#spring bean text

[authorhjk1]

Cherry blossoms

(Kim Nakyoung X Lee Nagyung X Male Reader) word count: 3000 words

Prompt by @woollypoison. Thanks for hosting!

The sun warms your face as a cold breeze brushes past you. You open your jacket, welcoming this year's spring. The people around you laugh and chatter and you hear all kinds of beautiful sounds mixed with the smell of candy and spicy food.

It was her idea to meet here and you couldn't be more happy. Your go to first date would've been a coffee and a walk in the park and maybe dinner afterwards. But this seems way more fun. The funfair is bustling with life. The ferris wheel is the main attraction, but there are a couple of smaller rides as well. You're still standing at the entrance, so you can't see everything yet, but the delicious smelling food makes your mouth water.

Glancing at your phone, you wonder if you should text her. She's five minutes late already. Maybe she's just stuck in traffic or something? Or does she have dance practice today?

It still feels odd, or rather surreal, to you that you're actually going on a date with an idol, a celebrity. And the craziest part? She went up to you and asked for your number. Not the other way around. That's why you've been living the dream for this past week, chatting with her over text every single day. And you hope to continue this dream by going on an amazing date with her.

When you hear someone call your name, you turn around to where the voice came from. You see her walking towards you, her face covered by a mask, but her smile still clearly visible in her eyes.

You smile back at her, until she finally reaches you. Only now do you realize that she seems to be slightly nervous. She glances at you, then somewhere else and then back at you.

"Hi, Nakyoung."

You greet her when she reaches you and you see her eyes sparkle when she hears you calling her name.

"Hi."

She looks up at you for a moment, before she continues.

"Sorry I'm a little late."

"Not a problem."

You turn in a way that your left side is facing her, while your other side is facing the fair. You gesture with your right hand towards the beautiful chaos.

"Let's go?"

To your surprise Nakyoung doesn't just walk past you, but also swiftly hooks her arm into your left arm. You put your left hand in the pocket of your jacket as you feel her holding onto you.

"Can we go over there?"

Of course Nakyoung's first choice is food. The two of you walk up to a booth and you buy her and yourself a couple of bungeoppang, fish shaped buns.

"These are so good."

You hear her gasp and watch Nakyoung munch on her pastry filled with red bean paste. Your own tastes amazing as well and the two of you happily continue your stroll around the fair.

Soon, Nakyoung comes to a hold and points at another booth.

"We have to try that!"

And before you can react, you feel her pulling you towards the next attraction. It seems to be some sort of duck fishing. You quickly pay the owner a few bucks, then you and Nakyoung arm yourselves with a pair of small fishing rods and walk up to the small pond that is filled with little rubber ducks in all kind of colours.

"I'm gonna get twice as many as you."

You laugh at her competitiveness and position yourself next to her.

"Keep dreaming."

The two of you emerse yourselves in the fishing of the small ducks. Soon you're neck on neck, the already captured ducks lying right next to the pool. As the game continues on, the ducks swim around in circles. Unfortunately for Nakyoung, they seem to prefer the middle of the pool, which gives you an advantage. You're taller than her and you can easily lean forward to capture the ducks that she can't reach. But instead of complaining or giving up, she decides to hold onto the edge of the pool and lean over even further. Her left foot leaves the ground and you are afraid she might dive head first into the pool.

And of course that happens only a couple of moments later. Someone accidentally bumps into your date and Nakyoung heads straight for the water. You're able to hold onto her before she joins the rubber ducks with a yelp of surprise. Once she is safe, you turn around, ready to confront the person who almost pushed her into the pool, but you're unable to talk when you see who's standing barely a meter away.

Two gorgeous women are looking at you and Nakyoung. You immediately recognize them as Jiheon and Nagyung. You can't believe your meeting two members of Fromis_9 here, while you're on a date with a member of TripleS.

"H-Hello."

Your stutter makes your cheeks flush. You must look so dumb right now. Jiheon smiles at you, and Nagyung nods her head as a greeting.

"Oh my god."

Nakyoung recognized the two idols a second after you did.

"Hello, sunbaes."

She bows respectfully and the two girls bow as well. You don't think they know each other well on a personal level, but you can tell by Nakyoung's nervousness that she looks up to the two of them.

"Hi, Nakyoung."

Jiheon gives her a cute wave, but Nagyung focuses on you.

"And you are...?"

You glance at Nakyoung, not sure if you should say that you're her date.

"I'm.... uhm..."

"He is my boyfriend."

You almost shouted "What???" after hearing that word leave her lips. Why didn't she just say date? You feel something warm in your stomach. Nakyoung's boyfriend? You wish.

"Oh, nice to to met you."

Jiheon smiles at you once more.

The three of them chat for a while longer, while you just stand next to Nakyoung. You don't dare say anything, afraid you'd make a fool of yourself in front of three celebrities. With only Nakyoung, you felt more relaxed, felt like you could be yourself. But that's probably because you've known her for a while now.

Eventually, Jiheon and Nagyung head towards the next attraction and you and Nakyoung walk to the owner of the stall to collect your prizes. You can now feel that what she said earlier is hanging between you like an unspoken bond. You catch her glancing at you as the man hands you a rabbit plushy while she gets a keychain. You won your little competition, but that seems to be very unimportant right now.

"Sorry, I was just nervous."

Nakyoung admits as the two of you continue your stroll through the fair.

"I didn't want to put any pressure on you. I should've said date, not boyfriend."

"It's fine. I don't mind."

You give her a teasing smile and Nakyoung giggles in embarrassment.

The two of you continue your date, walking around the fair and trying all sorts of things.

"This tastes amazing."

Nakyoung is eating once again. Some sort of waffle with powdered sugar on it. While she focuses on eating, you enjoy the moment. Her next to you. The soft breeze in the air that makes you smell all kinds of different sweets. A couple of cherry blossoms which fall off a tree next to a nearby stand.

As you look around, you catch Jiheon and Nagyung walking past you on the other side of the crowd. They don't seem to notice you, so you focus back on Nakyoung who pulls you towards another attraction.

Throughout the next two hours, you continue to see glimpses of Jiheon and Nagyung here and there. Sometimes the four of you even meet at the same booth. You have to admit that it distracts you a little bit. Of course you could just pretend that it’s because they’re idols. But that’s not the only reason. You feel oddly attracted to Nagyung. You don’t know what it is about her that does this to you. Is it her face? Her body? You feel really bad about it, because you’re on a date with Nakyoung and not Nagyung. And you really do enjoy Nakyoung’s company. You like hanging out with her and you want continue to date her further. And it’s not like Nakyoung is unatraktive or something. She’s just as hot as Nagyung is.

You feel really bad by the time you and Nakyoung finally reach the ferris wheel. You saw it from the moment you stepped foot onto the fair and it seems like Nakyoung had her eyes on it for a while as well. You try to get rid of your thoughts about Nagyung as you and your date line up in the queue.

“The view is gonna be so good.”

Nakyoung’s excited little jumps make you smile as her eyes are glued to the farris wheel. When people who are getting of walk past you, you pull Nakyoung back into the line so that no one bumps into her. Only when she slightly squeezes your hand do you realize that you are holding hers. You look at her and Nakyoung looks back up at you. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes. You heitate and you can see a glimpse of unceritanty on her face as well. In that moment Nagyung has been erased from your head. You slowly lean down. Nakyoung’s breath quickens and then you find her lips. They’re softer than you expected. The light taste of the waffle she had earlier still lingers on them. You feel her holding onto your arm as she engages into the kiss as well. It’s a soft one. Just pure affection for each other.

When the two of you finally break apart, Nakyoung immediately turns away. You catch a hint of pink on her cheeks and you yourself still can’t believe the two of you just kissed. You expected it to happen at the end of the date, maybe even on another day, but not right now. And Nakyoung is still holding onto your arm.

"Hello there, lovebirds."

You and Nakyoung quickly turn around. It's Jiheon who spoke up, her smile bright and teasing. Her and Nagyung have lined up for the ferris wheel as well.

"Oh, hi again, sunbae."

Nakyoung gives the two of them another quick bow. You try not to look at Nagyung. You don't want to endanger what you now have with Nakyoung.

Your date and the two fromis girls start up a conversation once more, talking about the fair and some special attractions and food. You give your input once in a while. You don't notice how Nagyung looks at you. And you don't notice how Nakyoung looks at the two of you. She sees the older woman looking you up and down. Nakyoung's breath hitches in surprise when she sees Nagyung's eyes hold at your crotch for a moment. She bites her lip as if she's seeing something she shouldn't be seeing. Nakyoung tries to not glance at your crotch as well. Just the idea of Nagyung thinking about sleeping with you as her body heating up. You aren't even her boyfriend. It's just one date. And yet, she still feels the tingle of your lips on hers. She feels your hand holding hers. And Nagyung has the audacity to to strip you naked with just her eyes?

If Nakyoung was the older and superior of the two, she for sure would've said something by now. But she's not. So she stays quiet, occasionally glancing at Nagyung who is still focused on you. The jealousy starts to burn inside of her as Nagyung continues to look at you in a way she shouldn't. Nakyoung wonders if you don't notice or if you're just pretending. The line moves along and while you talk, Jiheon laughs at your joke and playfully hits your shoulder. Your date bites her lip in anger to prevent herself from speaking up. Jiheon is into you too now? Or is she just imagining things? Her eyes narrow as the two women continue to interrupt your date.

After a couple of minutes, you and Nakyoung finally get to leave them behind and enter the ferris wheel.

"Have fun, guys."

Nagyung waves after you. You interpret her smile as genuinely happy for the two of you, while Nakyoung is sure that her colleague's smile is full of mischief.

"Have you enjoyed yourself so far?"

You ask after the door closes and you and Nakyoung take off.

"Hm? Oh, yes. I love it here."

Her smile seems kinda forced.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

You can tell that she isn't fine, but you're not sure what to say. Instead, you try to change the topic.

"Isn't the view amazing from up here? You can see everything and-"

"I'm jealous."

You look at Nakyoung, who us staring at her feet.

"What do you mean?"

"Nagyung unnie looked like she was totally into you. And...And I'm afraid you'd rather be with her than me."

You feel bad for Nakyoung, but you're also surprised. Is Nagyung really into you?

"I'm on a date with you, aren't I?"

Nakyoung hesitantly nods.

"I'm having a lot of fun with you. And I...And I'd like to see you again after today."

Her smile lights up as she looks up at you.

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm really enjoying myself with you."

You can see her hesitate, but the she stands up. To your surprise she straddles your lap and takes your face into her hands. A moment later, her lips touch yours again. The two of you close your eyes as you make out on your way to the top of the ferris wheel. Suddenly Nakyoung lets out a whine into your mouth as she starts to grind into you. Is she getting carried away? You're not sure if you want to move this fast. But it's Nakyoung. Why wouldn't you want to be with her?

"I really really like you."

You hear her whisper into your ear.

"I don't want to lose you now that I've found you."

You can tell she's a romantic, but it feels like she's about to do something that is not exactly romantic.

"I'll make you stay with me, whatever it takes."

"What do you mean?"

You watch her lean back, her eyes locked onto yours. Then she slowly slides off your lap, until she squats on the floor in front of you.

"Nakyoung..."

"Shhh."

She puts a finger over her lips to shush you.

"No talking. Just enjoy the view."

You're not sure if she means the view outside or herself. But your eyes are glued to her as she now reaches for your belt.

"Oh my god."

You whisper, unable to stay quiet. The kiss earlier was already unexpected. Nakyoung in your lap was more than you ever dreamed. And now she wants to give you a blowjob?

Once she reaches into your boxers to take your cock out, you feel yourself harden in her hand. Her hands are little cold because of the still slightly cold weather. But then you feel her warm breath brush against your tip.

"You...You don't have to do this to make me stay."

Nakyoung looks up at you.

"But I want to."

Her fingers gently slide along the length of your shaft. She strokes you a couple of times, making sure you're as hard as you can get. Then she lowers her head and your own cock disappears from your view. A moment later you feel her lips brush against your tip. It almost feels like she's keeping her mouth closed and is pushing your cock past her lip. They're soon wrapped tightly around your tip. Then, Nakyoung takes more of you into her mouth. Her hand holds your base, while her other hand rests on your knee.

"Damn, Nakky..."

You can't stop her nickname from leaving your lips. As if she didn't hear you, she continues to take more of your cock. When she reaches the halfway mark, she moves back up again until only your tip is inside her mouth. With a loud pop, she releases it as well.

"Does this feel good?"

She asks, almost innocently.

"It's amazing."

Her smile makes your heart flutter.

"I like it too."

She lowers her head once more to take your cock into her mouth again. This times she moves a little quicker. Soon her head is moving up and down on your dick, with her hand on your base gently stroking you as well. The combination of her mouth and her hand stimulates your whole cock. You have to close your eyes, your hands holding onto the edge of the bench you're sitting on.

"Oh god..."

A sigh leaves your lips when Nakyoung starts to make noise on purpose. The wet sounds of her slurping up your cock fill the small passenger car. Your dick is getting coated in her saliva and thanks to her lips and her hand it gets spread all over your length. Small bubbles start to form on your cock and her lips as she continues to let them slide up and down.

"This feels amazing."

You have to admit as your head rolls back. When Nakyoung takes her hand off your cock, you wonder if she's going to take all of you into her mouth. Both hands now rest on your knees as she continues to let her lips glide down further.

All your thoughts about Nagyung are gone by now. Only Nakyoung is on your mind. Her, her mouth, her lips and her tongue too. Her tongue which is swirling around your tip and seems to lick at every inch of your cock.

You feel a familiar knot tighten in your abdomen as Nakyoung continues. The sounds she is making don't help you resist your orgasm at all. You look out of the window, trying to distract yourself. Maybe you can hold on a little longer. You realize your passenger car is already past the highest point. In fact, it seems like you don't have much time until your ride stops.

"Nakky, I..."

A groan interrupts your words. Nakyoung eventually takes her mouth off your cock.

"Are you close? I can feel you pulsating in my mouth."

Her words make you even harder.

"Yes. I'm close."

You manage to say. Nakyoung smiles. She looks satisfied and proud of herself.

"Is it okay if I make you cum?"

You quickly nod.

"Yes. It's more than okay. Please."

You watch her wrap both her hands around your cock. She looks up at you, her big eyes full of curiosity and lust. Instead of just moving her hands, she raises her entire uper body and them lowers it again. Her two hands form a single unit of fingers which move from your tip to your base and back to your tip. She does it again. And again. Up and down. Up and down. You feel dizzy as you force yourself to look into her eyes. Your vision soon becomes blurry as you feel your orgasm coming.

"Nakky..."

You whisper.

Only when you're a second away you both realize that you don't know where to put your cum. Involuntary, Nakyoung becomes the receiving end of your orgasm. She yelps in surprise when the first streak of your semen hits her face, mainly her nose and cheek. The next one her lips. After that, her collarbone. The last couple of streaks soil her top.

"Oh, shit."

She murmurs. You can't tell if she's turned on, or disappointed that her top got hit.

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

Hi, everyone!

Because I reached the limit of 3k words for this prompt I couldn't continue the story. But I'll definetely get to part two when I have the time.

Stay healthy!

[hyunjinsmuze]

Forget Me, Gently

warnings: Slight smut (one scene), car crash, head trauma, coma, memory loss

contains: Angst, light smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, soft romance

summary: They fell in love deeply, messily, completely. But after the crash… she forgot. And he’s willing to love her all over again, even if it breaks him.

words: 5.5k

pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

It was the sort of afternoon that hung in the air like a held breath—cloud-filtered sunlight and the faint scent of cinnamon and roasted beans drifting through the small café tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. Y/N liked this one for its quiet corners and how the baristas never tried to rush you, even when you spent three hours rereading the same page of a sketchbook. The café was warm, lived-in, imperfect in the way real places are. Familiar.

She didn’t notice him at first. Not until the crash happened.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Her world jolted. The warmth of her just-bought vanilla latte spread across the front of her hoodie, soaking through in seconds. She gasped, startled more than anything, blinking up at the tall figure before her. He looked horrified. Apologetic. And annoyingly… beautiful.

“I didn’t see you, seriously, I’m so sorry.” He grabbed too many napkins, probably, but pressed a few into her hands with a desperation that almost made her laugh.

“I—it’s okay,” she said, more out of instinct than truth. “It was an accident.”

He nodded quickly, eyes scanning the mess he’d made, the liquid soaking into her sketchbook on the table. That made her flinch.

“Oh—your book,” he said, frowning like he’d just watched a kitten fall off a windowsill. “God, I’ll replace it. I swear, I’ll, can I… buy you another coffee?”

She raised an eyebrow, half amused. “You want to repay me by getting me another coffee after ruining my first one?”

A beat passed. His lips twitched into a crooked smile. “And I’ll even sit with you while you drink it. If you let me.”

She looked at him properly now—tall, fair-skinned, with soft dark eyes and a mouth that looked like it belonged in a painting. Something about him was too delicate to be real but not fragile. No, not fragile. Something else. Like art that knew it was meant to be looked at slowly.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, voice lighter than she expected.

He smiled. “Hyunjin.”

“Okay, Hyunjin. You’re forgiven. Buy me coffee.”

They stood in line together. Her hoodie was ruined, the sketchbook damp, her day derailed but she couldn’t quite stop the curl of interest low in her stomach. He had this way of being intensely present, even in silence.

As they waited, he glanced at her, then at her sketchbook. “Do you draw?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly for myself.”

A soft hum. “I paint. A little.”

Her heart skipped. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “mostly oils or charcoal. But I’ve never really shown anyone. It’s more of a… thing I do to breathe.”

She nodded like she understood. Because she did.

When their drinks arrived, Hyunjin’s phone buzzed. He winced. “I have to be somewhere, but… can I text you? Maybe make up for the sketchbook with a proper coffee?”

She hesitated—only a little before handing him her phone.

He grinned as he typed, “See you.”

And just like that, he was gone, a gust of spring air with a paint-stained soul.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It had been a few days since that unexpected moment, the spilled coffee, the nervous apologies, the way his eyes had looked at her like she was something fragile and important all at once. Y/N found herself replaying it over and over, the image of him lingering in her mind more vividly than anything she’d seen in weeks.

The little café had become more than just a quiet refuge; it now held the echo of his voice, the warmth of his smile. Even the smell of cinnamon and roasted beans seemed to carry a new meaning, as if the ordinary had somehow become extraordinary.

She was sketching there again when her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. She glanced down, not expecting much. But then she saw the name.

Hyunjin.

A sudden flutter warmed her chest. Her fingers hesitated, then she tapped out a reply, the simple act feeling like a bridge stretching between two worlds.

‘Hey, how’s it going?’

His answer came quickly, and she felt her heart lift.

‘I wanted to ask you something.’

She blinked at the screen, a small smile playing on her lips.

‘What’s up?’

‘Would you like to come to an art studio with me? he asked. We could draw together. Just for fun.’

Her breath hitched. Drawing together. The idea was sweet, simple, yet it carried an unspoken promise of closeness. She imagined him, paintbrush in hand, his eyes steady and focused as he captured the light in a moment or the curve of a smile. Somehow, she thought, he would see her in ways no one else did.

‘I’d love that, she typed back, cheeks warming.’

Great. I’ll send you the details. Can’t wait, his message appeared, and a small thrill ran through her.

That night, Hyunjin sat alone in his room, his phone screen glowing softly in the dim light. The thought of Y/N smiling at the idea of drawing with him made his chest tighten with something tender and new.

He wondered how someone could feel so significant in such a short time. There was something about her her quiet strength, the way she looked at the world that made him want to show her all the colors he kept hidden beneath the surface.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

When Y/N arrived at the art studio a few days later, the soft hum of music and the rich scent of oils filled the air. The space buzzed quietly with creativity. At first, she felt a little out of place, unsure about her own drawing skills among all the paint and brushes. But the light pouring through the large windows made everything look warm and inviting, like a safe little sanctuary.

She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Hyunjin had only mentioned his art in passing, over texts, but she’d never seen it for real. The idea of standing next to him, sketching together, made her nervous in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She wandered deeper inside, her shoes soft against the wooden floor. Then she spotted him—sitting on a stool near a blank canvas, pencil in hand, eyes focused like he was already imagining what the drawing would become. His dark hair fell in gentle waves over his forehead. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up in a way that made her stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he said, standing quickly. “So, you actually came.”

She smiled, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “You invited me.”

He motioned around the room. “This is where I come when I need to get away from everything. It’s peaceful here.”

She nodded slowly. “It really feels like a sanctuary.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, she saw something vulnerable in him—a side he didn’t usually show. “What’s your favorite thing to draw?”

“Flowers,” she said, smiling at him.

“Okay,” he said, a small grin forming. ���Let’s draw each other’s favorite flower.”

Her heart jumped. “That sounds perfect.”

She learned his favorite flower was a black rose. She told him hers were tulips.

They sat down, sketchbooks in their laps. Hyunjin’s pencil moved with practiced ease. Every line was fluid and graceful, capturing the delicate beauty of the flowers with surprising depth. Watching him, Y/N felt mesmerized—not just by the art but by the calm way he worked. It wasn’t about being perfect; it was about the process, the flow.

She felt that same calm slowly settle inside her.

“How did you get into art?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Hyunjin didn’t look up right away. His breath slowed, and she saw him gathering his thoughts.

“I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t drawing,” he said finally. “It started as a way to escape. My family was always moving, always busy, and it was hard to find something that felt like mine. Art… it was always there. It helped me breathe.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten. He was sharing a part of himself he didn’t often show.

“That’s why I love it,” he continued, still avoiding her gaze. “It’s one of the only things that makes sense to me. The only thing that lets me really be myself.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say but feeling the weight of his words. “I get that.”

