

WHAT IF I FELL OFF??

you didn’t fall off. you tripped on a lego and thought it meant something. get up. keep going. the universe didn’t fire you. you’re still the main character. wipe your snot and continue.

CAN I MANIFEST SOMEONE TEXTING ME?

yes. they already did. reread the text in your mind so much your brain’s like “guess we have to make it real now.”

DO I NEED TO FEEL IT ALL THE TIME?

nope. you don’t have to feel rich to be rich. you don’t have to feel like a butterfly to grow wings. you just need to assume it’s real. feeling comes after.

WHAT IF I CHANGE MY DESIRE??

cool. change it. this isn’t a marriage. it’s a drive-thru. pick a new item off the menu.

CAN I SHIFT BY ACCIDENT??

yes. you’ve probably already done it during a daydream or a deep nap or while staring at your ceiling wondering why bread molds so fast. it’s that easy. congrats.

IS THIS ALL JUST MADE UP??

maybe. or maybe this reality is the made-up one. point is: it works. and you’re still reading. so maybe trust that part of you that wants it to be real. it’s not lying to you.

okay you get it now. the answer is yes. the problem is usually you thinking there’s a problem. now go. shift. manifest. nap. assume your plushie’s alive and cheering for you. whatever. just remember:

there are no rules.

you’re the rulebook.

you’re the wand.

you’re the wish.

you’re the one who gets to decide how the story goes.

YOU’RE IN CHARGE, KIDDO

you get to make the rules. not me. not your favorite tiktoker. not the moon. not your dumb anxious brain. YOU.

you say you can shift by thinking about strawberry milk? cool. you can.

you say you’ll get your dream life by pretending you already have it and ignoring the rest? yup. it’ll happen.

you say “i’m too powerful to fail”? congrats. you are.

you’re the boss. you’re the adult in this universe playroom even if you’re still learning how to tie your manifesting shoelaces. every thought you have is like drawing something and then it comes to life. every time you assume “this is true,” it’s like locking it into place like those sticky stars on your ceiling.

your reality listens to YOU. not your doubts. not the outside world. not “logic” or “science” or “but what if.” just YOU.

so be messy. be certain. be unsure. be wiggly and weird and trust it anyway. that’s how this works. not because you got it perfect. but because you decided it’s yours. and you didn’t look back.

go color your reality. it’s waiting. i love you. now go shift or manifest or nap or whatever you wanna do. it’s all allowed.

[sixeyesonathiel]

no one else needed to notice

pairing — g. satoru x gn reader

synopsis : you weren’t looking for connection when you replied to a quiet post on a jujutsu forum. but what starts as late-night messages with a stranger turns into something warmer, steadier, and unexpectedly real.

sometimes, the person who sees you best is the one you’ve never even seen. until now.

tags –> one shot, 6.4k wc, non-canon compliant au, internet strangers to lovers, emotional intimacy, mutual comfort, secret voice calls, found each other online, reader is from kyoto, soft gojo satoru, extremely mild angst with a happy ending, first kisses, lighthearted moments, a little rain, stupid jokes and late-night feelings, love is about compromise, rip to gakuganji’s office chair. inspired by the song ‘no one noticed’ by the marias.

a/n : writing this made me bawl, to be loved is to be known. there’s just something about being understood by a stranger and finding solace in each other that gets to me. being known & being loved without being seen in a literal sense? sign me up :P i wanna sob because my pookie bear deserved better aaaaa

red string of fate collection m.list

you didn’t mean to answer the thread.

you never do, usually. the forum’s a chaotic sprawl, a digital graveyard of encrypted usernames—like “void_eater69” or “cursed_snacc”—and timestamps mangled by timezones no one bothers to sync. posts pile up like offerings to some forgotten curse: cryptic rants about residual energy, half-baked spell theories, or someone whining about a shikigami that won’t behave. it’s not a place for real talk. more like a dive bar at the edge of a cursed womb, where everyone’s nursing their own ghosts and shouting into the void.

but that night, your room was too quiet. the kind of quiet that creeps under your skin, heavy as a grade-two’s miasma. kyoto’s winter had settled in, and your tiny apartment felt like a box of stale air, the radiator hissing like it was mocking you. your phone glowed on the tatami, a stubborn rectangle of light that wouldn’t let you sleep. your brain was a traitor, replaying the day’s monotony: a sparring session where you’d nearly twisted your ankle, a debrief that dragged until your eyes glazed, the faint smear of cursed blood you’d scrubbed from your sleeve hours ago.

you scrolled the forum to shut it up. past a thread arguing if reversed cursed technique could fix a hangover. past some guy asking if spirits could get drunk—seriously, dude?—and then you saw it. buried under the noise, posted hours ago, short and raw, no punctuation, no pretense:

“does it ever get easier”

you stared at it, your thumb hovering over the screen. the words sat there, small and unadorned, like a stone someone had left on a path. most posts like that were traps—bait for trolls or vents that fizzled into nothing. but this one felt… different. quiet, like a whisper you weren’t meant to hear. genuine, like it had slipped out before the poster could rethink it.

you broke your own rule. typed back without letting yourself second-guess: “define easier. like, emotionally? logistically? existentially?”

he replied in under a minute.

“yes”

and just like that, you were in it.

at first, it was anonymous, the way the forum always is. two sorcerers dodging missions and boredom, tossing words into the dark like talismans. you didn’t know his name, and he didn’t ask yours. just screen names—yours a string of numbers and a bad pun, his something absurd involving mochi and a curse word. you talked about things you’d never say out loud, not to the kyoto higher-ups or the first-years who looked at you like you had all the answers. like how a room full of people could still make you feel like a ghost, drifting just outside their orbit. or how debriefs left a sour taste in your mouth, like you’d bitten into something rotten—guilt, maybe, or just the weight of it all.

he was… unexpected. not funny in a cheap, knock-knock way, but ridiculous, like he’d turned life into a stage and forgotten the script. his jokes were elaborate, stupid, sprawling things, like he was performing for a crowd that didn’t exist. one night, he typed: “i think the veil’s thinning. saw a tanuki trying to do taxes with a stolen abacus.”

you snorted into your pillow, the sound loud in your empty room. “should’ve let it,” you wrote back, fingers flying across the screen. “might’ve gotten a better refund than me. my last one barely covered a coffee.”

he sent a laughing emoji—unironically, the dork—and you could almost hear him cackling somewhere far away. it made you grin, your face half-buried in a blanket that smelled faintly of incense and yesterday’s takeout.

the chats kept going, stretching across weeks. you’d be slumped on your couch, boots still muddy from a mission, when your phone buzzed with his latest nonsense. “ever wonder if curses dream?” he’d ask, and you’d fire back, “only if they’re dreaming of paperwork. that’s the real nightmare.” he’d reply with a string of sobbing emojis, and you’d roll your eyes, but you’d keep typing, because somehow, it felt like he got it.

then came the voice calls.

always at night, when kyoto’s streets went still and the stars pressed against your window like they had something to prove. he’d call from somewhere else—somewhere alive with sound. sometimes it was traffic, a distant honk cutting through his laugh. sometimes it was the ocean, waves hissing like they were gossiping with him. once, a vending machine jingled, coins clinking as he muttered, “what do you want? melon soda? or that sweet corn one that tastes like regret?”

you laughed, your voice muffled by the scarf you hadn’t bothered to unwind from your neck. “melon,” you said, curling your knees to your chest on the couch. “corn’s for masochists.”

“noted,” he said, and you heard the machine whir, then a can crack open. “one melon soda for the meanest sorcerer i know.”

“flatterer,” you deadpanned, but your lips twitched, and you tucked the phone closer to your ear, like his voice could fill the cold corners of your apartment.

you never asked where he was. he never asked your name. it was a rule you didn’t need to speak—just a line neither of you crossed, because crossing it might break whatever this was. but he was your favorite stranger, the one who made the nights less heavy, the one whose voice felt like a tether when everything else was slipping.

the thing was, you weren’t miserable.

not exactly.

just tired, the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t touch, like a curse that’s sunk its claws too deep. your life at the kyoto branch was a loop: wake to the chime of your battered alarm clock, spar until your muscles burned, assist on missions that left your hands smelling of ash and ozone, report to gakuganji in a room that always felt too small. sometimes you mopped blood from training mats, the sponge heavy in your grip. sometimes you taught theory to first-years, their eyes glazed as you droned about residuals, your voice echoing off chalk-dusted walls.

sometimes you lay on your futon, staring at the ceiling’s chipped paint, wondering if you used to feel bigger than this—brighter, like the sky before a storm.

he changed that.

not in a loud way, not at first. it was softer, quieter, like the sound of his breath hitching when you said something sharp. like finding a rhythm with someone, even if your steps didn’t quite match. he’d ask you things no one else did, questions that felt like they were peeling back your edges.

“what color’s the sky in kyoto tonight?” he’d say, and you’d lean against your window, phone cradled against your shoulder, and answer, “pink, like someone spilled their drink on it.” he’d laugh, and you’d feel it in your ribs, a small, stubborn warmth.

“do curses feel pain?” he asked once, his voice muffled, like he was chewing something—probably mochi, knowing him.

you hummed, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “maybe. depends if they’re sentient enough to know they’re hurting. what do you think?”

“dunno,” he said, and you heard a rustle, like he was flopping onto a bed somewhere. “but i hope they don’t. makes it easier to sleep after.”

you didn’t reply right away, just listened to him breathe, steady and slow. “you’re softer than you act,” you said finally, and he made a noise—half scoff, half laugh—that made you smile into the dark.

he loved dumb questions, too. “is it immoral to laugh when a cursed spirit looks like a balloon animal?” he asked one night, and you could hear the grin in his voice, like he was picturing it.

you were sprawled on your floor, a half-eaten onigiri beside you, and you snorted so hard you nearly choked. “only if it’s a good balloon animal,” you said. “like, if it’s trying to be a dog, you gotta respect the effort.”

“fair,” he said, and you heard a clink—probably another soda can. “you’re funnier than you think, y’know.”

“and you’re weirder than you sound,” you shot back, but your cheeks were warm, and you pulled your knees up, hugging them like you could trap the feeling.

the best moments, though, were when he dropped the act. when the theatrics fell away, and his voice went low, soft, like he was afraid the words might break if he pushed too hard. one night, after a call that had stretched past midnight, he said, “sometimes… i think i only exist when i’m useful to someone. is that stupid?”

you were half-asleep, your phone slipping against your cheek, but his voice pulled you back. you blinked at the ceiling, the shadows pooling like spilled ink. “no,” you said, quiet but firm. “it’s just sad.”

he laughed—not the emoji kind, not the loud kind, but something small, like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding. “you don’t pull punches, huh?”

“you’d hate it if i did,” you said, and you heard him shift, like he was nodding to himself.

“yeah,” he murmured. “i would.”

it went on like that for months, long enough that you started noticing things. the way he yawned before he said goodnight, a sleepy hum that made your chest ache. the pauses in his sentences when he was choosing his words, like he wanted to get it right for you. the way his voice warmed when you rambled about something small—like the stray cat outside your building that kept stealing your bento scraps, or the time you’d botched a talisman and spent an hour scrubbing ink from your hands.

he’d listen, really listen, he always does and then say something like, “bet that cat’s got better taste than gakuganji,” and you’d laugh until your sides hurt.

you didn’t ask who he was. he didn’t push for your name. it was perfect, fragile, like a bubble you were both afraid to pop.

until one night, your phone buzzed, and it wasn’t the usual late-hour joke or random question. it was a call, his name—or rather, the string of nonsense characters he used—lighting up your screen. you hesitated, thumb grazing the accept button, then pressed it, curling into your futon as the kyoto cold gnawed at the window.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, like he was speaking through a held breath. there was no hum of traffic tonight, no vending machine jingle—just a faint rustle, maybe his sleeve brushing the phone, and a stillness that made your pulse loud in your ears.

you didn’t answer right away, just listened to him breathe, steady but careful, like he was standing on the edge of something. your apartment felt smaller, the night pressing against the glass, cold and heavy, like it was waiting for you to move first.

“can I…” he started, then paused, a hitch in his voice you hadn’t heard before. “can I visit you?”

you froze, fingers tightening around the phone until it dug into your palm. the words landed like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through the quiet. your eyes flicked to the window, where the dark seemed to lean closer, listening. your heart did something stupid, tripping over itself, and you bit your lip, hard enough to sting.

“like… here?” you said finally, voice low, almost lost in the radiator’s hiss. “in kyoto?”

“yeah,” he said, and it was quiet but firm, like he’d been turning the idea over for hours before daring to say it. “i’m nearby. for a mission. thought… maybe. if it’s okay with you.”

you swallowed, your free hand fidgeting with the blanket’s edge, twisting it until the fabric bunched. you didn’t know what he looked like. he didn’t know your face. but the thought of him—your stranger, your tether—standing in your city, his voice no longer trapped in static… it made your chest ache, like a curse unraveling too fast to catch.

“we don’t even know what we look like,” you said, softer now, half a shield, half a truth, your breath catching as you spoke.

he was quiet for a moment, and you heard a faint shift, like he was leaning closer to the phone, shutting out the world. “i know,” he said, voice low, steady, like a vow he hadn’t meant to make. “but I think I’d recognize you anyway.”

your lips parted, but no sound came out. your heart stumbled again, and you pressed your knees to your chest, the blanket slipping to the floor. you wanted to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but his words sat there, heavy and warm, like they’d carved out a space you didn’t know you’d left empty.

“you’re weird,” you managed, but it came out too soft, too honest, and you winced, tucking your chin to hide the smile you couldn’t stop.

he exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-relief, like he’d been holding it in all night. “you’re mean,” he said, and you could hear the curve of his mouth, faint but real, unguarded in a way that made your ribs tighten.

“you like it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, and your fingers hovered over the phone’s edge, like you could reach through it if you tried.

he didn’t answer right away. just breathed, slow and close, and when he spoke, it was so quiet it felt like a secret. “yeah,” he said. “i do.”

the call didn’t end, not yet. you stayed there, listening to the silence stretch, his breath a steady rhythm against the night’s weight. and that ache in your chest grew, sharp and warm, like it was making room for something you weren’t ready to name.

that morning, when he texted for the address, you gave him the name of a small café tucked just off the main street near kyoto campus—nothing fancy, barely even marked, just a warm pocket of space where time slowed down and no one asked too many questions. not because you were scared. not exactly. but the idea of him—this faceless voice, this stranger you somehow knew better than people you’d seen every day—being in your space, standing in your doorway, seeing your real life... it made something flutter behind your ribs. something you couldn’t name without sounding stupid.

it rained that day. not hard. just the kind of persistent drizzle that painted everything in shades of grey, slicked the pavement until it gleamed like wet ink, and made your sleeves cling to your wrists. your shoes scuffed softly against the tile as you pushed open the café door. inside, the air was warm, thick with the smell of coffee beans and something sweet rising from the back oven.

a couple of students in uniforms sat by the counter, arguing in low tones about spell theory. the barista barely looked up as you ordered your usual, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against the side of your phone. you picked the window seat. always the window seat. you liked watching people go by, liked the illusion of being somewhere else.

time passed.

you checked your phone once. then again. your fingers curled around your cup, heat seeping into your palms. condensation fogged the glass. you were early. or maybe he was late. or maybe the whole thing was a joke you’d fallen for, like a damn idiot. your heart did this stupid stuttering thing every time the bell over the door moved.

then it rang.

and he walked in.

white hair, slightly mussed from the rain. the tiniest drop caught in his bangs, trailing down toward the curve of his cheek. his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and he was tall—taller than you'd expected, even though you should’ve known—and dressed like he didn’t care how loud he looked. hands in his pockets. shoulders loose. like he’d just wandered in off some catwalk that ended in your direction.

he scanned the room once, those ridiculous glasses perched low on his nose, catching the café’s dim light like twin moons. his eyes—sharp, too sharp for any one place to hold—skipped over the students bickering about cursed residuals, the barista wiping down a steaming espresso machine, and landed square on you.

his smile cracked open, instant, effortless, like the sun spilling through a storm cloud.

“hey.”

you froze mid-sip, your mug hovering an inch from your lips. your eyes locked on his, and the world did that thing where it shrinks to a pinprick, all cinnamon air and rain-slicked windows fading out. the ridiculous truth hit you like a badly timed talisman:

holy shit. that’s gojo satoru.

your mouth opened. closed with a soft click. opened again, because apparently your brain decided to blue-screen.

“you’re fucking kidding me.”

his grin stretched wider, all teeth and mischief, as he sauntered across the floor toward you. long limbs moved like they were choreographed, raindrops clinging to his white hair like tiny glass beads, scattering light. he shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders hiked just enough to betray how stupidly pleased he was with himself.

“surprise?” he said, voice lilting like he’d just pulled off the world’s dumbest magic trick.

you blinked, unblinking, your fingers tightening around the mug until the heat stung. your face was doing something—probably a mix of shock and are you serious right now—because his laugh bubbled up, low and warm, like he’d caught you red-handed.

“you—i—you’re you,” you stammered, eloquent as a first-year tripping over their own incantation.

“i am,” he said, tilting his head. a single droplet slid from his bangs, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before dripping onto the floor. “last i checked, anyway. unless you’ve got a better theory.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

he paused a step from the table, one hand escaping his pocket to scratch at the back of his neck. his glasses slipped lower, and you caught a flash of those eyes—crystal blue, too bright, like staring into a clear sky after a curse’s miasma. he nudged the frames up with a knuckle, but then, in a move that made your breath hitch, he tugged them off completely. folded them with a click. set them on the table like a dare.

“didn’t wanna scare you off,” he said, quieter now, his gaze unguarded and pinning you in place.

yo squinted, lips pressing into a thin line to choke back a snort. your eyebrow arched, sharp as a well-placed shikigami. “you thought being yourself would scare me off?”

he shrugged, weight shifting from one foot to the other, his coat swaying like it was in on the joke. “it usually does.”

you blinked again, slower, and something in your chest unknotted. for a split second, he looked… smaller. not the gojo satoru who could level a city block with a wink, but a guy who wasn’t sure if he was too much or not enough. his hair was a mess, sticking up where he’d ruffled it outside, and his eyelashes were wet, catching the light like they were trying to apologize.

you set your mug down with a soft clink, the ceramic warm against your palm, and gestured to the chair across from you. “sit down, satoru.”

his grin snapped back, bright as a spark talisman igniting. “yes, ma’am.”

he dropped into the chair with all the grace of a cat knocking over a vase—legs sprawling, then tucking back, elbows hitting the table before he leaned forward like he was about to spill a secret. his coat bunched at his shoulders, and he smelled faintly of rain and something sweeter, like the mochi he’d probably swiped from a vendor on the way here.

“this place smells like cinnamon and potential,” he said, voice dipping low, conspiratorial. he waggled his brows, and you swore his eyes flickered with a tease no technique could replicate. “you sure you don’t wanna marry me right now? i’d get you a ring pop. blue raspberry, your favorite.”

you snorted, the sound punching out before you could stop it. your hand flew to your mouth, but it was too late—he’d heard it, and his whole face lit up like he’d won a bet with the universe.

