#fic: a star can burn as bright | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dabisbratz · 3 months

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𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 — kento nanami x male!reader

himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare

w.c; ~ 13.8k

sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve s’is mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the reader’s size or height isn’t explicitly stated, but he’s vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.

‘ Next stop: Sekichiku ’

When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greenery— warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. It’ll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but he’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation will be comforting. It’ll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.

When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. It’s never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grass— the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface — a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.

Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, “This is the break you’ve waited twenty-seven years for.”

But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isn’t so calm. His body feels cold, like he’s been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.

It’s been so long, he’s not quite sure just how to unwind.

He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,

‘Now approaching: Sekichiku.’

It’s a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, there’s a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, there’s an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than he’d originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. It’s not like Tokyo, no, there’s no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.

In fact, the air is rather crisp— the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, it’s a bit of a culture shock— but it’s not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.

He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxury— the closest to a vacation he’ll get, even if he’s technically ‘on the clock.’ Still— he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the day— he’s sure at night they’re even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyo— there isn’t an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, it’s ripe.

He almost takes no offense to the collision against his side— nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an apple’s core against the ground.

“Woah,” Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldn’t be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. “You alright? Y’almost went flyin’!”

His brows furrow quizzically at that. First— he’s certain it’s the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadn’t expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesn’t match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straight— at an angle— that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.

Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and number— the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. There’s some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And it’s a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread that’s glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though he’d love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. “Great, thank you.” Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.

Some other time, then.

The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.

Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breeze— beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.

“—ome any minute, now,” You’ve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. You’d been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. “Said so, at least. Did you hear. . . ” Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.

“M’back, Mama,” You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. There’s a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle question— more of a suggestion— not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. How’d it go?

“No luck sellin’ today,” your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.

Farming has been your whole life, really. It’s what you’re best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grass— barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.

“But I met someone new!” That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lips—identical to your own— and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .

“He was . . hmm, pretty.” Is how you’d like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you don’t remember much about his appearance— it was more so his demeanor. He’d bumped into you— you think— and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. He’d carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stall’s banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.

“You’re so easily impressed,” The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. That’s just not true. “A good thing, too, you’ll have to like our new neighbor.”

Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.

“Neighbor?”

“Mm,” She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. You’re not entirely sure if it’s toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. “I heard he’s some fancy lawyer. You think he’s defendin’ the Hasaba girls from last year?”

That’s something to think about. Two little girls who’d been found locked away by some sort of— police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldn’t be surprised if it became legalized— you’d only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.

There’s a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phone’s coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, it’s not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the ‘ fancy ’ lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage and— what looks to be— a box of books. Documents, perhaps.

“You didn’t— how come you didn’t say nothin’ ?!” Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When you’re stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, there’s something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.

There’s a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: ‘You didn’t ask.’, but it’s filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. “I’ll be back, Ma!”

The path along your house isn’t dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feet— inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomach— bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. You’ve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are off— save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When there’s no one to inhabit the home, it’s always been comforting to look at— but now? .

Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and you’re stood at his front door— frozen. Scared is another.

Even so, you’ve always been told you’re the ‘bravest boy’ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.

The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaper— the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannister— steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look gray— green?— but as he stands before you, there’s nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, but—

Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy ears— reminiscent of a bunny.

“Oh. . . Can I help you?” You’ve heard it before, his voice, but it’s even more striking than ever. It’s easy to forget the voice of someone you’d just met, but there’s something so. . distinct about it. He’s got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacent— you’ve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.

“Mhm!” Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. “Well, no— um, actually. .” Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. “These— This is for you!”

“Ah. . .” Pink lips part, cupid’s bow prominent. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight click— right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until it’s gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them away— fat and thick and embarrassing.

“Um. . I like your sli—slippers.” Fully aware you’re speaking to an unmoving door, you can’t behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. It’s not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until they’ve dried completely and— now it’s warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, “Here.”

Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, it’s the most crisp set of yen you’ve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity you’ve never seen before, counting through each slip until he’s deemed an amount satisfactory— there’s a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.

“Oh! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know it’s rude to tip, so I left the exact change,” You blink. Once, twice— again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then he’s hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. “Next time, don’t give out things you worked for, for free,” Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, there’s a small mole— cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldn’t have noticed it. “You should wear a coat, too.” And, like a schoolboy, you can’t help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Sir,” Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. “Sorry about earlier— um, if it’s okay, I could help with your boxes?”

He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled ‘N.K.’ The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. “That?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just mail. Must’ve arrived before I did.”

It’s a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertips— you’ve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. You’ve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.

“Oh,” You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps it’s a miracle he hasn’t actually shut the door in your face, and— right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. “Sorry f’I bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?”

You haven’t known him for long, but you just can’t consider him comparable. Maybe it’s your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe it’s the blooming heat in your chest, maybe it’s the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.

“Kento Nanami,” Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kento’s slow breaths. “Did you make these yourself?”

The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if he’s finally noticed the pull of your eyes— the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until you’ve introduce yourself with watery tremors.

“It’s cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?” Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. “Come in.”

Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, “Y’don’t think we could share some of that bread, d’you?”

The best time to farm, you’ve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. That’s the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.

Then there’s Kento. You’d think he never sleeps, but you’ve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, you’ve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. It’s almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming through— what looks to be— more documents on his computer.

You can only tell he’s going to bed once there’s a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows he’ll be back in less than seven sleeping hours— which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.

And, though he can’t see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.

You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolate— piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.

“Mm!” You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. You’d assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trick— keep you warm enough — but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mug— though it contains tea— looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.

“Hold still,” all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until they’ve parted— breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if it’s a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.

“Sweet.”

Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. “It’s— huh?”

“Sweet,” he chimes, lips curling around each letter. He’s beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. “I can’t fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.”

His humor is dry— something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smile— with your whole body— eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you get— to both the blond and your truck.

“It’s good,” Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. “M’not bein’ mean about yours!”

“I'm not being mean,” He corrects, a silent apology laced in his tone— just in case — and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacation— no carry-on cases— he would’ve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.

First, he’s buckling you into your seat— it seems you’d forgotten, then he’s reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.

“You do this for a living,” is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. “You wear them.”

And, now, he’s listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.

Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautiful— valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.

He helps you out of the car as if you haven’t done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. He’s awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesn’t miss your expression twist as you whisper a small ‘oops, sorry!’ to your precious truck before unloading supplies.

Kento can’t name a thing— he’s out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you don’t yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until you’ve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.

“M’kay, ‘Nami,” He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from there— but it’s how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.

Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you don’t catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.

“‘Nami—”

“No. It’s pronounced Nanami.” He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weeds— at least, that’s what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.

“Na,”And, the smell of dirt, it’s so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . “—na,” Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment it’s silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, you’ve sounded out his name. “—mi.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and he’s giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. “Mhm?”

He doesn’t miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, “I already knew that— I just said it!”

“Mm,” He agrees, though he’s not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wrist— gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on track— picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.

Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. There’s so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. “Good. You’re a smart boy.”

“Y’think m’smart?” And, though your shoulders bunch up— a bit more bashful, you’re shaking your head. “I mean— I knew that already, too,” and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. “I tell m’self everyday!”

The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanami’s eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who’s positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, they’re visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveled— swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if he’d rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.

Cozy.

“I do,” The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locks— and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. “What were you saying?”

“Um,” You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. “. . We sell ‘em, the weeds! That won’t be for a few days, sometimes we keep ‘em for cookin’, but . . . these aren’t any good.”

“Too many?” He asks, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.

“Too many!” Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps that’s the conclusion to Kento’s sightseeing.

౨ৎ

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to.

With your black on black attire— a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threading— it’s hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Is his first question— but there’s so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?

Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passenger’s seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.

“You’re always locked up in your house,” Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. You’ve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but it’s never been enough to start any problems. “Don’t y’wanna have fun?”

That doesn’t entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mind— a vacation this is, yes. But it’s also paid, and he’s technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. He’s not even entirely sure if that’s your idea of fun— but he hopes not.

Kento doesn’t expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle ride— even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind you— “Don’t take your hands off the wheel,” “Don’t look at me, look at the road,” — but Kento would be lying if he said it weren’t endearing.

It’s almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.

“If it were warmer,” You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. “We could’ve went apple-pickin’ . . . or even oranges!”

You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneck— it bunches at his chest, and you’re sure without his trench coat it’d be just as strained around his biceps.

“What do you do when it’s cold?” He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.

“Hm?” You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. “Uh, we have this lake— it’s the first to freeze over when it’s cold. . ” So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, there’s a polite, happy bounce to everyone’s step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. “And, when it’s completely frozen, we skate on it!”

It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.

“I’m sorry—” The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. “Skating?”

“Are y’scared?” Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silence— a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

“No,” He grumbles. He’s actually done it before— his younger, studying ‘coworkers’ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hours— and he wasn’t free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.

“Don’t be scared, ‘Nami!” The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. “I can help you, m‘kay?”

Four people.

He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once you’ve found a good place to park. He’d think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. They’re in good condition, too. A small wooden bench— decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accident— keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, you’re already walking around with untied skates.

“Come here,” He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enough— “It’s not hurting you, is it?”— to fit comfortably.

“Thank you, ‘Nami,” He can hear the sincerity in your voice— as if he’d saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, “Doesn’t hurt. . .”

He offers a gentle pat to your knees once you’re fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. It’s a quick process— not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back home— a much more nice change of pace.

The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises it’s because it’s relatively untouched— if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldn’t have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the ice— so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .

You’re much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you don’t, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kento’s nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and you’ve never seen his face so. . . soft.

“Say, ‘Nami?” You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. “When’re you leavin’?”

The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than he’d originally thought it’d be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. You’re pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. “Hey,” you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. “What’re you doin’?”

You’ve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. There’s no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. It’s peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone so— hospitable.

You’re perfect.

“I've never—“ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, he’s in— close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Noone has ever done this for me. Thank you.”

“What, take you skatin’?”

“Support me unconditionally.” He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.

The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.

You like Kento’s rental— its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. It’s warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you can’t handle.

Pain au chocolat — chocolatine — and meringue cookies; they’re a pain in Kento’s ass. Not even something he’d try to attempt without you there— he’s happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A “taste-tester”, you’d called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.

You weren’t lying. You really do know how to bake— flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of x’s and o’s, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanami’s stomach.

Studying the contours of a pretty face— baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanami’s fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly you’re reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.

“Wait,” His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and you— the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, don’t entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.

“Ouch!” Your elbow smacks into Nanami’s calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numb— still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, he’d have been appalled. “‘Nami, did you see that?!”

“Silly boy,” He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. “You have to be more gentle with yourself.”

And, as if he’d declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real time— with award winning speed, really— glassy and wet and oh, you’re so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harsh— it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, “M’sorry, ‘Nami.”

“None of that,” Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. “Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course not,” The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the man’s lips. They’re entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isn’t any less exuberant— luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jaw— you can almost taste him.

His voice breaks through the thickened silence, “But it’s okay if you do.”

The next two hours should go by just fine.

౨ৎ

“What does ‘default-judgment’ mean?”

Floorboards creak beneath Kento’s feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearly— a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.

His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesn’t tense when he sees you— his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the shower— and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But you—

You’re the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearm— it’s navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you can’t quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, and— there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest.

“It’s a deduction based on a defendant’s failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.” Nanami’s eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesn’t think that’d be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting again— once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if he’s almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.

“. S. . ure!” You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your nose— sweltering and tingly.

Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. “. . . Don’t worry about all that.” And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his knee— but nothing too sudden. You’re made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the room— to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. “Silver lining is: I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesn’t cage you in— even if your chest aches at the loss.

Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume it’s stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair you’re sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kento’s lips twitch into a frown of their own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm it— he’s what’s wrong. His choice of words— wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.

“. . . Nothin’.” It’s worse. He’d expected tears— maybe even an exchange of fiery words— but instead you’ve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everything— all in between— all at once.

“Nothing?” He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume you’d conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warm— too fleeting.

“Mhm,” When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. “Nothin’.” Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. He’s never seen you so defected— nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you can’t make something out. You’ve gone as far as to create your own definition— this isn’t you.

“It’s. . . inevitable,” Kento’s voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. “But not for a while,” Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.” Grumbling, you’ve always been an open-book.

“Not forever.”

“. . . Ever,” You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. You’re a bit of a brat— Kento sees that now— behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. “When are you goin’?”

Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, “Six weeks, at least.”

“Nami…” Ignoring the deadline he’d just given you, you ask, “D’you like your job?”

You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. “I like its structure.”

“Oh.”

“I like helping people, too.” He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as it’s rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people out— you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on job— it’s rewarding. “Me too. I— I like helping too. And. . .”

His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.

Six weeks. Time is fleeting.

“I—” With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kento’s smooth knuckles against your palm. He’s just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tense— silently, asking, ‘what?’ as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.

It’s moments like these you’d wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.

Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think you’ve lost some more— he’s taken it all from you— you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.

To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag that’s been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarter— better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.

You’re sure there’s better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assets— who don’t stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsome— perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and paths— more accomplishments.

Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.

People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.

People who aren’t you.

Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents you’d ruined— of course you did— but his face hasn’t changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, and it’s times like these you really wish you could.

“I like you,‘Nami.” You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.

And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kento’s chest stills— the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, and—

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.” His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.

You’ve never felt more humiliated.

౨ৎ

Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your room— your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. You’ve counted the seconds— tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633– started over again. You’ve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.

You’ve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tight— until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. It’s a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.

You haven’t spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. You’re sure everything’s out of sorts now— weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, they’ll get over it.

And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of ‘where’d my smart boy go?’

Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejection— just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all you’ve done these days, yet it feels like your body can’t get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bed— for the bathroom, never for a drink— and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you can’t bring yourself to fix it.

You can’t bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.

You were stupid for thinking he’d feel the same, anyway. A man like ‘Nami— a man like Nanami— so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think you’d fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesn’t mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadn’t even asked if he liked men.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice — rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breath—so deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. “I think you have the wrong idea.”

A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.

“Your. . . friend was at the door,” It’s your mother’s voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth— you can’t remember the last time you’d seen her face without slamming a door in it. “Looked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .”

A bitter, disconcerting ‘so?’ nearly leaves your mouth— something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesn’t expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she can’t see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, “. . . S’it Nanami?”

Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframe— something you haven’t seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. “Between you ‘n me, you’re in much better shape.”

Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.

You don’t bother changing from your pajamas— they’ve always been so baggy to support the muscle you’ve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloads— and now you’re grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.

And— she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shoulders— they’re all wound up and tense, like they’d been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distance— but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.

It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.

“Hi,” You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. “Nanami. .”

“Hi,” He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment he’s at a loss for words— and it’s odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why he’d buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he does— and they’d all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kento’s lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps you’re just. . too much.

“I lied to you,” He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. “And, for that . . . I’m sorry,” Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. “Don’t feel obliged to accept, I just— I like y— I want to show you something.”

It’s odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrug— he can’t even distinguish if you’re being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.

“Okay.” Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippers— the same ones he’d worn when you officially met.

Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, “What were you gonna. . ?”

Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, it’s your farm. Oh, it’s much prettier than you could’ve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like you’d remembered it— but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You don’t remember the last time you’d seen them— vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothes— yet you feel light and warm.

He did all this for you?

“Are you cold?” You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kento’s hand grasps your shoulder. “You’re shivering.” He’s quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.

“M’okay. .” He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But it’s true, you don’t feel cold— not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. “. . . Thank you, ‘Nami. . . For everythin’.”

‘Why're you saying it like that?’ He wants to ask. As if it’s some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small ‘o’ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, “I don’t just like you.”

Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.

“I. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,” He sighs, quiet and cautious. “Your laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, bu—”

You’ve never been one to hide from your feelings— you laugh when you’re happy, scowl when you’re angry, mope when you’re sad. So it’s no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. It’s no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silence— hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. You’re nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.

A kiss.

"’Nami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. “I like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.”

You feel it now— the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused “I like you too.”

౨ৎ

Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell they’re imported from home— as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. It’s the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, and— he tastes of chocolate.

“Kenny—” You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something you’ve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilled— shedding you of your clothing as if he’s done it a million times before.

“Kenny,” You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. “Mm, wait,” and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.

“Use your words,” Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. “I know you can, you’re a smart boy.” You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.

Fuck.

“Mm, don’t look,” You’ve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. “That’s— oh, embarrassin’!” Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and you’re close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until you’re sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.

“I know, sugar. I know,” And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. “Feels good, hm?” His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. “Feels better than your own hand, doesn’t it?” Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.

“Uh— huh, yeah,” Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just can’t help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and— oh.

It is.

“Messy boy,” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own— damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. “Fuck your fist for me.”

“Wh- Huh?” It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buck— whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. It’s not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.

He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbones— pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.

“Good boy, that’s it,” You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. It’s all too much, thinking of what’s next, what’s happening now, what’ll happen later.

Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and long— and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.

It’d feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputter— choking on your own tears and groans.

“Wanna. . I want. . .” You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hide— nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.

“Want what?” He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indication— Kento’s patience is slowly waning.

“V’never. .” Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. “I wanna. . . feel you in my throat.”

The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. “That’s ambitious, sugar.”

You don’t register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above you— rumbly and deep, and— ah, Kento’s hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. You’re panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.

"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when you’re nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kento’s throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.

“Shit,” He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. “Slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?”

You don’t. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and fro— pretty and weeping. You bet it’ll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. He’ll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.

Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.

With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, it’s much easier— you can sink down to the base no problem— but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumbles— but it falls on deaf ears.

You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.

Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.

“‘Nami’s dick is heavy, sweetheart,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fist— careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. “And you’re taking it so well.”

Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forward— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. “That’s it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .”

Gasping on his cock, Kento’s hand holds you close, until you’re buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’ve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.

You’d rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.

“You’re perfect,” Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.

Now he’s got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, that’s good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. You’d like to imagine that’s how it’ll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“Spit,” he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just right— till you’re resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. “Good boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.”

You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but it’s not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shifts— you hear it all.

“That’s it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,” You— it must be you, there’s no one else he’s speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft there’s not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buck— up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet and— oh, that’s nice— trailing down your cock. “That’s it, stick your tongue out.”

You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanami’s gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. “Ask Sir for more, angel.”

“Mm, waitwaitwait, don’t— don’t stop,” You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “Kenny— Sir, please.”

“Good boy,” All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. “Yeah,” His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skin— the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. “You’re a good boy, asking like that.”

“You like grinding on Sir's cock don’t you? Getting me all wet. . .” Just as warm and wet as he’d thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasally— incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. It’s more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.

A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs tremble— fuck, you’re cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.

“I—” You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. “I didn’t mean to— didn’t know, m’sor—”

He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. “S’okay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, baby— perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.”

You don’t expect him to say that— that’s the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. “That okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?”

Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to ‘please’ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. “Gonna get you ready for Sir’s dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.”

“Kenny,” You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You don’t miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering ‘cunt’ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. “Can take it, pound it, Sir.”

“Look at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.” You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, you’ve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic ‘ah!’ you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.

“Give me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,” You can’t contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. He’s filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You can’t take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything that’ll keep you from screaming.

Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you out— fast and rough, steady and patient— Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boy— his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all he’s worth.

“Cummin’, Nami, s’too much— M’can’t—” Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.

“I’ve got you, c’mere, hold Sir’s hand,” He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. “So good for me,” You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. “That’s it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.”

A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think you’re going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.

౨ৎ

You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and there’s not much to adjust to. You’re clean— its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kento’s warmth.

“I’m here,” He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookies— whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plate— the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. “Hungry?” The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until he’s sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.

He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after you— an indirect kiss.

He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, “I was thinking of extending my stay.”

The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.

“I like you,” The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. “I more-than-like you, Kenny.”

And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.

“I love you too.”

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angelfrombeneth · 5 months

Text

MAGICAL DRYING DISASTER - T . NOTT

Mature Content Ahead

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: After waking up late and discovering you left your washing in the machine over night. You had no other choice to use magic to dry it - except it did dry but also shrunk, massively, in the process. Once Theo finds you let's just say he manages to keep it kept in till the common room. Then it's all fair game from there.

Warnings: SMUT, No Protection - PIV, Theodore is a munch - Fem Oral, Body Worship, Smidge of SubWhiney!Theo, Cursing

A/N: This is my first one-shot fic I've posted in a long time but also my first one EVER on tumblr. I used to write on wattpad and ao3 but took a very long hiatus. So excuse if my smut writing is a bit off or any spelling mistakes I currently have acrylics on - its quite hard to type.

Click Clack.. Click Clack...

You ran towards your class quickly, pulling town the absolute belt of a skirt you wore today before entering into your potions class. Late.

"Miss Neveah.. Thank you for finally joining us" Snape panned. His face expressionless as he stared at you. A slight hint of disapproval in his face.

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again!" You scurried to your seat beside Pansy.

"It most definitely will not" He groaned before turning back to the chalk board to continue his explanation.