They worked quietly for a while. Occasionally, their eyes met and a soft smile passed between them small, genuine moments that said more than words.

Hyunjin stretched, breaking the silence. “How’s your drawing coming?”

She looked down at her sketch and smiled. “It’s coming along. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“You’re good,” he said softly, meaning it.

She blushed, her heart fluttering. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer. “I mean it. You have something special, Y/N. You always have.”

After his words hung softly between them, she realized how much she wanted this—this slow, fragile connection that felt like it could break or bloom at any moment.

When they finally packed up hours later, the energy between them had shifted. They were still the same two people who had met by chance, but something new had begun—a closeness that neither could yet put into words.

As they stepped outside into the warm evening light, Hyunjin glanced sideways at her, his expression unreadable for a second.

“Thanks for coming,” he said quietly. “I really enjoyed this.”

Y/N smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too. I didn’t realize how much I missed creating with someone.”

He nodded, and for a moment, they just stood there letting the quiet words hang between them like the last golden rays of the setting

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

A few days had passed since their last meeting, but Hyunjin and Y/N found themselves texting and calling more than either expected. It wasn’t planned more like a song that plays unexpectedly, yet somehow stays with you.

That night, they were on FaceTime, their faces softly lit by the glow of their separate rooms. Y/N leaned back against her pillows, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids as the night stretched on. Hyunjin sat on his bed, casual in a plain white shirt, his hair tousled but still perfectly styled.

“I still can’t believe you’re a K-pop idol,” Y/N said softly, disbelief coloring her tone. “Like, that kind of idol.”

Hyunjin chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… it’s kind of hard to believe sometimes. I don’t really look the part, do I?” His laugh was light but tinged with uncertainty.

She smiled, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No, it’s not that. You just seem so normal.” She flushed as soon as the words slipped out. “I mean, not that you’re not special—just... you don’t have that superstar vibe. You’re just you. And honestly, that’s nice.”

There was a pause as Hyunjin absorbed her words, his eyes softening. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, thoughts drifting. She had a way of making everything seem effortless. She didn’t try to impress. She simply was. And that was captivating.

“Well, that’s the hard part sometimes,” he said quietly, the playful tone gone. “People expect perfection when you’re in the spotlight. But I’m just me. And sometimes... that doesn’t feel like enough.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the raw vulnerability in his voice. “I get it. You’re more than what people see on stage. You’re a person. And that’s more than enough.”

His smile was soft, almost shy, eyes briefly flicking away before meeting hers again. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re one of the few who makes me feel that way.”

Her chest tightened at the honesty. How much of his life was public, and how little of himself he could share? And here, in this quiet moment, they were sharing pieces of their true selves.

She smiled gently. “I’m glad. You’re really important, Hyunjin. To a lot of people.”

His smile lingered, something unspoken passing between them—tender, intense. He wanted to say more but let the silence hold the space.

As the night deepened, Y/N grew sleepy. Her eyes drooped, struggling to stay open. Hyunjin noticed, his smile deepening.

“Y/N,” he said softly, voice low and soothing, “are you getting tired?”

She yawned, sheepishly. “Yeah... I’m sorry. I just can’t stay awake. You’ve kept me up too late.” She giggled quietly.

His lips curved in an affectionate smile, eyes soft. “It’s okay. You don’t have to stay up for me.”

She shifted under the covers, surrendering to the sleepiness. “I’m fine. I’m just really glad we’re talking.”

His smile softened even more, intimate. “Me too, Y/N. I’m really glad you’re in my life.”

And with that, she finally gave in. Her eyes fluttered closed as he watched her breathing slow. The sound of her soft sighs filled the quiet. She was asleep.

For a moment, Hyunjin stayed still, watching her peaceful face on the screen. His chest tightened with something unfamiliar but familiar all at once.

He reached for the sketchbook beside him, part of his nightly routine when his mind was too full. He hadn’t planned to draw her. Not consciously. But as his pencil met the paper, her image began to form.

He sketched her as he saw her—delicate features, lips parted gently in sleep, soft hair framing her face. There was a beauty in her letting go, a calm he admired. The more he drew, the deeper his feelings revealed themselves in every line and shadow.

He’d never drawn anyone like this before. It was like he could see her in a way words never could. She was warmth, light, and a breathtaking kind of beauty.

When he finished, he leaned back, staring at the sketch as if it held a secret. His heart ached with the truth it showed—his feelings for her, laid bare.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Days passed before they saw each other again. Though they spoke daily, a quiet tension lingered, something unspoken between them.

One afternoon, they sat together on a blanket at the Han River, the city skyline stretching beyond. The only sound was the gentle rush of water. The moment felt suspended in time, just for them.

Hyunjin watched her, a gentle smile playing on his lips, but his eyes held something else a hesitation, an unspoken question.

Y/N noticed and tilted her head. “What’s on your mind, Hyunjin?”

He blinked, shaking off the momentary trance. “I was just thinking about... how much I like being with you.”

Her heart skipped. She smiled warmly. “I enjoy spending time with you, too.”

They sat quietly before Y/N spoke again, curiosity flickering in her voice. “You never really showed me one of your songs. You talk about them, but you’ve never played me any.”

His expression softened. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been avoiding that. But... maybe you can hear one now.”

He handed her his headphones, their fingers brushing lightly, sending a shiver through her. She slipped them on, adjusting the volume as he pressed play.

Soft acoustic guitar filled her ears, followed by his smooth, tender voice.

The song was slow and full of emotion. His raw honesty felt like it was meant just for her—not flashy or loud, but lingering deep in the soul.

As the lyrics played, Y/N held her breath, her heart quietly hoping the song was about her.

“I don’t need anything but you,

I don’t need anything but you.”

The song ended. She took off the headphones, heart racing, looking at him.

“I... don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “That was... beautiful.”

He smiled softly, though his eyes held a guarded look. “I’m glad you like it.”

Her heart fluttered again. “Is it... about someone?”

He shook his head, brushing hair from his face. “Maybe... who knows.”

She nodded, hope quietly blossoming inside. Maybe it was her—the song, the feelings, the quiet confession.

Later, as the sun dipped and painted the sky pink and orange, Hyunjin drove her home. The car was filled with peaceful silence, heavy with unspoken words.

“I had fun today,” she said, turning to him.

He nodded, eyes flickering between her lips and eyes. “Yeah. I always have fun with you. You’re just... special.”

The silence grew thick, electric.

Neither knew who leaned in first, but their lips met—slow, deliberate, a kiss that didn’t last long but held everything.

They pulled apart, faces still close.

Hyunjin looked at her with a softness that made her heart thud painfully.

“Y/N... I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low and serious. “The kiss... I—”

She blinked, surprised by the apology. “Hyunjin... you don’t have to apologize.��

He bit his lip. “I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to rush anything.”

She smiled faintly, voice gentle. “We don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay.”

He nodded, relief flickering in his eyes. Leaning in once more, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving her standing with a full heart and the quiet promise of something beautiful beginning between them.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next night, the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Hyunjin stood in the center of his bedroom, taking in the scene he’d carefully prepared. Candles flickered along the windowsill, casting a warm glow that danced across the walls. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat on the nightstand, their scent blending with the subtle vanilla from the candles. On the bed, his carefully arranged snacksthe ones he knew were her favorites—waited.

He glanced at the clock. She would be here any minute now. His heart pounded with anticipation, mixed with a flutter of nerves. Tonight was special. He’d planned every detail, wanting to create a safe, intimate space just for them.

When the doorbell rang, he hurried to open it. There she was smiling brightly, eyes wide as she took in the scene.

“Hyunjin, this is beautiful,” she whispered, turning to look at him.

He smiled, feeling a soft blush rise to his cheeks. “I wanted tonight to be special.”

They settled on the bed, wrapped in the warm candlelight, and started watching a K-drama. But Hyunjin found himself distracted by her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled—it all held him captive.

After a while, he turned to her, heart beating fast. “Y/N,” he said, voice a little shaky, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

She looked at him, curious and maybe a little nervous.

“I… I really enjoy spending time with you,” he admitted, searching her eyes. “You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. And I just wanted you to know… I like you. A lot.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tender, full of everything neither had said out loud. They pulled back slowly, foreheads resting together.

“I feel the same way, Hyunjin,” she whispered.

Their lips met again, this time deeper, more hungry but still gentle. He pulled her close with such tenderness it made her chest ache. His hands smoothed over her back as he lifted her onto his lap, their bodies fitting together like two missing pieces of a quiet dream.

Slowly, he helped her out of her sweater, eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, like speaking any louder might break the moment.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached for him, tugging gently at the fabric of his shirt until it slipped off his shoulders. Her palms traced over the warm skin of his chest, learning him every curve and line.

They kissed again, deeper now. More sure. Hyunjin’s mouth moved down her jaw, over her throat, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses like he was memorizing every inch of her skin. She shivered beneath his touch as his hands roamed her waist, fingers curling around the waistband of her shorts, sliding them down slowly.

Everything about him was careful. Intentional.

No rush. No pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of two people choosing each other.

When they were finally bare, skin against skin, he paused forehead resting against hers, breath shallow, lips barely brushing.

“If you want to stop—”

“I don’t,” she whispered. “I want you.”

He eased her back into the pillows, kissing her slowly, deeply, as he moved over her. His body slid against hers in a rhythm as natural as breathing, every movement slow, unhurried, like they were writing a love letter with their touch.

He stayed still after he bottomed out, holding close, waiting for her permission to move.

She nodded. His thrusts were slow, making sure she felt everything—and she did. Her legs curled around him, anchoring him to her, hands spread across his back as he moved inside her.

“Hyunjin… close,” she moaned, nails raking down his skin.

“Me too… it’s okay, let go,” he whispered, steady and reassuring.

She gasped his name softly into the warm space between their mouths. He kissed her through it, whispering promises how good she felt, how beautiful she was, how much she meant to him.

The pressure built slowly, rising like a tide, until they both unraveled together—quiet, breathless, trembling—holding onto each other like they never wanted to let go.

Afterward, they stayed still.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, brushing her hair back.

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his skin. “I’ve never felt more safe.”

He closed his eyes, holding her tighter.

In that moment, there was no past to fear, no future to chase—just this.

Just her.

He didn’t say “I love you.” Not yet.

But the way he held her said everything.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the candlelight casting gentle shadows around them.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Their days blended into shared moments cooking together, late-night talks, spontaneous adventures. Hyunjin treasured every second, feeling more complete than ever before.

She loved him. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Even during practice, she would sit quietly in the studio, eyes always on him, watching him dance.

Over time, she grew close to the other members too. They welcomed her with open arms, sharing jokes and stories, making her feel like family.

He loved her more than words could say. She was his world, his muse, his everything.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

One evening, they went out for dinner. Afterward, under the shimmering city lights, they hailed an Uber and slipped into the backseat, hands intertwined.

“I can’t believe how happy I am,” Hyunjin said, turning to her. “These past few months have been the best of my life.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I love you so much.”

Suddenly, a blinding light filled the car, followed by screeching tires and a deafening crash.

She didn’t understand what was happening—one minute everything hurt, the next, everything went black.

Chaos surrounded him. The world spun. Pain seared through his body. He tried to move, to reach for her, but his limbs were heavy, unresponsive.

“I can’t see her... I can’t move... I can’t hear her...” panic flooded his mind.

Summoning all his strength, he shouted her name into the darkness before exhaustion took over.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room as Hyunjin slowly opened his eyes.

The lights were too bright. The sheets too white. Everything too clean, too cold. His throat felt like sandpaper, his chest heavy, as if something invisible was pressing down on it.

He blinked slowly, groggy, and turned his head a little too fast. Pain ricocheted behind his eyes and down his spine. A nurse rushed over, her hand steadying his shoulder to keep him from moving too quickly.

“You’re awake,” she said softly, her voice fragile, like she was afraid he might break. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Two days?

Panic thundered through him sharp, immediate.

“The car—Y/N,” he rasped. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

The nurse hesitated. Her eyes dropped, like she couldn’t meet his gaze. “She’s in a coma,” she said carefully. “There was head trauma. The doctors are doing everything they can… but it’s unclear if she’ll wake. And if she does, there’s a chance her memory may not return.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. His stomach dropped. Everything blurred the beeping monitors, the cold walls they all tilted around him.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. She—she was laughing. She was right there. She can’t—”

Tears came without warning. Hot, violent. His hands trembled as he pulled at the blanket, as if getting up seeing her would make this unreal.

But it was real.

And the guilt blossomed deep in his gut sharp, vile, unrelenting.

He was released from the hospital two days later with a few stitches on his forehead and a bruised rib. But he didn’t go home.

He went to her.

Every day.

Room 413. The numbers etched themselves into his memory, more permanent than any lyric he’d ever written.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t speak.

But Hyunjin did.

He sat by her bedside, holding her hand like it was the only real thing left.

“Hi, angel,” he whispered one day, voice raw. “It’s me again. You probably know that by now.” His voice cracked. “You always said I talked too much—that I’d ramble and never shut up. So maybe this will make you wake up, just to tell me to be quiet again.”

He chuckled through tears. “I’d take anything, Y/N. Anything at all.”

He brought her tulips—her favourite and set them by the window, even though she couldn’t see them. Played their favorite songs. Talked about the café, the night they painted each other’s favorite flowers. Told her their life’s story in color, hoping it would reach her.

One night, he brought his sketchbook and drew her lying there—so still, so quiet. Then he tore the page out and burned it.

Because that wasn’t her.

That wasn’t the girl who danced around his kitchen in socks, laughing until she cried. That wasn’t the girl who teased him about his dramatic monologues or traced his collarbone with sleepy affection.

That wasn’t his Y/N.

So he drew her again. This time as he remembered her in motion, laughing, eyes wide and bright. Alive.

Hyunjin pressed the sketchbook to his chest, exhaling shakily. “The doctors said… they said your memory might never come back. That if you wake up, you might not know me.”

His heart clenched. He’d played the thought over and over, but it still tore him apart.

“I don’t care,” he said suddenly, tears streaming. “You can forget every moment, every laugh, every look. I’ll remind you. I’ll do it all again. Just… stay. Please.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead gently, afraid even that was too much.

“I’ll forever love you.”

And he meant it.

The day she woke, he almost didn’t believe it.

He’d been sitting beside her bed, head bowed, sketching the curve of her wrist when he felt the slightest pressure on his fingers.

He froze.

Then her hand twitched.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Y/N?” His voice was fragile, barely a whisper.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted as she took a shallow, shuddering breath.

Then her eyes opened.

Confused. Cloudy. Empty.

“Who… who are you?” she whispered.

Hyunjin’s world cracked in two.

He felt his soul quietly tear apart.

But still, he smiled.

He smiled through the ache, through the heartbreak that tasted like blood and salt.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he said softly. “Your boyfriend.” His heart broke with the words. “I’m the boy who loves you so much…”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

She didn’t remember their first coffee date.

Or the painting studio.

Or the night he lit candles in his room and nervously asked her to be his girlfriend.

But she remembered the feeling of safety when he sat beside her. She remembered how her chest felt lighter when he smiled. How his laugh stirred something inside her something buried beneath the fog of forgetfulness.

He told her everything. Bit by bit.

The café. The way she teased him about his awful sock choices. Their picnic at Han River. The song he wrote for her.

He showed her pictures. Videos. Paintings.

Each one was a love letter.

Though she smiled, giggled sometimes, and leaned her head on his shoulder, something behind her eyes always flickered with sadness.

She was falling for him again.

But she didn’t remember falling the first time.

And that haunted her.

“I’m not her,” she said one day, voice cracking. “I’m not the girl you fell in love with.”

“You’re still you,” he whispered. “You laugh the same. You tilt your head the same when you’re curious. You care. That’s you. That’s always been you.”

“But I can’t remember loving you,” she said. “And it hurts to see how much you love me. Because I’m still trying to learn your name.”

They cried together that day.

Held each other like it was all they had.

She asked him to move on.

He refused.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve tried imagining life without you, and it’s just noise. You’re the only melody I’ve ever really known.”

That day, Hyunjin had to go to practice for the first time in weeks. The weight of leaving her alone tore at him, but she smiled and said she’d be fine.

“I’ll be here,” she promised.

He sent her a message before rehearsal: I’ll be at the hospital in 20. Bringing your favorite snacks. I love you.

But when he arrived, Room 413 was empty.

He blinked, stepped back into the hallway, and asked the nurse.

“She checked herself out about an hour ago,” the woman said gently. “She didn’t leave a number. Just said she needed time.”

Time.

Time had already taken so much.

His steps faltered as he returned to the room. He collapsed onto the bed, still holding the shape of her body.

There, on the pillow, was a photograph of the two of them. The one he kept in his wallet—the one they’d taken outside the bookstore, tulips in her hands, his arm around her.

Beside it, folded carefully, was one of the paintings he’d done of her. The one where she was smiling, eyes closed, bathed in golden light.

She took nothing else.

She didn’t say goodbye.

His knees buckled. He sank to the floor, clutching the photo and the painting to his chest as sobs tore through him.

“She left,” he choked out. “She left.”

The walls didn’t answer. The world didn’t stop.

He cried until his voice was gone.

Until his heart felt hollow.

Until all that remained was her scent, faint on the sheets, and the cruel echo of silence.

His love.

His muse.

His everything.

Gone.

[santaasi]

hazel & honey

pairing: james potter x shy!reader

summary: in a café where coffee meets quiet longing, a year of stolen glances and ink-scrawled notes brews into something more — until james potter finally decides to take his shot.

warnings: just pure fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.5k

a/n: it's kinda a part two of raison d'être but you don't need to read it if you don't want to.

ᯓ★ now playing…

zayn - there you are

SPRING ARRIVES NOT ALL AT ONCE BUT IN WHISPERS — SLOWLY, GENTLY, YET UNDENIABLY.

The coffee shop mirrors the change. Heavy coats and thick woolen scarves have vanished, replaced by light jackets, bare wrists, and the crisp air slipping through open windows. The scent of cinnamon and spiced tea fades into something fresher — lavender, citrus, and the delicate sweetness of flowers blooming just beyond the door, carried in by the breeze.

And James Potter, of course, remains the one constant.

James Potter has become a part of your routine, a familiar presence threaded through your days like the changing seasons, turning the ordinary into something bright, something electric. Something that makes your heart stutter in ways you wish it wouldn’t.

It’s been a year now. A year of stolen glances over the espresso machine, of ridiculous drink experiments, of moments tucked between steaming cups and shared laughter. A year of James leaning across the counter, all bright-eyed and insufferably charming, turning the simplest exchange — How’s your day been? — into something that lingers longer than it should.

There was the time he nearly knocked over a display case trying to reenact a new play move with a ball for you. The day he walked in soaked to the bone, dripping rain onto the floor, grinning as you handed him a steaming cup without a word. The evening he showed up five minutes before closing, breathless, just to tell you he had an excellent idea for a new drink (it was, to no one’s surprise, absolutely terrible).

Somewhere between all those moments, without meaning to, he became something to you. And you don’t know what to do with that.

Even now, even after a year, you’re still shy around him in ways you can’t quite help. Still caught off guard by the way he looks at you sometimes, still too quick to drop your gaze when his fingers brush against yours, still hesitant when his laughter sends warmth curling through your ribs.

THIS MORNING, HE STUMBLES INTO THE CAFÉ LOOKING AS IF HE BARELY SURVIVED THE NIGHT. His glasses are askew, his hair a complete mess — more unruly than usual, which is saying something. His hoodie is slouching off one shoulder, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and when he reaches the counter, he doesn’t so much stand as he does slump against it.

"Hit me with your best shot, love," he sighs.

You blink, momentarily caught up in the sight of him — tired, disheveled, undeniably James. Then, with practiced ease, you reach for the espresso beans. "That bad?"

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "I woke up late. Nearly missed the assignment deadline. Almost got run over by a cyclist. And Sirius won’t stop texting me in all caps about something, but I refuse to open it. At this point, my only remaining tragedy is falling into the Thames."

You laugh softly, the sound curling like steam in the air. "Devastating. But at least you made it here." A pause, a flicker of something fond curling in your chest. "Which means I get to experiment."

Because, somehow, that has become your thing.

It started months ago — one late evening, when James had wandered in, restless and curious, and told you to surprise him. You had. And then you did it again. And again. And now, it’s a ritual. No repeats, no hints. Just pure trust in whatever concoction you place in front of him.

He rates each one on a ten-point scale (so far, his highest is an 11/10 for a caramel-vanilla macchiato, which you swore was nothing special), and every single time, he leaves a receipt scrawled with some ridiculous note.

"You’re a caffeine genius."

"I would die for this drink."

"Marry me?" — that one had been a joke. Probably.

He doesn’t know you keep them. All of them. Pressed carefully in a box beneath your bed, where his words — his messy, absurd, wonderful words — are yours alone to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind that James Potter keeps showing up. Maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind at all.

Today's drink — a honey-lavender latte — is something soft, something delicate, something meant to dispel the thundercloud hovering over James Potter’s head. The scent of warm milk and golden honey mingles with the floral whisper of lavender, wrapping the moment in something almost tender. You slide the cup across the counter, watching as his fingers curl around the warmth.

James takes a sip, his lashes fluttering shut as he exhales a slow, blissful sigh. For a moment, the weight of his sleepless night, the stress of looming deadlines, and whatever catastrophe Sirius is surely texting about — all of it seems to melt away.

"I have ascended," he murmurs.

You snort. "That good, huh?"

He nods solemnly. "Sweetheart, if I fail this semester, I want you to know — it’s entirely your fault."