“you remembered that?” you said, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing like you could shield yourself from his smugness. your lips twitched, betraying you.

“‘course i did,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “you said it during that 2 a.m. ramble about cursed vending machines. blue raspberry ring pop, ‘cause it stains your tongue and freaks out the first-years.” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “i pay attention, y’know.”

your cheeks warmed, and you hated how your mouth kept trying to smile. you kicked his shin lightly under the table, just enough to make him yelp—a dramatic ow that had the students at the counter glancing over. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, but your eyes flicked to his glasses, still folded neatly beside his elbow. “and put those back on, idiot. you’re gonna give yourself a migraine squinting like that.”

he blinked, then laughed—a real one, not the showy kind he threw at missions or bad jokes. “what, you worried about my eyes now?” he said, but he didn’t reach for the glasses. instead, he propped his chin on one hand, staring at you like you were the only thing worth seeing. “i took ‘em off for you, y’know. six eyes makes everything loud—too many colors, too many things. but you…” he trailed off, and his voice softened, like he was peeling back a layer he usually kept buried. “you’re clearer without ‘em.”

your breath caught, and for a second, you forgot how to be a smart-ass. your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, and you ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “that’s sweet,” you said, voice dry but wobbling just a fraction. “also stupid. you’ll strain yourself, and i’m not dragging your whining ass to a healer when you’re seeing double.”

he grinned, undeterred, and flicked a sugar packet across the table at you. it bounced off your knuckles, and you swatted it back without thinking, starting a lazy game of tabletop tag. “would you rather i didn’t see you?” he asked, catching the packet mid-air with infuriating ease. his fingers were quick, precise, like he could’ve dismantled a curse in the same motion. “c’mon, admit it. you like being seen.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips curved, and you couldn’t quite stop it. “i like when you’re not a headache,” you shot back, snatching the sugar packet from his hand. you tore it open, dumping half into your coffee just to mess with him—he’d gagged once during a call when you’d done it, claiming it was “coffee abuse.” now, he just watched you with a smirk, like he was cataloging every move you made.

“liar,” he said, stretching his arms above his head until his shirt rode up, flashing a sliver of pale skin above his waistband. you looked away, quick, and he noticed—his smirk grew positively diabolical. “you told me last week you like my voice best at midnight. all raspy and annoying, you said. direct quote.”

you groaned, sinking lower in your chair, but your foot nudged his ankle under the table, a traitor to your own defenses. “i was delirious from a mission,” you said, pointing a stirrer at him like a tiny sword. your brows furrowed, but your eyes were bright, dancing with the kind of energy you hadn’t felt in weeks. “and you were the one who kept talking about cursed tanukis stealing your socks, so who’s the real mess here?”

he laughed again, loud enough to make the barista glance over with a raised brow. his hand dropped to the table, fingers drumming a restless rhythm, and you noticed how his pinky brushed the edge of your mug—like he was testing how close he could get without you pulling away. “guilty,” he said, tilting his head until his bangs fell into his eyes. he shook them away, and the motion was so boyish, so normal, it made your heart do a stupid little flip. “but you laughed. i heard it. best sound in the world, by the way.”

you froze, stirrer halfway to your mouth, and your eyes flicked up to meet his. he wasn’t grinning now—just watching you, steady and soft, like the rain outside had melted all his edges. your lips parted, but no snark came out. instead, you reached across the table, picked up his glasses, and slid them toward him with a pointed look. “put these on before you ruin yourself,” you said, but your voice was quieter, like you were afraid of breaking whatever this was. “i’m not worth a headache, satoru.”

he didn’t touch the glasses. instead, he caught your hand before you could pull it back, his fingers warm and a little calloused, curling around yours like they’d been waiting to. “disagree,” he said, simple as that, and his thumb brushed your knuckle, light as a feather. “you’re worth a lot of things.”

you swallowed, and the café seemed to hum quieter—the clink of cups, the murmur of students, all fading into a soft blur. your pulse was loud, though, thudding in your ears as you looked at him. his hair was drying now, curling at the ends, and his eyes were still bare, unguarded, like he’d stripped away every barrier just to sit here with you. your lips twitched into a smile, small but real, and you squeezed his hand once before letting go.

“you’re gonna regret saying that when i steal your last mochi later,” you said, leaning back to break the spell, but your foot stayed pressed against his under the table, warm and steady.

he gasped, clutching his chest like you’d cursed him. “not the mochi,” he wailed, but his eyes crinkled, and he leaned forward, stealing your stirrer to twirl it between his fingers like a baton. “fine, but only if you say ‘satoru, you’re my hero’ first. gotta earn it.”

“in your dreams, pretty boy,” you shot back, but you were laughing now, soft and easy, and the sound made his whole face soften, like he’d been chasing it all along.

you stayed in that café for hours, trading sugar packets and stupid stories, your shoes bumping under the table, his glasses still untouched. the rain slowed to a drizzle, painting the windows in lazy streaks, but neither of you noticed. the world was just this—cinnamon air, warm mugs, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to see clearly.

and somewhere in between the rain tapering off and your drinks going lukewarm, something shifted. not abruptly. not dramatically. but gently, like gravity starting to lean in a different direction. he was exactly the same—annoying, charming, impossible—but there was a quiet steadiness beneath it all. like he looked at you and saw not just a person, but a place. somewhere he could stay.

all while you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that gojo satoru had been the idiot on the forum sending you tanuki memes at 3am.

he called you a cryptid. you called him emotionally constipated. he told you your voice was the only one he actually waited to hear. you told him he needed better taste. he laughed so hard he knocked his knee on the underside of the table.

when the café finally closed, the barista shooing you out with a tired smile, satoru held the door open, his clear umbrella already unfurled against the drizzle. it was comically small for his ridiculous height, barely shielding his broad shoulders, but he angled it carefully, keeping the rain from kissing your hair. his sleeve darkened, soaked through where the mist clung, but he didn’t seem to care. the night was quiet, steeped in that velvet hush that trails a long rain, streetlights casting blurry halos through the mist, like half-forgotten curses glowing in the dark.

his footsteps matched yours, slow and deliberate, scuffing softly against the wet pavement. he didn’t need to adjust his stride—you noticed how he shortened it, just enough, like he was savoring every second of this walk. his fingers brushed yours once, a fleeting warmth against your knuckles. he didn’t grab your hand. brushed again, lingering, like a question he wasn’t sure he could ask. you didn’t pull away, your pinky curling slightly, grazing his, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, like he’d caught a secret.

“can I see you again?” he asked, glancing down at you, his voice stripped of its usual swagger. it was quiet, raw, like a wish he’d whispered to the night before daring to say it aloud. his glasses slipped low, catching the streetlight’s gleam, and his eyes—too blue, too open—held yours like you were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

you tilted your head, pretending to mull it over, your lips pursing to hide the smile tugging at them. your scarf fluttered in the breeze, and you tugged it tighter, catching the way his gaze flicked to the motion, like he was memorizing it. “I’d kinda like it if you called me first,” you said, voice dry but warm, your eyes darting to his before skittering away.

his smile softened, reverent, like you’d handed him a talisman he hadn’t earned. he ducked his head, damp hair falling into his eyes, and pushed it back with a quick flick, scattering droplets. “yeah?” he said, and it was so soft, so hopeful, it made your chest ache like a bruise you didn’t mind.

“yeah,” you said, and your fingers brushed his again, deliberate this time, a spark in the quiet.

he didn’t kiss you. not yet. but the way he looked at you—head tilted, eyes tracing your face like he was mapping a new constellation—felt louder than any words. like maybe, finally, he’d found the place he was meant to land, and you were standing right there beside him.

you kept walking, the umbrella tilting as he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. the mist curled around you like a veil, and he started humming—some off-key pop song he’d probably heard on a mission, the kind you’d mocked him for liking during one of your calls. you shot him a look, eyebrow arched, and he only grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“you’re gonna ruin my reputation,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, and you nudged his arm with your elbow, just enough to make him sway.

“too late,” he said, voice lilting like he was sharing a conspiracy. “you laughed at my tanuki tax joke. you’re already doomed.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in the quiet, and he laughed—low, warm, like it was his favorite sound in the world. “you remember that?” you asked, glancing up at him, your scarf slipping to reveal the curve of your neck. his eyes followed it, then snapped back to your face, like he’d been caught.

“‘course I do,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “filed it under ‘proof you’re secretly fun.’ right next to you admitting you like my midnight voice.”

your cheeks warmed, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, muttering, “delirious ramblings don’t count.” but you didn’t step away, and he didn’t either, the umbrella wobbling as he tilted it to keep you dry.

then he stopped walking, abrupt enough that you turned to face him, a brow raised. “what?”

his expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between mischief and something heavier, like he was about to say something that could tilt the world off its axis. his hair was wet now, silver strands curling at the ends, clinging to his forehead, and his glasses fogged slightly at the edges, making his eyes look softer, closer.

“come work in tokyo,” he said, the words spilling out like they’d been waiting all night.

you blinked, your breath catching. “satoru.”

“no, I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, the umbrella dipping until a stray droplet grazed his cheek. he didn’t wipe it away, just kept looking at you, earnest in a way that made your throat tight. “same uniform, better pay, vending machines that don’t eat your coins. plus—” he leaned in, voice dropping to a mock-whisper—“you get me. scientifically proven to make life less boring.”

you laughed, sharp and startled, and it broke the tension like a snapped thread. “you’re the cause of my stress,” you said, poking his chest with a finger, your nail catching on his damp coat.

“and I’ll keep causing it,” he said, catching your hand before you could pull back. his fingers were warm, curling around yours, and he tilted his head, grin softening. “but I’ll be closer. way better than those kyoto stiffs who don’t know how you take your coffee.”

you froze, lips parting, because he did know—black, no sugar, the way you’d grumbled about during a 3 a.m. call when a mission had you wired. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice wobbled, and you didn’t yank your hand away.

“you don’t belong there,” he said, quieter now, his thumb brushing your knuckle, light as a wish. “they don’t see you. not like I do.”

you opened your mouth to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but nothing came. because he was right, and the way he looked at you—steady, unguarded, like you were more than a shadow in a debrief room—made it impossible to argue. you closed your mouth, exhaling through your nose, and he smiled, small and real, like he’d won something bigger than he’d planned.

two weeks later, after one strongly worded proposal, two forged signatures, and a very public argument with gakuganji that ended with a chair launched across a meeting room, satoru showed up at your apartment, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that screamed trouble. his coat was slung over one shoulder, and he held a crumpled paper bag that smelled suspiciously like mochi.

“congrats,” he said, voice bright as a spark. “you’re moving to tokyo. pack a toothbrush.”

you stared, one socked foot still on the tatami, a half-packed box of books at your side. “what the hell did you do?”

“justice,” he said, tossing the bag onto your counter, where it landed with a soft thud. he stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel, and winked like he’d just saved the world. “also, maybe a little bribery. you’re welcome.”

and just like that, you were tokyo’s problem now.

on your first day, he was waiting at the jujutsu tech gates, a paper flower crown perched crookedly on his head, petals fluttering in the breeze. he held a sign—scrawled in marker, “WELCOME HOME, CRYPTID”—and two matcha lattes, one wobbling dangerously in his hand as he waved like a kid spotting their best friend. the other sorcerers passing by shot him looks, but he didn’t care, his grin wide enough to rival the sun spilling over the campus.

you tried to scowl, to keep your cool, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smile that felt like surrender. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, stepping into his orbit, close enough to smell the sugar on his breath and the faint cedar of his cologne.

he looped an arm around your shoulder, easy as breathing, like the space beside him had been yours all along. his lips brushed your temple, a fleeting warmth, then lingered, soft and deliberate, like he was testing if you’d pull away. you didn’t.

“and yet,” he said, voice low, teasing, “you never left.”

you rolled your eyes, but your head tilted into his touch, just a fraction, and you felt him exhale, like he’d been holding it in. “I’m not wearing the flower crown,” you said, flicking the sign with a finger, making it wobble in his grip.

“not yet,” he said, adjusting the crown on his head, petals catching the sunlight like tiny flames. he handed you a latte, the cup warm against your palm, and you noticed he’d drawn a tiny cat face on the lid—lopsided, with one ear missing, like your stray back in kyoto.

“not ever,” you shot back, but you took a sip, and the matcha was perfect—sweet, not too bitter, exactly how you’d mentioned liking it months ago during a call about bad coffee stands.

he laughed, a sound like summer breaking through clouds, and you looked up, catching the way his eyes crinkled, the way his hair glowed gold in the morning light. his thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, like he was confirming you were real.

and then he kissed you—no fanfare, no dramatic build, just the quiet press of his mouth against yours, soft and certain. it was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already belonged. like the final word in a sentence you’d both been writing in secret.

his lips were warm, moving against yours with a reverence that made your breath catch. his hand cupped the side of your face, fingers splayed gently against your jaw as though afraid to press too hard, like you were something delicate, worth holding and not breaking.

your eyes fluttered closed. the air between you and the world seemed to hush, like even the breeze knew not to interrupt. your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat—soft, heavy, smelling faintly of rain and something that had to be him.

your knees went a little soft. your heart, stupid and loud, climbed up into your throat.

he pulled back just barely, but didn’t let go. his forehead rested against yours, breath fanning across your lips, sweet with matcha and something sweeter beneath it—something like hope.

his grin was criminal. boyish. blinding. like he’d stolen something precious and gotten away clean.

“told you you’d like tokyo,” he said, voice low, still laced with laughter.

and before you could even think of dodging, he plucked the flower crown from his head—now slightly lopsided from the kiss—and dropped it gently onto yours.

you blinked. scowled. felt your cheeks catch fire.

you shoved it back onto him, petals scattering onto his nose, and he sneezed, dramatic and loud, making a passing student jump. “shut up,” you said, but you were laughing now, full and bright, and his fingers laced with yours, warm and steady, like they’d never let go.

and in that moment—the sun dusting your cheeks, his hand anchoring you, you knew one thing for sure:

no one else needed to notice.

because he did.

and that was enough.

(and yeah, he’d submitted three fake transfer forms in your name, because apparently love means committing light fraud. you’d yell at him later. probably.)

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @k0z3me

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ stress-ridden rafe cameron can't seem to get himself off without your help.

warnings — 18+ MDNI. details of male masturbation, stressed & pressed rafe (mean!rafe if u squint), unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, name-calling, degradation & praise (yummy), slight sadistic undertones, partially proofread

cherie's note — nothing like free-use, and angsty sex, am i right?

the spit within his palm felt warm against the cold air of his bedroom, salty sea breeze from off of the ocean a bit colder than normal. his window was open, helping cool off the sweat forming on his forehead as he desperately pumped his cock within his hand, groaning with each pass over.

no matter what he did, he couldn't make himself cum.

not with everything going on — those stupid fucking pogues, running around and ruining shit. and his father? the stress and mental turmoil ward put on the eldest cameron sibling was enough for anybody to go crazy. it was all he could think about, mind clouded with the endless noise of conflict and tension, when it should have been focusing on other things.

with an aggravated sigh, the waistband elastic of his pants slaps against his stomach with a hiss. he's shoving his feet into a pair of shoes out of frustration, truck keys lodged inside of his warm hands as he descends down the stairs.

he needed to clear his head — he needed a distraction.

rafe: be ready in five, need to clear my head

he was there in under that time, foot a bit too heavy on the pedal — but what was new with rafe? he was impulsive, his next moves hardly ever calculated. and maybe it was a bad idea he had shown up to your house when his cock angrily poked against the zipper of his pants, pre-cum definitely staining the inside of his boxers.

he watched as you walked down the dark driveway, tight top hugging the curves of your breasts so nicely, he practically had to pry his eyes off of you as you approached. the hum of the music within the truck vibrated the vehicle, playboi carti playlist on repeat in his expensive black truck.

you hopped into the passenger seat easily, plush black leather forming around the globes of your ass so perfectly it was like his truck seat was made specifically for you. your beautiful eyes landed on him, watching the way his knuckles threatened white flesh at how hard he was gripping the steering wheel — it was obvious he was in a mood.

"what's wrong, rafe?" you ask, voice soft but filled with concern. it wasn't uncommon for him to show up at your house like he had, hardly giving any warning, especially with everything going on. you seemed to be the only one who could calm him down.

he's hesitant to reply, sexual frustration clogging his brain. it's not like he could be upfront with you, i can't get myself off without thinking of all the shit going on. that was pathetic, and quite frankly, a bit too much information. instead, he shrugs, "my dad."

it seemed to always be his answer. you had known rafe for years, and had been around tannyhill enough times to recognize the immense amount of pressure ward put on his only son, taking out the frustration of his missing daughter on the only other person who craved his acceptance. their love was conditioned — an endless battle of rafe tiring himself out to the point of crashing out, and his father continuing to neglect him no matter what he did.

"again?" you question, eyes forced towards the road when he puts the vehicle into drive.

"yes, again," he sighed, his eyes squeezing shut in frustration. what a stupid fucking question, he thought. but it wasn’t, not really. he knew the truth — he was just wound too tight, desperate for any kind of release. it wasn’t fair to take his frustrations out on you, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. "fucker won’t give me a damn break."

you shrugged, glancing back at him. "you two are around each other all the time. it’s normal to get on each other’s nerves—"

"jesus christ," rafe snapped, cutting you off. his voice was sharp, almost biting. "i asked for a distraction. i don’t want to talk about it anymore, fuck."

"you know, you're being a real dick right now, rafe." you spit back, eyes rolling.

his vision snaps towards you, eyes filling with anger at the remark. he wasn't about to take shit from you now, too.

turning the wheel sharply down a backroad, you gasp at the sudden shift of the vehicle. it looks dark for miles down the dirt road, and your heart begins to thump within your chest, until he angrily shoves the gear of the vehicle into park. furrowed brows, you watch as he moves his body towards the passenger side of the large vehicle.

his hand cups the soft skin of your cheek, guiding your head toward him as he presses his lips forcefully against yours. startled for a moment, you quickly kiss him back. his tongue meets yours in a heated battle for dominance, the taste of whiskey lingering on his breath. with a soft moan, you yield, letting him explore the inside of your mouth the way he wanted, every movement deliberate and consuming.

he pulls away from the kiss, a pitiful pout planted on your now swollen pretty lips, panting for air. “push your fucking seat down.” he orders, voice gruff with aggression and irritation.

“what?” you question, confused.

“do it, s’my truck and i’ll leave y’out here alone if i want.”

it was an empty threat, really — he wouldn’t dare, and he knew that. the threat in his voice is enough to make you obey, just like the obedient girl you were for him.

your heart pounds against your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as rafe's sudden, impulsive movements send a wave of anticipation crashing over you. there's raw energy in the way he moves, unpredictable and intense, leaving you breathless. the tension in the air thickens with every gesture he makes, every glance he casts your way. you can't help but feel the pull of it, your pulse quickening, senses heightened as he tugged down the rigid material of your denim shorts. boy, you had sure gotten yourself in it, now.

the feeling of his calloused fingers rubbing the thin material covering your pussy had your head feeling nice and fuzzy. the fabric of your lace panties were soaked, within only a matter of seconds.

