#This is a sad fic so have tissues ready

[ponderingmoonlight]

After your answer I feel more confident🥰Request about Nanami. He survived Shibuya, but suffered burns to his left side and eye. Nanami began to develop a complex and hide behind a layer of clothing. He thinks his girlfriend deserves better. But she thinks differently and is still ready to give him love🥺I saw such a fic once, but your hands will make this idea much better, I know

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reaching out and that absolutely adorable request! Please let me know what you think, I hope you'll like it. Don't hesitate to reach out again🤍

Nanami hiding his scars from his girlfriend after surviving Shibuya

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: basically the request above lol

Warnings: if you need some comfort this one's for you, so much fluff I'm gonna faint

Tags: @hellkaiserinphoenix @polarbvnny @obeythebutler

It was a ride on razor’s edge. Yes, the Shibuya incident turned your life upside down. The countless injuries, Gojo being sealed, so many deaths.

And the love of your life almost losing his very own life through the hands of curses.

“Where is he, Megumi?”

“(y/n)…”

Your eyes filled with tears, that unwell feeling in your guts proved itself right all over again. You knew things weren’t going right when your boyfriend stopped replying. But that…Seeing Maki and that old man like that…

That was so much worse that you thought.

“Where. Is. He.”, you hissed through gritted teeth, the boy in front of you almost drowning in his own sweat.

“He’s back at Jujutsu High. When I last saw him…Things weren’t going well for Nanami…I…I don’t know if he’s still alive…”

You felt like fainting, throwing up, beating everything and everyone, crying in the corner. How? How did this happen? Your husband, a grade 1 sorcerer, so skilled that his sheer presence sends shivers down the spine of his opponents…Your fucking boyfriend.

On the brick of death?

Yes, it was a true blessing that he barely made it. Since that fateful day, you were on his side night in night out, talking him through the silence, holding his hand while Shoko changed his bandages. Until eventually, he was able to return back home. Back to your shared apartment, back into your normal everyday life.

But it was far away from being like it was before Shibuya. No, something inside Kento changed so drastically that you sometimes feel like you don’t know him anymore.

“Hey sweetheart”, he greets you softly, arms embracing you in a tight hug.

“Good morning”, you mumble, stretching out your longing arms to feel him a little closer.

Just before your hands are able to hold onto his biceps, he turns away again and leaves you alone in the bed. You stare at his covered back, sadness washing over you like a wave. Silently he stands up, busying himself with his wardrobe while all you can do is watch him closely in an desperate attempt to stop yourself from crying.

You have no idea when was the last time since you saw your boyfriend in a t-shirt, let alone shirtless. Since his burns aren’t covered in bandages anymore and his skin seems to be entirely healed into a scar, he hides his body from your hungry gaze very well. But why? This has to come to an end, right here and now.

You lift yourself off the bed, hugging his much larger frame from behind. God, it feels so good to press your head against his tight muscles, his delicious taste making you feel whole again.

It was hard to bear, the thought of losing him. Even days after he got burned to severely, Shoko wasn’t entirely sure if he’ll be able to make it. It became obvious that if he’ll survive, he will have to live with his left side covered in scare tissue for the rest of his life. And while your love for him and his body grew only stronger, you feel like this doesn’t apply to him. Yes, something inside you tells you that his change in behaviour might have something to do with that.

Why does he wear long-sleeved shirts all the time, while does he not allow you to see and feel his naked skin anymore, why does he seem to always turn away the left side of his face from you? It truly breaks your heart, knowing that he seems to have lost his self-confidence after surviving such a traumatic incident.

“Don’t turn away from me, love.”

Your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to stay this one time, to allow your touch after months of turning you down.

“(y/n)”, he protests, body already on its way to shield itself from your longing hands.

“Why hiding from me when all I see is you?”, you question, hands intertwining with his.

“I’m not good enough for you.”

Softly, he pushes you away, walking into the living room while you try to process his words. Him, not good enough for you?

“Why would you even suggest something like that? Kento, please stop.”

Out of instinct you go after him, mind racing in thoughts. What is all of this about?

“You are such a stunning woman, your whole life is still ahead of you. Why waste your time with a scarred man like me? I have nothing to give you, (y/n). Not even beauty.”

You can’t believe your ears, mouth snapping open in pure shock.

“You have to be joking”, you breathe out, head shaking vehemently.

This is wrong in so many ways, almost an insult against humanity. Why would he say something so ridiculous?

“Look at me, (y/n)”, he blurts out.

With a swift motion he takes off his blue shirt, revealing the huge scar that covers the left side of his upper body entirely. His face darts towards you, completely twisted in agony.

“Why would a woman like you want a man like me? I don’t deserve your beauty, (y/n).”

“Stop it. Right now”, you reply so harshly that his mouth shuts in an instant.

With fast steps you cross the room, coming to a stand in front of his gorgeous body.

“This is the body of the man I love, of a man that fought hard in order to save countless people’s life. This is the body of the man I thought I’ve lost forever, the body of a man who always puts the well-being of others above his own. You, Kento Nanami, are the man I love. Even if you lost all your limbs, if you could no longer speak or see. Damn, even if you didn’t remember me, I would always choose you. Because you are the man who stole my heart entirely. These scars tell the story of what a brave man you are, what you survived despite everything spoke against it. I love every inch of your skin, no matter how scarred or wrecked.”

Your fingertips wander over his uninjured skin.

“From the part that I’ve touched so often…”

Slowly, you caress the scarred tissue on his right side, brushing over his shoulder, collarbone and buff chest while never taking your eyes off him.

“…to the part I have yet to discover.”

“Look at me, I am a crippled man. I look like someone out of a horror movie-“

“You look like a hero to me”, you interrupt him immediately.

It’s hard to keep your composure when the man you love more than anything else in this world stands in front of you with his face twisted in agony. God, if he only knew how beautiful he is, how you feel even closer to him since the Shibuya incident. Why isn’t he able to see himself through your eyes, why does he have to suffer even after surviving his burns?

“Why can’t you understand that you’re all that I want?”

Your voice cracks, tears now streaming down your face. The sheer thought of losing him alone makes you die from the inside. No other man will ever be able to replace him. Why would you leave Kento anyway? He still looks absolutely irresistible to your hungry gaze, the way his tight muscles flex underneath his shirts making your knees go weak just like always. And that scars just add to your affection towards him.

“Please, don’t hide from me. Let me love you with your scars and everything else. In my eyes, you will always be the man I fell in love with.”