"Oh?" You arch a brow, already moving to wipe down the counter.

"Absolutely. I can't concentrate when I'm too busy thinking about your drinks."

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. "Right. Not because of poor time management?"

"Not at all." His tone is unwavering, as if this is a hill he’s willing to die on.

You shake your head and turn to the next customer, but James doesn’t move. He lingers, fingers tapping absently against the countertop, the rhythmic sound cutting through the soft hum of the café. When you finally glance back up, he's looking at you.

And not just looking.

It’s that expression — the one that makes your stomach flip, the one that sends warmth curling up your spine like steam from an untouched cup. That gaze, dark and steady, laced with something dangerous. Something unreadable.

Something that makes your heart pound far faster than it should.

Damn James Potter.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the register. "What?" you ask, trying to sound unimpressed, ignoring the way your pulse betrays you.

He only smiles, slow and knowing. "Nothing," he says lightly. "Just waiting for my receipt."

Your lips twitch despite yourself. Biting back a blush, you tear the slip of paper from the machine and hand it over, along with the pen. He takes his time, scrawling something with that familiar lazy confidence before sliding it back across the counter.

You glance down.

"9.5/10. But still not as sweet as you."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, so fast and so overwhelming that you don’t even try to fight it. A smile tugs at your lips, helpless, inevitable.

James winks.

And then he’s gone, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake, the scent of honey and lavender lingering behind him like a secret.

AND SO IT GOES, DAY AFTER DAY.

James keeps showing up — sometimes sleep-rumpled, his glasses slipping down his nose as he yawns into his hoodie, sometimes fresh from a workout, windblown and flushed, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He drapes a windbreaker over his shoulders like a careless afterthought, all easy grins and warm eyes, always irritatingly, effortlessly charming.

And you?

You keep making him new drinks. Coconut cold brew on the first truly warm afternoon of spring, strawberry matcha latte when the scent of fresh berries lingers in the air, cappuccino with sweet maple cream on a drizzly morning when the world feels a little too gray. Each one is a surprise, a silent challenge, a reason to watch the way his face lights up with the first sip.

And James — James keeps leaving you notes.

"10/10. I’m thinking about changing my major to yours, just to see you more often." "9/10. Would’ve been a 10, but you didn’t smile at me enough today." "11/10. Maybe I’m in love. Who can tell?"

Marlene loses her mind every time she sees them. She waves them in your face, eyes wide with exasperation. "This is flirting," she huffs. "He’s flirting with you. You see that, right?"

Of course you see.

And worse — you feel it.

In the way your pulse trips over itself whenever his fingers brush against yours as he takes his drink. In the way your body gives you away before your mind can stop it, warmth pooling low in your stomach, a restless kind of anticipation curling in your chest.

But it’s James Potter.

James, who flirts with everyone. Who can make anyone feel like they’re the only person in the room.

So you tuck it away, tell yourself it’s nothing, tell yourself he’s just a regular customer. A boy with an easy smile and a penchant for ridiculous notes, who leaves you generous tips and lifts your mood on long shifts.

Nothing more than that.

And certainly nothing that should set your heart racing the way it does.

IT’S LATE, THE CAFÉ WINDING DOWN INTO THE KIND OF QUIET THAT FEELS ALMOST SACRED. The last traces of coffee and warm pastries linger in the air, mingling with something softer—the scent of wildflowers cradled in your hands, delicate and trembling.

You’re just about to lock up when the bell above the door chimes.

James Potter steps inside.

And, oh.

He looks different tonight. Too different. Not the usual whirlwind of hoodies and windblown curls, not the usual sleep-rumpled charm that makes you roll your eyes but secretly warms your chest. No — this James is something else entirely. His hoodie is gone, replaced by a loose button-down, the sleeves rolled up in a way that does unfair things to his forearms. The soft light catches in his hair, bringing out hints of copper, and his shirt stretches over his shoulders just right.

You grip the cloth in your hands a little tighter, pulse stuttering as you immediately drop your gaze to the counter, pretending to be far too occupied with wiping away an invisible stain.

It doesn’t help.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greets, slipping into his usual seat at the counter, voice warm, rich — like the first sip of coffee on a slow morning.

Your fingers twitch around the cloth. Your throat feels inexplicably dry.

“You’re here late,” you manage, setting the rag aside and washing your hands, focusing very intently on the way the water runs over your skin. Anything to avoid looking at him for too long.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Urgent matters. But now I’m here, and– ” A pause. A breath. And then, a smile, slower than usual, softer. “I needed my daily dose of that magic you put in your drinks.”

You swallow, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. He always says things like this, always flirts so effortlessly, and yet it still gets to you every single time. It’s unfair.

You shake your head, trying to school your expression into something unimpressed, something unaffected, already reaching for the coffee machine when–

James catches your wrist.

Oh.

Your breath snags.

His hand is warm. Big. The kind of warm that seeps into your skin, lingers in your bones. His fingers graze over your palm with something almost absentminded, a slow, lazy touch, but your body reacts like it’s something more — like it means something.

Your heart trips over itself.

You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything — the quiet hum of the café, the way his thumb barely brushes your wrist, the way your knees feel a little unsteady. You blink at him, wide-eyed, trying desperately to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

James doesn’t let go.

He’s still smirking, of course he’s still smirking, but–

But there’s something else there, something just a little hesitant, a little nervous. And that does something to you, something warm and uncertain and dangerous.

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you’re about to say, only to close it again when you realize your voice might betray you.

James tilts his head slightly, his grip just a fraction tighter. His smirk deepens, but his eyes are unbearably gentle.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

And, well — you’re trying.

You really are.

"Actually," James says, voice unusually careful, "I didn’t come for coffee today."

You blink. "No?"

He shakes his head, then — hesitates.

And that’s new.

James Potter doesn’t hesitate. He’s all easy grins and reckless confidence, the kind of person who leaps before looking, who never second-guesses himself. But now — now his fingers twitch slightly where they’re still wrapped around yours, his gaze dropping to the point of contact. He takes a breath, deep and steady, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

"I was wondering," he begins, adjusting his glasses, "if you'd like to… I don’t know. Maybe we could go have a coffee somewhere else. With me. Like… on a date."

There’s a short circuit in your brain.

A date.

You must be dreaming. That’s the only explanation. Why would James Potter — James Potter — ask you out? You’re just the barista who makes his coffee, the girl behind the counter. Sure, there’s been harmless flirting, an entire year of ridiculous notes and lingering glances, but this?

James watches your expression shift, and something fond flickers across his face. He leans forward slightly, as if letting you in on some great secret.

"Yeah, you know," he teases. "A date. It’s when two people meet and do something romantic, and ideally– " his smirk deepens, " –one of them kisses the other at the end."

Heat flares up your neck. "James."

His grin is positively wicked. "Yes, my love?"

And, oh — he knows.

He already knows your answer, sees it written across your face in the way your fingers curl slightly against his, in the way your breath hitches, in the way you haven’t let go.

The air between you is thick with something golden, something trembling on the edge of possibility. Outside, the sky is painted in soft pastels, the scent of fresh flowers drifting in through the open door. Everything feels warm and new, like the first breath of summer. Or maybe — maybe — it’s just him.

Still, you keep him waiting. Just for a second.

"Only if you choose the coffee this time," you say, tilting your chin up slightly, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse pounds in your ears.

James’ answering smile is dazzling. He squeezes your hand, eyes shining with something you can’t name yet — but, oh, you want to.

"Agreed."

The golden light floods the café, the smell of coffee and wildflowers wrapping around you both like a promise. And when you look at James Potter, grinning like an idiot, you realize–

There is no maybe anymore.

Now, everything is for sure.

And you’re definitely glad you switched shifts with Marlene that day a year back.

thankx for reading <з

it was the most spontaneous decision to write a part two for raison d'être, but i went to this café with my friend and just couldn't stop thinking about james and barista!reader. so here we are.

you’re always welcome to share your thoughts in the comments or my inbox :3

                      – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[introspectiveextrovertive-blog]

Part 4 - Paige's Birthday

Fall - 2021

Today was Paige’s birthday. 

Azzi woke feeling giddy, excited to finally gift her best friend the gift she’s been putting together for the last two months. Her day was full with weights and classes, and although she was seeing Paige later in the evening to celebrate, she immediately found her phone and called her on FaceTime, running into a study space down the hall to not wake her roommate. It was 6AM.

Paige picked up on the fifth ring. She was surrounded by darkness, and her eyes looked swollen from sleep, face half squished into her pillow, lips slightly glistening from the drool Azzi knew escaped her mouth when she was in deep REM sometimes. Cute, Azzi thought.

“Bro, it’s 6 in the morning,” the birthday girl said groggily, voice scratchy.

Azzi beamed, angling the phone down at her face so Paige could see her full smile. “Happy birthday P Buckets!” She exclaimed. “You’re old as hell now, bighead.”

At hearing her words, Paige pushed more of her face into the pillow, feeling a smile creep up on her face. She felt a blush coming on as well and wasn’t sure why; perhaps because Azzi was the first to wish her a happy birthday, because that was such an Azzi thing to do.

“You’re the biggest head for calling me this early,” Paige grumbled, sliding a hand down her face, trying to wake herself up. She opened her eyes and smiled fondly at Azzi through the screen, “Thanks dawg, ‘preciate it.”

“Are you excited for later?” Azzi sat now on a bean bag in the room, her cow slippers tapping the floor. The team had decided they were all going out to celebrate Paige, as they had a later practice tomorrow.

“Yeah, should be fun. Gonna get you drunk,” Paige was pushing half her face into her pillow again, a mischievous smirk on her face.

Azzi slightly blanched at the thought, her body always being a temple to her. She rolled her eyes, “You can try.”

She let out a quick grunt as she got up from the bean bag, the cut t-shirt she slept in slightly falling down her shoulder. Paige’s eyes flickered to her friend’s exposed collarbone and chest, suddenly feeling warm.

“I’ve got to start getting ready for lift and class but I just wanted to call you and let you know I’m glad you were born or whatever,” Azzi said casually, slightly pacing the small study room. “And I love you, or something.” She blushed at her own words, trying hard to continue looking at Paige directly.

Paige stared at her for a moment, mouth slightly open and her lips turned up. She settled on a small smirk, “You’re so corny.”

Azzi groaned and threw her head back, “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled softly. After a beat she replied, “I love you too, Az.”

___________________________________________

Paige’s day was filled with calls and texts from friends and families, even getting a text from Geno that read Happy birthday kid. Strangers around campus even knew it was her birthday somehow, something she could attribute to the phenomenon of her celebrity. It did feel strange to have someone wish her a happy birthday that she didn’t know the name of, however. Regardless, she was on cloud 9.

Her apartment had been unofficially assigned as the pregame spot, something she didn’t mind at all. Her teammates filtered in and out of her room as she got ready, hyping her up and making her laugh.

“Oh, she looking like a dime and a half,” Nika hollered, adding highlighter to Paige’s cheekbones.

“I’m a bad bitch, you already know,” Paige sang absentmindedly, scrolling her phone as her friend did her makeup.

Nika took this distracted opportunity to slightly clear her throat. “So,” She started, “Tryna look pretty for anyone tonight?”

Paige scrunched her brows at the question, slightly laughing. She hadn’t talked to anyone like that since last spring. “Nah, dude. I can’t even remember the last time I was messing with someone like that. I got this shit on for myself,” She cheesed at her friend through the mirror. 

Nika, about to continue her subtle interrogation, was interrupted as Paige stood abruptly. “Azzi texted she’s here, be right back,” Paige said, partially out the door already.

“Mhm,” Nika said to herself.

A few seconds later, Paige walked back in with Azzi. Both held slightly flushed cheeks and smiles, Azzi with a purple gift bag in her hand. She gave Nika a quick hug, “You look so good!”

Nika smiled, “Nah, look at you – I see that belly ring out, girl. Tryna impress anyone tonight?”

Azzi stayed flush and quickly shook her head saying, “Oh my god, no” at the same time as Paige’s “Chillllllll.”

Nika clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, putting away her makeup she brought over to help Paige get ready, “Well if I don’t see you talking to anyone tonight I’m gonna be disappointed.”

Azzi just laughed, settling herself at the edge of Paige’s bed. Paige gave Nika a quick dap and thanked her for helping her get ready.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nika replied as she left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and eyes catching Paige join Azzi on the bed. She smiled to herself.

The pair now sat alone in Paige’s room, Azzi wringing her hands slightly at a curious nervousness she wasn’t used to around her best friend. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but Paige was starting to look…almost mature. Perhaps it was the makeup and the flat ironed blonde hair, but Azzi had never seen Paige’s cheekbones so defined, or noticed that her cheeks hollowed in a way that accentuated her sharp jaw line. Her lips looked full and glossy, and her eyes looked almost navy as she stared at her through long mascara-coated eyelashes.

Azzi blinked. She stood up and shoved the purple bag in Paige’s lap.

Paige looked back and forth between the bag and back up at Azzi standing in front of her knees, huffing a laugh at the abruptness. More seriously, she said quietly, “You didn’t have to get me anything, Az.”

“Sure,” Azzi motioned to the bag, “Open it.”

Paige began pulling the tissue paper out of the bag, a lopsided smile she didn’t realize she was wearing sat on her lips. Inside, sat a photo album, a few friendship bracelets, a chocolate chip cookie bucket from the Minnesota State Fair, and a new purple iPad case.

“Your case got scratched,” Azzi said, noticing Paige’s silence as she sifted through the items.

Paige opened the album wordlessly, her chest hammering. It was littered with photos from their summer together, some taken on their phones, some taken on a polaroid. Most were Paige and Azzi smiling with or at each other.

“I had them printed out,” Azzi needlessly explained, still looking to fill the silence that Paige had fallen under. “Those are all my favorites.”

Paige looked up at her then, her heart feeling so tender as she looked on and smiled at her friend. She felt so seen. She felt so loved.

“I love it, Az,” She smiled wrapping Azzi in a tight hug, rocking them back and forth, “Thank you so much.”

Paige’s head landed on Azzi’s chest, her arms wounding so tight Azzi had no choice but to step in between her knees. Azzi laughed, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and hugged her back, her arms finding themselves around Paige’s shoulders.

“Yay,” Azzi said quietly as they held each other.

Paige smiled goofily at her and pulled away, her hands lingering on Azzi’s waist before falling back to the items in her lap. She got up, gently placing the bag on her desk, making a mental note to set aside several hours tomorrow to eat chocolate chip cookies and stare at each photo in the album until she had them memorized.

“Alright,” Paige said, “Let’s party.”

___________________________________________

At Ted’s, it was packed.

Paige was being greeted by everyone, and surrounded by her teammates. As Dorka went to the bar to grab the group another round, Paige cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Yo, get Azzi another shot!”

Azzi, standing next to Paige with a toothy grin, looked objectively good. Great, even. This was something Paige’s tipsy brain could register. Her hair was down and looking voluminously curly, she was wearing a baby blue crop top that made her skin color pop, and her belly ring was twinkling every so often from the dull bar lights. Yeah, Paige thought, she looks good.

Paige found herself staying near the younger girl, something she chalked up to just feeling protective since Azzi was underage at the bar and new to the school still, and had only drunk a few times in her life. It definitely wasn’t because she just wanted to be close. Or because Azzi was smiling at her with doe eyes and had both dimples on display.

Paige was now being brought shots, her friends loudly cheering as she threw them each back. She grins at everyone, her mind starting to feel hazy from the alcohol. 

Azzi slides in closer next to her, her cheeks flushed from the packed bar and alcohol. She tugs Paige’s shoulder down so she can ask in her ear, “Are you having fun?” 

Paige pauses at the small second of contact of Azzi’s lips to the shell of her ear. She stares back at the younger girl, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile, “Yeah, you?”

They smile stupidly at each other with their faces an inch apart, Azzi nodding. She turns back to the group to join the rowdy conversation, her fingertips grazing down Paige’s bicep and staying there. Paige continues staring down at her, lips slightly parted, a voice in her brain saying touch, touch, touch.

Without thinking, Paige’s fingertips lightly graze the exposed small of Azzi’s back. They stay there as both girls sip their drinks, listening to Aubrey tell a story to the group, laughing when the others do.

The voice in her head tells her more, more, more.

She lays her palm flat on Azzi’s skin, dragging her finger tips across the side of Azzi’s waist. When Azzi shifts slightly to be able to hear something Ice is telling her, her hand falls. 

Paige puts her hand in her front pocket, clenching and unclenching her fist. 

Azzi turns back to her now, laughing, “I can’t believe you did that.”

Paige smiled lazily, instinctually moving close, her eyes following Azzi’s straight nose and lifted lips, “Tell me what I did.”

Azzi leaned in as well, gripping Paige’s bicep. Paige unknowingly flexes.

“Ice told me last year on your birthday you had to turn down like 10 girls,” she said, still laughing, “That’s so stupid.”

Paige shrugged and stared at her with half-lidded eyes, her lips still upturned, “Ladies love buckets, what can I say.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Delusional,” she said, leaning into Paige’s ear, “You think you’re so cool, don’t you?”

Paige grinned, their noses almost brushing as Paige took her turn to say in Azzi’s ear, “Yeah, and you do too.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Azzi chided, her eyes dancing on Paige’s face.

Paige tsked. “Quit playing,” she said, her voice coming out lower than she meant, they’re faces inches apart.

“Yo, is Nika good?” the pair heard Aaliyah ask the group, effectively snapping them both out of their bubble. Nika, it turned out, was not good. Aubrey had found her throwing up in the bathroom, apparently having drunk so much she felt sick.

The sophomores plus Azzi decided wordlessly they would help their friend get home safely, calling it a night. They each took turns carrying the Croatian back to her apartment, ignoring as she mumbled, “I’m Eastern European for fuck’s sake, how did this happen.”

In the end, Paige and Azzi were the two who remained until 2 in the morning, helping Nika wretch and clean herself up. Azzi, cooing and holding Nika’s hair up while she rubbed her back. Paige, picking out her clothes for bed and getting her toothbrush ready for her.

“Thank you both,” Nika mumbled, her accent sounding thicker than normal as she eventually lifted her comforter up to her chin. Azzi set a cup of water down for her near the bed, Paige placing a trash can on the side just in case. “You’re so cute together”.

Paige and Azzi paused, silently agreeing to ignore the comment.

“G’night, Twin,” Paige said quietly as her and Azzi left her room, heading back to Paige’s apartment.

As they walked together on a quiet sidewalk, illuminated only by street lamps, Paige looked over at Azzi who had tired eyes. “You’re sleeping over,” Paige told the younger girl, “It’s late.”

Azzi simply nodded, letting Paige lead her to her apartment in comfortable silence, their forearms brushing every so often.

When they arrived, they immediately began getting ready for bed. Washing their faces together, Azzi putting toothpaste on Paige’s toothbrush, and then her own (the spare Paige kept for her just in case).

Azzi wordlessly grabbed her favorite oversized shirt and boxers of Paige’s to wear, both changing with their backs turned.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Azzi asked quietly when they were laid in bed. They faced each other, fingers ghosting the other without them realizing due to their tiredness.

“The best,” Paige said softly, smiling slightly. “Thanks for helping with Nika.”

“Of course,” Azzi mumbled with her eyes closed, “You were nice to help her like that on your birthday.”

“Making sure the people I love are good is more important than drinking at Ted’s,” Paige told her simply, eyes also closing.

Azzi hummed. She opened her eyes and stared at Paige for a second, taking her in. She looked so at peace it made something in Azzi’s heart ache in a way she couldn’t place.

"It's funny," She said quietly, shaking her head slightly “Even on a day that’s supposed to be dedicated to you, you can’t stop thinking of everyone else.”

Paige opened her eyes then, staring back. She felt her mouth open and close, but no words left her lips. 

She shifted so she lay with her eyes staring at the ceiling.

“I want so much, so badly,” she started, so quietly Azzi had to make sure she was hearing her right. A few seconds later, she continued.

"I want it so much I feel guilty. I feel guilty for wanting more when I already have so much. I want to be the best there ever was. The only way I know how to offset this guilt is by pouring into everyone else around me. It makes me feel good and appreciated and loved in a way I don’t know how to pour back into myself on my own.”

They lay silently for a moment, Paige feeling Azzi’s eyes on the side of her face. Several seconds pass, and Paige thinks Azzi won’t respond to her admission when suddenly she feels arms wrap around her waist. Azzi bends her head to fall into the crook of Paige’s shoulder, nose hitting her exposed collar bone. Paige doesn’t move apart from resting her cheek on top of Azzi’s head, closing her eyes and letting herself be held. Azzi sighs quietly. 

“You’re a good person, Paige,” Azzi says. “The best person I know. I love you a lot.” 

Her words are simple but somehow, she says exactly what Paige needed to hear. She doesn’t try to change how Paige feels, or anything about Paige as a person. All she does is validate her and appreciate her as she is. Paige’s heart feels so full from Azzi’s affirmation that she stays quiet and ignores the subtle prickly feeling of her eyes.

And for a single second, only one, she lets herself imagine that when Azzi said “I love you a lot”, she meant it in the way they aren’t supposed to mean it. She didn’t know why. 

Neither realized, but Azzi did mean it in the way Paige hoped. 