"since y'wanna be a brat, i'll fuckin show you better." he mutters, voice quieter than usual as he works to unbuckle his belt. "chose the wrong fucker to mouth off, sweetheart."

pushing your sticky underwear to the side, his fingers guide the head of his cock towards your entrance, teasingly rubbing it over your soaked folds, “you’re so pathetic, doll. this drenched, and all i did was be a bit mean t’ya?”

the pressure of his fat tip pushing into your tight cunt without warning sent harmonized groans filling the small stuffy space you shared in his truck. the feeling of your warm, velvety walls wrapping around him was enough to have him cum on the spot, head of his dick so sensitive from failed attempts at getting himself off the entire night. he couldn't stop there — he wouldn't stop there.

he fucks into you with so much force, hips smacking against your ass over and over and over again. it becomes clear to you just how stressed and frustrated he had been, thick cock taking it out on your poor cunt. still, your walls clenched and gushed around his length, only becoming more turned on by the mixed sounds of skin slapping, and the squelching of your pretty pussy.

thank god he had spent so much money on such a big truck, or else he wouldn't have be able to have your back pressed against his chest, big rough hand wrapped snugly around your throat. he drove his length in and out, the sound of your pathetic whimpers filled the truck, both pairs of eyes rolling from pleasure. the way your warm walls hugged his fat cock even despite the rough snapping of his hips was driving the orgasm he had been chasing for hours closer to its arrival.

"look at you," he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear as he speaks, warm breath sending goosebumps down your skin, "taking my cock so well. good little slut, huh? my perfect little whore."

he's so self serving, hardly putting in an effort to help you cum. he was such an asshole sometimes, thinking with his cock more than his head. his mind was set on one thing — his perfect dark blue eyes on the prize. not that you minded, you were willing to be rafe's cock sleeve whenever he needed it, if it meant feeling him inside of you. such a pathetic little whore, it was almost comical.

"gonna pump you full of my cum, jus'cause i can." he groans, the noise coming deep from within his chest as his hips fail to stutter, pounding relentlessly against your puffy cunt. "you're gonna take it too, like a good bitch, isn't that right?"

the sound of your whimpers and whines isn't an answer enough for him, your brain too fuzzy and fucked-out to form a coherent sentence — all you could think about was the way his spongy tip poked at that gummy spot inside of you. his hips halt suddenly, eliciting a whiny groan from your pretty plump lips.

"rafe..." you cry out, the knot within your stomach fading the longer he refused to move.

"the fuck did i just ask you?" he hissed, hand finding your face as he pushed your flustered cheeks forward, before delivering a smack against the flushed skin of your face. "come on, don't disappoint me now. what happened to that attitude, pretty girl?"

"fuck," you groan out, cunt clenching achingly around his length, lodged so deeply within you that you swore you could felt it grazing your cervix, "i'll take it, daddy. need you to fuck me again so bad, m'gonna let you cum in me till you're satisfied."

and his hips continued, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your sensitive skin, right below your exposed shoulder. "'atta girl, that's what i like to hear."

it was becoming too much, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, your body responding instinctively to him. you tried to focus—tried to ground yourself in the way he felt moving inside you—but it was useless. your thoughts were a haze, melting into nothing as he kept control effortlessly, his rhythm unrelenting. he had you exactly where he wanted you, utterly undone and entirely his, every gasp and whimper proof of how thoroughly he’d taken you apart.

"shit, baby," he cursed, thumb creeping it's way into your mouth as you suckled on the digit almost gratefully. "you cock-hungry or what?"

you moan out around his thumb, pools of saliva beginning to fall from off of your own tongue, drenching your chin in spit. "gonna cum, rafe." you mewled.

"nah," a twisted grin curled his lips, "been needing this since i picked you up, don't ruin this shit for me."

he could be so cruel, sometimes. this was so obviously about him, how stupid of you to think otherwise. this was about him, not you. his thrusts turn lazy, before he's spilling his thick creamy seed inside of you. your poor cunt twitched at the feeling, your own orgasm sending your walls clenching around his slick cock at the feeling of his nut shooting inside of you, legs practically trembling as he held your weight against his broad chest.

he shifts back into the driver's seat, the sound of playboi carti's music filling you ears again after you had come down from your high. he buckles his belt and fixes his shirt, looking over at you with the proudest, most smug expression you had ever seen.

"give you a ride home, least i can do for fuckin' the shit outta ya."

[swiftjay23]

SINCEEEEE you’re taking requests…

You’re in luck that the only thing I like about the finale was Jun-ho becoming the baby’s guardian SO I was hoping you’d do a fic where he gets overwhelmed with trying to care for the baby he calls for the readers help.

Ofc, love your request. I hope you enjoy the fic! <3

Title: The Quiet Between Cries

Pairing: Jun-ho x Reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, soft domesticity, emotional tension, unresolved feelings Warnings: Past abandonment, mentions of depression and exhaustion, parenting struggles, bittersweet undertones

A/N: Idk if Gi-hun ever told Jun-ho about Sang-woo and Sae-byeok, but for the sake of this storyline, we'll pretend he did. P.S. I went through several reddit articles to confirm, and find out what Sae-byeok meant, and if it was a pretty sounding name to native korean ears.

Regardless, I'm still using it because Sae-byeok was a queen.

--xx--

The phone rings at 12:41 AM.

You're halfway through microwaving soup, arms folded as the machine hums, when your screen lights up with a name you swore you’d buried: Jun-ho. It hits you like a thrown stone. Blunt. Unexpected. Bleeding.

You haven’t spoken in years. Not since he vanished into smoke and silence. Not since you left voicemails thick with tears, telling him to lose your number before you lost yourself. But your thumb moves before your brain can stop it.

“Hello?” you ask, voice quiet. There's static. Then, “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.” A pause. His voice is hoarse, thinner than you remember, stretched over something raw. “She won’t stop crying. I think she hates me.” A shaky breath. “Can you come?”

You don’t say yes. You don’t ask who “she” is, or why he thought of you, of all people. You just hang up, grab your keys, and go.

The microwave beeps behind you. You don’t look back.

The apartment is dim, lit only by a flickering hallway lamp. The kind of quiet that presses down on your shoulders, funeral quiet. Only the sharp, aching sound of a baby’s cries slices through the stillness.

You don’t knock. Jun-ho doesn’t flinch when the door opens. He’s standing next to the crib like a man who’s already lost. Pale. Wrung out. His shirt is stained with old formula, his eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded. A bottle lies tipped on its side near the bassinet, still leaking onto the floor.

His arms hang limp at his sides. Like he doesn't know how to be useful anymore. The baby, tiny, red-faced, furious, screams like she’s declaring war.

You don’t ask questions. You don’t look at him. You cross the room, place a hand gently on his arm. He steps back without resistance.

And you lift her. She stills in your arms like it’s instinct, like you’re instinct. Her fists remain curled, but the rage in her face softens. She burrows against your collarbone like she was always meant to live there.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you whisper, rocking gently. “It’s alright. I’m here.” A hum rises from your throat, soft, unbidden. A lullaby you don’t fully remember. Or maybe just the sound of calm, something steady in a world gone sideways.

Behind you, Jun-ho’s breath catches. “She just needed a little love,” you murmur, not looking at him. And when you do finally turn, he looks like he might cry. Not from relief. From shame.

He insists it’s temporary. That he can handle it. You tell him to shut up. You lie on the couch with the baby nestled on your chest. Her cheek rests against your heart, her lashes fluttering with each breath. You drape your jacket over her, rub gentle circles into her back.

Jun-ho doesn’t go far. He lowers himself against the bookshelf with the stiffness of someone twice his age. His legs stretch out, his hands tremble. His gaze never leaves you.

He watches like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The light above the stove buzzes faintly. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.

But here, it’s just the three of you. Breathing. Existing. In the dark, he whispers, “Thank you.” You say nothing. But your hand tightens around the baby. She grunts in her sleep. And that silence? It says everything: I missed you, too.

Morning finds you cooking eggs one-handed, the baby seated in a laundry basket on the floor, gleefully kicking her socks off and squealing every time the pan sizzles.

Jun-ho leans in the doorway. He says nothing. Just watches.

Watches you like it hurts to look, and more to look away.

The days become stitches. Folding onesies in silence. One pink. One yellow. One impossibly small, and you laugh despite yourself. You both reach for the same one. His hand brushes yours.

Neither of you pulls away.

You pour tea at 3AM.

He wanders in, bleary-eyed, murmuring your name like he forgot it could still exist in his mouth.

You don’t turn. He doesn’t leave.

One night, you find him asleep in the rocking chair, arms crossed tightly, chin tilted down. The baby sleeps beside him, barely visible in the dim light. You kneel, brush hair from his forehead, whisper his name. He doesn’t wake. But he exhales.

Like he knows you’re here.

It rains. Softly. The baby sleeps in your lap, curled like a comma. Breathing into the cotton of your shirt. Your hand cradles her spine. You don’t remember when it became second nature.

Jun-ho stands on a stool, trying to fix the curtain rod. His fingers tremble around the screwdriver. The screws clatter to the floor.

He pauses, hand braced against the wall. And says, without turning, “When I saw her laugh for the first time…” You glance up. He still isn’t facing you. “…I thought, ‘God, I wish she were yours instead.’”

The silence that follows isn’t cruel. It’s just too heavy for sound. He turns slightly. Just enough to let you see the outline of his jaw, the downturn of his mouth.

“Because then I’d get to keep you, too.” The rain ticks harder against the window. The room feels too small, too breakable.

You pull the baby closer. Kiss the soft curve of her skull. You don’t speak.

Because if you open your mouth, your voice will crack open the quiet. You’ll shatter. You’ll run to him. Or worse, he’ll run to you.

And you both know how that ended last time. So you stay. You stay, and you hold what remains like it’s glass.

Because it already broke once. And none of you, not one of you, could survive that again.

“Sae-byeok,” he says, softly. So softly, you almost miss it beneath the hush of the rain.

You look up. “What?”

His eyes meet yours. Steady, but aching. That same quiet steel you remember—years ago, when he still wore a badge, when he still believed in justice more than ghosts.

“I… We—We should call her Sae-byeok.” The name cracks open the room like thunder. Your breath catches. He swallows hard.

“Gi-hun told me about her,” he says, voice thinning. “Before he—” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. Before he went back. Before he died. Before the world decided it had punished him enough.

The silence turns somber. Reverent. You look down at the sleeping baby in your arms. Her tiny fists, her fluttering lashes. Her warm cheek resting against your chest. You don't know whose child she really is. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe she's all that's left of anything good.

“Sae-byeok,” you whisper. You taste the name on your tongue like a prayer. Morning star. Hope. The girl who should’ve lived. You press your lips to the baby's forehead. She sighs in her sleep.

“It fits,” you murmur. Jun-ho exhales. Like a breath he’s been holding for years. Like something unclenched.

You don’t know if you’ll stay. If this quiet spell will break tomorrow, or next week, or when the ghosts finally catch up to you both.

But for now, you rock the baby in your arms while Jun-ho steps down from the stool, crosses the room with slow, careful steps, and sits beside you. His shoulder touches yours.

You don’t move away. The rain softens. The world holds its breath.

And in this apartment, this halfway place between grief and forgiveness, a new name is spoken aloud. Not a goodbye. Not a beginning. Just Sae-byeok.

You turn to him, expression unreadable, but your eyes glinting like stars caught in the rain. There’s something ancient in your gaze. Something new.

You lean in, voice a whisper so soft it barely stirs the air. “Hwang Sae-byeok.” A pause. “Has a nice ring to it.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of your lips. And that does it.

Jun-ho looks at you like you’ve just hung his entire universe in one sentence. Like, for the first time in years, he’s breathing air that doesn’t hurt. He reaches out, slow but certain, his fingers finding your jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of something he thought he’d never touch again.

And then he kisses you.

Desperately. Hungrily. Like he’s trying to make up for every year he spent without you. Like he’s afraid this is a dream and if he doesn’t kiss you now, he’ll lose his chance forever.

You gasp, just a little, just enough. In your arms, Sae-byeok lets out a soft giggle in her sleep, small and unbothered.

Jun-ho pulls back, breathless, lips barely parted, and smiles. Not the tight, tired smile you’d gotten used to. Noses brushing against each other.

But something real. Something warmer than grief. Lighter than guilt. Something like hope. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe in second chances.

The End.

🗂🕯️ Permanent Taglist:

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⚠ !WARNING! ⚠ TAGLIST CLOSES AFTER 70 USERNAMES. CURRENT COUNT: 68

Only 2 spots left. If you want in, this is your shot. After 70, the gates lock.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Kissing lessons part 1

18+(repost)

Story:You desperately beg your best friend Erik to teach you how to kiss. He’s all sass, spilled coffee, and zero patience,but also low-key an expert in sarcasm and accidental charm.

“CAN YOU HELP ME OR NOT?!” you screamed at your best friend, veins practically popping from your forehead.

“JESUS, TAKE THE GODDAMN WHEEL! I’M NOT TEACHING YOU THAT!” he yelled back, nearly spilling his precious coffee .

“WHY NOT?! THIS IS WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR!” you cried, hands clenched like a televangelist begging for salvation.

“Listen to me,” he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction, “it’s not my fault your virgin ass hasn’t kissed anybody until now!”

“YES IT IS!” you stormed toward him, trying to channel intimidation but mostly just looking like a very angry, undercaffeinated raccoon.

“No. No, it’s not. Fuck off.” He fled to the living room like a man dodging a lawsuit, refusing to meet your eye.

“Don’t you DARE walk out mid-fucking-conversation! This is a matter of LIFE and DEATH!” you chased after him like a drama queen on a mission, slamming into his back and making him spill his coffee all over his once-pristine grey tee.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!” he screeched. “Fuck, it burns!” He peeled off his shirt, glaring at you like you were the reason dinosaurs went extinct.

You couldn’t help but smirk. Oh, he was so dramatic.

“See? We’re already at second base. One more argument and your jeans’ll be off.” You winked.

“Can you STOP—” he groaned, hands on hips, “being such a BRAT?!” He paused, glaring. “Please, for the love of whatever god still tolerates your bullshit, explain how any of this is MY fault.”

You pushed harder. Agitating Erik was your favorite pastime. You’d even listed it under “special skills” on your fake CV: “Making assholes angry.”

“Because, you fuckface, I’ve spent so much time with you that every guy in this town with a working dick thinks I’m TAKEN.” You stood tall like you were testifying in court.

He gasped. “Oh, POOR LITTLE PEACH. Here’s a radical idea: get on a dating app. Pick some dude at a bar. HELL—TAKE MY BROTHER. I OFFER HIM TO YOU AS TRIBUTE!” He pointed dramatically at Bobby, who was half-asleep on the couch and 100% not listening.

“HE’S UNDERAGE, YOU PSYCHO.” You threw your arms up like you were about to summon a demon.

“That didn’t stop you from swinging at that kid in the playground last summer,” Erik muttered.

“HE WASN’T A KID. HE WAS A MIDGET.” You were fuming. “And it happened once!”

“Guys, maybe you shoul—” Bobby tried to interject, as always.

“SHUT UP!” you both screamed in unison, instantly giving Bobby two new reasons to book therapy sessions.

You sighed, switching tactics.

“Okay, listen. All I’m asking is that you teach me how to kiss. That’s it. And I’ll be off your dick forever—” You paused. “—unless you’re also down to teach me reverse cowgirl. That’d be, like, really helpful.” You were spiraling. Your brain was full of Friday-night panic. You had a date with your longtime crush, and the last time you tried to learn kissing from YouTube, you ended up watching someone twerk on a watermelon.

Erik, ever the drama queen, gasped. “OH MY GOD. PLEASE. STOP. TALKING.” He stormed outside, coffee in hand, hoping Mother Nature would silence you.

“ERIK, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU!” You followed him to the garden. Time for the nuclear option.

“I’ll pay for your PS5 subscription for a whole YEAR.” Silence. Not even a twitch.

“I’ll give you my signed Iron Maiden vinyl.” Nothing. He was at peace. Like a smug monk.

“There’s gotta be something you want—” You trailed off as he turned toward you with a devilish smirk. Shit.

“You know what I want.” He was playing with fire. And you were gasoline.

“NOPE. I’ll go make out with Paco the Turtle before I stoop that low.”

“No you won’t. Come on, Peach. Say it.” He held out his hand, cocky bastard.

You groaned. “But my baby—” You were practically sobbing.

“Do you want this guy to laugh in your face? Or do you wanna kiss like someone who belongs in the major leagues?” He raised an eyebrow.

You stared at him, internally screaming. Fine. FINE.

“Okay, fine. But if you even scratch her, Erik, I swear to God I’ll rip out your dick piercing while you sleep.”

He gasped like you’d insulted his ancestors. “How DARE you! She’s my baby too. We share custody!”

“I fucking hate you.” You chucked him the keys to your green Dodge Challenger. Your shared pride and joy—the one you rebuilt over three summers of soul-sucking jobs. The one he got banned from driving after defiling the backseat with a cheerleader and her stomach contents.

“Come to Daddy.” He slipped the keys into his back pocket like he just won the Super Bowl.

“Now TEACH ME.” You stood there, furious, arms crossed like a war general.

Patience, Padawan. The Force hasn’t awoken yet.” he said smugly, sipping his coffee like a little Jedi with way too much ego and not enough shame.

“That made you sound like you’ve got morning erectile dysfunction. Do you?” you tilted your head with faux concern. “Because I was really looking forward to learning reverse cowgirl but—”

He choked mid-sip, spitting coffee everywhere like an offended Victorian woman at a scandalous tea party. “What the actual fuck—” He looked at you like he was this close to throwing you into a trash bin.

“IN. MY. ROOM. NOW.” he roared.

“Whoa whoa whoa—truce, truce!” you held up your hands like a hostage negotiator and turned toward the stairs, hiding your triumphant smirk.

“I’LL BE WAITING, MY ANI!” you shouted over your shoulder as you disappeared up the stairs, voice full of sass and just the right amount of chaos.

Behind you, Erik froze.

He blinked.

He stared into the void of his coffee mug like it held all the answers to his unraveling sanity.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, sipping what was left of his coffee like it was whiskey, fully ignoring the little blush rising on his cheeks—the one that showed up the second you called him “my Ani.”

Shit.

He was screwed.

And not in the way he used to pray for.

You plopped down on his bed like a Victorian child waiting to die of English fever, head dramatically resting on his pillow.

“When will my husband return from war…?” you sighed, one hand to your forehead, channeling every tragic widow in every BBC miniseries ever.

Erik stormed in, already exasperated. “On my day off, you decide to be a full-time brat.” He slammed the door shut like it owed him money and flopped beside you on the mattress with all the grace of a man ready to end it all.

You scooted closer like a gremlin seeking warmth. “What do I do, Erik?! He’ll figure out I’m a virgin loser and then I’m screwed!” You let out a dramatic sob, burying your face in his chest like he was a tragically scented therapy dog.

Finally—finally—there was silence.

He exhaled slowly, like he was about to speak to a feral child. “Come on, Peach. If he really likes you, he’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You raised your head, eyes locking onto his. There was a softness in the air now—brief, dangerous, not at all welcome.

