#I hate you all shut up about Taylor swift shut up about grant shut up about Remus lupin oh my god I haven’t liked a video in weeks

[seeingivy]

enchanted 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

**part of my debut concert event 

**part one of this fic here icymi (read before or its kinda confusing)

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: satoru and your parents are annoying, like in the last part, readers mom just says a bunch of mean shit (including comments on body image, etc), gojo being defensive of his wife but also corny asf, babies megumi + tsumiki having lil nightmares and wanting to sleep w their parents 

an: KING OF MY HEART IS ONE OF MY FAV FICS EVER. so glad the pookie who requested this asked for it bc I was so excited writing it. also corny lil enchanted lyrics are at the end. mister satoru gojo is enchanted to meet you and ur lil babies megumi and tsumiki just love you

- 

“Dr. L/N?” 

You look up from the computer, breaking away from your sheer focus of charting all the patients you just saw in the past hour (nine patients - which sounds mediocre, but in actuality is insanity on earth). 

Because when they’re sick, their parents ask a lot of questions. Which you understand and always honor - but that means you’re always running on a back log, running from one room to the next with no breaks in between. Satoru thinks that you’ll collapse on the floor one day while doing it. And you tell him that he’s praying on your downfall. 

“Yes, Sarah? What’s up?” 

“Your husband’s here to have lunch with you.” 

“Ah. I still haven’t caught up on my charting and I really need to-” 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, your senior advisor, Dr. Aoki, giving you a warm smile. She’s almost thirty years your senior - soft wrinkles and grey patches spread throughout her hair. 

And she really, really loves Satoru. Which you know because she doesn’t shut up about him, always going on about how sweet he is. 

“Go. Have lunch with your husband. I’ll finish off for you.” 

“Ah. Dr. Aoki, I can’t let you. Plus, you don’t even know-” 

“You take detailed notes. And I’m old, but I’m sure I can figure it out. Now go eat lunch with your sweet husband before I do it for you.” 

You smile, giving her hand a squeeze, before dragging your feet to the breakroom - suddenly hyperaware of the tension in the back of your knees, your shoulders, and the back of your eyes. Satoru’s waiting for you at the center table - two glass bento boxes and two iced coffee’s sitting on the table. 

He’s scrolling aimlessly on his phone and you’re more than positive that he’s playing Cut the Rope. A game Megumi begged him to download, but now he plays more than Megumi. Which just pisses Megumi off, because Satoru plays so far ahead in the game that Megumi can’t even remember which level it was he stopped at. 

You look down at the cup of iced coffee, Satoru’s handwriting inscribed on the side. 

pookie <;3 

Bastard. He knows you hate it when you call him that.

Satoru looks up and smacks his phone down at the table as you take his side, placing your head flat against the clear, white table. Satoru immediately directs his hand to the back of your hair, his fingers soothing into the tense muscles in the back of your neck. 

“Hello my little workaholic.” 

“Good afternoon my little pain in the ass.” 

He laughs, lifting your head up as he opens up the boxes, sliding forward the food he made and sticking the fork in your hand. You look down at the line up - egg fried rice and a wild assortments of fruits and vegetables on the side. They’re all cut into sweet little shapes - the cucumbers in hearts, the strawberries in flowers. 

Right. You had tasked Satoru with making Megumi and Tsumiki’s lunches for one week when you were on the night call. When you had returned, all he did was scold you for making very boring lunches for Megumi and Tsumiki. 

Granted, you thought they weren’t half bad. You always made sure to give them a little treat - strawberry gummies for Tsumiki and sour candy for Megumi - and left sweet little notes in their lunch boxes, saying you were proud of them, that Megumi was going to do great on his presentation, and that Tsumiki looked pretty today. 

Satoru resolved the situation by heading to the store and buying the special little cutouts, shiny new metal tin boxes for Megumi and Tsumiki, and even glittery stationery to leave them both notes. 

Yeah and he never let you make their lunch again. He’d often drop by to the office to eat with you, since he knew that was the only time you would eat anything, and bring you by the third box he arranged with theirs in the morning. 

“Hard day, my love?” 

“Yeah, Satoru. And it’s not even over yet.” 

He places the fork in your hand again, instructing you to eat as you keep talking, tasking himself with mixing up the layers of the coffee he brought you. 

“What’s the point of working so hard? Didn’t you marry me for my money?” 

“Well, obviously but-”

“Hey!” 

“What?” 

“That’s so rude to admit. You should keep that type of stuff to yourself.” 

“Okay, Satoru. You married me as a cover for your girlfriend and-”

“Stop throwing that in my face! So you have one girlfriend and suddenly you’re the bad-” 

“It is when you’re married!” 

You both laugh, Satoru ruffling your hair, as he opens up the second box, sliding it towards you as you keep eating. 

“You don’t want, Toru?” 

“No. They’re both for you. You really do work too hard, Y/N.” 

“Well. Our parents could cut us off - we don’t exactly do everything they want. And I want to be self sufficient and be a good role model for-” 

“Tsumiki and Megumi. I know, my love. I’m just saying.” 

You lean into Satoru’s touch, placing your aching head against his shoulder as he leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. You finish off your own box (and Satoru’s) and down your iced coffee (and half of Satoru’s, before he starts scolding you about healthy caffeine intakes). 

He gives you a sweet kiss goodbye, giving soft smiles to the rest of your coworkers, as you buckle in for the rest of your shift. 

- 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm.” 

“Look at what my mom texted me.” 

He untangles himself from his position - which is just using you as a third pillow - and peaks his head up, squinting his eyes at your phone in the dark. 

Your mom, heinous bitch she is, sent you a text reminding you about all the things you need to do for your dinner with the Gojo’s tomorrow. 

Wear a dress. Make sure it’s appropriate, but enough to keep a guy like Satoru interested. You don’t want your husband running off just because you’re boring him. 

Make sure to wear the wedding ring Satoru gave you, not the engagement. You’re going to look tacky otherwise. 

Fresh flowers, that haven’t bloomed yet. Don’t embarrass me by bringing flowers that’ll die in a day. 

And please don’t leave your hair fully down. It washes you out. 

Satoru glares at the camera, looking up at your face. He finds it hard to read you in situations like this. Because in all honesty, he knows that you hate your parents. But he doesn’t miss the way you act differently when it comes to them. 

Because when you’re mad at Satoru for not picking up Tsumiki on time or at Megumi for not telling you he had a project due tomorrow until nine pm, you get a reasonable amount of mad. Pink in the cheeks, a little bit of scolding, followed by fixing the problem and talking it out. 

But with them you, you don’t really talk about it. And he’s not sure if it’s because he’s not privy to the conversations that you have with them, but for some reason, he thinks there aren’t any. And that you just take it, when it’s them. 

Which he understands. Too well. That’s part of the reason he’s with you, in this bed right now. Cuddled up in your arms, pressing lazy kisses around your shoulder. 

Because his parents asked you to marry him. Because you told him you didn’t mind if he kept his own life outside of it, that you were just doing what you had to do. 

And now that he…loves you, parts of it all make him sad. That you’d take someone telling you what to do - telling you that you don’t look good with your hair down when you look good all the time and that you’re tacky or boring or- 

“Hey. Y/N.” 

“Hm, Satoru?” 

“You know I…love you right? For real?” 

“Yeah. You told me.” 

“But like, for real, okay? Not just because we’re…married or whatever. I actually really, really love you. You’re very pretty and you’re always so good with Megumi and Tsumiki and you’re so good at your job and-” 

You stop him in his tracks by cupping his face in his ands, quirking your head to the side. You lean down and peck at his lips, pressing your fingers into his dimples. 

“I love you too, Satoru but what’s this about?” 

He frowns, placing his head back in your lap as you start running your hands through his white locks of hair, soft to the touch. You can feel his cheeks are warm from his face lying against your bare legs and you can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s blushing. Even after one year of marriage (and eight months of real marriage), he’s still nervous around you. 

“I don’t know. Your mom’s just stupid. You’re not boring or tacky and you look very pretty with your hair down.” 

“Thank you, Toru. For getting so offended on my behalf. But I don’t care, let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

He nods, shuffling the sheets around you as he sprawls across the bed. One thing about Satoru, he has to touch you when he’s sleeping. 

Not in the…dirty way. It could be the coldest night of the year and he has his entire body weight on you, treating you like a stuffed animal he was sleeping with. Or it’s the hottest night of the year and he’s as far away as he can be from you - just placing his hand on your forearm or tangling one of his legs with yours. 

Touchy. Even when he’s asleep. 

After not even five minutes of sleep, you feel a tapping on your nose, your features crinkling up from the sensation. 

“Toru. Quit tickling me.” 

He murmurs back incoherently, tangling around in the sheets as a response. Right. Satoru also sleeps like the walking dead. And he can and will sleep anywhere and everywhere, almost instantly. It’s actually a talent. 

“Um. That wasn’t him.” 

You flutter your eyes open to find Megumi, standing awkwardly at your side. You immediately sit up, clicking on the light as Satoru starts groaning behind you, smacking his hand on the bed to get you to turn the light off. You look over at the clock and realize it’s well past three, meaning Megumi should have been asleep hours ago. 

“Megs. You okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. But Tsumiki, she’s like crying a lot. Usually, what I do works but she just won’t stop.” 

You shake Satoru at your side, his eyes finally fluttering open as he looks at you and Megumi in confusion. 

“Megumi-chan. You better be interrupting our sleep for something good.” 

“Satoru, stop it. Go get Tsumiki. Now. I think she’s crying.” 

Satoru immediately stands up, stalking out of the room as you turn back to Megumi, taking his tiny hands in yours. He looks like he usually does - blank expression on his face, avoiding eye contact, tiredness on his face. 

You wrap one of your hands around his cheek and squeeze, feeling his skin warm under your touch. 

“What do you think happened, Megs?” 

“She had a bad dream. Usually, we kind of just stay with each other till it stops. But, it didn’t really work.” 

“Have you had them while you were here? Or her?” 

“Yeah sometimes.” 

You can feel your heart clench in your chest and you immediately wrap Megumi in your arms, brushing your hands through his soft, black hair. You can still smell the shampoo in his hair from earlier, the fresh smell springing into your nose. They should be coming to you. Not each other. Megumi’s only five. And she’s just seven. 

“Megumi. You know you can come to us about that stuff. Both of you. And you should be because we know how to help you and-” 

You stop talking as Satoru walks into the room, craning your head to the side to survey the situation. Satoru’s carrying Tsumiki in his arms, something he doesn’t do very often, and you can hear her soft sniffles as he places her on the bed between you, rubbing circles into her back. 

You take the cup of water on the nightstand (that Satoru leaves out for you everyday so you can stay hydrated) and hand it to her, directing her to calm her breaths. She’s shaking so hard and her eyes are so pink that she can barely hold the glass, Satoru taking it from her hands and tilting her head up so she can drink it. 

You look over at Megumi, his eyes twitching as he looks at Tsumiki, and you direct him to sit on the bed next to you, right next to Tsumiki and in between you and Satoru. 

You never really know what to do in situations like this. And neither does Satoru. I mean hell, you’re only twenty-three and Satoru’s only twenty-four. And they haven’t been your kids for too long. 

Other parents, the ones who come into your practice, talk about how they know somethings wrong. They can feel it in their gut. Their parental instinct. But you don’t have any of that, especially not with Tsumiki and Megumi. 

And you know it’s not something you can learn and something that just comes from being their parents, but you sincerely wish it was. Because Tsumiki and Megumi deserve to have someone who can read them like that, who knows what’s wrong with them, and talks for them when they don’t know how. And-

Satoru opens up his arms, with Tsumiki crawls into his lap and curls herself up against his chest. She looks so small, barely covering his entire frame as she hiccups into his chest, pushing the back of her hand against his eyes. 

Satoru beckons Megumi to join her and he awkwardly crawls up, the two of them nestled in Satoru’s arms. Maybe you spoke too soon. Because it always seems like Satoru knows what he’s doing. 

“You too, goofy.” 

You roll your eyes as you scoot closer to them, laying your head against Satoru’s shoulders as you start running your hands through Tsumiki’s hair, rubbing soft circles into the small of her back like Satoru was earlier. 

“Hi Miki.” 

“H-hi Y/N.” 

“How you feeling, sweet girl?” 

“O-okay.” 

You soften your hands in her hair, focusing on braiding the ends as you talk, the three of them hanging on to every word you say. 

“Miki, Megs. I know you’ve…been together for a long time. Before me and Satoru came around. And I’m sure you have your own ways of…being there for each other. But, you can let us be there for you too, you know?” 

You feel Tsumiki stiffen under your touch and you pull back, holding the braid in place on your head. 

“I don’t mean to let each other go. You’re siblings and that’s one of the most important relationships you can have. But just know, Satoru and I can be smart sometimes. Well, I can. I don’t really know about him.” 

“Hey.” 

Tsumiki and Megumi laugh, which stops Satoru’s protests all together. It’s working. And Satoru’s jealous of you, because as always, you know the right thing to say. To get them to smile again, tell you what’s wrong. And sure, you’ve always had that effect on Satoru but he loves that you can do it with them too. You’ve clearly got this parenting thing more figured out than him, he thinks. 

“But, we can help you too, you know? I’m a big girl. I can deal with whatever you give me.” 

Tsumiki turns to the side, crawling out of Satoru’s lap as she crawls into yours, squeezing herself in your arms. 

“Th-thanks, Y/N. But maybe not right now?” 

“Whenever you want, okay? Let’s just go to bed now, it’s late.” 

“Can I sleep with you, Y/N? And Satoru?” 

Satoru leans forward, squeezing Tsumiki’s hand in hers as he nods, opening up the covers for her. Megumi awkwardly looks between you and Satoru and you catch on fast, signaling for him to join you under the covers as well. The four of you are squished together, Tsumiki clinging on to you and Megumi clinging on to Satoru. 

They both fall asleep fast and you give a weary look to Satoru in the dark, which he returns with a smile. 

- 

You hate leaving at a time like this. And you hate your parents and even Gojo’s parents for making you come to a stupid dinner like this. 

Your kids, that they don’t know about, need you. You had tried your best to make Tsumiki comfortable, making her a stack of warm, strawberry pancakes and letting her pick what you guys ate for lunch. 

And when you had to leave her with Nanami and Shoko to go see the Gojo’s, you swear you could feel your heart clench at the thought of leaving her. And Megumi. And of the two of them being uncomfortable without you there. 

You could tell from the look in Satoru’s eyes that he shared your sentiments, his gaze weary as he said goodbye, lingering by the door until you two really had to leave. And then you both made your trek to the Gojo Estate. 

And god do you hate it here. In all but ten minutes of dinner, your mother, assfucking clown she was, had already found ten different things to pick on. 

Your hair has split ends, you should cut it. 

You should slow down on the food. 

You could have worn a more flattering color. 

Every spiky comment she makes, Satoru squeezes his hand in yours under the table, grounding you in the moment. If it wasn’t for him and the soft looks he was giving you every few minutes, you’re sure you would have broken the centerpiece in the middle of the table by now. 

“Say, Y/N, Satoru.” 

You look up to find Mr. Gojo beaming at you, the smile not meeting his eyes. You can feel Satoru’s hand tense in yours under the table and you know it’s your turn to protect him from his dad. 

“Did you start trying for kids?” 

“Dad.” 

“What, Satoru? It’s an important question. You guys have been married for a year now and surely there’s no better time than now to start trying.” 

You can feel your mouth dry at the thought. Kids. Kids of your own. Like, a crying, pooping baby - half parts you and half parts Satoru. 

How in the world could they think you were ready for that? Because in all honesty, Satoru’s your husband in name but he feels like your boyfriend. 

You’ve been together for eight months. You haven’t gone on a vacation together or met his college best friend and you don’t know what his favorite smoothie flavor is or what the first car he drove was and they want you to start popping out kids? 

You and Satoru aren’t ready for kids. And really, you already have two kids. That need you right now. And you have all the time in the world to have more and you really, really just like things the way they are. For now, and-

“They’ll get working on it.” 

You feel your eyes boggle out of your head as you crane your neck to look at your mom, a self-assured smile placed on her face. She can’t really be serious, can she? 

“Oh, how sweet! A grandchild. Oh, I do hope it’s a boy. So we can pass on the Gojo name and all.” 

It’s Satoru’s turn to glare at his mother and you’re sure that he has the same bitter taste in his mouth as you. Sure, they were the reason you guys got married but they had no right to treat you guys like this. Like you were put together to make some offspring for them to fawn over. 

“Although, I wouldn’t mind a girl. Boys can be rowdy and insensitive.” says Mr. Gojo, a matter-of-fact tone in his words. 

“That’s not true. Boys can be sensitive too. You just have to raise them right.” you respond, muttering the words under your breath. 

Megumi’s sweet and sensitive. He always avoids stomping on flowers growing out of the cracks of the cement and he always writes cards for his teachers on holiday’s and always says please and thank you after every little thing you and Satoru do for him, even if it is under his breath. 

“Well, I hope it’s a boy. Girls come with attitude.” your dad responds, the implication in his tone clear. 

“No daughter of ours would take back-handed comments like that.” 

Because Tsumiki’s never done that. Because Satoru remembers the day someone tried to pick on her in her class and all she did was calmly respond. Stand her ground, surely but firmly. Something he’s sure that she learned from you. And to think someone could dismiss that off as attitude is so fucking-

You squeeze Satoru’s hand under the table, signaling him to stop. Because he’s being rude. Because he shouldn’t talk back to your father even if he’s wrong and-

“Satoru. Stop.” you whisper, awkwardly eyeing the four of them as he deflates. 

The four of you awkwardly sit in silence, the forks clicking against the plates. Satoru’s crushing your hand into oblivion under the table and you can see that he’s agitated from the way his shoulders are all scrunched up. And when his dad talks next, he really can’t hold it in anymore. 

“Satoru, son. All you have to do take her to bed one time to pass on the Gojo na-” 

Satoru smacks his fist against the table, the glassware making a loud noise against the surface. You look over to find Satoru smoldering, the way he often did when he was near his dad. 

“Don’t talk about my wife like that. She’s not some thing for you to use. You can try that shit on anyone else but you know damn well I’m not letting you do it to her.”

Mrs. Gojo’s features scrunch up in frustration, a pinched look on her face as she starts massaging the bridge of her nose. Satoru stands up, pulling you up with him as he stomps out, dragging you out with him. 

- 

You two drive in silence the entire way home. Satoru’s still smoldering in his drivers seat, jaw tight against his skin as he clenches his fists on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. And you’re unsure of what you can say to him to ease it, make him feel better. 

He parks the car in the driveway, leaning his head against the seat to look up through the sunroof, the stars glittering in the sky above you. He makes no motions to get out of the car, the engine and lights still turned on despite the fact that you and Satoru were home. 

“Y/N.” 

“Hm, Satoru?” 

“You-you okay?” 

“What? Yeah. Are you?” 

He doesn’t respond and instead loosens his tie, the fabric hanging from the sides of his collar. 

“I just…hate them. So much. Why would we rush having a child when we aren’t ready? And who are they to talk about you like that? Like all I keep you around for is to bear my children.” 

You’re not sure what to say so you snake your hand into his, leaning over the glove box to lean onto his shoulder. You can feel him deflate under you, leaning his head on top of yours as he presses his hand against your waist, his hands rubbing back and forth on the fabric. 

“Satoru.” 

“Yeah, love?” 

“You feel like my boyfriend, right now. I know you’re my husband but…we’ve only been together for eight months. And I know it’s weird to say but…I’d like to have a kid with you someday just…not now.” 

His hand comes up, angling your face up so you’re looking at him, a big smile spread across his face. You can feel your cheeks burning from the admission and you clench your eyes shut to avoid seeing the teasing look on Satoru’s face. 

“Y/N. You’d want to have kids with me?” 

You nod and Satoru’s face splits into a big smile, his hands shaking in yours. 

“Well, yeah. It would be cute, when the time is right. Megumi and Tsumiki can have a little sibling and it’ll be like…a little us. 

“A little us?” 

“Your nose, my eyes, hopefully all of my looks and none of your annoyingness.” 

“You’re so sweet, Y/N. I don’t know how I ever lucked out with such a charming girl like you.” he responds, sarcasm dripping from his voice. You laugh in response, beaming at him as you talk on. 

“I love you, Satoru. And I’d love to have kids with you but we’re just…we already have two kids and I think they need us right now. They haven’t opened up yet and-” 

“I know, sweet. I agree. Trust me, I’d love nothing more than putting a baby in your right here, right now in this car but-” 

“Pervert.” 

“Why are you so rude? Every word is like a bullet wound in my chest.” 

You lean over, pressing a kiss to his chest as you lean back and glare at him. He smiles at you, a sweet look on his face. 

“What was that for?” 

“You said bullet wound in your chest. I was just kissing your ego better.” 