You shimmied on your seat, pulling as much skirt down as you could. Practically flashing those behind you of your bright red thong and gorgeously placed star tramp stamp.

Nice touch is what you thought when you got it a few months ago after a night out in the muggle clubs with Pansy. She persuaded you and said Theo would love it. Or which he did.

"Y/N.. your skirt is practically a belt. Trying to flash us all?" She whispered, giggling as he peered down as your legs, absent of any tights aswell.

"Girl.. It shrunk when I tried to use magic to dry it. All my other skirts are dirty" You pouted. "I also couldn't find a pair of fucking tights, I was running so late"

"Its not that bad, just don't bend over if you can" She smiled as she reached to your ponytail tieing in a little green piece of ribbon into a bow. "And don't let Mr Lover boy see you" She snickered.

You sighed, focusing in the rest of your class. Praying not many people noticed. You were pretty daft thinking that. You were already the hot goss. It was only so long till Theo found out.

Though alot of boys in Hogwarts fancied you, they all knew about Theodore Nott swooping in, in 4th year the year before you 'blossomed' as they said. They say he saw the potential and snatched it up while they could.

You walked down the hall, pulling your books to your chest as your red bottoms clipped the wooden floor that spanned the whole school. Many turned your way gawking as you, mostly more than normal due to tour skirt size today.

You weren't a bad girl. You has good grades, you were overly nice to everyone just the people you hung round with were opposite. Many saying you were too nice.

After a quick detour to pick up an extra book from the library you shuffled down the corridor, your heels clicking their signature click against the oak as you walked towards your friends who stood beside your regular post class meeting pillar.

"Sorry I'm late!" You skipped towards them hurriedly. You watched as Theo whipped his head around, his jaw practically dislodging from his face as he stared at you.

Mattheo wolf whistled as he looked you up and down. Smirking as he pushed himself off the wall - "Damn Y/N, I didn't know you had this hiding somewhere"

"Neither did I" Theo's gaze burned through you as he bent his neck to get look at you from behind. Definitely a sight for sore eyes.

"I'm sorry- I fucked up a spell and I was running late I didn't mean to- OUCH! THEO!" you got cut off as he slapped his hand harshly against your ass before gripping a handful as he smirked down at you. The boys laughing at the pair of you.

"As much as I am thoroughly enjoying the sight Bella" He looked down at you, his gaze growing darker by each word that fell from his lips. He leaned in, practically growling in your ear."I don't like to share amore mio"

You gulped at his words as he pulled his jumper off, wrapping it around your waist. Slightly tugging on the fabric jerking you forward into his chest as he smiled down at you before kissing your forehead softly.

"As cute as you two are, everyone's looking. Can we clear out" Pansy groaned.

You snapped back into reality, quietly ushering an apology to the group as Pansy pulled your hand as you both walked hand in hand ahead of the boys.

You heard a smack and an 'ow' turning around quickly as you turned the corner seeing Theo slapping Mattheo across the head. "Flirt with someone else" He groaned. You giggled slightly at his protectiveness.

Once you arrived to the common room everyone scattered to do their own thing. Theo once more approaching you.

"Now..." a cheeky smile appeared on his lips as his hands held your hips softly as he peered down at you. The height difference really getting to you. "I can't stop thinking about that little skirt on you.." His hands slowly moving down and around to the curve of your ass as he nibbled at his lip. "..and how much I want to fuck you in it" He whispered the last part lowly as his tongue poked out and slid across his bottom lip as he squeezed your ass through his jumper.

"Then do it" You caught his gaze, already out of breath from his minimal touch.

It's like that's all he needed to hear. Like without warning and no regards for the fact your friends were just a few steps away bundled in the corner on the coaches - he pulled you tightly, hand on your ass against him as his lips crushed into yours. Needy kisses as if he hasn't kissed you in months.

The sudden rip of his jumper loosening the knot as it dropped to the floor. His hands sliding under the little fabric the skirt had as his nails gripped into the flesh on your ass cheeks. You yelped slightly and he took that as permission to shove his whole tongue down your throat. The kisses grew messier and messier as you both backed up towards the stairs, bumping into everything possible as you both chuckled.

Breaking the kiss as you both removed various pieces of clothing as you scrambled up the stairs. By the time you got to yours and Pansys' room you both had disregarded of practically everything. Theo quickly finishing unzipping his trousers before pushing you into the room, kicking the leg off quickly, flinging his trousers into the centre of the hallway as he shut the door behind him.

You stood infront of him in just your skirt, bra and panties as he ruffled his hair, staring at you like a kid in a candy shop, pondering what you try next.

"DONT WORRY WE'LL CLEAN UP AFTER YOU TWO!" Draco yelled, annoyance plastered in his voice.

That broke Theo out of the trance he was in as he lunged at you, unclipping your bra swiftly as he threw it across the room before pushing you against the bed.

"Fuck, I'm so hard. I can't- I just need to fuck you now" He groaned, biting at his lip anxiously as he stared down at you. "Get on all fours". You obliged and quickly.

You felt the sudden cold breeze against your clit as he tightly yanked on your thong, splitting it apart at he threw it on the floor aswell as he kicked off his boxers.

"Fuck your so hot" He groaned, dropping to his knees as he gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as he licked a nice wet strip up your pussy.

A moan lodged itself in your neck as you bundled up the sheets in your hands as he let out a shaky breath.

"Wanna eat you out so bad, but my cock is throbbing.. Need to treat you well tho" He whined as he spat into his hand as he began to fuck it. His free hand gripping your ass as he dove his tounge deep into you.

You hung your head forward as you let out an exasperated sigh as your toes curled. Theo's tongue worked wonders inside of you. He ate you out like it was dire need. The roughness of his mouth sopping against your pussy as his tongue drilled into your hole. The wetness of both his mouth and your pussy mixing as he moaned against you as he continued to fuck the shit out of his hand. Loud moans rumbled against you as he sucked and twirled like no tomorrow.

You were drawing to your high as you noticed he stopped, pulling away for a moment as he let out a deep growl before a light whimper escaped his lips as he came up the bottom of your bed frame and on the floor. He panted for a moment, light whimpers leaving gis mouth as he toyed with his sensitive dick.

"Fuck- Sorry Principessa. I came, naughty of me to do so before I helped you. I'll make sure you feel extra good" His other hand colliding with your ass again as he dove back in. His nose rubbing harshly against your slit as he flicked his tongue continously against your clit. Sucking and nibbling at it from time to time as he continued to grip and massage at your ass.

The sudden overwhelming feeling drove you over the age as you screeched, yelping as you squirted all over his face. You gasped loudly, crashing to the bed as your legs shook slightly as you panted.

"Mhmm.. Love it when you squirt" You looked at Theo as he wiped the cum from his face, sucking his fingers like a dessert he's got to finish.

"You're so gorgeous, so fucking beautiful.. Beautiful body" He groaned as he slid his hands up your curves, moaning softly as the scene infront of him. "S'lucky.. So fucking lucky.."

He tapped your thigh, as you led on your stomach on the bed, your legs hanging off the end slightly as your tippy toes held against the floor.

"Gunna make you feel so good, amore" he cooed as he lied up his tip with your slit before thrashing it in harshly. You yelped once again at you looked back at him.

"Going to teach you not. to wear. a slut. short. skirt. again. fuck!" He growled with each thrust as your body jerked against his movements. Your body slid up and down the bed as your feet struggled to stay on the floor much longer as he pushed you up the bed.

It wasn't before long till Theo climbed ontop of you, straddling you as he drilled into you. Loud whimpers left you as you clawed at the sheets as you screamed into his duvet.

"FUCK!! ARGH- TEDDY!" you pleaded as your back arched, shoving your ass harder into him as his hands gripped your hips tightly, his nails scatting cresent moons to your flesh as your bodies recoiled against one another.

"Yes! Like that.. fuckkk Teddy more.. please!" You babbled. He reached over grabbing your neck as he pulled your body up against his chest. Your legs trapped between his as he squeezed them shut. His arm tightly against your stomach as he continued to drill up into your pussy. You gasped and whined continously as he groaned and growled into your ear. His grip growing tighter around your neck as he flexed his biceps, his tongue sliding up your jawline to your ear.

"Teddy- I'm gunna cum! Please please please PLEASE! Cum with me!" you whined as your eyes rolled back. The growing feeling in your stomach as his cock continued to thrash into you. You were drunk on the feeling of him buried into you. You tightly shut your thighs together for any ounce more of pressure you could grasp.

"Good girl- M'close" He panted.

Your eyes began to roll back as you gasped for air at the tightening of his arm around your neck. The bursting feeling in your stomach as your whole body recoiled and shook as you screamed like bloody murder with all the air you has left in your lungs as you came.

At that moment Theo threw you down, as your body twitched conthously. He gripped your ass as he thrusted deep before cumming in you. Groaning deeply as he threw his head back. Sweat trickling down his forehead and chest as he panted heavily.

Neither of you moved for a moment to compose yourself. You occasionally twitched at your body recoiled against his dick.

"Fuck me.. So good" Theo pulled out, sighing as he watched cum pool at your slit and began to slide down. You felt his tip against you again as he collected the escaping cum and slightly fucked it back into you. His dick entering you once more as you gasped at the feeling.

"Good girl.. such a good girl.." His light thrusts as he peppered you with kisses all over your back and shoulders.

He gasped slightly as he froze above you. You were about to question him till you felt a slightly release.

"Did you just cum again Teddy?" You giggled as he thrusted once more before pulling out and collapsing next to you.

"Its hard to last with you. You make me so addicted" He smirked, his head turned to look at you. He rested his hand on your ass, squeezing it lightly from time to time.

"I'm glad this skirt shrunk" He chuckled, his smile wide.

You shook your head as you laughed at him. "You're a fool" You shimmied towards him, flicking your leg over his chest as you cuddled into him. His body warm.

He kissed your shoulder softly before softly kissing your cheek, nibbling at your ear before whispering;

"Ti amo amore mio".

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #harrypotter fanfiction #slytherin fanfiction #lorenzo zurzolo #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #angelfrombenethfics

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

Text

blood moonlit, must be counterfeit

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes. (pro!bakugo x you)

wc: 1.68k

cw/tags: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

note: NEW HALLOWEEN HEADER BABY also this idea had me by the throat so i needed to write it down before it consumed my entire psyche. i'm back to writing for bakugo again because iykyk and halloween fics are giving me a lot of motivation right now. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“I have to admit–your costume is pretty damn good.”

“Yeah? Just ‘pretty good?’”

“Mhmm. Almost looks like the real thing,” you remark, taking another sip of the dangerously sweet jungle juice in your cup. It's an unreadable mix of bad ideas and bold flirtation, perfect for a Halloween party of barely 21 adults. The blonde guy beside you on the worn leather couch tilts his head slightly like he's re-affirming what you just said in his mind. “I think the real Dynamight would be impressed.”

“Would he, now,” he huffs under his breath, mouth curling into an unreadable smirk. He exhales a quick breath of what you think is amusement through his nose, eyes flicking over your body for the umpteenth time since he sat down with you. It makes your face heat up and you casually avert your gaze downward, catching more details of his costume that you didn’t notice before.

The gauntlets were obviously the star of the arrangement, covered in numerous scratches, burns, and dents that attested to their “battle” usage. The boots were impressive, too, and you wondered how long it took to place every individual orange eyelet over the front of each calf. The cinder block rectangles sitting on his broad shoulders truly looked like real stone, solid like the toned muscle holding them up. It was the domino mask that threw you off the most, though. The guy must have been wearing bright red contacts, or something, because to look so similar to the actual Pro should have been considered a crime.

“Who’d you come to the party with?”

“Just some friends,” he replies, shrugging an infuriatingly sexy shoulder. His entire look was putting the real Dynamight to shame, in your opinion. He nods upward in the direction of a guy in an equally accurate Deku costume standing with a very convincing Shoto lookalike. “They dared me to wear this and I lost the bet.”

“Must have been some bet, if you’re moping over here like a toddler.” The shrewdness of your words escapes you until they’re already past your lips; thankfully, he just smirks again and leans his head back, resting an arm on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll ignore that you said that, 'cause you're clearly intoxicated” he mutters, shooting you a brutal side-eye. Thanks to the alcohol, though, you’re far from deterred.

“How gracious,” you chuckle and his smirk gets a little more arrogant. “What was the bet?”

“Some dumb drinking contest. That asswipe in the green can put down more shots than he looks.” He scowls and you fight down the urge to giggle at his bitter expression. He was the only guy you’ve ever seen that could make a grumpy face look hot. The only guy besides Bakugo himself, of course. “I wouldn’t have worn this shit to a party to save my life.”

“What, Dynamight isn’t your favorite Pro?”

“I’m more of an All Might guy,” he replies nonchalantly. He appreciates the classic heroes. Good sign. “If I had to choose a different one, I’d probably say Jeanist.”

“Jeanist is pretty cool. My best friend had a cardboard cutout of Eraserhead in her closet growing up.” He barks out a laugh and it startles you, but a mysterious feeling in your stomach wants to make him do it again. “What do you think of the current gen of heroes?” He hums thoughtfully, running his tongue over his top lip and you swallow back your drool.

“Red Riot’s a good guy. Deku pisses me the fuck off, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Same thing with Pinky and that Half-and-Half asshat. Chargebolt…” His expression turns into a frown so deep you’re worried that Chargebolt killed his family or something heinous like that.

“What about him?”

“He’s just dumb. If given the choice between his life and a grain of sand, I’d take the sand,” he deadpans and you choke unexpectedly, wincing as your drink travels up the wrong tube and into your nose. His eyes widened in concern, reaching out to pat your back but deciding against it at the last moment. His glove-covered hands hover around you like you’re radioactive matter, carefully watching as you regain your composure. “You good, nerd?” Uses the same vocabulary as the real guy, too. Kind of weird, but I guess we all have our idols.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just didn’t expect you to badmouth him like you two were friends from high school or something,” you joke lightheartedly and the guy blinks at you twice before computing what you said.

“It’s whatever. They’re super fuckin’ easy to read, in any case,” he states with an air of finality and you down the rest of your drink, the dim lighting starting to blur everything around you into a single greenish-orange blob. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the new gen?”

“I can’t make such bold judgments as you, but I do think Dynamight is pretty cool,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little bashful when having the same question turned on you. The truth was, you followed the lives of the heroes a bit too closely than the average person should. It fascinated you so much that you were majoring in Quirk-specific journalism, studying the social and economic consequences of being a Pro. “I think his public persona is an interesting case when compared to other heroes.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d like to imagine that he’s not always the loud, arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit that the press shows,” you start and narrow your eyes in confusion when he flinches at your description. You continue anyway but choose your words a little more carefully. Probably isn’t good to upset the guy who might have fashioned functioning gauntlets, if the costume truly is accurate. “There’s a side to him that I think the public doesn’t know about and doesn’t care to know about, since it’s easier to understand him as a loudmouth with no sense of manners. I just wonder who that guy is under all the yelling and testosterone.” His silence is deafening and you worry that you somehow offended him, but his tone is so gentle that your assumption becomes an impossibility.

“Seems like you’ve given this guy a great deal of thought,” he says lowly, voice barely audible over the sound of the blaring house music.

“Well, he is my favorite,” you add quietly, not expecting him to catch what you said. He does, though, and that mischievous smirk returns to his face. Somehow, you two had inched closer together over the course of your conversation, and you were now close enough to smell his cologne. It was something deep and smoky, with a surprise note of sweetness, like caramel. “I’ve been following his hero career since I was in high school.”

“I didn’t take you for a superfan, but I do appreciate your support,” he chuckles and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You seriously haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m Dynamight, stupid. This is my actual costume and those are my actual friends. Hell, I'm paying for this whole shitty party,” he says incredulously, genuinely shocked that you didn’t come to that conclusion already. Your skepticism, however, rears its head and you burst out into rude laughter.

Dynamight? Yeah, right. More like Dyna-maybe.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you like you’d grown three heads and your heart drops into your stomach. You must have said your thoughts out loud. Fuck! “You’ve got some nerve, testing the patience of a Pro.” His words, under any other circumstances, would have cut down your pride like a knife. However, his eyes were conveying a different story, one of lust and want and holyshityouwantedhim. “Got anything to say, sweetheart? Or are you gonna just keep gaping like a fuckin’ goldfish?” You abruptly snap your jaw back into place, leaning your head into your hand and smiling in triumph when his gaze again uncontrollably rakes over your body.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“See what, gorgeous?”

“That a Pro kisses better than a normal person,” you murmur and his pupils blow to the size of pool balls. He wastes no time, gently but firmly grabbing your chin with two fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. His lips are ridiculously soft and you muster up the courage to bite him softly, heartbeat racing when he groans into your mouth. One arm drapes itself over the back of the couch, the other pulling you as close to him as humanly possible without practically sitting on him. Your hand combs through his hair and the other keeps him on you by the back of his neck.

Right when you run out of breath, he pulls away and swears colorfully at the phone buzzing in his pocket, answering it with one hand while his forearm is still pressed against your lower back. You absentmindedly trace his jawline with a finger while he curses out the person on the other line, eventually chucking the device over his shoulder like it was the last thing he was thinking about. “You need to go somewhere, sweetheart?” He lightly pinches your side at your mockery and you jump, flicking his forehead in defiance.

“Nah, that was a job for Dynamight. Right now, I guess I’m still fuckin' Dyna-maybe,” he rasps and leans back in to kiss you again but you push his face away, giving him as sober of a look as possible. “What?”

“If you need to go kick ass, then go kick ass. I’m just some random makeout at a party,” you remind him, painfully aware of the sting if he was to leave you alone. His expression contorts into indignancy again but you still try to convince him to alleviate whatever situation he was called in for. “Your job is more important than a hookup.”

“I don’t do hookups, dumbass. I’m interested in you,” he states plainly and your face is set on fire. The Pro, who you just insulted to his face, was interested in you? “So, let’s get out of here, yeah? I can make you dinner that isn’t shitty pizza.” His mouth breaks into a devilish grin and you’re already grabbing onto his hand like your life depended on it.

“If someone messes with us?”

“It’s a good thing I’m already in costume.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n

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pomefioredove · 10 days

Note

Hiya! Do you think you could write something romantic and fluffy with Vil? I love him!

hi anon of course! I am so unwell about this man

summary: being friends with vil schoenheit has its perks type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, mentions of food, friends to lovers huhuhu, maybe a tiny bit suggestive but also not really? lap-sitting and kissing

Someone should write a guide on how to be friends with Vil Schoenheit.

It did not come as naturally to you as you would have hoped. There were times when he felt like a star in your presence, not the actor kind, but the heavenly body.

Bright, and burning, and millions of miles away. Even as he sat directly across from you.

"You're not eating," he remarks. The comment is not degrading, though it is tinged with curiosity. "Is it bad?"

You haven't even sampled the meal yet- something fancy and expensive that you likely couldn't pronounce. He'd ordered it for you.

"It's okay," you lie.

He either buys your excuse, or ignores it. Either way, he reaches across the gossamer table cloth and switches your plates without asking.

Vil Schoenheit Friendship Survival Manual, rule number one: always assume his judgment is correct, until proven otherwise.

You look down at the plate- some kind of vegetable dish. He urges you on with a nod, lilac eyes fixed firmly on your pleasantly surprised reaction when you take a bite.

Rule number two: his judgment is always correct.

"Better?" he asks, not bothering to finish your food. He'll likely get something else later. "You really shouldn't skip meals. If you were feeling unwell, you should have said so. I would've ordered something lighter for you."

"Sorry. Didn't think of it," you say, taking another bite of his meal, if only to appease him.

You're hesitant to mention that the heavy feeling in your chest wasn't from illness, and so you say nothing more.

"No need to apologize. Here,"

Vil delicately reaches across the table and dabs at the corner of your mouth with his napkin. You hate how light-headed such a simple action makes you feel.

"Better. And don't worry about smudging anything, I have a few new products I'd like to try out on you later,"

Rule number three: always accept his gifts.

"Thanks," you murmur.

You were starting to feel as if you really were ill, the way your entire body warmed in his presence. Vil brought out a feverish sort of stupidity in you that made outings like this a minefield to navigate.

How painfully cliché, you thought. Hopelessly in love with someone far out of your league, with infinite options, none of which you could even hope to catch up to...

It made these evenings together pure torture.

You felt guilty for wishing he wasn't such an amazing friend. Must he insist on showering you in gifts and holding your hand every time you cross the street?

But being in his bedroom is another, dirtier realm of guilt. Vil saw you as a friend. Platonic. Someone he confided in, who he took under his wing. You were allowed to see parts of him no one else had, and yet, you can hardly pay attention to what he's saying because you can't stop thinking about the way his lips look when he speaks.

"Did you understand any of that?" he asks, bending down to your level as you sit on his bed. On his bed. And you had the mind to be thinking about doing romantic things...

Rule number four: speak when spoken to.

"No, sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately,"

Vil clicks his tongue and holds a hand to your forehead, feeling for temperature. "And you're sure you're not ill?"