And for the first time since knowing him, you the grown man in front of you break down in tears. His arms wrap around you hungrily, pressing you against his own body as if you’re air and he can’t breathe. Yes, you are the light to his darkness, the sun after rain. What would he do without you? Where would he be without you by his side? Through all these hellish weeks you stood with him, making sure he’s feeling well. Will he ever be able to thank you enough for that? Never.

“I love you more than words can say”, he breathes against your outer ear.

“God, how much I love you, (y/n)…”

“Please believe me when I say that I love you just the way you are, Kento. You will always be enough for me. A few scars won’t change that.”

His eyes lock with yours and there is no doubt that you are telling the truth. Yes, you really do love him the way he is. Even if his skin is scarred through the hands of fire, even if he’ll never look like the man you’ve met first. In the glimmer of your eyes he will always be Kento Nanami.

“So you’ll stay with me even though I look like this?”

You wrap your arms around him again, your head laying against his scarred chest. Oh, how much you missed the feeling of being skin to skin with him, how much your hungry gaze longed for him all bare.

“I’d say I even love you a little more since Shibuya”, you reply.

Gently, you cup his face with your hands. Yes, a few scars here and there won’t change the beauty you see within the man in front of you.

“You are my everything, (y/n).”

His lips brush against yours, arms caging you against his body.

God, how much you love that man. More than the entire earth.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk shibuya arc #jjk season two #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #nanami my beloved #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #nanamin x reader #jjk men #nanami fanfic #jjk kento #nanami #kento fluff #nanami fluff #kento nanami fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru

[blingblong55]

His pretty girl -Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

I looved ur makarov fic n im here to request smth else w him, there's barely anything w him its sad How would makarov treat his dear wife when she's sick? I'm kinda sick rn so.. : 3 ---- F!Reader, wife!reader, husband!Makarov, nothing but fluff ----

A/N: short but good…I hope…

Vladimir was gone for some weeks. He couldn't come in contact with you so when you didn't show up to greet him he was worried. The drive home was usually calm but this time, he rushed it. Avoided all cars and soon, ran inside. The image he saw before his eyes, oh did it melt him. You were curled on the couch. The blanket slowly falls off your body. Used tissues all over the coffee table and floor. The tea was cold and your soft breathing gave him even more reason to clean the area as quietly as possible. Your shared bedroom was cleaned, all dishes washed and then he carried you to bed. The medication you took to sleep was so strong you didn't know he even carried you to bed. That entire night, he checked your temperature, kissed your forehead and held you against his chest.

When you got sick, the first time, he panicked, called a doctor and yelled at him when he said that all you needed to do was drink tea and take it easy. Now, knowing his pretty little wife too well, he knows all he needs to do. 8 am, have breakfast ready, with tea on the side and orange juice just in case you want that one more and it must be room temperature, not cold. He must put on some video as you eat because you like to catch up on some show as you eat. You like wearing his shirts more because you swear it makes you feel better, which is bullshit because he knows you like to just have a reason to wear his clothes.

He must wash all dishes, not complain about being tired because how dare he. Makarov knows this well mainly because it worked the first 4 times and this time it is the same. After breakfast, washing dishes, he has to take you on a walk, the air, the way you smile, oh he knows the fresh air helps that stuff nose and he also gets even more private time with you.

Lunch for a day or two is chicken soup, his grandmothers since he knows you loved it any time you were sick. Kisses on your forehead all day is a must, you know that. If you groan and push him away, he gives you a little frown and moves closer. "You know kisses are a part of the remedy, my pretty girl." He grins when you give him your lazy smile. Your face is hot from both the fever and from his lips. Once he and you eat lunch, he cleans the home and don't you dare walk to the bedroom, he has made it clear he needs to clean and sanitise the bed.

If he has a meeting, he doesn't go to it, it's over the phone as he is in bed and has you cuddled to him. You can't argue against it. Your husband must give cuddles while on the phone. It's a rule at this point.

At night, he makes dinner, makes sure it all tastes wonderful and then feeds it to you since wrapping you in a burrito can't let your hands move. It's a funny but cute image. You, sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around you which makes you look like a cute little bug as your husband feeds you dinner. Oh, the frowns and pouts you give to his giggle and laughter won't help, he just adores you this way.

After dinner, more cuddles and kisses come by. He calls it 'kiss the sick away.' When you lean on him he knows this is to sleep but he can't allow over 3 naps per day when you're sick. So, he carries you to the bathroom. Gives you your medicine, and takes the blankets, clothes and anything in between off you. The bath was set to a very comfortable temperature.

He undresses too and once he has both of you in the bath, he kisses your shoulders. Your warm back on his chest as he cleans your body with so much gentleness it has you leaning on him and smiling. "That's what you needed huh, pretty girl," he kisses your wet shoulder again and wraps his arms around you. You kiss his bicep and he chuckles. "Don't start, my love," he whispers. The lights dimmed, him and you…this is the perfect way to get better. He hums a song, the same one he married you to and the same one he hums when he is far from home.

"I love you, pretty girl," he whispers and kisses the nape of your neck. "I love you more," you whisper back. "We both know who wins this, so do you want to start this game?" He kisses your neck again and chuckles. In moments like this, in which the world is kind and calm, he appreciates life like any normal person would. "You always win, i want to win this time." You pout and know damn well he can't say no to his pretty wife. "Fine, you win this time but we both know I have a long winning streak in this game." He grabs your hand and kisses it. In his head, he already won. And in this life, he truly did.

A/N: Makarov and Ghost are the kind of man to give me a Hozier song kind of vibe and that is what feeds my fluff brain

Tags:

@makarovsbbg @sans-chara @selarus @liyanahelena @hilmiponken @personwhosucksassatmath @undercover-smutlover @ontopofyourceiling @kielsegur @johfamm0 @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rivivienner @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @strangepuppynightmare

#cod x reader #cod #mw3 2023 #vladimir makarov fluff #vladimir makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x you #vladimir makarov cod #cod makarov #makarov #mw2023 #cod mw #modern warfare #vladimir makarov #makarov x reader #cod mw3 #makarov fluff #makarov cod #makarov call of duty #makarov x f!reader #cod fluff #cod modern warfare #call of duty #blingblong55

[sunderlust]

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader) 

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation (based off right where you left me by miss tswift)

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date. 

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin. 

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.  

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.  

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects. 

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.” 

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders. 

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose. 

“What? Blood?” 

