30. 18+. Take your shoes off, pls.
Hello!
Iām Lu. Black Latina, they/she. Full-time supporter of talking about your favorites and enjoyer of many things! My ask is open for all thoughts, feelings, and conversations when Iām able to get to them. Feel free to come and chat whenever you feel. Below are my current works and series! I also have blurbs and random HCās that can also all be found under my tag of lu.logs Thank you for visiting, treat yourself sweetly 3
Said I donāt know how to write angst just to write a painful blurb and get pissed off at my own words hurting.
Epilogue
All chapters here
Ā Ā The music was soft and jazzy, the lights in the reception hall dimmed just enough to shower everything in a soft, flattering glow. The room shimmered with gold accents and white lilies, touches of gentle tradition wrapped in modern grace. Tokyo had changed, but not as much as you expected. Or maybe you had changed, and the city had stayed the same.
Constant
6th and final installment of Upheaval
cw: all content warning and chapters can be found here
an: heeeeey.. So here we are. I will admit, I rewrote this ample times mostly because I didnāt want this to end and any words felt wrong lol. But this feels good, an ending that I can smile about. Thank you for every rb, comment, share and blurb conversation weāve had about this series. My first, albeit short, multichapter.
Thank you to @ambiguouslady42 for yapping with me about this series and for your major contributions to songs that fit this work! You are a gift and I love you dearly.
Muchos besitos! Thank you for reading <3
āWe work on ourselves first. Itās the only way things will begin to make sense in the long run.ā
07:43am
Ā Hot. Too hot for this early in the fall and too hot for you. You watched the peachy, yellow hues in the sky shift as you speedily made your way into the school.
Ā The hallways were warm, the early morning light slowly danced across the walls and splayed in from the high framed windows. The natural light had been your favorite attribute of the Kyoto school. The open display of appreciating nature, the traditional architecture that felt timeless. It unfortunately began to feel like home a little too late in the game for you.
I am here, simply being a corporate hottie with too many wips and not enough time to get to them just yet sldkdkdk 😭
Quiet Hour
Simon “ghost” Riley x Reader
CW: mentions of death, angst, trauma, alcoholism
To love you would be death. And he’d already faced it before. So why not try again?
i.
The pub was quiet tonight. One would hope it would be this quiet on a Tuesday at the very least.
But it was the kind of silence that felt almost comfortable. The soft clink of glasses, the distant hum of a TV somewhere in the corner giving you the final scores of the premier top 14 and premiership rugby matches, and the occasional murmur of conversation. You’d been coming here more often lately—more than you cared to admit—just for the peace it offered.
Your neighbors were loud, intrusive at the worst of times, and the constant noise was unbearable. The move to a new country was already close to being your 13th reason and now neighbors who don’t understand common courtesy? Could’ve stayed back home for that.
So a drink, a book, and the quiet hum of the pub were your refuge.
You didn’t really expect to be approached. Most people didn’t bother you here. Owner called you his “quiet pub boss” as you immediately found a corner booth to tuck yourself into, a steady stream of light casting over the pages of your book thanks to the ancient stained glass light above you, making it almost feel like you were alone in the world.
Then, the shadow fell over your page.
You peered up through your brow, slightly startled, but the guy standing before you didn’t seem all too threatening.
Not really.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his black jacket a contrast to the soft lighting of the bar as it made his light blonde hair almost invisible if you looked a certain way. A deep, formed scar hugged the valleys of his cheek down to the left corner of his mouth.
“You always read in a place like this?”
His voice was low and effortlessly smooth. It didn’t grate the ear, but cradled it. The vibrato settled in the chest, weighted and certain.
Big. Broad. A presence more than just a person.
His question wasn’t mocking, just curious. That was interesting.
You gave him your attention, book lowered slightly, fingers marking the page. “I do now.” You smiled.
“Want to have a seat? Had some friends but they left me awhile back and I’d hate to look like a lonely loser reading in a pub.”
A pause, a slight tilt of his head like he hadn’t expected the answer and definitely not the invitation. And then, without hesitation, he took the open invite and sat.
He didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just settled in like he belonged there, waving at the bartender who moved swiftly in getting his order together. The weight of his presence now tangible. A moment passed before his eyes flicked to the book.
“What’re you readin’?”
The way he asked, there was no expectation, no angle. Just interest.
That was interesting, too.
Lifting the book a bit , you turned it so he could see the cover. “Cats Cradle.”
The title was printed in worn white lettering on a pink background, the kind that had been traced over by familiar hands too many times to count. His eyes flicked over it, and then back to you.
“Any good?”
“Depends,” you said, letting the hint of a smile play at the corner of your mouth. “Do you like satirical post-apocalyptic novels?”
Something about the phrasing made amusement flicker in his gaze. “I’ve got patience enough to start givin’ it a try.”
You hummed, considering him for a moment before nodding. “Then you might like it.”
He leaned back slightly, settling into the chair like he had nowhere else to be. His gaze lingered—not intrusive, just observant. Taking stock. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he spoke again.
“Place like this doesn’t seem the usual spot for your type of going on.”
There it was. The curiosity again. Not prying, just… interested.
You let the question sit between you for a moment, like a held breath, before you finally answered.
“It’s quieter than home.”
His brow lifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge the answer without pressing further. He didn’t seem the type to fill silence needlessly, which suited you just fine.