"I'm fine! Just distracted,"

He chuckles, walking across the room to peruse his vanity. "Hm... and what sort of thoughts have got you scatterbrained today?"

You can feel your skin burning again. He could tell, couldn't he? All these weeks of coming undone every time he so much as looks your way couldn't have gone over his head... could they?

Or perhaps he was just used to people staring at him, stumbling over their words every time he spoke. Perhaps you were just another foolish fan who'd gotten to know him before falling in love.

You couldn't help but wish that there was someone or something that would just tell you what to do.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Vil sits beside you, a small, wooden box in hand.

"I'm supposed to promote these next weekend, but I'm not sure about them, yet," he says, opening the lid to reveal a plethora of lipsticks that likely cost more than your existence. "I'll need your opinion, of course."

"Right," you murmur.

"And I'd like to try them on you, as well,"

"Of course,"

"And you're alright with that?"

You nod. Ever the gentleman, always asking for permission. He's been quite generous with his products lately, giving them away to you like candy. You're almost certain he has a full list of your allergens somewhere.

Vil returns to the vanity, delicately prepping, and then applying the first shade. It's a marvelous, metallic pink, with dark red undertones that make it a regal color. It suits him, and you say as much.

"Oh, you think so? I suppose it does compliment my eyes, although I'd definitely need to pair it with something darker, else it become too overpowering..."

He clicks his tongue, and then turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Your turn. Come sit,"

There isn't another chair at the vanity, and you take that as your cue to awkwardly stand in front of him until he tells you what to do. He chuckles, amused by some thought of his that he doesn't share aloud.

"What are you standing there for? Sit,"

You awkwardly look around the space, eyes searching for a mysteriously hidden stool, something that should have been obvious...

He smiles. "Oh, don't be shy. We've known each other long enough by now, haven't we?"

You can't think of the right thing to ask, although your thoughts are quickly cut off by the sight of him gently patting his lap.

Sevens. If there were any time to wake up, this was it.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

He's not joking, of course. Vil hardly jokes. And so, you awkwardly straddle his lap, facing towards him, and allow him to get a good look at your visage.

He holds your chin firmly, studying your features as if he hasn't already seen them a thousand times before.

"Stay still,"

He's going to give you a heart attack, and there's a little quirk in his smile that tells you he knows it, too.

You wonder what your tag at the morgue will say. Death by Vil Schoenheit?

He starts with your skin, commenting on how soft it's gotten since he met you, then your eyes...

...Once he's satisfied, as he always is with his work, he turns your head so you can admire the makeup look in the mirror behind you.

"Stunning," he comments. "But you're missing something."

You look back, eyes wide. Surely, he hadn't forgotten something...? That's simply not in his nature.

He smiles at your confusion. "Remember? You promised to test these for me?"

Right. The lipstick. You nod. "Yes, but, I thought you'd already..."

"Oh, I do like the color. I'm just worried about this brand," Vil says. He looks away for a moment, almost as if to summon his courage... what a strange expression on him.

"What's wrong with the brand?"

He turns back with a small smirk. "They have a nasty reputation for smudging easily. I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself next weekend, hm?"

His cups your chin again, bringing you closer.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him!

He tilts his head to the side. "You don't mind, do you?"

You couldn't have shaken your head any faster, even with his grip on your chin.

"Good. Now, stay still. I think this will be a good color on you, anyway,"

He pulls you in with ease, letting his lips rest on yours for a second or two, before pulling back. Short but sweet, enough to make you feel like your entire body has gone numb.

He inspects your face, humming to himself...

"Good so far," he says, bringing you closer again. "But that was too safe. I won't hold back next time. Are you ready?"

You nod. Barely anything had happened, and you're already breathless. "Ready,"

Another smile crosses his perfect face, though he doesn't give you any time to admire it before he's kissing you again, one hand still cupping your face, the other holding the back of your neck and pressing you closer.

Definitely not a very platonic kiss.

It takes him longer to pull away this time, though when he does, it gives you a perfect view of his still-pristine makeup.

"Hmm... still nothing. I'm quite impressed with this line," he says, reaching behind you and returning with the wooden box. "How do you feel?"

Dizzy. Light-headed. Warm.

"Good," you say.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Or do.

"Not too much, I hope?"

A delightful realization was beginning to come over you, one that made all you had thought about him null and void:

No one else could possibly give you a guide on Vil Schoenheit, because he writes the rules himself.

"No. That was perfect,"

"Excellent," he smiles, and flips the box open again. "Because we still have six more colors to test."

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #GAH.

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rachalixie · 4 months

Text

a/n: a little thing i scrapped from a fic i'm writing for my baby star @forlix :) i love you. i choose you. <333

“lix?” you ask, tentativeness lining the single syllable like even your voice knew that what you were about to say was a little silly. “why did you choose me?”

“what do you mean?” he hums, his fingers faltering on his keyboard as he tries to split his attention between you and the colorful pixels on the screen.

“like, why me? you could have had anyone you wanted,” you bite your tongue, not quite understanding why these words were coming out here and now.

“what do you mean.” he repeats, more of a statement than a question now, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. he turns around completely, facing you and letting his character die a tragic death on the screen behind him. “are you serious?”

“i- no?” you sigh, not quite meeting his eyes. “yes. kind of? i don’t know.”

“y/n,” he rolls his chair close to you until your knees were touching, and he takes your hands in his, stopping you from wringing your fingers together. “it wasn’t a choice, you know that right? the stars brought us together, you’re mine in every way that i am yours.”

“right but,” you start, feeling grateful when he squeezes your hands in a silent go on, i’m here to listen. “if you could make that choice. if you didn’t want what the universe chose for you. then what?”

“if it was a choice to make, i would choose you every single time,” he slides off the chair, falling to his knees in front of you. “in every universe, in every reality, in every single world that exists, i choose you. over and over.”

“yes, but why?” and that is the root of it all - it was less of a deep rooted problem of insecurity and more of a lack of understanding.

“god, i love you,” he looks up at you, so reverent that you feel your breath catch on nothing. “you’re perfect for me. no matter how many flaws you think you have, you compliment me in every single way. i didn’t know someone like you could exist for me in this world, and if i ever lost you i’d spend the rest of my days alone because no one can compare to you.”

“you think of me like that?” you try to ignore the stinging in your eyes and the burning in your nostrils that signal that you were going to cry. you knew the answer; you felt that way about him, too.

“yes,” he says, simple and ringing with truth. “you’re my perfect little star, the one i wish on every night. i look up at the sun and i think of you simply because we live under the same one. i could go on but - do you understand, now?”

“i do,” you smile. and while looking at him, the moon that hangs bright in your night skies, you truly do understand.

—

soft hours

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #skz fluff #felix fluff #felix imagines #felix x reader

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crushmeeren · 6 months

Text

Bokuto SFW/NSFW Headcannons

Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+; continue scrolling or block if you aren’t into this

Warnings; oral sex (blow jobs/pussy eating), car sex, riding, small amount of anal play (Bo teases your ass while he eats you out), mating press, kissing, praising

Note; I wasn’t originally planning on posting but I’ve had a rough night and I just love Bokuto 💕 This is my first time writing for Haikyuu so I hope I can do him justice. Please enjoy 🪽

Second Note; I think I’m gonna have to write one for Kirishima next, s-so many ideas about him 😮‍💨

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Koutarou who is the sweetest man alive, who you’re unconditionally in love with, but…is an airhead (i.e. he loses his phone all the time, forgets plans he’s already made, somehow drops his wallet down a hole at the top of a parking garage that’s 30 feet deep while planking—but miraculously finds it laying on a car below??) who you’ll always help find his shit either way—he needs AirTags

Koutarou who likes to wear lots of colors, whose favorite color is blue, who once got his face painted with a rainbow on it at the fair (he did look pretty, plus the vibrant colors represents how bright his personality is)

Koutarou who practically vibrates with excitement when he sees you watching his games from the stands, who smiles so wide his cheeks may split, who waves at you in the middle of a play (he ran into the net by accident, but he didn’t miss the next spike!!)

Koutarou who turns a sweet shade of pink when he sees you wear his jersey to his game, who picks you up in a sweaty, bear hug (squishing the air out of your lungs) after they’re finished, chatting excitedly in your ear as he carries you a few feet (he only sets you down when Hinata rescues you by reminding him they have to go change)

Koutarou who gets into certain self-deprecating moods sometimes, who lets you help him feel better, letting him talk it out, spending time with him, whispering words of support and encouragement as you poke the dimples on his cheeks (which gets him to smile and giggle almost every time)

Koutarou who likes listening to hip hop and surprisingly—hair metal, who loves singing in the car, who has an astonishingly good singing voice (you love watching him as he drives, he gets so into the music, wiggling in his seat—it’s like your own personal concert) and who loves Paramore—because you showed them to him

Koutarou who takes up half your bed when he sleeps, he’s so fucking tall—and thick🫣(but you love it and use him as your own personal blanket, but he does get really sweaty in the middle of the night so you have to roll away before you melt to death)

Koutarou who loves holding your hand, lacing his warm fingers through yours and tugging you in different directions, no matter where you are, who leans in so close to speak to you, you can see his eyelashes (it never fails to make warmth thickly pool in your belly, traveling up and making your cheeks burn—he always looks at you with stars in his eyes)

Koutarou who is literally always the life of the party—everyone loves the fucking ace, he radiates positive and happy energy—people are drawn to him like moths to a flame, they always want to talk to him and you’re proud of it (plus you don’t mind—besides he always comes home with you at the end of the night)

Koutarou who introduces you to Kuroo, who he has remained friends with after high school, Kuroo, the sly bastard who you’ve grown quite fond of & have become close friends with (instantly clicking over your combined efforts to tease Bo)

Koutarou who loves, loves taking hot showers with you, he likes to hug you under the warm spray, letting it relax both of you and talk about his day (sometimes you end up on your knees, but who can blame you?)

Koutarou who looks so unbelievably hot when his hair is down, no gel in sight as the soft strands frame his sweet face (you can’t help but stare at him until he asks if there’s something on his face, you tell him just how goddamn good he looks—which in turn makes him flush bright pink, dragging you into his lap to make out with him)

Koutarou who really loves when you call him by his given name —don’t get him wrong, but…he can’t help but feel a flash of heat shoot between his legs when he hears your sweet voice calling him Bo (you absolutely know what it does to him)

Koutarou who loves you so fucking much he feels his heart may burst at the seams, who is your best friend, who you can be completely yourself with, who supports you in everything you do, who you know, in your bones, is your one and only, who has been secretly planning on proposing to you for awhile now (FYI— you say yes, Bo definitely cries)

💕NSFW Below This-You Have Been Warned💕

Koutarou who is fucking buff, who is wayy taller than you, who is packed with muscle and his cock is, to say the least…thick, but just long enough to keep from hurting (but lets be real, the thickness is what counts)

Koutarou who gets rock hard so damn fast whenever you kiss his neck, gasping, whining, squirming underneath you when you sink your teeth into the muscle covering his pulse point, tilting his head and melting when you leave a couple hickies (he really tries to cover it up the next day, but Miya Atsumu teases him at practice anyways—he takes it in stride, only blushing a little bit)

Koutarou who only really curses during sex, unable to stop the nasty words from leaving his mouth (you think it’s the biggest turn on when he can’t help but whimper a soft f-fuck when he gets his dick inside you)

Koutarou who loves when you suck his cock, who likes when you’re laying on your back and he straddles your chest, controlling the pace as he thrusts into your mouth, who loves when you grip his ass and help him fuck your throat, who braces a hand against the wall, one hand in your hair as he watches his dick shine with your saliva as it repeatedly disappears between your warm, soft lips, who sees stars when he fucks along your tongue like a track made to make him blow

Koutarou who likes to suffocate between your thighs, always asking you to sit on his face, who grips your hips and forces you to rub your clit over his tongue, who covers his finger in your slick, teasing your asshole until you cum on his tongue, fisting his hair between your fingers (you choke on your moans, pleasure sticky and gooey gushing through your limbs)

Koutarou who was nervous at first when you suggested having sex in his car, but now he’s addicted, who can’t do anything but hold your waist, whimpering mhmm—fuck, that’s it pretty thing, as you hold onto his shoulders, using your feet & thighs to bounce on his cock in the drivers seat that’s been pushed all the way back

Koutarou whose toes curl, cock twitching as his eyes either stayed glued to where your pussy sucks him in or the way your tits bounce in his face (you love it just the same, tilting your head down to watch while you fuck yourself on his dick)

Koutarou who likes to let out high pitched whines & moans in your ear when he fucks you in missionary, who tells you your fucking pussy’s s’good, so tight, gonna make me cum so hard, while he has you folded into a mating press, shivering while he tries to hold back from cumming too quick (it feels like he’s in your throat, he makes you squirt in this position, thumb rubbing your clit roughly)

Koutarou who sits back on his calves, gripping your tits, fucking into you and curling his hips upwards, who makes you inhale sharply, gasping Bo! as you cum, fingers gripping his forearms, who says love when you cum on my cock baby girl, taking my dick so fucking well (you groan through clenched teeth as warm tingles take over your body)

Koutarou who almost cums instantly when you tell him he’s so good at fucking you, making you cum so many times during one round of sex (bro definitely has a bit of a praise kink)

Koutarou who whispers how much he loves you, face flushed when he starts to cum, whose heart thumps wildly in his chest as he groans about how good it feels to fill you up, pussy hugging him so tight (you tell him you love him just the same when he buries his sweaty face in your neck)

Koutarou who can never resist resting all his weight on you afterwards, snaking his arms around you and snuggling you tight as you both soak in the post orgasm glow, who helps you clean up and gets you water before you both take a nap or go to bed for the night

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 6 months

Note

The gojo/m!reader fic is just *chef’s kiss* I fucking love your writing. I know you just posted part 3 and I don’t want to be greedy but can we expect a part 4? 👁️

Lawd, don’t tempt me, nonnie! I have so many headcanons and ideas that I wanted to include but they did not feel relevant to the plot. 😭 Okay - not making any promises! We’ll see how it goes because I have some other fics lined up first! ( ´Д`)y━･~~

Below is the original ending of the fic as a treat! I didn’t write it out originally because I dislike reader-insert endings with a definitive end, I like giving room for the reader to be able to create infinite scenarios with the plot provided (｀_´)ゞ

alternate ending, angst with comfort | not proofread! | wc: 1.5 k

“You gave him a run for your money, huh? I told him it was a cruel idea.”

Air does not inflate your lungs but you inhale anyway, if only to feel your chest rise and fall. He reaches his hand out, and that onyx gaze makes your vision blurry.

“S’guru...?”

Clasping at your cheeks, you try to grasp the reality before you. Nails scratching at your skin as you cast your gaze downwards to your lap. The familiar colour of deep navy blue causes more tears to fall.

“What?” Those vortex-patterned buttons shimmer under the warm lights and Suguru’s hands invade your vision as he gently circles his fingers around your wrist.

“(Y/N), it’s alright. Everything is alright now.” His voice felt like honey, just like before. He’s not decayed or pale or rotten. Suguru is wearing his uniform - like before. Before the Star Plasma incident, before his betrayal, before his death, before your resentment contorted your memory of him into a grotesque spirit.

“You gave it your all. You can rest now.”

The sight past his shoulders is bright and cloudless. The silver beams that hold the glass together meld up and up and up into the roof. The floors are glistening, with not one footprint or stain and the pops of green from the potted plants and the distant forests beyond the glass make your shoulders droop.

“...Where...”

He squeezes your wrist and stands, you have no choice but to do the same.

When you do, he wraps his arms around you. A tight, comforting, squeeze that makes your arms hang awkwardly out with twitching fingers. Your clothes spill from between his hold and you can feel the fine hairs on his cheeks.

“You had every right to hate me, (Y/N). It wasn’t your fault. I don’t hate you, I swear I don’t.”

Tears stream down your face. They feel so cooling, unlike the usual burning that follows.

“I missed you, (Y/N).”

“Suguru...”

“I missed you too. Suguru.”

“(Y/N). Where is he?”

Silence befalls the room. His eyes search and pane from every face to every molecule in the air. As terrifying a thought as it is, Satoru’s six eyes hover unseen over his shoulders. Each pupil looks this way or that way. Some have more than one, long downward-facing lashes fluttering as it darts and consumes the sights before it.

They’re hungrier now. Famished from the timeless chamber that was the Prison Realm.

They’re hungry to lay themselves on you.

Drink in your beauty once more. Drown in your presence and weep when you meet their gaze.

You are not here.

The silence is too familiar.

Satoru feels his chest tighten.

“Mr Gojo,” Yuji steps forward and Shoko purses her lips so Satoru steels his expression. Yuji will tell him you are dead, he will tell him how you perished and if Satoru is lucky (which he hasn’t felt lucky in a long time) Yuji will tell him your body was here.

But Yuji says nothing.

He extends his hand after fishing something out of his pocket and Satoru feels a familiar weight in his palm.

It’s your wedding ring.

The other half to his own that he wore.

He thought you’d melted it down. He’d never seen you wear it after that night.

Were you sentimental too?

Satoru recalls the old books your mother had that left holes in his bookshelves - tracks of their departure shredding through the dust like a stampede of hooves. The drawings that were made in crayon and pens and paint by your children, lining the hallways of home or the fridge (”like the Americans do,” you joked). There were even documents you kept, receipts, of things that held no more value.

You were full of memories just like he was.

He stared at the ring. Delicate, detailed and forlorn without its user.

“He told me he had a plan,” Yuji’s fist shake as he speaks.

“Mr (Y/N) said he’d be alright. He told me to trust him and that everything would be okay. He just told me to get as many comrades out of the area so I did. He - He slipped the ring in my pocket and I didn’t notice.”

You’d been revealed by Sukuna, grasped by the back of your head like a toy. You were decorated like one. Those heavy, patterned, robes and styled hair and painted face. Even with pain contorting your expression you looked as pretty as a doll.

“Lovely sight, isn’t it, my concubine?” Sukuna croons. “You’ve made such an array of allies in my absence. Uruame tells me you’ve even mauled your father, how terrifying.”

Uruame, that bastard. The girl - no. The person that’d been bowing and showing you that horrid swirl pattern on their head - they’d been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you were a child, they’d kept track. To prepare you for Sukuna? Or just to make sure their master's return was celebrated with a feast to please his every desire?

His grip tightens and your yell makes Yuji’s anger simmer under his skin.

‘ I’ll leave the rest to you. ‘ Nanami had told him.

“Sukuna,” he growls out.

The King of Curses, with those lovely eyes Yuji cherished so dearly, smiled like a mad man.

“Oi, brat. Shall I show you how deeper into despair I can take you?”

“Sukuna told Mr (Y/N) to kill us or he’d do it himself. Neither of us expected him to,” Yuji trails off, his nails digging crescent moon shapes into his palms. It’s Yuta who finishes the sentence for him;

“He used Divine Flame to its greatest height. As a way to stop Sukuna from chasing after us and as a way to weaken him.”

“...He had sacrificed himself, is that what you’re saying?” Satoru watches Yuta nod and as Yuji sullenly does the same, Choso comes to his side.

“His flames are still burning. They’re fading but, he did weaken Sukuna considerably,” Shoko says. Satoru knows she’s just taking her time to tell him there is no corpse to be buried. You were gone in the wind and once the remnants of your cursed energy faded there’d be nothing left of you but memories and things; they’d collect dust and grief but none would satisfy Satoru.

He doesn’t mind the way they look at him as he unclasps the silver necklace around his neck to slip your ring. It joins Suguru’s button and he finds himself unable to curse the Gods.

Instead, Satoru closes his eyes to pray.

‘ Watch over me, ‘ he pleads.

It lasts no more than a second. His eyes open but they find themselves searching for hair that shines like vinyl and (E/C) coloured eyes that make heaven weep despite what he’s learned.

The best thing he can hope to do now is free Megumi and Tsumiki of their ailments. Then, then...he’ll bury them.

He’ll bury his family.

“Nanami. Is there a body?”

The furrowing of Yuji’s brows make Satoru’s cheek twitch.

“We’ll bury their things then. Side by side.”

There’s a familiar presence next to him. His scent wafted up Satoru’s nose in a way that made his eyes water. He knows him by the way he breathes, the way he walks, the sound of his hair being tied into a bun.

Suguru is beside him.

He doesn’t know how it’s possible that they’re together once again but a quick glance around and he’s quick to figure it out.

Ah.

He wanted to win so badly.

They talk. They talk like nothing has happened. As if the years were mere footnotes in their story like friends reuniting again after some distance.

Behind him, Yū and Kento are sat. They tease and jest. He yells at Principal Yaga about dying with regret, he sees Riko and Misato talking to each other in their own corner of rhe world.

Kento huffs, Kento smiles.

“If you stop flitting your eyes so wildly you’ll find him, Gojo.” Suguru and Yū chuckle at Satoru’s expression. Kento twists his upper half and points to the windows.

“That woman...” Satoru’s eyes widen.