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger. 

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic. 

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?” 

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate. 

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face. 

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?” 

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question. 

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile. 

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?” 

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?” 

“If they’re better questions, yeah.” 

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.” 

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?” 

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-” 

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.” 

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.” 

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.” 

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?” 

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?” 

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?” 

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say. 

It’s nice. 

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.  

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.” 

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help. 

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.” 

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly. 

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.” 

-- 

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game. 

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?” 

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice. 

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.” 

“He gonna let you write that other thing?” 

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly. 

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend -  into the late hours of the night.  

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes. 

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.” 

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”  

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?” 

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.” 

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well. 

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask. 

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ” 

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ” 

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you. 

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?” 

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down. 

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now. 

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.” 

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.” 

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.” 

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -” 

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -” 

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?” 

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.” 

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?” 

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?” 

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling. 

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?” 

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.” 

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.” 

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?” 

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.” 

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle  and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home. 

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?” 

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster. 

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.” 

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.” 

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?” 

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?” 

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers. 

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes. 

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?” 

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -” 

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!” 

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements. 

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake. 

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?” 

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -” 

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?” 

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.” 

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse. 

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes. 

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour. 

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.  

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.” 

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls.  He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it. 

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more. 

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless. 

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.” 

Ah, and the dream lives on. 

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything. 

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare. 

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other. 

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks. 

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant. 

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him. 

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home. 

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal. 

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe. 

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with. 

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard. 

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to. 

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue. 

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes. 

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.” 

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.” 

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff. 

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?” 

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes. 

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?” 

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?” 

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ” 

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.” 

“I’ll make it,” you insist. 

--

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern. 

“Yeah?” 

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?” 

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.” 

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back. 

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight. 

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily. 

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all. 

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word. 

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he  watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one. 

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss  that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji. 

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you. 

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -” 

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?” 

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.” 

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?” 

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?” 

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking. 

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in. 

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.” 

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily? 

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.” 

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.” 

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?” 

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.” 

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this? 

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words. 

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air. 

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.” 

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit. 

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you. 

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating. 

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold. 

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back. 

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now. 

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!” 

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth. 

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone. 

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin. 

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground. 

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.” 

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.” 

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground. 

“Yeah.” 

”…How long?” 

He swallows. “Since New York.” 

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?” 

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart. 

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to? 

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him. 

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin. 

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern. 

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can. 

“Sweetheart -” 

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened. 

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. 

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind. 

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.” 

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control. 

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

--- 

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.” 

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward. 

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around. 

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem. 

They’re not Jake. 

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories. 

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you. 

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake. 

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream. 

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”  

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add. 

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face. 

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out. 

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).  

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out. 

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.” 

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with. 

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated. 

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart. 

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.” 

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you. 

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?” 

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly. 

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar. 

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.” 

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.” 

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today. 

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.” 

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase. 

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row. 

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path. 

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be. 

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him. 

-- 

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously. 

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush. 

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?” 

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.” 

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...” 

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.” 

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last. 

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body. 

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - " 

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink. 

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.” 

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.” 

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person. 

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.” 

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out. 

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks. 

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence. 

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway. 

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole. 

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen. 

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment. 

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into  your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat. 

He’s really here. 

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch. 

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.” 

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice. 

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.” 

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further.. 

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming. 

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him.  “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic. 

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?” 

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?” 

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms. 

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.” 

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.” 

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend. 

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?” 

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets? 

People change indeed. In more ways than one. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?” 

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can. 

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, two Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ” 

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.” 

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully. 

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...” 

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.” 

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.” 

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest. 

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

--

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #tgm fanfic #mine

[babygirlbenji]

Last Train To London - Mason Mount

A/N: This is just pure sadness. It was fun to write, I'll give you that, but you may need a tissue. Mason, buddy, in this fic, ya done fucked up.

Listen to this while reading:

Warnings: Angst

It had happened slowly, then before you knew it, you and Mason were like passing ships in the ocean. 

Your relationship had always been steadfast. You were the couple everyone wanted to be, everyone wanted what you had. His family adored you, especially Summer, who loved going shopping with her Auntie Y/N. His mum swore up and down right from the moment she had met you six months into your relationship that you were it for him, that you would be the one he would marry. He’d shared the same sentiments. In your nearly four years together, the fans had grown to know and adore you on a level no football wife or girlfriend had experienced before. You were so popular among the Chelsea team, it was no wonder you were almost as popular as Mason was, and you didn’t even play for the team. 

In the weeks leading up to his move to Manchester, however, you had noticed a distinct change in Mason, and in your relationship. Date nights had gone from three or four times a week, to maybe once every fortnight. He spent much of the evenings on the phone or on Zoom calls with his agent, with the medical teams, with Manchester United representatives. The morning cuddles in bed had been replaced by a swift kiss on your forehead before he hurried off to training or the gym. You had initially put his distance down to the fact that he was busy upping his whole life to the north, and his occasional snappiness to the fact that he was incredibly stressed about the rumours. He was getting hate from everywhere, the fans, media outlets, even people on the street. Calling him a traitor, disloyal, every name under the sun. 

Once the transfer was completed and you and Mason had relocated to Manchester, you had hoped that your relationship would improve. You put in every effort you could; making sure you put extra effort into making sure the house was spick and span for when he came home, ensuring the fridge had all sorts of food for every occasion, making sure you looked good even when you were going to bed. 

And yet, you could tell none of it was good enough. His heart had drifted, you could see that. You were holding on to false hope, and it was exhausting you. You spent hours awake at night, noticing that some nights he wouldn’t come home until three or four in the morning. He would shuffle about downstairs, and the next morning, you would find him crashed out on the sofa, eyes red and his hair messy. 

You’d asked him if he was okay, if your relationship was okay, and all he had offered you was a shrug, saying he’d talk when he was ready. You’d sigh, knowing you were losing him, and there was nothing you could do about it. Once, he’d got angry that you had sighed, saying there was still a lot going on. You’d ended up having a shouting match that lasted well into the night, and you cried yourself to sleep on more than one occasions.

The loneliness you were starting to feel crept in even more. You missed your friends in London, you missed Chelsea, you were never particularly keen on moving up north, having been a born and bred Londoner. Although Kai and Sophia were now in North London, you would rather be closer to them. You didn’t want to admit to them that you and Mason were having issues, but you didn’t know where else to go. 