He leans forward, cupping your face as he kisses you, hanging off the ends of your lips as he squeezes his face in your hands. He pulls apart, pressing kisses all over your face as he talks, his words making your cheeks burn. 

“You’re so-” 

Kiss. 

“Damn cute.” 

Kiss. 

“I hate you sometimes.” 

Kiss. 

“When we have kids, I hope they’re all like you. Pretty eyes, soft hair, snarky attitude. She’ll be so easy to love, all goofy and idiotic like you.” 

“She, Satoru?” 

“Oh, she’s totally going to be a girl. My three girls. You, Tsumiki, and her.” 

“Sounds like you have it all planned out already?” 

“Well, I’m waiting. For when you’re ready and I’m ready and all that. But yeah. I’ve already seen how our entire life is going to play out. You and I are going to grow old together. Sick it to our parents. Have the type of love kids dream about. All that lovey-dovey stuff.” 

You and Satoru, hands pressed together, pad into the dark of the house, slowly climbing up the stairs. When you amble into your bed room, you can hear soft snores in your bed - Tsumiki and Megumi fast asleep under your sheets. There’s a tiny little sticky-note pressed to the light switch, which you and Satoru both squint at. 

They want to sleep with "their parents”. Their words, not ours. - Shoko 

You and Satoru quickly peel out of your clothes and climb under the sheets - Satoru leaning over to press a kiss to all three of your heads before fluttering his own eyes shut. 

And you hate to say it, because all in all the night wasn’t perfect, but you really, really don’t want to let it go. Every part of this night is…sparkling in your mind. Satoru defending you, telling you that he loves you, that he wants to have kids with you. You-

You count yourself lucky. That you don’t have to wonder if Satoru is in love with someone else or what he thinks about you or any other thing. 

Because you know the person he’s waiting on is you. 

- 

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

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[purpleprincessonfyre]

Okay so apparently it is not common knowledge that technically Ethan and I met outside the Tower...it's complicated. I knew who he was I just had never really...well you'll see. So here is the story of how we met. You are welcome @ask-missparker

Ethane - Who Could Stay?

Ship: Ethane aka Ethan Lensherr @gcthvile and Liane Felton

Mentions: Mia Parker @jackiequick, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton and Cole Lensherr

Setting: 2012, Battle of New York

IB: The Archer by Taylor Swift and Avengers (2012)

After only a few months of training, some straight talking from agents and a couple pep talks from her new friends, Liane Felton finally felt like she had a handle on this heroine thing. Granted she hadn't exactly planned on fighting an army of aliens in New York City while a trickster God taunted them with his power and menace but sometimes thems the breaks. Liane watched as the fliers started darting off towards an alleyway and looked around for anyone following them.

Everyone else according to the comms channel seemed to be otherwise engaged so she took it upon herself to deal with them. How hard could it be? She'd only seen three, maybe five heading that way. She ran towards the alleyway and her eyes glowed purple, preparing to incinerate her enemies and grinned. Easy peasy. But as she started the number of chitauri was suddenly growing quite rapidly by the minute. Soon she was almost entirely surrounded.

"Easy they come, easy they go,

I jump from the train, I ride off alone,

I never grew up, its getting so old,

Help me hold onto you."

Her fear was starting to overcome her anger and that fury fire in her belly no longer felt very strong. She tapped her comms very swiftly.

"Ummmmm help? Anyone? I um I can't do this..."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, Felton." Came a second voice as someone from up above swooped down, his eyes glowing with green energy, a smirk of slight superiority. Liane knew she recognised him but couldn't quite place where she knew him from.

"Look there was not this many when I entered the alley."

"Obviously. But if you're gonna put a target on your back, might I suggest you actually follow through?"

Liane scoffed but knew he was right. She still didn't quite have a handle on her abilities despite her best efforts. Ever since joining this team and moving into the Sandbox her anger had started to subside which had given her the impression she had gotten the hang of things. When in reality she just had less to be angry about.

"Darkside, I search for your darkside,

But what if I'm all right, right, right here?

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face,

Then I hate my reflection, for years and years."

"You shouldn't be afraid to ask for help, none of us signed up for a war."

"I know that, trust me."

"Why can't you use your fire?"

"Cause...I'm not angry. I'm scared."

"Huh. Oh I'm Ethan by the way, we've met before but I doubt you've even acknowledged my existence yet."

Ethan! Of course, that's who she was talking to.

"Yeah I know who you are."

"Really? Cause you had a deer in the headlights look like I have never seen when I landed." He blasted a few aliens that were approaching her effortlessly. He smiled at her, tossing her a gun.

"You know how to use one of these?"

"I'm a Felton. Yes, obviously."

"Great. Use it."

Liane scowled, she wasn't a fan of being shown up by this guy. Her eyes started to change colour again as she started shooting. Ethen flanked her, attacking aliens at her back while she covered the ones approaching her. Then she ran out of ammo.

"Oh...I did not check if that was fully loaded."

"Seriously!"

"Hey not my fault you have trouble performing under pressure."

"You shut up!"

"Sorry, sorry. You could probably try screaming at them? That might piss them off."

"You absolute mother-"

"I've been the archer

I've been the prey

Screaming who could ever leave me darling?

But who could stay?

(I see right through me, I see right through me)"

But before she could finish her sentence, Ethan grabbed her from behind, lifting her up into the air and holding out her hands to the remaining chitauri, incinerating them all instantly as her eyes blazed and furious lavender flames hurtled from out of her hands in quick succession. The whole alleyway was ablaze, the sounds of chitauri screaming as the flames destroyed their bodies. Ethan smiled.

"Nice one, turns out there is an off and on switch for your powers."

"You did that on purpose!"

"You. Are welcome. I figured out your trigger and you killed some aliens. Thank me later."

"I-"

He wasn't wrong. She had managed to channel her rage into a burst of flame and taken out the enemy very easily. She looked down at her hands that were now scarred with purple swirling patterns from her fire and sighed as the fire left her eyes and the street was no longer ablaze. She could control it. It just took a little extra thinking time. Ethan held her tight and flew away from the carnage and helped her land on a rooftop with him. There was a long pause as she got her bearings.

"All the king's horses, all the king's men

Couldn't put me together again

'Cause all of my enemies started out friends

Help me hold onto you."

"Thank you, Ethan."

"No worries. Now we know what pushes your buttons, we just need to figure out if there's a healthier way to trigger your fire."

"But not right now?"

"Correct. Right now we need you to take all that unchecked rage and use it to burn up a few dozen aliens apiece. You got that?"

"Just for the record, I did remember you."

"Okay now that's a lie."

"Why?"

"Because the last time I spoke to you, you called me Cole. That's my brothers name."

"Oh..."

"It's okay. I know we're all just serfs and peasants to you."

"How dare-"

"Hey!" Came over the comms, a very frustrated sounding Agent Parker from back at SHIELD. "If you two are quite down with your Lovers Quarrel, the team need a hand capturing Loki!"

"I'm sorry what?"

"No no that is not-"

"How could you even-"

"That's just-"

"You heard me. Save the flirting for later."

Liane sighed and looked at Ethan. Then she looked off into the distance and saw the fray awaiting them.

"You go high, I'll stay low?"

"Sounds like a plan, Felton." He grinned and picked her up carefully and flew back towards the STARK Tower and dropped her off carefully before heading upwards to try and catch Loki. Liane landed beside Rochelle who was furiously slicing at aliens with her laser blades.

"And just where have you been?"

"Got sidetracked. Won't happen again."

"Good cause we're getting our asses handed to us. You mind?"

"Sure thing."

Liane's eyes turned purple as she started blasting through the aliens with her fire, back in the fight. Maybe it wasn't so bad being in control. And maybe, just maybe, it was fun working as a team. Her eye caught Ethan's as they were both fighting and she swore she saw him wink at her as they took at chitauri and the battle wore on. It wasn't Liane's worst meet cute to say the least. Ah shit. She was catching feelings. It had been ten whole minutes. And that made her a bit angry. At least her fire was doing its job again. Shit.

"You could stay

You could stay

You...

Combat, I'm ready for combat..."

There! That's the true story. Weirdest part is that you were there Mia but I guess it didn't occur to you that that was the spark that made us fall in love...

Tagging: @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @cherrysft @meiramel @missstrawbs2001

#liane felton #liane's blog #askliane #marvel roleplay #marvel ask blog #violet pyre #mcu fandom #ask my ocs #ethane #avengers incorrect scenarios #meet cute #friends to lovers #the archer #taylor allison swift #taylor swift lover #taylor swift lyrics

[honeyed-lemonade]

ITS TIME ITS TIME ITS TIME

s2ep18: Grand Theft Gato is out now!!! let’s do the live reaction thing

spoilers ahead-

intro: link mimicking the crew please he’s precious

MATT YOU TALENT I LOVE YOU

nevermind stop being mean to hermie WAIT HE SOUNDS LIKE SCOOBY DOO

dad facts:

anthony’s purposely oblivious quips are way too funny to me “he’d sit on the breadsticks?” shut UP TONY you’re a genius

“hi everyone my name is matthew arnold— known misogynist” will’s laugh gets me every time

I really hope that after all this is done normal and link have a vacation in tent city because will is such a positive force for dad facts

will campos— lover of women (norm sure doesn’t though am I right lads /j)

NORMAL’S FIRST KISS?? oh of course it’s another mascot-

“my first kiss was a threesome” what was that anthony 💀

everyone stop making fun of matt let the man BREATHE

alright let’s start the episode:

“you rustle within your calzone” horrifying.

“you manage to slither out of your calzone” WORSE.

no not the hiccups again freddie go get your straw

STOP SLITHERING??

sparrow,,, snaps dorito devito’s neck,,,, in front of his son. did he learn nothing from what happened to grant?

“we gotta go save hermie!” “…oh” MATTHEW.

willy’s back, jesus wept my god I hate this bastard. in their dreams too?? I mean we knew it was gonna happen but fuck this guy and his handsome face

he doesn’t actually care about scary I know that but wowwww is anthony a good actor. tbf I would believe him if I was scary

sober adult sparrow is so unsettling to me. the immorality of the now-dads is freaking me out!

I can’t imagine what it would be like for the children willy kept hostage to see scary being manipulated by him though, especially terry after he saw what happened to his dad.

anthony yelling anthony yelling dear god dramatically it’s fantastic but it always scares the shit out of me

ohhhh they syringed the whole population that makes sense

anytime will gets choked up or cries I lose my mind, his characters are always so sweet and it hurts-

NORMAL APOLOGIZING FOR HIS FAMILY’S BAD BEHAVIOR?? GOOD JOB. and taylor is such a good friend trying to make him feel better

“I’ll post-mates you over a cake!” “why a cake??” “…well you like cake” he’s the sweetest I love him and his rich mom

….is the guy Ms. Swift met Willy fuckstick Stampler

I KNEW IT FUCK

how does taylor NOT have unlimited minutes

I don’t trust him but also he’s being weirdly chill and I don’t know how anthony is going to make this work plot-wise. if he betrays scary it’ll seem repetitive, right? happy to see where it goes though

link is the tallest and taylor is the shortest so I’m certain link it’s dangling his phone over his head

“I’ll take my shoes off that helps” another autism flavored quote for link’s book everyone

HES HOLDING IT ABOVE HIS HEAD

“this is BULLYING” “yeah, yeah it is”

ffs matthew stop being the funniest this season /j

MATT HAD A TANTRUM OH MY GODDD

“maybe hermie and I have some psychic intuition!” just say you have a crush norm

no angst, no nothing, just a cool one-liner. what more could I have expected from hermie the unworthy?

oh thank GOD he didn’t go through the tunnels

is terry junior back in the tower he watched ron kill terry senior in?? that can’t be good for his emotional well-being

clearasil!! that’s a good one

ohhhh my god “human gun” this is terrifying

scary what are you planning this is ominous!!

omg it’s terry!! with a sword!!

OH MY GOD ITS WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndaddies #dndads s2 #what an ending

[quercus-queer]

Atyd tiktok made Remus lupin insufferable to me and the Harry Potter franchise even more obnoxious like can y’all shut the hell up

#atyd remus #remus lupin #harry potter #gonna start blocking ppl so I can get out of the hole I ended up in #I don’t even like Harry Potter #let me outtttttttt #every single *content creator* except for Sarah Phillips find something else to do #and I mean every single one #I hate you all shut up about Taylor swift shut up about grant shut up about Remus lupin oh my god I haven’t liked a video in weeks #yet I still have to see your bullshit

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

Idk if you do one shots inspired in songs, but if so, Would you mind doing one with a Taylor Swift's song which is called "The 1"? With Mason Mount please

< i love taylor so much and i really hope i didn’t completely butcher this, but thanks for the challenge :) >

MASON MOUNT ONESHOT

the 1

( WARNING: little bit of angst and fluff?, swearing )

word count: 1.8k

Things don’t often go as we expect them to, and it’s often incredibly difficult to replan your life around that massive change and adapt your lifestyle so you can — in reality — live again.

It’s like trying to find your feet when you’re in the air — it feels impossible but you know with time you’ll eventually meet the ground again.

That’s what it felt like when you and Mason broke up four years ago.

You were fresh out of uni and at the time, you really thought he’d be it for you, and honestly, so did he. A break up thrown into the mix of having to navigate adult life just seemed to put a huge stopper on all your plans; the holiday you two had both booked for a weekend away in Ireland, the meals out with friends that you had to cancel, and the house showings you were set to attend.

Looking back on your relationship now, you realise it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to end up with Mason. All the years and effort and time put into loving him were — without a doubt — some of the best years of your life (at that stage in life), and did you regret it?

Not one single bit.

But four years is the perfect amount of time to heal, remove the salt from the wound and finish grieving.

But he was here. In real life.

You’d imagined running into him in the supermarket or on a night out with your friends, but a bus stop?

That one was weird. Mainly because you both hated catching the bus with a burning passion.

But it lead to a catch up over coffee.

It was a quiet place, out of the way of the usual lunchtime hustle and bustle in the city, and for that you were grateful. You could hear your own thoughts.

It was awkward at first, you couldn’t keep your eyes from fixating on his figure, his features, because four years can really change a person. He was much broader, his hair a little shorter, but he was still that same Mason you once loved.

You knew that because the first thing he did when he sat down was offer you that cheeky, charming smile that had you hooked from the second you met.

He’d asked how you were, and you answered honestly: you were living well, your best life, and to the fullest. And you knew and he knew that it wasn’t a lie.

He could tell by the smile on your face and the new, sparkling band on your wedding finger. He half expected that blow to sting a little — that you’d found someone and he hadn’t, but he was never one to be bitter whatsoever, at least, not when it came to you.

Instead, he offered his congratulations and the only inkling of regret he held was not being there when it happened.

I guess you never know, never know,

And if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed,

And if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow,

And it’s alright now.

There was silence after that.

You had one thing on your mind, and you knew by the way he was looking at you that he was also thinking the same thing.

You took a sip of your coffee.

He mirrored your actions, seemingly startled when you placed your mug onto your saucer, the chink of porcelain against porcelain echoing around the small shop cutting through the previous quietness.

“I think I hated you for a while.” You murmured, and if Mason wasn’t leant over the table slightly, he would’ve missed the statement completely.

He nodded in understanding, his brown eyes shining with the faintest hint of guilt.

“I think I was so frustrated with the idea that we just…didn’t work, and I blamed it on you.” You paused, fingers twisting your rings.

He paused, mulling over his words, “And now? Still hate me now?”

You bit back a small smile and met his eyes, “No…I think it’d take a whole load of bad shit to get me to hate you.”

He smiled.

“That’s good to know.”

“I mean, I think it was a long time coming anyway, that break up.”

“It didn’t feel right for a while.”

“No,” you agreed, “as much as it hurt to admit, I think we just failed…as a couple. There was a point where we were just together for the sake of not giving up on the relationship, but with no real reason to continue.”

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool,

And if my wishes came true,

It would've been you,

In my defense, I have none,

For never leaving well enough alone,

But it would've been fun,

If you would've been the one.

He seemed to ponder over your words, and although he never voiced it, he came to the conclusion that you’d just put into words — perfectly — the itch that had been tickling his brain for the past few years.

“Despite that, you can’t deny that we weren’t something…” he started, before breaking off and shaking his head, as if the mere thought was ridiculous.

“We were something special. I think, had things stayed like they were in the beginning, that…you and I…” you waved your hand, tilting your head, and he nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Me too. I think…in another life we could have made each other happy. It would have been fun.”

The words ‘if you would’ve been the one’ echoed in your head, and despite the passive aggressiveness of your conscience, you found yourself holding back a smile.

“Water fights in winter and eggs with ketchup…perfect. I’d never have gotten tired of that.” You mused, and he spluttered slightly on his coffee, laughing along with you in what felt like a decade.

I have this dream you're doing cool shit,

Having adventures on your own,

You meet some woman on the internet and take her home,

We never painted by the numbers, baby,

But we were making it count,

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.

“Then again, who knows? Maybe you’ll fall over in the airport and some lucky person will help you off the floor—”

“You’re about to say something cheesy, aren’t you?” Mason covered his mouth, scrunching his nose in anticipation as you nodded.

“All this nostalgic bullshit has me emotional! I swear, just this once…just this once, and I promise you can laugh about it afterwards.” You swore, holding out your pinkie for confirmation.

He didn’t hesitate, and linked your pinkie.

“You’ll find someone else. It’ll be love at first sight—hey, let me have this moment…maybe love at second sight, knowing you… you’ll go to some really magical place and have the most amount of fun you’re ever gonna have…hikes, skydiving, looking after animals I’m sanctuaries…you’re gonna have the time of your life — like Grey and Swayze.” You sniggered, unable to hold in your laughs at the ridiculous scenarios.

Mason pulled a face, unable to hide a smile.

“Okay, okay. End of story: they’ll be perfect. The Chandler to your Monica or the Robin to your Ted. But, you understand what I’m talking about, right?” You asked, sighing out of frustration.

“You’re saying I’ll find my person.” He concluded, sitting back in his chair.

“Yeah.”

We were something, don't you think so?

Rosé flowing with your chosen family,

And it would've been sweet,

If it could've been me,

In my defense, I have none,

For digging up the grave another time,

But it would've been fun,

If you would've been the one.

“Like…your grandma and grandad. I want what they have.” Mason smiled.

“They’ll be pleased to hear that,” you said, “I don’t think they’re quite over us yet. You were too…you at family meals. They fell in love with you too.”

This time Mason really laughed. Really laughed. He threw his head back and the people working at the counter turned to look at him, fighting their own smiles at his carefree nature.

What you’d said wasn’t even that funny.

“Too me? Thanks, I think?”

“Oh, that’s definitely a compliment. You’re too damn charming for your own good, it’s a problem. You should come with a warning label on your forehead: EASY TO LOVE.”

“That’ll solve a lot of problems.”

There was silence.

It was relieving to say the least.

“That whole conversation was about four years too late.” You said, pursing your lips.

“Better late than never.” Mason murmured, his eyes trained on you.

The pressure on your shoulders was lifted. All the things that needed to be said were said.

As time passes, the wound heals — sometimes, but in your case, that was true, as hard as it was to come to that conclusion — and it suddenly became easier to recall the loss of what might have been without bringing you back to wishing it would be again.

It was nice.

“Would it be totally inappropriate—”

“Not at all.” You interrupted, shrugging at his raised eyebrows.

“You didn’t know what I was going to say.” He chuckled.

“I’ll have you know that years of knowing you granted me the issue of knowing what you’re going to say,” You said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

“What was I going to say?” He challenged, “If you get it right, I’ll get you tickets to the next game.”

You raised your brows.

“Confident, are we?”

He shrugged, a smug smirk on his lips.

“I don’t think it’s totally inappropriate to be friends.” At your words, he slumped in his chair, hands going to cover his face.

“No.” He groaned, repeating the word like a mantra as you pumped the air with your fist.

“Three tickets to the next game in the bag.” You bragged.

“Honestly.” He whined, peeling his hands away. “Why are you so difficult?”

“You offered the terms.”

“Why am I so dumb?” He rephrased.

“Ah, I'm afraid only you can answer that one.”

“The brain cells I have left don’t have enough energy to come up with an answer to a question as philosophical as that one—yes, it was philosophical to me, okay?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” You promised, putting your hands in the air in surrender.

“Just remember who’s going to give you those tickets, yeah?” He teased, sitting up.

“Abusing your power, nice move.”

“Oh…shut up.”

“Weak.” You coughed, trying to disguise the fact you said anything.

He looked straight at you, highly unimpressed by your tactics.

“Very original.” Was all he said.

“Is it supposed to be this easy?” You blurted out, spitting out the words before you could rethink the consequences of them being thrown into the abyss between you and Mason.