It’s unmistakably your mother. Her hair, her skin, her posture - youthful and healthy. He sees tiny hands clutching to her shoulder, a head of (H/C) peeking from over it and then your eyes blinking sheepishly up at her.

You’re in your mother's arms, a boy once again as she cradles you close to her.

When your eyes meet him, he sees the bashful way they avert themselves and your mother chuckles as she smooths out your hair. Kento hums and Yū tells him to stand, so Kento does.

Your mother’s smile is as warm as it's always been. Puts the damn sun to shame, really. She presses a kiss to your head then sets you down and with inward facing steps, you walk towards Kento.

With each step, you grow and grow and Satoru thinks of how nice it was that you’re spending your youth with Kento for an eternity now.

Because as you stand in front of Kento in your school uniform, with the bright smile you had in those old photographs, he feels his heart soar. The rings clink softly against each other as he leans back and wraps an arm around Suguru’s shoulder.

Your arms wrap around Kento’s neck and he wraps them around your waist.

“I hope you did not wait long, Ken.” He squeezes you tightly and sighs, “I would wait an eternity for you, my love.”

#s3thwrit3sstuff #s3thwrit3s asks #reader insert #male reader insert #male reader #male!reader #gay reader #nanami kento x male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #satosugu

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seeingivy · 4 months

Text

the beach

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

an: 14k. buckle in. song mentioned is sparks by coldplay!

previous part linked here

to sukuna’s mother

eren: we’ll be there at five am.

lana: OH ITS HAPPENING

sukuna: did she slap you?

lana: DID SHE KISS YOU?

eren: she cried a bunch while watching it. and she hasn’t said much…she’s just been staring out the window of the airplane blankly

lana: oh that’s not-

sukuna: AHAHAHAHAH

lana: well, anyways. we’ll wake up for you.

sukuna: she’ll be fast asleep. i will wake up for you.

eren liked a message

The second Eren closes his phone, he looks to his left to find your pink, teary eyes looking at him and immediately pales. Your eyes are positively red at this point, an itchiness settling in his throat at the sight of it.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asks.

“No.” you murmur.

Eren pauses.

“Did you want to say something?” he asks.

He watches you pause, almost like you’re mulling over the question. He supposes that it was quite stupid for him to ask, because if it were him in your spot, he probably would have talked your ear off for every little detail.

“You can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.” Eren adds.

You give him a halfhearted nod, before looking back out at the window, at the little lights glittering amidst the clouds beneath. It’s like being asked to pick up each grain of sand on a vast, mile long beach. Almost impossible.

“I don’t even know where to start, Eren.” you murmur.

Eren gives you an understanding nod before yanking out his laptop before setting it flat in your lap. You swallow hard, knowing fully where he thinks you should begin. With that USB that’s been burning in your pocket, ever since he handed it back to you at the house.

Of Eren’s interview, on the Life in Love podcast.

Eren leans into your space, handing you one of the earphones that you settle into your ear, as you press the little play button at the bottom of the screen. The video starts - Eren and Lana sitting with the chunky headphones on their ears - with the interviewer sitting in between them.

“We’ll start with you, Eren. Have you ever been in love?” the interviewer asks.

You watch as Eren’s face splits into a bright smile, surely one that was echoed on your face too the day after the beach, as you feel a twinge in your chest. That whenever you saw clips of the interview, they filled you with such intense, deep rooted hatred for Eren that all you saw was red.

And that he didn’t even deserve one fraction of it.

“Yes. Of course, I have.” he responds.

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks.

Eren sighs, before he leans back in his chair.

“First love is a funny way to describe it, when it almost feels like it’s more than that? I know a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never said it publicly, but we did date. Obviously. She’s basically been scored on my heart since the second I met her in my chemistry read, but we ended up officially dating around season three of Attack on Titan. But it’s almost like that concept or notion is too trivial to explain what I even felt for her. She was never just my girlfriend or just my best friend.”

“Was it one of those…acting became too real situations?” the interviewer asks.

“I guess that you could say that. We had originally started, I guess, thinking that way when we started doing our character work. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we had started doing it outside of it too.” Eren responds.

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks.

“We had started by kind of putting ourselves in that headspace, off of the set, in order to feel more connected to our characters, their relationship together. I think one of the things about Attack on Titan that makes it so compelling is the fact that my co-stars and myself, not to pat myself on the back, put time and effort into translating our characters into something that is real for us.” Eren states.

“It’s also something that you kind of just possess as an actor with certain co-stars. Some movies, like rom-coms or drama pieces, just function and work so well because you have that chemistry with the person whose on the other side. And make no mistake, Eren and Y/N aren’t short of any chemistry themselves.” Lana responds.

“What it is about her that struck you really differently, Eren? Clearly the two of you have a special relationship that you haven’t really been able to replicate else place, certainly not with Hyla Clarkson, for example? I mean, if you’re comfortable, you can share what you told me before you we started recording.” the interviewer states.

A searing, red hot anger flares through you, at how friendly, how approachable the interviewer seems. The fact that they’re purposely trying to make him feel safe, just to later edit the words as they see fit.

“Make no mistake, what I have with Hyla Clarkson is like that thing thing that Y/N had with Ricky James. We all have managers, we all get asked to do things that we don’t exactly want to do. I guess that’s the part that people don’t really understand, when they find out about PR relationships. That it seems so morally wrong. But we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry - it’s almost like it’s part of the job to do these types of thing. And at that point, Y/N and I weren’t dating and I have strict managers, so…” Eren states.

“Are you saying that your relationship with Hyla Clarkson wasn’t real?” the interviewer asks.

“The first time she kissed him he threw up on the other side of a yacht. Do you think his relationship with her is real?” Lana asks, earning a laugh from the two of them.

“It’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. But we do these things, pretend a little. It’s basically like we’re acting all the time. None of that chemistry, or that character is there. I don’t even think I could ever really like her like that. And it’s not like the relationship I have with Y/N. You asked me why she was different than everyone else? It’s easy. I’ve never met anyone else like her. I’ve never had a relationship like the one I’ve had with anyone else.”

Eren sighs, nervously knitting his fingers togther, before he talks again.

“I grew up with this backdrop, of this really fractured relationship with my brother. I was always told as a kid that my family, that the people around me who were real, were the things that were going to keep me tethered to my real life. That if I choose to do this, that I’ll be in the public eye, that people will say things, and it’ll be on me to build trust. To choose the right people.” Eren starts.

“It was already so jarring to feel like I couldn’t trust my own brother, that my only family didn’t want me. And Y/N…she just kind of walked into my life and there was something so earnest about her. She felt like family basically the second, or third time I had talked to her. She was just something so real. And I’m not sure if it’s because she had a normal childhood, if she came into this on her own or what, but she always got to give me that dose of reality, of realness that I had always craved.” he continues.

“She was really gentle with me. Always quick to wipe my tears away, to give me support, that felt more full and honest than anyone else. Some part of her made me feel like a real person. I’d always be in my own head, convincing myself that I was made up sometimes, that my feelings were manufactured, that I was just putting on a front for everyone, but I never really felt that way with her. She’s always seen past that, always seen me, in our relationship. Even when we were just friends.” Eren finishes.

“And that’s just a quality that she naturally possesses. The first time she met me, she basically had no reason to have any trust, to have any good conviction of me. But by the end of the third or fourth day I knew her, I basically felt like the girl had seen right through me. All the way down to my core. And of course, all she saw was good. That’s how she is. I think for people like Eren and I, who naturally think so rotten of ourselves, someone like Y/N, whose so determined in how she shows her love, you almost….start to love yourself too. It’s not something that’s isolated to her, but it’s definitely something rare. People like Y/N and like Marco Bodt…that type of thing is just a part of them.” Lana states.

“That’s wonderful to hear, especially from you. Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. That there’s a part of her that’s conniving, that she uses those around her to get to the top. Is that ever something you’ve noticed, Lana? Especially as someone who would be in competition with her, as a singer-songwriter yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I think she has drive and ambition and I think that people confuse that with being conniving or competitive. Her existence means that people are going to put her against me or Historia, but that’s just because we’re women. That has nothing to do with something that’s isolated to Y/N and more with people who are just shitty and can’t see two women succeed at once.” Lana states.

“She’s very focused on her craft - any role, any song she writes - they’re so deeply personal and authentic. That’s why she is so successful, why people covet after her so bad. I don’t consider myself to be in competition with her at all. And if I actually thought I was, I don’t think I would even last a day.” Lana continues.

“That’s something I’ve always admired about her. You’re in competition - and people are putting you there, against people you love - and you have that thing you really want, you’ll do anything to get it. There’s a mentality that people get about it. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is. But she never, ever, put her own friends at stake in ways that she could to do that. I mean all of those rumors about Historia were coming out and she wrote dorothea of all songs, about how important their relationship is always going to be her.” Eren states.

“You have to hold onto those type of people around you, in this type of industry, when you find them.” Lana states.

“Good thing for me, then. I never intend to let go.” Eren adds.

The interviewer smiles, turning to the camera, before talking again.

“Eren’s prepared a song for us, his first in a while, that he’s going to perform for us live. What’s the song called, Eren?”

“Sparks.”

“Any hints to what it’s about?”

“It’s quite obvious.” Eren responds.

Lana starts strumming on the guitar, as Eren sings and those godawful tears of yours return. You loop your arm through Eren’s free one on your side, entirely jarred by how calm Eren is watching the interview. At how he’s not a mess, a ruin, like you are at seeing this.

My heart is yours It's you that I hold on to Yeah, that's what I do

And I know, I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, yes, I will

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks

The video ends, as you wipe the wetness away on your cheeks and look over at Eren on your side. You lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, unable to look at his piercing green eyes, as he returns the favor and leans his head on top of yours. You try to figure out how to broach it - this big mess of questions in your head - but it seems that Eren saves you from figuring that out and talks first.

“You said the other day on set you wanted to know why I want on that podcast and said what I did. You wanted to know if I still cared about you…do you know now?” Eren asks, his words so slow and careful.

“Is it idiot day?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“Is it idiot day? Do you really think I’m still sitting here being mad at you? You….”

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, brushing the softness on his cheek.

“I have a hundred things I have to say to you. I-I don’t want to speak wrong. Can you give me a second?” you ask.

Eren smiles, lifting his hand to place it over where yours is on his cheek.

“I made you wait like…three years. I think I can wait a second for you, Margaret.” Eren whispers.

You frown, nodding as Eren places his hand on your head and leans it back onto his shoulder.

“Thanks, Bruce.” you murmur back.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.” Eren repsonds.

It’s only when the two of you are walking up the cobblestone path, barely illuminated by the light of the rising sun, that you realize that Eren’s brought you back to the same beach house that the two of you had visited before.

In the past twenty four hours (the ones you’ve been awake for anyways), the only thing that seems to be replaying in your mind is that night. Because every action of Eren’s that you’ve doubted seems painfully obvious now. The song he wrote, the way he insisted that the two of you were real people, only together.

That Eren gave you so many signs. And that you didn’t know how to read them.

The salty air stings at your nose as Eren pulls up the mat, pocketing the key placed under it, and giving you a smile.

“Isn’t that really dangerous? To keep a key under their mat when they live so…out in the open?” you ask.

“Sukuna put it there for me. And no one knows they live here. This is technically Lana’s brother’s house, so they never really suspected it.” Eren offers, shoving the key into the lock as he twists the knob open.

You and Eren quietly set your bags by the door, making it a point to tip toe in the early hours of the morning only to pad into the main room to find Lana standing near the counter, cracking eggs into the bowl.

“Oh my god! Don’t tell me that Lana No Middle Name Price is awake at a normal hour of the day?” Eren deadpans, giving her a jeering smile as she all but drops her little spatula and runs over to hug him.

You watch the two of them, the way Eren seems more calm in his demeanour now, as the two of them lean against the counter and talk. His shoulders are more relaxed, the softest of smiles on his face while Lana looks unlike you’ve ever seen her.

Her hair is extremely short, barely secured into a ponytail at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon. But even more than that, it’s something about her smile, the way her eyes are glimmering that it fills that gaping hole that’s been burning in your chest with the smallest warmth as you watch the two of them.

“Sukuna’s going to get mad when you burn those cookies.” Eren states.

“I’m not going to burn the cookies, Eren. That was one time.” she responds.

“You almost fed your son a carcinogen. And burned the house down. Also, we all inhaled a lot of smoke so you probably ruined our lungs for all we know-”

Lana lightly smacks him straight across the face, as he laughs and immediately swats her hands off. The two of them continue that way - pushing and shoving each other like siblings - until Lana pushes Eren a little bit too hard and he backs up into you.

Eren immediately looks back, his hands on your shoulders as he stables your wobble, and you shoot him a grateful smile. It’s only then that Lana notices you standing there, at the front of her little kitchen, and you shoot her a smile.

Lana’s quick to run to your side and give you a hug - the pressure on your body so tight that you can feel her squeezing that little burden of hurt that’s been sitting in your chest. Lana makes no move to let go, as you quickly deflate into her arms and start sniffling into her shoulder, immediate warm tears sparking in your eyes as her hands rub circles into your back.

“We’ll talk, Tinky Winky. About all of it, okay?” she whispers.

You give her a nod, as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You follow the two of them into the kitchen, as Lana continues to roll the little cookies into circular shapes.

“Eren. Go away.” Lana states.

“Wow. Is this how you repay me? After I take care of your son?”

“He is your godson. You should be happy to take care of him. And they just left for their walk not that long ago, you can catch up.” Lana states.

“Sukuna is a speedwalker. They’re probably long gone.” Eren whines.

“Eren. Respectfully, get out of my house. Go sit on the beach and stare at the water like the little freak that you are and let me talk to Y/N in private.” Lana states.

“I do not-!”

“Yes, you do. Y/N, I swear to god, he sat out there everyday and we had to drag him back in like we were pulling an anchor out of the sea. Now get out.” Lana states.

Eren sticks his tongue out, before shooting you a warm smile and padding out onto the sand. You stick your hand into the bowl, rolling the cookies into little circles with her as you give her a smile.

“Cute ribbon.” you murmur.

“I wore it for you. A Y/N classique.” Lana responds.

You smile in response, as the two of you continue to roll the batter and decide what you want to talk about first. And just like Eren, she bites the bullet for you first.

“Sukuna’s here. He’s just on a walk right now with Teddy.”

You smile to yourself, the thought of it filling you with an immense amount of joy.

“Do they do that often?”

“Every day. Teddy’s quite the insomniac and wakes up extremely early. Sukuna lets me sleep in a little and takes him on a little walk along the beach. Says that they need their father son bonding time.” she muses.

“I remember that about him. Theodore or Teddy, I mean. When Eren brought me here, in the dead of night, he was awake. With your brother, making cookies.”

She smiles, setting the little tray in the oven, as she gestures for you to follow her onto the couch.

“Theodore, huh? Eren did tell me he had quite the crush on you back then.” Lana states.

“Huh?”

“He doesn’t really go by Theodore. Eren and I call him Teddy and Sukuna calls him Theo, but…Theodore just feels a little bit too formal. He only uses it for really important people. Like you. And when he starts talking to Elsa on the TV screen.”

“I’m glad I’m keeping such important company.” you respond.

You laugh, hiking your knees to your chest as you decide to bite the bullet full on.

“Lana….Ricky isn’t in his life, right?” you whisper.

She gives you a nod, placing one of her hands on yours, as she gives you a warm smile.

“No. Thankfully, he’s never even met Teddy. And he’s not going to.”

“Does he know about him?” you ask.

“Yeah. I had told him, a few weeks after it happened. When I started showing. And you know how he is…he wanted me to have an abortion and be done with it. But I…I couldn’t go through with it.” Lana states.

She sighs, cracking her knuckles.

“I know it seems weird. I really do hate Ricky, everything about him, but Teddy isn’t really…his in my mind. And-”

“He’s your son. And Sukuna’s. I wasn’t even thinking that. And…and even if I was, you don’t need to explain yourself to me of all people.” you respond.

Lana scoots closer to you on the couch, as she leans her head on your shoulder and you place yours on top of hers.

“I kind of saw it as my way out for some time. LIke, I was so deep in with everything and all the people that we were working with. It would have never been acceptable to take a break, not unless I had to take one. And I’m not saying that I had him because I wanted to get away from work, but to me…it just kind of felt like a sign. I got to crank the brakes.”

“I’m sure it was good for you, in ways that you might not even know about yet.”

“I think he saved my life, Y/N. I was so deep in that shitty, self-absorbed bubble of the industry and how it is and he just…reminded me other things were more important. He took his first steps and he’s learning how to play the piano…his entire world is confined to what movie we’re going to play after lunch. Who's going to tuck him into bed at night. That’s how life should be. And that’s always how I wanted mine to look. Soft, calm.”

You smile, squeezing one of her hands interlocked with yours. At the thought of Lana, wishing for this exact future when she was a kid, only to have it now. That she fought nail and tooh for it, but still got to have it.

“I would have told you about Teddy. About everything. But I wanted to keep it as under wraps as I could and-” she starts.

“You are entitled to share your secrets with whoever you want. You don’t owe anything to me.” you state.

“I know. But just know, it’s not because I didn’t trust you. You mean the world to me, in more ways than you could ever possibly know.” Lana states.

You shake your head dismissively, as she quickly brushes you off.

“No, really. Eren and I…I know it can be really hard to understand why we did what we did. Why we kept so much but from you. But we grew up in this type of thing. It seems difficult to confront these things head on, when they’re basically what your whole lives have revolved around.” Lana states.

“I get that. But…you guys seem fine doing it now? Especially with the documentary and all, I guess I just…wish I knew earlier. Could have helped you both to this point sooner. I feel shitty because you did it all on your own and you didn’t have to.”

Lana smiles.

“You know we only did that because of you, right? The documentary.”

“You mean Eren.”

“No. I mean Connie. Me. Sukuna, even. And you know how…private he is. But we did it because of you. You’ve always reminded us, in your own ways, not to take shit from people. And at this point, we don’t really have anything to lose. Only things to gain. Like you back in our life. Control over our lives again.”

“You guys are building me up into this big thing I’m not. I hid out for two years because I was too scared to confront everything. I ignored all of you because it was easy for me to do. I’m far from this big..confrontational person you think I am. And I’m definitely not as good of a friend or supporter to you all like you think I am.” you murmur.

“Or…you just think too little of yourself. You went through something big, traumatic even. So did we. It’s no shit that Eren was special to you, so of course the loss of him was going to be big. And you also had your fucking life’s work stolen from you, which is nothing small, Y/N.”

“I guess.”

“One of the biggest, most important things that Eren has taught me was having grace. Don’t ever tell him that because you already know how big his fucking head is. But…there’s a lot of patience that you have to have with yourself to get yourself out of that headspace. I lived there for years. And it is so not feasible for you, Y/N. At the end of the day, you’re still someone in our lives whose stood for the right things. And you still have that impact, even if you feel like that’s not what you’re doing right now. You don’t always have to be one thing to be the same person. Who you are, who you’ve always been, won’t ever change.”

You swallow hard.

“So you missed a few days? There’s another one tomorrow, Y/N. You lost a few years with Eren? That doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be there for you.” Lana states.

You give her a nod, embarrassed that she’s read so quickly through you when it comes to Eren, as you pinch a smile for her.

“Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still you’ll rise.” Lana states.

Eren’s words from the beach.

“Maya Angelou. Eren’s told me that one before.”

Lana smiles, rolling her eyes.

“He’s cheesy. But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

You wrap your arms around her, sighing into her shoulder, as she hugs you hard.

“I’m really proud of you for owning it all. I hope that you get to drag Ricky’s name through the mud. For good this time.” you respond.

“A girl can hope.”

“And hank you, Lana.”

She tilts her head in confusion.

“You took care of Eren when I couldn’t. I won’t exactly be able to repay you for that.” you murmur.

“Consider yourself repaid. You did the same for Sukuna before I knew him.”

You scoff.

“As if. Sukuna and I are nowhere near how you and Eren are.”

She shakes her head dismissively, as she hops up on her feet and drags you by the arm to the hallway. The walls are littered in little frames, each little photo sweet little memories.

There’s pictures of Lana, Sukuna, and Teddy on the beach and of Eren sitting at the piano with Teddy in his lap. Of Lana and Eren fast asleep on the couch and of Sukuna and Yuuji pulling each other’s cheeks as kids. And the last one in the row is of you and Sukuna, cheesing on the set of Ten Things I Hate About You.

“It might not feel that way to you, but you’re his best friend. He’s told me that you were one of the first people - to meet him and treat him like a person. It’s no shit that everyone hated him when he was sixteen, but you were the one to extend your hand to him and be friends. Means a lot more to him than you think.” she murmurs.

You give her a nod, as the two of you shuffle back into the kitchen and take the little tray of cookies out of the oven. You nicely plate them all onto the platter and turn around to wash your hands, as Sukuna, Teddy, and Eren pad back into the kitchen.

“Ryomen Sukuna, if you track sand into my house again, I’m sending you right back out and you’re staying there for a few days.” Lana warns.