Sophia had been so helpful, offering her and Kai’s new home to you anytime you needed it. You’d asked her not to tell anyone, but you figured one way or another people would find out. Sure enough, one day, when Mason was out somewhere, Ben sent you a message.

Benjamin: Hey Y/N, just checking in. How are you holding up? I know how difficult it is moving to a new place. We miss you down here. Lots of love x

You had stared at his message for about five minutes, before you rang him. He picked up on the second ring.

‘Benji, I’m not okay,’ you croaked through the lump in your throat.

‘What’s happened, darling? Talk to me, I’m right here.’ And so, you told him everything. About the arguments, the loneliness, the distance…

‘I just don’t know what to do, Benj. I feel like we’re miles away from each other when we live in the same house. What did I do wrong? What happened to us? I thought we were endgame. What do I do?’ He sighed, making the line go crackly. 

‘You’ve done nothing wrong. I think everything’s gone to his head, and without wanting to be blunt, he’s realised what he wants and what he doesn’t want.’ His words sent a stake through your heart, but you knew he was right. Mason was falling out of love with you. 

‘I just never thought this would happen.’ 

‘Me neither. All of us thought you guys would last. So, what are you going to do?’ You looked down. You knew what you had to do, as much as it shattered your heart. 

‘I’m going to pack my things, as much as I can into whatever bags I have, and get on the last train home to London. It’s late, I think the last train to London from Manchester leaves just before midnight. I just can’t hold on any longer, you know? I’ve been miserable for weeks, and he’s barely noticed. I can’t remember the last time we hugged, kissed. I need to do this for me.’ 

‘I’ll pick you up, text me where your train gets in and I’ll be there. You’re not going through this alone, Y/N, I promise you. He’s the idiot for losing a wonderful girl like you.’ As devastated as you were, his words made you feel slightly better knowing that you weren’t going through it alone. You’d been through a break up before and had been completely on your own, and you were glad you had your people around you. 

You and Ben talked a little while longer, before you hung up, promising to tell him when your train would be getting in. You sat up from the sofa, knowing you had to pack a bag or two. 

It was nearly 11:30 at night when you’d finished packing. Placing your bags by the door, you made sure you had all your important things, like your passport, driving licence and your phone. You would iron out everything once you had things sorted out in London.

As you zipped up a little shoulder bag with all your necessities, the front door opened. You heard Mason drop his bags down, and you knew by the pause of movement that he had seen your bags. He walked slowly into the dimly lit kitchen, where you were standing with your phone in your hand, pretending to look at something just to avoid looking at him. You knew if you did look at him, you’d reverse your decision. 

‘What’s going on?’ Mason asked, voice full of confusion. You braved it, and looked him dead in the eye, hands on your hips.

‘I’m leaving. I’ll be on the last train back to London.’ He opened and closed his mouth a few times, reminding you of a goldfish.

‘What? What are you talking about?’ You let out a soft scoffing laugh.

‘I’m going back home. I’m breaking up with you, Mason, I can’t do this anymore. You have barely looked at me the last few weeks. I get it’s been stressful, I get you’ve been busy, but you don’t think you could have told me what was going on? You’re barely here anymore, I barely see you. And when I do, it’s like I’m seeing a stranger. When was the last time you hugged me? The last time you kissed me? This just doesn't feel like home.’ Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you looked down. You couldn’t cry. Not now, not in front of him. You had to wait until you were on the train home to let it all out. You could listen to sad music and let it all out. ‘The last four years have been amazing. We have grown up together, basically. And we’ve made the most amazing memories, hell, the Champions’ League, the Super Cup, World Cup, Euros, it’s all been a dream come true. But we have to face it, we are not happy together anymore. And I need to do what’s best for me, because I feel like a stranger in my own home.’

His face was a mix of anger, disappointment and downright heartache. He knew he’d lost you. He knew you well enough that you had made your mind up, and there was nothing he could do to turn back time and make it better. 

‘I have tried so hard…’ Your voice broke again. ‘I have tried so hard to make us work. I kept the house tidy, I put food on the table, I was there to listen but you never talked. You never made any effort after we moved up here. I dare to think this started even before we moved up here.’ He stepped closer, and it was then that you could see the tears pooling in his eyes. ‘I really hope you find the girl of your dreams, Mase. You deserve that. And I hope this move was worth it all.’ You looked down at the promise ring he’d given to you on your second anniversary. Sliding it off and gently placing it onto the counter, you took a deep breath. ‘Goodbye, Mason.’ 

And with that, you walked past him and collected your bags. Your Uber was waiting outside to take you to Manchester Central. As the car sped away, you saw Mason running out of the house, yelling your name. 

‘Y/N! Y/N, please wait! I’m sorry…’ His pleas faded as the car drove away. The driver looked at you through the rearview mirror, but you stared stubbornly out of the window. You couldn’t turn back now, he had to feel the pain you had been feeling the last few weeks. You had so many things to sort out when you were back in London; a job, a flat, your car, everything just seemed so overwhelming. 

As you climbed onto the high-speed sleeper train bound for King’s Cross, you texted Ben to tell him that your train would get in about 3 in the morning. He messaged you back:

Benjamin: No worries, will bring food. Keep strong, I'm so proud of you x

The train pulled away, and you rested your head against the window. Your breath fogged the glass as the lights of Manchester gradually faded away, giving way to dark fields and the occasional small village. Your phone pinged with another message:

Mason: I’m so sorry. 

Then another.

Mason: Please forgive me. 

And another.

Mason: What can I do to make things better? 

You looked at his last message. What could he do to make things better? Rewind the last few weeks? You sighed as your finger acted without thought and blocked his number. You then went onto Instagram and blocked his main verified account, then his private account. Before you blocked his private account, however, you had a final glance at the photos of your relationship that littered it. His main account was football focused, but anyone who followed his private account could see he’d worshipped the ground you walked on. Tears were falling thick and fast down your cheeks. What had happened to you? You locked your phone, resting your head on your arms. 

The future was uncertain and your heart was aching, but you were going to be back in London, surrounded by your people. You knew that somehow, some day, you were going to be okay. 