He knitted his brows together in thought.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but we were friends way before, it’s not hard to fall back into old habits. I think that’s why it’s so easy.”

#Mason mount #money mount #euros 2020 #euros 2021 #Chelsea fc #chelsea fc #chelsea #england football #euro #football #football player #mason mount onsehots #mason mount one shot #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount oneshot #mason mount imagines #footballer #footballer x reader #england fc #one shot #imagine #fluff #angst

[mercy-burning]

Laundry Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer meet again in the laundry room and decide to have some fun. PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / EPILOGUE Category: Smut 18+ (oral sex- male and female receiving, unprotected penetrative sex, slight exhibitionism?/potential of getting caught, slight degradation) Warnings: sex, language. (As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in warnings. I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 3k

Note: Surprise!! I was going to wait to post this on Saturday but Taylor Swift had me feeling like dropping a surprise, what can I say? 😂 Anyway, I wasn’t going to make another part to Pretty Please, but for one thing, it did way better than I was expecting, so thank you all for your kind comments and tags! And also, @rainsong01 mentioned something that gave me an idea for a laundry room scenario, so you can thank them for this one! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it! Thanks for all the love! 🥰

***

Y/N hated laundry day.

There was nothing more boring to her than loading clothes into the washer, waiting, then loading them into the dryer, waiting, and then folding them and putting them away, not to mention the laundry room was kind of dingy and felt like being in a gross, scary basement.

Thankfully though, years of living in the same building had given Y/N a pretty decent schedule of when the laundry room was empty. It wasn't like she disliked talking to people, but laundry made her cranky enough, and the last thing she wanted was human interaction, making small talk with building residents that acted like they cared to know about everyone else's business.

So it was Friday night, 7 pm, which meant that depending on if she had to work, the only other person in the laundry room would be Olivia from down the hall, someone Y/N had only had a few conversations with, either in the laundry room or on the way out the door.

She walked in, silently thanking the laundry gods after hearing complete and utter silence as she made her way to the washer and dryer to the far left of the room. Then she reached into her pocket and realized she forgot her phone. Cursing, she settled on basking in the silence as she loaded her clothes in the washer one by one, at least grateful that no one would be bothering her with pointless small talk.

Until she heard the door open, as if the laundry gods decided they were angry at her. She tried not to outwardly groan, hoping that whoever it was would just say, "Hello," and leave it at that. Or better yet, not say anything at all and let her do her own thing. So she closed the washer and entered the quarters, knowing that it would be a long ten minutes. She could have went back upstairs to her apartment and waited there if she really wanted to, or grabbed her phone at least, but it felt like it would have been pointless, and so she just hoped it wouldn't be awkward.

Maybe I'll just go walk around the building aimlessly for 10 minutes.

But the laundry gods had other plans, apparently.

"Y/N?"

She turned around and saw none other than Spencer Reid, clutching a large cloth bag, presumably filled with laundry.

"Spencer? Hi," Y/N greeted, a small blush forming on her cheeks. The two of them hadn't really talked since their... escapade about a month ago. Most of the time Spencer was at work, but whenever he was home there hadn't been anymore thin wall scenarios or overhearing something she shouldn't. They'd seen each other in the hallway a few times, winking as they passed, but that was it. Y/N had to wonder if maybe it was just a once-in-a-lifetime thing, being absolutely fucked into oblivion by your neighbor so good that you couldn't walk for two days.

Thinking about it made her cheeks burn hotter, so she cleared her throat and only slightly avoided eye contact. "I thought you did your laundry on Sundays?"

Spencer shrugged, walking over to the machine set next to hers. "Normally I would, but I just got back from work and I needed clean clothes. It's... pretty empty in here right now."

"Oh. Yeah, that's why I do my laundry on Friday nights whenever I can. Everyone's either out or staying in relaxing. Laundry's already boring enough, right, who needs annoying small talk?"

He laughed, opening the washer and putting in some of his clothes. "Touché."

Y/N wasn't really sure what to say after that, so she sat on top of the washer and crossed her legs, swinging them a little as she waited.

"Look, I know you've already given your stance on annoying small talk, but... What are your plans for the weekend?" Spencer asked, and she turned her head to meet his gaze, immediately feeling butterflies in her stomach.

"Um... Not a lot, really. Other than some grocery shopping and a few other small errands, I was going to have dinner with my mom on Sunday for her birthday. We might have to cancel though because she might have to go into work, but we'll see... What about you?"

He shook his head. "I don't have anything planned unless I get called into work either."

"Oh... Well, if you ever feel like having some company, you know where I live," she joked.

Spencer laughed. "I might just have to take you up on that. Things at work have been kind of... stressful."

Despite her better judgement, she smirked. "I seem to recall a similar conversation between the two of us not that long ago, Bud. You're not trying to fuck me again, are you?"

She just couldn't help herself. Admittedly she was a little worried she was too forward, but in the end it paid off, because he turned to look at her, shutting the washer and grabbing quarters from his pocket. "Would it be so wrong of me if I wanted to?"

The low tone of his voice made Y/N clench her legs tighter together, her mind racing with all the things that could happen in the next few days, the next few minutes even... She thought back to the last time he'd fucked her, seeing his face between her legs as he completely unraveled her. She felt herself growing wet at the thought.

"Absolutely not," she finally managed to respond. She hoped he would come over to her in a few long strides, pulling her in and kissing her right there, but instead he simply said, "Hmm," and turned back to his machine, putting in quarters.

He could have been playing games with her again, but she didn't want to take the chance. So she grew bolder and leaned back on her hands, puffing out her chest to the air and tilting her head to the side, letting her hair fall and exposing her neck to him. "Well, we have some time to spare, babe. What do you say we make the most of it?"

She was genuinely surprised to see him blush and freeze in his tracks, fumbling with the last few quarters as he inserted them into the machine and started the timer. "R-right now?"

"Duh," she replied, giggling.

"Somebody could come in... O-or hear us." A twinge of worry dripped from every syllable as he spoke, and though Y/N's first instinct was to apologize for suggesting it and letting it go, she thought better of it after remembering what got them into this situation in the first place.

So she scoffed. "Oh, please. You weren't the least bit worried about someone hearing us before. Y'know... When you promised to fuck me so hard I would scream your name and everyone could hear, and then I did? And besides, even if someone walked in right now, they'd probably just leave and come back later. People probably have sex with each other in here all the time."

"I doubt that, this place is filthy. Hardly the right setting for something so... intimate," he replied more clearly, obviously trying to win this argument. Though, something told Y/N he really was a little bothered about how dirty the laundry room was.

She shook her head. "You and I both know that what we did wasn't intimate. It was downright filthy, so if anything it works perfectly for where we are."

"Y/N, I don't know..." He chewed on his bottom lip and shuffled on his feet, refusing to look at her.

"Well, I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to do, obviously, but... You can trust me. I've been doing my laundry here basically every Friday night since I moved here, and since Olivia is working tonight, she won't be here, and neither will anyone else."

"Well, I showed up, didn't I? Anything could happen."

She sighed, a little tired of arguing but still wanting to win. Her body tingled and practically ached at the sight of him, needing to feel his touch yet again. Maybe it was slightly pathetic, but if there was just the slightest chance that he would fuck her like that again, she had to try her damnedest.

So she had another trick up her sleeve, silently praying to the laundry gods that they would take pity on her and grant her this one thing. "You're right, but don't you think that you coming down here just moments after me was bound to happen? Like after everything we've experienced, we were always meant to have a quickie in the laundry room of our apartment building?"

He genuinely seemed to think about it for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Truthfully I think it's more of a coincidence than anything that we showed up here at the same time."

There's your chance, Y/N, don't fuck it up, she thought to herself, hoping that with the seductive tone in her voice and the puppy dog look in her eye, it would be enough to get her what she wanted. "I was joking. Of course it's a coincidence, I just want you to fuck me."

He only stayed silent, fiddling with his hands and his eyes flicking between her and the floor before he caught her eye. In another attempt to entice him, Y/N batted her eyes and slowly spread her legs wide, scooting back a little so she could rest her heels on the top of the washer. "Don't you want to fuck me into the washing machine, baby?"

That was the last straw, the thing that pushed Spencer over the edge. He whispered, "Fuck it," to himself before striding over to her and cradling her face in his hands, bringing her to him and kissing her hard. She initially yelped at how harsh he was, but after a second she melted into him, leaning forward and bringing him closer.

She tried to wrap her legs around his torso, but he grabbed them by the ankles and kept them spread open, pulling away to look into her eyes. "Keep 'em open, pretty girl." The old nickname made her whimper, just like he knew it would, and his gaze burned into hers hotly for a few seconds before he bent down, kissing her inner thigh just below the hem of her shorts. She sighed as he trailed his lips and tongue along every inch of skin, switching to the other leg and giving it the same attention until he was ready for more.

Rather than pulling off her shorts and underwear, Spencer simply pushed the fabrics aside and immediately licked a long, flat strip up her pussy, to which Y/N sharply inhaled and reached out, grabbing his hair. He explored her just as thoroughly as he had the last time, his fervor unmatched and absolutely intoxicating as he pushed himself closer and closer, practically living between her legs. Due to the short time constraint and fear of getting caught, he didn't waste time teasing her, and he seemed determined to finish before the buzzing of the washer signaled clean clothes.

Naturally though, he couldn't not tease her, so just as she was about to finish with his lips wrapped around her clit, he pulled away and left her breathless and frustrated.

"Really? We're doing this again?" she huffed, pouting.

Spencer unbuckled his belt and raised his eyebrow. "All in due time, sweetheart. Come here."

Unsurprisingly, she did what she was told, jumping off the washer and waiting further instructions. It didn't take long for Spencer to move, only a few seconds passing by before he turned her around and pushed her against the washer, to which she instinctively bent her torso over it. She gripped the sides of it tightly as he ran his hands up her shirt and caressed her back, eventually using one hand to grip her waist and the other to lift her leg up, setting it on the washer. She readjusted, reaching her hands forward to grip the top of it as he slid his hand down her leg and toyed with the fabric of her shorts.

"Listen carefully," he said, causing Y/N's heart to pound harder in her chest. "I'm clean. Are you?"

"Yes," she stated simply, loud and clear, though adding a hint of desperation as to hopefully speed the process along. She knew this communication was important, but damn if she didn't just want to be railed into next week already.

"Birth control?"

She swallowed nervously, hoping it wouldn't change his mind. "I'm not on it."

"Noted," is all he said, before deftly moving her shorts and underwear to the side and slamming into her with no warning. She yelped, leaning her head back as he pounded into her, the cold metal of the washing machine digging into her skin. It was the best kind of painful pleasure, only made better when he gripped her hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanked her to him, deepening his angle inside of her and hitting that sweet spot every time.

"Spencer, I'm..." She could barely breathe, and she loved it, already feeling herself start to unravel.

"Close already, pretty girl?" he purred in her ear, right before pressing a wet kiss to her neck as he craned her head to the side for better access. "Figures... You've always been so easy to please. Such a good, needy little slut for me, huh?"

Y/N groaned at the new name, and it spurred him forward, encouraging him to push them both further into the washing machine as he moved his hips harder. "Please," she gasped, only seconds away from losing herself.

"Tell me what you want," he growled in her ear.

She squeezed her eyes shut and spoke as clearly as she could, not caring how loud she was being. "I wanna cum! Please, Spencer, please!"

"Do it," he grunted, giving her a few more deep, purposeful thrusts to aid in her high. "I got you, pretty girl." That's what did it for her. She yelled out as her body tensed and her walls fluttered around him, everything absolutely burning and blinding until eventually she was spent.

Spencer held himself inside of her for a few seconds, bringing himself closer to the edge before he roughly pulled out and away, leaving Y/N empty and alone. She was tired as hell and completely fucked out, but still she wanted more than anything to help him, ever the needy little slut, as he'd so eloquently called her. So she turned around, peeling herself away from the washing machine and dropping to her knees in front of him, not waiting for him to say anything.

She promptly leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around his cock, wasting no time hollowing her cheeks and setting a fast pace sucking him off. It had somewhat taken him by surprise, but he welcomed it, gathering her hair away from her face and watching as she went to work, practically worshipping the ground he stood on. Eventually she pushed herself all the way forward, allowing him to hit the back of her throat. Instead of pulling back to breathe, she held herself there and gagged, looking up at him with tears in her eyes before removing herself, taking two deep breaths, and going right back to work.

"Look at you," he mused, his voice barely there but with enough volume that allowed Y/N to hear him. "You look so good, pathetic and choking on my cock. Such a good fucking girl, fuck—"

In no time he was gripping her hair tighter and his breathing started to falter. Y/N held herself still as he came in her mouth, most of it hitting the back of her throat and all of it coating her tongue. She moaned around him, blinking tears away and running her hands over his ass until he pulled away from her and let go of her hair.

Standing up, Y/N swallowed most of his cum but purposely let some of it spill out of her mouth and down her chin, to which she used her middle finger to scoop it up and slide it back into her mouth. She kept eye contact with him the whole time, watching as his tongue flicked over his bottom lip before he bit it softly.

Once she was done cleaning herself up, Y/N ran a hand through her hair and smiled. "See, that wasn't bad at all. No trouble."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the only trouble is you. Eavesdropping, making me fuck you in a semi-public place, et cetera..." He laughed as he pulled his pants up and re-adjusted himself as though nothing had happened.

"Don't act like you don't like it," Y/N teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. He laughed against them, pulling her closer by her waist and resting his hands there when she pulled away.

As if to signal the end of their... whatever they were going to call it, Y/N's washer buzzed and she turned around to attend to her laundry. As she transferred the clothes from the washer to the dryer, Spencer came up behind her and brushed the hair away from her neck.

"You know, I wasn't trying to be mean or anything when I... called you a slut. I would never want to be mean to you or anything, and I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable."

Y/N almost laughed, amused again by how dominant he was during sex but then immediately a big 'ol softie once it was over. It was such a fun contrast, and truthfully, as much as she loved his dominant side, she wanted to see more of his softer one. So she turned around to meet him and caressed his cheek, smiling kindly. "I know you don't mean it to be mean. It was hot. And I appreciate you checking up on me, it's sweet. You're sweet."

Before he could say anything, his washer buzzed. So he settled on leaning forward, kissing her cheek, and walking away to do his laundry.

The two of them worked in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company until they realized they both had to wait for the dryer. 20 minutes.

"Round two?" he asked her with a mischievous grin.

Y/N returned it and took a step towards him when the door opened, laundry gods be damned.

"Oh, hey guys!" Olivia from down the hall chirped as she walked in, striding to her own station.

At least they had the rest of the weekend.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid

[gyuluster]

the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s  n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint​ @juunnies​ @bffsoobin​ @honeyju​ pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

back to collab masterlist

back to my masterlist

“And this prayer I make,               Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.”  — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest. 

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice. 

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you. 

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold. 

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages. 

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse. 

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing. 

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest. 

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness. 

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response. 

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy. 

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure. 

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved. 

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness. 

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys. 

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?” 

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives. 

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest. 

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down. 

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image. 

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom. 

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent. 

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive. 

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips. 

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself. 

“How?”

You blinked. 

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself. 

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you. 

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets. 

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.  

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness. 

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier. 

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy. 

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable. 

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him. 

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped. 

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life. 

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.” 

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.” 

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines. 

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further. 

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him. 

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud. 

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!” 

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you. 

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?” 

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.” 

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass. 

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes. 

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted. 

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion. 

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged. 

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence. 

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound. 

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation. 

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul. 

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass. 

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth. 

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you. 

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome. 

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle. 

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left. 

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland. 

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth. 

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual. 

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand. 

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting. 

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart. 

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing. 

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer. 

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.” 

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?” 

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented. 

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze. 

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off. 

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom. 

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before. 

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings. 

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being. 

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant. 

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals. 

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.” 

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves. 

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable. 

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through. 

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment. 

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling. 

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain. 

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs. 

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was. 

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches. 

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice. 

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine. 

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement. 

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” 

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods. 

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained. 

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?” 

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned. 

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces. 

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose. 

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest. 

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back. 

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck. 

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes. 

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach. 

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon. 

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over. 

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different. 

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights. 

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife. 

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star. 

Perhaps you truly were dead. 

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation. 

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of. 

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you. 

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s. 

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss. 

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself. 

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice. 

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly. 

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome. 

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time. 

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up. 

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet. 

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer. 

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face. 

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence. 

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home. 

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating. 

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down. 

#txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #txt fluff #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu #beomgyu oneshots #txt oneshots #choi beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu soft #choi beomgyu soft #beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x you #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

And I Will Hold Onto You

Summary: They’ve never been apart for holidays since they started dating. That was until Spencer Reid found himself behind bars for a crime he’d never think of committing. Growing and healing, Spencer realizes that it’s not the holidays that matter, it’s the person. Because with that special person, who’s laugh he can recognize anywhere, even cleaning up the empty bottle the next morning is magical.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note/Warnings: Body Image Issues (Male) nothing too descriptive, prison arc is mentioned/is central issue; loosely based of New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

Also this is technically a part 2 to Drag Me Head First but it doesn’t have to be read that way.

And I Will Hold Onto You

There’s something special in the way that the first midnight of the new year feels. All that hopefulness and excitement packed into a 10 second countdown. The energy in the room slowly bubbles up, culminating as the ball drops. It fizzles out as loved ones share chaste kisses and friends hug. But all that remains are last year’s bottles and this year’s dreams. Maybe it’s something that Spencer always took for granted.

The cold midnight air is jarring, compared to his warm and cozy house. Spencer walks quickly, taking out the trash, filled with bottles of beer and wine. The snow crunches under his shoes and Spencer can see his breath in the air as he huffs to toss the bag in the black trash bin. Spencer, despite the way the cold air nips his nose, stops in his tracks and gazes up at the stars. It’s unfortunate living where he does, you can never really see all the stars. Maybe Y/N would like to take a trip in their cabin the next time he can get off? He could show her all the stars. But Spencer doesn’t need to go to the middle of the woods to see the stars; he can simply look into Y/N’s eyes and see all the magic the universe has to offer.

Spencer lets himself back into his house, just as Garcia and Derek are putting their shoes and coats on to leave. Y/N comes out of the kitchen carrying two trays of leftover food for their friends to take home.

“Penny, please kiss those sweet babies for me,” Y/N says, handing Luke the trays of food. She leans over to kiss Penelope on her cheek.

“They can only sweet when they are sleeping,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes and putting her coat on. It’s more of a cape in a spectacular plum purple color with cream colored faux fur trim.

“Don’t act so surprised, mi amor, look who their mother is,” Luke says, cheekily. He hugs Spencer and Y/N before grabbing Garcia’s hand with his empty one.

“Happy New Year!” Garcia and Luke call as they leave, shutting the door behind them. Spencer locks the door and heads back to the kitchen to help Y/N clean up. The plates sit in the sink piled high, with tall champagne glasses resting next to them on the counter. Glitter scatters on the floor, confetti in the shapes of “1s” and “6” lay littered on the tiles, remnants of the festivities just moments before.

Y/N stands over the sink, her hand rests on the ledge. She turns on the water and starts washing the dishes. Spencer walks up quietly behind her, nuzzling his hand into the corner of her ear and shoulder. He hums, the vibrations echoing into Y/N’s neck, causing her to giggle. He joins his hands together around Y/N’s waist, holding her tight.

“Happy New Year, my love,” Spencer whispers, his voice hardly audible above the stream of water. Even though Spencer can’t see Y/N, he can feel the way her cheeks grow against the side of his head. She’s smiling.

“It is a very happy, new year,” Y/N says, her voice strong, yet Spencer can tell it’s hard for her to keep it together. It’s not their first new year, far from it, it’s their 13th. But this time, it feels different to hold her in his arms and kiss her as the clock strikes 12.

They wash the dishes in silence, a comforting silence where certain things don’t need to be said. Like a well oiled machine, Y/N washes, Spencer dries. The sudsy dish soap smells like home and Y/N’s quiet hums sound like peace. Spencer really forgot how much he could love even the most mundane of tasks when Y/N stands next to him.

“Come on, Y/N we can do this tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed,” Spencer says, tugging on Y/N’s long sleeve of her thermal shirt.

“Hmm, I can’t argue against your cuddles, sweetheart,” Y/N murmurs tiredly, easily pushing the thoughts of clean up to the next morning. Her hand joins his, like a key finding it’s matching lock. They are cold from the water, but Spencer doesn’t really mind.

A tangle of limbs and hands, they make their way up the stairs to their shared bedroom. They pass the wall filled with pictures of their smiling faces or candid countenances in mismatching frames hung against the wall. It’s just a testament to how long they’ve been together, going back to their first date right before Y/N’s college graduation and Spencer’s fifth, leading up to their most recent Halloween. Each photo stuck in time, frozen with utter happiness and unadulterated joy. But there’s a gap in the collection, a gap that Spencer rather not talk about. A gap where, for the first time since they met, Spencer and Y/N were separated. Sitting in jail, all Spencer could think of was the personal mental prison that Y/N must have confined herself too.