You placed your hand gently on his cheek. “Erik, I’m going out with a man born in this century. Not the prehistoric era.” You paused for dramatic effect. “No decent man walking this godforsaken planet wants a virgin anymore. We’re like… endangered. Like pandas. Or VHS tapes. Or emotional availability.” Your voice got more intense. “We’re rare. We’re fragile. We’re expensive on the black market.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes so hard you feared they’d get stuck. But deep down, something in his expression changed—subtle, barely there.

Because as much as he hated your dramatics, he did feel sorry for you. Not because you were a virgin. But because you thought that made you less. Because you genuinely believed you didn’t deserve someone who would wait. Someone who made you feel wanted just for existing.

He wanted to tell you that.

But that would be weird.

So instead, he said absolutely nothing and just… lay there. Silently screaming into the void like a man who suddenly found himself one thigh-touch away from emotional collapse.

You blinked. “Are you… buffering?”

“Shut up, Peach.”

“Okay,” Erik exhaled like a man about to be beheaded for treason. “Get up. Come sit.” He patted his lap, looking every bit like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“I’ve been a very bad, bad girl, Santa. Please don’t bring me chalk again this year.” You plopped into his lap like it was your throne—comfortable, familiar, dangerous.

“I’m at my fucking limit, Sweets.” He warned, jaw tight.

And maybe he meant emotionally. Or maybe… not.

Something about this position felt hot. Erik under you, his hands resting on your thighs like they belonged there. His bulge pressing up against you with absolutely no remorse. And your brain—your dumb, horny, self-destructive brain—decided you could get used to this.

Wait, what?

No.

Delete that.

Backspace.

Abort.

This was practice. Like rehearsing for a school play. With tongue.

“If it’s too much, just tell me to stop, alright?” Erik muttered, his voice softer now. Tired. Like he didn’t want to admit he might be a little out of his depth too.

You nodded. “Okay, whatever. But like—what’s the game plan?” You were this close to grabbing a notebook and diagramming this out like a MLM scheme.

“**The game plan—**what?” He blinked. “Oh, right. Shit. I forgot you can’t learn anything without a theory section first. My bad, nerd.” He smirked, then grabbed your waist and yanked you closer.

You nearly moaned.

Nearly.

He continued, totally unfazed. You, on the other hand, were having a spiritual experience.

“So first, you start slow. Not like a peck—that’s for Mormons. You want it soft, like you’re about to ruin each other’s lives. It’s the pre-course meal. Come closer.”

His fingers caught your chin, guiding you in. Your lips were one inch apart. Maybe less.

“Put your hands around my neck. Don’t stand there like Elsa. Jesus.”

You obeyed. Hands around his neck, trying not to spontaneously combust.

“You can even play with his hair. Tug a little—not too much. Just enough to make him—” he paused, “—you know. Moan. Maybe. Sometimes. Whatever.”

Your face burned.

You hadn’t expected this. Not this. Not with Erik. The sarcastic menace who once put a frog in your backpack and called it character development.

And yet… here you were. Thinking of his lips like they held government secrets.

“Peach,” he said, squeezing your thigh. “Are you listening?”

You snapped out of it, caught mid-daydream of biting his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, you were saying?”

He rolled his eyes. “I said—press up against him. It makes the kiss more intense. You want him to feel it. All of it.”

You swallowed. “Okay. Got it. What’s step two?”

“Step two is the move—either he goes for it or you do. Catch the moment when his lips are parted, slide your tongue in. The rest is muscle memory. You should let him do it first, though. Makes you seem more innocent. That drives them wild.”

“And what do I do with the rest of my limbs?” you asked, not missing a beat. “Like, do I just T-pose? Or…?”

Erik laughed. Nervous. Definitely nervous.

“The moves usually happen on reflex. You might grind on him. Arch your back. Dig your nails in. You’ll know what keeps the mood going. Just… feel it.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I get it.”

He looked at you for a second too long. Like he was thinking. Or deciding. Or panicking.

“So… should we give it a try?” you asked, tone perfectly innocent. “You know, we have to demonstrate the theory in practice for it to count.”

He chuckled. “Nerd.”

But he didn’t say no.

He didn’t push you off.

He didn’t break the tension.

Nope. He just looked at your lips.

And this time…

He didn’t look away.

It happened so fast.

His lips—soft, sure, devastating—met yours.

Like gravity.

Like a drug.

Like the thing you didn’t know you needed until it hit you, and then—bam, you were gone.

You burned instantly under his touch, like every cell in your body had been waiting for this exact fire. His lips pulled back an inch, breath shallow, eyes dropped low. You looked up at him like some wide-eyed, overwhelmed, dangerously turned-on forest creature.

A horny doe.

An endangered virgin in heat.

“That was step one. All good in there, Sweets?” he asked, voice rough, eyes glassy, face flushed in a way that was not helping.

Words were not in your vocabulary anymore. You just nodded like you’d been unplugged from reality.

“Okay. Now just follow my lead.”

And then he kissed you again. And this time?

It was need.

His lips moved like they’d missed you for years. You tightened your arms around his neck, one hand threading into his hair, tugging gently.

He moaned into the kiss.

You ached. Viscerally.

He pressed you harder onto his lap and you couldn’t help it—you arched, body instinctively chasing more of him, a needy little sound slipping from your lips.

He took the opening—literally—and slipped his tongue in.

You felt like you were going to explode.

How could it feel this good?

How could something that was technically educational feel like your soul had just relocated to your pelvis?

You followed everything he’d said: let him in first, tease with pressure, respond with your body. Your tongues fought like they had unresolved drama. Moans broke through between kisses, your bodies flush, skin too hot, air too thick.

And then you both broke for air, gasping. Foreheads resting together like that was the only thing keeping you tethered to the Earth.

“Like this, you mean?” you asked, breathless, eyes wide, voice syrupy with innocence.

Erik nearly short-circuited.

Everything in him screamed danger.

He didn’t care.

“Yeah,” he panted. “Just like that. Good girl.”

Good girl.

Your brain glitched. Your entire body melted into that phrase like it had a chokehold on your nervous system.

Good girl, good girl—oh god.

You needed more.

“Can we do it again?” you asked quickly, too quickly. “You know, I’m a perfectionist. Gotta get it right—”

He didn’t even let you finish.

His mouth was on yours again, hot and hungry and insatiable. And you were right there with him—matching every movement, chasing every high, your fingers gripping tighter, your body moving against his like instinct took the wheel.

And then—his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss, ready to whine—

Only for him to trail down to your neck.

Your breath caught. His tongue. His teeth. The softest scrape, the gentlest suck.

“I’m just giving you a bonus lesson,” he murmured into your skin, voice dark. “Is this okay?”

You could barely breathe. But you nodded.

“Yes, please.”

It felt like you were in a bubble—just you and him and this blistering, reckless gravity between you. Like nothing existed beyond his lap, your lips, the throb in your chest and the heat flooding your spine.

And in that moment?

You didn’t want it to end.

Not the lesson.

Not the feeling.

Not him.

Erik’s mouth was on your neck, and it was criminal how good it felt.

His lips grazed the sensitive spot just below your jaw, and your hips shifted instinctively, pressing harder into his lap. He let out a muffled sound—somewhere between a growl and a curse—and you felt it vibrate against your skin. You gripped his shirt tighter, knuckles white.

“Erik…” you whispered, breath shaky, voice barely yours.

He stopped.

Just for a second.

Long enough for his hand to come up and cup your jaw, tilting your face back so he could see you properly. His pupils were blown, lips red and swollen, breath heavy.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, dangerously low—but his eyes searched yours, full of that annoying, beautiful softness that always snuck through when you least expected it.

Your heart thudded against your ribcage like it was trying to escape.

“Yeah. Just—” You swallowed. “This is more intense than I thought it would be.”

He let out a quiet laugh, one hand brushing hair from your face. “That’s because you’re sitting in my lap making the world’s hottest sex noises and grinding like we’re in a club bathroom.”

You smacked his chest. “I was following instructions!”

“You were doing way too well.” he muttered, looking almost angry at himself.

You looked at him—really looked at him.

His face was flushed. His voice had gone lower. He wasn’t playing anymore. This wasn’t the same teasing Erik from five minutes ago. This was a man hanging on by a very thin thread.

And maybe, just maybe… you liked the idea that you were the one unraveling him.

“So, what’s next, Professor?” you whispered, intentionally lacing your tone with sugar and trouble.

His jaw clenched. You felt it under your fingers as he gripped your waist a little tighter.

“Next?” he said, voice rough. “We stop.”

You blinked. “What? Why?!”

He exhaled, resting his forehead against yours again, like maybe physical closeness would help him think straight.

“Because if we don’t, I’m gonna do shit that definitely isn’t part of the kissing syllabus.” His hand slid from your waist to your hip and stayed there like a warning.

You were quiet for a moment.

Then, softly, carefully:

“What if I don’t want to stop?”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you.

Your face was so close. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, and for a second, the whole world was silent.

“Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it, Peach. I swear.” His voice was strained, shaking at the edges.

You felt like your skin was too small for your body.

“I mean it.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to. But honest. Raw. Real.

Erik stared at you like you’d just broken something in him.

“Fuck.” he breathed, hands tightening on you, dragging you in again—mouth crashing to yours with no more warnings, no more rules.

This wasn’t a lesson anymore.

This was want. This was hunger.

And neither of you were pretending now.

The kisses turned desperate. Wet. Open.

His hands moved from your hips to your thighs to your lower back, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, only that he had to.

Your shirt rode up. His fingers found your skin.

He groaned against your mouth. You felt yourself tremble in his grip.

Clothes didn’t matter. Words didn’t matter.

It was just hands and breath and teeth and mouths—moving together, faster now, harder now.

Until—

A sudden knock on the door.

You both froze like two teenagers caught by the cops.

“Hey Erik, can I use your laptop? Mine’s updating—”

“FUCK OFF, BOBBY!” you both shouted in horrifying unison.

Silence.

Then footsteps. Retreating.

You collapsed onto Erik’s chest, trying to remember what breathing was.

He let out a laugh, breathless and ruined. “We’re going to hell.”

You giggled into his shoulder. “Already halfway there, might as well enjoy the ride.”

He looked down at you, brushed his fingers over your cheek, then whispered:

“Still want that reverse cowgirl tutorial, or should we… save that for the next class?”

Your grin could’ve lit the entire room on fire.

[cherriesm]

▌⠀࣪ 💌 ،، ٠ ﹙ #𝗟𝙊𝗩𝗘 L͟E͟T͟T͟E͟R͟S͟，﹚ | 𝒗𝒊 ﹞

happy national girlfriend day, gng,,, (yes i know it’s aug 2 already BUT i fell asleep ok 😭 also our timezones are different soooo i’m using that to my advantage... not that it'll work on yinnie & alex tho. sighs.)

this list isn’t in alphabetical order BUT it’s also not in any order at all sooo don’t come for me 😋

kay, ruby & eli aren’t on this one bc we planned to vc instead HEHE priorities !!!( i lobe u all ytsut )

I JUST REALIZED I MADE SOOO MANY MOOTIES ???? HELLO ??? THANK U ???? I LOVE YOU ALL SM 😭😭😭

i appreciate and love every single one of my moots— i just wanted to make this post because of how far we’ve come and how close i’ve become with so many of u ever since we became moots. u all mean so much to me it’s actually insane. <3

these probably sound like i’m just repeating the same things over and over again, i’m sorry 😭 i’m not very good with words i fear 💔 but everything i say really comes from the bottom of my heart ok <3 i just love u guys that much 😭🫶

honorary mention :: dear alex ( @rascaltheidiot )

i'm so tired of this guy pls someone take him already. JOKESSS i lobelobelobe yew omg we've known each other for like three years now !!! i still remember when you used to stare at me like a literal maniac by the window every single english period 😭😭 also the very first marauders fan i ever met, real. btw guys this man won’t stop saying “i miss him” like it’s on loop or smth. mwamwa my trans king

dear kooray / my petal / kore ( @dhazefawn )

STARTING OFF STRONG !!!! my wife, my petal, my girl, the love of my life, the mizi to my sua, the till to my ivan, the aya to my koga, the spencer to my elle, the mira to my rumi, the lia to my cassie, emily to my jj, THE SENKU TO MY GEN !! the teru to my akane, the piper to my annabeth, and so so sooo many more that my brain can't even list right now 😭 my beloved petal, our bond actually means the entire galaxy to me. i still remember how i used to go absolutely feral over your first jason todd series like HELLOOOOOOO AAAAA i miss it so much it actually hurts 😭😭 i love you more than i love sleep ( and that says a lot bc i’m always tired lol ) and i’m so so so happy we became moots — i will never shut up about the fact that i’m your first moot on your current blog like that’s a flex to me ok ??? your works are literal masterpieces like be serious for a sec??? i always feel like i'm reading peak every time i scroll through your stuff. i promise i’ll catch up and read everything when i finally get a break. i’m sooo in love with you it’s not even funny anymore. pls don’t throw me away like those manhwa canon event ppl who turn cold mid story i’m fragile 😭 sending you billions of hugs and kisses. will never get over the fact that you made an insta account for ME. oksoksolsomsoks i love u my mwah

dear vamp lady / bella ( @bloodwrittenletters )

do NOTTTT get me started on YOU !!! literally one of the best girls to ever exist EVERRR !!! i still have a screenshot of our first interaction btw 😋 real history. i love you sm i swear, i PROMISE to make another tiktok streak w you once i finally log back in 😭 you're seriously one of the kindest and most patient souls ever, like i’m not even exaggerating. also your aesthetics?? NEVER flops. not even once. like ur entire vibe is just ughhhh so pretty it makes me cry a little. i still remember when i kept gushing about miss kj & her books not even knowing YOU WERE HER MOOT 😭😭 i was literally fighting for my life from secondhand embarrassment i almost dug a hole to hide in. i lovelovelove your works— they’re so poetic and dreamy and giggly ( ,,, well,,, kind of,,, you also gave me LORE and emotional pain so it balances out i guess 😭 ). ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW THIS IS OUR SEVENTH MONTH OF BEING FRIENDS ??? SEVEN WHOLE MONTHS. that’s like. crazy. thank u for existing mwa

dear jo / jojar / blueberry ( @jjsblueberry )

THE BLUEBERRY TO MY CHERRY !!! i hold this lady sooo close to my heart fr. the zoey to my rumi, 1/3 of the chippetes, the oldest of the chippetes ( respectfully queen behavior ), the sloane to my cassie, THE RED JENNINGS TO MY LAURIEEE, the jo to my amy, jj to my elle, PENELOPE TO MY JJ 🫶 i seriously owe you sm especially after i deleted my old blog ☹️☹️ like that whole era was rough but you and kooray being there??? saved my brain from going into full meltdown. you’ve always been there when i needed comfort or just someone to talk to and i will forever be grateful for that. i love you sm it's insane pls don't disappear. i will WEEP. also, i still find it funny when you told me i was intimidating. my coffee partner in crime, my dearest jason grace girlie🩷🩷

dear rory / rawrie ( @fromrory )

THIS GIRL !!!! this girl once asked me if i was a minor before we became moots… BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE SAFE AND THAT’S ONE OF THE CUTEST THINGS EVER 😭😭 like pls that was so sweet i almost cried. the switch up tho ??? she used to be all silly and cute and now she’s silly, cute, AND freaky like ma’am pick a struggle/j ??? she’s actually like a drug, i talk to her and suddenly i’m giggling like a high schooler with a crush. even when i’m dead tired she somehow pulls the giggles out of me like hello ??? this girl REFUSES to let me end the day sad. she’s powerful actually. illegal amounts of serotonin every time we talked. MWAMWMAAAMWAWMA

dear yinnie / yin / yinnieboo / y/n ( @yintous )

ALSO DO NOTTT GET ME STARTED ON THIS PERSON !!!! when i first saw her blog i was like “holy shit this is so gorgeous” and then “HOLY SHIT SHE’S FILIPINO???” like girl you had me GAGGED from the start. also??? another drug. she’s in like almost every fandom i’m in it’s actually scary how aligned our brains are. so real and so relatable ( girl pls watch bleach already i’m begging 😭😭 ). OUR DMS ON DISCORD??? STRICTLY FOR US ONLY. PRIVATE PROPERTY. ( yin… i’m trusting u with my life rn….. ) every time i have something filipino to say i instantly go to her and it’s honestly one of my fave things ever bc no one else understands me like that 😭😭 and don’t even get me STARTED on her themes… i legit flatline every time i see them like how are you always eating so effortlessly. i love this woman sm the rukia to my orihime< 3

dear calynn / carrie / caroline ( @dulcet-aurora )

ONE OF MY FIRST MOOTS EVERRRRRRR !!!!!!!! i’d literally go to court for this lady no questions asked. her works are BEYOND THIS WORLD like actually how is she writing like that ??? one of the freakiest AND funniest people alive it’s honestly insane. ALSO SHE SPOILS ME SM BY SHARING HER FANFIC LORE 😋😋 like ma’am do u realize how powerful that is ?? certified blessing and omg i’m so sorry for always forgetting to reply 😭 i always fall asleep mid-convo then wake up and instantly forget what was happening like my brain just logs out ??? BUT I SWEAR I LOVE YOU SO MUCH CALYNN !!!! pls don’t go bald we do NOT need another lex luthor on our hands ( yes i’m shooting it back at u bc u deserve it ) <3

dear lucia / luci ( @cherryribbcns )

THIS !!!! ADORABLE !!!! GIRL !!!! MY !!! CHERRY !!!! PARTNER !!!! i remember when her blog was just a little baby 😭😭 i STILL remember her old url ( idk the exact spelling anymore but it was smth like cherrybambi or bambicherry but with an x in it i swear 😭 ) i lovelovelove this girl sm she’s actually the cutest ever. i need her injected straight into my bloodstream bc what do you mean someone can be this lovely ??? i love you soooo much lucia i'm sosososo happy we became moots like you don’t understand how happy my heart gets every time i see you on my dash <33 we’re locked in fr.

dear belle / bell ( @swagvie )

omg ilysm ur so hot hahahahaha… ANYWAYS. okok i think we really got closer when i told u to watch alien stage BUT !! technically we met when u stumbled across one of my michael townsend smaus from my old blog 😭😭 like that’s real history right there. you're so cool and real i would 100% choke a guy from the military for you no hesitation. ALSO she’s the reason i even started playing lads ( even tho i haven’t logged in in weeks pls don’t come for me 😭😭 BUT I SWEAR I’LL PLAY AGAIN TRUST ). one of my fave megumi fushiguro girlies EVER like the energy is unmatched. pls never stop being iconic i’m obsessed w u.

dear dovie / dove ( @fromdove )

DOVE MY GIRL !!! you're basically my gf irl atp like no one can tell me otherwise 😭😭 i was SO happy when you asked if you should read the naturals like YES YOU SHOULD HELLO ??? 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ peak series. and also thank u sm for that guide you sent me omg 😭 you're actually so thoughtful it made my heart melt fr. i don’t have enough time to try them out every night rn BUT WHEN CHRISTMAS BREAK COMES ??? TRUST ME I’M GOING FULL SEND. you’re one of my fav people ever dove i love u endlessly <3 YOU write like your heart has hands.