#mason mount #mason mount fic #mason mount blurb #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount angst #mason mount x you #mason mount oneshots #mason mount imagines #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x y/n #chelsea fc #manchester united #football imagines #footballer imagines #Spotify

[carolmunson]

a thousand times a day | rockstar!eddie

fall frenzy req by @saltystormyx: 'I'd like to request a mini-fic with your rockstar!eddie au character. I'll leave it totally open to whatever you want to write.'

fall frenzy set list

back in action with a couple we haven't hung out with in a while! it was nice to get to revisit these two in some way. i had a different story for them to start -- something dirty and slutty -- but i just couldn't get into it. i needed something cozy for them. perhaps now that the seal is broken we can venture into some more slutty stuff between these two at some point. welcome to an early thanksgiving with the munsons before they were married.

tw: 18+, mostly very fluffy, some references to drug abuse, some references to using/addiction/getting clean. otherwise, two hotties in love. reader isn't referred to as 'stella' in this fic but the last name 'rink' is used a couple times to refer to reader and her family.

November, 1992

"I just, ugh honey I feel so awful to cancel on them." You blow your nose into a tissue but also direclty into the phone, making Eddie pull the receiver away from his ear for a second. You called in hysterics from a shoot in New York that you have to do pick up shots in Georgia and the earliest flight back they can manage is on Thanksgiving; leaving your plans to go back upstate to celebrate with your family in the dust. The flights had been paid for, even Wayne was making the trip to Syracuse to celebrate with you and yours. It was finally going to feel normal now that Eddie was three months clean and things had settled down some. He wasn't touring and they were only in the early stages of writing a new album and even then, the band spent most of their nights in the home studio instead of going into the city. Every now and again he'd come upstairs to grab more Pellegrino's out of the fridge and give you kisses on the cheek while you went over potential scripts.

Depsite having moved back at the beginning of November and back to falling asleep tied up with each other, you hadn't put your ring back on yet. It sat resting on your jewelry stand in your dressing room, as shiny and perfect as ever. Your bare ring finger sat as a reminder to him that he's not there yet; that he still has so much to prove -- but he meant what he said. You were gonna be his wife one day.

"Baby, it's okay. They're gonna understand," he assures softly, "It's not like you're doing it on purpose; they know you can't just not go." "It's just s-so stupid. An-an-and it's the first -- fuck, Ed it's the first one without Dad and I just feel so bad for my mom having to look at two empty seats and I don't know, babe. Like, I just feel like I'm r-ruining everything," you choke on your words, fully blubbering into the phone, make up smearing down your cheeks onto the hotel pillows you're leaning against. "You're not ruining anything sweetheart," his voice soft but firm, "You want me to get on a flight to you? I'll go right now."

"N-no it's okay," you sniffle, "I'm meeting up with Simone and getting dinner and we're gonna red-eye back home so we can get ready for Atlanta."

"Oh, so I get to see you tomorrow morning?" he grins, feeling selfish almost at how much he loves hearing your time away from him is cut so short.

"Yeah," you sniffle again, his heart pangs, "Probably really early."

"I'll have breakfast ready for you, okay? What do you want?"

"Um," you shrug to no one, "I don't know. Waffles." "Okay," he smiles, "Waffles it is."

The call home was less sweet; your mom understood but you could hear the dull ache in her voice. The subtle sadness mom's have in their register that they try to mask with an airy laugh -- years of feigning their own disappointement from life barely lived. She knows you're busy and she understands, she tells you a million times. You hear it but you don't feel it; you know she'd rather you blow it all off to come home again and see your family.

You'd rather blow it all off to see your family. Eddie had only seen your childhood home once -- quaint in size, snickered when he saw that you grew up with two guest rooms. He knew you grew up with it made, but you never made it so clear. You had walked through the trailer park to visit his old stomping grounds like you knew was growing up poor was like. Maybe you were a good actress after all.

He had waffles ready when you got in at five in the morning, who knows when he woke up to start. The Belgian Waffle maker you got sent as a wrap gift two years ago was finally out of the plastic, box still on the kitchen floor. Batter dripped down the sides and next to it a serving plate of a small mountain of waffles.

The pink stains on his fingers give a hint to who sliced all the strawberries and other fruit. Separated and glistening in the crystal bowls you really only take out for special oocasions.

Three cans of whipped cream sat at the end of the counter, one already opened with a small peak puffing out. 'Ya gotta try the product first, it's the whipped cream tax'

He's so silly. You missed his silly.

You're not home for very long, a couple days before you start packing for Georgia and you spend it all in his arms. Meals together, sitting on his lap in the studio while he tries out new melodies, you even spent one night curled up in the living room to watch a pay per view fight of Harrington's. Their friendship was finally starting to heal up after Eddie's last relapse.

He pouts when you get ready to leave, shrugging your coat on after you put the cordless phone down to confirm your car. You pout back at him.

"Don't give me that face, you're making me feel worse," you frown.

"M'just gonna miss you," he says quietly, "It's lonely here when you're not around."

"I know," you nod up at him. You don't mean for the comment to sting, but it does a little. It's not like he didn't want to be there with you this past year.

He leans down to kiss you, both hands reaching up to cup your cheeks.

"Don't be sad," he mumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours, "We'll have a nice Thanksgiving together when you get back, just us." "What about Wayne?" you ask, heart panging at the though of his Uncle eating alone. "Don't worry about it, sweet thing," he lets his lips linger against yours again for just a moment, "Wayne'll be okay."

The flight had never been more turbulent. Atlanta had never felt more cold.

You hear the phone ring and ring for the second time only to get the tin-like sound of your mothers voice again, 'Thanks for calling the Rink's! We aren't able to come to the phone right now; but please leave your name and number and we'll call you back. If you're trying to reach Stella Rink, please contact her publicist at Starmade PR Corp.'

"Hi, it's me -- again," you say into the receiver, "I'm sure you guys are busy cooking or have the game on but um, I just wanted to say happy Thanksgiving guys...God, come on, I know you're there. Just pick up!"

Your voice wavers, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it I just --" "NOW BOARDING FIRST CLASS - FLIGHT 7995 TO LOS ANGELES."

You feel a slight pull on your arm from Simone, sighing while you hang up the pay phone to make it to check in.

"They hate me," you mumble. "They don't hate you, Rink," she assures, hand soothingly skating up and down your back, "They know what your life is like." The flight is long and you sleep during most of it, the sad pit in your chest spreading through heavy in your body. You couldn't wait to just be home and eat take out on the couch with your man; have him whisper sweet nothings of reassurance while you pout in the glow of the TV.

Rain pours in California, which is not common but of course happening on the day you feel so awful. You hope that they at least called the house; that Eddie had messages to relay to you; anything so that the guilt didn't eat you alive.