They don’t like talking about the gap, but he knows they have too. Spencer knows that Y/N is proud of him, she tells him that everyday. Proud of him for keeping up with therapy, proud of him for letting go of the little things that he can’t control, proud of him for trusting her with his secrets and fears. It’s the strangest thing, to have someone be proud of you for just living.

“We’re going to need a bigger wall,” Spencer says, hoping that his attempt at referencing pop culture would land. Y/N stops to turn to Spencer, who in the moonlight that drips in from the window, looks much younger than he really is.

“Did you just make a pop culture reference that’s not from, like, 300 years ago?” Y/N says, her brow upturned in a quizzical stare.

“Come on, Y/N, you love when I recite all Sir Walter Raleigh to you,” Spencer says, reaching up to tickle Y/N sides, causing her to giggle and run up the rest of the stairs.

“Spencer! You know that I’m too ticklish,” Y/N says in between short laughs and gasps for air. She plops down on the bed, dragging Spencer down with her. He lays his head down on her chest and like a Rube Goldberg machine, her fingers come up and tangle themselves in his hair.

“Maybe our New Year’s Resolution should be to get some more exercise, Spence. Your heart is beating faster than mine and that run from the steps to our room is like a good 10 feet,” Y/N jokes as she continues scratching Spencer’s scalp lulling him into a peaceful, sleepy state.

“Two things, baby, one, we don’t exercise and two, that’s not why my heart is beating so fast, I think it has something to do with the beautiful girl laying so close to me,” Spencer murmurs quietly.

“Hmm, you certainly know how to charm a girl, even like 13 years later,”

“Actually it’s, 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 17 hours, 58 minutes and 31 seconds,” Spencer says with a quick glance at his watch.

“And I’ve loved every single minute of it,” Y/N says, reaching up to sneak a pillow under Spencer’s head. She moves to get out of bed, much to Spencer’s displeasure.

“No, no, Y/N you’re so warm and I’m freezing,” Spencer whines, shifting so he can look at his wife, who has shrugged off her thermal shirt and jeans.

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N chides. Spencer, almost bashful at her teasing, attempts to hide his blush with the pillow that rests under his head.

“I only turn the heat all the way down at night so we’re forced to cuddle for body heat,” Spencer says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“So you say,” Y/N tells Spencer, sitting down back on the bed. She pulls on Spencer’s legs, dragging him down the bed.

“Come on lazy boy, get your PJs on,” Y/N orders. Spencer, who under Penelope’s less than pure supervision, had enough shots to make up for all the college parties that he missed. There’s happy drunks, forgetful drunks, and then there're sleepy drunks.

Spencer stands in front of the mirror, inspecting his body. The low, yellow lamp light casts shadows on his naked torso. He’s filled out a little bit since they’ve started dating, especially within the last few months of Spencer’s healing. Y/N knew that it���s a sore spot for him, but there’s something about the way that Spencer’s dress pants sit tightly against his thighs or the way his shirt clings to his stomach that just makes him look so much older. Both of them, including their bodies, have changed so much since 13 years ago. Or 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 18 hours, 5 minutes and 12 seconds ago. They’ve grown up together, and now Y/N can’t wait to grow old together.

But the look in his eyes is not pride over his growth or confidence over his physique. It’s confusion. Spencer stares at himself like he’s an unsolvable puzzle. Y/N knows he must hate that; Spencer hates things that he can’t find an answer to. Y/N walks up behind him, lacing her finger together so her arms clasp against his waist. For a moment, Spencer flinches. Even her gentlest touches and softest kisses can’t wash away the fear of much harsher contact. Their eyes meet in the mirror, but Y/N can feel that Spencer’s not looking at her. After all these years, she can still see the terrified young man who brazenly kissed her in her car in the middle of a rainstorm. After all these years, Spencer is still the only man she ever loved.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly. His name off her lips is more tender than any pet name in existence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m being immature, it’s just,” Spencer closes his eyes, trying to focus himself in the present. It’s something that his therapist suggested. In moments of distress, find your anchor. Luckily for Spencer, his anchor has been his anchor for quite awhile.

“You can tell, I’m not going to judge you,” Y/N says, her lips leaving small kisses on his exposed shoulders.

“It’s just I thought this whole nightmare of prison was behind me. Therapy has been helping, I’m better on cases and I love teaching,” Spencer says, the pain in his voice leaking out.

Y/N doesn’t say anything, instead she guides Spencer to sit on the edge of their bed. She rubs her hand down his back, tracing his spine and around the freckles that collect on his right shoulder.

“I thought that the emotional healing would be the hardest part, I mean it is, but physically, I don’t recognize myself. I can imagine you don’t either,” Spencer says, he turns to lay on the bed, bringing his feet up to his chest in a textbook self-protective position.

“Spence, your body is gonna change, baby. God, mine has changed so much since we met,” Spencer gives Y/N a confused look, like he’s not thoroughly convinced by her explanation.

“It has Spencer. We’re not 22 years old anymore, we’re going to be like 35 in a couple of months. But you know, this is something we can work on together, I’ve gone my whole life not loving the skin I’m in. But being with you makes it easier, Spence.” Y/N says, running her fingers across the bridge of Spencer’s nose and down to his lips, that always a ridiculously gorgeous shade of pink. Spencer doesn’t say much, he’s still trapped deep inside his mind.

“I don’t know how you put up with me and all my antics, Y/N”

“You do my taxes every year,” Y/N jokes, making an effort to kiss every freckle and dipple on the expanse of Spencer’s back.

Spencer turns in the bed so he’s facing Y/N, he cups her face all the way from her ear to her jaw. It’s an intimate gesture that somehow is more loving and vulnerable than saying “I love you,”

“You know you make me fearless, Y/N,” Spencer tells her, not blinking because he doesn’t want to miss out on any more time looking into her eyes.

“You say that everyday Spencer Reid,” Y/N responds, letting herself melt into the touch. She grabs onto his wrist, physically telling him to not let go.

“I have a lot of days to make up for,” Spencer says, solemnly.

“It’s not making it up if it’s the rest of our life, Spencer. Besides, there’s no one I’d rather spend New Year’s Day cleaning up all those bottles with,”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid you #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fics #spencer reid fanfiction

[anonymous0writer]

Innocent

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Warnings: Swearing. Alcohol/drug use? Drug addiction. heavy drugs. Two second mention of Cancer.

Requested: Yes!

“songfic request :: Innocent by Taylor Swift × Rafe“

A/N: My first Rafe fic!!! Yay! I hope you enjoyed it and it was good! I hope I did Rafe justice. (I also came up with why Ward’s first wife wasn’t in the picture. And I came up with her name.)

Also, I’ve never dealt with addiction, (or did drugs) so I tried to write it to the best of my ability. I’m sorry if I didn’t convey it well! 

Also this is LONG!! :)

Also a shout out to @lindzaylove​ for giving me all these songfics!!

I guess you really did it this time Left yourself in your warpath Lost your balance on a tightrope Lost your mind tryin' to get it back

Rafe glared at the floor, his vision swimming as he desperately tried to keep his tears in. His breathing was erratic, sharp and shallow, coming in and out in shaky intervals. 

He couldn’t handle it. He ached for it. For the coke to reenter his veins and light him up, and give him another high. The pressure in his head was almost too much, and he let a tear fall down his cheek. A silent reminder of his pain and mental war. 

Rafe knew it wasn’t good to feel this way about it. But he needed it. To shut out the absence of his father’s love, to forget how Sarah was the favorite, to forget how he was suck a fuck up. God, how he needed the drug in his veins. The coke made his forget and ache a little less. It helped blur the lines of his disastrous life and unlovable self.

He was trying. For a while. He tried so hard to be the good, perfect son to his father. But the need for the coke tugged at the back of his mind, and his father just denied his plea for love. That’s all Rafe wanted. To feel loved and wanted and a part of his family. Sure, he’d never been the perfect kid, but it was built in for a parent to love their kid, right? No matter what? That love was unconditional? Right? 

So once again denied, Rafe turned to the only thing he could nurse comfort out of. Coke. And the vicious circle started again. Rafe never got love, so he turned to coke, which made him fuck up, which made him even more lost to his father love and approval.

Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days? Always a bigger bed to crawl into Wasn't it beautiful when you believed in everything? And everybody believed in you?

It used to not be so bad. Back when he had you. And when he mother was still in the picture. If you looked closely into Rafe Cameron’s past, lots of things caused Rafe to be the way he was today. 

The first turning point was when Sarah was born. Rafe had been his father’s pride and joy. Ward and Melissa has tried several times before Rafe stuck. The pregnancy had been hard and rough, and Ward hated the way Melissa was in pain all the time, causing a very small hatred for his unborn son.

And then Sarah came along. Rafe was three, and somehow he knew why there was a sudden shift in attention. This naturally came with every newborn baby, but the young boy knew it was different. Rafe was used to mind games, by the way his father walked and talked around the house. 

Sarah became the shining light, and the sole bearer of her parents attention and praise. But Melissa noticed Rafe’s acting up. How he grew silent and didn’t talk when Sarah came into the room, or when Ward did. He knew all too well what to do when his father or sister was in the room. Because when Sarah was there, why would he be the focus? He’d been told to be quiet and ‘shh’ed so many times that he learned to stop talking all together when his baby sister entered. And his father had the same effect. The young boy was used to begin second best and ignored, but only when it came to his father and sister.

His mother didn’t ignore her son. She loved him and refused to silence her child, even if she thought Sarah was a better child. After all, the birth and pregnancy had been so much better, and she’d been a perfect baby. 

So Rafe grew to deprived of love and envying Sarah and pitying Wheezie. The youngest didn’t even have a chance. Melissa and Ward hadn’t even wanted another child. But they’d been pleasantly surprised. But the new addition to the family still didn’t have a chance. Sarah was still miles above where she and Rafe stood. At least the boy had gotten some love before Sarah arrived. But maybe he had it worse. After all, he knew what it was like to be loved and then he’d been stripped of it. Wheezie didn’t even know what it felt like, so how could she be broken over it?

And then Melissa died. Cancer had hit her hard and fast. Took her down with a swift motion. The one person Rafe had to love him was gone. So now, the ten year old had to live without love and a mother.

The boy grew up, trying to please his father that never could be satisfied. He tried his hardest in school, and did quite well, but not to Ivy League standards. Or his fathers. But soon, Rafe came to realize he could do things without consequences with his money and his grades dropped. So the sixteen year old went down a short path of causing destruction where ever he went and picking fights at the tiniest thing. That stopped once Ward found out. 

That night Rafe was slapped across the facing, sending him to the floor. Of course, neither sister or Rose had been there. No one witnessed the abuse, so if Rafe ever came out about it, Ward would make sure to crown his son as a liar, if that wasn’t his title already. 

That night was yelled at, Wards voice making the boy cower, his cheek still stinging terribly. Rafe touched his cheek where a welt was blooming. He looked up, terrified, at his father. Ward was towering, eyes hard and furious. 

After that night, the blue eyed boy stayed straight until the night be met Barry. Rafe had been straying from his clear path, and Barry only turned him in the wrong direction. It started with a pill every couple months. And Rafe continued to blur the lines and ease his mind until he was lying on the floor, broken.

And here he was. Broken, half homeless, kicked out, unloved and not even on his father’s radar and addicted.

It's alright, just wait and see Your string of lights is still bright to me Oh, who you are is not where you've been You're still an innocent You're still an innocent

It was two months before Rafe’s nineteenth birthday (and before he teetered off the edge of his addiction) when he met you. You were on the Cameron’s yacht, there for a small Kook get together. Ward had invited your father and his family. 

So there you were, white bikini stark against your tan skin. Sunglasses pushed up to perched on your head, half buried in your long, silky hair. Smile bright as you talked to Sarah. 

Rafe had never felt breathless, or felt his stomach flip. But the was a first time for everything. And he felt both as he watched you. Intrigued, the boy made his way over to you. 

“Hello, ladies.” He smirked, taking a second to admire you upclose.

Sarah raised her eyebrows at her brother. “Hi Rafe.” She smiled, and was quick to introduce you two. “Y/N, this my brother Rafe. Rafe, this is Y/N.” 

Rafe thanked his sister silently for the first time in his life. He reached out, shaking your hand as you smiled. Your shake was good and firm. 

“I know who you are,” You cocked your head slightly at the boy. “The infamous Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe swallowed. Did you think badly of him? Doubts swirled in his mind as he carried on the conversation with you. Despite his doubts, talking to your was incredibly easy.

You however, were immediately attracted to your friend’s older brother. Rafe was tall, cocky and bad. Exactly what broke you, but exactly what you fell for. Every damn time. You knew he was a druggie and did shitty things, but you had a thing for guys with problems. But as you continued talking to the tall boy, Sarah slinking away, you found it was a natural conversation. Not stiff, polite ones that you always held at Kook functions.

Rafe was one confusing character. He was bad. Wholly and completely bad, and you knew that. Yet as you talked, there was something in his eyes and in the way he talked that seemed nice and genuine. And if he himself hadn’t gotten you falling, that did. 

Your relationship picked up fast, jumping from step to step with ease and grace. You’d already been deemed as Rafe’s bitchy girlfriend, and you guys has already has sex. Multiple times. In his house. In yours. In his car. On the beach. In the water. Everywhere. As you dated, you guys dealt with the titles granted to you. You were apparently a bitch, and Rafe was, well, he already gained his title. 

Your parents were furious that you went out with a druggie and brought him home. But that’s part of the reason you did it. You’d never been one to fit in the lines, and Rafe was exactly the type of person to competently fuck the lines. 

So when Rafe asked you to be his date to his birthday, you said yes. But you had no idea what you were getting into. And the party was riskier and more outside the lines than you thought. Sure, you’d gotten shitfaced drunk and did drugs those few times, but this party was over the top. And it had your boyfriends name written all over it. 

Beer and vodka at every turn. Cocaine and pills passed into every hand, snorted up every nose and given to every doe eye person here. Music, heavy and nasty hung in the air, pulsing and thriving in the air. Cheers and chants filled the air like a bad smell. The party was the living thought of a classic high school party. Drugs, alcohol, and horny, grinding teens in abundance. You gaped at your boyfriend, feeling like you were too outside the lines to even see them. This was too much. You weren’t like these people. Sure you acted like it, but in reality, you only did drugs because of peer pressure and only downed beers on dares. You weren’t the bitch or person everyone thought you were. You hadn’t even had sex more than twice before you met Rafe. You knew Rafe changed you and you didn’t care. But if this is what everyone thought you did on a regular basis, your boyfriend had changed you more than you thought. 

Just as you were about to pull away and tell the birthday boy you felt sick, he kissed your neck and led you into the middle of the party. In the throng of people pushing and jumping and calling it dancing. Stuck in the middle of these hundreds of people, you couldn’t leave.

So you fell with Rafe. Fell into the welcoming arms of drugs and too much alcohol. You knew Rafe did this somewhat regularly, but you were too faded to realize that he was miles ahead of you. You didn’t even know he was about to hit the bottom.

Did some things you can't speak of But at night you'll live it all again You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now If only you had seen what you know now then

Rafe took another big breath, brain screaming, eyes heavy, limbs weak. He was exhausted and aching. He needed the coke like he needed air. His body screamed for the drug to thrive in his veins again. To make he happy and alert. To give strength and power back. 

He sobbed, lying on his back, tears streaming down his face, staining his cheeks. It felt like he couldn’t breath. No it didn’t feel that way. He couldn’t fucking breath. He rasped, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Rafe couldn’t think straight. He didn’t even know where he was or how he’d gotten here. He could barely focus on the sounds around him and the soft, tiny breeze against his sweaty skin. His mind was clouded. With need and filthy desperation. He couldn’t think straight. But if he had coke....

The blue eyed boy took another But as he thought of how desperate he was for a lick of coke, he thought of you. And how you’d be here. If he hadn’t broke you.

After his party, you’d been in a bad place. You’d gotten fucked. Worse than that. You passed out on the floor, mind too wild and full of static with the high of drugs and the haze of every alcohol at the party in your veins.

You’d been to the hospital and been in bed for days after that. You felt beyond horrible. You couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed. You refused to see Rafe. You didn’t want to see anyone. Because you hated yourself. You allowed yourself to get so fucked you were in the hospital. How could you let yourself do that? 

But you slowly got better. And clean. You got out of bed. You showered. You saw people who were good influences. Only people who stayed when you fucked up beyond repair. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to your past. You’d be a new, better Y/N Y/L/N.

So you left Rafe behind.

Lives change like the weather I hope you remember Today is never too late to Be brand new

Rafe had tried so hard. So hard. To be better, be he couldn’t help himself. He need the coke. Like he needed his father’s approval. Like he needed you. But the traps of the drug were too easy to fall into. Too hard to escape from, so he fell back in without skipping a beat. 

Rafe was still on the floor when you found him. You hadn’t tried to find him. Hell, you’d gone to see Sarah. But there was Rafe, broken down and sobbing on the floor of his kitchen, completely alone. 

You bent down, dropping your stuff and stared wide eyed at the boy before you. The boy who used to touch you and keep his eyes on you. The boy who caused your down fall. “Rafe?” You whispered, the words barely audible.

Rafe blinked, his hearing and mind sharpening. His blue eyes refocused on you. 

“Y/N?” He wasn’t even sure he spoke the words, or if you heard him since the words were so broken. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You demanded, studying him. 

His skin was sweaty and pale. His eyes were unfocused and heavy, tears softly spilling down the side of his face. Rafe’s lips parted to release shallow, uneven breathing. The boy’s usual slicked back hair was in disarray, sticking up at unnatural places, and un-gelled. He looked like shit, to be frank. 

“I,” he couldn’t even form a sentence, but somehow you understood. 

He was in withdrawal. Rafe needed coke. You breathed a curse, and tried to calm his slight shaking. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Rafe.” You assure as you tried to figure out what to do. You were lost. 911? What did you do?

“I’m,” Rafe started, eyes trying so hard to focus on you. “I’m sorry.” 

You stopped fussing, going dead still. Of all the things he could say, you didn’t expect him to say that. But you met his pale eyes. 

“I was trying,” he took a deep breath. You stayed deathly still, afraid you’d loose this fragile version of the boy you used to know. “I was trying to be better- for you.”

You heart broke. For you. It seemed that fucking you up made him want to be better too.

“It’s okay, Rafe.” You smiled tightly and cupped his cheek. His skin was sweaty and sticky. “Alright? You’re gonna get help. You’ll be okay.”

It's all right, just wait and see Your string of lights are still bright to me Oh, who you are is not where you've been You're still an innocent

You watched as they took Rafe away. The image of the shaking, half breathing boy on his kitchen floor, alone, was seared into your brain. You couldn’t shake it. And his words still rang in your head like bells. 

I’m sorry. I was trying to be better. For you.

You closed you eyes quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. That version of Rafe that said sorry was the same that you spoke to on the Cameron’s yacht that fateful day. Even though you were right about Rafe having a better side, you didn’t feel triumphant. You just felt empty. His state reminded you of the night where you life turned upside down. 

I know Rafe. And I’m sorry too.

A/N 2: I hope you liked it (and it was good). I hope I did him and this justice. This was very fun to write and I have more Rafe coming up!!

Tags: @katie-avery @calumbroutledge​ @drew-starkey​ @thelocalpogue​ @ijustreallylovethem​ @jjmaebank​ @rretrophilee​ @obxlife​

#obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx netflix #rafe #rafe cameron #obx rafe #outer banks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #sarah cameron #sarah obx #sarah outer banks #kiara outer banks #pope heyward #john b routledge #jj maybank #rafe imagine #drew starkey

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 14)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak, adult themes (??)

Word Count: 2525

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong​

**Song Inspiration: I Almost Do by Taylor Swift; 3AM by Halsey; When The Party’s Over by Billie Eilish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you felt like shit, and not because of the drugs and alcohol that only recently vacated your system. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Did you really kick Hayden out? Were you honestly that far gone? 

Yeah, he broke your heart. He wasn’t the first asshole to do it, but he did stick around. Maybe that was because he had to though.

No, you knew better. He had enough money to stay at a hotel, but he stayed with you. He cared about you. It just hurt so bad to not have him any more. You hadn’t said you loved him, not yet, but you did, you loved him with everything you had and he just… broke everything. 

 Maybe you should go apologize.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you slipped on a comfortable shirt and yoga pants before you trodded out to the guest room, Hayden’s room. You knocked on the door before poking your head in. 

Only, there was nothing there. All of his things gone. His suitcases absent. No note, no letter, not even a post-it note. 