You turn around to find Sukuna giving Lana an eye roll, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. His arm is still secured around her as he faces the platter of cookies.

“Lana Price. Did you bake something without setting the house on fire?” Sukuna asks.

“Yes. I’m not incompetent, you know?” Lana responds, trying to shove him off.

“Right. Making ready-made cookies is such a difficult task. Quite the feat if you ask me.”

“It is! You have no idea.” she deadpans back, as Teddy runs up to hug her legs and she lifts him straight into her arms.

Teddy reachs for the little ribbon in her hair immediately, twisting it in his little hands as he yanks it out of her hair.

“Teddy, tell your dad he’s being very rude. And that I’m a very good cook.” Lana states.

“Mommy. You almost made a car engine.” Teddy responds.

“Buddy. It’s carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gen.” Eren repeats, annunciating every syllable.

“Eren, quit teaching my kid bad words. You’re a horrible influence. And Y/N was watching me while I made them so…” Lana murmurs, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek before setting him back on the floor and letting him run up in between Eren’s legs.

Eren gives you a smile from your little vantage point near the sink, as he gestures for you to come closer to him. You follow and crouch down to where Eren - and Teddy - are standing as Teddy nervously peeks at you from behind Eren’s back.

“Okay, bud. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he asks.

Teddy’s cheeks turn bright red, as he nervously toussles his hair, before extending his little hand to you.

“My name is Theodore Price. My mommy calls me Teddy. And Eren. And my dad calls me Theo. And the mailman always calls me kid.” Teddy rambles.

You fight the urge to laugh, at how cute he is, as you smile at him.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, shaking his little hand as you watch a little smile spread across his face.

You look up to find Sukuna making eye contact with Lana, mouthing Theodore? as Lana shakes her head dimissively at him. You give Sukuna a smile, which he actually returns, before you focus back on Teddy.

“I have a gift for you.” Teddy states.

“For me? On your birthday?” you ask.

“I didn’t buy it so it doesn’t actually count.” he responds.

“Sound logic, my friend. What is it?” you ask.

“You have to close your eyes and put your hands out.”

You look up at Eren, giving him a disbelieving look, as he gestures for you to follow. You close your eyes and cup your hands out to the two of them, as you hear Eren laugh.

“Okay. You can open them now.” Teddy states.

You open your eyes to find a pink ribbon in your hand, specifically the one that Teddy just snagged from Lana’s hair, as you hear Sukuna and Eren laugh. You smile hard, twisting it in your hands.

“Thank you, Teddy. That’s very kind of you.” you respond, giving him a smile.

He returns the favor, his cheeks bright pink, as he runs up behind Sukuna’s legs and burrows his face into the fabric of his pants. You and Eren stand back up, as Eren leans into your space and whispers.

“He still has a crush on you.” Eren states.

“He’s a baby, Eren.”

“You’re so rude. Babies aren’t capable of love?”

“Well, you’re standing right here so that’s obviously not true.” you deadpan.

“Haha. Now give it.” Eren states, holding his hand out to you.

“Give you what?”

“The ribbon, dingus.” Eren responds.

“Actually, Eren. He gave it to me. Maybe if you were cuter, he’d give it to you.”

“Okay, Megamind. Don’t get a big head now. I was just going to put it on for you.” Eren responds.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You place the little pink ribbon in Eren’s hands, as he gestures for you to turn around. He’s quick to secure the ribbon into the little ponytail in your hair, giving your head a little pat when he’s finished.

“So cute.” Eren says, sarcastically.

“Shut up. I’m adorable.” you respond.

Eren smiles.

“Yes, you are.” he responds, zero hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Sukuna gives Eren a nod, as the two of them switch spots, and he takes your side. You get to take Sukuna in full this time, at the little smile wrinkles near his eyes and the salty, beach smell that seems to emanate off of him.

“Y/N L/N. Are you finally gracing us with your presence?” Sukuna asks.

“Father Sukuna. I think I am.” you respond, placing your hands on your hips.

Sukuna smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair.

“You and I are going to talk after breakfast. And that’s only because Lana will burn our house down if I leave her alone to it.” Sukuna states.

“Deal.” you respond, smiling at him.

You and Sukuna settle down onto the little patio, the waves of the ocean crashing against the sand in front of you. He sets the little plates in front of the two of you, giving you a smile, as you both lean back in your chairs.

“Pumpkin pie?” you ask.

“You want some?” Sukuna asks.

“Sure.”

And then Sukuna lifts the plate and immediately smashes the pie into your face. It’s cold and squishy, as you quickly smear it out of your eyes just to glare at him.

“Eren! Bring Y/N a towel. And another slice of pie.” Sukuna states.

Eren sticks his head out of the screen door, widened eyes at the state of you.

“What happened?” Eren asks.

“She fell into the pie. She’s always been such a clutz.” Sukuna states.

“Into the pie? On the plate?” Eren asks.

“Yes.” Sukuna responds.

Eren gives the two of you a weird look, as he shuffles back into the house and returns with a towel. You wipe all of the filling off of your face before hitting Sukuna straight in the face with the towel and crossing your arms.

“Is it asshole day, Sukuna?”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’m the asshole?” Sukuna asks.

“You just smashed a pie into my face.”

“And you didn’t return my calls for two years.” Sukuna responds, glaring.

You sigh, leaning back in the chair, as you look at him.

“Make no mistake, Y/N. I’m not Eren and I’m not Mikasa. I’m not going to beat around the bush just for you.” Sukuna states.

“Thanks, Sukuna. I can always count on you to support me.” you deadpan.

Sukuna stops in his tracks, before swallowing hard.

“Lana told me to be nice to you.” he states.

“You don’t have to be. Whatever it is you’re feeling…I’m sure that I deserve it.” you respond.

“Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually enjoy being rude. I actually hate it. But…there are things you have to know. You’re really fucking stupid sometimes, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re a changed man, Sukuna.”

Sukuna shifts in his seat, as you quickly bite your words.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You really do seem different. Better.” you murmur.

Sukuna smiles.

“I am. Different. Better.”

You lean forward, placing a hand on his forearm.

“You’re a fucking dad, Sukuna.”

“I know. Who would have thought?” he asks.

“Me. I always knew you’d be great at this type of thing.”

“Yeah right.” Sukuna responds, sarcastically.

“No, really. You…you have that ability. The type that really good parents have. You always know what to give people, what they need to hear. You know that people don’t give things to me straight, so you always do it for them. And you’re the only person on my side - the only person who says that and means it.” you respond.

Sukuna leans forward on his elbow.

“I could have done better by you. I know that.”

“Sukuna-”

“The awards show. I could have stopped you. I…I figured that Historia and Jean were riling you up. That you were already far past a point of reason and I just…”

“I would have cussed you out if you tried to go against me in that moment, Sukuna. Kicked you out of my house.”

“I thought that much but…but still. I could have made you listen.” Sukuna responds.

“Don’t get me wrong. I find lots of value in your words. But really, I wouldn’t have listened. And…and you were still there in the way that I needed you. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that the person who dragged me out of that dressing room that night was you.” you murmur.

Sukuna sighs.

“I fucking hate you for not talking to me, Y/N. I get not talking to anyone from Attack on Titan. To Levi, Hange, whatever. But I was never apart of that. I was your friend, Y/N. I was always on your side.”

“I’m sorry.” you respond.

“You don’t think I would have fought for your albums back with you? That I wouldn’t have wrung Eren’s neck out if he asked me to? That I wouldn’t have crawled into your shitty house and stayed there with you if you needed me to?”

You swallow hard.

“It’s embarrassing to be around people when I know I’m doing something wrong. But it’s infinitely more embarrassing when that person is you, Sukuna.” you respond.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…you’re one of the best people I know. You’re always saying what’s on your mind, you’re exactly what I want to be. Honest. Earnest. A good friend. I know I can be shitty. It’s just really hard for me to do it in front of you.” you respond.

“You think too much of me.” Sukuna states.

“You think too little of yourself.” you respond.

“Don’t quote my girl back to me, L/N.” Sukuna sneers, lightly shoving you.

You smile.

“Your girl, eh?” your respond, smirking at him as you watch a pink flush crawl up his neck.

“Do you think you’re funny? We have a kid together.” Sukuna responds.

“You have a crush on Lana.” you respond.

“Okay?”

“That’s so cute, Sukuna.” you respond, exaggerating each syllable as he rolls his eyes at you.

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him as hard as you can as you feel the tears collect in your eyes. Sukuna pulls back the second he feels you sniffling, his eyes pinched in annoyance.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m so happy for you, Sukuna.” you whisper.

Sukuna deflates, pinching his lips shut.

“You could have told me too, Sukuna. About all of it, everything that happened. When-when you were a kid. I would have listened to you. And I would never tell.” you whisper.

“I almost did tell you. That night that we were in my trailer. When Historia released Lacy.”

You gesture for him to continue.

“I told you that…that hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror. It was more humiliating for me than that. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was, how I let that happen to me-”

You feel the tears immediately burn in your eyes.

“-but it bothered me even more. Because I look just like Yuuji, Y/N. Yuuji means the fucking world to me, just like you do. Like Lana does. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. And…and at that point I realized. That I didn’t even hold myself to that standard. That I didn’t see that happening to myself and think that I deserved better.” Sukuna states.

“Sukuna. You deserve so much better. So much better.” you whisper.

“I know that now. And I have it too, Y/N.”

You and Sukuna turn your heads to look at Lana and Teddy through the window, the two of them showing Eren something in a book. The two of you smile at each other.

“Luckily for me, Lana showed up right when I needed her. I can’t believe that I’ve been walking around her for years, on red carpets and at awards shows. She was right under my nose this entire time and I had no idea.”

“There’s this legend. An invisible string of fate. That the person that you’re destined to be with, the two of you have a little string tied around your pinkies the second you’re born. And no matter how far you go, you’ll still have a pull on each other. End up together.” you respond.

“Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure the two of you have been making steps towards each other the entire time, Sukuna.” you respond.

He smiles in response.

“Me too.” Sukuna responds.

You wipe the wetness from your cheek, as you lean back in the chair.

“Okay, Sukuna. Give it to me straight.”

“Give what? A slap?” Sukuna asks.

“No. I know you. You’ve probably got a lot to say to me. So…just come right out and say it. I can take it.”

Sukuna smiles, almost too sinisterly.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive? You can’t fight me on any of it.”

“Fine. Just tell me.”

He takes a deep breath before talking, the tone in his voice so matter-of-fact that it catches you off guard.

“You have no right to give Mikasa shit for picking another maid of honor. Even if Amy’s a bitch to you. Quit playing the victim with her on that one, becuase first and foremost, you will lose. And second of all, she’s getting married. You’re the one who needs to bite the bullet and make sure that she has a good day.”

“Wait-” you start.

“Why aren’t you writing any music anymore? Why are you accrediting all of your success to Danny and Sareen when you’re the one who wrote those songs?”

“I’m not-”

“Aren’t you though? And when are you going to stop punishing Eren for something that you did to him first.”

“Sukuna.”

“What are you mad at him for? That he didn’t tell you what he was going through? Isn’t that what you did to him first? Because yeah, you’d call him before all your shows and pretend like things were fine. And then Eren had to find out from a fucking interview that those two dickwads were starving you. That they were controlling you like you were one of their assets.”

You sigh.

“I’m not playing the victim with Mikasa.”

“Aren’t you though? Because if it were me, if I had not talked to my best friend in two years despite the fact that she reached out multiple times, I’d think that I was in the wrong.”

“I was struggling.”

“And you don’t think she wasn’t? Did you know that she almost broke up with Jean in the years that you were gone?”

You pale.

“What?”

“Did you ask her? Did you ask her how she was when you came back?”

You swallow hard.

“You don’t think that she needed you for that? For something as big as almost losing Jean when he’s always been by her side. You don’t think that she needed you for even small things even beyond that? Someone to talk to. Someone to support her?”

“Are her and Jean okay?”

“Yes. Eren was there. But Eren can’t exactly replace what you are for Mikasa. And god knows he has the emotional capabilities of a fucking teaspoon.”

It seems that every time you’re at the depths of your regret, of your guilt, you find that there is always a way to sink down further.

“Quiet now, aren’t you? Fight me about the music.” he states.

“No.”

“Because I’m right?” he asks.

“So what if you are? I just don’t want to write anything anymore. It’s not that serious.”

Sukuna leans forward, inches between your faces.

“It’s not that serious, for any normal person. But it is that serious for you. Because you love to write music, Y/N. You scribble lyrics onto your scripts when you’re supposed to be reading them. You hum songs when you’re basically doing anything. And you’re not doing it now, because you’re still in that godforsaken hole you sank yourself into in your house.”

“So what if I am, Sukuna? What if I am? Don’t you get that I’m fucking scared of this type of thing? That it is isn’t easy? I lost Eren. And then I lost my music. All of my friends. You don’t think that type of thing was fucking hard for me?” you respond, warm tears spilling out of your eyes.

Sukuna leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing hard.

“You were never one to back down from a fight. What kind of hold do you think those two idiots have over you at this point? Need I remind you, that they’re only famous, that they only have a claim to their names, because of you. Did you lose Eren? No. Because he’s literally peering through the fucking window right now because you’re crying. Did you lose your music? No, because he fought so hard to somehow get it back for you. And you didn’t lose your friends. We’re right in front of you.”

You pull back, glaring at him. Because as annoying as he is, he always did point out the truth. You give Eren a smile through the window, gesturing to him that it’s okay, as he gives you a disbelieving look and walks away.

“I’m mad at Eren for what he said to me.” you respond.

“That’s valid. But have you ever considered that he might have been mad at you for what you said to him too? Or even worse, that you could have really hurt him?”

“What did I say to him? Because he-”

“You didn’t pick him.”

“But, Sukuna. I had to do that. Sareen and Danny-”

“So you get it. You get that what you did was because you had to. So why don’t you understand that what Eren said to you was because it was what he had to say too?”

You sigh.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Y/N. You know I don’t say any of this to hurt you. But you’re not twenty-one anymore. And neither is Eren. It’s time for you to face this head on. Both of you.” he states, the tone in voice so caring that it makes you falter.

You sigh.

“Did you know that Eren was struggling that bad?”

“No. And I gave him tons of shit at the time for it. You’re not the only one with regrets.” he states.

After a fresh shower, you pad back into the main room to find Eren in the kitchen, while Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy cuddle in the crouch. Eren gestures for you to join him at your side, as he pushes a little cutting board and the food towards your side.

“Are you trusting me to cut the vegetables? Are you finally viewing me as your equal, Eren Jaeger?” you ask, feigning shock.

“It’s a safety knife. That’s what Teddy uses when Lana teaches him how to cook.” Eren responds, smirking at you.

You elbow him, accompanied with nice string of insults as you stand at Eren’s side. You look to the picture at the your side, of Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy dressed up nice in a little courthouse.

“Hey. What’s this?”

“Lana and Sukuna are married.” Eren states.

“Excuse me. You said they were dating.” you state.

“We said dating in the documentary, because they were dating at the time. But at their one year anniversary, they did a small little court wedding. The three of them got takeout sushi and came home like right after.” Eren states.

You walk over to the picture, inspecting it in full this time. At Lana’s white slip dress, at their matching rings, and the little bouquet in Teddy’s hands. The three of them are smiling so brightly, Lana and Sukuna leaning their temples together, with their eyes closed and bright smiles.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“How did that happen?” you ask, gesutring over to the three of them.

Eren sets his knife down, lookng over at the picture as he places his hands on his hips. You can already tell from his stance that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bitingly sassy.

“Okay. When two people love each other, they get in a be-”

“Shut up, idiot. I mean, Lana and Sukuna.”

Eren shoves you in the side, as the two of you avert your eyes to the three of them on the couch.

“After that night, when I had said everything to you, I had immediately called Levi and Hange. Lana and I had been debating calling them and asking for help the second I ended up in the hospital, but that night was kind of the final straw for me.” Eren states.

“Your injury should have been your final straw, Eren.” you respond, pinching your eyes at him.

“At that point, I was ready to drag Scott Clarkson into the ground. From my standpoint, I didn’t really have anything to lose from suing them. And Connie and Lana, it didn’t take them much convincing to follow. But Levi basically wanted to stack all of our cards in our favor, that if we were going to say something, anyone else who has something to say would get to take that chance too.” Eren adds.

“That’s where he came in.” you state, to which Eren gives you an affirmative nod.

“Sukuna had told us almost everything about what happened to him, except for…you know.”

The sexual assault.

“Yeah.”

“Lana was the first person that he told. And I don’t know what she told him, since that’s not something I understand having experienced but she obviously does, but…they both just kind of came to us one day. Told us that they wanted to own it.” Eren adds.

“So, they just got close? From all that? Not that it’s not a thing that connects him, but he…he’s always so reserved.” you ask.

“I think he just naturally gravitated towards her, that’s all. I think they have these deep, all encompassing emotions that they don’t share with other people. The feel things deeply, love really hard. It was just like an underlying thing…that they knew they would get along in that way. Like you and me.”

“Like you and me?”

“Y’know. We were close right off the bat. No awkward stage, no holding things back from each other. Well, in the beginning at least.” Eren states.

You hum in response.

“Sukuna met Teddy pretty early on. When Lana and Sukuna started dating, they were serious straight off the bat. He kind of just…fit in perfectly with them. Nothing really changed. Teddy just kind of called him dad in passing one day. No one really said much about it, but I did find Sukuna crying later.”

You frown, clutching your hands on your chest.

“I’m really happy for them, Eren. There’s no one who deserves it more than them.”

You feel a brush past your shoulder to find Sukuna and Lana at your sides, the two of them tip toeing into the fridge and pulling a little box out. Eren hands you a little box of candles, as you pull out five little green ones.

The four of you huddle over the cake, perfectly placing them and lighting them, as you walk over to where Teddy’s still sitting, fully engrossed into the screen. Sukuna turns to the three of you, quietly counting down, before you all burst out singing and Teddy turns around excitedly.

You watch as Sukuna smashes a decent amount of frosting onto Teddy’s cheeks after he blows out the candles, as Lana quickly snaps a picture of the two of them with the cake.

“Is that your thing now, Sukuna? You just smash dessert into people’s faces?” you ask.

“Well, you deserved it. And I’ve been doing this since my first birthday with him.” Sukuna states.

“Don’t tell me you smashed food in a grown woman’s face?” Lana asks, deadpanning.

“It was pie. That hardly counts as food. And again, need I repeat, that she deserved it.”

Lana comes over, securing her hands around your shoulders, as she presses a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re rude. Our princess does no wrong.” she states, gesturing for Eren to join him at her side.

Eren follows suit, gesturing for Lana to get in the picture, as he points the little camera at them, and you peer over his shoulder at the viewfinder.

“Teddy. What did you wish for?” Eren asks.

“Don’t say! Your wish won’t come true.” Lana whines.

“Y/N!” Teddy states, giving you a bright smile.

Sukuna laughs, reaching for his sides to tickle at him.

“Sorry buddy. You already snoozed and lost on that one.” Sukuna responds.

The three of them shuffle to the counter as Sukuna starts cutting the cake into little slices and placing them on the plates. After a decent amount of dessert and sweet pictures, Eren shuffles away with Teddy to set him to bed, as you shuffle into your own room and muse over what you’re going to say to Eren later.

Eren makes his way down the following morning, to find the three of them mulling around in the kitchen. He makes it a point to shove Lana and smack Sukuna, before pressing a kiss on top of Teddy’s head and taking the seat next to them.

“You’re not going on your walk?” Eren asks, looking up at Sukuna.

“Someone already claimed the beach.”

“Huh?”

Sukuna points behind him, as Eren looks out the window to find you sitting there in the sand, on a little blanket. Your back is facing towards him, your hair slightly swaying in the light breeze of the beach outside.

“What’s she doing?” Eren asks.

“She wants to talk to you, Eren.” Lana states.

Eren pales.

“Out there?” Eren asks.

The two of them nod as Eren feels knots twisting in his stomach, that whatever semblance of relationship that the two of you were building back together was going to come crashing down in a second. That the harsh, cruel justice that he was owed was finally going to be served to him.

“Fuck. Okay. Do I look fine?” Eren asks, turning to the two of them.

Sukuna and Teddy squint their eyes in confusion, as Lana gives him a big thumbs up and all but pushes him onto the patio. He turns around and gives her a pointed glare, which she only returns with a smile as he starts trudging towards you, feet digging into the sand.

You notice Eren before he can creep up behind you, as you give him a smile and gesture for him to take the spot next to you. It’s decently overcast, a slight chill in the air as you pull your hoodie around you and watch the waves crash ahead.

“Hey.” Eren says.

Eren takes the spot at your side, hiking his knees to his chest, as your elbows brush against each other in the cold.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” you ask.

“I beg your pardon?” Eren resopnds, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

You can barely contain your laughter, as Eren quickly catches on. His cheeks are positively pink as he starts grumbling under his breath about how mean you are and you choke out an apology. The two of you sit there in silence as the water pulls close to the shore, just to quickly retreat back into the big mass of water.