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. forget her ⭑ M.B

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis you let go of manon thinking forgetting her would mean healing, but love doesn’t vanish with memory — it lingers in the gaps, in the ache you can’t name, in the places your mind avoids but your heart won’t.

disclaimer : manon bannerman x fem!reader. i recently watched esotsm for the first time and it has yet to leave my brain and i kinda wanted to make a fic based off the movie. angst…ofc. esotsm spoilers…kind of- just the basis stuff (memory erasing...lol) idk chat..they were just toxic

currently playing: forget her - jeff buckley

you met her on a tuesday.

not that tuesdays are particularly magical or memorable, but this one stuck. it was cold and rainy, and you were in line at a hole-in-the-wall bookstore-slash-café, the kind that smelled like old paper and espresso beans. you were tired, burnt out from work, and had just finished your conversation, ranting to your friends about how you were probably going to die alone watching netflix while your dirty pile of laundry stares at you untouched. but then you saw her again.

she was standing in front of you, hair a beautiful shade of brown, wet curls sticking to the sides of her face. she was humming to herself — something you vaguely recognized from a french indie playlist — and tapping the heel of one foot like she was too big for the space her body occupied. her coat looked thrifted and covered in enamel pins. she smelled like strawberries and something artificial, maybe candy.

when she turned around, it was because you sneezed. violently.

she blinked at you. "bless you."

you offered a half-smile. "thanks. sorry."

she tilted her head. "don't apologize for being allergic to the universe. it's not your fault."

you blinked. and maybe that was the first moment she had you.

she stepped aside in line. "order with me. i can't decide if i want coffee or tea and i need someone to force a decision."

you hesitated.

she looked you dead in the eye. "c'mon. it's just caffeine, not marriage."

so you ordered with her. she got an espresso and jasmine tea. you went with black coffee, no room for cream. she winced dramatically when you said that. "you're definitely a taurus or something," she said.

you weren't, but you didn't correct her.

the place was crowded, so she said, "let's share a table. if you try to murder me, i will throw this scalding tea in your face and scream. deal?"

you laughed before you could stop yourself. "deal."

you don't remember most of what you talked about — not in detail. you remember the rhythm of it. how fast she spoke. how fast she made you forget to be guarded. how she asked you questions with her whole body, like everything you said was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard.

her name was manon. "like 'manon of the spring,' but more annoying," she said, sipping her tea. "i do art. and other things. i get bored easily."

you told her you worked in design. you didn't tell her how lonely it felt. how most days you went to bed feeling like you'd sleepwalked through your own life.

she leaned forward and said, "you feel sad. not like... right now, but like, in general. you carry it around."

you blinked. "you always this blunt?"

she smiled, unbothered. "yeah. sorry. it scares people sometimes. but i'm not trying to scare you."

you weren't scared. you didn't leave. you didn't want to.

she wrote her number on a napkin with a heart beside it.

you texted her that night.

the beginning was chaos and thrill. manon didn't just walk into your life — she burst in, electric and too bright, like a song turned up too loud. she was spontaneous and unpredictable. she'd show up at your place at 11pm with a bottle of sake and a stolen traffic cone. she'd disappear for three days and then come back with three new tattoos and a story about a drag show in queens.

you never knew what to expect with her. but for a while, that was the whole point.

she made you feel alive. she made you feel like something was happening.

you first kissed in the middle of an empty street at 2am, both of you half-drunk and laughing, the snow falling around your shoulders. she told you she was a terrible girlfriend. "just a warning," she said. "i'm messy. and loud. and i change my hair every two weeks. and sometimes i say things i don't mean."

you said, "i don't care."

you meant it.

but love wasn't enough.

not when she came home exhausted and refused to talk. not when you sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to say something, and all she did was sigh and bury herself under the covers like you didn't exist.

not when she accused you of not listening, of holding things in, of being cold. "you never let me in," she said once, curled up on the couch, eyes rimmed with red. "it's like you've already decided i'll leave, so you're trying to get ahead of it."

you didn't answer.

"say something," she begged.

and you said, quietly, "i don't know how to love you the way you want me to."

she stood up, shoved on her boots, and left. no jacket. just fury and heartbreak, storming into the street like the night could swallow her whole.

she came back hours later, drenched and shivering, cheeks raw from the wind. you helped her out of her soaked clothes. she let you. she let you wrap her in blankets and press kisses into her hair while she cried silently into your chest.

other times, it was louder.

like the time she found your old journal. read the part where you questioned everything — whether you were happy, whether you were safe with her, whether you'd made a mistake letting her in.

"you don't trust me," she said, standing in the doorway, journal clutched in her hands. "you've never trusted me."

you tried to explain. "that was months ago. i was scared—"

"you still are."

she threw the journal on the ground like it burned her. "why do you even keep it if you're not going to tell me these things to my face?"

"i don't say everything out loud. that doesn't mean i don't feel it."

"that's the problem! you never say anything until i'm already drowning in it."

the fight lasted hours. you cried. she cried. you screamed. she left again — always leaving, like pain was a revolving door she had to walk through to make sense of things.

but then came the soft moments, too.

she'd come home with groceries and cook your favorite meal. "you need to eat something that doesn't come in a box," she'd say, handing you a bowl, eyes tired but gentle. you'd sit together on the floor, eating in silence, knees touching.

or the time she stayed up with you until 4am, talking you through an anxiety spiral. you couldn't breathe. she got in the shower with you fully clothed, let the hot water run over both of you. "you're okay," she whispered, over and over. "i've got you."

and maybe that was the worst part — the way you kept surviving the breaking.

it always ended in some fragile apology, some middle-of-the-night confession under shared blankets. "i'm trying," she'd whisper.

"i know," you'd say. "me too."

you'd kiss her then, slow and exhausted, both of you already knowing it wouldn't last. but the softness made you stay anyway.

there was always another fight. another snap. another silence that lasted too long.

like the one over her friend you never liked — someone who texted her at 2am and sent hearts too often. you didn't accuse her of cheating. you didn't have to.

"you don't trust me," she said again.

"because you keep putting me second."

"i can't make the world disappear just to make you feel secure."

you told her to sleep somewhere else that night. she didn't. she curled up on the floor, crying quietly, refusing the bed. you watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, and hated how much it hurt to see her hurt.

she moved back to the bed eventually. you held her while she shook.

"i'm sorry i don't know how to be softer," she said, voice cracking.

"i'm sorry i make you feel like you have to be," you whispered back.

but the apologies were wearing thin.

you accused her of turning everything into a game, of never taking anything seriously, of loving the version of you that smiled more than the version that shut down. she told you she couldn't read your mind, that she wasn't a mind-reader, a therapist, a punching bag.

you told her she made everything too loud. too sharp. that she didn't know how to sit still with things, how to let silence be a comfort instead of a weapon.

"i don't think you actually like who i am," she said once, during a fight that started over dishes and ended in catastrophe.

"that's not fair."

"you want me to be simpler. quieter. someone you can manage. that's not me."

"you want drama," you snapped. "you create it. you can't go five minutes without chaos."

she flinched like you hit her. "at least i am able to feel things."

that night, she didn't sleep in your bed.

you laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her breathing on the couch. the distance between you felt endless.

a week later, she left.

no dramatic speech. no closure. just a note on the counter in her handwriting:

‘i think we broke each other. maybe that's all we were ever going to do.’

you wanted to scream. you wanted to chase her. say you could fix it, again.

instead, you sat on the floor of your apartment for hours, holding a hoodie she left behind, breathing her in like oxygen.

you didn't see her for two weeks after she left.

there were no texts. no calls. no breadcrumb trail. just silence — thick, total, deliberate.

it was almost worse than a fight.

you went through the motions of life like someone underwater. work, home, sleep, cry. you deleted the photos. then re-downloaded them from the cloud. you opened her favourite book to find the underlines she made in the margins. you told yourself you were fine.

then the envelope came.

plain. unmarked. just your name on the front in stark block letters — no return address. you slit it open with a key, half expecting it to be a letter from her.

but it wasn't a letter. it was a form. a cover sheet. clinical. cold.

lacuna, inc.

our clients thank you for respecting their right to privacy, comfort, and mental wellness. the following individual has undergone a memory erasure procedure and has specifically requested that you do not contact them or attempt to rekindle any prior relationship:

manon bannerman.

you read her name twice before it fully landed.

there was a line below it. your name, typed in sharp black font.

you flipped through the rest of the packet, hands trembling. it was a list of instructions, like you were contagious — don't approach, don't call, don't attempt to remind them. for the sake of her emotional well-being, you were to pretend she never knew you. like you never happened.

the paper crumpled in your grip. your ears rang. you felt sick.

she erased you.

not blocked. not ghosted. not pushed away in the heat of an argument. she deleted you from her brain. like it would make things easier.

you called the number on the bottom of the page.

you don't even remember what you said. something about an appointment. something about making the pain stop.

—

you went in on a tuesday.

the office looked like a dentist's waiting room. pleasant. generic. you sat in a stiff chair beneath a framed painting of a meadow. the girl at the front desk offered you tea. she wore blue glasses and smiled like she wasn't telling people how to forget each other all day long.

then someone called your name.

dr. mierzwiak was older than you expected. soft-spoken. polite. with a tiredness behind his eyes like he'd seen people make the same mistake too many times.

"we'll need a few things," he said, handing you a clipboard. "anything and everything that reminds you of her. gifts. pictures. notes. clothes. audio recordings. we use those to map the memories."

you stared at the form. "how long does it take?"

"the mapping takes a couple hours. the procedure itself is overnight. you won't remember the session. you'll go to sleep and wake up, and she'll be gone."

gone.

it echoed in your chest.

you came back the next day with a box. it felt like a betrayal — giving her things away like they were evidence in a case you were losing.

inside was the hoodie she left. the journal with her handwriting. a playlist burned onto a cd. photos. receipts from your first trip together. a birthday card. her hair tie.

you left out the ring she gave you — a cheap, silver one from a flea market that didn't fit either of you right. that one stayed in your coat pocket.

dr. mierzwiak didn't ask.

that night, they put a cap on your head — wires connected to a computer, a screen flickering with dots and lines you didn't understand. you stared at a monitor while someone asked you to describe her.

her face. her voice. her smell after the rain. the way she licked her thumb before flipping pages in books. how she always said your name twice when she was drunk.

"start from the beginning," the technician said. "we'll move through the memories one by one. try to let yourself fall into them."

you closed your eyes.

manon's laugh. her teeth against your neck. the fight about the dishes. her eyeliner smudged after crying. your hands clutching her hoodie in bed the first time she left. the way she kissed your knuckles when she thought you were asleep. that look she gave you from across the subway platform.

the technician typed something. "okay. we're good."

you laid down on the recliner. a blanket was tucked over you. they dimmed the lights.

"sleep well," the woman said gently. "when you wake up, it'll be like she was never there."

and maybe that was the worst part.

because you didn't want to forget her.

but you already felt her slipping.

the memories began to disappear one by one.

you were inside them — literally inside them — watching yourself move through old moments like a dream you couldn't control. there was no linear order. they came at you like waves during a storm — some soft, some furious, some you didn't even realize you still remembered.

the first time you met.

you were sitting alone in a coffee shop, reading something you'd later pretend to love just to impress her. she walked in wearing a green coat and silver hoops, her hair a messy halo of red and copper, like she had sprinted there from another life. she ordered something absurd — matcha with oat milk and cinnamon — and when the barista gave her a look, she winked. then she saw you.

"is that any good?" she asked, nodding to your book.

you blinked, startled. "not really."

she grinned. "at least you're honest."

that was it. then when you saw her again, you knew that was the beginning of something unforgettable.

you watched it fold in on itself — the smile fading from her face, the ambient coffee shop sounds muting into a soft hiss. you tried to hold the chair she sat in, tried to keep the way she bit her straw when she was nervous, but it slipped through your fingers like water.

the memory collapsed.

the park in spring.

manon in a yellow sundress, her knees scraped from falling after trying to climb a tree because she wanted a better view of the sunset. you had laughed. she had pouted dramatically, holding her scraped hand out to you like a child needing a band-aid. you kissed her palm. she blinked, stunned for half a second, then pulled you in by the collar.

that kiss lasted forever. until now. now it was nothing.

gone.

another memory surged up, violent and raw — the fight in your bedroom at 3am. you were both screaming over something stupid. dishes? plans you'd canceled? it didn't matter. she had tears in her eyes and mascara streaked down her face. you had said something cruel. you didn't even mean it. her lip had trembled before she slammed the door behind her. you chased her down the hallway. apologized in a broken whisper. she had folded into your arms like paper.

you tried to hold that too. but it faded.

the next memory hit like a knife.

you were both lying in bed in total silence. one of those nights after a fight where no one knew what to say. the room was dark, your backs to each other, but you had reached out — your pinky finger brushing hers, just enough. she turned, barely, and murmured, "i don't know why we keep hurting each other."

you whispered, "because i'm scared of losing you."

she turned all the way, her voice soft. "then stop pushing me away."

you didn't answer. you never did. and now you never would.

gone.

another memory.

the night she got drunk and started crying about her mother. you hadn't seen that version of her before — the one that unraveled like thread. you held her in the kitchen, the smell of tequila and salt and grapefruit sharp in your nose. she told you, slurring, that sometimes she felt like she wasn't real. that maybe she was just a storm pretending to be a girl.

you had whispered, "you're the most real thing in my life."

she had kissed you then like it was a promise.

gone.

the memory of you bringing her soup when she was sick. of her groaning dramatically under blankets and calling you her "nurse" in a fake british accent. of feeding her strawberries and rubbing her back while she sniffled. of her half-laughing, half-coughing and whispering, "don't fall in love with me, okay? i'm too much."

too late, you'd said. and meant it.

gone.

the memory of your birthday.

she'd filled your entire apartment with string lights and old records and tiny photos of the two of you stuck to the wall like constellations. she gave you a ring — a cheap, silver one that turned your finger green, but you wore it anyway. she looked scared when you opened it, like she thought you'd say no.

"i just wanted you to have something of me," she'd said.

you had kissed her slow and deep and whispered, "i already do."

gone.

gone.

gone.

you started to panic.

the memories were unraveling faster now, fraying at the edges before you could even feel them fully. you started running — through doors that no longer led anywhere, past places that no longer had names.

the fights. the nights apart. the quiet moments. her sleeping on your chest. her dancing barefoot in your kitchen. the way she always said "i hate you" before kissing you senseless.

the night she said "i think we're doomed" and you laughed until you realized she meant it.

her crying into your coat at the train station. her voice shaking as she said, "i don't know how to stop loving you, but i also don't know how to keep doing this."

your hand reaching for hers. her stepping back.

then — in the middle of it — she was there.

not the memory version. her.

manon.

or some figment of her your brain was clinging to with everything it had left.

she looked different here. blurry. soft around the edges. but her eyes were the same.

she looked at you like she'd just woken up from a nightmare.

"why are you here?" she whispered. "you're not supposed to be here."

you reached for her. "you left. you erased me."

she looked down. "i didn't think you'd do it too."

you grabbed her wrist. "i didn't want to."

"then why did you?"

you swallowed. "because i couldn't keep waking up without you."

her eyes glistened. "i was scared."

"i was too."

she leaned into your touch. "we can hide. we can stay in the memories. think of something. there are still places they won't look."

you followed her.

you buried yourselves inside the cracks.

a made-up apartment with walls you painted together. a childhood treehouse. a drive through a city you never visited. the night sky from her hometown. a room filled with books you never read, but she swore you'd love.

each time, the walls collapsed around you like paper burning at the edges.

you clutched her tighter.

"i don't want to forget you," you choked out.

she looked at you, eyes glassy. "then remember me now."

"tell me something only i would know."

she leaned in close. "you cried after i kissed your shoulder for the first time. but you said it was because of the movie we were watching."

you laughed, even as you cried.

"tell me again."

she kissed your cheek. "i loved you."

the room faded.

"say it again."

"i love y—"

gone.

you woke up gasping.

and the ache in your chest was enormous. like something had been torn out without anesthetic. you didn't remember her name. her face. her voice. but you missed her.

you missed her so much it felt like drowning in a dream you couldn't quite remember.

—

it was snowing again.

not the heavy kind — not a storm — just a slow, drifting fall, like the sky was emptying itself in the gentlest way it knew how. the kind of snow that softened the city, blanketed the world in hush. traffic moved slower. voices grew quieter. every sound was absorbed into white.

you walked down 7th street with your hands in your coat pockets, scarf drawn up to your nose. you didn't have a destination. just movement. sometimes it helped. sometimes it didn't.

today, everything ached without explanation.

your fingers were cold. your chest was heavier than usual. there was something playing on your phone through your earbuds — lo-fi, wordless, the kind of music you always chose when you didn't want to think too hard. and still, something stirred.

a memory that didn't feel like a memory.

a girl laughing in a kitchen.

cigarette smoke on a balcony.

a fight in a hallway that ended with someone saying, "don't walk away again."

but no name. no image. just static where something important used to be.

you pulled your coat tighter. turned the corner by a bookstore you used to like but didn't remember why. that feeling was happening more often now — small places or objects or sounds tugging at something you couldn't quite grab. you figured it was just déjà vu. or anxiety.

the wind blew past.

and then—

you saw her.

walking toward you on the opposite side of the sidewalk. the crowd parted like a trick of fate, just long enough for your eyes to find her.

she wasn't looking up at first — she was pulling something out of her bag, her pace quick, her hair short, auburn maybe, with streaks of gold like it had once been bleached and grown out. she wore a navy coat and brown boots, and she had a small tear in her scarf, right near the collar.

you stopped.

your breath caught in your throat before your brain could catch up.

then she looked up too.

for one unbearable second, her eyes met yours.

and the world stopped.

not metaphorically. not just in your head. it truly stopped.

the wind stilled. the snowflakes froze mid-air. a bus idled in the street but didn't move. your heartbeat thundered in your ears — not fast, just loud, like it was echoing off of something deep and hollow. the shape of her face, the tilt of her head, the slope of her mouth — none of it felt new.

but you couldn't place her.

she looked at you like she was trying to solve a riddle. her eyes scanned your face, then flickered down to your hand, where you were clenching something without knowing — the corner of a wrinkled paper, sticking out from your pocket. you hadn't noticed it before.

you didn't know where it came from.

she didn't say anything.

you didn't either.

but something passed between you. a heaviness. a pull. a gravitational echo of a thousand things left unsaid. her mouth parted like she might speak — but didn't. instead, she gave the smallest smile. polite. cautious.

familiar.

and then she walked.

right past you.

you turned, just a beat too late, just in time to see her disappear into the crowd. you could've called out. could've said, excuse me, have we met? but you didn't.

because how do you ask a stranger if they once held your heart in both hands?

you kept walking.

and the snow kept falling.

you didn't notice you were holding the paper until the wind almost stole it.

you pulled it from your pocket and opened it. there was no return address, no letter — just a page, yellowed and creased, torn from a notebook. on it, in handwriting that looked an awful lot like yours, were the words:

"remember her anyway."

you stared at it for a long time.

then folded it and tucked it back into your pocket.

you didn't know who she was. or what she meant. but tonight, you'd dream of someone dancing barefoot in your kitchen. you wouldn't know why it hurt.

you wouldn't know why it mattered.

you'd forget again.

but something would always stay.

a/n: in my head, this was supposed to be longer ☹️ i fear i might not have done the movie justice... getting back into my angst era. the season is changing and i’m sad

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says. 

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.  

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse. 

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest. 

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra. 

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights. 

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all. 

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“No” you groan. 

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you. 

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root. 

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies. 

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all. 

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox. 

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles. 

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did. 

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire. 

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees. 

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson. 

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored. 

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human. 

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence. 

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out. 

River swallows his drink with a chuckle. 

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains. 

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh. 

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says. 

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds. 

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River. 

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds. 

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch. 

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain. 

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe. 

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire. 

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon. 

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat. 

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic. 

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies. 

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath. 

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say. 

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation. 

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared. 

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled. 

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him. 

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety. 

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts. 

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him. 

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye. 

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant. 

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities. 

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too. 

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved. 

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you. 

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says. 

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege. 

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say. 

His gold eyes shift away. 

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.” 

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened. 

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.  

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls. 

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says. 

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.” 

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says. 

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves. 

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic. 

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge. 

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb. 

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for. 

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there. 

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately. 

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him. 

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said. 

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently. 

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation. 

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask. 

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained. 

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.  

���‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

[psformybss]

✧･ﾟ: WHAT HAPPENS IN NASHVILLE - ONE :･ﾟ✧

PAIRING: college!drew x bsf!reader

SUMMARY:

It was supposed to be simple — just a weekend away. Just a favor for a friend.

But then came the red dress, the shared bed, and one night that changes everything.

Now, the lines are blurring faster than either of them expected. What started as pretend starts to feel real… and in the quiet fallout, they’re left wondering: Was Nashville a one-time mistake—or the beginning of everything?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is my first actual series on here, it's probably one of my favorite things i've written. some chapters will have warnings if needed but other's won't. it will depend on the chapter and what it is about. i hope y'all like it!

masterlist | series masterlist

The campus coffee shop hums with early morning life—soft jazz on the speakers, the scent of espresso beans grinding, and the quiet murmur of students cramming for midterms. You step inside, pulling off your knit beanie as the door clicks shut behind you, trading the crisp spring morning for the warm haze of caffeine and croissants.

You spot him instantly—Drew, slouched in your usual corner booth, hoodie rumpled, legs stretched long under the table like he owns the whole place. A familiar ache blooms in your chest, the kind that settles in quietly when you know you’re falling for someone who will never see you that way.

His cap is backward, hair sticking out in all directions like he rolled straight out of bed. Which he probably did.

You slide into the booth across from him. “You look like a raccoon who lost a fight.”

He cracks a tired grin, eyes still heavy-lidded. “Thanks, I try.”

His glass of iced coffee is already sweating on the table. You reach for your own, the warmth seeping into your palms.

“So,” you say, “you texted me three times in a row this morning. Either you’re dying, or your microwave exploded again.”