dear rie / avy / avery ( @serrendipty )

starting off strong, my lovely girl avery !! i love you sosososo much like literally a billion much. i'm seriously so so so happy we became moots, it's actually kinda funny when you told me you used to stalk my blog just 'cause of my olivia rodrigo theme ☹️☹️ like girl if i knew you earlier i would've followed you wayyyy sooner. thank you for all the spams btw, i swear i'm gonna spam you back the moment i get the chance, fr trust. ALSO i’m obsessed with all your themes— like actually,,, gods.

dear may ( @maybxlle )

i miss and love yew. NO LIKE I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS WOMAN SM SHE’S SUCH A VIBE ☹️ every time she interacts w me i feel like i just got hit with sparkles or smth. she always starts w “ana” before sending another ask and it makes me feel soooo special 😭 SHE LITERALLY INVENTED THE NICKNAME ANA !!! she’s the ONLY one allowed to call me that now 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ no one else even try. stay strong out there, one of the biggest certified girl kissers i know. i love yew like… 20 times huge. maybe even 25. yeah it’s that serious.

dear cath ( @simpingmyassoff )

CATHCATHCATH CATH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MY PRECIOUS GIRL 💘💘💘💘 you've been so so supportive ever since the old blog days ☹️ AND WHEN U SAID U FREAKED OUT WHEN I FOLLOWED U BACK ???? AAAAA that was actually the cutest thing ever you’re so precious i’m keeping u in my purse forever. i LOVE when you tell me all your reactions to the shows you’re watching like i eat that stuff up every time 😭😭 and your thoughts on wind breaker ?? chef’s kiss. we’re literally twins fr like same brain cell same opinions same everything 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼 pls never change i love u endlessly <3

dear star / starlove ( @shootingstargirl2001 )

STARLOVE !!!! we barely interact but i appreciate and love you sm like actually 😭😭 every time i post something and you immediately like it i’m like HELLO ?? HOW ARE YOU SO FAST ??? MY GIRL DESERVES A BREAK 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼 i literally have notifs on for YOU but i’m so bad at checking them i’m so sorry pls forgive me 😭😭 I LOOOVVEEE YOU SO MUCH MY STAR you are so so dear to me i hope you know that <33 you shine every time i see your posts btw

dear fleur ( @pjxcksonswrd )

FLEUR !! FLEUR !! FLEUR !! my french girl 😚😚 i lobe you lovelobelobe u sm it’s unreal !!! you're actually in sooo many fandoms i’m in too it’s kinda scary but in the best way possible 😭 like how are we always mentally synced like that ??? your blog is always serving looks and vibes, and every time i see you on my dash i do a little happy dance in my head. also your energy is just so calming and cool it makes me wanna sit next to you at a café and just rant about characters for hours 🫶 i’m sooo happy we’re moots, pls never leave me or i will cry forever ok. je t’aime fr.

dear lys ( @rainforcsts )

bro u are literally THE safe space for every the naturals fan out there. YOU'RE THE ONE KEEPING THE FANDOM ALIVE TRUST 🤞🏼🤞🏼 i salute you for that. also you made me feel sooo valid about not continuing chinese LMAO like i felt so seen 😭😭 we really bonded over that huh. and omg we were SUCH good parents fr 😞 sending “BURN” or “FIRE” for our streak like the dedication was there. BUT IT DIED 💔 and so did a part of me ngl. still love you tho. always will.

dear rammy ( @ramanpoo )

we’re LOCKED IN fr like spiritually connected or smth. we don’t interact that much but we’re still close ( i think…. i hope….. ) HEHEHE 😭😭 she’s sooo freaky i swear every time she sends me a random post i let out the loudest “WHAT” like girl be serious for once !!! but also never change pls. i love you sm pls don’t die on me you’re one of my strongest sources of chaos and serotonin. you're insane but you're my insane <3

dear lua ( @gibsluv )

LUAAAAA !!! she’s the reason i even started reading boys of tommen TEW like the grip she has on me is unreal 😭 one of my absolute fave writers on this entire app fr, her works are always so full of heart (and a lil chaos too but we love that). she’s also one of the kindest souls EVERRR like genuinely so sweet it makes me wanna cry a little 😭😭 and let’s talk about her themes ??? absolute art. she never misses. i don’t even read dark romance books usually but her moodboards and stories ??? so cute, so pretty, 😋 i love you sm lua <3

dear annie / anita ( @annabananaaxox )

ALSO ONE OF MY FIRST MOOTS !!!! your bruce works are literally so addicting like what do you MEAN you write him that good ??? and honestly YOU'RE addicting too like every time you pop up on my dash my brain goes !!!!! i love you soooo muchz and i miss you sm it actually hurts sometimes 😭😭 i'm so so happy we became moots like you were one of the first and still one of the best <3 pls never forget how iconic you are okay 🫶🫶

dear vee ( @willucryy )

we don’t interact a lot,,, BUT VEEEE !!! my twin name but like, in PRONUNCIATION 😭😭 i lobe yew sm you’re sooo cool and pretty and silly and funny and freaky it’s actually illegal. pls marry me immediately. every moment we share together is literally a core memory in my brain i’m not even joking. i love u endlessly < 3 MWAHHH

[original-szajnie]

Klonnie Weekend 2025: Fake Dating

It starts, as these things often do in her life, with a threat.

Bonnie is on her way home from her first actual date she’s been on since Jeremy kissed a ghost. Probably her first actual date, period, she considers with a twinge. Nothing special, just burgers and fries at the Grill—but she’s feeling kind of good. Lip gloss still intact. Curls still bouncing. And then—

“Witch.”

She freezes, one hand tightening around the strap of her purse. There’s mace inside, but she knows that won’t do any good. The night air had been warm against her skin, scented with honeysuckle and the last ghost of spring rain, but now she feels a shiver run up her spine.

“Witch,” he repeats like she hadn’t heard him the first time. Like her fight or flight hadn’t just kicked into overdrive and he can’t hear the frantic tattoo of her heart. She takes a breath, turning slowly.

And, yup, there he is.

Klaus ‘kill everyone you’ve ever loved’ Mikaelson standing beneath the shadows of a broken street-lamp, calm and terrible and annoyingly unruffled for midnight.

“Hybrid,” she greets in return, because why not.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

For a moment, he says nothing more. Just lets his gaze sweep her from head to foot in an indolent appraisal that has her spine snapping tight and magic humming beneath her skin.

That twitch becomes a smirk. “Relax, little witch. I’m not here to fight.”

“Then what are you here for?” She asks.

“I need your assistance,” he says, like it was a favor, like he hadn’t attempted to murder her best friend less than a year ago and threatened to dismember her in at least three different ways.

She folds her arms. “Why would I help you?”

Klaus opens his mouth—almost certainly to offer some graphic promise of death or dismemberment—but she cuts him off. “You know what, don’t. I get it. Carnage, pain, everyone I love in pieces. Classic. What is it this time? Linking spell? Did you lock Elijah in a coffin and lose the key?”

She has no idea where this sass is coming from and the survival instinct in her brain is screaming at her to ‘shut up’ but every time she quips, that mouth twitches and she can see the faintest hint of…dimples?

“Nothing so terrible,” he replies, tone light. “A bit of your witchy blood, a small incantation, and then—poof—you’re free to resume whatever terribly dull life you’re leading.” He holds an arm out as if to usher her along.

She blinks. “What? Now?”

”No time like the present.”

Bonnie grumbles, under her breath, just the teeniest bit defiant, because damn it, she’s tired, and she wants a good night’s sleep, and really was it so much to ask that date night not be a bust—when Klaus’s next words stop her mid-ramble.

“You smell like grease.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowing. “I smell like Daisy.”

“Yes, your floral perfume is there, as is your usual, inviting earthy scent. But you do smell like grease and burgers.”

She had an earthy scene? It was ‘inviting’? Nevermind that. “I was at the Grill.” Why is she explaining herself to him?

”The Grill.” His lip curls. “For a date?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He pauses again, looks at the empty street, then back to her. Then, disdainful: “And where is this date of yours?”

”Trevor has practi—“

”Trevor?” Klaus seems positively revolted by the name. “Trevor?” Klaus repeats, like the word itself is offensive. “You let a boy named Trevor take you on a date?”

Bonnie crosses her arms tighter. “It’s not that serious.”

“Clearly,” he mutters. “He abandoned you at the curb and didn’t even walk you to your door.”

Bonnie scowls. “Like I was saying—he has practice in the morning.”

Klaus’s eyes narrow. “So he left you alone. At night. After burgers. In Mystic Falls. Where half the population seems to be supernatural and the other half perpetually under threat.”

She blinks. “…Are you lecturing me right now?”

“No,” he says, too quickly. “But if I were, it would be well deserved.”

“Oh my god.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is not happening.”

Klaus takes a deliberate step closer, hands clasped behind his back like some academic lecturer about to give a lesson. “Dating as a concept emerged in the early 20th century, particularly in the 1920s. This shift was influenced by factors like women's increased participation in society, and their involvement in selecting partners without familial obligations.”

Oh. Shit. It is a lecture.

“A date should be a celebration of that choice,” he continued. “Something more than meat and mediocrity. A date, when done right, is the art of showing appreciation. Of anticipation.” He let his gaze wander over her face, lingering on her lips before back to her eyes. “The beginning of seduction.”

She ignores the way heat creeps up her neck, into her cheeks. the way her pulse is still racing, but not from fear…more like the anticipation he’s told her about. And she absolutely ignores the way her mouth feels heavy under his gaze, lips wanting to part.

“No wonder we couldn’t tell you apart from Alaric,” she comments, taking a step back. “Giving lectures nobody asked for.” She turns toward her front door. “Look, it’s late. Some of us aren’t nocturnal, so if it’s not life or death, I’m going to bed. You’ll get your blood and your spell tomorrow.”

He doesn’t grab her arm. Doesn’t halt her, so she takes that as permission. She barely makes it up the step before his voice halts her again, lower now, silk-wrapped iron: “Let me show you.”

She holds the key in the knob, but doesn’t turn. “Show me what?”

“What it should be. A date. Not a sloppy imitation done by the likes of boys named Trevor.”

Bonnie glances at him over her shoulder, trying to decide if he’s actually serious. He is. Of course he is. His expression is maddeningly sincere, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that feels a little too close to temptation.

“You want to take me on a date?”

“Not a real one,” he clarifies. “A demonstration. A model. One you can hold up against future offers and reject them accordingly.”

She sighs, turning the key. Honestly, she doesn’t have the energy for this. “You’re doing this to mock me.”

“I’m doing this,” Klaus says smoothly, “because it is offensive to the very concept of courtship that someone like you doesn’t know what it should feel like.”

“Goodnight, Klaus.” She steps through, closing the door behind her. She locks it for good measure.

He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t press. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first clue.

The next evening, Bonnie lights a candle on her nightstand, just like Grams taught her. Mugwort and bay for clarity, lavender to soothe. She’s in an oversized Metallica T-shirt, hair twisted up, just beginning to cue up an old episode of Criminal Minds when she feels it—the subtle flex of power against her magic.

There’s a knock.

Polite, for once. Which is exactly why it unnerves her.

She debates on ignoring it.

She’s already sent him her blood, cast the spell—a simple binding on a grimoire—preventing anyone but him (and oddly, herself) from opening it.

He knocks again. Three short, evenly spaced raps.

Bonnie sighs, blowing a curl from her eyes and opens the door. She’s tempted to tell him that she’s going to start charging by the hour. He can afford it. But all of her snark dies in her throat the moment she sees him.

Klaus stands on her porch in tailored dark clothes—not quite a suit, but deliberate. Dark slacks, a crisp open collar, sleeves rolled to the forearm. In his hands: a lush bouquet of dusky red peonies and soft white jasmine. They smell like twilight and stolen things.

“I said no,” Bonnie says automatically, though it lacks any heat.

He tilts his head. “Odd. I didn’t hear ‘no’. I heard: ‘Goodnight, Klaus.’”

He’s technically correct, which is her least favorite kind of correct. She’s about to tell him no, in no uncertain terms, when he continues.

“I’m already here, love. Terrible form to deny me now.” He holds the flowers toward her.

They are gorgeous, full, flawless blooms and rich heady scent. It’s the first time anyone has ever gotten her any.

She should toss them into the bin.

Instead, she takes them with a muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. “Still not a no.”

”You’re not going to let this go are you?”

He doesn’t respond, but it’s on his face.

Bonnie shakes her head. “Fine. Wait here.” She’s not about to invite him in.

When she returns, it’s in a cream-colored blouse edged in lace, tucked into a flowy patterned skirt that swirls when she walks. Her hair is down, loose, natural, around her shoulders. She doesn’t bother with make-up or jewelry.

This isn’t really a date.

It’s a lesson.

She’ll treat it as such.

Which turns out to be harder than it sounds.

Because when Klaus sees her—his expression shifts. Not his usual appraising calculation—something quieter. A little softer. Like the sight of her in moonlight and lace might actually be beautiful.

“Ready?” he asks, voice dipped low.

Bonnie inhales and exhales a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He offers his arm.

She doesn’t take it—not at first—but then he cocks his head, eyebrow raised in challenge.

She tosses him a look, but links her elbow through his, annoyed at how natural it feels. The scent of his cologne is faint—spiced woods and something wilder. She breathes it in before she can stop herself.

She expects a car, chandeliers, a compelled maître d’. Something grotesquely extravagant, probably featuring a string quartet and gold utensils. Something that shows how unlimited his influence actually is. A show of arrogance.

So she’s surprised when Klaus walks her two blocks down the street, cutting across a small wooden bridge near the edge of town. He leads her through a narrow, pebbled trail behind the old library. When the path opens up, her breath catches.

It’s a clearing tucked beneath a canopy of weeping willows, their branches sweeping low and silver in the moonlight. It smells like crushed herbs, clean earth, and something sweet—berries, maybe. Or honey.

The grass is soft and wild, the ground scattered with dandelions and moss. In the center is a picnic blanket—thick, deep red, clean despite the earth—and set atop it are small lanterns glowing like fireflies.

On the blanket: fresh bread, a jar of dark jam, cold chicken sliced and wrapped neatly in wax paper. Cheese. Tiny peaches. A bottle of wine, no label, no cork—sealed with wax.

Bonnie stops short.

Klaus watches her reaction the way a painter watches a canvas take color. “The Grill is beneath you,” is all he says.

She really doesn’t know what to say to that so she keeps her silence.

He holds her hand as she lowers herself to the blanket—keeping her steady. After that it’s a handful of small things that ripple through the night.

He pours the wine for her. Offers a cloth napkin. Cuts the peach with the knife she was eyeing but didn’t want to reach for.

“This,” Klaus murmurs, handing her the fruit, “is only one form of appreciation.”

“Food as appreciation? I can see that,” she says, biting into a slice.

He hums. “Most people don’t.”

She hates that she kind of agrees with him. Most people overlook the little gestures.

They eat slowly. The chicken is seasoned with something fragrant—rosemary or maybe thyme. The bread is soft. The cheese, sharp. Bonnie lets herself enjoy it, a little. She hasn’t had a meal that hadn’t involved a microwave in longer than she can remember.

When they talk, it’s not about the usual things. No magic. No threats. No blood.

Klaus tells her about Florence in the 1500s and how Italian peaches used to be bitter until witches started grafting sweetness into the skin. She listens in spite of herself. Finds his occasional biting commentary both snobbish and amusing.

She thinks, briefly, he looks almost human like this.

So when he asks, “What do you think about?”

She answers.

Maybe because it’s not real.

There’s no pressure to perform. No masks to wear. No expectations to meet.

She doesn’t have to be the strong one for him. The one who doesn’t ask—who gives.

She tells him about Grams. About how quiet the kitchen feels now and how sometimes, the smell of jasmine makes her cry without knowing why. She tells him that she used to dream of traveling the world, but now she just dreams of finding a small place in it.

He listens. Like she’s the only thing that matters.

And that, more than anything, is what undoes her.

Not the wine. Not the food. Not even the way the moonlight threads silver through his lashes.

It’s that he sees her. And seems to like what he sees.

She doesn’t trust it.

But, for tonight, for this moment, she lets herself have it.

By the time he walks her back into town, the moon is low and the shadows are long. The wine has left her warm. Drowsy.

He doesn’t leave her at the curb. He walks her all the way to her porch.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat. “Thanks for the fake date.”

Klaus arches a brow. “Fake?”

“I mean—model. Example? Lesson.” She settles on.

His eyes gleam. “The night’s not over,” he tells her, stepping forward, just close enough for her to feel the heat of him. “And for clarification—this part,” he says, voice velvet-dark, “is very real.”

He leans in, slow and deliberate. And he kisses her.

Not a demand. Not a possession. Just a touch—warm, slow, reverent.

Like she’s something precious.

Like he’s tasting the possibility of something he hasn’t dared name.

And Bonnie…Bonnie lets him.

For a second too long, maybe. Or maybe just long enough.

He tastes like peaches and wine.

When she finally pulls back, it’s not with a slap or a spell or even a warning.

It’s with a soft exhale. A breath they both feel.

She opens her eyes, and he’s still watching her—closely. Carefully.

His expression isn’t smug. It isn’t triumphant. It’s something… else. Almost hesitant. Like he was expecting the slap or the spell.

A heartbeat passes, then another, and finally he whispers, “Goodnight, Bonnie,” quiet and sure.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t trust her voice.

Just steps back through the door and closes it quietly. She doesn’t lock it.

[locsandletters]

ᯓ first of many; j.musiala

──one shot

pairing ➜ jamal x fem!reader

word count ➜ 1.7k

warnings/notes ➜ none

summary ➜ after years of just being friends, you and jamal are finally spending your first valentine’s day as a couple. naturally, nothing goes as planned. dating your best friend 101.

it starts the night before.

like, technically, it’s not valentine’s day yet, but jamal’s been on one all day, walking around like a little kid with a secret, smirking to himself, pursing his lips together like he’s dying to spill but won’t. he’s been weird about his phone, too. tilting it away from you. ignoring messages. biting back a grin every time it lights up.

“who you texting?” you ask, sprawled across his bed, watching him from the pillow.

“don’t worry about it,” he says, tucking his phone under his arm and flopping down beside you. he kisses your cheek—one of those lazy, half-missed kisses that lands more on your jaw than anything—but you’re still side-eyeing him, suspicious.

“you’re acting real sneaky, jamal.”

“am i?” he asks, grinning into your skin.

yes. he is. but whatever. you let it go. you don’t even think about it again until the next morning, when you wake up to the sound of something loud and chaotic crashing in his kitchen. it’s early. too early. the kind of early that makes your brain slow, like it’s loading in real-time, like you need at least 15 minutes to process.

there’s another crash. a curse. a chair scraping.

then, suspiciously: silence.

“… jamal?” your voice is all groggy and muffled, and it takes an embarrassing amount of effort to pry your eyes open. you reach across the bed, patting the empty space where he should be. it’s cold.

more silence. then, like a jump scare, his voice: “don’t come out here!”

what.

you blink at the ceiling, confused as hell, still groggy, trying to decide if you just hallucinated that. but no, the sound of drawers opening—slamming shut—confirms it.