A choked sob escaped you. You knew you kicked him out, but you gave him until the next night. He was already gone?

So much for staying. So much for caring. 

No text, no call, no letter. It seemed as if he truly did want to be gone from you. 

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted it… Wish granted. 

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

Months went by and you tried to forget him, tried to turn your pain into art.

Trey worked hard to get your EP ready. You had several tracks that you wanted to feature and he did enjoy your lyrics and tune. He was happy to work with you and the other members of your band to get the sound you wanted. 

By the time the singles were released, you were already becoming a hit. You hit all of the media platforms and your work exploded, sending you soaring to the charts. You weren’t quite topping them yet, but you were definitely being demanded on the radio and your Youtube and Spotify numbers were great, rising all the time. 

As time went on though, your addiction only grew. With Hayden out of your life, the glaring reminders that you lost all your old friends, and none of your old boyfriends seemed to ever love you, there was nothing to stop you from becoming nearly dependent on the drugs and alcohol. 

You’d never been like this in your life, but you’d never been at such an odd time in your life either. On every romantic and personal front, your life was a total flop, a zero sum. But your career, your dream job was finally taking off. The world was your oyster, you were rubbing shoulders with musical big wigs, meeting huge names and musicisinas. 

Between the complete amazement you were in from being discovered and having your heart broken for the last time, you were a mental mess. 

Hayden wasn’t just another guy. Jason was just another guy, just like every ex before him. 

But Hayden, he was different. When you and Jason split up, it wasn’t the man you mourned, but the death of yet another relationship. With Hayden, you missed him, not being together. You missed the light he brought to your life. You missed the way he supported you. You missed the way you two could joke about movies together. You missed how you could act completely goofy and silly and he joined in. 

You loved him, you were in love with him, and he pulled the rug out from under you.

That was why your habit of using coke was slowly getting worse. You managed to keep your job, for a while, keep the desires away. Then you started to get where you were barely sober for that too and just when your boss mentioned it, you decided it was time to leave anyway. You put in your two weeks and left gracefully.

As soon as you were no longer tied to the hotel, Trey put you in every lounge, venue, and club he could find. You were singing all of your songs on your EP. Every night you did a show, you got off the stage, got drunk or high, or both, and then you crashed. 

Same routine, every night. 

Anything to numb the pain of losing Hayden, of feeling like your life was in shambles. It wasn’t just losing Hayden, it was realizing you had no close friends, no one else to lean on. He’d become your best friend, your confidant, your lover. He was everything you ever wanted or needed, and he was gone. 

Neither of you had sent any messages to each other. It killed you, but you had to move forward, if that’s what you could call drowning your sorrows in a bottle or a baggie. 

Tonight, you just got done singing a set and you were hanging out with Darren, Veronica, Brad, and Tai. Unbeknownst to you, Hayden was actually about to make a stop by this bar. He had some contacts in your circle, a few people he knew in the music world that he asked to keep an eye on you, and if you got too out of control or needed help, they should let him know. He also watched your Instagram and Twitter, keeping an eye on your partying that way.

He’d gotten a few texts before about you, just an update on how you were, but tonight was a red alert from a guy that was somewhat in your circle. He watched you as you did a bump of coke, drink whatever was passed to you, and you were all over everyone in the bar. It was a sloppy mix of drunk-high. You held onto everyone, laughing, trying to crawl on the bar, making a complete ass of yourself. 

Typically your antics were cheered on because everyone in your scene was pretty wild, but even tonight some of them were worried about how you were acting. 

Hayden made his way downtown as soon as he got the text, looking for the bar. Finally, as he walked by, he saw you through the window. You were laughing, throwing your head back, hanging on other people, and trying to dance. 

You were a mess, and that was obvious. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line before going into the bar. He made his way over to you. He wanted to say he felt relief when he saw you, but he didn’t. He just felt worse. He wasn’t an idiot about your drug abuse, he also wasn’t stupid to see what had triggered it. He just thought it was stupid for you to get mixed up in this shit over him. He wasn’t worth it. 

He could see how it was affecting you. Dark circles painted your eyes, your clothes hung loosely on your body, you looked as if you were awake solely from the drugs. He hated how bad you looked.

“Hey,” he greeted loudly over the bar music and patrons. 

You looked over and saw him, your eyes going in and out of focus. “Oh my god, it’s you! Hey! Stay! Have a drink!” you encouraged as you fell all over him, putting your arms around him. In your current state, none of the pain that would’ve normally come from seeing him happened. 

“Hey, no, I’m good. This isn’t really my scene. Y/N, you seem really far gone, do you want me to take you home?” 

You pushed away from him, frowning. “What? No, why would I want that?” You reached in your purse and grabbed something, about to put it in your mouth. “I’m having a good time here, Hayden. You should try it,’ you urged giddily.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he demanded as he slapped the little white thing out of your hand. “Was that fucking E? On top of what you already have in your system?”

“The fuck is your problem?” you ordered, angry.

“My problem is you destroying your life and your body,” he informed.  “I’m taking you home,” he stated firmly. He started to turn you around and push you outside. Everyone started to look your way. 

“No, you aren’t!” you protested loudly, moving wildly, but he just persisted. He went around in front of you, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you outside and started walking you down the sidewalk until you got yourself free of his hold. “Jesus! What the fuck is your deal? Those are my friends. I’m having a good time!” 

“A good time?” he demanded, his voice reigned in anger. “You think this is a good time? You’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“Hey, Mr. Entertainment Business newsflash,a  party-girl image is great publicity. Trey encourages this so long as I’m fine to record.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that your producer endorses you getting high and drunk, as long as you’re off the clock.” 

“You aren’t my handler, you’re not my parents, yo’re not my baby sitter, so just fuck off.”

He stared at you, clenching his jaw. “If you want to stay here and become like---If you want to stay here and party, that’s fine, but I’m done. I’m done with this. I’m done watching you ruin your life and throw so much potential away. I’m not gonna stick around to watch you drive your self into rock bottom when I’ve tried like hell to get you to wake the fuck up.”

“You didn’t stick around! Newsflash, asshole! You left! You left me high and dry.” 

“You kicked me out!” he reminded. “After I tried to approach you about your addiction. And I did stick around, you just didn’t know it.” 

“You didn’t approach me about it, you attacked me about it. Besides, what the hell do you mean you’re not going to stick around or watch me? You haven’t been around.” 

Letting out a sigh, he ran his hand down his face. “When I left, I may have asked some friends to keep an eye on you. I told them to update me if you were getting worse or better.”

“You were spying on me?” you asked, gasping.

“No, I just had people keeping an eye on you. If they were at the same party or something, they’d just let me know how you were doing.”

“Oh, nice to know you cared so much,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. You were getting more and more sober with the fresh air and the anger.  

“I do care. I think I’m the only one you know who does’ fucking care about you. I’m the only one not letting you just become an addict. I’m fighting for you.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing when you broke up with me? Fighting for me?”

He glared at you. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Yes, I was. I was trying to make sure we were making the right choice.”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit!” you shouted, your head falling back. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the lies. Just be honest with me. You didn’t care about me, you didn’t love me, you wanted a rebound. You weren’t worried about the both of us. You’re just like everyone else. You wanted something to distract you from your ex leaving you and I was the perfect replacement. Then when you got bored, you cast me aside.” 

“You weren’t a replacement! You weren’t my rebound,” he yelled. 

“Then what was it?!” you screamed. “Because from where I stood, you and I were perfect, more than perfect. We could spend time with each other, lean on each other, support each other, we lived together, I met your child, we had date nights all the time and all of that just -- you ended it. Without warning. We didn’t even talk about it. You didn’t even ask me how I was feeling, if I cared about you. You just decided for the both of us that it would be better if this wasn’t a rebound. But it wasn’t ever about that. It was about me taking putting someone else before me like I always do, and I’m the one who got fucking hurt, not you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry that you got hurt. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It hurt me too. And it hurts like hell to watch you do this to yourself. You think I liked watching you come home high and drunk all the time?” 

“I don’t imagine it bothered you too much. We weren’t dating any more.” 

He shrugged. “So? Just because I’m not dating you, it doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about you.”

“See, in my world, it does. You don’t break someone’s fucking heart then try to tell them you still care. You’re the one who decided to date me. I asked, you shot me down. Then, when I was really happy, when I thought this was real, that we had a shot, that this was something that would last and you just ripped it away. No conversation.” 

He shook his head. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for that. I am. I should’ve talked to you, but is this really what you want? You want to be so numb and fucked up on drugs you can’t function?”

“I can function just fine, thanks for checking in!”

“I can’t believe you’re fine with this. You’ve been so strong since I met you. Going after your dream, working hard at your job, you never would’ve given into this bullshit, despite what happened between us.” 

“Yeah, well shit changes. Clearly you know that.”

“Nothing changed. I cared for you then, and I do now.” 

You scoffed. “Spare me, alright? It was clear to me after you left you never gave a shit. I licked your wounds so you could heal and then you left me. Fuck off. You don’t get the right to tell me where I can hang out, what I can do, or when I can do it.” You got in his face, your voice low before you turned around to head back inside. 

He stood there more upset than he had been when you two first broke up. He wasn’t sure what he thought he would gain from coming out tonight. He just thought he could save you from yourself. He knew he was the reason you went on the downward spiral but he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He bit his lip to keep from crying as he watched you rejoin your friends and pick up a shot glass and knock it back. He shook his head as he turned to walk down the street.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself, or to you. He needed to move on. He couldn’t watch you suffer any more. He had tried to help you. Every time he did though, you turned him down - hard. 

With his heart heavy, he took a taxi back to his new hotel and tried to forget all about you.

If only it were that easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

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Hayden Christensen:

@coldlilheart​​

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History Repeats:

@multifandomblog315​​

#history repeats #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen

[mcatra]

Catra works at burger king part 2

AO3

art by quackleroys part 1

As promised, Adora had taken care of everything even though she never asked her to. Adora and Glimmer’s family as well as Sea Hawk’s parents had paid off the damage like it was nothing. In fact a sparkling new window with the Burger King logo appeared installed at her next shift, looking so pristine it almost seemed out of place in the dingy establishment. Rich people were scary. 

Catra had expected the usual beatdown lecture from her regional manager, but to her surprise nothing came. Adora took 100% of the blame and omitted Catra from the narrative, and as much as she hated to admit it she was grateful. No way she could have ever afforded to replace the door when she couldn’t even afford a whole meal at Burger King. 

Not with the $3 she had currently in her account. Right now however, she was pretending to be asleep in the back of the student council room until all of Adora’s annoying prefects left. They were currently having a meeting about the annual swimming preparations.

Usually Catra would be more outspoken to represent the students of her old school, but today she didn't want to speak to anyone. She hadn't heard a lick of an apology from the girls, who had just thrown money at the problem until it went away like it never existed. They probably expected her to thank them, and no way were they getting a thank you for something they caused.

They finished up their meeting, chatting about whether or not they should be allowed to wear bikinis or something as they shuffled out.

‘Is it really okay to just let Vice Captain sleep through the entire meeting?’ Mermista complains, and Catra tenses in annoyance.

‘Shh, don’t wake her. I don’t see you sweeping up glass until midnight from when your boyfriend smashed her workplace door.’ Adora chides, and Catra feels a little bit smug.

‘...Fair point.’

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the classroom. Catra can hear Adora tiptoe quietly over to her.

She half expects for Adora to shake her awake, but to her surprise she feels fingers carding through her hair.

Catra freezes, trying to keep her breathing even. What was she doing?

The touch is soft, gently pushing her hair back and brushing her scalp.

She lets it go on for a few seconds, before she grabs Adora’s wrist, letting one eye lazily open. The blonde's eyes were wide, like a kid that got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

‘Stop touching me so familiarly. We’re not friends.’ Catra says, but there's no heat behind her words. She forces herself to get up, fake yawning as she gathers up her books.

Adora's cheeks are pink, her hands bunched up around her skirt. 'Do you have another shift? I’ll come.'

'No one asked you to!' Catra replies, making her way down the now empty corridor. Of course Adora memorized her work schedule. She starts power walking her way to the school doors, hoping to lose Adora on the way.

All she wanted was to finish her shift, get a few hours of study done so she could get the damn scholarship and graduate. It was for her first choice of university, and they were granting a free ride to the top student of their school. If she could just manage that, she could get a degree and finally get a good job. Catra didn't need distractions by her rival, not everyone could effortlessly get full marks on every subject. She had to struggle for it, if she was ever going to get out of this cursed cycle.

‘Are you seriously following me to work?’ Catra says, deadpan. Adora was scurrying after her like a puppy with separation anxiety. She stops walking, watching the blonde trip over herself in her hurry to catch up to her on the street. ‘Dude I’m begging you, please get a life.’

‘Why not? I want some chicken nuggies.’ She says. Catra shoots her a look of disgust.

‘You’re going to get pimples and DIE from all this junk you eat!’ Catra whaps her over the head with her textbook. Adora winces, and almost walks into a lamp post.

‘Aww, are you worried about my health?’ Adora teases. Catra goes to kick her, but the school captain dodges it, her wide grin illuminated by the setting sun.

‘Eat a damn vegetable instead of coming to Burger King everyday! You’ll ruin your perfect figure.’ Catra shoots back, hoping that Adora would care more about maintaining her sculpted body than annoying her everyday. Wait, that wording was kind of-

‘You think I have a perfect figure?’  

The brunette can feel her face heating up, and she knows she’s blushing. She shoves Adora away, turning away so she can’t see her face.

‘Fuck you and your fucking corn-cob abs, stop eating here!!! Unhealthy shite!!’ Catra curses, but Adora just laughs, clutching at her wrists so she can’t hide her furious blushing.

‘Even when you’re angry you can’t stop complimenting me.’ Adora replies, biting back a grin.

‘Don’t make me perma-ban you from the store!’  

--

The day of the swimming carnival finally arrived, colourful flags decorating the outside pool. Hundreds of students were seated on the concrete steps, waiting to compete in the relays, or currently in line to the canteen.

Adora looked good in her one piece swimsuit. It highlighted her muscled back that was currently glistening from the pool water. Her golden hair was damp, curling around the edges. She looked almost ethereal, sparkling in the sunlight.

Meanwhile Catra sat in the bleachers in her ratty t-shirt and shorts watching her, feeling like the embodiment of that one Taylor Swift song. Stupid Adora.

Adora's friends had coordinated their outfits to match their Bright Moon house colours, all pinks and purples. Mermista's house was dressed in blue, while girls from Perfuma's house fawned around the lifeguard on duty. They had even painted their faces with coloured zinc.

How nauseating.

‘You want some hot chips?’ Scorpia asks, plonking herself next to Catra. She nods and scarfs it down, eyes laser focused on Adora’s long legs.

As the day dragged on, they were doing admittedly worse than she would’ve liked. It was proving difficult to get them motivated, and doing 3rd out of 4 houses was not a good look.

‘Scorpia, you’re up for the 100 metre freestyle relay, do not let me down.’ She pats her friend on the shoulder, glaring at the other teams.

‘Aye aye, Cap’n!’ Scorpia grins, doing a mock salute.

Scorpia was against one of their biggest competitors Huntara, another girl from Perfuma’s house. They line up at top of the platforms, and when the whistle blows she dives in.

It’s close, but Scorpia wins by a hair winning the final. Catra grins at her, and Scorpia beams back. Even though Perfuma’s house lost, the blonde was all giddy over Scorpia’s performance.

A voice blares over the loudspeaker.

50 points.

The Horde was now at second place. Catra’s heart starts beating faster, ecstatic. Now they actually had a chance at beating Adora's house! She stands up and swivels around to face her own team.

'Listen up, assholes!' Catra she barks, looking at the sea of mismatched green. Their disinterested eyes blink up at her.

'We're gonna get the most points and we will win!'

She hears a group of boys- Sea Hawks old friends, probably, mutter to themselves.

We?

Why should we try when she won’t even do one race?

I know right. Who even elected her as house captain?

‘Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say?’ Catra growls, marching over to the chad looking teenage boys in her house. Instead of backing down as most people usually did, they glared back at her. The tan one with patches of facial hair named Scurvy stands up to confront her.

‘Miss Vice Captain thinks she’s too good to compete in the relay while we do all the work.’ Scurvy says, and the boys behind him all nod in unison. ‘All of us have already competed and we’re tired.’

‘Uh, does it look like I care? Get back out there so we can beat Adora!’

‘Hell no. We’re boycotting, until you can prove you’re gonna pull your weight.’ He declares, poking a finger at her chest.

By now everyone in the Horde was staring at them, and by their defiant eyes seemed to be agreeing with him. Her position as house captain was slipping.

She slaps his hand away, incensed.

‘What do you think you’re doing, undermining my authority? If I say get back out there, then go! ’

‘Why, too scared to swim? Afraid you’ll lose?’ Scurvy challenges.

Catra grits her teeth. It’s not like she was going to admit to these extras that she was afraid of water. Usually intimidation worked, but they didn’t seem to be backing down either.

As if he sensed her hesitation, Scurvy grabs her arm and his other two friends grab the other. They're surprisingly strong, Catra's arms are like twigs in their grip.

‘Get off me!’ Catra screeches, her pulse speeding up. They start walking her to the deep end of the pool, to the sound of cheering from her house like the traitors they were.

She tries to kick at her captors, but they’re laughing, like it was all a fun game.

Catra feels lightheaded as they approach the edge of the pool. 'Stop it, it's not funny!' She tries again, feeling desperate. Where was the lifeguard when you needed him?

Scurvy gives her a cocky grin, not catching on to her fear. No one seemed to be paying attention to her internal mental breakdown, they had probably thought she was infallible. Unafraid of anything. They swing her back, and then let go.

Catra shrieks as she hits the water, making a loud splash as she falls in. That proved to be a mistake, as she inhales a gallon of water doing so. She splutters and gasps, trying to scramble to the edge but failing. Instead she was sinking, her arms flailing pathetically.

Catra couldn’t breathe, the surface seemed so far away now. She had to be drowning, water rushing through her ears, clawing through nothing. There’s only a rush of bubbles and a pressure on her lungs as they fill up with chlorinated water. People were shouting from above, but it was muffled.

There was a reason why she hated water as much as she did. Their foster mother Shadow Weaver had dunked her head into the bath countless times, holding Catra’s head in place with her sharp nails. She had always said it was to clean her properly, but she knew it was her punishment for just existing in her household. The result of that was her never learning how to swim, and a crippling fear of water.

Catra could feel her legs locking up, paralysing fear coursing through her veins. The more water she inhaled, the more dizzy she got, her limbs feeling heavier than bricks.

Spots appear in her vision, and her lungs finally give out. She had to be on the bottom of the pool by now, but it was strangely calm down here. When she feels her back hit the tile, she blacks out.

--

The next thing she knows is that a warm pair of lips are pressing against her own. They’re soft, and they kind of taste like strawberry chapstick. Her head is still swimming though, like she was still underwater. The person breathes in air into her mouth, and she vaguely comphrends Oh, they’re giving me CPR.

Before she can react, someone practically body slams her chest and she chokes. Before they can do it again she pushes them off her, she was going to throw up. Catra turns to the side and promptly splutters out the entire pool’s worth of water out of her lungs.

She can feel herself being unceremoniously brought back to life, weakly coughing out the last of the offending liquid. Catra can feel herself swaying from side to side, her hands shaking like crazy.

‘Hey!’

The person’s voice is muffled, but soon her ears pop and she can suddenly hear everything again.

‘Catra!’

Everything was too loud, too bright. There were people surrounding them, blurry colours mixing together like the weirdest acid trip she’s never had.

A warm pressure is on her side, and she hazily blinks up at the loud noise in her ear. Blonde hair, a red varsity jacket.

Suddenly she’s panicking for a whole other reason. Everything hits her at full force now, the crowd, the stares, fucking Adora out of all people giving her CPR. Her greatest weakness being exposed in front of everyone. She felt like a kid again when Shadow Weaver frequently tried to drown her bathing her in front of the other orphaned kids as they watched on.

Sweat beads at her forehead, everyone is talking so loudly and her gut is twisting and she can’t breathe.

She couldn’t swim?

What’s wrong with her?

Someone call an ambulance!

‘No-No ambulance-’ Catra stutters, keeling over. Like she could afford a $400 glorified taxi to the damn hospital. She tries to inhale, but it just comes out as rasping.

Catra frantically scrabbles at her throat, leaving long red marks across the wet skin. She can feel hot tears bead in the corners of her eyes, contrasting with how cold the rest of her body felt.

‘Catra!’

It was Adora again. ‘You have to sit up, open up your airways.’ Catra glares at her, but the blonde manhandles her into a better position. She takes in another breath, and to her relief air starts flooding back into her lungs again.

‘Everyone back away, you’re stressing her out.’ Adora commanded the crowd.