You make it home faster than usual; everyone home with their families leaves less people on the road. You tip the driver triple the fare after he helps bring your bags to the door -- holiday cheer already flowing in your veins.

To your surprise, Eddie opens the door as you go to unlock it, his smile evident on his face. He's dressed cozily, black on black Corroded Coffin sweat shirt and matching pants, socks scrunch down on his ankles -- tattoos covered outside from what peek out at the wrists.

"Happy Thanksgiving, baby," he grins. He takes your bags, putting them to the side in the lobby while you kick your shoes off at the door. He pulls you in to a tight hug to his chest and even through the laundry detergent you can smell the food from all the way out here. Aromatics, butter, garlic, rolls, turkey -- it smells like comfort, it smells like home.

"Did you cook?" you ask with hopeful surprise, "You made like, a whole thing?"

"I did the dinner rolls and I bought all the food; but I'm kind of shit at that home cooking stuff so I called in some reinforcements," his laugh is grizzly with smoked cigarette gruffness.

"Come on," he ushers you forward, taking your hand while you walk through the entry way and down the hall towards the kitchen. His hand is warm and worn, still slightly clammy while the nervous teenager in him still stumbles over dealing with you. Being with you. Loving you.

The kitchen is busy, people bustling and moving and at first you think he must've just hired a team but then a flash of your mom's red Thanksgiving apron catches your eye. Your neice's giggle rings through the echoey walls. Your sister Luna sits at the breakfast nook with your nephew to keep him out of the way, helping him with a coloring book from deep in your stash downstairs.

"Wait, what?" you ask outloud. Your mom looks up, a smile in her eyes when she sees you. "Happy Thanksgiving, honey!" she smiles big, both of your sisters getting up and following her while they flock to you, a group hug of Rinks in the entry way of the kitchen. You heart swells in your chest while you feel them surround you, smell the familiar fragrance of your mom's perfume; your sister's shampoo. It had been so long, too long.

"What're you guys doing here?" you ask, tears welling up in your eyes while the emotion takes you over. You try to sniffle back the tingle in your nose while a cry comes on. "Well, Ed called us when you left for Atlanta and asked if we wanted to all come here," your mom answers, "He got all our flights and everything."

You look over your mom's head to see Eddie leaning up against the fridge, wiping his own tear away off his cheek to see you so happy.

"You were so sad, angel," he shrugs, "I didn't want your holiday to feel so lonely. So y'know -- I got everyone here for you instead. Can't have my baby sad on Thanksgiving."

Your lower lip wobbles when you look at him, his soft gaze while your sister's go back to their previous tasks, "Let me help you bring your bags up."

When he says help he means he takes them all in one trip, you take note that all the guest rooms have been set up. Your family already unpacked and lived in like they've been here a day or two. By the looks of their suitcases they'll be here through the weekend. Your heart swells again. "Where's Wayne?" you ask quietly while you make it into your room. He pops your bags by the entry way of the dressing room to unpack for you later, coming up close to you to press a kiss to your cheek. "He's out back smoking the Turkey and listening to Alice's Restaurant on a loop," he chuckles, "He just drinks beer and hangs out -- definitely has a little crush on your mom though."

"Oh my god," you giggle back, "Well she's very pretty, I get it." "He's got a real soft spot for your neice and nephew," he nods, running a hand over the top of your head, "He's gonna be such a great grandpa."

"I bet he is," you bite your lip for a moment, thinking about a future where that's true. Where you have rockstar Eddie Munson's babies. You wish you could report all of this to the papers instead of whatever shit they put in the tabloid rags about him. HANDSOME ROCKSTAR FIANCE SAVES THANKSGIVING FOR AMERICA'S SWEETHEART!

People would read that, right? You'd read that.

"Was it a good surprise?" he asks, "It wasn't too much to spring on you I was nervous th--" "This is perfect," you nod, "It's so perfect, honey. You're perfect." "You're perfect," he counters, arms wrapping tight around you to give you a tight squeeze, "Why don't you get yourself together and I'll meet you downstairs. I gotta set things up in the dining room, things'll be ready to plate soon."

"Okay," you nod, pulling your airport best off over your head while you watch him disappear back into the house.

Dinner was one to remember. You hadn't felt the true familial magic of the holiday since you were a kid and suddenly it had flown back with a veangance.

In true Rink fashion, the after dinner digestif of Irish Coffee followed you all down to the inhome theater to watch Miracle on 34th street; the little ones and Eddie nursing hot cocoa with way too many marshmallows pouring over the tops of the mugs. "I don't have to have one," you assured him, squeezing him arm gently while you looked at the cup in front of you. "Don't worry about me," his voice calm and confident, knowing he was only going to make it half way through the movie before falling asleep anyway. Most of your family did except you and Wayne who was surprised to find out he was making his way to California instead of upstate New York.

"Couldn't find my good winter boots so it turned out for the best, I guess."

Your sleepy family finally roused, your older sister getting the kids set up in their own room downstairs before she made her way up to her room. Luna and your mom following suit upstairs, Wayne following soon after.

You and Eddie clean up the small theater and head to the kitchen to assess the damage of what needs to be done. Eddie gave house keeping the weekend off to spend with their families; so for the first time in a while dishes like this were all on the two of you.

Thank god for dishwashers and a good Bing Crosby Christmas record -- you're able to clean up the kitchen in no time; stealing kisses in between songs, getting lost in a dance or two.

When you get upstairs to your room you're both exhausted; but not so tired that your eye don't linger when he starts to undress. You know you don't have the energy for the night cap he'd like but it's nice to watch him; the dip of his waist, the way his shoulder blades move under his skin on his back. "Still hungry, Rink?" he winks; heat flames your cheeks.

"No, no, I'm just -- y'know," you shrug innocently, "You look good, baby."

"Thank you," he hums while he changes into a pair of boxers for bed. You make your way into your dressing room and slip into a little night gown for the hell of it, silk and lace so he has something nice to wake up to -- something to show how grateful you are for putting this together.

When you crawl into bed next to him in the still of the night, one arm wraps around you instinctively. Heaviness dips into your eyes at the touch, it's always so hard to sleep without him there. Your hand smooths over his chest when he feels it; the drag of metal across his skin. His hand comes up to take yours and his thumb reaches up to search for it; breath catching in his chest when he can confirm it.

You put your ring back on.

"Really?" he whispers into the dark, "Yeah?"

"Yeah Munson," you nod into the crook of his neck, "Gonna be your wife one day."

#rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson au #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things au

[sourbinnie]

Can I request a fic Where Hyunjin comes back home to you from the Versace event thingy and he’s just really emotional because he thinks he didn’t do well w his English and outfit n stuff but then you comfort him and promise him that he did great and that you’re proud of him and it’s all cute and fluffy🥹

title -> pieces genre -> hurt/comfort pair -> hyunjin x gn!reader a/n: hope this is what you wanted! thank you sm for the request<3

i knew his flight was delayed and that he wasn't getting here as early as we expected to. i got home from work and decided to make it as comfortable as it was just for him, just so he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all. i was so proud of my boyfriend for making it this big and having a chance to fly out and enjoy a fashion show. i knew his passion for clothes and creating them, it was really exciting that he got this opportunity. it was good publicity not only for the band, but for the fact that the person wearing these clothes was an incredible human being that deserved all the love & praise he was getting. they deserved to know that hwang hyunjin was a magnificent person, just as charming as when i first met him.

even if it was late and i had work in the morning, i decided to stay up and wait for him. i just didn't wanna welcome him home with my sleeping figure and the fact that we were probably not gonna see each other tomorrow morning, just made me want to stay up more. 

the hours passed and it felt like an eternity but i remained strong as yawn after yawn escaped from me. that's when i heard the door to our apartment unlock and i turned off the tv. i got up and smiled as i saw him, he was wearing another outfit (clearly versace again) and he looked as breathtaking as one could be. it took me by surprise when i suddenly felt his arms wrap around me and give me the sweetest of hugs but i responded back fast as i hugged him. my hand going to his hair to rub him and the other one on his cheek to make him look at me.

i knew that expression way too well. he was feeling insecure, about what? i would have to ask. for now we stayed there hugging and looking at each other, mumbling "i love you" and not stopping. that's when i felt a tear drop fall from him and i decided to take him to the couch to sit us down and actually conversate about what was going.

"jinnie, talk to me when you're ready, okay?" i said and he nodded quickly as more tears were escaping his eyes. he grabbed my hands to trace patterns and distract himself but the sadness was clearly overwhelming. i've seen him distraught before, it was nothing new but it concerned me either way. what if he felt this way when he was at the event? in a foreign country? and i could not be there for him. 

it made a feeling in my chest that stung but i held on as i wiped away his tears. i knew he could get emotional and he didn't mind showing his feelings at all but sometimes he wouldn't say what was happening and i was worried it would be one of those days until he finally spoke up.

"too much." he said as he choked back on his sobs and i looked at him again. "it was too much. i don't know how i got through it without making a scene." 

"what do you mean baby?" i asked as i handed him a tissue to wipe the new tears that wouldn't stop. "you didn't feel comfortable in the event?".

"not at all." he said with a broken laugh as his eyes met mine again, reddish and with a deep kind of sadness buried in them. i was starting to realize what was going on, i knew my babe was an introvert, i knew how hard for him was to interact, to be out there, especially in those kinds of shows where you were so exposed. "i felt ridiculous, like i can't even speak english properly and even if they insisted for me to talk in korean, i wanted to prove myself and i failed."

hyunjin wasn't fluent in english, i knew that but he tried his damn hardest and this broke my heart. there was no one that put as much effort and love for the language than him and i wish he would see that but i would let him talk before i ramble too much.

"also the outfit, everyone had the fanciest stuff and i was just standing there. feeling so left out and stupid. god, why did they invite me if i was gonna be humiliated like this?" he exclaimed as i tried to put the pieces together. i didn't notice anyone being extra luxurious on the pictures that i've seen. just lots of people wearing the versace outfits they were offered, maybe he felt like it was too little but i think it was perfect. "i just feel like i'm never enough, i can never be myself and be enough for a place. it was so hard to interact with people (y/n), i don't know what i do wrong."

"nothing." i said clear as water and he looked at me confused. "you might feel like you're failing with your english, with the outfit or the scenery but you really aren't doing anything wrong jinnie".

"i just wished you were there with me." as much as i would love to agree with him, we couldn't be seen due to his contract. but yeah to be by his side and take care of him would be truly a blessing and if it helps him that's what matters.

"babe i know but for now you're probably gonna have to attend more of these. i think you looked beautiful, you always do and it's hard to not look at you when you walk in the room." i said as he blushed and i just smiled 'cause his shyness was just so adorable of him. "i truly mean that, the outfit wasn't extravagant but it fit you and you're not that. you create such a comfortable atmosphere and you have so much love to give that's hard not to fall for you".

"you're just saying that because you have to." he said as he looked down and intertwined his fingers with mine, comfortable touches from his hand to mine as i made him look at me again.

"i'm saying it because it's true." i said firmly and with an honest look in my eyes. "also your english might not be perfect but you can communicate well and people understand what you say baby. you have a really sweet way with words and everyone was mesmerized by it." 

"do i?" he said and i could see in his eyes he was starting to believe me.

"you do! it's really beautiful how you talk." i said smiling as i thought about the many times he studied english and asked felix or chan for advice. "overall and for real, i am proud of you. proud of how far you've come and how much you're gonna show to the world. proud of the effort you put it in for a language that's not your own. proud of the representation you're giving. i am so happy that you get to do these things so people can see you and see the man i fell in love with."

he was again teary eyed but i was hoping it was happy ones instead of cruel & sad ones. i could feel another hug coming in as i held him. he whispered "thank you" so many times that his voice got hoarse from all the crying and the repeating. i just held him in my arms and kissed his forehead. 

"you're the best significant other i could ask for." he said and i just smiled.

"that's you jinnie." i responded as i gave him a little peck. "let's go to bed yeah? it's been a long day for you."

#sourbinnie #skz drabbles #skz short imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz hyunjin #skz angst #skz imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x you #skz hurt/comfort

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

All I Want Is You- Part 2

Jey Uso x Ex-Girlfriend Reader

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

Janelle is played by Justine Skye

Taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci24 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @melaninsugababy @baconeggndcheez @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess

Part 1

Saturday August 5th

“Trin it was awful, he basically compared me to Xavi’s mom” Janelle sighed. As she flopped back onto the bed. She had called Trinity as soon as she woke up to tell her what happened last night.  

“Can you blame him?” When Janelle didn’t say anything Trinity continued. “I mean you left just like she  did. And You didn’t see the fallout of you leaving. I’ve never seen X so sad before. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad neither Nelle but, for a year straight you were his maternal figure. All he knew was you and Josh aka mom and dad.” 