Instead of another question, he nodded, then gestured toward the book. “Go on, then. Don’t let me stop you.”
You blinked, a little surprised. Most people would have tried to keep the conversation going, would have taken the opening to talk about themselves. But he just sat there, letting you exist, book and all.
The pub owner came to the booth, beer and another virgin Long Island in hand, placing them on the table.
“There we are. Another Long Island for the lovely lass and a Budweiser for you, mate. Cheers.”
Simon lifted his bottle, nodding his head to give a silent cheer and slipped slowly.
“Tell me about it when you’re done, yeah?”
Interesting. All too interesting.
Quiet Hour
Simon “ghost” Riley x Reader
CW: mentions of death, angst, trauma, alcoholism
To love you would be death. And he’d already faced it before. So why not try again?
i.
The pub was quiet tonight. One would hope it would be this quiet on a Tuesday at the very least.
But it was the kind of silence that felt almost comfortable. The soft clink of glasses, the distant hum of a TV somewhere in the corner giving you the final scores of the premier top 14 and premiership rugby matches, and the occasional murmur of conversation. You’d been coming here more often lately—more than you cared to admit—just for the peace it offered.
Your neighbors were loud, intrusive at the worst of times, and the constant noise was unbearable. The move to a new country was already close to being your 13th reason and now neighbors who don’t understand common courtesy? Could’ve stayed back home for that.
So a drink, a book, and the quiet hum of the pub were your refuge.
You didn’t really expect to be approached. Most people didn’t bother you here. Owner called you his “quiet pub boss” as you immediately found a corner booth to tuck yourself into, a steady stream of light casting over the pages of your book thanks to the ancient stained glass light above you, making it almost feel like you were alone in the world.
Then, the shadow fell over your page.
You peered up through your brow, slightly startled, but the guy standing before you didn’t seem all too threatening.
Not really.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his black jacket a contrast to the soft lighting of the bar as it made his light blonde hair almost invisible if you looked a certain way. A deep, formed scar hugged the valleys of his cheek down to the left corner of his mouth.
“You always read in a place like this?”
His voice was low and effortlessly smooth. It didn’t grate the ear, but cradled it. The vibrato settled in the chest, weighted and certain.
Big. Broad. A presence more than just a person.
His question wasn’t mocking, just curious. That was interesting.
You gave him your attention, book lowered slightly, fingers marking the page. “I do now.” You smiled.
“Want to have a seat? Had some friends but they left me awhile back and I’d hate to look like a lonely loser reading in a pub.”
A pause, a slight tilt of his head like he hadn’t expected the answer and definitely not the invitation. And then, without hesitation, he took the open invite and sat.
He didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just settled in like he belonged there, waving at the bartender who moved swiftly in getting his order together. The weight of his presence now tangible. A moment passed before his eyes flicked to the book.
“What’re you readin’?”
The way he asked, there was no expectation, no angle. Just interest.
That was interesting, too.
Lifting the book a bit , you turned it so he could see the cover. “Cats Cradle.”
The title was printed in worn white lettering on a pink background, the kind that had been traced over by familiar hands too many times to count. His eyes flicked over it, and then back to you.
“Any good?”
“Depends,” you said, letting the hint of a smile play at the corner of your mouth. “Do you like satirical post-apocalyptic novels?”
Something about the phrasing made amusement flicker in his gaze. “I’ve got patience enough to start givin’ it a try.”
You hummed, considering him for a moment before nodding. “Then you might like it.”
He leaned back slightly, settling into the chair like he had nowhere else to be. His gaze lingered—not intrusive, just observant. Taking stock. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he spoke again.
“Place like this doesn’t seem the usual spot for your type of going on.”
There it was. The curiosity again. Not prying, just… interested.
You let the question sit between you for a moment, like a held breath, before you finally answered.
“It’s quieter than home.”
His brow lifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge the answer without pressing further. He didn’t seem the type to fill silence needlessly, which suited you just fine.
Instead of another question, he nodded, then gestured toward the book. “Go on, then. Don’t let me stop you.”
You blinked, a little surprised. Most people would have tried to keep the conversation going, would have taken the opening to talk about themselves. But he just sat there, letting you exist, book and all.
The pub owner came to the booth, beer and another virgin Long Island in hand, placing them on the table.
“There we are. Another Long Island for the lovely lass and a Budweiser for you, mate. Cheers.”
Simon lifted his bottle, nodding his head to give a silent cheer and slipped slowly.
“Tell me about it when you’re done, yeah?”
Interesting. All too interesting.
Hiromi Higuruma, a calculating yakuza consigliere, is forced into an arranged marriage with you, a woman who despises everything his world represents. Bound by family loyalty and political power, you must navigate a dangerous alliance where trust is scarce, and hearts are even rarer.
Torn between duty and desire, can you survive the marriage you both never choseāor will loyalty cost you everything?
CW: DARK THEMES, violence, angst, arranged marriage, sexual content, misogyny, mentions of addiction and substance use, sprinkles of fluff (I canāt not write without a little break from the pain), more will be added as the story progresses.
Modern yakuza and I am biting my nails off with each word I type. This will be updated slowly as I finish one series, dive into another and chomp away at this as it comes to me. I have been sitting on this for a minute and now I can finally let it out!
I: Giri
II: Kuromaku
III
IV
V
VI
VII
I fucking love this guy I really hope Gege doesn't fucking kill him, he's cool
Splish splash