'Here, wear this.'  She takes off her jacket and bundles it protectively over Catras shoulders. ADORA is emblazoned on the back in big white letters. Catra looks at it in confusion, until belatedly realizes her drenched shirt stuck to her like a second skin so it was almost see through. She grips the jacket around herself tighter, embarrassed.

The lifeguard and the teachers finally arrive, and she’s carted away from the crowd.

-----

Catra jolts awake to a loud rattling knock on her garage door. She blinks a few times, getting the grit out of her eyes. Since when did she get visitors? The only person who knew where she lived was Scorpia.

The knocking gets louder, more urgent. It vibrates through the concrete walls of the tiny refurbished garage. Catra gets up, still feeling groggy from the fever. Adora’s varsity jacket laid next to her, still smelling vaguely like the blonde mixed with chlorine. Somehow she had made home after the swimming carnival. The last thing she remembered was collapsing onto her mattress after refusing to go to the hospital.

‘Catra? Are you in there?’

What the hell? Is that Adora?

Catra forces herself to stand up, her bare feet pattering across the cold concrete. She kicks a few cardboard boxes out of the way so she can manually roll up the door. The automatic function broke ages ago, and her landlord still hadn’t gotten it fixed.

Why on earth she was letting her worst enemy in her home was beyond her, all of the water that went up her brain must’ve made her stupid.

She only has the strength to lift it halfway, the sunlight blinding her in discomfort.

‘Why the fuck are you here?’ Catra growls, however she must not paint the most intimidating picture. Probably gave the impression of a cracked up ogre in a cave.

Adora laughs a little, as she tries to maneuver her way into the garage. She ducks underneath the roll up door like it’s a game of limbo, and to Catra’s satisfaction she bangs her head on it.

‘I brought soup.’ Adora lifts up a small plastic bag full of ingredients. She looks around nervously for a kitchen, but becomes increasingly distressed as she starts to realize this whole place was only one room.

‘So- uh.’ Adora chokes out, clearly embarrassed. ‘This is...where you live.’

Catra rolls her eyes at her attempt to not insult her living conditions. Her furniture consisted of an old mattress, a sofa from someone's front lawn, a rotting table and chair from the council cleanup, and a tiny mini-fridge and a portable stove she got from the dump, all crammed into the small garage.

It wasn’t too bad, as terrible as it was at least it was her space. The landlord never came to bother her and charged half the amount of current rental homes in the area, so all in all it was a pretty good deal.

‘Not what you were expecting, Princess?’ Catra yawns, scratching her back to return to her bed. ‘Let me guess, Scorpia told you where I lived. God knows why I tell her anything, she can’t keep a secret to save her life.’

Adora nods, placing the groceries on the table. ‘I just wanted to see if you were feeling any better after…’ She flounders, looking extremely out of place in her iron pressed pristine uniform.

‘Take a seat.’ Catra gestures to the sofa. ‘Don’t worry, I got rid of the lice ages ago.’

Adora gives her a look.

‘I’m kidding.’ She wasn’t, but it didn’t look like Adora was gonna sit on it otherwise.

Adora gingerly sits down, avoiding the odd looking stains on the fabric. They sit in silence for a minute, as she drinks in her surroundings.

‘So, the boys who pushed you into the pool got suspended.’ Her school captain says, scratching her little blonde poof on the top of her forehead.

‘Good.’

‘How’s your fever?’

Catra sighs into her blanket, rolling around to glare at the other teenager. ‘Fine. How long are you planning to be here, anyway?’

‘Oh, uh-’ Adora gets up to rummage through the plastic bag she brought. ‘Also I was just gonna stick around to um, make you some soup. I brought meds too!'

She triumphantly brings out some Panadol, only belatedly realizing that there was no tap inside to pour Catra water.

‘There’s a hose outside if you want water. You have to boil it though.’

‘R-right.’ Adora says awkwardly, but makes no move to actually leave to go outside. Instead she picks up the contents of her plastic bag and makes her way to the fridge.

‘Oi, don’t touch my food!’ Catra calls out, annoyed.

Adora pauses, the ingredients that needed to be chilled still in her arms as she opens the fridge door.

‘There’s nothing in here though.’

‘Uh, yes there is. Don’t you see that stack of bread? Managed to convince my manager it was expired, so I got it for free. Don’t go touching it.’ Catra says proudly, smug that she had finessed the Burger King system. ‘Also Lonnie never notices the condiments going missing. You can’t use my ketchup and mustard packets for your stupid soup, you hear?’

‘Catra.’

‘What?’

‘How...how can you live like this? I had no idea it was this bad.’ Adora says, kneeling in front of the mini fridge like she was gonna have a first class breakdown.

Why was she the one getting upset? She wasn’t the one who lived here.

‘Kinda rude thing to say as a houseguest, much.’ Catra scoffs, offended. ‘Sorry for not living in the lap of luxury like you do.’

‘But even applying for welfare, surely the government could-’ Adora objects.

Catra could almost laugh at how naive she sounded. ‘What, so they could catch me and throw me back into the foster care system?’

‘You know what I mean. Even Shadow Weaver’s foster home was better than-’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Catra snaps, her blood suddenly boiling with rage. Just the mere mention of her name brings a flood of memories she didn't want to remember. Adora looks back at her, surprised at the sudden outburst.

‘I’d rather die than go back to Shadow Weaver. You know she used both of us just for welfare money?’ Catra seethes, stalking her way closer to Adora. They’re face to face now, the blonde frozen in place.

‘I..’

Years of resentment start spilling over, and Catra can’t stop.

‘Not like you care, since you were adopted out by a nice rich family with your new sister Glimmer. Must be nice to be picked out with your goody goody nice girl persona and forget all about the people you left behind huh?’ Catra grits her teeth, she’s shaking in rage now.

She still remembers that day when the tall rich lady with the pink and purple hair decided to adopt a child to fill the void in her heart left by her deceased husband.

When she picked Adora, even though she was going to be adopted by Shadow Weaver already as her favourite.

How Catra was left alone with nothing when Adora went with Angella, the abuse increasing tenfold as Shadow Weaver took out her anger at her. No one ever asked to see Catra, with her untrusting eyes and feral mannerisms.  

‘Who would adopt me, right? What a joke. Now you come in here insulting my place when I made it here on my own, with no one to help me?!’

Adora stares at her in shock, speechless. The words hang in the air, like they were a rope choking them both. They look at each other until Catra’s rapid breathing calms down.

‘I..I’m so sorry Catra. I did try to contact you...but you never replied...’ Adora says, throat tight with grief.

Catra rolls her eyes. ‘Like Shadow Weaver personally hand delivers me mail, got it.’

Adora swallows, lip trembling. ‘I really did try to go back, I did. But Shadow Weaver told me you had run away, and I couldn’t find you anywhere no matter how hard I tried. I thought...I thought-’

A tear drops down Adora’s face, and she quickly wipes it away before Catra can react.

‘So when I saw you had transferred to my school, and that you worked at Burger King, it was like a miracle to me. You were here, and you were alive, and I was so, so happy to see you. Even if you hated me coming to your workplace everyday, or that you thought I was only doing it to rub my good fortune in your face... I just missed you so much, I couldn’t help it.’ Adora exhales shakily. Her words seemed genuine, and Catra felt her heart tighten.

More tears spill out, and this time Catra reaches over to cup her face. She can feel her last remanments of her anger dissipate as she thumbs away the hot liquid from Adora’s red cheeks.

‘Why are you the one crying? IIIdiot.’

‘Mmn.’ Adora mumbles, her hand curling around Catra’s. ‘About yesterday. Seeing you go under the water like that, I just couldn’t bear to lose you again. So I found myself here. I'm sorry.’

‘I get it. I seriously get it.’ Catra pushes Adora’s nose up so it resembles a pig. ‘You big stalker.’

Adora wrinkles her nose. ‘I’m glad you know now though. Eating Burger King everyday was awful.’

‘Then don’t eat here!’

‘But I wanted to see you.’ Adora pouts, and Catra rolls her eyes. So clingy.

‘Just you wait. I’ll take first place and get that scholarship so I can finally get out of this dump.’

The blonde smiles, but it slowly turns serious.

‘Catra...I know you don't want any help but it doesn't hurt to accept some? I'll bring food to you- proper food and not mouldy Burger King leftovers.’

The offer sounded tempting, especially to her empty stomach. But Catra forces herself to resist. She had her pride, and she knew better than to rely on Adora as a steady source of help.

‘I’m not gonna rely on you again, you know. I’m not here to fuel your savior complex, or to alleviate your guilt.’

Adora contemplates for a moment. If she thinks too hard she’ll injure her tiny brain, Catra scoffs.

‘If you won’t accept it for free...How about a trade?’

Catra raises an eyebrow, letting go of Adora’s face. ‘What do you want from me? Let me guess, same thing the other dudes who propositioned me for cash?’ She makes a lewd motion with her fingers, and Adora gasps in scandalized shock.

‘N-no! Wait, did you-’

Catra blinks, before realizing the insinuation. ‘Fuck no! I've never done anything with anyone except for-’

They both recall the CPR kiss from the day before, and they look away, faces burning.

After an awkward moment of silence, Adora speaks up.

‘How about we be friends again? That's all I ask for.’

‘Hah?’

‘Also you have to unblock me and allow me to message you!’ Adora says triumphantly, her eyes suddenly burning with intensity. It catches Catra off guard.

‘What the fuck? You see me at school?’

‘And I get to message you everyday.’  

'Once a week.' Catra shoots back.

'Once every 3 days.' Adora says. She's too close, and it's frying Catra's brain.

'Fine!' Dealing with Adora was exhausting. How on earth Glimmer and Bow handled it, was beyond her.

Adora smiles, and it's almost blinding. ‘Great! I’ll start bringing you groceries then! Plus I owe you for the whole door breaking thing.’ She snatches up Catra’s old cracked phone, and starts adding herself as a contact.

‘Wait I forgot about that! Give my number back!’ She tries to swipe for the phone, but Adora lifts it out of reach.  

‘Too late! Friendship is about not tallying about who owes who! It's equal!’

‘If I wasn't sick right now I’d pummel you to the ground.’

‘Nah you wouldn't.’  She was right but she wasn't gonna say that. ‘Come on, let’s take a photo together for my contact pic.’

Adora places her arm around Catra, angling the phone to get a good picture.

The flash blinds Catra, and when they turn to look at the screen it’s a less than flattering image. Catra’s face is scrunched up, while Adora has posed, looking flawlessly photogenic.

‘Ughh, do you have to be perfect at everything?’ Catra complains, ducking underneath her arm. ‘Delete it, I look like I’m having a seizure.’

‘Well I love it.’ Adora smiles, adding Catra’s number into her own phone. She’s looking at the photo fondly, sending it to herself. ‘It’s our first photo together.’

God, did Adora need to be this embarrassing all the time?

‘Yeah yeah, you sap.’ Catra grumbles, but she can’t help but smile too.

Flash .

‘You smiled! You smiled!’ Adora crows, grinning ear to ear from behind her phone camera. ‘And I got it on camera!’

‘I’m going to break your phone!’

This new 'friendship' with Adora was going to kill her.

#she-ra #she ra #spop #catradora #catra #adora #burger king au

[halpertstuna]

wildest dreams - jj maybank

A/N: this is mildly based off “wildest dreams” by taylor swift. it’s almost 3am and i don’t feel like editing this again pls forgive me.

also, i tried using she/her this time, don’t know how i feel about it but feel free to leave feedback!

and quick reminder, my requests are OPEN! so don’t hesitate to send me any if you’d like <3

-> prompt list <-

summary: all she ever wanted was to feel, and he managed to give it to her, but nothing lasts forever.

pairing: jj x reader

word count: 2,911

warnings: cursing, mentions of medical conditions , mentions of mental illness, mentions of abandonment, angsty with a bit fluff and probably ✨typos✨

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit @toesure )

—

He had been wandering aimlessly for hours, mind anywhere but here, the memories following him around.

When he falls asleep, she’s there, the recollection of her leaving overwhelming him each time he wakes up. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. Pretending she’s there was better than facing the cruel reality of their paths never crossing again.

Oh, the things he would do for it to be real once more.

It’s been almost three months since the day they first met. She wore the same beige white dress that caressed her features the night they parted ways, unbeknownst to him, for the very last time.

JJ hadn’t been at his house for weeks prior to the first day of summer break, he knew he’d have to face his dad eventually, but after not being home for such a long period of time, the man was infuriated with him, throwing punches left and right. He managed escaping before it got too much.

As he walked away he thought to himself how badly he hates that house, his dad. The boy wanted so badly to run away. He decided to take a walk on the beach to cool off, unbeknown to him, his decision would change his entire summer.

He sat on the sand, staring blankly into space, when a barefoot girl in a flowy dress joined him, filling up the empty space on his right.

“Do you ever just wanna run away?” He exclaimed out of nowhere without even bothering to check who was sat beside him. She chuckled “You read my mind”, eyes joining his on the sun that was disappearing in the ocean in front of them.

At the soothing voice of a girl he did not recognise, he turned his head to be met with an unfamiliar figure, an appealing one. He made no effort in continuing the conversation since he simply didn’t feel like talking. Though he felt at ease, something about her presence was so comforting, understanding. He never wanted to leave. He could feel it, her need to escape. He somehow knew she wasn’t just saying that to make him feel better. It was as if without words they understood one another, both desperate for a way out, just from discreet things.

A silence settled on the two, nothing but the sound of foamy waves crashing and the feeling of bubbling surf brushing their toes. When the sun went completely out of sight, they let the night envelope them, welcoming the darkness that had a hint of moonlight.

After a few hours of soaking up the warm summer breeze, she decided it was time to leave. She effortlessly stood up and started walking away, when his voice halted her in her tracks.

“Wait, who are you?” He asked, as sour as he was feeling, he was intrigued and well, the curiosity killed the cat. She smiled at his meddled expression, “Wouldn’t you like to know” she replied walking away, leaving him in suspense. He watched her frame get smaller with every step she took until she was no longer in his line of vision, wondering who she was.

Eventually he booked a room in a motel, where he spent the night.

During the ensuing day, he thought of nothing but her, the lack of information driving him crazy. It was nightfall and he couldn’t shake off her compelling warmth, how desperately he wanted to be in her presence once more. He settled on going to the same spot he saw her last, in hopes she’d be there.

He ran to the beach as the moon started taking over the sky, lighting it up with the assistance of stars. And there she was, laying on the sand, hands picking up the yellowish substance with her fingers parted, letting it pour back to the ground beneath her. He watched her horizontal, tranquil form and felt placate, he felt drawn to her pacific energy, like a magnet, as he started walking towards her, laying beside her.

She opened her shut eyelids then turned her head to face him, red lips curving into a gentle smirk “I had a feeling you’d be back”. He relaxed into the sand, not knowing what to say, the girl left him speechless. As she gazed up anew, the boy couldn’t help but notice how gloomy she looked. “Why the frown?” He questioned. “Just tired of everything” hopelessness filled her voice “I kinda wanna take up on your offer from yesterday”

He nodded understandingly. “Okey then, let’s do it. Let’s run away. get out of this place, far from this shit town” She snorted miserably, for she meant running away from life itself. “No I’m serious” he got up, offering her his hand, “let’s at least get out of here, the mood’s kinda depressing”

She couldn’t help but smile at his gesture, she knew she should say no, for she could see how it would end before it even began. But there was something about him that felt so empathetic, she couldn’t ignore it.

She grabbed his outstretched arm and he helped her up. He led her along the shoreline, “Where are we going?” She giggled as he started walking faster “you’ll see”.

They kept walking until they reached a pile of big rocks. A grin took over his lips as he stared at the top. He climbed up the rocks and assisted her in doing so as well. When they reached the top, she stared in awe at the enchanting vista that laid before her of moonlight bouncing off the water as she enjoy the wind that whispered through her hair what felt like sweet nothings.

She couldn’t resist her burning urge, she smiled at him and he gave her a knowing look, raising his eyebrows. Before he could protest she let go of his hand, jumping in the water underneath them. He shook his head in amusement “How’s the water?” He chuckled as she resurfaced. She sighed in pleasure, “magical, you’re missing out” she stated as she started swimming away; it didn’t take long for him to join her in the moonlight water.

As they splashed water at one one another, the melody of their laugh echoing, a feeling the boy did not recognise washed over him, a foreign feeling, it was sharp and instant but in the best way possible.

They swam to shore laying wet on the warm sand as they gazed into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily and cackling every few seconds. “You’re shivering” he pointed out as goosebumps littered her skin. “What?” She looked at her arm “oh, it’s nothing” she said, shrugging it off. “Are you cold? Come here” he scooted closer, embracing her in his arms. At the contact of his warm body, heat rose to her face, and now it wasn’t just her blush that made her cheeks rosy. He held her for hours as they stared into the silent night, until eventually it turned into day.

They waved farewell and went their separate ways, meeting at the same spot the following few days.

One time she got there after him, claiming she had to leave early and he took the liberty of walking her to her hotel. On their way there, he noticed she, yet again, was walking barefoot, and decided to bring it up, for he was genuinely interested, “Hey, how come you never wear shoes?”

“So you’d have what to ask”

he rolled his eyes and she giggled. They walked under street lights and through the halls until they reached the the door to her room, he knew he was supposed to leave, however he could no longer suppress how badly he wanted her.

Their faces were only several inches away from one another when his lips almost brushed hers, her heart started beating faster as her mind kept screaming at her, ‘THIS WILL END BADLY!’, she tried stopping him, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. His lips landed on hers and at first, she didn’t kiss back. He was about to detach them in sheer embarrassment, when she grabbed the back of his neck, moving her lips in sync with his own. She escorted him into her hotel room, both their clothes discarded on the floor within seconds as he made her feel utter pleasure.

From that point on, they spent all of their time together.

At the beginning she saw what they had more as intimacy over emotion, pushing to the back of her mind the thought of loving him, but it was no use. She fell in love with his bad boy act and puppy love, which quickly turned to real love. It was everything she’d ever wanted. Both passion and tenderness. He fell in love with her spiritual state of mind, fascinated by the way she would notice and appreciate the smallest of things most people would take for granted. she would drive him wild, he fell head over heels, they both did.

No matter how hard the voice in her head begged her to stop, she wouldn’t. For he made her feel alive again, for the first time in years, she felt.

He was infatuated with her. It was only within the number of days, when she realised how unfair it was to him, how she could’ve prevented his impending pain, but nevertheless chose to be selfish.

Whenever he’d squeeze her hips or kiss her lips, all her worries would disappear into thin air, as if they were never there to begin with. However they’d come rushing back as soon as he was out of sight. All the doubts, the ache, the regret. It would all consume her.

He was her medicine, even if he didn’t know it. He had both the best and worst affect on her.

She would be his destruction, even if she denied it. She was yet to give him his both most divine but painful experience.

One that would both shatter their hearts but open their eyes.

They were each other’s great escape.

She kept telling herself she deserved to love one last time, justifying his looming loneliness, thinking it can’t end that badly.

They woke up tangled in each other’s arms, she smiled down at his drowsy figure, thinking how this was too good to be true, when it hit her, it was. Because it wouldn’t last forever. She remembered she had to leave that night, at the late hours of the darkness. She knew how hard this would be, with each hot summer day that passed by, closer to the end, she postponed the departure from him, but it was no use, she knew she’d have to do it eventually.

It was almost sundown, she took it on herself to give them both one more memory, even if he didn’t know it was a last.

He stood beside her, the hazy sky turned into a brilliant combination of scarlet and gold as hundreds of tiny lights glistened in the gloaming. As she looked over at him she held in tears that started pricking the corners of her eyes at the realisation that this would be the very last time she’d get to see his enchanting smile.

As the sun and stars took up their new positions on opposite ends of the earth, the two sat on the sand. He was situated between her legs as she tangled her hands in his golden locks, looking at his gleaming eyes which, similar his skin, were beaming in the moonlight. As her dainty fingers started roaming his freckled shoulders ever so gently, she couldn’t help but think of how much she’d miss him. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had no choice. The end was inevitable, it was only a matter of time after all.

When they were about to part ways, he said the one thing that made leaving so much harder. The three words she longed to hear, but all of the sudden wished she never did. “I love you”, was whispered in her ear, followed by a kiss on her temple. She hugged him as tight as she possibly could, eyes clouded by salty tears she desperately tried holding in, miserably failing.

When they broke the hug, he whipped her cheeks smiling softly. He was about to turn around and leave when she clung onto the hem of his shirt, signalling him to stay, he chuckled at her antics, “don’t get all emotional with me, i’ll see you tomorrow”.

She shifted all her weight to the tips of her toes and captured his lips with her own. It was longer than usual, filled with fervour. Even before detaching her lips from his she started yearning them.