“why?” you call, throat scratchy.

pause. like he wasn’t expecting a follow-up question. then, weakly: “just don’t.”

now, see. if he had just acted normal, maybe you would’ve left it alone. but he’s being weird. so you drag yourself up, rub your eyes, stumble toward the door.

“babe,” he calls, panicked. “i mean it.”

but it’s too late. you’re already there, stepping into the kitchen, and—

oh.

oh, it’s bad.

it looks like a crime scene. a breakfast massacre. there’s flour everywhere, like he was just throwing handfuls of it for fun. a whisk on the floor. a bowl of what looks like pancake batter, except it’s an objectively illegal colour. burnt toast. eggs that never made it to the pan.

jamal is standing in the middle of it all, barefoot, covered in flour, holding a plate with what can only be described as the saddest excuse for a pancake you’ve ever seen. and he looks… guilty. like a dog who just got caught eating the couch cushions.

“what the hell,” you say, staring.

“breakfast in bed,” he mutters, looking down at the plate in his hands, like he’s just now realising how bad it looks.

a pause.

“babe,” you say, trying so hard not to laugh.

“yeah,” he sighs, nodding. “i know.”

he sounds so resigned. so disappointed in himself. it’s actually kind of cute.

“what was the plan here?” you ask, stepping over a suspiciously large flour pile to get closer.

he groans, shoving the plate toward you. “pancakes.”

you take it. and it’s so heavy. like, heavier than a pancake should be. you poke it with your fork, and it barely moves.

“is it… supposed to feel like this?” you ask, laughing.

“don’t make me talk about it.”

he’s surprisingly genuinely embarrassed. ducking his head, rubbing at his jaw. and when you take a bite—because obviously, you have to—he’s watching you so closely. so serious.

and it’s awful. so, so awful.

but when you look up, his face is hopeful, expectant, and—ugh. you can’t ruin this for him.

so you chew, swallow, try your best not to gag. “it’s… wow. so unique.”

his whole face brightens. “yeah?”

“so creative.”

“i knew you’d like it,” he says, smug, taking the plate back. he grabs his own fork, ready to dig in.

“wait—”

too late. he takes a bite. and immediately spits it out.

“… oh, that’s fucking disgusting.”

you can’t even help it. you laugh at him. hunched over, wheezing, tears in your eyes. and he’s looking at the pancake like it personally wronged him.

“i don’t get it,” he says, looking genuinely betrayed. “i followed the recipe and everything.”

“be honest,” you say, wiping at your eyes, still laughing. “did you really?”

he hesitates. then, sheepishly: “no.”

and that sends you right back into a fit of giggles.

—

the rest of the day is just as chaotic.

there are roses. but too many. like, you turn around for one second, and suddenly, the entire apartment looks like a flower shop. then, out of nowhere, he pulls out matching t-shirts that say i love my girlfriend and i love my boyfriend in obnoxious, bold letters. insists you take pictures in them, which he very proudly posts on his close friends—alphonso is not shy to let you both know that he thinks that shit is cringe.

you later end up at some overpriced, aggressively romantic restaurant in the city, where everything is quite literally heart-shaped. you hate that you love it. jamal even gets you one of those giant stuffed bears that takes up half the car, just to be extra.

“where the hell am i gonna put this?” you ask, squished into the passenger seat, trying to push the bear off of you.

“our bed,” he says, like it’s obvious.

he’s joking. he has to be.

except, when you get back to his place, he throws it straight onto the bed and pats its head like a pet.

“what’s his name?” he asks.

you blink. “why does he need a name?”

jamal gives you a look. “he’s part of the family now, babe.”

you stare at him. he stares back. dead serious.

“… barry.”

“barry?” he repeats, making a face. “nah. try again.”

you roll your eyes, climbing onto the bed, throwing yourself against the pillows. “okay, fine. what about… reginald?”

jamal hums, considering. “reginald. reggie.” he nods, satisfied. “yeah. that’s hard.”

it’s not. but that’s how the bear becomes reggie.

it’s been a dumb, ridiculous, unserious day. and that dumb, ridiculous, unserious day stretches into an equally unserious night, because jamal isn’t done yet. of course he isn’t.

there’s dinner next. not an actual dinner, because you’re both still full from the aggressively heart-shaped meal earlier, but a ‘snack dinner,’ as he calls it. which just means eating a bunch of random shit in bed like kids at a sleepover.

“okay,” he says, serious as hell, setting the bag between you. “don’t look. just pick.”

you squint. “… pick what?”

he just raises a brow. motions to the bag.

you sigh, reaching in, grabbing the first thing your fingers touch. when you pull it out, it’s—oh. it’s one of those valentine’s candy hearts, the kind that taste like chalk.

you make a face. “oh, hell no.”

“no take-back,” he says, snatching the bag away before you can try again.

you sigh dramatically, flipping the little heart over in your hand. it says kiss me in faded pink letters. you show him.

jamal grins. “well,” he says, leaning in, all smug, all close, all warm. “you heard the candy.”

he’s such a loser. but, ugh. he’s cute, too. so you let him kiss you. and then another. and then one more, because why not.

after that, it’s movie time. jamal insists on watching something “romantic for the holiday.”

which, for some reason, means shrek 2.

“this is not a romance movie,” you say, staring at the tv.

“are you kidding?” he says, looking at you like you just disrespected his whole family. “it’s literally a love story.”

“… how?”

“shrek and fiona,” he says, like it’s obvious. “real love. no conditions. no standards. no judgment.” he gestures to the screen, suddenly so deeply invested in this conversation. “you don’t get it. she could’ve stayed a human. she could’ve left him, married some pretty boy, had a normal life. but she didn’t. she wanted her man. ogre and all.”

he leans back, shaking his head. “real love.”

you snort. “are you about to cry?”

“fuck off,” he mutters, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

—

the movie finishes. you think maybe, finally, he’s done being ridiculous for the night. maybe now, you can just curl up, relax, do regular couple things.

but then, he rolls over. stretches. looks at you. “we should make a fort.”

you blink. “what?”

“a fort,” he repeats. “like we used to do as kids. with pillows and blankets and shit.”

“jamal.”

“c’mon,” he says, sitting up. “you can’t tell me that doesn’t sound fun.”

it does. it really does. but you have to act unbothered for the sake of your pride.

“hmm,” you say, pretending to think. “i dunno.”

he narrows his eyes. “you’re lying.”

you are.

so, yeah. now you’re building a fort. or, more accurately, jamal is building a fort while you watch, offering absolutely zero help.

“you’re actually useless,” he says, balancing two pillows against a chair.

you shrug, popping another chocolate in your mouth. he mutters something under his breath.

you raise a brow. “what was that?”

“nothing,” he says, then turns to the fort, hands on his hips, nodding, pleased with himself. “done.”

and honestly? it’s actually good. like, he really put his whole heart into it. it’s got layers. multiple blankets. strategically placed pillows. fairy lights draped across the top.

he crawls in first, patting the space beside him. “c’mon.”

you sigh, all dramatic, but crawl in anyway. and, ugh. okay. it’s actually kind of perfect. warm. cozy. kind of romantic, in a way that doesn’t try too hard.

“happy?” you ask.

he hums, tilting his head against the pillow, looking at you. “yeah.”

and then, finally, you’re just there. under the blankets, wrapped up in each other, warm and full and tired in the best way. jamal’s fingers trace lazy circles into your skin, and you just breathe.

you sigh, content. “this was nice.”

“yeah?” he asks, voice soft.

“yeah,” you admit.

he’s quiet for a second. then: “you’re stuck with me now, you know.”

you smile, half-asleep, pressing your face into his chest. “i know.”

and that’s your first valentine’s day together. stupid. unserious. but somehow, perfect. just right.

[beenbaanbuun]

proposal w/ jongho

there’s just something about you tonight that has jongho unable to take his eyes off of you yet he can’t seem to place his finger on what

you’re dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers

it’s not that you don’t have your own clothes to change into, you just claim his are comfier and who is he to stop you when you look so cute

you look like you’re his

the possessive part of his brain that just wants to squirrel you away somewhere where it’s just the two of you forever really likes that fact

he leans forward to take the bowl from your lap, instead placing it on the coffee table so there was no risk of it toppling to the floor

then he grabs onto you, pulling at your body until you’re tucked nicely under his arm

you bring your feet onto the sofa, curling into a compact little ball as you snuggle up tightly into his side

if the world ended right this second, jongho really doesn’t think he’d mind; he’s not sure anything would ever be better than this moment in time

after all, he already has all he ever wants tucked neatly into his arms

“do you want to marry me?” the words slip from his mouth before he can stop them, “i mean not now but— wait, that sounds like i don’t want to…”

he’s silenced by your pretty giggles, twinkling like a wind chime during a storm

it shuts his thoughts up, leaving with only the sound of you trying to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand

it’s beautiful, and all he wants is for the rest of his time on earth to be filled with that

with you

he sighs, relaxing a little before he squeezes you gently with his arms

“you know what, i’m just going to roll with it,” he says, “i was waiting for something more romantic, but this works too.”

you twist your head until you’re facing him, wide eyes staring up into his own

he catches your lips in a kiss, trying his hardest not to smile against them

but how can he not when he’s so happy; he has you in his arms looking all soft and snuggly in his clothes

you’re his, and it just solidifies his thoughts even more; he wants to see you in a wedding dress so incredibly bad that it hurts his chest

he pulls away and looks you deep in your eyes

“well?” his heart stutters just like it always does when he looks at you, “do you want to?”

you shrug, a coy smirk coming to your face

“i don’t know,” you can’t help but smile when you see him give you that familiar look of annoyance, “maybe if you ask me properly, i’ll say yes…”

irritating little brat… his irritating little brat; god, he fucking loves you

“will you marry me?” he deadpans, rolling his eyes as if it takes him all the effort in the world to utter those 4 little words

“i thought you were supposed to get down on one knee to ask me that?” you’re pushing your luck, you know you are

it’s just so fun to see your baby bear get get all riled up and annoyed at you

he just looks so cute with his brows furrowed and an angry little pout on his lips

besides, it’s not like he doesn’t know you’ll make it up to him one way or another

“you want me to get on the floor?” he sighs as he watches you nod your head, that smug look never once leaving your face

god, he regrets all those years he’s spent giving you everything you’ve ever wanted; it’s turned you into a little brat

with a shake of his head, he untucks you from his side and stands up

all he can hear is your pretty laughter and as much as he wants to get annoyed at you for finding so much amusement in pissing him off, he can’t

you just sound too sweet

he searches around briefly for something to use as a ring

he already has one—he normally keeps it in his pocket so when the moment feels right, he’s ready for it

but its in his jeans and they’re already strewn across the floor of his bedroom and he’s certainly not wasting time going to fetch it

desperate times call for desperate measures it seems

he grabs an empty can from the coffee table and yanks the metal tab free

“i know it won’t fit in your fingers but this is purely symbolic,” he says before you can make some sassy remark about it being too small for you to wear, “your real ring is in the bedroom; i’ll give it to you when we go to bed.”

and then he dips down to the floor, his knee thudding against the wood

he holds his hands out, the tiny piece of metal sitting atop his palm

it glints under the light, and for some reason you can’t help but stare at it

something about it makes your chest ache in the most beautifully romantic way and you’re not sure why… it’s not even a ring

but perhaps that’s just it; the knowledge that you don’t need some fancy ring to make this proposal special

no photographer to capture the perfect moment and no huge crowd of people to fawn over you

it’s just you and him, barely dressed in the living room of your apartment

it all feels so… perfect

“will you—”

“yes,” you cut him off with a desperate nod, no longer in the mood to tease him, “jongho, of course i will.”

your hands find his own, fingers dancing across his palms until you’re holding that symbolic piece of metal in your hands

it’s not an expensive ring, but it’s as good as

you hold it like it’s worth the same amount as the moon and the stars all put together, and then you just smile

you’re happy

[underoossss]

the way you move- s.h -part 2

pairing: jock!steve harrington x ballerina!reader

1.9k words

warnings: language

an: part two of this best friends to lovers story, I hope you guys enjoy these smaller chapters instead of a big story with a lot of cuts. we have some jealous steve because that's always fun and some revelations. let me know what you think!

part 1

✰✰✰✰✰✰

“Stevie!”

Steve’s head whips to the right at the sound of your voice. Warm up had just ended and his teammates were on a water break after finishing all the drills he planned for today. A smile appears on his face as he lifts his hand up in greeting, putting his water bottle down and walking towards you. You look devastatingly pretty, with your hair already up and away from your face for your practice in an hour. Your backpack and duffel bag are slung over your shoulders while you hold your coat and a hoodie in the crook of your arm.

Dark blue long-sleeved leotard and black sweatpants are your outfit for the day –Steve knows you’ll wear the baby blue chiffon skirt today. He might even linger for the beginning of your practice just to see how pretty the colour looks on you. Madame Laverne will try to kick him out, but Steve can be pretty convincing.

“Hey babe, how did your test go?” Steve asks, leaning close to kiss your forehead in lieu of a greeting, he’s too sweaty to hug you but god knows he’ll take any excuse to be close to you.

“Aced it, I’m sure.” You smile brightly enough to knock the wind out of him, self satisfaction clear in your face. “I have Algebra tomorrow and I’m done. Mind if I hang out here?”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly; you always ask, and he always says yes. When has he ever said no to you? “When have I ever said no to you?”

You pretend to think just to tease him before laughing to yourself. “Thanks Stevie, I won’t bother you I promise.”

“You’re not a bother, come on let me help you with that.” Steve takes your bags and sets them on the bleachers you always occupy when you watch basketball practice. “I’ll walk you to class after, okay?” Fuck, he’s whipped.

“Okay.” You smile, that soft smile of yours and sit down, lighting up his body from the inside. “Good luck!”

I’ll need it. Steve thinks on the way back to his teammates. With you sitting so pretty over there he’s bound to be distracted, and he can’t have that.

“I see your girl’s come to see you practice.” Jacob Nully teases as soon as he’s back, and Steve rolls his eyes. “Honestly Harrington when are you going to ask her out?”

“We’re just friends.” Steve says shaking his head –Nully’s always rubbing salt in the wound.

“Please, you know how depressing it is to watch you pine after her for years?” Jacob fake gags. “It’s the only reason why no one’s asked her out you know. We know she’s your girl.”

“She’s n–” Steve begins to say only to be cut off.

“Speak for yourself.” Brad Connors, another teammate speaks out. “If Harrington doesn’t ask her, I might.”

“Shut it Connors.” Steve snaps, clenching his fists instantly like his body’s determined to fight for you.

Brad’s following laugh echoes around the gymnasium. “See, maybe jealousy will get him to ask her out. Better hurry though, Captain.”

With a shove to Steve’s shoulder Connors moves to center court and waves at you. You seem confused for a moment before you wave back, hesitantly. Fucking Connors. Steve would ask you out, he wants nothing more than to ask you out but he’s not sure if you feel that way about him too. You are best friends; you’re the most wonderful person Steve’s met, his best girl. What would happen if he asked you out and you reject him, where would that leave your friendship?

Steve’s mind can’t think of anything else even as he plays and shouts at his teammates. The same question circling his mind in a loop, his brain thinking really hard about your feelings. The two of you are attached at the hip, you do everything together and Steve knows the two of you are happiest when you do. There’s also the fact that you don’t date anyone, ever since you met Steve, despite there being more than a few attempts from people you go to university with. It always makes Steve’s blood boil, how they approach you and try to give the same compliment he gives all the time. It might be his fault though, for selfishly sending deadly looks their way the minute the show interest. But no, at the end of the day it’s your decision and you always say no to any of the guys that try to ask you out.

Then there’s those soft looks Steve’s always in the receiving end of, the way your eyebrows relax and smile does that thing that makes his heart skip. He knows you don’t look at anybody else like that and selfishly he begins to wonder if maybe his feelings have been reciprocated all along.

Your cheer can be heard around the gym when Steve scores a three pointer, which makes him look your way. It turns out, the hoodie you carried earlier and are now wearing is his. He’d been looking for it for a week and all this time you’ve had it. For anyone not playing, the bleachers can get cold during winter, and of course you had to shrug it on while he plays. Because you being there isn’t a distraction enough. No, you have to wear his clothes and look good in it; the oversized fit makes you look cozy and frankly adorable, and Steve knows Harrington is displayed across your back. It makes his heart jump to his throat. Steve smiles though, winking as a thank you for your ever present support. Your returning smile softens even more while your eyes flicker with more affection than usual, and Steve might be wrong after all. What if you feel the same way he does?

He's everything you want. The ache within your chest worsens every time you look at him because Steve during practice is lethally hot. If he’s handsomeness and charm outside the court, in it he’s passion, strength and hotness all in one. You can’t focus on Algebra, and selfishly knew so when you decided to visit Steve today. You can’t go away though, you’ve never been able to, so you brave the cold gym with his hoodie and watch the team play.  Anything to see him wear those dark grey shorts that make you feel things you probably shouldn’t.

Steve’s team for the day wins thanks to his last three-pointer, a beautiful finish for the practice. You can’t help but cheer, and it’s worth it to see the way he smiles and winks at you. Selfishly you want him for yourself, then you’d be free to run towards him and kiss him to show him just how proud of him you are. How can you not be when you’ve seen how much he’s improved since he decided to join the team. His athleticism and discipline helping the team so much he was voted captain last term. If you could confess all of this to him in a kiss and show everyone he’s yours, you would. You don’t though, and only smile feeling your guard fall in a moment, affection clear as day for anyone to see. It only last a second before you remember to shake yourself out of your daze.

Having given up on your test for the day, you snuggle into Steve’s hoodie and watch the end of the practice. Enjoying the way Steve pushes his hair back or pulls the hem of his t-shirt towards his face. Your insides flip and you look away when you feel your body burn, but you’re spared any more torment when within seconds the coaches dismiss the team.

“You didn’t study,” Steve says as he approaches you, a towel around his neck and bag over his right shoulder. His eyes are a soft thing with more warmth than usual; different but you don’t know what.

“It was a fun game.” You shrug, putting your book inside your bag and closing it. “I’ll be fine. I can study some more after class.”

That makes Steve’s gaze move towards his watch and furrow his brows. “Let me change and I’ll walk you, okay?”

You smile and shake your head, you love him more than you can comprehend sometimes. “Stevie you don’t have to.”

Steve’s hand moves towards your face, holding your cheek briefly. “I want to.” He murmurs, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek before his touch disappears. “Five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

You can do nothing else but nod, face burning where the ghost of his touch still lingers. Steve is different, not in a bad way but different enough from an hour ago that you can definitely notice. His eyes kept gazing into yours like he wanted to figure something out and tell you something at the same time. There’s there’s the way he’d lingered like he didn’t really want to part from you. There’s no more time time wonder what’s going on because true to his word Steve is back five minutes later, in his burgundy sweater, black coat and backback thrown over his shoulder.

“Come on babe, you’ll be late to class.” He smiles, taking your duffel bag before throwing his arm around your shoulder.

The smell of soap and a hint of cologne floods your system with warmth and you can’t help leaning closer to Steve, your temple resting against his jaw as you walk. “Thanks Stevie.” You murmur, shivering lightly when the weather outside bites at your skin. “For always walking me to class.”