You bite the bullet this time.

“The song that you wrote that day. The one that you sang to me on the beach.” you say.

“Yeah?” Eren asks, almost too attentive as he hangs at the ends of your words.

“That’s my first question. What did it mean?” you ask.

Eren looks back out at the waves.

“I thought that what we had ran it’s course when I wrote it. It was a few days before you got there. And by that point, I was already so down in it that all I was left with was the feeling of being grateful. That I did get to experience that love, with you, at some point. And you know. You’re the moon. I’m the ocean. It was a nice solace to think our love would last forever that way..” Eren responds.

You nod in response.

“That night. When- when you tried to kiss me. I told you I couldn’t because you were still with Hyla. Why didn’t you tell me then and there that you had broken up?” you ask.

“I could have. But I wanted to know if you wanted me still, with such extreme urgency, that-that I kind of forgot that I was technically dating her in the first place. I said it before, but I never really considered that real, Y/N. She didn’t even warrant a mention in my mind. Or ever mean anything to me.” Eren responds.

“Okay.”

Eren pauses. You suppose your response was barely convincing and that he can most definitely tell.

“I’m only telling you this part because Sukuna is going to tell you anyway and he’s been holding it over my head for weeks.” Eren states.

“What?”

“It’s embarrassing. Just- pretend like it’s nothing when Sukuna says it to you.”

“Okay?”

“The yacht. When-when Hyla kissed me.”

“Oh. Vomitgate.” you respond, smiling at him.

“Don’t call it that!” he whines.

You laugh as you gesture for him to continue, his cheeks lightly dusted pink.

“Hyla likes to wear a lot of lipgloss. And she..she always wears this red one. That smells like cherries.” he states.

“Okay?”

“I didn’t know that it tasted like cherries too. And when she kissed me, I-I could taste it.” Eren mumbles.

“Congratulations? I’m glad it tasted good while you were kissing her.”

“No! No, Y/N. You don’t get it. You….you taste like cherries when I kissed you. Or when you used to.”

“Huh?”

“The slushies. Your lips always tasted like cherries. So when she kissed me, I-I immediately thought of you. And…and then I realized it was her.”

“And then you…projectile vomited?” you finish.

“Okay, you promised you wouldn’t make fun.”

You smile. Primarily because he’s so embarrassed that it’s cute. And that in the most evil way, the thought of him being so disgusted by kissing someone that isn’t you that it makes him vomit makes your heart warm in a special way.

“I said no such thing, Eren.”

The two of you sit there in silence for some time, as you muse over his words. The air only seems to get colder as time goes on, the clouds swirling in the sky above the two of you.

“The things that you said to me, Eren. I-I know they weren’t true. But I want to know how you came up with them. Because I understand that it was something you had to say. But they just fell out of your mouth so easily. That you only wanted me for that and nothing more and-”

“In no way were those words easy for me to say. Don’t even say that.” Eren states, the urgency in his tone so adamant that it makes you sweat.

“How did you come up with it? Because it must have been in the back of your mind if-”

“Y/N. I come from literally the shittiest, meanest place that you can imagine. I’ve told you before. The things that Zeke had said to me.” Eren states.

“And?”

Eren stops. His voice is softer this time, almost laced with a pinch of hurt.

“When life gets harder, I have to get harder to match. If you show up and I can’t have you, the thought of it fills me with so much anger, so much hurt that it all comes out. On you. And that doesn’t make anything I said okay, but you being there. Having you so close to me and having to send you away. It had to be something cruel. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”

“Well-”

“Don’t even say that to me. Because I know for a fact that if I had told you any of this then, you would never leave. You wouldn’t listen to me because you’d want to stay with me.”

“Is there something wrong with that? With me wanting to be there for you?”

“Of course, not. It’s just that you being there with me required you to be there. With those shitty people. And if it comes to you or me, I’d pick you. Even if I had to do something shitty to make sure that you were far away.”

You’re immediately reminded of the conversation that you had with Eren. Or more acutely, the fight that the two of you had. Of what Eren had said to you.

But I couldn’t have you there. Because if it came down to it, when I had to pick between covering someone else or taking care of you, I’d pick you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of the implication that if Eren was faced with the choice - of you and Teddy or you and Connie - that he would pick you.

Even if it was the wrong choice to make.

“And Armin?” you ask.

“That’s the thing about you two. You both came in so hot. I was expecting after the interview that the two of you were going to cuss me out, leave without even saying anything. But your instinct - both of yours - was to immediately believe it wasn’t true. Bittersweet, because you knew me well enough to know I’d never really say that but also shitty becuase then I had to bite back to make sure you left.” Eren states.

You lift the little cover at your side and slide the little box into Eren’s hands. You see his eyes go wide immediately, as you hand him a polaroid camera, the exact specific brand that Erwin had gifted Armin all of those years ago.

“I can make my amends with it. Even if it hurt my feelings. And hopefully that helps you make amends with Armin.” you state.

“Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been looking for this for a better part of the past year.” he states.

“I found it this morning. And…I’ve eavedropped on one of your fights with Armin.” you state.

“Nosy.”

“Okay, I’ll just go return it.” you state.

“No!” Eren states, quickly clutching his arms around the box as you laugh.

Eren sighs.

“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Eren responds.

“I think I have an idea.” you respond.

Eren smiles, albeit halfheartedly, as he looks down at the box.

“My turn. Unless you had more?” he murmurs.

“No. Go ahead.”

“The awards show. What do you think about it now?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

“What you were saying, it seems much more obvious now. That it was Historia and Jean there. That they were riling me up. Historia, she was already mad at you for what I said, for going against what we had as kids, and for Jean. It was personal. He basically felt like you had betrayed him and told me that. I suppose now that if Mikasa was there, she wouldn’t have let me go as far as I did.” you respond.

“Mikasa wanted to come. Danny and Sareen didn’t let her. They knew for a fact she wouldn’t let you. She’d want to be there for you in the way you needed. Probably put my face on a dart board and talk shit about me.” Eren muses.

“I would have preferred that over what I really did. But I remember that now. Danny and Sareen said that her hysterics weren’t conducive to the situation. And granted, Mikasa’s never short of being dramatic but…always calm when you need her. I can’t believe I forgot about that in the moment. And Sukuna, he never gave his opinion. He just told me to make my own decisions and that he would support me, which makes more sense in hindsight too.” you respond.

Eren nods in response, content with your answer.

“Why did you cry when I was singing the grudge?” you ask.

“Why did you cry when you were singing the grudge?” Eren asks.

“The fight we had. You told me beforehand that..that I didn’t have any faith in you like you did in me. It was the first time that it might have crossed my mind. That you didn’t mean anything that you said and…and then I was singing a song about how I’d never forgive you. And you were crying during it. It pretty much sold me on the fact that I was right.” you respond.

Eren nods.

“For me, it was the fact that you were playing the piano. On your own. I was waiting for years to see you do it on your own, to take that step and be confident in your own abilities. You’ve always been great and all I wanted to do in that moment was to stand there. Tell you I told you so. And I couldn’t.”

“What did you mean? When you said I didn’t have faith in you?” you murmur.

“I was just really upset in that moment, Y/N. I didn’t-”

“I want to know.”

Eren sighs.

“You thought right. I was upset that you believed it so blindly. That you believed an edited interview of me. And what I had said that night, which you had every right to believe. I was just-”

“It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. And I’m still not. I regretted it after I said it.”

“Okay. I appreciate the grace you give me, Eren.”

“Nothing you haven’t given me first.” Eren responds.

You both avert your eyes from one another.

Anything else?” Eren asks.

“I guess not. Is there something you want to tell me?” you state.

“I want to know what you were doing in the years that I wasn’t with you.”

“In the house?”

“No. No, when you were with Danny and Sareen. After-after we said fishbowl on the rooftop.” Eren states.

You sigh.

“I feel fucking stupid about it all in hindsight.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

Eren’s quick to notice, like he always is, as he pulls you closer to him and you lean your head against his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re okay, just take a breath-” Eren whispers.

“I did three albums with world tours back to back. Movies in the hiatuses.” you state.

“And?” Eren murmurs.

“And I didn’t take a break once. I-I only realized when I locked myself in that godforsaken house how much time I had lost. How much of it I swam through when I came back and Falco was basically grown. I left him when he was barely a teenager and then he was just…this whole person. Comforting me when that’s always been my job. That Jean and Mikasa had moved so far in their relationship that they were actually going to get married. That we all fucking grew up.” you respond.

You wipe your nose.

“I realized really quickly that I wasn’t making money off of the Lucky One. I had spent that entire first year, not even thinking about you or anything else, because I was just fighting desperately behind the sidelines to get them back.” you state.

Eren snorts.

“I think when you stopped fighting is when I started. We had won the lawsuit at that point and I-I was told to negotiate for whatever I wanted.” Eren responds.

“How did you know?”

“Danny and Sareen. At the awards show, they had made it a point to me. That it was always their goal. I had been inquiring about it ever since then and…the second you released the Lucky One and disappeared I knew they were going to do something. I tried to negotiate the entire album back, money and all, but all I could get you was the rights. And I’ve talked to Niccolo about it. You can re-record them or-or we can do something else but-”

“Thank you.” you state.

You look back at the ocean. You don’t say something for sometime, which fills Eren’s stomach with an overwhelming amount of discomfort as he rests his head against his knees. But you can’t even stomach it. How you’re supposed to thank Eren for what he did. For what he’s always done.

For how consistent he’s always been. When it comes to you.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

You look over at him, or more precisely, at the little tattoo on his bicep as you open up his arms and rest your fingers against it. He mimics your motions, smiling at the little inked skin.

“I was half convinced you were going to get it removed.” Eren states.

“I almost did.” you respond.

He laughs.

“I always thought it was stupid. That you wanted to be the ocean when I thought you were the moon. You know, like a light shining on a dark night? That’s always what I thought you were for me.” you state.

“It feels like there’s more to that statement.” Eren responds.

“Can you see the moon right now?” you ask.

Eren looks up at the overcast sky, the clouds dense above.

“No.”

“But you can see the ocean. All the time, whenever you want. The waves pull back, but they always return.” you state.

Eren looks up at you, in confusion.

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m saying you picked right. I am the moon. Fickle. Unreliable. I disappear at the first sign of a storm. But the ocean…”

You look over at your right, to the waves crashing.

“It’s one of the only things in nature that keeps its promise. Keeps crashing back on the shore, against the pull.”

Eren’s eyes falter.

“You had every right to do what you did.” Eren responds.

“I know that. But it was always you and me. From the start. I was the one who lost sight of that when I let you go.” you state.

Eren swallows hard.

“Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice in the smallest whisper.

The fact that he even asks shatters something in you, into tiny little pieces. That you had sown so much doubt into him.

“I…I had so much faith in us. What we had…it came to us so easily. Snuck on me so quickly that I took it for granted. I figured that if I had to let you go for sometime, you’d come right back to me. The same way that we were before.”

“You were nineteen.” Eren states.

“I was stupid. Because that’s not how you saw it.”

“No. No, it-”

“Don’t lie. You thought I left you.”

“It’s water under the bridge.” Eren responds.

You sigh.

“Eren. Eren, if you felt that way, why didn’t you say that? I- I fucking adored you. I would have pulled back and said no the second that you had asked me not to. Surely you must have known that I would move any mountain for you?” you ask.

Eren looks at you, the look in his eyes faltering as you realize.

“Eren. Did you know that I would do anything for you? Did you know that I loved you as much as you loved me?” you ask.

“I did.” Eren responds, the lightest hint of disbelief in your voice.

You pull him closer, cupping his face in your hands.

“Eren. You were my person. I loved you so, so much and you didn’t even know?” you ask, warm tears filling your eyes.

“It wasn’t anything about you. It was me. It’s my fault that I didn’t think that.” Eren whispers.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that, Eren.” you respond, pulling away from him as the hot, embarrassing tears pour down your eyes.

At the fact that Eren’s so willing to forgive. So quick to look past the fact that you took the love that he had given you for granted. That you hadn’t appreciated it, and him, half as much as you should have and now it was never going to be the same. That he was so insecure in himself, that he couldn’t accept the love that you had given him. And that you didn’t even notice.

Eren sits quietly at your side, making no move to comfort you this time. All you can see are his green eyes, looking directly into yours, almost like he’s waiting. Mulling over the exact words that he has to say to you. And the fact that he’s sitting there trying to comfort you, when he should be cursing your name, makes it ten times worse.

“Y/N.” he murmurs.

“No.”

“Y/N.” he repeats, softer this time.

You shake your head as he scoots closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he gives you a smile. He wipes away your constant stream of tears with his thumbs, as his face washes over in the softest, most comforting look.

“You know that stupid, cheesy as fuck saying? That you can’t give love to someone else if you don’t have it for yourself?”

“Eren.”

“It’s not a bad thing to give yourself kindness. To give nineteen year old you grace the same way I give twenty-one year old me grace.” he whispers.

“I was old enough to know better.”

“And so was I. But your life isn’t meant to be a punishment. Neither is mine. We’re not supposed to sit here and never forgive ourselves over something what’s already happened.” he whispers.

“I picked wrong. You- I let you leave, Eren.” you cry.

Eren smiles.

“Am I gone?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

That’s not the way you meant it.

Eren smiles, tilting your face up in his clutches as he gives your cheek a little squish.

“Answer my question, Margaret.”

“Why do you call me Margaret?”

“You first. Am I gone?”

“Yes.” you deadpan.

Eren leans closer to you, noses almost touching, as he whispers.

“I’m right here. I’ve spent far too much time without you. Don’t tell anyone but…you’re kind of my favorite person, ever. You’re always going to be my best friend. And as long as you don’t send me away again, I’ll always be right here.”

You sniffle.

“I won’t tell anyone. There’s no one else to tell.”

Eren smiles so wide, so bright at you repeating the same words you had used all those years ago to him, as he pulls you straight into a hug. You deflate straight into his arms, wrapping them around his torso as you inhale his biting, minty smell once more.

“Wanna know why I call you Margaret?” he asks.

“Please. I know for a fact that it’s not just some random name you picked.”

Eren pulls back, a devious grin on his face.

“Margaret is the name of the moon.”

Of course.

“...of Uranus.” he finishes.

“Huh?”

“Uranus. It’s the name of one of the moons of Uranus.” Eren repeats, emphasizing every last syllable.

You can tell from the way he’s smiling that he’s incredibly pleased with himself. And it makes uou break out into a teary laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not. All of Uranus’s moons are named after Shakespeare characters. And the first one that came to mind when we were having that talk out of all of them was Margaret.”

“So you intentionally gave me a name based off of an anus?”

“Not just any anus, Y/N. Ur-anus. It’s very significant to our relationship.”

“Ew, Eren. Oh my god.” you respond, the two of you laughing as you look at him with disgust.

“What?”

“I can’t tell what’s worse. This or Hobo Eren.”

“Hey.”

“Nevermind. It’s definitely Hobo Eren. That’s an atrocity to humanity, Eren.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m horrendous” he responds, slightly shoving you in the side as you return the favor.

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. It’s been putting a real damper on our relationship.” you respond.

Eren looks over at you and smiles.

“Are there any dampers on our relationship now? For real?” Eren asks.

You shake your head.

“No. But…you and me on the same side now. Always. You can’t keep secrets from me and-”

“I won’t.” he responds, definitively.

“Then no. No dampers. You and me till the end.” you respond.

Eren smiles as you look back at the waves crashing and you lean your head against his shoulder again. He softly murmurs into your hair.

“Why do you call me Bruce? Yours had to be just as deliberate as mine.” he asks.

“You don’t need to know. It’s not half as cute as yours.” you respond.

“Well, nothing is as cute as Uranus unfortunatley.”

“Naturally. I…um. You…you know that shark from Finding Nemo? That…that pretends to be friends with the fish and then tries to eat them?” you state, giving him a peachy smile.

“No fucking way.”

“I’m sorry!” you whine.

“You’re so rude, Y/N L/N. I gave you a sweet, sentimental nickname and that’s how you repay me.”

“You gave me Uranus, Eren.”

“There is nothing more scared than my anus, Y/N. You know that.”

“You’re so immature. You have the humor of a twelve year old.” you respond.

“And you love it. One would argue that…that you enable this behavior from me. I’d never make these jokes if you didn’t think they were funny.”

“You tell jokes based off of me?” you ask, sarcastically.

“Yes. I want to see you laugh. You think I’m just out here saying stuff just to say it?”

“You’re full of shit.”

“And you’re not even half deserving of my anus.” Eren responds.

You and Eren bicker back and forth. And the sun rises, straight through the patches of the clouds.

On the two of you, together again.

next part linked here

an: MEOW

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly-y-blog @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegonee @tee4str @ttokki @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @dreamy-carat @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv

pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

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sweet-s0rr0w · 3 months

Text

Happy Valentine's Day to you all! To celebrate, I'm back with another collaborative Drarry reclist, featuring a new lovely bunch of Drarry writers, artists, reccers, and fans!

Once again, the question was: ‘what one or two fics, or scenes, or quotes, represent peak Drarry romance to you?’ and (in what is rapidly becoming a nightmare for me), no duplicates from previous years were allowed. Thank you so much to everyone who took part, I hope you enjoy the results!

You can find part 1 (2022) here, and part 2 (2023) here!

This year's list features answers from: apricitydays-lazynights, arminaa8, drarrymyheart, drarryspecificrecs, hoko-onchi-writes, jtimu, littlewinnow, mallstars, myrtlefics, oflights, peachydreamxx, pl0tty, rainstormradish, romaine2424, squintclover, starquestingfordrarry, thecouchsofa, thedrarrylibrarian, and themiddleofwonderland!

***

@apricitydays-lazynights

💗who will receive you in love's offices by jtimu (E, 30k)

It was a wonder, Draco thought, watching Potter tip back the last remnants of his drink, that the man had survived to adulthood. Not because of the war, or the constant attempts on his life, or surviving two separate killing curses, despite his insistence that he had at some point died, but because there was not a single ounce of self-preservation in his entire body. There couldn’t be. …He glanced over at the potion on the table, and considered, for a fraction of a moment, getting up and pouring those same drops of veritaserum into his own glass. He looked away just as fast, back at Potter, grinning in his chair like they were queuing up for a Quidditch game and not at all like he had just handed his childhood nemesis the keys to his thoughts. “All right,” he said, “first of all. What the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?

@arminaa8

💗My Beautiful Boy by alexmeg (unrated, 69k, sequel to Alucinatio)

"You don't even like boys."

"I didn't know I did. But you," Harry trails off, laughs with his gaze trying to meet the grey of Draco's eyes, a little tremulous with nerves and fear and the way his breath sticks high in his throat like an ache. Draco does look at him, then. "God, you."

💗Seagulls Cause Storms, or the Essence of Chaos by @writandromance (M, 312k)

The stars above them were bright white. It made him think again of the black universe between the constellations, the way he thought people like him held the space for people like Harry to burn hot.

@drarrymyheart

💗The Rewards of Being Loved by @lou-isfake (E, 161k, sequel to The Ordeal of Being Known)

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you stop thinking so hard,” Harry replied, grinning mischievously. He placed Draco’s hand on his bare waist, his own hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s lips twitched in a hesitant grin.

“This song is too fast for you to dance to.”

“Only if I’m thinking about it,” Harry retorted, stepping in close. “Is my kitchen too difficult for you to dance in, your highness?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Potter,” Draco murmured, his grin widening as he pulled Harry flush against him, taking his hand. Harry chuckled, waiting for him to lead.”

💗I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (M, 228k)

“The thing is,” Harry said, voice low like all they’d said was public knowledge and this was the secret. “If you’re interested in this, if we pursue this, I’ll be a goner.”

“A goner?” he echoed.

Harry took a lung-filling breath. “Yeah, Draco,” he sighed. “That’ll be it for me. Tony… well, Tony I ended up happy to see go. Miles, I—that was hard in the moment but I was fine. But you… we’re so connected, our lives are so connected, our friends. I don’t want to fuck around, it would be serious, to me. You’re serious to me.”

@drarryspecificrecs

(cause 'Hogwarts 8th year' & 'creature' are among my fave tropes and I really really adore fics where Draco is in trouble but not weak & Harry is already smitten with him)

💗Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by @faith2wood (E, 37k)

💗The Arc of the Pendulum by brummell (E, 30k)

@hoko-onchi-writes

💗Half Sick of Shadows by StarQuesting (E, 40k)

(I have a hard time containing myself about dragon tamer Draco, and everyone knows it. I’m about as subtle as a brick when something pings a sweet spot in my brain. But this fic is so much more than a hot, aloof, sex king dragon tamer Draco who has weaver Harry weak in the knees. It is also so very bright and clear in my mind; the visuals are so affecting, just like the creations that Harry weaves. Favorite scene: Harry casually chatting with dragons. 12/10 would be unhinged again.)