He looks up, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Neither. Just… needed to talk.”

That sentence alone tightens something in your ribcage. Drew doesn’t usually ask to talk. He vents, sure—especially about class or bad roommates—but not like this. Not with that note in his voice. Quiet. Hesitant.

Your teasing fades. “Okay. What’s going on?”

He exhales, fingers tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve. “So, formal’s this weekend.”

You blink. “Yeah. Are you going?”

He nods, lips pressed tight. “Was supposed to go with Lindsey.”

Your heart does a strange little skip at the name.

Right. Lindsey.

You’ve never actually met Drew’s ex. Not officially. You’ve seen pictures, of course—plenty. The polished smile, the stylish Instagram aesthetic, the captions that always seemed like they were trying too hard. But Drew never brought her around. Not even once.

At the time, you thought it was weird. Now you know it was intentional.

Lindsey didn’t like you. Didn’t like that Drew had a girl best friend. And instead of dealing with it, Drew just… kept you separate. Until they weren’t dating anymore.

That was months ago now. And even though he hasn’t said it, you can tell—he’s still carrying pieces of it with him.

“Is she still going?” you ask.

“Yeah. With Caleb.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, like your Caleb?”

He nods grimly. “Frat Caleb. Tall, dumb, wears polos even in winter.”

You let out a soft whistle. “Ouch.”

Drew slumps back in the booth, arms spread wide like he’s trying to disappear into the cracked leather. “It’s whatever. I just don’t wanna show up alone like a loser.”

Your lips twitch. “That’s why you dragged me here? You want me to find you a date?”

He doesn’t smile.

“No,” he says. “I want you to be my date.”

Silence falls between you, heavy and sudden.

You blink. “What?”

“Fake date,” he clarifies quickly. “Just for the weekend. Just to make it look like I’ve moved on. Nothing big. I’ll drive. I’ll pay for the Airbnb.”

You stare at him, heart suddenly in your throat. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” He gives you a crooked smile, softer this time. “You’re my best friend. You’re hot. You’re perfect.”

It’s the kind of compliment that should feel flattering. But something about the way he says it makes it sting a little.

You swallow. “Is this a revenge thing?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not revenge. I just… I don’t want to look like I’m still waiting around for her.”

You nod slowly, processing. “So you want to fake date. In front of your entire frat. In front of her. For a whole weekend.”

He hesitates. “Only if you’re cool with it.”

You study him for a moment. The anxious bounce of his knee. The way his eyes dart toward the window like he doesn’t want to meet yours. He’s not doing this to be petty. He just doesn’t want to feel pathetic.

God, how can you say no?

And maybe—just maybe—a small, selfish part of you wants it. Wants the chance to play pretend, even if it isn’t real.

“Okay,” you say finally. “I’m in.”

His head snaps back to you. “Seriously?”

You laugh. “Yeah. Let’s do it. One weekend. We fake-date. We show them what they’re missing.”

He looks stunned for a second. Then he grins. “You’re the best.”

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest.

“Ground rules,” you say, lifting your cup. “No weird couples photos. And you owe me a very large coffee.”

“Done,” he says, clinking his cup against yours. “It’s a deal.”

Later that day, the only light in your dorm room comes from the string lights above your bed and the soft glow of your phone screen. A rom-com plays on mute from your laptop, but you’re not watching—just hiding under a worn comforter, tangled in thoughts you can’t shake.

You tap Ava’s name and bring the phone to your ear.

The call rings twice before Ava picks up.

“Hey,” she answers. “Can you believe I’m going to have to spend the weekend as Keely’s unofficial photographer while she makes out with her boyfriend every five minutes?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “You’re acting like you won’t be making out with your boyfriend every five minutes,” you tease. “Either way, you won’t have to.”

Ava pauses. “Wait. What?”

“I’m coming.”

A gasp. “Shut up. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, who bribed you?” Ava asks. “Because last I checked, you were very much anti-dressing-up-for-frat-boys.”

You hesitate, fingers twisting in the blanket. “Drew asked me.”

Silence.

“…Drew asked you to formal?”

“Yeah.”

Ava’s voice lifts, somewhere between surprised and scandalized. “As in, our friend Drew?”

You nod, then realize Ava can’t see you. “Yes.”

Another pause. “Wait—why would he—?”

“He didn’t want to go alone,” you say, cutting her off gently. “He was supposed to go with Lindsey, remember? But now that they’re not together…”

Ava lets out a low whistle. “So you’re filling in as the fake date.”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh my God.” A beat. “You do realize that means you’re becoming the centerpiece of the drama.”

You sigh. “It’s not that serious. We’re just going as friends.”

“You’re fake-dating your best friend for a weekend at his frat formal. That’s literally the definition of serious.”

You stay quiet.

Ava’s voice softens. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“It’s just for the weekend,” you murmur. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it does to you,” Ava says gently. “You’ve liked him since sophomore year.”

You don’t answer right away.

“Look,” Ava adds, “I’m not judging. I get it. He’s hot and sweet. But if this is going to hurt you—”

“It won’t,” you interrupt, though your voice is thinner than you meant it to be. “I’ll be fine.”

Ava is quiet for a long moment. “Okay,” she says finally. “But I’m still packing chocolate in my overnight bag just in case.”

That earns a small laugh. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ava says. “And hey… for what it’s worth, I think part of him asking you was about more than just convenience.”

You swallow. “Let’s not go there.”

“Okay,” Ava whispers.

The call ends, but the heaviness in your chest doesn’t.

By Thursday night, it’s real. Or at least, real enough to start packing.

A duffel bag sits open at the foot of your bed, half-filled with formalwear, denim cutoffs, and the softest hoodie you own—Drew’s, ironically. You toss in a pair of heels and your curling iron, your heart thudding like you’re sneaking out for something you’re not supposed to want.

The knock comes at 10:14 PM.

You open the door to find him leaning against the frame, wearing that same navy sweatshirt you’ve borrowed more times than you can count. His hair’s damp, like he just showered, and he smells faintly of cedar and soap.

“I brought snacks,” he says, holding up a bag of Sour Patch Kids like a peace offering. “And I figured we should talk strategy.”

“Strategy,” you repeat, stepping back to let him in.

He flops onto your bed without hesitation, sprawling out like it’s his. Which, in a weird way, it kind of is. Drew’s been in your room for everything—study nights, pizza nights, silent breakdowns, and movie marathons that end with him asleep on your floor. But tonight feels different. Sharper. Charged.

You grab your water bottle and sit at the edge of the bed. “So… what’s our game plan?”

“Fake dating 101,” he says, opening the candy. “We need a backstory. How long we’ve been together, how it started, what our whole vibe is.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Alright. How did it start?”

He pops a sour watermelon slice into his mouth, thinking. “I confessed my love in a dramatic monologue. You kissed me under a streetlight. It was raining.”

You snort. “Dramatic and seasonal. Impressive.”

“I take my fake relationships very seriously.”

“Clearly.”

He grins, then adds, “Okay, real version. Let’s say… a few weeks ago, something shifted. It just happened. No big moment. It just clicked.”

You nod slowly. “That works.”

He turns to you, smile fading. “Are you sure you’re good with this?”

You weren’t expecting the question—not because he asked, but because of how earnestly he looks at you. Like he’s not just worried about the lie, but the truth underneath it.

“I’m sure,” you say. “It’s just a weekend.”

His gaze lingers on you a beat longer. “I don’t want this to mess anything up.”

“You’re not going to.”

But deep down, you already know it’s not that simple. Not when pretending to love someone you already half-loved blurs every line. Not when you know you’ll be holding your breath the entire time, waiting for something real that’s never promised.

You stand and grab a notebook and pen off your desk. “Okay. Let’s make a list. Timeline, story, rules, boundaries.”

“Touch boundaries?” Drew asks, brow raised.

“I’m not letting you kiss me without a heads-up,” you say, flipping the notebook open.

He holds up his hands, mock-innocent. “No surprise kisses. Got it.”

“And none of that ‘making out for show’ crap. And don’t call me ‘babe’ unless you want to get elbowed in the ribs.”

“What about ‘sweetheart’? Too retro?” He grins. “Snuggle bug?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

You spend nearly an hour building a fake relationship like architects—constructing milestones, mapping memories that never happened, debating whether your first date would’ve been sushi or tacos. It’s stupid. It’s fun. And for a little while, it feels like nothing outside that room matters.

Eventually, the laughter tapers off, and the quiet settles in like a blanket.

You sit side by side on your bed, the notebook between you, its pages filled with scribbled timelines and fake anniversaries. The only sounds are the steady hum of your fan and the occasional car passing outside the dorm window.

Drew leans back on his elbows, staring up at the ceiling. “We probably overprepared.”

You smile faintly, legs tucked underneath you. “Probably. But it’s better than getting caught off guard.”

“Yeah.” He glances at you. “You always think two steps ahead.”

You give a small shrug. “Someone has to.”

A beat passes.

He shifts, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Thanks, by the way. For doing this with me.”

You look over at him, your expression unreadable. “You don’t have to thank me. I said yes.”

“I know. Still.” His voice is quiet. “It means a lot.”

You don’t say anything, just nod, and let the silence return. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then—softly, without looking at you—he reaches for your hand.

Not in a way that demands anything. Not in a way that asks questions. Just a simple gesture. Reassuring. Steady.

You don’t pull away.

You sit like that for a while, hands resting together between you, the notebook long forgotten. And maybe it doesn’t mean more. Maybe it doesn’t have to.

It’s enough.

[hysteria-things]

SINFUL DESIRES (part two)

read part one here

read part three here

read part four here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: of course the two of you still “hate” each other. although, it’s not just the sex. you both know that.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, p in v, spanking, praising, possessiveness, hair pulling, video, pet names (pretty)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 661

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ask for part two and you shall receive part two!

i’m a lover for nathan. that is all.

jerset part ib jersey by @worldlxvlys :)

the spring breeze hits you, making your hair flow in the wind. your best friend dragged you to a lacrosse game, where you know who plays. she knows you hate him, but she always says that you need to ‘live the high school experience.’

right now, your best friend’s mouth hangs open with utter shock. the game hasn’t started yet, so this seemed like the right time to spill the beans. “you’re telling me that nate — the person you despise — showed up at your house two weeks ago and fucked the shit out of you?”

“yup.” you exhale. “i couldn’t look at my parents for a week. told them i was watching porn and it accidentally connected to my speaker, but i don’t think they believed me.”

“holy shit.” she laughs.

you stand up from the bleachers, shoving your hands in your pockets. “i’m going to the snack stand before they come out. you want anything?”

she shakes her head. “no thanks.”

you step down the bleachers and head to the snack stand. the line isn’t long, thank goodness.

as you approach, a hand grabs your forearm and pulls you to the side. you startle at the contact.

nate’s grinning in front of you, all geared up and ready to play. “nate, what the hell?!” you scream, looking up and down his body.

your eyes start at where his eyeblack is, then to his jersey with the number 8 on it, and lastly to his cleats.

ah, shit.

“hi.” he waves in your face.

you roll your eyes. this kid.

he starts to fidget with your hoodie strings. this is the most confused you probably ever been in your life. “you coming over tonight?” he asks.

you stare blankly at him waiting for more information, but of course, he doesn’t give any. “for what?”

he shrugs. “to hang out.”

“fu-uck!” you moan as nate rails into you from behind, your ass red from the few times he spanked it. the remains of your last orgasm still make a mess on your thighs.

he has you bent over his desk, his hands bunching up the bottom of his jersey that he put on you.

somerville won the game, and according to him, this was his reward. you are his reward.

his eyes are focused on the DOE right above his jersey number. you’re wearing his name, and he’s making sure you know it.

you’re on your tippy toes, each thrust making you quiver with pleasure. your nails claw at the wood beneath you.

“jesus,” he whispers, grabbing his phone so he can record what you look like with his name on. he’s so fucking fascinated by it.

he grips onto your hair. “you look so beautiful getting fucked in my jersey, don’t you think?”

“mhm,” you grumble, your eyes threatening to cross.

he grips tighter, giving you a little spank. “use your words, pretty.”

“y-yes. i—” you’re cut off by a whimper when his tip hits that familiar spot inside of you. “gonna c-cum, nate.”

you squeeze around him as your pussy squelches, threatening to spew your liquid. he groans. “clenching around me so tight.”

you scream when he starts to go faster, hitting inside you deeper than before. your whole body trembles when you spread your cum around his dick. “there you go… that’s it.”

he shoots into the condom short after you, pulling out and throwing it in the trash can that’s set on the floor next to the desk. he places his phone back down.

he turns you around and leans in, kissing you passionately on the lips. he hums before pulling away. “i hate how much i like you.”

you smirk, but the blush on your cheeks gives you away. “i hate how much i like you, too.”

later that night while you’re in bed, you get a text message. you gasp when you open it.

nate.

[attachment: 1 video]

just a reminder

sweet dreams, pretty

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

[ogmrs-hatake]

YANDARE CALEB REQUEST HERE!!

Caleb and Mc walking around Linkin City, but Calbe notices all the eyes on MC and her cute outfit! Even the cashier at the ice cream shop gives her a free ice cream!!

word count: 1.2k

warning: yandere!caleb and mentions of gore.

a/n: y/n is not mc! she is an entirely different entity from mc (i see them as two different people)

Summer comes to Linkon City early this year. 

Just a few weeks ago, the air was filled with a chilly breeze. It was so cold that no one could wear their spring clothes without a coat on top. Then, one morning, the temperature suddenly rises and the flowers are in total bloom, decorating the guardians in a canopy of pinks, lilacs and soft blues. The bees are dancing while the birds are singing their songs and any trace of their chilly spring vanishes.

The weather has been so beautiful the past few days that everyone’s mood elevates with the heat. Jenna, Y/N’s usually strict boss, suddenly announces that she’s giving every hunter in the association an extra day for the weekend, no one has to come to work on Friday. 

Ecstatic by the news, Y/N is quick to text Caleb of the good announcement.

That’s how we find the childhood best friends strolling around the Grand Central Park of Linkon City. Tales of the past on their tongues as they meander through the winding paths of the park, vibrant hydrangeas, reminiscent of Caleb’s eyes, surrounding them.

Y/N’s smile is as radiant as the sun, her lips parted in an ecstatic laugh as Caleb retalls the tale of when he was nine years old and Y/N tricked him into thinking she can eat ten earwax flavored candy simultaneously. Naturally, Caleb hadn’t believed her. But when she shoved several handfuls of those nasty jelly beans, he was equally horrified and awe-struck. 

Think you can beat me? She challenged him. Not one known to back down from a challenge, Caleb opens his tiny hand, heart stuttering in nervousness when those sugary sweets plop into his hand. Little did he know, Y/N had switched out the lemon sorbet flavored jelly beans and handed him ear waxed flavored one. The poor boy gagged for five minutes before Y/N showed him mercy and gave him a refreshing, tall glass of melon soda. To say he was skeptical of the drink was an understatement but it was either Caleb trusted her or suffered the lingering taste of ear wax.

Caleb’s eyes soften as he watches Y/N laugh, sounding like windchimes and hummingbirds. He can never look away whenever he is with Y/N, entranced by her beauty. Even now as she clutches her tummy, tears streaming down her face as she muffles her giggles, butterflies flutter about in his stomach. His fingers itch to reach out and wipe away the stray tears from her cheeks but Caleb glues his hand to his side, tempted to use his Evol to make sure he practices restraint. They are just friends, nothing more, and he can’t just caress her whenever he wants. 

Instead, all that Caleb can do is admire Y/N.

She is all dolled up today, no doubt excited for the extra day off and the gorgeous weather they’re having. 

A flowy pink dress with flower prints sways with the gentle breeze. The cotton fabric stretches along her body nicely, showing off her tantalizing dips and curves. The plunging neckline is a delicious treat for Caleb…too bad he isn’t the only one who shares this thought. 

He was so engrossed with Y/N, he failed to see dozens of pairs of hungry eyes lingering on what is his. Caleb can practically hear their disgusting thoughts whenever the two walk by, lusting over Y/N like some piece of meat. 

He has half a mind to gouge out their ugly eyes and break their dirty fingers that are no doubt desperate to smear their grime across Y/N’s smooth and clean skin. Caleb is fighting a losing battle. 

“Caleb, look!” Saccharine sweetness wraps an arm around Caleb, delicately pulling him out of his dark thoughts.

Turning, Caleb faces Y/N who is staring at him with large doe eyes. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

Y/N wants something that Caleb is probably going to refuse. 

Following where Y/N is pointing at, his gaze lands on an ice cream vendor. They’re only selling two flavors today, honey vanilla and lavender flavored ice cream. But the vendor also sells a serving of half and half, the one Y/N is silently begging for.

“Y/N,” Caleb sighs, “You know you shouldn’t eat dessert before lunch. It will ruin your appetite.”

“Caleb,” Y/N whines. Caleb has always known that his name always sounded so sinful on her lips, “Pleeeeaaassseeee.” 

Let the record show that Caleb did try to persuade her but how can he say no to someone as cute, as adorable, and as beautiful as Y/N?

Caleb is a weak man when it comes to Y/N and he isn’t afraid to admit it.

“Fine.”

“Yaay!” With a blinding smile, Y/N stands on her tiptoes and lands a loud and wet smooch on Caleb’s cheek. “You’re the best!”

Thankfully, Y/N is already running off to the ice cream vendor to notice the vibrant red decorating Caleb’s ears and cheeks. 

God, this woman will be the death of him.

“The total will be 2.99.” The sweet old man says as he gives Y/N two ice cream cones of half honey vanilla and half lavender flavored ice cream.

Y/N tilts her head. Her nose scrunches up adorably as she asks, “Shouldn’t it be 5.50? I ordered two ice cream cones.”

The man’s gentle smile becomes lecherous, making the muscles along Caleb’s sharp jawline clench. 

Seemingly unaware of how Caleb slammed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists, ready for a fight, the old man continues to stare shamelessly at Y/N’s cleavage. Eyes old with age drinking up the sweat glistening on the curves of her tits. 

Y/N chuckles awkwardly, “Thanks.” Hands Caleb his ice cream, grabs his arms and yanks him far away from the vendor.

“What a creep.” Y/N shudders at the encounter. 

“Caleb, your ice cream’s melting!” She screeches once she spots the cool cream dripping down Caleb’s thick wrist.

Like a balloon popping, Caleb snaps back to his surroundings. He hurries to lick away the stray streams of melted ice cream but he chokes when the liquid glides down his parched throat, it tastes like ash on his tongue. 

“L-let’s go back.” the words come out in a shaky exhale and they make Y/N face him with concern written all over her face.

Caleb is instantly drowning in a bottomless ocean of guilt for ruining Y/N’s day off but if they don’t return home and if Caleb doesn’t hide Y/N from the dangerous world, he’s afraid he’ll do something that Y/N will never forgive him for. 

Guilt hangs heavily around Caleb like an oppressive fog, anchoring him to the earth as if he were a ship caught in a relentless storm. His breath grows thin and ragged, tongue thick and unyielding as he speaks of a lie that feeds his selfishness and greed. 

Possession is a dangerous thing and it has long since ruined Caleb.

Yet, in an instant, the guilt morphs into conviction. Caleb reminds himself that he is doing this for Y/N's sake.

If a small, white lie will protect her from those hungry beasts lurking nearby, then Caleb will sing endless songs to Y/N, deceit underlying his lyrics. 

All for Y/N’s safety.

[karikarasuno]

eijiro kirishima had the fattest crush on you. it was painfully obvious. every shift. either before or after. regardless if he was on a night or day shift. he stopped by your cafe to grab a coffee.

he didn’t need it. he never even reacted well to caffeine, but one morning after a long night he needed a boost because he had this event to go to for the children’s hospital. and mina raved about this place. he trusted her opinion, so he stopped by.

he was expecting the cozy smell of coffee beans and the sugary sweet scent of pastries. he even expected the slight spicy smell in the air. chai, maybe? could be just cinnamon.

what he was least expecting was you. shuffling behind the counter, laughing lightly over your shoulder as you fiddled w the espresso machine. your hair was pinned up and mostly covered in a headscarf. and you moved so fluidly between bodies and fulfilling orders.

he focused so hard on the menu that he got overwhelmed. he would just have to ask the boy manning the register what he recommended. he tried hard not to watch you. but you made it difficult when you leaned over the pastry counter to hand a young girl a cake pop. winking and waving when she thanked you.

he was next in line. and just as he stepped to the counter you swapped places with the boy, shooing him off for his break. he forgot everything he wanted to say. and you smiled so brightly at him. so pleasantly. kindly.

and he absolutely melted.

he didn’t remember much from that initial interaction. only that you ordered him something sweet. and decaf. still he buzzed around for the rest of the day.

kirishima went to your coffee shop for six months. six months he ordered the same coffee. you’d add in a free treat every once in a while. usually something new you were trying out.

but then on a blessedly beautiful spring day, he found out you were moving apartments. he caught you in a rare moment when he stopped by. you weren’t behind the counter like you usually were, but restocking the napkins and stirrers. he watched as you ordered his usual over the counter to the barista making the drinks. his heart twisted and swelled and bloomed at the sight.

he was down bad.

“hey stranger,” you said, cheerful as ever to see him.

“hi,” he smiled back, hand rubbing the back of his neck. it always burned when he was around you. and some way, somehow, you told him that this week you were moving. stressed because you couldn’t find movers to help on such late notice. and no one you knew was free on a random wednesday.

so obviously he offered. you declined. but he insisted. so you agreed. preemptively thanking him as he walked towards the front door after having swapped numbers. finally.

you texted him the address bright and early on wednesday. you rented a moving truck and already had two cups of coffee and breakfast ready when he arrived. you were grateful. that much he could tell.