“You know I love to do it.” Steve’s smile is clear as day in his tone, and its followed by a kiss to your temple. “You think Madame Laverne will let me watch you warm up today?”

His question makes you laugh and shake your head. “You know how she is, I think you can imagine the answer to that.”

“But if I hide behind the curtains…” Steve proposes, seeking only to make you laugh again and succeeding.

“I fear for your well-being if you try to pull that off, Stevie.” You look up at him and smile, having reached the ballet studio. “Maybe when we begin practicing at the theatre, you can sneak in.”

“Oh I just might.” His smile is pure mischief as he whispers, face closer to you than before. Beautiful brown eyes meet yours and linger longer than ever before. Not that you mind. Not that you’ve ever minded. You would gaze into his eyes any chance you got if it wouldn’t make things weird between you. This is the first time Steve’s done it, though, and you wonder briefly if maybe he’s doing it for the same reason you do.

Your thoughts are interrupted however, by a honk on the other end of the street. The two of you jump apart and smile bashfully. What’s happening? Could your wishes be coming true at long last?

“I’ll be here when you’re done.” Steve hands you your duffel bag and smiles before kissing your cheek just like he did the other day. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Stevie.” You smile softly and hug him goodbye. “See you later.”

The two of you linger a moment longer on the sidewalk before heading in different directions. Steve towards the library, and you inside the studio. Hearts pounding, in fear, in love, in determination. What if? You wonder all throughout practice, even as your feet hurt and more blisters appear. What if we both feel the same way?

✰✰✰✰✰✰

part 3

motivate an unmotivated writer, reblogs are appreciated ❤︎

masterlist

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing: Part Two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: heavy angst, talk of rape, talk of being abused, feeling afraid even after leaving the abuser, shutting down, fearful of your life, facing your abuser after you left him

Summary: Bucky helped you out of an abusive relationship even though you don't feel 100% free from John. He will always linger next to you, a reminder that there are bad people in this world. Bucky is there by your side helping you through it in every way he possibly can.

PART ONE

Squares Filled: jailbreak (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

For the first time in a year, you’re not sleeping by John’s side. For the first time in a year, you’re able to be left alone without him. For the first time in a year, you’re able to breathe properly. For the first time in a year, you’re finally able to say you’re free from John. You don’t believe it and probably won’t as long as he’s alive, but in the moment you are.

Bucky and Sam took you back to their place where you’ve been holed up in. They let you use the spare bedroom but you haven’t used it yet. You’ve been sleeping on the couch and they’ve both been kind enough not to ask you why you won’t take the bedroom. Your brain is hardwired to know what happens when you walk into a bedroom, and even though John isn’t with you, that fear is still there.

It’s been two days since you’ve gotten to Bucky and Sam’s place, and you haven’t moved from your spot on the couch unless it was to go to the bathroom. Bucky and Sam are in the kitchen whispering to one another like they’re afraid to say what they want in front of you. You get it. You wouldn’t know what to do if you were in their shoes.

Your brain still thinks you’re with John which is why it’s drowning in fear even though you know you’re nowhere near him. After Bucky beat the hell out of him, he was taken to the medical wing on base for treatment. He’s miles away from you, so why can’t you get out of your own head?

Sam nudges Bucky into motion as the super soldier walks over to you with a plate of food. You jump when you feel his presence next to you, and he takes a step back to gain some distance.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just me.” Seeing how it’s Bucky in front of you and not John, you relax a bit. “Are you hungry?” You can only shrug in response. “Doll, you’ve barely eaten in two days. You need to eat.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, barely audible.

Before you have a chance to take the food, Bucky moves the tray away from you with a frown.

“Look, I know it’s hard to break away from what you had with John, but your life is different now. I meant it when I said he won’t ever hurt you again. You’re in control here, Doll. If you don’t want this food, Sam can make you something else you like.”

“Do I have to eat it all?”

“You eat however much you want to eat. If you finish and want more, that’s okay. We’ll get you more. If you only eat five bites, that’s okay, too.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you whisper fearfully.

It’s not about the food anymore. You truly don’t know what you want. John always chose for you. He chose what you wore, what you ate, what music you listened to, what TV shows you got to watch, everything. Everything about you, John carved. You don’t know how to live without him, however fucked up that sounds.

“That’s okay. I’m going to leave this here. Just try to eat something.”

Bucky leaves the tray next to the couch and walks back to Sam. He’s fucking pissed because he knew who you were before meeting John. He knew how bright and outgoing you were. Now, all you are is a shell of who you used to be. You can get there again, but you’re going to need a lot of help. Even then, it won’t ever be one hundred percent.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky growls.

“You nearly did. He’s still in the medic ward.”

“He should be six feet underground for what he did to her.”

“What did he do?”

All Sam and the others know about John is that he was hurting you. No one knows exactly what he did, and he going to keep it that way. If you want to tell people, then you will on your terms. If you want Bucky to be buried with this secret, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Not good things. I’ll be back. Make sure she drinks water. She’s dehydrated.”

Bucky grabs his jacket and leaves the house. He only has one thing on his mind: John. If he can’t kill him, then he’s going to make sure John is not even in the same country as you. Bucky walks right onto the base without a problem and into the medical wing where John is. John must not have confessed who beat him up otherwise, Bucky wouldn’t have been able to set foot into the medical ward.

John is recovering quickly from the injury due to the serum but he still needs to take it easy or else he’ll damage his ribs even more. They’re letting him go home today, so he’s packing up his bag when Bucky walks in. John freaks out and backs up as Bucky walks toward him.

“Hey, man, I’ll stay away from her.”

“You’re gonna do more than that,” he chuckles. Bucky grabs John’s throat with his metal arm and squeezes. John reaches for the button that calls the nurse but Bucky is too quick for him. He grabs it and throws it at the wall which shatters. “First, you’re going to give the shield back to Sam. You don’t fucking deserve it. Second, you’re going to take whatever you can and get the hell out of the country. You don’t deserve her.” John claws at his hand but it’s useless. “I swear, if I see you around town, I will do more than break your fucking ribs. Do I make myself clear?”

John nods and Bucky lets go of his throat. He doubles over in pain and coughs as he tries to get air back into his lungs. Bucky leaves the room without another word and heads back home. Sam is in his bedroom and you’re lying on the couch sleeping. His heart hurts for you but he’s going to do whatever it takes to bring the light back into your eyes.

He grabs a blanket off the sofa chair and gently lays it over your body, but you jerk awake at the slight contact. You gasp so loudly that it scares Bucky. Your mind reverts back to when you were with John and you tense immediately.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg tearfully. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Hey, Doll, it’s just me. You’re safe,” Bucky says and backs up to give you some distance.

You calm down once you see it’s Bucky, and you sit up with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Bucky walks around the couch and kneels down so you don’t have to lift your head to look at him. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“Don’t you ever say your sorry for how you’re feeling. Whatever it is, it’s completely valid.” You reach out and grab his flesh hand. It feels so warm in yours. “I know you’re scared. I know it will take so much time for you to be even half of who you were before, but I am here to help you with whatever you need. I want you to feel safe with me.”

You do even if you don’t know it yet.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “All my stuff is at his house.”

“I can get it for you if you want.”

“I need more clothes. I’d rather do that myself.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“Please come with me.”

“Like I’d let you go by yourself. Of course, I’ll go with you. It’s already late. We can go tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

You lay back down on the couch and allow Bucky to cover you with the blanket. He turns off the lamp and leaves without another word. It takes you an hour to get to sleep, and all you dream about that night is Bucky. Your nightmares are filled with John and the things he’s done to you, but you make Bcuky appear and that fear goes away. You taught yourself how to lucid dream because that’s the only place where you could escape John’s cruelty, so you use it to your advantage now.

The next day, you prepare yourself to face John again. Even if he isn’t home, you still have the four walls of his house to remind you of what the past year of your life has been like. You grab Bucky’s hand as you walk up the front porch steps, and he squeezes your hand in return. You walk in and see John packing some things into a box. You immediately freeze when his eyes lock onto yours. You hide behind Bucky who rubs the back of your hand in comfort.

“You’re okay. He can’t and won’t hurt you.” John would be a dead man if he tried. “Go and get your things.” You keep your head down as you pass by John to get to the stairs. “I’ll be right here. Don’t worry, John won’t go up there.”

You run up the stairs and Bucky turns to John with a glare. He sighs and continues to pack the important things.

“Here.”

John reaches behind the kitchen island and tosses the shield at Bucky who catches it with his metal hand. There is a silent agreement between the two men that neither talks about. Ten minutes later, you come down with a big suitcase full of everything you want to keep. Everything else can burn with the rest of the house for all you care.

“Come on, Doll. We can leave now.”

He holds his warm hand for you, and you take it without looking at John. Bucky takes your suitcase and puts it in the trunk with the shield while you stay seated in the passenger seat. You play with your fingers nervously even after Bucky has driven away from John’s house.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anything for you,” he says honestly. “I mean it. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

You look into his eyes and smile ever so softly. It’s going to be a long road to recovery but you know with Bucky by your side, you’ll come out the other end in one piece.

x

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Ensure

@jegulus-microfic April 6, Word count 709

The fighting went on for what felt like hours. Order members against the Death Eaters. It was probably a lot less than he thought. James still didn’t know how long the fighting had actually gone on for. 

He’d taken a stunner to the chest and flown backwards into a wall. He didn’t remember much after that, apart from Sirius’s and Remus’s blurred backs in front of him as they protected him from further damage. 

Aurors began to apparate into the warring groups. The Death Eaters, now substantially outnumbered, began to disapparate. The abandoned factory filled with the sound of the retreating cracks and the final few curses flung over shoulders. 

“James! James! Hang on, we’ll get you out of here.” Sirius sounded panicked. “Remus, help me. We need to get him to Marlene.” 

James felt hands under his armpits, hauling him up and then the uncomfortable squeezing of apparition. 

“Marlene!” Sirius yelled into the dark house. “Marlene?! Where the fuck are you?!” The brown-haired witch stomped into the room. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to Black?” She stopped when she saw James’s limp body. “Get him to the bedroom.” She ordered. James’s feet dragged along the wooden floor. He didn’t have the energy to lift them. 

They deposited him on the bed, and Marlene hurried in with her healer’s bag. She began running her wand up and down him, muttering under her breath. Several glowing diagrams floated above him. “Hmm,” She hummed as she inspected him. “He’ll be fine. You’ll have a nasty bruise and probably be quite sore for a week or so, but I have a balm that will help with that.” She vanished the diagrams and dug around in her bag. 

With another wave of her wand, she opened the buttons on his shirt, revealing the purpling skin beneath. Gently, she spread the balm across his chest. He sighed with relief as the tightness across his skin eased. He quickly fell asleep. Too tired to keep his eyes open. 

It couldn’t have been that long after he fell asleep that shouting woke him. 

“Did you really think I couldn’t find him, Sirius? I know exactly where he is every moment of the day.” He recognised that voice, but his sleep-addled brain couldn’t make the link. 

“Go away, you’re not wanted here,” Sirius growled back. 

“Oh, get out of the way, Sirius!” A scuffle occurred, and then James heard footsteps coming towards his room. The door flung open, and there stood still in his Death Eater robes was Regulus. James was beyond shocked. He hadn’t seen his ex for over three years. 

“Reg?” He croaked. Regulus walked to the side of his bed and took his hand. “Why are you here?” He didn’t pull his hand away. Even though Regulus was fighting on the wrong side, he knew he was safe. 

“I needed to ensure that you were alive.” He said flatly. James looked up at him, peering at his emotionless face and into his eyes. His eyes always gave him away. Most people couldn’t read them, but James could. Those steely grey windows into Regulus’s soul. He was scared. His fingers trembled ever so slightly around James’s hand. 

“I’m okay, love. Marlene checked me over. No broken bones, just bruising.” He watched as Regulus’s shoulders relaxed a notch. 

“I’m glad.” He barely whispered, his eyes trailing over James’s body. He lifted James’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Stay safe, James.” He demanded before he gently placed James’s hand back under the covers and left the room. “Yes, yes, Sirius, I’m leaving. But if you think I’ll leave him alone, you’re as mad as Voldemort.” 

Sirius and Remus came rushing in once the door had slammed shut behind Regulus.

“James, are you alright?” Sirius clambered into the bed, checking on his friend. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. He was just checking I wasn’t dead. He won’t be back. Don’t worry.” James knew he was lying. Regulus had revealed something that he didn’t think the other two had picked up on. ‘As mad as Voldemort.’ James ran those words over and over in his head for hours. Hope, building in his chest, that maybe, just maybe, Regulus wasn’t as lost as they’d all thought he was.   

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Twenty-Six

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Six: Final Problem

Summary: (Y/N) faces Eurus's game.

            “(Y/N)!”

            (Y/N) heard Sherlock’s sobs as they opened their eyes. They groaned as the headache of the drug returned and the world spun.

            “I’m here,” they said, still feeling like their tongue was heavy. Slowly, they lifted an arm. It seemed to move in slow motion. “I’m here, Dad.”

            “(Y/N),” said Sherlock in pure relief.

            (Y/N) felt the IV and squeezed their eyes shut. They took a deep breath and pulled. Luckily, the drugs numbed the pain, so they felt a pressure and then nothing. Still, when they pulled their hand away from their arm, blood remained on their hand.

            (Y/N) didn’t bother to wipe it as they rolled over and tried to push themself to their feet. Their arms and legs shook, but they got up. Their whole body trembled, dirt and dust had swept over them, and blood ran down their arm. They looked how they felt—horrible.

            “How’s John?” said (Y/N) as they blinked and looked around. It took time for their eyes to focus every time they moved, and they needed someone’s voice to keep their mind focused.

            “He’s stuck in a well,” said Sherlock. “It’s flooding. It’s like Redbeard, and if I can’t find him, she won’t give me the clue to you—”

            “I’ll get out,” said (Y/N). “We need to find John.” They groaned and fell against the wall to support themself.

            “(Y/N)?” said Sherlock sharply.

            “I’m here,” said (Y/N). “What’s the clue?”

            “The song,” said Sherlock. He looked around himself and shouted for Eurus to hear. “But I went through line by line years ago, and I found nothing!”

            (Y/N) stumbled forward, eyes barely seeing, keeping their fingers sliding against the wall to guide them. They could feel a slight breeze. They had to be somewhere. Obviously, the drugs had been meant to keep them down. Undoubtedly, if (Y/N) didn’t have the mind they had they had, they would have just laid there listlessly until they died.

            But they had their family. They were focused. And they were the clever one.

            So (Y/N) was pulling themself foot by foot out of whatever hellhole Eurus had stuck them in. They were going to beat her game and figure everything out.

            “There was nothing!” said Sherlock to Eurus. “There…There was a beech tree in the grounds, and I dug, I dug and dug and dug. Sixteen feet by six, sixteen yards, sixteen meters, and I found nothing! No one!”

            “Sherlock, (Y/N)?” said John.

            “Oh, it was a clever little puzzle,” said Eurus. “Wasn’t it? So why couldn’t you work it out, Sherlock?” She paused. “There’s something you need to know. Emotional context. And here it comes.”

            “Sherlock, the bones I found…” John trailed off.

            “Yes, they’re dog bones, that’s Redbeard,” said Sherlock.

            “Mycroft’s been lying to you, to all of us,” said John. “They’re not dog bones.”

            “Remember Daddy’s allergy? What was he allergic to?” remarked Eurus. “What would he never let you have all those times you begged?” Sherlock froze. “Well, he’d never let you have a dog.”

            Sherlock groaned as he was thrown into memories.

            “Your funny little memory, Sherlock,” said Eurus. “You were upset, so you told yourself a better story. But we never had a dog.”

            “Victor,” breathed Sherlock. Redbeard had been a boy. His friend.

            “Now it’s coming,” said Sherlock.

            “Victor Trevor,” said Sherlock. “We played pirates. I was Yellowbeard, and he was…He was Redbeard.” The pain was evident in his voice as he spoke.

            “You were inseparable,” said Eurus. “But I wanted to play, too.”

            The words bounced around (Y/N)’s head, and they found their sight focusing ever-so-slightly better as they paused and furrowed their brow. Small bits of words, of observations, of clues, began to flit around and spin together.

            “Oh, god,” said Sherlock. He sobbed. “What…What did you do?”

            “I that am lost. Oh, who will find me?” sang Eurus blankly. “Deep down below the old beech tree.” She paused. “Deep water, Sherlock, all your life, in all your dreams. Deep waters.”

            “You killed him,” breathed Sherlock. “You killed my best friend.”

            “I never had a best friend,” said Eurus.

            Another phrase added to the jumble in (Y/N)’s mind, and things started to come together as they pushed forward. Their feet hit stairs, and they dragged a foot up.

            “I had no one,” said Eurus. “No one.”

            All the pieces fit together, and (Y/N) froze.

            “You wanted me to play with you,” said Sherlock softly. “And I didn’t.”

            “Dad,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock gasped thankfully at hearing their voice again to break up Eurus’s words.

            “She wanted to play with you,” said (Y/N). “Where did you play?”

            Sherlock paused, and his eyes widened. Eurus furrowed her brow on the screen.

            “Oh, you brilliant thing, you,” breathed Sherlock. “Will you—”

            “I’ll be fine,” said (Y/N). “Go play.” They grinned and pushed themself up the stairs. The problem unraveled with each step.

            Sherlock’s focused gaze went to the screen. “You want to play? Okay. Let’s play.” He took the lantern and ran outside. He ran outside to the strange graves he used to play in.

            “The wrong dates,” he muttered. “She used the wrong dates from the gravestones as the key to the cipher, and the cipher was the song.”

            “Is this strictly relevant?” shouted John as he kept himself from falling beneath the rising water levels.

            “Yes, it is. I’ll be with you in a minute,” promised Sherlock. The numbers jumped out, and as the words circled in his mind, the clues came apart.

            “The lights are getting closer!” said the little girl in his ear fearfully. “The plane is going towards them!”

            “Hush now, working,” said Sherlock. He had it. He was getting it.

l

            (Y/N) pushed the door at the top of the stairs open. They heaved a breath as the cool night air washed over them. They stood in a corridor with broken windows on each side and no ceiling. They were in Musgrave Hall. They’d been trapped in what would have been servant quarters a hundred years ago, with a staircase just for them so they wouldn’t be seen. Sherlock would have gone off into the surrounding land to find John and be drawn away from (Y/N) being right there.

            But (Y/N) had gotten out. They had found the strength to push through.

            And they had found the cleverness to solve the final problem.

            (Y/N) looked down the hall at a single room. They had heard Sherlock muttering, and as he solved the cipher, it only made their conclusion all the more certain.

            Help me, brother. I am lost without your love. Save my soul. Seek my room.

            (Y/N) walked down the hall, keeping their focus on one foot in front of the other. They reached the doorway and summoned their bravery. They pushed the door open.

            “Hello, Eurus,” they said softly.

            Eurus was curled up, holding herself close. “You’re playing the game.” Her eyes were closed, and the voice of the little girl came from her.