“What as that for?” His smirk grew bigger as she stared up at him in adoration, “I love you too” at the sound of her voice saying those words he grinned from ear to ear, caressing her cheeks and resting his forehead against hers. He pecked her lips once more before walking away, in view of the fact he was late to his night shift.

If he only knew at the time that it would be their last goodbye.

Leaving him was the hardest thing she’d ever done. She missed the chance to confront him and so she left a sealed envelope on his doorstep. When he got home at almost dawn, he picked up the paper, examining it. He saw his named signed on the back, immediately recognising her handwriting. He went to his room and opened it, uncovering a letter.

“Dear JJ, God this sounds like a cliché already,” he chortled to himself, knowing how much she hates them, then kept reading, “I couldn’t pluck up the courage to say this to you in person, I just couldn’t say goodbye, I didn’t want to. Saying it out loud would’ve made it real, it would’ve made it our last encounter and i couldn’t let out last moment be any less extraordinary than any of our prior ones.

The reason I left is also the reason I came to the Outer Banks in the first place, I have a medical condition, one that is slowly causing my immune system to collapse, that’s why I’m cold all the time and it’s also the reason I’m always barefoot. the truth is I’m desperate to feel, my illness caused my mental health to go to shit. When I walk barefoot, I do my best to absorb the earth’s energy, I want to feel everything, knowing soon I won’t be able to feel anything.

And after years of chasing an unknown feeling, I met you. From the moment I saw you, I knew it would end this way and still, I was selfish. I couldn’t help myself. But honestly, I don’t regret a thing. For the first time in forever, someone, you, made me feel something other than my ongoing pain.

Thank you, for loving me. And for letting me love you. I’m sorry it had to end this way, I never wanted this for you. My days are limited and you have to understand that as much as I want to spend them with you, I can’t do that to you, to myself.

I will forever cherish what we had.

If you think this is a goodbye letter, you’re wrong. I know we’ll see each other again, I promise you that, even if it’s just pretend. You will always be in my wildest dreams.

I love you Maybank

forever yours, your barefoot beauty”

As he finished reading her letter, he couldn’t believe the words spilled on the page before him. He waisted no time and started running to her hotel, praying on the way it was some joke. He repeatedly knocked on what used to be her hotel room door, greeted by unfamiliar faces of new guests.

That’s when he knew, he was too late.

She was already boarding the airplane, on her way to get treatment elsewhere since the doctors of the OBX did all the could, eventually dispatching her to a different hospital.

She looked out the window as the plane started taking off, the houses below her turning minuscule. She was wrapped up in the hoodie he gave her one chilly night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice, she could still taste his lips. She inhaled deeply, letting the smell that dripped off his hoodie, a combination of his cologne and salt water, engulf her.

Losing her felt like actual hell.

He kept her letter in his back pocket, carrying it wherever he went and reading it every once in a while.

After a month of pain, of imagining her everywhere, of denying she ever left, his feet led him to the beach.

He sat down on the sand in their spot and for some reason it felt different. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he knew something changed. The wind felt different, causing shivers to go down his spine.

As he dipped his feet in the water, staring at the folded piece of paper in his hand, he mumbled under his breath “i wish you were here”.

She plopped down beside him as he kept staring at the slowly setting sun. She placed her hand on his shoulder, stroking it gently with her thumb in compassion.

“Me too” she muttered, even though she knew he couldn’t hear nor could he feel her, no one could, not anymore.

—

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[dancedelion]

omg have you heard Tolerate It from taylor swifts new album? it reminds me of your fics so much idk if you might wanna use it as a prompt. specifically "if it's all in my head tell me now, tell me i've got it wrong somehow / i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it" but also just like the whole song in general hahaha xo

Ahhh you’re so right! It’s a really great song. (My other favorites from the album are ‘champagne problems’ and ‘right where you left me’) Thank you so much for the ask and the suggestion! I’m sorry it took me so long to actually get to writing a fic about it, I was busy with uni but I've been thinking about the fic all this time. I hope you like it!

Here it is (or here on ao3):

Geralt of Rivia is a man made of stone. He endures. The world spins around him, he stays the same. For a long time, he does. Nothing can faze him, nothing draws more than a sigh from him.

(He is the first man on earth.)

Nothing could surprise him or catch him off guard. He watches, he hears and he expects the unexpected. The way a witcher learns to feel the world, with all its contradictions, the threats in a gift and the gift in a threat. He learns to become the monster he hunts and understand its ravenous hunger. He has learned to recognize a trap and to walk straight into it, head held high.

(He weathers it.)

His knees might break, his leg might be bruised, might be bleeding, might be crushed beneath the enormous body of a monster he killed, but as long as it can move, he will move it. No gash in his arm will stop him from hunting. No slammed door will stop him from sleeping.

(He weathers the storms, the nights, the long days, the sad days.)

He sleeps in the woods. On rainy days, he sleeps wet. On snowy days, he sleeps cold. In monster-infested parts of the woods, he sleeps with one eye open.

(He weathers the stares and the talk and children running from him in the streets.)

No insult, no matter how well-deserved, can stop his stone heart. No breathing thing, no matter how misguided, no matter how wasted, no matter how cruel, can stop him from saving it.

(Nothing can break this curse, no true love’s kiss, no dragon’s breath. He wanders the world, he is made of stone.)

He doesn’t need.

(He weathers the crickets chirping close by.)

Nothing can change his opinion once he has made up his mind.

(Coin does not move him. Threats don’t move him. Do you dare to call the mountains noble? Do you grant a rock the notion of honour?)

Some things, a woman with soft skin and a sharp blade, a young girl with a future, stones in the street – some things leave him unbalanced. But in the end, even that belongs in his life, because it turned out to be made of pain.

But then –

Like the only thing that has ever been sudden. Like a flash from a time he does not remember. Something changes.

Someone changes. Him.

His mind, constantly. His clothes, whenever he can afford something better. His lovers like a traveller changes beds.

He – bright and inexplicable – saunters into Geralt’s life a minor nuisance – Geralt knows and deals with those – but then –

Jaskier stays. And the world becomes loud. And flowers become a sea of colours. And Geralt has rarely had to hide a smile before.

Geralt has always made do with the bare minimum, but Jaskier thinks he deserves lavender in his baths, clean clothes, healed wounds. And, just like losing the advantage in a fight, Geralt feels himself softening. The world is hard to withstand again, as if her were just a child, before his first trials, before anyone ever hurt him, and it’s all Jaskier’s fault. Hushed words hurt again, he can feel each scrape and even the smaller bruises. He never cared people were afraid until Jaskier told them to be impressed. He has never longed for something precious until -

He hates Jaskier for it, for the way his chest goes tight, for the way he misses the easy touches the moment they’re gone.

It was easier not to feel anything at all. It was necessary not to feel anything at all.

He wonders if Jaskier knows, if this was his plan all along - to become so necessary, so indispensable, so deeply lodged into Geralt’s heart that nothing could wedge him out. But Jaskier can’t have expected those feelings to grow so heavy - Jaskier would crumble under even half the weight of it. No. Jaskier never asked for this. Nonetheless, not even this unyielding bulk of emotion that Geralt can’t put a name to is enough to make Jaskier flee. He would never carry his share, but the sight of its mass doesn’t frighten him.

Of course Jaskier wants Geralt to like him. That’s how he gets what he needs, his adventures and his muse. The severity of it has never surprised him, he has always been strangely casual about it. Acceptant, even. And if Jaskier is not going to mind his affection, Geralt is not going to stop showing it, even though he does wonder where Jaskier’s limit is. If Geralt ever acknowledges it. If her ever puts a name to it. If he ever makes the wrong move –

He won’t. He needs this fragile thing whole now. He will be as fond as Jaskier can take, not a smidge more. The smallest bit of warmth from a witcher is scalding hot, he knows. So he is careful. He minds his movements. Nothing too startling, nothing too grotesque. No smile that shows his teeth. He won’t let it become so vast that it crowds Jaskier into a corner and forces him to reject it.

Jaskier tolerates the hair standing up on Geralt’s neck when he is bathing and his lingering glances whenever Geralt can’t control himself.

They both know Jaskier will only stay if he lets it go unsaid.

 ***

Jaskier never hoped for much from Geralt. At first, it was just a risk with massive pay-out. Geralt was intimidating and skilled while Jaskier had nothing on offer except for far-fetched promises. Only later, Jaskier realized how much better Geralt is. Not just better, but good. So good. Always trying to do the right thing. It’s clear destiny has great plans for him, no matter how much Geralt loves to deny it. And of course, Jaskier is only a footnote in his story. (No one knows better than Jaskier, he is writing it himself.)

Geralt will go out and save the world and he will let Jaskier wait for him. He will let Jaskier trudge after him and paint him beautiful in his songs. It’s perfectly understandable that Jaskier wants that – who wouldn’t want to get close to a legend? Some things are harder to get away with, but Geralt lets him, easily. He lets Jaskier make his excuses and they both pretend not to know the truth behind his little lies. Attend the festival with me to protect me from angry husbands, Geralt. Wear this doublet because that’s respectable, you heathen. Let me bathe you because you smell like a rat.

Geralt is much smarter than people give him credit for and he can see through Jaskier effortlessly. And of course he also is much kinder than people give him credit for, so he does not mention it.

Nothing Jaskier does can press Geralt into a final good-bye that Jaskier can’t wriggle out of and turn into See you next spring.

He is made of stone. Jaskier’s love won’t impress him, but it also won’t scare him, won’t hurt him.

(He tolerates the burning brightness of the sun. He tolerates the lizard’s small feet clutching onto him.)

Bottomline is, Jaskier gets to keep this. As long as Jaskier doesn’t let it overflow and keeps it just secret enough that his songs come across as odes rather than love letters, Geralt doesn’t mind it. As long as he keeps his mouth shut and leaves everything unspoken.

 ***

Jaskier’s favourite indulgence is bathing Geralt, perhaps because of just how much Geralt lets him get away with. The first time he did it, he was cautious about it but when he realized Geralt’s protest were half-hearted, he grew bolder. Geralt tolerates Jaskier’s hands messaging his scalp. He tolerates the petals and oils. He even tolerates Jaskier’s gentle touches so long as Jaskier reigns himself in and keeps them sparse.

Tonight, Jaskier offers to wash Geralt’s back and Geralt gives him a short nod. He is completely rigid under Jaskier’s hands, but he tolerates it. Jaskier relishes in being able to be kind to Geralt, but at the same time, he feels guilty for wanting more. Shouldn’t he be satisfied? Geralt gives him enough as it is.

Jaskier knows this is the kind of love that smothers people, violently, until their eyes are bulging and their limbs twitching. It’s the king of love to break free from, unless you have skin as though as his. And not many people do.

Jaskier is exceptionally good at making people leave. It’s his second talent – right after being a bard, he’s a leavee. Someone who gets left. Geralt is the only one who can put up with his love for any length of time. It’s precarious – each touch might be the one that is too much. When Geralt finally tells him to leave and never return. So Jaskier plays his risky game and tries to walk the edge.

“If you leave them out in the cold for too long, frozen. Let them eat mushrooms from the woods – poisoned. Don’t watch how much alcohol they’re drinking – dead. She is very concerned,” Geralt tells him while Jaskier adds more oil to the water.

Jaskier blinks. What had they been talking about? Ah right, a sorceress in love with a human.

“Uhm,” Jaskier says slowly, “Geralt, have you forgotten that I, too, am human?”

“It’s very concerning.”

Jaskier shakes his head and keeps walking around the bathtub. It’s not like he can do anything to stop Geralt from seeing him as weak and incapable. And yet –

“Excuse me? If you think I need constant supervision like a dog, I will be very insulted.”

He emphasizes very. He is already insulted. Geralt, however, is not looking at him. Like he’s not even worth being noticed.

“Humans are fragile,” Geralt says to the water, “you turn your back or don’t pay attention for a moment and they’re gone.”

“Ah, ah,” Jaskier lifts his finger and wiggles it disapprovingly, “don’t believe you’re getting rid of me so easily.”

Jaskier lets his gaze wander over Geralt’s sculpted back. He allows himself to look only because he knows even witchers don’t have eyes in their back.

He wonder who else has touched Geralt, has dared to love him, as held his gaze in the candlelight and made him smile. He wonders if they did it right.

“Susceptible to diseases, falling victim to mild weather conditions, a bad harvest,” Geralt apparently can’t let this go. “You can barely make it a few decades.”

Jaskier is inferior, sure, he gets it. Knowing Geralt, he probably doesn’t even realize how insensitive he’s being.

Jaskier lets his hand sift through the water to see if the temperature is right, then he decides the bath is missing some petals. See, Geralt. Still useful.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” Jaskier says, “that’s a whole lifetime.”

“It’s a sabbatical.”

That statement makes Jaskier so indignant he has to stop trying to pick the most beautiful petals and turn around.

“You’re just over a hundred,” Jaskier scoffs. “And you’re not invincible either.”

Seriously. Maybe writing all those high-praising songs about Geralt are getting to his head. He should write a song about how Geralt is just a totally average guy, actually, that can be killed too if he doesn’t pay enough attention to who he insults during his bath.

“I’m hard to kill,” Geralt says, “humans… a gust of wind could blow you over.”

“I don’t believe it’s quite so dramatic,” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I have managed to keep myself alive this long after all.”

He carefully keeps his gaze on Geralt’s head and his dripping hair, conscious not to let it wander further down and make Geralt uncomfortable.

“Barely,” Geralt presses his lips together. “I had to save you from almost drinking poison twice, from slipping or stumbling down the stairs at least a dozen times, from angry men with shovels over eight-”

“Okay, okay, stop, I get it,” Jaskier quickly interrupts. “I might not be the prime example.”

Finally, Jaskier walks around the tub to hand Geralt a towel. When Geralt gets up, the water splashing, Jaskier hurries to turn his back. There are lines, and this is one.

He listens. Ruffles. Shuffling. Wet footsteps over a wooden floor. Clothes rustling – a pull. Jaskier turns back around, now that Geralt is wearing pants.

“Well,” Jaskier says, eager to get back to what they were originally talking about, “she loves a human, so what? It can’t be as bad as being hopelessly in love with a witcher, you can be sure of that.”

Geralt, who had just pulled a black shirt over his head, abruptly turns.

“A witcher?” Jaskier freezes. Ah. Fuck.

He spoke the unspeakable. He said the poetically and pathetically unsaid. Another line he promised himself he would never cross. He doesn’t want to test Geralt too much.

He can tell his heartrate speeds up and he hopes against hope Geralt will ignore it, will ignore his sweating hands. Maybe if he just acts casually enough, this can be another thing Geralt tolerates. (Oh, if he could say it, Jaskier would never stop.)

“Don’t be obtuse, Geralt,” Jaskier says quietly.

Geralt flinches backward, a small movement.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He tries to parse Geralt’s reaction, but Geralt is just staring. He’s not taking it well. Maybe he thinks he has to respond, so he’s awkward and trying to find a gentle way to state the obvious. Maybe Jaskier just made it too literal, too personal. So direct that it’s suddenly uncomfortable, when Geralt could overlook all of Jaskier’s other slip-ups.

Laid out like that, Geralt might feel guilty about just accepting it. Even though Jaskier would be more than happy to just continue as they were, giving as much as Geralt would let him. Would it help if Jaskier promised not to mention it again? How can he step back behind that line? How can he swallow the words back down again?

How can he stop Geralt from leaving?

 ***

Geralt knows he’s giving too much away again, with his idiotic reaction. He should take it in stride, like he does all of Jaskier’s little love affairs. But he can’t move, can’t do anything but look at the fragile human across from him, who just won’t understand what exactly it is Geralt is so afraid of.

(Once you blink out of existence, I’m the one who will have to deal with the damage you’ve done to that wall I built around my heart.)

Geralt can deal with all those lovers who come and go, who are so loveable that it just makes sense Jaskier would leave him for them. But he never thought –

He didn’t expect –

A witcher?

Why would Jaskier love a witcher? Witchers are too brutish, too brutal to be worthy of a love like that. Then again, when he thinks about his friends back at Kaer Mohren, someone like Eskel, yes, it doesn’t seem so strange. Because deep down he’s always known it’s not being a witcher that makes him untouchable. It’s something else, something far more terrifying. Because that makes it his fault. It’s his own fault Jaskier doesn’t like him.

And Geralt should never, ever ask him to. He should get a grip, shake himself out of it and just accept that Jaskier can love a witcher. Just not him.

Act like it’s nothing. Act like it doesn’t matter. It’s just a small incident they can sweep under the rug like every other time Geralt was being a little too much.

“I -”

Geralt has forgotten how to speak.

Each moment he draws it out longer, the less likely it becomes that Jaskier will forgive this overreaction. Not as easily as the last few times.

What if Geralt just asked, why it can’t be him? Could Jaskier forgive that? No. They both know. It’s that Geralt can’t ever get it right, that he’s too harsh, has too many edges. It’s that all of his affections are pitiful, laughable, compared to what Jaskier really deserves.

Okay. Okay. He just needs to calm down. They can walk through this. He tries his best to smooth out his expression.

“I’m sorry.”

Deep breath.

“So, who’s caught your attention now? I didn’t know you’d met another witcher.”

As he says it, it becomes terribly clear all out of a sudden how very replaceable Geralt is. Geralt isn’t giving Jaskier anything he can’t get elsewhere. If this other witcher allows it, Jaskier can just as well travel with them. If Geralt makes it anymore plain what a bad friend he is, Jaskier will leave without hesitation. Especially if Geralt can’t get a grip on his emotions. Jaskier needs to be absolutely sure that Geralt will never make a move that will be embarrassing and uncomfortable for both of them.

But Jaskier’s jaw falls open, almost comically.

“What – what the fuck are you talking about?”

Damn it. Jaskier won’t just let him circumvent the topic then. Geralt has made things too awkward earlier with that long stretch of silence. Being casual won’t do this time.

“Fuck,” he says, looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Forcibly, he drags his eyes back again. Please, he tries to somehow communicate. Please just tolerate it.

“I don’t understand why you’re apologizing.”

Geralt swallows audibly. The statement is a little hard to interpret. Maybe this is Geralt’s olive branch. Jaskier is willing to pretend this little mishap never happened. All Geralt has to do is go along with it and they can be back to normal.

“Hm,” he says.

He’ll go to sleep. Maybe in the morning, Jaskier will go off with his witcher. But maybe he’ll come back in the spring, bored of the witcher like he gets bored of all his other lovers. Geralt has to hang on to that possibility.

“Wait, no -”

Jaskier is suddenly scrambling to get closer. Geralt pauses in his step.

“Wait, wait, wait, conversation not over,” Jaskier says quickly, stops in front of Geralt. “What witcher are you talking about? What the fuck, Geralt?”

“I – your love – I – it doesn’t bother me,” Geralt says, staggeringly unconvincingly.

It is a little strange, now that Geralt thinks about it. Where did Jaskier meet this witcher, and why did Geralt not notice? They’ve been travelling together for weeks. Maybe he met this witcher longer ago. In spring, before they met again. If that’s the case, that means it’s more serious. It’s been on Jaskier’s mind a long time. Fuck.

“Really?” Jaskier asks. “It doesn’t?”

Maybe this is why Jaskier hasn’t told him all this time. He was afraid how Geralt would react, if he would take it badly.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Jaskier lets out a long breath. “I was so worried.”

Geralt nods curtly. Good. He said the right thing, then. Jaskier’s heartbeat quietens down.

“But then, it hasn’t bothered you so far, am I right?” Jaskier gives him a lopsided smirk.

It’s an irritating thing to say. Surely Jaskier noticed that all of his dalliances had bothered Geralt, at least a little. It might be that Jaskier expected more of a reaction out of Geralt because this is more than a dalliance.

“Hm.”

Out of all the people Jaskier could choose to settle down with, why did it have to be a witcher? He wonders if it’s just implied that they won’t keep travelling together. Should he ask? No, better not. That would make it seem like it does bother him. He doesn’t want to put Jaskier off more than he already has.

“Does…” Jaskier seems hesitant, shy even. “Does that mean you don’t mind when I tell you?”

Geralt’s hands clench, but he unclenches them again quickly. No, he does not mind to hear about how much Jaskier loves someone else, about how he is going to leave and live a happy life with them. He doesn’t mind at all.

“No.”

“Wonderful.”

Geralt waits for a beat, certain that Jaskier is about to start gushing about this witcher he met, but it doesn’t come. The conversation seems to be finally over. Jaskier is humming contentedly under his breath while they are getting ready for bed. It’s good. (It’s the last of this Geralt might ever get.)

They have a room with two beds. Geralt lies still and listens to Jaskier’s calm breath.

Jaskier blows out the candle on his bedside table.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Love you.”

…

?

???

“What?”

“I said, goodnight.”

“After - after that.”

“You said you didn’t mind. You can’t take it back now.”