💗A pulled down shade by fast_brother (M, 43k)

(I’m not a big crier over fics. Maybe three or four have made me cry this year. This one made me lose it. I think the thing that stands out to me is the visceral capture of emotion. You can feel Draco’s broken heart, and then you can feel Harry’s. I could probably get worked up about it right now. Favorite scene: Draco crying over the broken tea cup. I literally can’t function when I think about it. 12/10 would cry again.)

💗The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls by thecouchsofa (E, 256k)

(I might be cheating since I’m still savoring The Brightest Constellation of Our Souls but I’m including it because it is Peak Drarry Romance. TheCouchSofa always has this intensely brilliant characterization. Harry is heartbreakingly oblivious. Draco is prickly and about as subtle as a brick over pining for Harry. This also features depression!Harry, which has gotta be one of my favorite Harrys. She writes depressed Harry with such delicacy, handling the ins and outs of mental illness and trauma with care, but also making it fucking funny. Favorite scene so far: Harry very casually slipping into conversation that he’s bisexual after he’s been traveling with Draco for an absurd amount of time without mentioning it. And Draco’s ensuing reaction. 12/10 will continue swooning.)

@jtimu

💗Designate / your love as fate by @elskanellis (E, 17k)

💗Lover, Where Do You Live? by @dodgerkedavra (E, 39k)

💗Seven Days in June by @fourth-rose (E, 47k)

@littlewinnow

💗1000 Kisses: #27 First Thing in the Morning, Just After Moving in Together by @deliciouslystickypersona (E, 3k)

Draco trails his fingertips over the flat plane of Harry’s belly, tracing the line of hair up to where it widens over his pectorals. He nuzzles his nose into the curve of Harry’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet, musky, sleepy scent of his skin.

💗Little Love by @ladderofyears (M, 34k)

Harry – who still held Draco’s hand – was gazing at the baby, spellbound by the sight. His whole appearance couldn’t have been prouder, or more loving, had he been Snidget’s natural father. When Harry caught Draco looking at him, he beamed, unashamed of his response.

@mallstars

💗Elaborate, Correct, and Assiduously Observed by peu_a_peu (T, 4k)

Some things were still the same, he thought. Draco was the perfect height for Harry to put his head on his shoulder and rest. That had been secretly true all along, and they’d only had to figure it out.

💗Us, In Lieu by Tepre (E, 30k)

“I . . .” The words jumble in his mouth. His hair is still mostly wet in his neck. He should’ve shaved. He should’ve cleaned his glasses. He should’ve— “I do want you.” And, “Enough,” he adds, then decides no , decides, “Not just enough. More than. More than that.” He licks his lips. “So much more than that.”

💗The Pure and Simple Truth by @letteredlettered (E, 14k)

Malfoy’s eyelashes were visible just above his cheeks, golden and some might have said they should have been darker, but Harry thought that they were perfect. The curve of Malfoy’s jaw, the slant of Malfoy’s throat, that was perfect, too. Malfoy looked up, licked his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested,” he said.

💗The Isle of Ogygia by @citrusses (E, 13k)

The days pass slower, after Potter leaves. Draco tries to fish again, and manages to actually levitate a fish out of the water, but then he Stuns it and it sinks back beneath the waves like a rock, and he doesn’t have any luck retrieving it again. Every day he walks to the top of the lighthouse, casts the right spells, and walks back down. He looks around his room and thinks about where Potter sat.

@myrtlefics

💗Going Postal by dustmouth (125 page comic)

(I am a complete and utter sucker for Dustmouth’s comics and the correspondence and longing and softness of this one make me really happy)

@oflights

💗Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (E, 127k)

(Chapter 11: it's one of my fave proposals in any fic ever/a beautiful love confession/a lovely romantic moment that fits with how the rest of the fic builds up their relationship and all the poor communication and ways they've hurt each other and love each other)

@peachydreamxx

💗to be a bit of warmth (for you) by @softlystarstruck (M, 9k)

Draco stirs in Harry’s arms, mumbling something soft and incoherent, and Harry whispers a wandless spell to completely dim the room lights. If Draco is just seeking comfort, so what? Harry has more than enough to give– it may be the only thing he has left to give– and Draco grounds him, too. Whatever happened on the other side of a war they both went through no longer matters. They’re here, now, and Draco is cold.So Harry will keep him warm.

@pl0tty

💗Tandem by fast_brother (M, 93k)

The handle clicked and the door cracked open, allowing the sound of rain to come into the car.

“I… thanks,” Harry said. His heart was beating faster. His hands were sweaty.

Draco didn’t back away completely, just enough to be able to look Harry in the eyes.

“You have to stop that, Harry. Really," he said gravely, as if speaking about a very serious issue.

“Stop what?” Harry asked stupidly, still holding his breath.

“You have to stop looking at me like that.”

Harry’s heart traveled all the way up to his throat.

“I– I can’t,” he blurted out, feeling himself flush with the enormity of what he’d just said.

Draco let out a shocked chortle. He looked away at the street covered in rain, his left hand still resting on Harry’s chair. When he turned back towards Harry, he wasn’t laughing anymore.

He leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips.

💗Matters of the heart by nerakrose (G, 5k)

Today’s breakfast: eggs, toast, tea. I’ve left the sink a mess this week but I’ll do the dishes later. In a way taking these moments to write to you every morning feels like a little quiet refuge or a secret space that nobody else knows about but you. It feels safe here. I miss you. These days I’m missing you more than I’ve ever missed you before and I can’t explain it. Have I reached a breaking point? I don’t know.

Yours,

Harry

💗More Than That by joosetta (E, 11k)

“He was going to kill you,” Potter said, “He said he was going to kill you.”

“He was never going to kill me,” Draco mumbled, “He was up against you for Merlin’s sake. He tried to play quick-curse with Harry fucking Potter.”

Potter was silent for a bit at that, raising a hand up and stroking the back of Draco's head.

“He thought I would help him,” Potter said finally. Draco felt the strangest thing, like a spasm in his face, that left his eyes hot, and his lips shaking. He had to gather himself together again before he could reply.

“Well, he’s never had me suck his cock, so there was no way he could know,” Draco said, instead of he didn’t realise that you loved me. Potter got it anyway, because he laughed, just a little bit. He drew back, and his face was the most frightening and beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

“You always talk like you give me blow jobs all the time,” he said. “You almost never give me blow jobs, Draco.”

💗Sparks from the Fox’s Tail by khalulu (T, 17k)

And then it was just natural to turn in his arms so they were face to face. Eye to eye, lip to lip, mouth to mouth. Natural to fall into bed together, hands and mouths moving over warm skin, stroking and kissing til they were breathless.

Harry broke off. “Should we think this through?”

“No,” said Draco. “Why did you pull away in the shower?”

“You were so weak then, I didn’t want to take advantage.”

“I was throwing myself at you with what little strength I had. Next time, catch me.”

“I’ve got you,” Harry said, winding himself around Draco. “I’ve got you.”

@rainstormradish

💗Where I see things right by InnerLilith (E, 15k)

(just... absolutely gorgeous handling of a sensitive subject, and I love how the preparation and thoughtfulness is such a big part of the romance. I don't bookmark InnerLilith's fics so much as intermittently go and reread half their back catalogue again. I've loved everything I've read from them.)

💗Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic by peachydreamxx (M, 15k)

(we watch Harry fall in love with Draco and come to terms with lots of aspects of his life. The little Google searches are just so sweet and tender and I loved, loved loved it. And the ending is so perfect.)

@romaine2424

💗keep driving by @babooshkart (art)

(The romance portrayed in Keep Driving is palpable. Draco is so cool, but from every look, you can see the adoration she has for Harry. And Harry thrives off of the touches between them but also has a confident sense of her own worth. I will never tire of this calming, soft piece depicting a happy, confident, and joyful Drarry. The world is theirs to explore. They'll keep driving.)

💗Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship (E, 119k)

(Never Mind the Bollocks is a new fic from Erised 2023. I loved every moment of it, and Harry having so much fun and feeling like he belonged was everything. However, his drive to right and save all was still there. Chapter 18 brought it all together. I won't say how as the fic is so new, but, for me, it was so romantic with BAMF Harry showing up and Draco trying to be mad. Complete chef's kiss.)

@squintclover

💗 A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 235k)

(I remember so vividly the falling in love and the moment when it changed for both of them.)

@starquestingfordrarry

💗The Potter Malfoy bathroom war of 2007 by @andithiel (E, 9k)

(it is peak bathing-comfort)

@thecouchsofa

💗Cut From the Sky by mallstars (E, 150k)

(“Rainy romance’ describes this perfectly. I love how Harry grows to love Draco and never stops going after him once he realises that’s what he wants. This kind of love necessitates an endless amount of patience, but I can’t think of anything more romantic than that – someone coming back time and time again and showing you more grace than you would ever show yourself.)

💗Everything is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet (E, 43k)

(Harry and Draco being each other’s Great Loves in every life going back hundreds of years? I am feral. I cannot be contained. A demonstration of them being perfect for each other in every timeline, through good and bad. This is peak romance at its best.)

@thedrarrylibrarian

💗O Come, All Ye Faithful by @toomuchplor (E, 20k)

(Told through jumps between the past and the present, I adore the way toomuchplor depicts the everyday romance of an established relationship. Too often romance is delegated to big displays of affection, when I think much of romance is in the mundane, routine moments. Listening to your partner share about their day is romantic. Making routine breakfast and coffee is romantic. The intimacy of having an ongoing inside joke about a cat name is unbearably romantic to me. These are the small, everyday moments that the foundations of grand romances are built upon, and this fic was a love note to those moments.)

@themiddleofwonderland (amazuppai)

💗Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 16k)

(it's a classic H/D fic that preserves Draco's prickly personality while still showing him reforming in a very realistic way. It's a slow-burn—Harry isn't really in the first half at all, and when he does show up he's still very suspicious of Draco—but as Draco shows his (new) true colors, Harry can't help that his suspicions turn to curiosity (one of my favorite tropes with reformed Draco fics) especially with the somewhat forced proximity they find themselves in that slowly turns into voluntary and frequent proximity. To me, maybe because of the slow burn, it seems like a very realistic depiction of how Draco could reform himself and how Harry can turn his suspicions into curiosity and eventually more to form a healthy relationship together.)

#drarry #ss recs #my annual romance reclist #always forget how long this takes :D #worth it though #thank you so much to everyone who took part

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musicoftheheart · 2 months

Note

Word excerpt game: jam

oooo, okay! so i cant think of any of my released fics with 'jam', buuuuuut my unreleased wip, 'a star can burn as bright', has it :)

Things always came up, every now and again. Little realisations that clicked just a moment too late. Casual questions that would hardly be out of the norm for two recconecting brothers were suddenly trigger questions reminding them both of just how much Regulus had missed out on. A simple "Hey, do you prefer the jam with bits in or without?" came with the realisation that Regulus had never had jam. Eventually, Sirius had learned to play it cool with something like "Well, I'll just pick up both then, shall I?" but Regulus could always tell for days that it hit his brother harder than he tried to let on.

#ask games #fic: a star can burn as bright #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #black brothers #regulus black #sirius black #marauders era #mauraders #ngl i already love this fic so much i kinda hope more word asks fit it ahaha

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jihyoruri · 8 months

Text

— TWILIGHT & JEALOUSLY: KIM CHAEWON. warnings: swearing, wow!kim chaewon x wow!yn i suggest you read my other wow fics before this one they’re in my masterlist <3

chaewon has been going insane since the last time yujin, wonyoung and yn came over, she didn’t understand why yujin and wonyoung got so tense at the mention of yn hanging out with winter, but she wanted to know why.

she will admit that she probably shouldn’t have brought up yn’s business like that, but she just wanted yn’s attention so bad, yn was giving so much to kazuha that it made her feel insecure, the way you were acting with kazuha was the same way you acted with her when you guys first interacted, you can say chaewon thought she was special, but she should’ve known especially that day she caught yn and minji at hybe, but that was also the same day yn gave her the star ring so can you really blame her?

she hates the way yn fills her mind, the way yn looked at her that day, like she was mad at her, everywhere she goes something reminds her of you, which is why today was such a coincidence.

chaewon was walking out the cafe when she saw yn in all of her glory, you were leaning against on of the walls and chaewon stood rigid.

her gaze burned into yn scanning the girl, the top that stopped a little bit above her bellybutton, the way the baggy pants hung low on her hips showing the star tattoo on your lower abdominal, the baseball cap that hides the girls cat like eyes.

why does she have to look good all of the time? chaewon thought to herself as she stared at you not even realizing that you caught her.

chaewon cringes when she snaps out of her daze only to make eye contact with you, she doesn’t know what to do, turn the other way? yeah that’s a good option.

before chaewon can try and turn around you make a motion for the girl to come over, she turns to take a look behind her before turning back to yn and pointing towards herself, which you respond with a nod and an eye roll.

chaewon timidly walks towards you, she’s only now realizing how tall yn is, she takes notice that she’s right under your chin when reaches she you.

“yes…” she trails off, feeling a bit intimidated.

“I should be asking you that.” your deeper voice fills her eras, “I mean you’re the one that was staring at me.”

she looks up at you and scratches the back of her neck, “I was just shocked to see you here… also the last time I saw you, you seemed pretty mad at me.”

chaewon’s hands practically shake when all yn does is stare at her, she feels a little scared, that was until yn’s laugh is heard.

she looks at you confused as you continue to laugh, “you’re so cute unnie.”

chaewon feels her face heat up in embarrassment, “cute? I should be the one calling you cute, I’m older.” she says in faux anger, glaring up at you.

you lean down towards her with a smile, “then call me cute.” yn say’s teasingly.

chaewon’s face was about as red as a fire truck, “what are you doing here anyways?” she asks trying her best to cool down her face and that’s when she finally takes notice of the plastic bag in your hand.

“I was at my moms today and she told me to bring my sister some food.” you say waving the bag in the shorter girls face.

sister?

as if you could read her mind, you let a deep sigh, “you know that one in new jeans? the annoying creature with a twilight obsession.”

chaewon wants to laugh at your description but holds it down, she opens her mouth to say something but gets cut off by a voice, “unnie!”

both you and chaewon turn your heads to see two members of newjeans with their arms linked together, one being your sister and the other being her member minji.

“did you bring the food?” you sister asks, a bright smile lighting up on her face when you give her the bag before giving you a side hug. “thank you.”

“ew, you’re sweaty.” yn says pushing her away playfully, “and you sink more than you usually do.” you say flicking her forehead, laughing when her mouth drops in offence, before she takes notice of chaewon.

she quickly bows at chaewon as a greeting, minji following closely behind doing the same.

yn seems to finally take notice of the other girl and smiles, “hey minji.” she says flashing the girl a wink.

chaewon feels like she’s having déjà vu as she watches minji blush and smile back at yn, is it in your daily routine to flirt with someone in front of her ?

“you’re taking care of my sister right?” yn asks, raising a brow as she puts her arm around minji’s shoulder, smiling when the girl nods quickly, “that’s good.” she say’s tucking a hair behind minji’s ear.

your sister loud groan is heard as she throws her head back, “stop flirting with my member!” she says pushing your arm.

“I’m not, I was just asking your pretty member a question, is there a problem?” yn asks pouting mockingly in her sisters face.

your sister opens her mouth but it’s chaewon’s turn to cut her off as she clears her throat getting all your attention as you take your arm from minji’s shoulder, “shouldn’t you guys be practicing?” she asks pointing at minji and yn’s sister.

she avoids your gaze as you take a look at her, your sister nodding at chaewon as she grabs minji’s arm, “yes we should actually, thank you for reminding us.”

as she walked away with minji she doesn’t forget to yell a goodbye out to you.

chaewon looks back up at you as you stare at her, “what?”

you laugh throwing your head back before looking back down at her, “you’re a funny girl chaewon.”

she furrows her eyebrows at yn looking at the the taller girl in confusion, “you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

chaewon feels her heart drop, “jealous? I wasn’t jealous.” she’s quick to defend herself, humiliation taking over her as yn laughs and shakes her head before leaning her lips to the shorter girls ear.

“I know you have a crush on me.” yn’s raspy voice whispers in her ear and chaewon’s legs feel weak, this couldn’t be happening.

chaewon feels frozen as yn continues, “and that shit you pulled the other day was not cool,.”

yn leans up from chaewon’s ear, a smirk growing on her face at the look on the older girls face, “but don’t worry I’m not mad.”

“I…” chaewon trails off, trying her best to find words but she couldn’t.

yn’s ring tone is heard and chaewon visibly relaxes as she answers.

“hey jiwon..” yn answers putting the phone to her ear, she hums at the word that are being spoken on the phone.

chaewon watches as yn converses with her member, she doesn’t know if she feels sadness or relief when yn walks away from her pressing the phone closely to her ear.

but what she does know is that yn knows that she likes her and that’s scary.

#wow!yn #chaewon #kim chaewon #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon x reader #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim #girl group imagines

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najlepsiznajlepsich · 1 month

Text

tolerate it.

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

warnings: cursing, age gap (9 years), alcohol consumption, angst, loosely inspired by tolerate it by taylor swift

author's note: this my first ever published fic!! woohoo!! star = time skip, sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. (had this sitting in my drafts for a long long time)

☆

The bright yellow light shone right in your face. Regret was the only thing that you were feeling right now. Your brother just had to have a big party for his birthday, only inviting his friends and you, for some reason. 80% of these people were strangers to you. It’s like you were totally out of place, cursing out your brother in your head.

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around. “It is you!” the man in front of you said. Carlos. The guy you had a crush on years ago. You didn’t even recognize him at first. But you could recognize that Spanish accent in a crowd full of people. His voice was like a lollypop, reeling you in to hear all his sweet whispers.

He wasn’t the 17-year-old boy playing fifa with your brother. His tight shirt highlighted his muscles, his face was grazed by a light stubble, and his deep brown eyes had an emotion in them you haven’t seen before. Eyes, in which you wanted to get lost, scanned your silhouette. He threw his arm around your shoulders. His touch was a burning sensation dancing on your skin.

You also weren’t the 8-year-old girl with pigtails who sat around just to spend time with them. “Well, you’ve changed since I last saw you.” "Yeah, Carlos, that was ten years ago.” He laughed, and you swore the same butterflies flew around your stomach, just as when you were a kid. Fuck. He still had the same hold on you.

Still the same fool after all.

☆

You opened the front door to your parents’ house. His laugh echoed in the hallway as you took off your shoes. Carlos is here. “Y/N!! HELP ME!! He is cheating!” your brother shouted as you walked into the living room.

“I'm not cheating!!” Carlos mumbled, and your brother, who can’t handle losing, restarted the game. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” Carlos exclaimed. "MAYBE, ‘CAUSE YOU’RE CHEATING!” your brother yelled back, an evident smile on his lips. A throaty groan escaped the lips of both guys.

Their friendship was something you saw bloom into a close bond. Their arguments sounded just like the ones they had 10 years ago. And if it was a different day, maybe you would stay there and just watch them. However, your tired legs carried you to the kitchen.

From the fridge, you pulled out a bowl of fruits you cut up this morning. The laughter of those two man-children was still heard. One of them bringing nostalgia and some old, forgotten feelings back.You really haven't changed.

“Hey? You okay?” a small voice next to you asked. You didn’t even notice when he entered the kitchen. Shit, how and why did you zone out? Could’ve avoided him. Well, not him, but this conversation.

"Yeah, Carlos,” you mumbled out. He opened a drawer, looking for something. He grabbed a pack of popcorn, threw it into the microwave, and leant onto the cold kitchen counter behind him.

A buttery smell hits your nose pretty quickly. Not sure if it was because of that, but the awkward atmosphere shifted into a comfortable one.

It reminded you of the moments from your childhood and his teenage years. The raindrops bounced against the glass of the window. It calmed you down until you heard the microwave beeping and got a mini-heart attack.

“Can I have some?” you asked shyly. He didn’t answer; he just pulled out a second, smaller bowl. “Wanna go out golfing tomorrow?” he asked you as he handed you the popcorn, his voice barely above a whisper. You looked up at him from your bowl of fruits. “Just me, you, and your brother." “All right,” you smiled.

“Want some?” You pushed your bowl with the cut-up fruit in front of him. He grabbed a piece of an apple. “Delicious,” he moaned as he placed it on his tongue. You giggled at his antics. He really hasn’t changed. “From your garden, right? I remember this taste.” "How?" "Too good to forget."

He smiled and picked up the big bowl of popcorn. “Are you sure you wanna go golfing? It’s weird you’re not complaining about it-“ “Go away before I change my mind.”

☆

You leaned into him as you laughed at his joke. His smell was intoxicating, you wish you could smell it all throughout your life. He placed his head on yours, and you swore you were in a dream.

“Carlos,” you spoke quietly, “you remember when we went golfing?” He smiled at the nice memory. If only you knew he remembered everything. Your hairstyle that you tried on for the first time, your outfit, the way your eyes sparkled when he said your swing was nice, the pinkish-red sunset you had to take pictures of.