"i was thinking," you said as you both dropped your mattress onto your bedroom floor, "i can grab us some dinner if you want for all the help today."

"oh you don't have to do that," he said, breath a bit heavy from having walked up four flights of stairs with a mattress on his back.

"yeah, but i want to," you shrugged, adjusting the rug you laid out on the floor with the toe of your sneaker. you were easy to talk to. and even easier to spend time with. he thought you were funny in a goofy, offhanded kind of way. and he found it hard not to stare at you. even now, with your cheeks flushed and your hair pulled away from your face with your sunglasses propped on your head. he found you so stunning that it made his chest ache.

in a stupid, lovesick sort of way.

"well, if you insist," he responded, chuckling lightly when you grinned up at him.

"thanks again, red," you said, "you don't know how much i appreciate it."

"it was really no problem at all!" he waved off your gratitude because he truly didn't mind. crush aside.

"but being a prohero has to be exhausting and i'm sure this is not the ideal way to spend your day off," you reasoned, pushing a box that was positioned between the two of you against the wall with your leg. you were in shorts which he noticed immediately this morning, and noticed especially after so many times following you up the stairs.

and he was noticing again as he watched the muscles in your thigh flex and relax as you moved the box out of the way.

“anyway!” you clapped after the elongated silence and looking back up at him. “let’s figure out some food because i’m starving.”

and it seemed like it was in slow motion what happened next. one moment you were upright and the next your foot caught in the rug you had just situated and in his haste to catch you, he hadn’t noticed that his shoe lace had become untied. so the next moment, as you both flailed helplessly, you were lying on your naked mattress.

his body completely covered yours as you laid on your back beneath him. he heard an unmistakable huff exhale from your lips when his body weight fell onto you.

“it’s okay,” you laughed and he began to scramble, ultimately worried that he was cutting off your air supply. “really it’s fine,” you emphasized between giggles.

he rose on his arms so that he wasn’t laying on top of you anymore, but instead hovering over your face.

“i’m sorry,” he said. “i usually have better balance than that.”

he noticed quickly the position you were in, legs bracketing his hips and your palms resting casually against his chest. how you weren’t panicking like he was was a mystery to him.

“honestly it’s alright, kirishima,” you said his name so sweetly, like nectar was dripping straight from your tongue. “i mean i can’t say i haven’t imagined us in this position before.”

red, sharp and lustrous and hot, flooded his neck and cheeks and ears. when you looked into his eyes he saw it. behind the cheerful, almost innocent demeanor you always had with him, was a glint of something sinful. a craving he had to admit he also carried. every single day whenever you handed him his cup of coffee.

but up until now, the simple and fleeting brush of your fingertips was the only thing he had to fuel his fantasies whenever he found himself alone and aching.

“really?” the shock in his voice wasn’t subtle. he couldn’t help it. your admission was like a gift. on his birthday. the one at the very top of his list.

“yes, really,” you shifted a bit beneath him, unknowingly (he assumed) lining yourself up directly with his crotch. it was a little embarrassing that he was already sporting a semi. “you came in that day so clueless and i watched you go over our menu a million times.”

“i don’t drink coffee,” he said, blush still burning fiercely.

“i figured which is why i had to step in and help you,” you laughed at the memory. “and i just remember thinking how sexy you looked in you hero uniform.”

“you think my costume is sexy?” he didn’t know why your confession was so surprising. with all kirishima’s confidence, he often didn’t focus on his looks. his body was his weapon first and foremost.

“i’m a person with eyes, so yes,” you teased, your fingers toying with his t-shirt. his mind was empty. well it was focused, but only on what was happening between his legs. he really should get off of you before things go too far.

“i think,” you started, your hands beginning to slink their way up to his neck, careful fingers pressing tenderly into the tops of his shoulders, “you should kiss me.”

“oh,” was all he managed. all he could manage to say before he dropped to rest on his elbows and his lips met yours in a needy collision. your lips were so soft and insistent against his. your hands found their way into his hair almost immediately, nails scratching at his scalp.

he suppressed a shiver, but not very well. he was trying so hard to keep himself upright. so hard to keep himself from crushing you to the mattress when all he really wanted to do was flatten his hard frame to your soft one.

and you were just so soft, everywhere. his hand traveled down to knead at the flesh of your hip. he knew his grip wasn’t gentle, but his desperation made it difficult for him. you didn’t seem to mind, though. not when your legs locked around his waist and your arms looped around his neck.

maybe it was cliche but there were fireworks popping behind his closed eyes. fireworks when your tongue slipped into his mouth and pressed against his. fireworks when your hips found movement of their own and you dragged your clothed cunt right up his restrained hard on and you gasped.

even that tasted good.

you rubbed against him brazenly. all control he previously had, however little it was, flew out the window when you moaned. it was high and breathy and ran straight down his spine. his lips moved to your neck where he kissed and sucked and licked until you were all but begging for him to give you more.

he didn’t know what more was. he didn’t know how far you wanted this to go.

“kirishima,” you tugged at his hair until his face was pulled away from your throat and he was looking at you. how you managed to grow prettier he would never know. but he could tell there was contemplation behind your eyes. the desire was evident, but there was a hesitation there.

“do you-,” you stopped, eyes flicking between his eyes and his lips. your hand drifted down his torso, his hips jumped when your fingers grazed his nipple. you noticed and he noticed that you did. warm embarrassment flushed through him.

your fingers lingered there for a moment as you gently pet him. you stared at him as he began to rock against you once again. your fore and middle finger pinched his nipple over the thin fabric of his shirt until it hardened. he bit his lip to keep from groaning too pathetically.

“oh, red, look at you,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe and soaked in lust. kirishima’s head began to spin. his eyes shutting again when your hand continued its descent down his abdomen.

he wished he knew what you were thinking. he craved to be inside of your head. but he’d definitely settle on just being inside you instead.

your fingers were at his waistband soon enough. and as your hand breached beneath the restrictive fabric you angled your neck up to kiss him again, your tongue licking into his mouth right away. he was turning into a puddle in your arms and he had a feeling you knew that. especially when your hand met his hard cock and he groaned into your mouth.

“shit,” you said as you broke the kiss and looked down between your bodies. your eyes were wide and your lips were swollen and your breaths escaped your chest in hurried puffs. “you’re really-,”

“i know,” he interrupted, forehead dropping to rest against your collarbone. embarrassed again.

“kirishi-,”

“call me eijiro when youre touching my dick please,” he interrupted once more, face still hidden on your shoulder.

and you laughed. your head dropped down to the mattress, your neck openly exposing the hickey he accidentally made there. and you laughed.

“eijiro.” you didn’t continue until he lifted his head to meet your eyes. your irises were swimming with amusement. excitement even. usually his partners found him a bit intimidating. “your dick is really big.”

he might very well burst into flames. but he nodded and swallowed thickly when your hand slowly began to stroke him. “yeah… it’s a lot sometimes.”

“i really want you to fuck me,” there was a shyness there that he had never heard before. and even though your hand was down his pants, you still gazed up at him through your lashes bashfully.

maybe you’d be the death of him. and not some overpowered villain.

“now?” obviously you meant now, but he couldn’t stop the word from tumbling from his lips.

“please?” you nodded, blinking up at him in a way that would completely ruin him.

“ok,” he said, his hands quickly sliding down your sides to lift your shirt over your head.

“ok,” he said again, as he hurriedly discarded his own shirt before leaning back down to mouth at your cleavage that spilled over the top of your sports bra.

you keened when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your spandex as he pulled the fabric down so harshly threads popped. but neither of you bothered to be concerned. you kicked off your shoes, the thuds muffled where they met the texture of the rug.

in a matter of seconds you were naked. he was naked. and he was dripping precum. the both of you stared as his cock stood erect above your pussy.

he was… nervous?

“it’ll be fine,” you grabbed at his shoulders so that he was hovering over you again. “just stretch me out first.”

you grabbed ahold of his wrist, guiding his fingers to your leaking entrance and helping him push two fingers inside of you. his stomach twisted violently at the warmth and the tightness. maybe he could come from just fingering you. that didn’t seem outside the realm of possibilities.

because you squirmed around his fingers, bucked into his hand as he curved them until he found spongey tissue. you whined. so pretty. so lovely. so perfect.

“oh wow,” your head fell to the side as you rode his fingers, your chest heaving. he pressed his fingertips more firmly to your walls and your back arched from the mattress. he knew you were close because you kept pulsing around his digits. your slick travelled down his fingers and smeared against his palm.

but before he had the pleasure of watching you unravel beneath him, you pushed his hand away. and even though it was your doing you still whimpered at the loss.

“ok, i’m ready now.” you took his hand, the one covered in you, and wrapped it around his cock. you used it to lube him up, the sight was obscene. but it had his abs tensing anyway.

he was lined up with your entrance once you were satisfied with how wet he was. and silently he was glad you took the reigns. he wasn’t thinking well enough to be in control. his thoughts were too fragmented. too distracted by you.

kirishima pushed inside of you. the groan he held in his chest morphed into a growl when the heat of your cunt enveloped him. his breath was trapped in his lungs. and his eyes practically rolled back as he folded over your frame.

“fuck,” he plastered the word damp and heavy across your cheek. your feet dug into his ass to push him further into you. you didn’t want him to give you time to adjust. you just wanted him to move.

and he did. his hips smacked rhythmically against you. the sounds of sex filled the room. echoed across empty walls. your nails stung where you dug them into his biceps. but he didn’t mind. kirishima liked the pain.

“jesus fuck, red,” you mewled, your voice teetering on the cusp of a sob. he was losing his mind. his thrusts grew faster, heavier, more erratic. but you sucked him in graciously every time. he filled you over and over and over until you were writhing and your words slurred together.

his hand came up to grasp your chin. he didn’t mean to grab you so meanly. his strength was too much for him sometimes, but your eyes glistened with unshed tears when he turned your face to him. and the sight had him cracking in half. you weren’t real. you couldn’t have been because every time he looked at you your beauty would multiply and his heart really couldn’t take it.

“it’s eijiro when i’m inside you, ok?” you nodded against his grip. “it’s eijiro when i make you cum.”

drool dripped from the corner of your mouth, and he used his thumb to wipe it away. mesmerized.

“eijiro,” your voice was so broken it almost didn’t even sound like you. maybe you were a siren. maybe that was the only thing that made sense.

“eijiro,” you said again, your cunt clenching around him. your body seized up beneath him. your eyes disappeared behind your heavy eyelids. god, and when you came stars burst behind his own eyes. he finished not of his own accord, but because you forced him to join you.

too pretty. too needy. too much. how could he ever deny you when you said his name like that?

he was disoriented for a minute or so after he finished. you were limp beneath him, your thighs twitching every so often as the two of you caught your breath.

“i think we did that out of order,” he murmured, his voice rough still as he slid onto his side beside you.

“what?” you responded dreamily, clearly still feeling the rush of your endorphins fade.

“this whole day i was trying to hype myself up to ask you out on a date,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow with his head resting on his palm.

“a date,” you repeated, smiling up at him sleepily, satiated. “like what?”

“like dinner,” he grinned, his bare chest still carrying a bright blush.

“I like dinner,” you said in agreement, still smiling at him.

“how does right now sound?” he offered, something telling him that you would take him up on it.

“my treat?” you asked cheekily.

“as if i’d ever let you pay on our first date. what kind of man do you take me for?”

[espace--positif]

When Stars Align

A Sylus x F!Reader Fic [Love and Deepspace] Written for @reilemon for the Blind Date Matchmaking collab by @unintentionalseductress!

Summary: Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars. Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader WC: ~2.5k Content tags: blind date, fluff, humor, romance Notes: This was so fun to write (and the word count quickly got away from me lmao), huge thank you to Ray for organizing this event, and thank you to @pmpmyread for proofreading! I really hope you enjoy the fic @reilemon 💜

Masterlist

A soft spring breeze tickles at your skin as you walk down the busy street. It’s abuzz with chatter and laughter — mainly that of couples, as the season's warming up often engenders. The butterflies in your stomach flutter incessantly in anticipation of the afternoon ahead of you. Will you end up like one of the many happy — or seemingly happy, at least — couples that surround you?

A young couple sitting on a bench, tenderly sharing an ice cream cone, catches your attention. You wonder if they’ve worked out those little differences that always seem to make or break connections. If they’ve ironed out the kinks in the fabled red thread that connects them. If they’d even have found their way to one another, if not for a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Like a blind date.

You shake the feeling as quickly as it came on. You’re getting ahead of yourself, you haven’t even met the man yet, you briefly think.

Your friend hadn’t told you much about your date, simply claiming that you wouldn’t regret meeting him, and that he’d be unlike anyone you’ve ever seen. Though you doubted her assertion, as you knew she didn’t know him all that well — she’d also claimed he was a friend of friends, two twins who you’d recognized from mutual circles on social media. Despite this, no matter how much scouring and internet sleuthing you attempted, you couldn’t find anything on this so-called ‘Sylus’. Not a profile, a mention, nothing. His replies didn’t tell you much about his character either, but to be fair, you’d only briefly texted to organize the time and place for the date.

And now, as you arrive at your destination, your doubts multiply. Your friend’s recommendation for a café is nothing short of quirky — a tiny hole-in-the-wall with a pretentious-looking chalkboard menu filled with riddle-like names for likely simple drinks. It’s clearly a place she’d enjoy, but you now slightly regret relaying her recommendation to your date without as much as a glance at their webpage.

You tighten your black jacket around your frame as the calm breeze suddenly picks up. Ignoring your racing heartbeat, you open the door and step inside. The door’s chime hasn’t even sounded yet when an impossibly cheery barista almost materializes in front of you, clad in a dizzyingly striped apron that matches the sign outside.

“Welcome to the Linkon Bean and Dream!” he blurts energetically. “Can I get you an affirmation, or just the menu?” He winks as he says the word, and you suppress a sigh. Oh great, it’s one of these places.

“Actually, I’m here to meet someone, uh…” you trail off as your eyes scan the café. A few other couples sit around the colorful tables, chairs, and booths, but a single figure stands out, drawing your attention immediately.

The man, clad in a jet-black turtleneck and carmine blazer, claims all the patrons’ attention when he stands from a booth in the back and begins walking towards you. As he approaches, you notice his most prominent features; his hair is striking silver, half swept back, leaving a few loose strands to frame his chiseled face. And when he stops right in front of you and the wide-eyed barista, you notice that he’s incredibly tall, towering over the both of you. His gaze is piercing, deep red eyes focused on you as he gives you a once-over, and for a moment, you freeze.

He can’t be…

“Sylus?” you chance, and his gaze softens slightly, though an almost imperceptible edge still remains.

He smiles as he confirms your name, his voice deep and rich, and your hand tightens around the strap of your bag. It sounds so good on his lips.

Sylus turns to the barista, whose energy has suddenly dialed down, and says, “She’s with me. And we’ll just take the menu.”

“O-Of course,” stammers the barista. He leads you both back to your booth and hands you menus printed on paper bag-like sheets, which are ironically laminated in plastic. You both agree to order the ‘Cup of Delight’, which seems like the most normal drink on the menu (some of the items don’t sound like drinks at all), and the barista finally scatters, leaving you alone with Sylus.

You make brief introductions, giving him the almost rehearsed preamble you’re used to reciting — what you do for work, where you grew up, how you enjoy reading and dancing… But Sylus is different from your usual interlocutors. He listens attentively, as though you’re the only other person in the café, his gaze never leaving yours, even when you look away as a flush creeps up your cheeks.

No longer encumbered with a menu to fidget with, your eyes sweep over his necklace, expensive-looking silver encrusted with bright rubies, contrasting with his midnight black shirt. And beneath the necklace, you can see hints of the chiseled muscles barely contained by said shirt.

“So,” you clear your throat as you refocus, realizing that as easy as it is to talk to Sylus, he hasn’t exactly shared anything about himself yet. “What do you do?”

“I’m a business owner,” Sylus replies, leaning onto his palm. But this time, you don’t look away. A small smile blooms on your lips.

“What kind of business?” you ask, spurred by the enigma before you. He’s clearly well-off, on top of exuding an air of practiced elegance. And there’s a hint of danger there, too, magnetic and intriguing.

Sylus smirks. “Imports and exports. Some trading. Fruits, and other things.”

You raise a playful eyebrow. “Other things?”

“It’s best to diversify one’s investments and ventures, don’t you think?” Sylus chuckles, matching your playfulness. You’re taken aback, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Still, you can tell that he’s keeping something, or some things, close to his chest. And yet the strapping mystery of a man that sits across from you is somehow effortlessly breaking the ice, softening your exterior, and making you more and more comfortable by the second. Your friend was right — he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met.

“Mhm,” you hum. “So you own a business, with diverse investments and ventures and other things. That’s not mysterious at all.”

An intensifying energy, magnetism given form, stretches between you, and you stare into the vermillion pools of his eyes, as though they’ll give you answers.

“You’re quite the mystery yourself,” he replies, instead shifting the subject back to you, and you suddenly feel like he’s staring right through to your soul.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Sylus lilts as he gesticulates at the abrasive decor lining the walls, “this doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d enjoy. But perhaps I’m mistaken.”

You let out a small chuckle, acutely aware that Sylus isn’t the only one whose vibe is distinctly different from the quirky café — your all-black ensemble, bustier top, short skirt and thigh highs certainly stand out from the overly colorful decor. But your fashion sense has never been something you shied away from, nor has it ever stopped you from going places where you know you’ll stand out.

And though you’re surprised Sylus has noticed you’re not exactly in your element here, you take the opportunity to come clean. “It’s not,” you admit. “My friend picked this place, I’ve never been here before.”

“I see. Your friend has… eclectic tastes,” Sylus muses. A merciful euphemism.

Right on cue, the barista returns with two tall cups in hand. You can barely contain your laughter as you watch Sylus crinkle his nose at the… can you even call it a drink? that’s placed before him. Strange striped wafers that grow soggy by the second protrude from the sloshing pale liquid in the uncovered cups, and you’re suddenly glad that you un-endorsed this place before it was too late.

“Two Cups of Delight!” croons the barista before shuffling away.

At a loss for words, you simply stare at the abomination in front of you, then you look up at Sylus. His reaction, earlier amusingly dramatic, is now muted. He pulls a small, jet black card from an equally jet black card wallet tucked in his blazer pocket and stands.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you ask, though you suspect you already know the answer.

“I’m paying for these so that we can escape this place,” Sylus replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“That’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” you tease. “Don’t you feel like experiencing delight?”

“I highly doubt this…” Even he hesitates to call it a drink. “…thing… has a modicum of delight in it. Now, may I suggest a place that will actually delight you?”

Sylus offers you his hand, and the way the words dance on his tongue sends a shiver of anticipation through your body. You grasp his large hand and stand, just as eager to abandon ship. Once the drinks are paid for and you find yourselves on the sidewalk, you realize you haven’t even asked where you’re going. It’s a disarming feeling — you’d never have thought to become so comfortable with a practical stranger leading your day, yet here you are.

“Where are we headed to?” you finally ask, pulling out your phone. “I can call us a cab, or…”

A round helmet is suddenly pushed up against your arm. And that’s when you notice that Sylus has led you to a motorbike, dark as night, propped against the sidewalk. The descending sun sends glinting shimmers across its smooth chassis. You may not be a motorcycle aficionado, but you can tell it has exquisite craftsmanship. Excitement bubbles within you as you accept the helmet, and Sylus smirks at the sight.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The wind in your hair, a ghost of a feeling, still lingers as you walk into the warmly lit bar. It’s still early, so the place is nearly empty. You feel your heartbeat, already rapid from the exhilarating motorcycle ride, beginning to race. Spending time with Sylus in that café, as awful as it was, at least meant you were spared the potential awkwardness of intimacy. But here, surrounded by nothing but the suspended overhead lights and the two bartenders behind the counter, you feel a twinge of nervous energy creeping up on you.

But that energy begins to dissipate the moment you notice the menu on the wall behind the bar — in bold and cursive letters, the words ’Signature Cocktails’ greet you, and you’re once again surprised as you peruse your options.

Turning to Sylus, who greets the bartender with a practiced familiarity, you ask, “So tell me, why’d you pick this place?”

Sylus’s brow furrows in an expression of genuine concern. “Is it not to your liking?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, it’s the opposite, actually. I love a good cocktail bar. How did you know…?”

Sylus grins. “Perhaps I’m that good of a judge of character.”

You playfully tap at his shoulder as you take a seat on an expensive-feeling leather stool. “Not very humble either. And with a flair for the dramatic.”

Sylus shakes his head in mock consternation. “Ah, have I failed to meet your rigorous expectations, then?”

Just then, the bartender gingerly places two drinks in front of you. And this time, they look not only drinkable, but quite enticing — slices of jalapeño and lime are neatly arranged within the bright yellow liquid, and the cup is rimmed with what looks like a blend of salt and tajin.

“Spicy mango margaritas. On the house,” says the bartender, flashing a knowing smile at Sylus.

You take a sip, instantly savoring the spicy, sweet, and tangy symphony of flavors on your tongue. Riding the invigorating energy of the delicious drink, you return to Sylus’s question.

“Well, that depends. Can you dance?”

The open area that has become your private dance floor is alight with slowly drifting hues of warm yellow and orange. A slow, groovy tune resounds from overhead and the surrounding speakers, enveloping you in a comfortable ambiance as you sway with the beat. Well, as one of you sways with the beat and the other tries his best. You’ve quickly realized that Sylus isn’t the best at keeping up with a rhythm, but a warm smile spreads across your lips as you think about how he’s indulging your spontaneous whim. You’re certainly in your element now, and he seems to have taken notice.