The light of Geralt’s candle flickers up after a quick use of Igni.

Jaskier is shooting him cautious looks from the other bed.

“You said you didn’t mind,” he repeats.

“I said I didn’t mind if you talked about your witcher,” Geralt says, because it’s the easiest thing to say. This one he knows.

“Stop talking about yourself in the third person, it’s weird.”

Stunned, Geralt sinks against the wall.

“Me?” “Yes, you. Who else would I be talking about?”

Who else, indeed.

“I thought you met someone.”

“Yes, I did, in Posada. You were there.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Come on, Geralt, stop playing dumb. You’ve known for years I’m in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me,” Geralt says, dumbstruck.

“Geralt, are you okay? We just had a whole conversation about it.”

Jaskier is sitting up in his bed too now. He looks small in the shadows, even smaller when he draws his legs up. Geralt can only keep watching him.

“Wait, you really didn’t know? You thought I was talking about another witcher?” Geralt nods mutely.

“Oh.”

There is no other witcher. Can that be right? Geralt has a distinct feeling he is misunderstanding something.

“Well, I’m sorry. If you didn’t know,” Jaskier says. His voice has turned very soft. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s gaze on him.

“I didn’t.”

“I thought you did. I really did. But, uhm. I get this is a lot to deal with. If you. If you would like time to process, I could -”

“No.”

“Oh. Good.”

Geralt sits up urgently, swings his legs over the side of the bed. Jaskier is instantly alarmed.

“You don’t have to go,” he rushes to say. “You can just get used to it. Nothing has to change.”

“I just want -” Geralt closes his eyes, takes another deep breath. “It’s hard to say.”

“Whatever you want, really. If – if you want me to leave, I will. Of course.” “No. I.”

He stands up abruptly. Each of his movements is stark and sudden. Why can’t Jaskier just understand him? Why can’t he just say all those things he thought both of them knew, when it was really just him all along? Him, in his head, with a myriad of unfeelable things.

He steps toward Jaskier stiffly, watches Jaskier’s eyes go wider. He climbs onto the bed and presses Jaskier back by his shoulders. Wills him to get it. He searches his eyes, wants so viscerally, so obviously, that Jaskier must see it.

“Oh,” Jaskier mouths. “Is this -”

His hands come up to cup Geralt’s face.

“Yes,” Geralt’s voice doesn’t come out as anything more than a whisper.

“Darling,” Jaskier says, like it’s a revelation.

Geralt needs to tell him. Out of all the things he has never said, this one is burning his tongue. He leans down and presses his lips to Jaskier’s in the half-dark. Jaskier draws his head back only to catch his breath. But it wasn’t good enough. He needs to say more. He needs to tell Jaskier in all the words that he has.

He breathes another kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, then one against the barely visible dimple on his cheek. Nothing cushions Geralt against the way Jaskier’s hands slide up into his hair and his grip tightens. His hair smells sweet. His eyelids flutter. Love is lighter, now that Jaskier is helping him carry it.

Jaskier lets out a breathless laugh. Geralt wants to catch his pretty smile. He wants to make that smile everyday. He wants to draw up laughter from the bottom of Jaskier’s stomach.

It’s disarming. Geralt is still wearing pants and a shirt, but he feels stripped down. It’s all laid bare now, all those impossible hungers. All forbidden wishes. Each place on Jaskier’s face that Geralt has dreamed of kissing.

Here is something soft, something that has always lived in him. Jaskier has just chiselled away at the stone until he found it and fed it and made it grow into a vast expanse of tender touches and whispered words.

“Is this okay?” Jaskier says quietly.

Okay. Okay is a flavourless four-letter word. It weighs much more than that.

It’s significant. Substantial. It extinguishes sadness swiftly, like an uprising flame just before it can consume everything else.

“It’s beautiful,” Geralt says, because he’s never been particularly good with words. “It’s perfect.”

I want you, I want you, I want you. Aren’t you frightened?

Geralt takes one of his hands from Jaskier’s shoulders and props it up next to Jaskier’s head instead. Looming over him, a threat in the darkness, Geralt keeps his face close to Jaskier’s, his eyes fixed on his eyes, as if to ask him.

Jaskier answers with an cheerful smile.

I’m elated, darling. You have me.

It’s nothing to take. It’s nothing to endure. It’s no weight to crumble under. It’s something to have. Something to share. Something to make real in the dead of night and fantastical at dawn.

It’s the most precious thing Geralt has ever been allowed to have. And it’s a privilege, getting to keep it.

#the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher

[laceymorganwrites]

Exile

Word count: 1,135

Pairing: former Kenma x reader

Warnings: swearing maybe, a bunch of heartbreak, yelling

Song: Exile - Taylor Swift, Bon Iver

A/N: I´ve had this idea for so long now, I finally got my ass up to write it.

Taglist: @babythotshq (send in an ask to be added to my general taglist or to my fandom specific ones, you can also ask to be tagged in works for a certain character)

I can see you standin', honey With his arms around your body Laughin' but the joke's not funny at all And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall

Kenma didn´t expect to see you so soon after your break up. Well, it´s been months, but still, the wound was more than fresh for him. He thought too much whether or not he should approach you, but as soon as he saw another pair of arms wrap around you, his heart sunk.

So you had already moved on…

On the one hand he wished he could too, but then again, he would never be able to forget you, stop loving you even less.

His eyes went wide at the sound of your laughter, he never thought he´d hear it again, it was one of his favorite sounds in the world and he regretted nothing more than telling you to shut up because he couldn´t concentrate.

He should´ve made you laugh more. I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defendin' now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Kenma knew it was a mistake to get into a relationship with you. And yet he couldn´t stop himself.

Why should he? He loved you after all.

Or so he thought.

He never questioned anything, that was why it didn´t work out. Kenma took everything about you for granted and never once reflected on himself.

Now he knew what a big mistake that was, but then he had more important things to do.

Oh how he hated himself for thinking that way.

But now everything was too late. He let you go just like that and didn´t even watch you walk out.

Regret was all he felt and yet he didn´t have the guts to do anything about it. All he did was think, about how badly he fucked up, about how you were much happier now, about how he wanted to be the one to make you happy. Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

You were too busy laughing at the joke of your boyfriend to notice Kenma staring at you. Well he never was one to stand out in the crowd.

And yet when you looked at your boyfriend, your smile still adamant and your eyes bright, you caught a glimpse of him and everything around you went dark.

It felt like gravity was pulling you to the ground, punching you in the face and kicking your guts at the same time.

Kenma still had that uncaring look on his face, it was something you grew to hate over time, something that always frustrated you so much.

You were still mad at him for letting you walk out like that, no, you were mad at yourself for not being more persistent.

But then again, you were doing your best. Your best to be there for him, to spend time with him.

And every one of your attempts was blocked by him, belittled and he would always roll his eyes at you, telling you not to overreact like that.

But with someone who didn´t react at all, that was the natural reaction. I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending I'm not your problem anymore So who am I offending now? You were my crown Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leavin' out the side door

Everything came back to you all at once, the way he was always so distant, so annoyed with you, the way he yelled at you that day…

But it wasn´t all his fault.

You shouldn´t have been that clingy, you should have supported him. With Kenma, you never were sure what you were going to get.

Some days he was really cuddly and affectionate and wanted to spend a lot of time with you, but even more days he was distant and didn´t want you anywhere close to him.

On those days you felt more than unwanted, like a bother and nuisance.

So step right out There is no amount Of cryin' I can do for you

Kenma never meant to push you away like that, you were his first relationship, he didn´t know what to do and was too ashamed to ask.

He wanted to be perfect and every time he wasn´t, he got so frustrated and mad at himself.

Never did he mean to take his anger out on you, never did he mean to close up the way he did.

But he couldn´t change time. And the worst thing was that he couldn´t even make it better.

It wasn´t his place anymore, you´ve already found someone to mend your broken heart. All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (You didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

You fought for him until the very last second. Every time he closed the door on you, you kept knocking and brought him water and food. You always made sure to take care of him even though he didn´t want to see you.

Whenever he was having those bad days of doubt and sadness, you were always there, waiting for him to open up and tell you what was wrong.

He never did.

Communication has always been your biggest problem.

Kenma overall didn´t talk and you just stopped trying at some point.

You never should´ve given up on you. Maybe all of this could´ve been resolved if Kenma told you what he wanted, lacked, needed.

All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs So many signs (You didn't even see the signs) Kenma decided to go home instead of staring at you and your boyfriend any longer. It was no use anyway.

He could never make up for the way he treated you, he didn´t have the right to.

Neither did he have the right to intrude in your new love and happiness.

If only he noticed the longing look you had on your face when he walked away the same way you once did, without saying a single word.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu songfic #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu kenma #kenma kozume #kenma x reader #kenma imagine #kenma oneshot #kenma scenario #kenma songfic #hq #hq imagine #hq oneshot #hq songfic #hq scenario #hq kenma

[lilywoood]

You’ve got a mail 4/15

Hi guys I’m back, it’s been a long time and I missed y’all, things have been crazy on here so I had to step back, it came to a point where I truly hated writing, I was panicked and anxious every time I tried to get back at it, but it’s been take care of and I’m feeling better, I’m still anxious and trust me I’m super scared of posting that new part today, but I didn’t want to make you wait any longer so I hope you’ll like it and I’m sorry for being away for so long ♥️♥️

Tag list : @cherishingstydia @diazbuckleysworld @translucent-bisexual @impossiblealice @hardychick89 @felicitous-one @justsmilestuffhappens @comablog2 @gxtop @jb-ap-94 @chioink @peroquenotevean @tk-carlosforlifex @nighting-gale17 @fyeahhipsterdoctor @leslilupe @anthony-e-stark-3000 @haderofthesociety @iamonlyaliveformalex @wearelosersyoudumbfuck @serenabuckley @multi-fandom-writing @my-name-i-we

Word count : 1533

Song : Miss Americana & the Heartbreak prince - Taylor Swift

From TK: I don’t know how to be happy, it’s like when Alex left me, when he told me about the other guy, it felt as if he sucked all the good things, all the happiness out of me and now…now I feel like an empty shell, like there is a void that I have to fill…

From Buck: How do you fill it?

From TK: By ruining others people happiness, by breaking, hurting and deceiving them, by giving them reasons to give up on me…

From Buck: Well I’m not giving up and neither should you.

He’d remember his last conversation with Buck, remember how they talked for hours about happiness, about whether they deserved it, should chase it, or just hope for it...

He could feel the icy liquid running through his veins, could feel its poison penetrating every cells, every parts of his body, taking possession of his soul, of his being, he could feel each of his limits, each of his barriers giving way as it gained ground, spreading into his system, taking over his brain, his sense, his mind.

He didn’t try to fight it, didn’t try to snap, to take over, after all what was the point of fighting a battle bound to be lost.

Instead he passively watched how his body slowly started to disobey him, how his head was getting foggier by the minute, how strangers laughs faded in the background...

It took him less than five glasses to notice how he had miserably relapsed, spiraled, failed, it took three glasses for him to get more and more drunk, and four glasses to forget his name, his identity, his essence....

He didn’t really remember the why and how he ended up in such a shady place, he just remembered how he’d laughed shaking softly his head as he recalled that it was there that everything changed.

He couldn’t help but see the irony of the situation, of how the only way he could find comfort, relief and solace was in a shady, overcrowded downtown pub, the exact same he’d swore never to set foot again.

Yet here he was once again on a Thursday night four months later slumped over the bar, not caring one bit about the bikers and drunks laughing and slurring around him, too busy contemplating the bottom of his umpteenth whisky glass, admiring its amber color, anticipating its taste and the disastrous effect one swill of it would have.

His eyes were fixed on the golden liquid in his hand, his glass was almost empty but it didn’t fill the void in his heart no matter how many glasses he drank he couldn’t forget the devastated expression Carlos had when he stepped back, when he choose to let him go...

Memories started to cripple their way through his broken mind, his teary face, tossed hair, the feel of his hands gripping his shoulders tightly and the sound of his hoarded voice begging him to think about it...

-Can we talk about it, he’d pleaded grabbing his hand, please, he croaked.

-There’s nothing much to say, TK answered threading a hand through his hair, just give up already, he fidgeted.

-I have the right to know why TK, he demanded his voice quivering, you forced me out of this relationship, out of your life without giving me a real reason, he pursued fighting his tears, was I not enough.

-Truth is I tried loving you and I couldn’t, he lied turning away, I didn’t feel the same, he added squeezing his eyes shut, I’m sorry but there is nothing else to say, he articulated tears silently running down his cheeks.

His chest was aching, he felt his heart breaking even more, regret and remorse tearing it down, he needed the drinks, he needed to forget, needed to erase Carlos crestfallen expression from his mind, needed to forget how his touch lightened him in fire, how his kisses were like a breath of life, how the way he would scream his name was the most perfect melody he’d ever heard.

He needed to remind himself that he did the right things by letting him go, even if it hurt, even if it felt like some part of his soul had been torn away from him, he had to get over their relationship, however short it was, he had to erase Carlos from his skin, had to chase away the ghosts of his kisses, the memories of his caresses, of his touch, and quench the fiery burn of his love, of his devotion.

That was one of the main reason he found himself sharing filthy kisses in a shabby restroom with a total stranger on a Thursday night, any sane person knew how despair and alcohol weren’t a good mix, but TK wasn’t sane and the constant reminder of his recent break up, added to the far echo of Carlos’ voice in his head didn’t help either, and if accepting to be groped by a smelly drunk biker could make the memories go away so be it, if letting a closeted macho male have his way with him could temporarily erase Carlos from his mind, then to hell with it.

He would let any stranger, any blurry faces kiss him, touch him, caress him, screw him if it could for a brief moment, a mere second delete the one he truly wanted, the one he truly needed, and as he felt the burn of the biker beard against his skin, as he smelled his beer imbibed breath he found himself closing his eyes, clenching his fist in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from comparing them both, from letting his brain trick him into remembering how he was repulsed by the fact that someone else was touching him, how someone else was grunting in his ears, how someone else was ordering him to beg for his release, how someone else’s name was slipping from his lips.

He felt dirty, empty, ashamed even, he never thought in all his 26 years that he’ll one day feel this way, felt as if his core was rotten, corrupted, tainted, ruined beyond repair, he never felt that way, never felt so insignificant, so irredeemable, not even when he was hooked on the pills, it was as if the remaining of his soul, the last piece Alex left, had been destroyed, he was an empty shell, a living carcass, the world wasn’t gray anymore, alcohol and sex didn’t make it technicolor, the combination only darkened everything , it was all black and he needed some light, he needed to feel clean again…

From TK: Did you meant it when you said you won’t give up, please tell me you meant it…

From Buck: Of course I meant it, I’ll be there.

From TK: I…I had a slip up, I drank today for the first time in three months, and I never…I feel like such a failure, a disappointment, I feel so empty.

From Buck: You’re human TK, and with all the crap that happened I would have been surprised if you didn’t… what made you slip up thought?

From TK: I made Him cry, I ruined the only good thing that happened to me.

From Buck: You broke up with Carlos

From TK: Yes but trust me it’s better that way.

From Buck: For who you or him, didn’t you told me he was a good guy, that he understood and knew where you came from.

From TK: of course he’s a good guy, he’s everything Alex has ever been, it’s just…I guess I was afraid.

From Buck: Afraid of what, that he would love you?

From TK: No…I was afraid that one day he would wake up and realize that he could do so much better than me, that I’m a screw up, that I’m too much too handle, Alex left me and I nearly died because of it; I guess that letting Carlos go was the less hurtful option.

From Buck: I see where you’re coming from, but it wasn’t your decision to make, Carlos is a big guy, he knows what’s good for him, and he decided you were it, by leaving him without giving him a proper reason… TK by leaving him like this you became Carlos’ Alex…

He sighed glancing at his phone, he knew Buck’s was right, he knew deep down that he tried to take his revenge on Alex by hurting someone else, but Carlos, sweet and caring Carlos wasn’t responsible of the downfall of his relationship, he’d hurt him on purpose hopping that it would’ve reestablished the world natural balance when instead it hurt and destroyed them both, and as his glanced at his disheveled reflection he couldn’t help but wish, foolishly pray the godly force up there to grant him one more chance, one more try.

From TK: Man, sometime I really want you to be physically there, you’re the only one who get me.

From Buck: Seems like your wish has been granted this time…

#911 on fox #tv: 911 #911 lone star #911ls #911 crossover #crossover fic #tarlos #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #tk x carlos #carlos x tk #carlos reyes #tk strand #eddie diaz #evan buckley #you’ve got a mail #you’ve got a mail fic #angst #hurt comfort #tk x buck friendship

[darling-i-read-it]

Back To December

Alex Law x reader

Word Count: 1k 

Warnings: angst, break ups, sadness

Author’s Note: I had a hard time with my little baggie of names pulling out Alex for this one but I haven’t written for him in so long I figured I could give it a shot. Here you go! 

Summary: based on the song back to december 

Genre: angst with some hope 

Song:

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

    You hadn’t really loved Alex. That’s what you told yourself anyway. That you didn’t think that he was worthy of you for some reason or another. But in any event, you had accepted a few dates with him ir nothing else out of pity. 

    He was funny. His roommates were shitty and he liked to talk about them a lot but that didn’t really bother you. He seemed eccentric and filled with life which was lacking with people those days.

    You dated for a few months, from September through December. It was cold those days. It was supposed to be a record breaking low but you weren’t sure that it actually hit that. You broke up with Alex. You were feeling stuck emotionally. You told yourself that you didn’t need him to heal and that if you wanted to break out of this rut you needed to break up with him.

    So you did.

    Apparently (what you heard down the grape vine) Juliet and David now hated you. Alex wasn’t taking the break up well but you weren’t supposed to know that. If you saw him in the street he simply crossed the street like you didn’t even exist anymore.

    That January you started to feel it.

    What you had mistaken for the need to get rid of Alex was actually the need to have him closer. You thought that you would feel free but it turned out free was nothing except missing him. 

    You stood in front of his door. You had called him and he said you could come over but he didn't’ seem that happy about it. You wanted to see him, you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for breaking his heart, that you had no right to do that.

    Eventually the door just opened. David and Juliets laughter quickly died down as they locked eyes with you. They seemed to get reserved, like the walls had gone up. You had been friendly with them before but never enough for them to advocate for you after the break up. 

    “Hey,” you mumbled shyly. They gave you a nod and walked past you down the stairs. You saw Alex then, behind them. You gave him a strained smile and he nodded for you to come in. He shut the door behind you. 

    “Hi,” he muttered. His guard was up and you understood why. The last time you saw him you had said goodbye.

    “How’s life? How’s your family?” you asked, rubbing your arm. The room was thick with tension but you reminded yourself that you deserved his coldness. You hadn’t been a good girlfriend and you had been an even worse friend. 

    “Fine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. 

    “Weathers nice,” you commented. 

    “What do you want?” You swallowed your pride and looked down at the floor before down to him. You met his eyes, forcing yourself to. 

    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry that you were so good to me and I was so bad. I keep staying up at night, playing back me leaving and how stupid it was. How stupid I was! All those memories that I forfit for stupid reasons. I go back to December all the time,” you told him. “And maybe it’s just wishful thinking but if you gave me another chance I swear I would do it right this time. If I could go back in time and change it I would but I can’t. If you're not interested, I understand.” 

    His eyes weren’t looking at you anymore which you were thankful for. You figured that you were probably going to cry and you didn’t want him to see you crying.

    “I’m sorry,” you whispered again. You couldn’t look at him anymore. You wondered if this was how he felt when you broke up with him. You had felt heartless at the time but you could have sworn you weren’t this bad. Granted, your memories of that moment had been so muddled you probably wouldn’t even notice.

    Alex was quiet for a long time. You felt that pain that he was thinking about. How he couldn’t bear it if you broke him again. 

    “I don’t know,” he muttered. His usually carefree self had never looked so hopeless. 

    “I understand. You know where I live, if you change your mind,” you said quickly. You were eager to get out of there, just in case you started sobbing. You grabbed the door and turned it walking out quickly. You hurried down the stairs, holding your mouth to your hand. 

    Alex stood upstairs for a moment longer. You hadn’t been gone for ten seconds when he ran to the door and opened it, looking down at the flight of stairs you were running down.

    “Wait!” The sound of your rushed footsteps halted and you wiped your eyes, looking up at him. “Maybe one date. I’ll call you.” You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

    “Whenever. Call me whenever.” He nodded and you managed to give each other a strained smile before you were gone again. 

Ewan: @daphne-fandom-writing, @records-and-stardust​ @broodybats​ @starwarsprequelfangirl @ah-callie​ @rai-strangebr​ @whyisgmora​ @fandxmnerd​ @ewanfuckingmcgregor​ @peterpstuff​ @stardancerluv​

#alex law x reader #alex law imagines #ewan McGregor x reader