He wished you’d take pictures of him, you didn’t. But, shh, you were taking pictures of him. Just in secret and for yourself.

“Yeah, of course I do. Our first date.” “Well-“ “Yeah, I lied to you, your brother was never invited.” You smiled. That was not new to you. Your brother was such a gossip. He could never keep a secret. This just confirmed it. “So you planned that! Carlos!” He just giggled, light blush covering his cheeks.

The way you said his name made him feel like he was the only person on earth. He kind of was in your eyes. “Now look at us, babe,” he said, and you sat up to take a sip of your coffee. This was your new favorite activity. Lying down on the outside couch, drinking coffee, and talking to your boyfriend, Carlos.

“Half a year went by fast, didn’t it?” you asked as you handed Carlos his mug. “Because we’re together,” he said, smiling at you. The same butterflies you had ten years ago and also six months ago appeared in your stomach.

“I love the coffee you make, it’s laced with something, isn’t it?” You smiled at his small remark. “Only with love.” “You’re so cheesy. I love you so much."

☆

“We can split it.” Carlos grinned as he walked into the closet. There you were, sitting on the floor with suitcases all around you. “I don’t want to mess up your clothes,” you whined out, and Carlos sat down next to you. “You won’t mess up anything, just let me help you unpack,” he said with a smile.

You started pulling out clothes, and you both put them in the drawers or hung them up. Carlos had a bit of a judging era and gave opinions on nearly everything. His meanness went away when you picked up a white tennis skirt, the one you wore to your golf "date."

“Why haven’t you worn it since?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. “I don’t know,” you answered and folded it up. His gasp made you look at him. “This is the dress you wore that time we went to try out the new ice cream shop!” He smiled at you and put the dress on a hanger.

“You remember that kind of stuff?” you asked him genuinely. Who would’ve thought he was this attentive? “Of course I do,” he placed a kiss on the top of your head. After spending at least three hours lost in the sea of clothes, you walked out of the closet.

Ecstatic—that’s what you both were. Finally moved in together. You already put some of your decorations in his living room. But the hallway was too empty for your liking.

“Carlos, can I hang some artwork here?” you called out to him in the kitchen. His head peeked around the corner. “Sure, let me help you.” He disappeared and then quickly reappeared with the tools needed for it. He hung up all of them.

“Thanks for letting me hang these up here.” You thanked him, your eyes looking to the ground. With his finger, he made you look up at him. “Please, it’s the bare minimum,” he whispered. That was definitely not that. He pulled you into a quick hug, then turned around to look at the art.

“They are really pretty. Did you paint these?” he asked he asked shyly. “Yeah, some of them last year and some a long time ago,” you laughed. “I like that one the most,” he giggles, and points to the one that was a portrait of him.

“Okay, that was painted last week,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re so in love with me, it’s funny." “Don’t act like you don’t love me too, Sainz.”

☆

“YOU’VE DONE IT!” you yelled as you jumped into his arms. Your boyfriend just won a grand prix. A GRAND PRIX. At that moment, you were proud of him like you weren’t of anyone before. This was the first grand prix you attended, and he already made it so memorable.

“It was because of you! You’re my good luck charm!” he laughed. He smelled like champagne, sweat, and happiness, if that even made sense. He held you close, and in that moment, you felt you two were the only people on earth.

“My man just won a grand prix,” you whispered into his ear, calming him down a bit. You wish you could be stuck in this moment forever. And while celebrations were fun, coming home was something you both were looking forward to.

Carlos opened the front door to your house, your now colorful hallway greeting you both. He was happy you came with him, but if you didn’t, he knew you would be eagerly waiting for him at the end of the hallway. You left your suitcases there and just went to the kitchen to cook up something quick.

Like the gentleman that he is, he helped you cut up everything. Your laughs echoed through the whole house. You couldn’t stop laughing even when you were eating, his effect on you was noticeable. Carlos washed and dried the dishes with you. Ugh, such a gentleman.

You tiptoed to your shared bedroom, heading straight towards your bathroom. “Do you want a facemask too?” you asked as you felt his body behind you. He became shy all of a sudden. “I mean, if you want to and have one for me,” he stuttered over his words, and you laughed. You couldn’t comprehend how he was so shy at times.

The cold feeling from the mask hit your face. He put on his mask too, and smiled at you. “You’re so cute.” He loved watching you do your skincare routine, he was just so mesmerized by you. He sat on the edge of the bath, his eyes never leaving your face.

He was studying everything and making a mental note to himself about which stuff is for your eyes, lashes, lips... He knew you like his favorite song. His mask was pulled off way later than yours, and he headed straight towards your comfortable bed.

You ran after him almost instantly and plopped right next to him. Your breathing synced up, and you could feel a smile forming on your lips. You tilted your head to look at Carlos, only to find him already looking at you. Only smiles were exchanged; no words were needed.

You loved this. Comfortable silence with him. You never felt so relaxed when you didn’t know what to say. He threw a blanket over you two, and you wriggled out of it.

"Carlos, we have to change into pajamas." “No, we don’t have to, baby. Come cuddle.” He stretched his arms out towards you. Pulled under the covers again. “You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered out under your breath, and he giggled.

You both got comfortable pretty quickly. Now, no one could pull you out of here. “Good night, princess.” His lips tickled your forehead as they placed a quick kiss.

☆

You heard the door opening. He was finally home. You ran down the hall and threw yourself around him. A little peck from you landed on his cheek, and he returned it. There was sadness on his face. Something you haven’t seen in a long time.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you led him to the table where he had dinner waiting for him. His favorite food. “You ate already?” he asked when he noticed the absence of a second plate. Changing the conversation. Wow. So original.

“Carlos. Answer my question.” “I finished out of points.” He grunted as he sat down. You let out a heavy exhale and sat across from him. It could’ve been worse. “Don’t beat yourself up because of that. You’re a great driver; it just wasn’t your weekend.”

"Well, it hasn’t been my weekend for a long fuckin’ time.” He mumbled under his breath. Sometimes comforting him was like consoling a child. You didn’t know what to say and just watched him eat from his plate.

You hated when he was like this, because there was nothing you could do about it. Either he’d get over it or just be quiet for the whole day. You stood up from the table and walked slowly towards the kitchen.

You knew this wasn’t your fault, but it felt like that. You sat on the counter, looking out of the window. His footsteps echoed through the room. He carefully placed the plate in the sink, and his hands gripped your hips.

“Y/N,” he started his sentence, “I’m sorry.” You lifted your gaze to look at him. Your eyes were glossy, and that’s when he knew he fucked up. “It’s really not your fault, I shouldn’t be acting like this.” “It’s fine.” “No. It’s not.”

You knew it wasn’t fine. It tore your heart apart to see him in a shitty mood. He brought you into a hug. His cologne enveloped you, and you buried your head into his chest. His fingers played with your hair as he stroked your head.

A tear fell onto his hand when he pinched your cheek. You wanted to speak up, but you couldn’t find your voice. Carlos was one of the people you wanted only the best for.

“Please,“ you finally spoke up, “just talk to me when you’re feeling bad. I swear it’s better for us both.” He exhaled and looked down at you. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that,” you thought as you wriggled out of his hug.

☆

“Come on! We’re gonna be late!” he yelled out as you walked out of the bedroom. His eyes scanned your body. “Oh. We can stay home if you want,” he changed his mind pretty quickly. You had to pull out the new dark red dress for this occasion.

Today was your 3rd anniversary, and Carlos, the great boyfriend that he is, booked a table in the most expensive restaurant. You ushered him into the car. You weren’t running late, but you were on the edge of that.

Quiet, calming music from the radio filled your ears. The ride wasn’t supposed to be long. It felt like that, though. You were looking out of the window, your eyes scanning the new buildings you hadn’t seen yet. Carlos’ hand landed on your thigh. That gave you a weird feeling of comfort.

But it didn’t last long as he parked his car. He got out of the car and then ran around it to open your door. You blushed at the act and placed your hand in his. “Let’s go, ma’am,” he said, and you laughed. You got through the reception, and the waiter took you to your table.

Carlos really took his time with this. The table overlooked the city of Madrid, with all of the city lights shining brightly. It looked beautiful. He pulled out your chair for you, and you giggled. “So what can I get for you?” the waiter asked as you both sat down.

“Just a non-alcoholic beer for me and a bottle of wine for my lady. What kind do you want?” he asked. He knew which one you always ordered, but he didn’t want to risk getting something you wouldn’t drink.

“Red wine. Please.” You smiled and opened the menu. “Is that all for the drinks?” he asked, and you both nodded quietly. “I’ll let you pick out the food,” he turned around on his heel, strutting towards the bar.

Carlos smiled at you. His smile was something that warmed your heart every time. He grabbed your hand and drew small shapes with his thumb. He always knew how to comfort and calm you. You broke eye contact with him and admired the city, while he admired you.

The waiter came with the drinks and took your order. You ordered something simple, like always. You started eating together, and the conversation topics floated effortlessly. He was in the middle of telling a story about the crazy stuff he did with his cousins when his phone rang.

‘boss’ was the name that popped up on the screen, and you chuckled. “Hold on, I have to take this,” he said, walking away from the table. You continued eating.

Something was off when 20 minutes flew by and he wasn’t back. Finished the food. Still nothing. Drank enough wine. Nothing. Nearly an hour has passed, and still nothing?

You stood up and went towards the bar. “Hey, do you by any chance know where my boyfriend is?” you asked, completely desperate for an explanation. “He paid your bill and left,” the waiter behind the bar said with a calm expression.

You deeply exhaled and walked back to the table to grab your purse. You stormed out of there. What the fuck? Why didn’t he tell you anything? You were sitting there like a dumbass for a long time, waiting for him.

You called yourself an uber, and while the drive was awkward, it was definitely better than sitting in a car with Carlos. “Got stood up?” the man asked, his gaze focused on you in the mirror. “No, it’s complicated.”

“Relationships are complicated,” he laughed. At least that made you feel a bit better. Again, it wasn’t a long drive, so you were home relatively quickly. You walked into the hallway, which felt a bit more colorless than before. Your shoes came off quickly, and you threw yourself on the couch.

Defeated—that’s how you felt. A tear slid down your cheek.

You woke up in your bed next to Carlos. He probably carried you upstairs. He looked peaceful. So pretty. You hated that you loved him so much. How you could forgive him anything.

Your brain was fighting itself, you didn’t know what to do. Carlos was everything to you. First crush, love, relationship. But this really hurt. It was like he didn’t even care about anything. Your bed feels as hard as a rock now.

You couldn’t fall back asleep. Turning, flipping your pillow and blanket. You tried everything. Still up. Your brain was filled with Carlos. Did he not realize how much this would’ve hurt you? Work is important; you get that. But you couldn’t even get a heads-up that he was leaving?

You were mad and sad, and the tears you pushed back that evening came out. And they weren’t stopping anytime soon. Everything dawned on you all of a sudden. You grabbed onto your blanket and wiped your tears into it.

And you were 12 again, crying over a boy who didn’t like you back. Your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, and you wished the man who was lying behind you would pick them up and glue them together. You fought the cry, which nearly came out of your throat, and reached for your phone to look at the time.

The phone brightened up the whole room, and you groaned. 4:55. Too soon. Apparently you weren’t the only one who was surprised by the brightness because the man next to you turned to face you. He was still sleeping. Thank god.

You didn’t want to deal with him this soon. You put the phone back on the nightstand and snuggled up under the covers. You felt his arms wrap around your waist. Somehow, his touch lost that warmth, and you felt goosebumps on your whole body.

You didn’t know what to do. Another round of tears rolled down your cheeks, and you never felt weaker. He had an effect on you. It used to be a positive one, but now you weren’t sure if you could continue with this.

☆

Where was he? The question brewing in your mind. Yeah, he was supposed to be working. But it’s 10 p.m. Your stress levels were increasing by every second. You were starting to worry about him. The dinner on the counter had already been reheated 15 times by now.

You sat down on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. Your fingers fidgeted with the string of your sweatpants. Anything could’ve happened to Carlos, and you didn’t know. Your worries were cut short as a knock landed on the front door.

You shot up from the spot you sat on and ran towards the door. Your keys jingled as you tried to unlock the door as fast as possible. The handle probably left a dent in the wall from how fast you opened it.

And there he was. Carlos, with Charles by his side. You threw yourself into his arms, and he hugged you back. "Okay, Carlos, you’re home now. See you tomorrow!” Charles said carefully and slowly. He turned on his heel and walked rapidly back to his car.

As the front door closed, Carlos still didn’t let go of you. One close look at him and you could tell he’s drunk. You brought him to the kitchen and sat him down on a bar stool. “Come on. Eat. Or you’ll have a massive hangover.”

He ate slowly, talking about his evening. You stood on the other end of the counter, looking at him like you were a disappointed mother. Arms crossed on your chest gave you a feeling of security and comfort. Something you needed right now. As he was finishing his food, you decided to speak up about something you both dreaded to mention.

“Why did you go to the bar? You told me you were gonna come home immediately after work.” He looked up at you, like he was a deer in the headlights. “I just wanted to go out with the guys after a tough day,” he said, like he couldn’t figure out why you were mad. You just exhaled, not saying anything. But your stare spoke a million words.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad because of that.” He spoke as he handed you an empty plate. You bit into your bottom lip and turned away from him—towards the sink. You turned on the water, so it flowed slowly as you washed his and your plate, which had been in the sink for the past three hours. Carlos scoffed.

“You got so boring. What happened to you?” You ignored his drunken indiscretions and continued scrubbing the plates. He sat in silence, at least until the water flow stopped. You grabbed the closest dishcloth, not wanting to turn to see him. There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill out of your eyes at any second now.

“You know, Y/N,” he started, “you changed. You aren’t yourself. You used to be so fun.” You swore you felt like someone had stabbed you right there, and you were starting to bleed out. Maybe past or sober Carlos would help you, but this one just wanted to put another knife through you.

“It’s like you don’t even care about my feelings, I never have fun anymore.” And there it was. The tears spilled from your eyes like a waterfall, and if your heart didn’t break before, now it definitely has.

“I can’t even have fun anymore.” He mumbled and walked out of the kitchen. A sob escaped your lips, and the salty drops covered the newly polished plates. You kept polishing them over and over again, breaking down even more in the process. That job was like a never-ending one.

His hurtful words were on repeat in your head, and you swore your knees started giving out. More sobs filled the room, but you stopped crying once you heard faint footsteps.

“Are you coming to bed or are you gonna keep polishing those dumb plates?” His tone was harsh, something you had never heard before. “I don’t want to sleep next to you tonight.” You whispered into the air.

“Night.” He grunted and turned off the lights in the hallway. You finally put the plates in their place.

“Second time you’re falling asleep on the couch.” You thought to yourself as you sat down. You felt like crying again, but there was nothing that could come out.

You reached for the blanket on the other end of the couch and found a comfortable position. What else could you think of other than your boyfriend?

You knew he was drunk. He probably didn’t mean it. You’ve done some shitty things while you were drunk too. But what if it wasn’t just the alcohol in his blood? Were you boring? Did you change? Were you good enough for Carlos?

A singular tear fell on the pillow. You wish you could just fall asleep and not think about Carlos for once. It helped you fall asleep most of the time, but it was also your greatest enemy in times like these. You hugged yourself, but nothing could generate the warmth Carlos hugged you with. A sob left your mouth.

“Can’t fall asleep. Please, Y/N,” Carlos’ voice scared you. “Please,” he begged again, and you stood up. He let you lead the way, slowly walking behind you. You threw yourself into your shared bed.

He just sat down on the edge. You looked at him for a second before turning on your other side and falling asleep. Carlos just sat there, looking out of the window. He finally laid down next to you, falling asleep nearly immediately with the familiar body right next to him.

☆

Family dinners. Something you both hated and looked forward to. Your mom handed you plates, then just ushered you out of the kitchen to the backyard. Your cousins and you neatly set the table, talking about stuff that has happened since you last saw each other.

You felt like a kid again. Everyone finally sat down and started eating. You felt terrible, and your face probably showed it because your aunt asked the thing you did not want to hear.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asked genuinely, and you just shrugged. You were defeated. You always attended his family events, and he couldn’t even come on time to yours? You swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Probably at work,” you said, not even looking up from your plate. “Huh. Asshole.” Hearing your brother mutter out that about his friend shocked you. Your mom nodded, and your dad just sighed.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. You preferred this over them calling you out. But it’s a family dinner, after all. “I know you love him, Y/N, but that age gap isn’t great,” your cousin proclaimed.

“He isn’t treating you right; younger you would never take that disrespect.” Another cousin agreed with her. You finally looked up to see the whole table staring at you. You didn’t know what to say. Maybe because they were right.

“You could’ve spent your twenties partying, and you’re with that guy.” Your dad spoke up. And you knew it was bad when he commented on it.

You exhaled deeply, opened your mouth to talk, and your brother already had his head in his hands. It’s like he was getting ready for whatever you were going to say.

“You love to just hate on everyone and everything, right?” Every pair of eyes looked away from you. Your phone vibrated in your lap, and you grabbed it. “I’m in front of the house.” You stood up from the table and became the center of attention once again.

“You don’t know him that well! You just love to judge everyone!” you shouted as you slid-opened the glass door. “I know him too well!” your brother yelled out. You slammed the door and ran up to your room.

“Give me 5 mins” you typed out with tears in your eyes. For those 5 minutes, you just sat on your old bed, trying to calm yourself down. Your feet swiftly carried you downstairs.

As you were about to make a turn for the door, you saw Carlos sitting in the backyard, laughing with everybody. You walked outside, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I let your boyfriend in, if you don’t mind,” your brother joked, making everyone laugh. Are you going absolutely fucking crazy? Just a few minutes ago, they hated him, and now they are making it seem like you had a problem with him.

You swore you were going to go insane, but you just sat down, smiling at your family. It’s fine. Everything will be fine. But as the night went on, it didn’t feel like that.

He was ignoring every ounce of affection you gave him. Acting like you didn’t exist. And now you regret defending him so much.

☆

You were in the middle of the unspoken routine you and Carlos adapted during the last few days after a big fight. You cleaned up after dinner while he read emails and work-related stuff.

He fell asleep because his soft snores filled the entirety of the living room. You grinned, and your heart broke at a thought that popped up in your head. You sat on the bar stool, and it’s like he felt like you were watching him because he woke up and opened up his book, continuing with his work.

Observing him was more fun when you two weren’t mad at each other. That isn’t the case today. He 'studied‘ the whole book, and you just sat there until he closed and placed it on the coffee table. You were internally fighting yourself.

Was this a good idea? Is it going to be absolutely worthless? You couldn’t even predict how you were going to act; how could you know how he was going to react? A little voice spoke quietly in your head. It’s going to be better. Let it go. You were walking towards the hallway when his deep voice surprised you.

“Are you not even going to say anything?” All the pent-up anger made its way to the surface. “You should say something!” you spat out, putting the emphasis on you. He looked down.

“Are you really making yourself the victim?” you continued. “What are you talking about?” he asked, not realizing you were one dumb question away from breaking down.

“YOU ARE THE ONE WHO IS RUINING THIS,” you strutted towards the couch, “and you’re not even realizing it.” He stayed quiet, waiting for whatever you had to say next.

“You used to actually care about me.” You shed a tear, and he stood up to hug you. But you just pushed him away. “Don’t pull that shit, Carlos.” He exhaled and sat down.

“I gave you everything!” you shouted. “All my attention, all my time, all my energy—I gave it all! And you did nothing with it!” You took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. Something in them screamed: When will she finally calm down? And that angered you even more.

“I don’t know shit about your life anymore! You don’t tell me anything! I have no idea how Ferrari is doing or what happened in the paddock. If you can’t even share the most basic information, how the fuck can we function as a couple?” You asked a rhetorical question. You didn’t want him to answer.

“It’s like my love and me are just extra weight on your shoulders. Is my affection annoying? Huh?” He looked up at you. You loved his deep brown eyes, but now you they were just making you angrier.

“I never knew you felt like that." “Yeah, of course you never know. It’s like you’re blind. Or maybe you just don’t fucking care! So stop acting like you do.” His clueless eyes scanned your hurt face. Maybe he actually didn’t know. But it’s not like that was an excuse.

He deeply hurt you, and there was no apologizing he could do; that was enough. “Please let me make it up to you,” he pleaded, his voice cracking nearly every word. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.” You burst into tears.

“No. Just let me end this.” Words rushed out of your mouth before you broke into another sob. A tear rolled down his cheek. This just broke your heart more. “You wouldn’t...” he said quietly.

“I would,” you looked him in the eyes, “and that’s what I’m doing right now.” “We’re done?” he asked like a little boy. “Yeah, Carlos. I’ll pick up my stuff later." You said as you walked through the hallway. The only thing you picked up were your keys.

You smashed-closed the front door and sat in your car. You couldn’t bring yourself to drive away. Leaving all the memories behind you. Most importantly, the 7-year-old you who would swear he was your soulmate. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

☆

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