“What is it?” Sylus asks, raising an inquisitive brow.

You laugh, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. “Nothing, it’s just… You could work on your rhythm.”

Whether you have the drink you’re still nursing or Sylus’s comfortable presence to thank for your nervousness disappearing, you’re not sure. But you’ve somewhat settled into this back-and-forth with a man you didn’t know existed a few hours ago, a man whose mysterious persona you’ve still yet to unravel. And that’s something to drink to.

“I’m hurt,” Sylus smiles, feigning offense. “I’ve been told my dancing is as good as my singing. Are you saying I’ve been lied to?”

You gulp down the remainder of your drink before replying, “I’m saying that maybe you should work on your singing, too.”

Sylus laughs, a low rumble that settles in your abdomen alongside the warmth of the drink. A pleasant silence settles, and it’s only you, Sylus, and the music.

Your gazes lock, and you find yourself almost lost in the deep crimson of his eyes. And that magnetic energy resurfaces again as time seems to still. Diffused light dances across his features, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his sculpted nose, the softness of his lips…

Sylus draws closer, and your heart hammers in your chest. But you don’t pull away, instead letting his magnetism pull you in. His hand rests on your waist, and your hand moves of its own accord to settle on the back of his neck. His hair is soft, so soft, you think as you trace gentle circles around the tangles at his nape. Heat creeps up your face, but you resist the urge to look away. There’s something about him…

The scent of his cologne, woody and smoky, envelops your senses as you close the distance. Your lips brush, slowly and tentatively at first, before Sylus gently pulls you in, and you tilt into him, reciprocating the gesture. You part your lips, letting out a soft gasp, before the dam that was your inhibition fully breaks. You kiss deeply, tasting all of him. And he tastes like the cocktail, spicy and sweet and tangy, like a delectable piece of fresh fruit on a sweltering day.

Then you both pull away, but not before he gives your lip the tiniest nip. You feel as though your breath has been stolen, but it’s a feeling you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Your eyes meet again, your fingers still stroking at his strands, his hand still firmly on your waist.

“You’re different, Sylus.”

“So are you,” Sylus smiles, intrigue dancing in his narrowed eyes.

And so, mere hours after having met him, you’ve begun to scratch the surface of the mystery that is Sylus. The enticing enigma that seems to pull you, as though through a taut red thread, as red as his inescapable eyes.

Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Thanks for reading <3

[sigma-alpha-writer-chad]

Upstairs [Hiromi Higuruma]

[Hiromi Higuruma / F!Reader]

Not sure if this will be multiple chapters or not. Depends how it does, maybe?

[Reader is 25]

[No warnings]

Word count: 3.3k

-+-+-+-+-+-

Rays of sunlight pool onto you and your bed through the blinds of the window, the light of a new day nudging you awake as it slowly crawls it's way across your sleeping form. You groan as it makes it's way directly into your eyes. You turn over to postpone your awakening, but it only takes half an hour for it to reach your face once again. You want to go back to sleep.

But you can't.

You reach out from under your blanket for your phone on the bedside table, exposing your arm to the cold air of the early Spring. With a slight shiver, you grab the device and pull it quickly towards you, simultaneously pulling your blanket over your head to trap the warm air of your breath and body.

You wipe the wetness from the screen from your breath as you skim through your notifications, hoping for anything interesting to appear, a good morning text, a recommended article. However, nothing. Aside from your normal spam emails and the weather, there was nothing of note on your phone today. You turn your phone off and lay there, briefly weighing the decision of staying in bed all day rather than going to work.

However, you are just fine. If you call in, you will feel guilty.

And you'll make less money.

With a quick glance at the clock to decipher how much time you have to get ready, you begrudgingly roll out of your warm, comfortable bed and into the cold air and make your way through your home and to the kitchen.

Nothing sounds good. 

You think, scanning your cabinets and fridge for your breakfast choices. You're out of milk, so a bowl of cereal is out of the question. A mental note is made to pick up a gallon on the way home from work, though you make another mental note that you'll likely forget anyways.

Coffee it is.

You make your way back into your bedroom and get dressed, business casual being the dress code for your boring office job. Black slacks and a pale blue blouse under a black suit jacket will do just fine, with shiny black shoes and a long black button up coat to protect you from the weather. Despite the cold, the office was close enough to walk, so walk you did. Every day, no matter the weather.

As you step out of your door and into the sunlight, you flinch. The sun hadn't shown itself this brightly in weeks. As grateful as you were for the warmth on your skin, the robbery of your vision was not so beloved. You fumble in your pockets as you begin to walk, finding your sunglasses and putting them on as you make your way towards the office.

The bustling city wakes up with you, cars driving past and people walking by. Though you weren't downtown and in what some may call the outskirts, it was still the city. Buildings still tower over you despite the smaller businesses that make up most of the street and marijuana and/or cigarettes can still be smelled at random. 

No matter your feelings for the scent of cigarettes, however, you didn't appreciate the cloud blown directly into your face from your left as you turned the corner. 

"Oh, shit," you curse, waving your hand in the air and stopping in your tracks. You squeeze your burning eyes shut as you make a face, briefly concerned about the smell sticking to your clothes. The man does not apologize.

"Watch where you're going." He says blankly, more smoke escaping his lips - at least he has the consideration to aim it away from you as he speaks. You scoff and kiss your teeth, smoothing out your clothes as you continue your walk.

A minute passes before you hear the sweet tingle of the brass bell in front of the door ringing as you enter your favorite café. You breathe out a sigh of relief as the smell of freshly ground coffee beans replace the bitter scent of tobacco and nicotine that hangs in your nose. Taking a deep breath, you approach the counter. The tall man in front of you orders a medium black coffee.

-+-+-+-+-+-

"I thought you didn't smoke, (y/n)." You look up from your computer and over your blue light glasses to look at the woman sat at the desk in front of you, turned around to talk. Slowly, you take off your glasses and fold them before tucking them in your breast pocket.

"I don't." You say.

"You smell a bit like cigarettes."

"Somebody blew their smoke straight into me on my walk in this morning. Even so, it's impressive you can even smell it." You tilt your head down to briefly smell yourself. You're met with the scent of coffee, your deodorant, and your laundry detergent. "I can't smell it."

"You get the sense after smoking a pack a day for a few years, I guess." 

"What do you need, Cathryn?" You say this as politely as you're able. Cathy had the habit of trying to spark a conversation with you before asking a favor, as if to ease you into saying yes. She was terrible at it. Even so, she smiles sweetly.

"I was just wondering if you could deliver this for me." She smiles shyly, slowly holding up a small white box below her eyes. You look at it and furrow your eyebrows, frustrated at the interruption in your focus for something so miniscule. 

"...to where?"

"Upstairs. There's a law firm a floor above us and I've got my eye on this one that's gained quite the reputation. He's foreign." You press your lips together in a tight line and keep your eyebrows knitted together. 

"Foreign?" You repeat. There's a slight disappointment in your voice at the woman.

"He's from Japan. Immigrated here a few years ago." She sighs. "His English is just excellent." You can't help the faces you make. "Stop frowning, you'll get lines." Your forehead relaxes immediately, mostly just in surprise of the sudden motherly chastisement. 

"You've always got your eye on somebody," you sigh. "How old is he? 20 or 60?" It's Cathryn's turn to frown, her face growing red in embarrassment. She had a habit of setting her sights on men that were either 20 years her junior or 20 years her senior.

"I heard he's in his 30's." She huffs. Though your glasses are in your pocket, you look at her as if over them.

"You've never talked to him?"

"...No. But we've ridden in the elevator together a few times when I've worked overtime."

"Then how do you know his English is good?"

"I heard him talk. He still has an accent, but-"

"What's in the box?" Cathryn huffs again, and you're tempted to tell her that her face is going to get stuck like that.

"It's nothing, actually. I'll give it to him myself." She crosses her arms and turns back around dramatically. 

"Great, let me know how it goes." You sigh, retrieving your blue light glasses and returning them to your face. It doesn't take long for the woman to turn around to face you again. Before she even speaks, you sigh heavily and the glasses return to your pocket.

"You at least have to see him, (y/n). You'd understand. He's a very handsome man. Your classic tall, dark, and handsome." 

"I'm sure he is." You're done with the conversation now, not even bothering with the glasses.

"Just stay late tonight. He usually stays until pretty late, around 9 or so."

"There's no way I'm staying that late.. and it's creepy that you know that." 

-+-+-+-+-+-

You look at the clock.

9:03 pm.

A grave sigh leaves you as you close out your final project for the day. A few of your coworkers were still at their desks, typing away on their keyboards, albeit slowly. It was silent in the office otherwise, and you make a mental note of the steadily increasing workload. You had been staying later recently, sure, but four hours past your time to clock out?

Thank God you're hourly. The check will be nice.

"Alright. I'm heading out." You sigh, standing up and stretching. Your coworkers hum their goodnights, and you grab your coat. As you walk to the exit, putting it on, you notice a man - Jason is his name - snoring softly. His fingers are still on the keyboard and his screen saver reflects off of his clear skin. You would think he was just sitting their with his eyes closed if the snoring hasn't given him away.

"Jason." You say, tapping his shoulder. He jolts awake, causing you to jump as well.

"I'm up!" He says, a little too loudly. You can't help but laugh.

"Go home and get some sleep." 

"Okay, sure, maybe I should do that... What time is it?" Jason looks around him, his pale blue eyes shifting from desk to desk to see who was still around. You pretend not to see the massive clock directly in front of the man.

"It's after nine."

"Shit."

"Goodnight, Jason," you smile. "Be safe."

"Yeah, you too." 

"See you tomorrow."

You head down the long hallway to the elevator, yawning and running your hands through your hair. The sound of your footsteps on the tile flooring echoes off the grey walls. You get to the elevator and press the 'down' button with your knuckle. You yawn again as you watch the red digital number slowly count down the floors as it came closer to you. It pauses at the floor above for a while before coming to you.

Ding!

The doors open to reveal a man in a black suit with a circular pin on the left lapel, tall and exhausted. He stood with his eyes closed as if he were sleeping where he stood, his hands clasped together in front of him. You were hesitant to enter, as if you feared waking him up, but enter you did. When you enter, the button for the ground floor is already lit up.

As any elevator ride is when you're next to someone else, the air is awkward - though, of course, only for you. You worked on the 17th floor, so the ride down is long. No one else in the building had apparently decided to work the hours you did, because the elevator never stopped. You take a moment to look at the man next to you. He's tall, at least 6 foot, and his thick hair was a very dark brown, styled He is clean shaven and appears well groomed aside from the few stray hairs that fell onto his forehead, the only evidence he was, in fact, human. His eyelashes were thick and dark, and his eyebrows matched. Even though his expression was relaxed, they made him look sad, worrisome - tired. The most prominent thing about the man is his sharp features - specifically his nose. Downturned and prominent, a bump on the bridge between his eyes. 

He's a handsome man.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

You make an 'ohhh shit' expression.

The elevator finally stops at the ground floor, and the man doesn't move. You wait a few seconds, and he stands completely still.

Is he asleep?

The doors start to close, so you hit the 'open' button before opening your mouth to speak.

"Excuse me," you start. The man doesn't move. "Is this your floor?" You speak quite a bit louder, this time, but his eyes don't open. You gulp, hitting the open door button again as you reach for him, anxious. "Hey, is-" as soon as you touch him, he jumps slightly.

"Oh, I..." He starts, blinking quickly. His hangdog eyes match the rest of him. Dark and exhausted. "I apologize. I must have..." His eyes meet yours. You move your arm in the doorway instead of hitting the button this time. Despite his height advantage, he turns his head downward so that his eyes look up at you. "I must have fallen asleep."

"You're good." you nod, motioning for him to exit before you. He shakes his head and mirrors the notion.

"Ladies first." Your eyes widen slightly as if processing what he said. 

"Oh! Thank you!" The elevator doors close completely and you hit the button - again. You step out, flustered with the incredibly awkward situation. 

"Have a good night, ma'am." He calls after you.

"You too!" You reply, only turning your head slightly and waving your hand in good-bye. It's only made slightly extra awkward that he's following you, as there's only one exit, but you're walking faster.

The cold air hits you as you open the door and you wrap your coat tighter around yourself. You shiver and huff as you do so and shove your hands into your pockets as you begin walking home in long strides, your teeth chattering. You weren't freezing, but it was times like these where you wished you'd just drive your car. But the environment.

A few minutes pass before you hear footsteps behind you, walking quickly. It occurs to you now that you're walking home alone at night in the city, and that maybe you should have asked Jason to walk or drive you home. You pick up your pace slightly before you hear someone call out.

"Excuse me, ma'am." You flinch slightly, but slow down to allow whoever to catch up. You could run, but they might chase. Turning your head slightly, you see that it's the lawyer, now in a long black coat and scarf. You stop walking and turn around to face him. "You're ok?" 

"What?" He furrows his eyebrows and frowns, looking up in thought.

"Are you okay?" He clarifies. He looks back at you, his head tilted downward again. It was odd, you noted, that despite his almost ashamed body language, he exuded a dominance and superiority. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he starts. He doesn't break eye contact with you as he speaks. "You are walking alone, and it's dark out." He glances upwards at the pitch black sky for a moment as if to make a point. "We are in a city. Can I walk with you?"

"What?"

"May I walk you home?"

The two of you stand there in silence for a minute, your eyebrows knitted together as you stare at the lawyer. His expression is blank but his eyes don't leave yours.

"I don't want you to go out of your way."

"I am already walking, anyways. It cannot be that far." You let out a long breath, watching the cloud escaping your mouth swirl and dissipate through the air.

"That wouldn't be so bad."

"...that means yes?"

"Yes." 

He nods and begins to walk forward to take place next to you, and you walk together. It's a comfortable silence for a while despite the air of awkwardness. You can't help but smile a little in appreciation. He seems like a gentleman.

"What should I call you?" You ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your name. What is it?" 

He hums as if in thought.

"Hiromi Higuruma."

Your eyebrows twitch upwards for a second before you whisper it to yourself as if it will help you remember.

"Higuruma is a pretty name. Does it mean anything?" He pauses, glancing sideways at you.

"To put it simply.. sunflower."

"That's ironic."

"I don't know that word." 

"Right. Uhm, it means it's the opposite of what you're expecting, I guess. In an amusing way." 

"What were you expecting?" 

"I'm... Not sure. Just not that. It suits you, though." You pause before clarifying. "I saw your lawyer pin. It looks like a sunflower."

"That is because it is a sunflower." 

"Exactly. Uhm, turn here." You point to the left, and the two of you stop at the cross walk, looking both ways. You start forward, but Higuruma stops you.

"It's a red hand. Do not cross." 

"What are you, a cop?"

"I am a lawyer." 

You can't help but laugh, and Higuruma smiles at you, offering a small breath out of his nose in amusement. Despite your usual habit of jaywalking, you humor the lawyer and wait for it to be perfectly legal to cross. When the white 'walk' symbol appears, the two of you walk to the other side of the street. It's only about another five minutes to yours, which you express to Higuruma. He nods, slowly.

"It is about the same for me."

"Really?" You ask. He nods. "Where do you live?" 

"High Rise."

"That's where I live."

"....oh." 

There's another awkward silence aside from you clearing your throat.

"What floor?" You prod.

"Third floor." 

"I'm on the fourth." 

"I leave very early. That must be why I have never seen you before."

"Did you move in recently?" 

"A few months ago." He scratches his chin and looks downwards as he walks. "I suppose we miss each other." You open your mouth to say something else but decide against it, only nodding instead. 

Finally, you both approach the apartment building, scanning your key cards to enter. You head up the stairs, stopping at floor three before you turn around to look at the gentleman who'd walked you home.

"This is the third floor," he speaks before you can say anything. "You are not home yet." You smile and continue up the stairs. At the fourth floor, you stop again and Higuruma offers a small smile. 

"Are you good to let me go here or do you want to walk me to my door, too?"

"Do you mind me knowing your exact address?" You shrug. He has a point, but he already knows your floor.

"Our names are on our mail slots downstairs. It doesn't matter." 

"Right." With this, he walks with you to your door. You unlock it before turning around.

"Thank you for walking me home, sir." You nod, bowing slightly. 

"You don't need to thank me. I would have been thinking about it until I saw you next if I let you walk alone."

"Thinking about me?" You tease. Higuruma rolls his eyes weakly, but he doesn't frown. 

"Safety is important. Please do find me if you are to stay that late again." Your face heats up slightly, and he notices quickly.

"Or anyone. I am sure you work with many trustworthy men." 

"Thank you, Higuruma." You repeat your thanks. 

"I would accept your thanks if you would tell me your name." He responds. You cringe slightly, embarrassed that you forgot. 

"My name is (y/n). (Y/n (l/n)." Higuruma repeats it, sounding it out quietly to himself before nodding.

"That's a good name. Pretty. It suits you well."

"See you later, Higuruma." You say, trying and failing to hold back a smile as a light pink dusts your cheeks.

"See you later." He repeats. You turn around again and open your door, stepping inside your apartment. As you turn again to close it, you see Higuruma still standing there, and you wave as you slowly close the door, smiling foolishly. His lips twitch into a smile as he does the same before you close the door completely and he's out of sight. 

You sigh heavily and lean back against the door, closing your eyes. The silly grin on your face is uncontrollable and you change into your pajamas quickly before flopping down onto your bed, giggling and kicking your feet. 

The interaction was not necessarily romantic but such attention one on one with a tall and handsome man was something you hadn't experienced in a long time, if ever. You plug your phone in before tucking yourself into bed, the happy expression never leaving your face. Despite your excitement, though, you quickly began to drift off to sleep as soon as your eyes closed. There was one thing you thought to yourself right before losing consciousness.

I forgot to stop for milk.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Hello, thank you for reading!!

[thursdaygxrls]

thin ice — four

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary — kitty is yet again dragged to a social gathering she would rather not attend. the bait this time? weed!

paring — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!(journalist)!reader

disclaimer — who is expecting me to own peter parker by now?? bc i don’t

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty,’ weed, slightly inexperienced reader (experienced peter, no smut yet im sorry), possible ooc

Days like these were the ones Kitty craved: hazy, chilly spring weather that resembled fall, except that dying leaves were replaced by cherry-red buds, and flowers bloomed through blades of grass. It was one of those days with no responsibilities to fill her precious hours—the ones that were spent scrolling through Pinterest and reading. She was stretched haphazardly along her bed, still dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with holes in the armpits. The blinds were still closed, so the sudden beam of light next to her startled her.

“You love interrupting my dark-dwelling time,” she hissed as MJ entered the room. Sticking out her tongue, MJ closed the door behind her and sealed off the obnoxious light, much to Kitty’s relief.

“I’m sorry, my sun-hating princess,” MJ spoke dramatically as she rummaged through her bag, “But, I come bearing gifts.”

At this, Kitty perked up, swiping out of Project Makeover and sitting up to devote her full attention to her roomate. From her bag, MJ produced two plastic-wrapped chocolate-chip cookies and tossed them to bed. The girl pounced on them, immediately tearing into the plastic on one of the packs.

“I forgive you,” she said before biting into the treat.

“Thank God,” MJ replied in dramatic relief. Ease settled over the room as MJ removed her jacket and went about unpacking her things. Kitty, now finished with her first cookie, tossed the used plastic to the trash can across the room (and missed horribly). 

“What’ve you been up to this lovely Friday?” She asked her freckled friend, who was currently changing out of her cable knit sweater. 

“Oh, you know, class,” MJ responded as she slid a Stevie Nicks shirt over her head, “Some people still have class on Fridays.”

“That must be heartbreaking,” Kitty hummed sarcastically, “Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah,” MJ’s movements were smooth as she went through her bag, “I had lunch with Harry after class.”

“Was the dining hall romantic?” Kitty questioned with a smile.

“Totally,” MJ responded with a laugh, “The black-bean burgers are basically aphrodisiacs. Anyways, he invited us out to Hot Rock around eight, so I was thinking we could get dinner–”

“No, thanks,” Kitty intercepted, bringing her legs up closer to her torso and flattening her lips to a line, “I’m not leaving the dorm today.”

“If you had it your way, you’d do that every day,” MJ groaned.

“And?’ Kitty quirked a brow, causing another grumble to leave her counterpart.

“Do you realize how much I say ‘no’ to stuff?” She continued, “‘Kitty, wanna go to a hockey game?’ No. ‘Kitty, wanna go to a frat party?’ No. Our entire relationship exists on the basis of you wanting to do stuff and me trying to refuse.”

“But you still went,” MJ raised her brows hopefully, “To both things. And it’s not like it’s just going to be Harry, he said some other people would be there.”

“Oh, great, other people, you know how much I love social gatherings where I don’t know anyone.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You know Peter,” MJ suggested. Kitty hadn’t seen Peter in a while. ‘A while,’ in her case, was a week. She’d gotten some semi-regular texts from him (cat memes and open invites to hang out) but hadn’t seen him since the frat party.

“Is it the best use of their time to be at Hot Rock when the semi-finals are two days away?” Kitty asked.

“No, probably not, but,” MJ’s smile, which had been dimming, came back with full vibrance, “But we can reap the benefits of their deviant behavior.”

“Are the benefits better than chocolate chip cookies?” She hummed.

“Pre-rolls and a bong,” MJ wiggled her fingers in a tamer version of jazz hands. Kitty seemed to deflate with a loud sigh.

“I hate that you make me do things.”