            The little girl. Alone. No one to help her. No one to guide her. No one to care for her. Alone above everyone else, feeling like she was going to crash.

            Lost.

            “I know,” said (Y/N), kneeling in front of Eurus. “The song was to find you.”

            “I’m in the plane. I’m going to crash,” said Eurus. “And my family’s going to save me.”

            “High above us. Alone in the sky,” murmured (Y/N), looking at Eurus. “Scared because you can understand everything except for landing and connecting.” They moved a little closer as Eurus held her knees to her chest.

            (Y/N) remembered the pity they’d felt as soon as Mycroft explained Eurus’s inability to understand emotion. They remembered how all of her experiments revolved around feelings. They remembered how she wanted to see her family interacting with the people they cared about.

            Eurus couldn’t understand the heart. She had all the intelligence in the world, but she couldn’t understand a single emotion. Not even her own loneliness. She knew was missing something and hated the feeling, but she couldn’t understand it. She couldn’t ask for help because she had no idea what the problem was.

            Intelligence couldn’t feel the hole that loneliness left.

            “I understand,” said (Y/N) gently. They vaguely heard footsteps running down the hall below, but all their focus as the drugs pulsed through their veins remained with Eurus. “I felt apart. I was alone when I was young. But someone found me. Someone can find you.”

            “It’s too late now,” said the small, fragile voice.

            Footsteps ran up the stairs.

            “It’s not too late,” said (Y/N).

            “No, no.” The voice became Eurus’s, but it still shook with pain and emotion. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m on the plane. I’m lost. Lost in the sky. And…no one can hear me.”

            “I hear you,” said (Y/N). “Sherlock hears you. He’s coming.” They blinked as the world spun. They needed to hold on a little longer. The footsteps ended in the doorway behind them. “Open your eyes, Eurus. We’re here.”

            Sherlock knelt beside (Y/N) and Eurus. Eurus’s eyes opened. Tears had collected in her eyes.

            “You’re not lost any more,” said Sherlock softly. “We can bring you home.”

            Eurus sobbed. Sherlock pulled her into a hug. (Y/N) swallowed and watched with a heavy heart.

            “Now, you just…” Sherlock swallowed. “You just went the wrong way last time, that’s all. This time, get it right. Tell us how to save our friend.”

            “Eurus,” said (Y/N), and her eyes went to them. “Help us save John Watson.”

l

            John shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. (Y/N) lay in Sherlock’s arms as he carried them. The high was still subsiding, but the worst of it as over. (Y/N) shook as they burrowed into his coat, and Sherlock held them tightly.

            All of them watched Eurus let herself be led to a transport vehicle to take her back to…somewhere. Sherrinford, if everyone could be replaced. A new facility, if it was too compromised.

            “We just spoke to your brother,” said Lestrade, coming towards the group.

            He and the other police men, rescue workers, and EMTs had arrived on the scene the minute Sherlock had access to a phone and Eurus’s instructions on how to find and save John. They had all arrived at the right moment.

            “How is he?” said Sherlock.

            “He’s a bit shaken up, that’s all,” said Lestrade. “She didn’t hurt him. She just locked him in her old cell.”

            “What goes around, comes around.” John was recovering well. He had his sarcasm back.

            “Give me a moment, boys. (Y/N), can I get you anything?” said Lestrade. “A trip to the hospital, maybe?”

            “Later,” said (Y/N), just wanting to lay with their family for a while more.

            “Alright,” said Lestrade, walking towards his men.

            “Um, Mycroft,” said Sherlock. “Make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.”

            “Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” said Lestrade.

            “Thanks, Greg,” said Sherlock.

            John and Lestrade looked at him in astonishment even as Lestrade walked away.

            “Is the helicopter ready, man?” said Lestrade.

            “Yes,” said the policeman.

            “Then let’s move her,” said Lestrade.

            “Is that them, sir? Sherlock and (Y/N) Holmes?” said the policeman.

            “A fan, are you?” said Lestrade.

            Sherlock turned his back, and John joined him. (Y/N) just lay their head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

            “Well, they’re great people, sir,” said the policeman.

            “No, they’re better than that,” said Lestrade. “They’re good people.”

            (Y/N) smiled.

            “You okay?” said John quietly.

            “I said I’d bring her home,” said Sherlock. “I can’t, can I?”

            “Well, you gave her what she was looking for,” said John. “You and (Y/N). Context.”

            “Is that good?” wondered (Y/N) quietly.

            “It’s not good, it’s not bad, it’s…it is what it is,” said John.

            (Y/N) hummed and leaned their head against Sherlock again. They all stood silently for several long minutes until (Y/N)’s eyes started to blink slowly, and they furrowed their brow as a headache came on. They began to feel the burn of their bleeding arm, too.

            “I think it’s time for the hospital,” said Sherlock softly, squeezing them gently. He noticed every sign of discomfort.

            “If you insist,” said (Y/N), sighing. They closed their eyes. “Remind me to tell Mycroft something when I’m up and about again.”

            “Oh?” said John.

            (Y/N) grinned as their consciousness slipped away. “I’m the clever one.”

l

            “Alive? For all these years?!” cried Mrs. Holmes. She glared furiously at Mycroft cross his desk. Mr. Holmes stood beside her, equally as angry. (Y/N) and Sherlock hung back near the door. “How is that even possible?”

            “What Uncle Rudi began…I though it best to continue,” said Mycroft.

            “I’m not asking how you did it, you idiot boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Holmes. “I’m asking how could you?”

            “I was trying to be kind,” said Mycroft softly.

            “Kind?” Mrs. Holmes scoffed. “Kind? You’ve told us our daughter was dead.”

            “Better that than tell you what she had become,” said Mycroft. “I’m sorry.”

            “Whatever she became,” said Mr. Holmes. “Whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our daughter.”

            “And my sister,” said Mycroft.

            “Then you should have done better,” said Mrs. Holmes.

            “He did his best,” said Sherlock.

            “Then he’s very limited,” said Mrs. Holmes.

            “Where is she?” said Mr. Holmes.

            “Back in Sherrinford. Secure, this time,” said Mycroft. “People have died. Without doubt, she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There’s no possibility she’ll ever be able to leave.”

            “When can we see her?” said Mr. Holmes.

            “There’s no point,” said Mycroft.

            “How dare you say that!” snapped Mrs. Holmes.

            “She won’t talk,” said Mycroft. “She won’t communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed beyond our view. There are no words that can reach her now.”

            “Sherlock?” said Mrs. Holmes, looking at her younger son. “Well? You were always the grown-up. What do we do now?”

            Sherlock looked at (Y/N). They looked back at him. He nodded, and they looked at Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes, and Mycroft.

            “I…have an idea,” said (Y/N).

            “Tell us,” said Mrs. Holmes. “Please.”

l

            Sherlock and (Y/N) stood outside Eurus’s cell. She sat on a stool, facing away from them. She didn’t move or even flinch as they opened their bags and took out their violins. They stood, positioned themselves,

            and played.

            Their music wove together into a tune that communicated just how much they felt in that moment. They played and let the sound reach Eurus, even as she just sat there.

            Abruptly, she stood. She moved robotically to face them. Sherlock and (Y/N) paused. She looked at them, face and eyes blank. (Y/N) and Sherlock resumed.

            Eurus picked up her violin and positioned it. She drew the bow across the strings. Her music joined theirs.

            Words were beyond her, but, just as (Y/N) had seen before, her associated of feelings with songs, rhythm, music, meant there was something that could reach her. Eurus didn’t have to be alone anymore. The Holmes family could still find one another, even when seemingly lost. They would play as long as it took for Eurus to be able to look at her family and really see them.

            The Final Problem was solved.

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[stayandot8]

Heart and Seoul

Genre: tooth-aching fluff

Relationship type: married nonidol!Chan x fem reader

Important Contents: thank you the request friend :) I immediately got an idea when you sent this to me and I'm sorry it took so long to write. I hope you like it.

request can be seen here.

WC: 1.8k

masterlist

Hubby: Guess what I got???

A picture arrived a second later of three plane tickets, all with the same destination: Seoul, South Korea. A flash of shock hit me and my fingers worked faster than my brain could process. 

“Isn’t it awesome?! My parents helped pay for them so don’t worry, I didn’t spend too much money. Well, not yet anyways. I’m going to buy a snow suit for Celeste because she’s never seen snow before and she’ll want to play in it because if she’s anything like me but that’s beside the point!” Chris was so excited and when he was excited, he rambled about everything and anything. A change that occurred after he became a dad, but a welcome one at that. Getting him to share his feelings wasn’t too too hard when I came along, but ever since his daughter was born, he was a babbling mess. A good change, really. After five years, he’d really mellowed out with her safety. She had too many clothes to begin with with the overexcitement of her arrival from her uncles, but now she was down to only a few new outfits a week, and now he at least acted like he was thinking about it when he changed his mind from a ‘no’ to a ‘yes’. He couldn’t deny his little girl anything. 

“Chris, she has snow clothes. Her grandmother bought some for her the last time we went to Korea in the winter just in case it snowed, which she’s still upset about.”

“I know, the weather app is stupid, they never know anything.”

“Chris! She has enough clothes! We’re going to have to give her our master closet if you keep buying her more things!” He was quiet to this, like he was actually thinking about the logistics of it. “Babe, she’s not getting our closet.”

“I know!”

“You were thinking about it though.”

“...Maybe. Then I was thinking about everything else I could buy her with all that room.”

“Chris…” I said warningly. 

“I’m done, I’m done. She’s not getting our closet.”

“Good.”

“But she is getting a snow suit. Okay, love you, bye!” I clutched my phone as he hung up, shaking my head and wondering where in the world he was going to put one more thing she didn’t need. It wasn’t like he was buying nonsense, it was just that he couldn’t tell her no if she really wanted something. He was a good dad like that. 

Me: Christmas with the uncles sounds good :) 

Hubby: Start packing. We leave in three days :) 

Me: Won’t mom be upset we won’t be in Sydney for the holiday?

Hubby: My mom will be fine, she’s used to holidays without me. 

Me: Don’t remind me 

Hubby: It’s yours we have to worry about. 

It was true, I was worried that my mother would be upset about a holiday without her grandchild. She loved them more than anything, cherished her truly. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt about it. 

Hubby: We’ll tell her together. We’re adults now, we can choose to spend the holidays wherever we like. 

Always reading my mind, my husband. 

The front door opened and shut, letting in the Sydney breeze along with it and a head of dark hair waltzed right in. Heading straight for the fridge, she reached for a small bag of apple slices just out of her reach. 

“Mommy!”

“Yes, baby, do you need some help?” I was already off my stool at the kitchen island and heading towards her. 

“Yes please!” She turned her shining eyes towards me, just as warm and comforting as her father’s. Her smile pushed her round cheeks upwards toward her eyes, just like his. Chan said she had my nose and he was more thankful for that than anything. He hated his nose. 

She was still reaching for the bag, knocking a bottle of water to the floor. “Whoops! I’ll get it Mommy.”

“Oh thank you Cece, that was very helpful of you.” She loved hearing these things, loved hearing how she helped someone. Anyone. More of her father’s features shining through, she just loved to help in any way she could. I opened the bag and handed it to her. “There you go, baby .Do you want to watch some TV before your grandmas and grandpas come over for dinner?” 

Once in a while, all the grandparents came over for dinner to spend time with the three of us. They wanted to see their Cece before all the holiday craziness came and they had to get busy with everything else that came with the holidays. 

With the house smelling like grilled meat and rice, the doorbell rang like chimes in the wind, a touch from Chris when we bought the house. Cece ran to the door, yelling “I got it, I got it!” She opened the door to both sets of grandparents flinging their arms wide open at the sight of her at the door, her red sparkly dress swinging as she lept for them. They hugged her, bags swinging from their arms as all four of them came around her. 

I was luckier than most with my in-laws. They had welcomed me with the most open of arms into their family and made me feel like a part of the family, like they had always been there just waiting for me. My parents got along with them, his mother bonding with mine over their love of plants and house decor. Our fathers got along with sports, the only issue ever being who was paying for the wedding (they both wanted to pay for it). They loved me and I loved them. I knew this situation wasn’t common, so I cherished it whenever they all came together. 

“Cece, are you going to let them come in?” I laughed while they hugged her, knowing they wouldn't let go until she did. 

“Oh, it’s fine, she’s fine.” Chris’s mom said while the others were putting their belongings in the hall closet. She picked up her favorite grandchild and held her until she arrived in the living room with all her toys neatly stacked. Celeste had a habit that she picked up from her father of finding joy in organization. It had to come from him because it definitely did not come from me.

As the other grandparents gathered around Cece on the floor, my dad followed me out the back door to find Chris hard at work grilling. They hugged and we watched Chris grill. 

“How’s the producing business, Chris?” Neither took their eyes off the meat.

“It’s good! Keeps me busy, but I get to meet celebrities so it has it’s perks. And the company is still good with letting me off for time with Cece. So I can’t complain.”

“That’s because you still work on your days off. I still haven’t been able to stop him.”

I sighed and gave Chan’s back a reproachful look. My dad chuckled. 

“Honey, you haven’t been able to stop him from working since you started dating. Remember Valentine’s Day a couple years ago?”

“Hey!” Chan finally turned around, mouth open in mock shock. “You said you were okay! You know how hard it was to get Tiger JK to actually sit down and work with me.”

“I do! And I’m still proud you managed to get it done in time.” I smiled and took his free hand that wasn’t holding a giant pair of tongs. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be a little salty that you had to miss our second Valentines together.” His eyes squinted. 

“And have I made it up to you every year since?” He cocked his eyebrow. 

“I need a beer! Anybody else?” My dad quickly jumped up to head back inside for said refreshment. I shot Chan a smirk. 

“Was that necessary?”

“Hey, he could’ve done the math. Cece was born in November.” I rolled my eyes. His tone suddenly got serious. “Do you want to tell them now or after we eat?”

“After. Let them enjoy their time with her now.”

*

“You what?!”

The plates were cleared, Cece was passed out on the couch watching her favorite show, and the news had just come out. My mother, ever the drama queen, was fanning herself from the news. My father was helping her, if only to save himself the pain of a scolding from her later. 

“Well, they’re adults now, honey. They can do what they like.”

“But they’re taking her for the holidays too, Richard. Did you think about that?”

“Yes I did. They’ll be fine, they’ll be back afterwards.”

“And besides,” Chan’s mom interjected. “You can spend it with us! We can get wine-drunk and celebrate Christmas ourselves without the kids.”

Chris grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers. My mother just watched us smile at each other. 

“We miss Korea, mom. And Christmas is such a wonderful time of year, I just think this year we want to spend it differently. We’ll pick you up some of your favorite face cream while we’re there, too.”

“So the trip won’t be a total waste for you!” Chris tried to placate her, but her face remained unchanged. “Alright Mom, what about this: when we get back, you guys can have Celeste for a whole weekend, just her and you.” She perked up at that.

“Friday to Monday?”

“You can even bring her back Monday night.” Chris, ever the diplomat. A rush of pride went through me. My mom thought about it for a moment. 

“Deal.” 

Chris’s dad piped in.

“What about us?!”

*

Celeste did really well for her first plane ride. We arrived at the Incheon Airport around noon, but we didn’t know what awaited us outside until we stepped outside to our car waiting to take us to our hotel. Driven by Hyunjin with a passenger seat occupied by Felix, they waved us over before climbing out of the car to fling their arms open for Celeste, who stopped halfway to them, noticing the white fluff all around. 

“Daddy, what’s that?” she asked, her voice dripping in wonder. Her eyes shining with pure curiosity, she ignored her uncle’s waiting arms to hold her arms out to catch the falling flakes. They disappeared as quickly as they had landed in her hand, but that didn’t stop her from trying to catch all of the snowflakes in her immediate vicinity. She jumped and reached, trying to reach the clouds they were falling from. This insanely cute action was met with laughter from all angles, and before she knew it, she was hoisted into the air by her uncle to get a closer look. 

Chris and I stood by and let them catch up and enjoy the cold.

“She’s so cute. She takes after you, you know.” I placed a hand on my stomach. 

“I dunno. Maybe this one will be just as cute.”

[jessicas-pi]

medieval au incorrect quotes... again...

Ahsoka: *About to do something incredibly stupid* Barriss: I know I can't stop you, but I won't let you go by yourself.

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Cal: If I say yes am I joining a cult? Merrin: Possibly. Cal: I’m in.

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Rex: I am convinced Skywalker and Kenobi share a brain cell. Cody: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

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Zeb: Hey, Caleb, are you free on Friday? Like around eight? Caleb: Yeah. Zeb: And you, Hera? Hera: Umm… yes? Zeb: Great! Because I'm not. You two go out without me. Enjoy your date! Hera: Did he just-

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*Omega and Merrin are planning to break in somewhere* Omega: We need to distract the guards. Merrin: Right. Omega: What are we gonna do? Merrin: I'm gonna break their elbows while you poke their eyes. Omega: Merrin: Omega: Deal.

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Hera: *yawns* Caleb: Yeah, being that pretty must be tiring. Hera: Then you must be exhausted. Ahsoka: Will you two cut it out? Some of us are lonely.

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Cal: Where are your parents? Omega: What are parents? Cal: That’s just about the saddest thing I've ever heard.

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Caleb: Hera kissed me! Cal: Oh my Force! Oh my Force! Oh my Force! Caleb: It was unbelievable! Cal: Oh my Force! Oh my Force! Oh my Force! Korkie: Okay, we wanna hear everything. Cal, get the wine and shut the door. Caleb, does this end well or do we need tissues? Caleb: Oh, it ended very well. Cal: Do not start without me! Do not start without me! Korkie: Okay, alright, let’s hear about the kiss. Was it a soft brush against your lips or was it like a, you know, “I gotta have you now” kind of thing? Caleb: Well, at first it was really intense, you know? And then, oh stars, and then we just sort of sunk into it. Korkie: Ohh… So, okay, was she holding you? Or were her hands on your back? Caleb: First they started out on my waist and then they slid up and then they were in my hair. Cal and Korkie: Ohhh. *meanwhile* Hera, at her house: And, uh, and then I kissed him. Ahsoka: Tongue? Hera: Yeah. Omega: Cool.

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Ahsoka, to 4-year-old Sabine: Look at you! All cute and small! I could just eat you up! Sabine: *proceeds to kick her in the shin and run away* Ursa, walking past: Rule number 1, don't call Sabine cute or small.

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Padme: I love you. Anakin: I love you too. I've waited so long to hear you say that. *Padme and Anakin kiss passionately* Ahsoka, to Rex: You owe me 20 dollars.

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Ahsoka: Do you mind if I slyly mention that you’re single? Barriss: Do not do that. Ahsoka: You won’t even notice! Adenn, entering: Princess, you wanted to see me again? Ahsoka: Barriss's single Barriss:

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Caleb: How did you even get in here? Sabine: Ezra's window! Or, as I like to call it, "Sabine's door"! Caleb: I’m closing the window.

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Rex: State your name, rank, and intention. Ahsoka: Ahsoka, Ahsoka, fun.

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Sabine: Watcha doin? Ezra: Stealing my neighbour’s cat. Sabine: Scandalous. Sabine: Can I help?