Hot Rock existed on the older, suburban side of campus. Right behind one of the major dining halls was a small, hidden space that hit the blind spot of the security cameras in the area. It wasn’t a rock so much as an artificial slab of stone with a metal pipe attached that spewed hot steam. It was connected to the heating system in the dining hall, but also served as a popular spot for stoners. A few of these man-made smoke spots were scattered around campus, but this one was the most popular, mainly because this rock was always much hotter than the others.

Kitty’s breath appeared in small puffs in the night air and she and MJ walked around the corner of the dining hall. It was spring, and the weather was getting warmer, but there was still a bit of frost. As they shuffled down a small slope, the rock revealed itself, decorated with about four people, one of them being Harry.

“MJ!” He nearly fell over himself scrambling towards the pair. He pressed a small kiss to her lips and wrapped an arm around her in greeting. MJ giggled, choosing to ignore Kitty’s gagging face.

“Kitty-cat!” Harry directed his grinning face to her, “I’m so glad MJ got you out of your tree.”

“I almost wish you’d just call me ‘bitch’ instead of that,” she replied. Harry, not losing any vigor, laughed.

“I know what you need.” He wagged his brows as he reached into the breast pocket of his flannel. He produced a mini pre-rolled joint with a proud grin, “Kitty needs her catnip.”

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” she said, and he simply chuckled. His eyes moved from hers, and somehow his impossibly bright smile widened. Kitty turned and was met with a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“I’m a big fan of catnip, too,” Peter grinned, sliding down to meet the rest of the group.

“Hey, Peter,” Harry let go of MJ for a moment to give Peter a half-hug. Peter’s eyes, however, never let go of Kitty. He held her gaze with ease.

“Can we sit? My ass is cold,” MJ grumbled lightly as Harry took his post next to her.

“Of course, of course,” was Harry’s hurried reply. The four found spots on the rock, Harry returning to his original spot and taking MJ with him. Kitty settled in a small nook where the slab met a natural rock formation, and, as if she was a magnetic pole, Peter sat next to her. A few awkward introductions were shared with the others at the rock, though, it was clear they were all at least a few hits into Harry’s pre-rolls. 

“So,” Peter’s voice cracked through the silence, “We keep finding each other, don’t we?”

“You keep finding me,” Kitty corrected.

“Same difference,” he shrugged. Wordlessly, he slipped his backpack from his shoulder and set it down in front of him. He worked in surprising order as he removed the items: a grinder, a small, rolled-up plastic bag, a green bong that had seen better days.

“Are student athletes supposed to be smoking?” She asked. For once, his gaze wasn’t focused on her, but on the contents before him.

“Helps with nerves,” he said, grabbing the baggy, “It’s medical, y’know.”

“Hm, I bet,” she replied. He worked with diligence: his long, slender fingers plucked a chunk of bud from the bag and trapped it in the grinder. The sleeves of his black long sleeve were rolled up, revealing his wrist that tensed lightly when he ground the bud. She’d never quite noticed how strong his hands looked—veiny and taught, likely from the hours upon hours of hockey practice. Then came the realization that she was staring, which pulled her attention away from him and to the others on the rock. Though there weren’t many people, pockets of conversation were created: MJ and Harry, who were cuddled up and passing a joint, two other members of the hockey team and a girl with shaggy blonde hair, and, of course, her and Peter. 

“Alright,” Peter hummed in satisfaction as he packed the bowl. He grabbed a red lighter from the front pocket of his jeans and finally looked at Kitty. He held the bong out for her with one of those easy, boyish smiles, “Wanna do the honors, Y/n?”

Peter seemed to be good at evoking emotions from her. Annoyance, frustration, confusion, and now, prickly embarrassment. She licked her lips, looking from the bong and back to him.

“Um,” she let out a small cough, “I’m…not sure how to?”

She wasn’t new to smoking. There was the occasional joint she and MJ would indulge in, or maybe she would take a hit off cart at one of the parties she was dragged to. She’d just hadn’t gotten the chance to hit a bong before—a fact that didn’t bother her until she was here, staring at Peter. She hated her reply and the way she stumbled with her words. She hated that she had nothing better to say. She hated that she had released blood into the water.

“You haven’t done this before?” He grinned. Her jaw clenched at the way he said that. Kitty, in response, sucked her teeth.

“Have you never smoked before?” He cocked his head.

“No, I have, just not this,” she sighed, a slight aggravated clip to her words. Peter must’ve noticed because his gloating grin softened.

“That’s alright,” his voice was more mellow now, “That’s okay, everyone has a first time.”

This persona, the calmer one he adapted when he knew she was getting pissed off, may have pissed her off even more. If he wasn’t being an asshole, it was harder to be annoyed with him, which made her annoyed with him, which made her annoyed with herself.

“Okay,” she said, a cleansing breath of chilled spring air filling her lungs.

“Okay?” He repeated, “You want to try?”

Kitty glanced at MJ and Harry. They weren’t doing anything graphic, but they were still all over each other, giggling and whispering. She turned back to Peter and nodded.

“You sure?” He raised a brow.

“Gimme,” she groaned, taking the glass bong from his hands. He let out a small, breathy chuckle and nodded.

“Okay, so,” he sat up, “I’m gonna light it, you breathe in through the mouth right here. I’ll pull the bowl for you and you keep breathing in, okay?”

Kitty nodded, her lips descending on the mouthpiece. A sudden flash of panic struck her as he flicked the lighter. Did she look stupid? Was she being stupid? Why did she care? Peter lit the bowl, and she did as he said, sucking in a deep drag. The bong bubbled to life and milky smoke flooded the tube.

“Good, good,” Peter encouraged as he pulled the bowl, “Keep sucking in—there you go, just like that.”

She’d been doing fine until he’d spoken. His words, meant as innocent encouragement, sent blood rushing to her face. Her scalp burned as her head reared back and ragged coughs escaped her. Smoke left her lips in puffs, like dust being stirred from an old book. Peter patted her back with one hand and rummaged through his bag with another.

“That happens,” he spoke, unphased by her continuous coughing. He took a metal water bottle decorated in stickers in various states of wear from his bag and unscrewed the lid.

“Here, drink,” he brought it to her lips and she immediately sucked down the water. It was cold against her burning throat. She focused on how cool it was, hoping it would also subdue the burning in her face. A few gulps later, Kitty was back to a semi-normal state. She took in deep breaths, swirling in oxygen with the cannabis in her lungs. 

“That was a big-ass hit. Good job,” Peter chuckled, “When was the last time you smoked?”

“I don’t know, a few weeks ago? And thank you,” Kitty replied. There wasn’t a hint of snark in her words, which was highly unusual. The afterburn of her influx of new feelings was still there.

“That oughta do it,” he took the bong from her, “I mean, you can totally have more, but your tolerance is probably pretty low, and the hit you just took looked more like three.”

“Yeah, that oughta do it,” she coughed out. He eyed her, suspicious of her lack of sass, before lighting the bowl for himself.

The bong caught up with her within ten minutes. There was a low vibration in her body, one that pulsed in her fingertips and warmed her. Her vision was a bit more narrow now, like she was viewing movie through her vision. Her mind bubbled, and when her eyes caught a glimpse of the sky, she leaned back with astonished glee.

It wasn’t often that you saw stars in the sky on this side of New York. Usually, the city lights blocked out anything non-artificial. But here, a mile or so away from the more prominent lights, she was able to see the glimmer of distant stars. It was captivating, really, and she could’ve stared at them for hours. Maybe she did. People buzzed around her without her recognition. Even Peter seemed to settle into a comfortable silence next to her. 

“Do you remember that one episode of Hannah Montana where Miley moves into a new house and there’s a pizza oven? Like, one of those wood ovens you put pizza in. A pizza oven? Yeah?” She asked, glancing in Peter’s direction. He seemed to only slightly register the question before looking at her with a cocked brow.

“No,” he replied.

“Oh,” she hummed, “What about the one where—it’s the third episode, I think—the one where Oliver—no, it’s the second episode—the one where Oliver is in love with Hannah Montana, but he doesn’t know it’s Miley, so Miley and Lilly are like ‘oh, no!’” 

“No,” he repeated. His voice wasn’t harsh, though. It was soft, maybe even curious.

“It’s good,” she said, “Real good. Real good.” 

It was around then that the stars began to lull her to sleep. There was something comfortable about this moment: the heat of the rock, the stars, the weed in her system. She drifted off for a moment and was quickly awoken by a gentle shake.

“Y/n?” Peter called lightly, “Are you sleepy?”

His hand was on her arm. His hand was on her arm. Her eyes settled on that before she could even begin to process his words. His hand was lovely, truly, with its web of veins, the slender fingers that warmed her skin. She looked up to him and smiled.

“Hey!” Was her cheery reply. He laughed at this and nodded. Kitty cocooned inside herself once more as he turned away and called out to someone on the other side of the rock. She heard Harry, then MJ, then Peter again. It sounded like hearing a foreign language as the spoke.

“Would you like to sleep in your bed instead of this rock?” Peter asked. Kitty, still cocooned, sprung forward a bit.

“Yes,” she responded confidently. He couldn’t help but smile at her tone. He packed away his bag swiftly and stood, offering a hand to Kitty.

“You think I can’t stand up? Oh, I can stand up—I’m an olympic stander,” she mumbled, rejecting his hand. This side of her was something Peter had never experienced. He was used to snippy comments and sharp replies, but the inebriated, bumbling Kitty was an entirely different person. He liked it. A lot.

They began their trek back to Kitty’s dorm in silence. It was comfortable like this: quiet interrupted by the occasional off-key hum by the girl. It wasn’t a very far walk, only five minutes or so, and when they reached the front, Peter’s tight grin loosened a bit.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his hand gently catching her arm. In this state, she wasn’t able to deny the electric current that was sent through her nervous system. Kitty shivered as she met his eyes.

“I know you’re not in the right headspace for this, so I’ll ask you again later, but…” he trailed off. He looked away from her, and she caught the way his throat bobbed slightly. This lasted for only a moment before he was making eye contact again, “Do you wanna come to semis?”

That wasn’t the question she expected. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Instead of responding, she stared blankly at him.

“It’s not here, it’s actually kind of far away,” he was rambling now, “Well, not super far, it’s in New Jersey. It’s sort of late notice, so I know you might not want to go, and you have your own shit to worry about, too, so—”

“This is very weird,” Kitty interrupted.

“What?” Peter stopped, looking to her with a quirked brow.

“You’re acting nervous and talking a lot. Weird,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I am nervous, and I’m a little high, and you’re really hot, so there’s just a lot going on up here.” He gestured to his head. Her eyes were blank for several seconds before they sparked in recognition.

“Oh—oh.” Her expression changed rapidly, eventually landing on something akin to realization. Silence swelled between them for a moment before it was broken by one word: “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Peter repeated.

“Maybe,” she nodded in agreement. His lips tugged into a boyish smile once more.

“Okay, Y/n,” he grinned, “Maybe.”

a/n — (in the voice of that one meme) heyy….how y’all doin??? okay so im sorry that this update is months late, college has been a lot. it’s been fun tho!! like, i think im the happiest ive ever been. anyways, im sorry if this update doesn’t fit as well with the others, im trying to get back into the groove of writing, forgive me 🙏 love u guys!!

taglist

@reidslovely @awezomezauce @tarzinnia @fr3akho3 @multilovebot @collywobbl @naok-iyuu @kay-i-guess @littlexscarletxwitch @ujimoo

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of sex, violence.

Word Count: 894

Previously On...: Bucky rejected your sexual advances, but Nat texted you, so at least you have that going for you.

A/N: ANSWER TIME

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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You stabbed your finger on the button to dial Nat’s number, the brevity of her texting style leaving you with more questions than answers. You were terrified it was going to go to voicemail before she finally picked up.

“‘Bout time,” Nat answered instead of a greeting. “How long did it take before you and Barnes got naked again? I’ve got money riding on it.”

“Jesus Christ, Nat,” you said, not wanting to waste time playing this game. “We didn’t, okay? Now tell me what the hell’s going on!”

“I told you in the texts,” she said, “and if you’d bothered to reply, I’d have answered any questions you may have had.”

You didn’t respond to that, waiting for Natasha get over your lack of response and start talking. “Fine,” she eventually capitulated. “Sam called Steve, told him about A.J., who is going to be okay, by the way– just a long recovery; and how he needed to go home. He said he didn’t want to leave you, and asked Steve to send down coverage.”

“Yeah, I knew that already,” you said, though you were relieved to hear the news about A.J.. “What else?”

“Well, obviously Barnes volunteered,” she said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “but Steve wasn’t having it, because he didn’t want to spring Barnes on you without clearing it with you first.” 

“That was thoughtful of him,” you said.

“Hmm,” said Nat cryptically. “Anyway, I was going to come down, myself. Sun and surf and stripping with my best friend? Sounded like a fucking vacation.”

“Natasha,” you warned, urging her to stick to the point. 

She sighed. “Yeah, okay. So, Bucky gets a call from a SHIELD med facility out in Wilmington, Fucking Delaware, of all places.” Nat paused, waiting for you to speak. When you didn’t, she asked: “Care to explain what that was all about, Pocket?”

“Not at this exact moment, Natty,” you said, truly not wanting to get into your surprise pregnancy/miscarriage two-for-one evening. 

You could practically hear Nat’s eyes roll in annoyance at you through the phone– she despised not knowing things, which was what made her such a damned good spy. “Fine. Carthage finds out Bucky’s taken off, and when she asks where he went, Steve tells her he went to be with you, that you needed him. Pocket, this girl fucking flipped her shit. Like, I half expected her to turn green and start growing through her clothes. I’ve never seen anything like it that didn’t involve Bruce Hulking-out,” she told you.

“She was screaming how it wasn’t fair, had some choice words to say about you, which I won’t repeat, because I’m your friend, by the way, then starts talking about how ‘it wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ and ‘this wasn’t what she was promised.’ It was weird. Just… fucking weird. 

“Steve tried to calm her down,” she continued, “but she wasn’t having any of it. Kept saying he ‘didn’t understand,’ and how now she was ‘gonna die,’ and it was all your fault. Steve tried to restrain her, but she clocked him. He needed to call in Thor to help wrangle her. They got her sedated and put her in her room, but when Cho went to check on her a few hours later, she was just… gone. Ransacked her room, punched holes in the walls, packed up all her shit.”

“Jesus Christ,” you murmured. “Nat, this is absolutely beyond. I mean, it’s more than a crush, it’s a fucking obsession.”

“Tell me about it,” Nat agreed. “She left behind her Stark phone, her coms, and her tracking device. Steve and Tony made the decision to list her as AWOL, and they’ve got SHIELD crawling around like ants looking for her, but there’s been no sign of her since.”

You took a shaking breath. “That’s a hell of a lot to take in, Nat.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, “that’s not even the best part.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“You have no idea.”

“Out with it, Natalia, I swear!”

Your friend scoffed. “You’re no fun, but fine. You remember our little conversation with Sam, right? After she fucked up the Malaysia mission?”

“Where he said he thought she set them up, yeah.” You remembered, alright, though it felt so long ago now. “And I checked the Tower’s systems; she hadn’t accessed anything she shouldn’t have.”

“Except for Bucky’s files,” Nat clarified to remind you.

“Except for Bucky’s files,” you agreed, not understanding where she was going with this.

“You know how my part was to reach out to my old KGB contacts, see what I could find out from them?” Nat asked, and you grunted in affirmation. 

“Well,” she continued, “I just heard back, not long after I started texting you. Turns out, our BFF didn’t escape from a Hydra base.”

You felt a cold chill go down your spine. “What are you saying, Nat?”

“I’m saying I was given some very interesting security footage,” Nat continued. “Carthage never escaped Hydra, because they willingly let her out.” You let out a shocked gasp, and Nat paused for dramatic effect, making you want to reach through the phone and shake her. “They let her out,” she continued, “with an objective: to bring home the Winter Soldier.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[dramadramallama]

random things i noticed in Love for Love's Sake and couldn't fit in my other posts

yeo-woon's name in korean is 여운 which is oddly fitting for a character who mirrors and echoes myung-ha at every turn:

myung-ha and yeo-woon's new story begins in spring, which is arguably the universal symbol of rebirth, youth, and hope. they're on the cusp of summer, where flowers go into full bloom (what better season for a second chance story where self-love/self-realization is the core theme?)

myung-ha wears the same (?) bracelet as his grandma's, during the bar scenes, and in at least one "real life" scene (the one where he gets broken up with). I guess he started wearing it after grandma dies (and I like to think it worked like a little talisman for him and brought him good luck!)

i don't know what to make of it, but the café location where he always meets up with Si-a and friends is the same place he gets dumped. (also, in the break-up scene, he's outside ((actually, he might be inside, after all. the plants threw me off, but they're also inside decor lol)) drinking a hot beverage. in the "game", he's inside the café, and he's drinking iced ones lol)

i find it very sweet that he tries to fix every hurt with ice cream: again, i like to think he got the habit from his grandma (and in turn, got yeo-woon into the same habit lol). the flavor (red beans) and brand (비비빅/Bi-bi-big) he picks is a very classic, almost "old people" flavor, just as the first text he receives points out "why on earth do you eat this? it's on par with a ba-bam bar" (바밤바 chestnut flavored - also not very trendy for kids/youths)

the first big "glitch" myung-ha experiences is when he finally tries calling the number that keeps sending him the texts (which are possibly from his past life/another reality/[insert your theory]) and accidentally creates some sort of paradox.

i had to zoom in so much but one of the texts was left untranslated in both the iQiyi and GagaOolala versions and it reads something like: "do you get along well with your friends? if you fight with them, santa won't bring you any presents"

[nextikeu]

peach iced tea — 박성훈 wc. 0.9k

summary. you thank sunghoon for helping your brother (jungwon)

pairing. classmate!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre/warnings. fluff, jungwon gets in a fight, mentions of blood

the sound of foot tapping on the ground fills the police station jungwon was now in, his eyes glancing at the small cuts on his classmate's face, taesan. they got in a fight at school simply because taesan said he'll sleep with you, and, because jungwon loves you and is very protective, he punched him in the face.

his eyes catch your shocked figure entering the room, you legs running towards his chair, crouching in front of him as you take his face in your hands.

“are you hurt? did he hit you?”, rambling, he places his hands over yours, kissing your palm.

“i'm fine, don't worry” he assures you, and you turn to your left to take a look at the taesan's face, the guy who used to be one of jungwon's best friend.

as soon as you entered the house, you were faced with your grandmother's angry face, her hands on her hips while her foot tapped on the ground. you gulped hard, anticipating her reaction. however, her features soften when she saw jungwon's bruised face, along with the few cuts he had on his lip and forehead.

“jungwon, what happened to your face!” , her hands grabbed his face, placing her fingers on the cut situated on his upper lip. when he hissed, you hurried to grab the medical aid, but he insisted he would like to take a shower first.

“you should've seen him! after i punched him, he started yelling like a girl!”, jungwon explained while you were cleaning the cuts on his face, hissing when you touched a particular spot.

“but who called the police if it was just you two?” , you wonder and he's quick to answer you, a big smile on his face.

“sunghoon hyung”

oh. park sunghoon, the guy you were too scared to share your feelings to.

you nod, smiling to him after you announce you're done and that he can sleep now, he must've been tired, you think to yourself. once you make sure he's sleeping you text sunghoon.

you | can we meet at the convenience store?

sunghoon | sure, i'm already there.

as soon as you read the message, you hurried to take your coat, basically bursting out on the front door, your grandmother's voice echoing through the house.

you stop in front of the store, hands on knees while you try to catch your breath. your eyes scan the interior, and you see him putting his items in a plastic bag, ready to exit the store. you fix your scarf and bag, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“oh, you're here?” , he says, and you only nod, smiling.

you think the spring weather is only for the beauty, as you feel the cold wind blowing, making you shiver. you suggest sitting down and he quickly agrees, sitting down at a table in front of the store.

you reach inside your purse, taking out a sweet red bean bungeoppang, wrapped in a small pouch.

“i'm not eating this” . right. you should've guessed, it's not like you were friends.

you're taken back when his hand takes the food from yours, splitting it in half as he gives you a part, while he eats the other half, scrunching his nose. the act purely makes your heart beat faster, a tint of red making its way on your cheeks.

“it's very good, did you make this?” , he speaks with his mouth almost full, looking at you while blinking fast as he takes another bite. you hum, nodding.

“yeah, i helped my grandmother make it”

“then it's ten times better”

you blushed again, eating the last bite you took, opening your mouth to speak again.

“thank you for helping jungwon”

he turns to you, trying to remember what your brother did, after a short time you see him closing his eyes, remembering the events, probably remembering jungwon's bruised face and the way taesan cursed at him.

“oh, it's not a big deal”

you only hum, wiping the remaining crumbs on your mouth, getting up to leave. you both get up at the same time, and he reaches in his plastic bag, grabbing your hand and placing the drink in your hand.

peach iced tea.

letting out a small gasp, you can't help but wonder why he would give you this. you weren't close, or even friends. seeing your puzzled expression, he opens his mouth to speak.

“you once said you liked it, so when you texted me i bought one”.

you remember you said that in freshman year, and yet he still remembers. you don’t even know if he was there or he just happened to hear, but that still surprises you.

“thank you, sunghoon, for everything”

he smiles again, adjusting your scarf and brushing the small cherry flowers from your brown coat. before you leave he mutters something, making you turn back.

"let's go on a date sometime”

“i would love to”

and that's how you two became friends, maybe even more. but each time you have school, he wakes up an hour earlier before you do, going to the store to buy you tea, placing it on your desk with a small note each time.

just like now, except you find a small piece of cake on your desk with a note written.

“they ran out of peach tea :( sorry…

i'll make it up to you after school...iced peach tea date? :)"

NEXTIKEU. 2024