Janelle sighed,  she knew she hurt Xavier and Josh by walking out on them but it was for the best. 

“Trin, I wasn’t ready for all of that.” She wished she could've stayed on Raw and none of yesterday would’ve happened. Trinity scoffed over the phone. 

“Janelle, you fell into the role so easily though. I’m your best friend, you can tell me anything..” Trinity said she knew Janelle was lying about not being ready. When Janelle just repeated that she wasn’t ready Trinity scoffed again. “Bullshit. Tell me what was going on.” 

“Fine! I felt suffocated, felt like I couldn’t breathe. We fell into a routine of taking care of Xavi and I got scared.” 

“Scared of what?” Trinity said softly. “Janelle what’s going on?”  Trinity listened as her friend cried on the phone. “I wish I was there with you Nelly. Please don’t cry.”  Janelle went to get some tissue to wipe her nose. 

“I wish you were here too Trinny. This honestly sucks.” They talked some more before Janelle made up an excuse to get off the phone.

Backstage of Summerslam was buzzing, there were people everywhere. Both rosters, some people from NXT and a whole bunch of legends were in the building but when she heard Xavier call her name, all the other noise stopped and she focused her attention on him. 

 “Nelly! You like my face paint?!” Janelle smiled and walked closer to him. She was expecting to see him with Josh but he wasn’t, he was with Josh’s cousin. They greeted each other with friendly smiles. Janelle had met her a couple of times, when she and Josh were dating. 

“I love it.” Janelle said. Josh’s cousin had a smile on her face, watching the two of them interact. She was very confused when Josh told her that he and Janelle had broken up. She honestly thought that they would be engaged by now. She knew about the ring that he had bought a couple of weeks before Janelle left him. 

“I’m going to watch my daddy fights  uncle Jo-Jo and I’m going to be in the fronts row,” Janelle gasped. 

“Really? Wow, you're so lucky.” She said.

“Can you come watch daddy with us?” Janelle shook her head. 

“ I can’t bud. I have to work.” She said, Xavier pouted at her and muttered ‘okay.’ 

“Come on Xavi, we gotta go or we’re gonna miss your dads entrance.”  Xavier nodded and waved bye to Janelle as they walked away. 

“Wait!.” He yelled out rushing back over to Janelle. “You didn’t give me good luck kisses.” She tilted her head and looked at him.  “You give my daddy good luck kisses, but he not here. So I'll take them.” He said, smiling at her. He was a smooth talker just like his dad. 

Janelle chuckled. “Ok fine.”  She kissed both his cheeks, mindful of the facepaint then placed a kiss on his forehead. Josh’s cousin let out an ‘aww’ it was obvious that Janelle had love for Xavier.

Janelle placed one more kiss on Xavier’s forehead, letting him place one on her’s before letting him run back over to Lena. 

“Love you Nelly!” He yelled out behind him. 

“Love you too Xavier!”  She smiled as she watched him walk away. She felt like such a jackass for leaving him, but it was better this way. 

Janelle arrived at the hotel after SummerSlam later than she would’ve liked. She had spent 2 more extra hours at the arena filming and editing content. She stopped walking when she heard somebody call her name. 

“Ms Porter?” She turned to look at the worker behind the desk. 

“Yes?” She asked slightly confused, 

“Someone left these here for you.” The employee said, handing Janelle a big bouquet of roses and two envelopes. 

“Oh wow.” Janelle said in awe. “They’re beautiful.” 

The employee smiled at her. “Yes they are ma’am. Whoever got you these is in love with you” There were only a handful of people that knew she was staying at this hotel and none of them she was involved with romantically. Her heart started to pound in her chest when Josh flashed through her mind. She shook her head causing the employee to look at her weirdly before walking away to help another guest. 

Janelle took the flowers and went over to the elevator. Once she got in her room she set the flowers down on the table and sat down on the bed to read the cards. Opening one of the envelopes, she let out a gasp when she pulled out a picture of her and Xavier. Josh had taken it. She knew it was one of the ones he kept in his wallet because of all the bends in it. 

In the other envelope was a folded piece of paper. Opening it, she felt her eyes start to water as she read it. 

For 24 hours all i've been thinking about is you. Even during my match with Joe. Pathetic right? I can’t get you out of my head J. I keep looking at this picture of you and Xavi and i’m still so fucking confused, why did you leave? We were happy. I was happy. Xavier was happy and if you weren’t happy why didn’t you say anything. I’m sorry if I was pressuring you into starting a family. I just love you Janelle. I wanted ,   want  to spend the rest of my life with you. Tell me what I can do to fix this so you can come home. - Joshua 

 Janelle was full on crying now. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy with Josh and Xavier, she was very happy being there with them and that was the whole point.

Josh sighed as he sat on the couch, finally able to put and overly excited Xavier to sleep. He looked over at his brother when he sat down next to him. 

“You alright Uce?”  Josh just shrugged. He honestly didn’t know how to feel right now. He wanted to be with Janelle. He wanted a family with Janelle. But even from their talk yesterday, it was obvious that wasn’t what she wanted. He didn’t know why he sent the note and the picture to Janelle. The flowers were from Xavier, but Josh saw an opportunity to get what he wanted to say off his chest.  

“I’m stuck, man.” He finally said. “It’s so fuckin’ obvious that she doesn’t want to be with me. But I can’t move on. Man seeing her yesterday just brought back all them feelings that I had locked away.” 

Jon felt bad for his twin. Honestly their whole family felt bad for him, everyone thought that Janelle was the one for Josh. 

“Man, listen Uce. You gotta think about that little boy in there. He’s involved in this just as much as you and Janelle.” Josh nodded his head. 

“I know. I keep thinking about our conversation yesterday and It doesn’t make any sense. She kept saying that she wasn’t ready. But she would get up when X had nightmares, she would be the one to read him bedtime stories. She would be the one to do bathtime. So what the fuck. I never asked her to do any of that. She did that shit on her own.” He said, slightly raising his voice towards the end. 

“Well, she called Trin earlier. “ Jon sighed. “She told Trin that she was starting to feel suffocated, and that she was scared..”  

Josh looked over at his brother. “Scared of what?” Jon just shrugged. 

“She didn’t say.” 

August 8th

Janelle let out a shaky breath as she pulled up in front of her old house. She spent 2 days re-reading his letter to her. She needed him to understand why she left. Wiping her palms on her pants she exited her car and walked up the steps to the front door. 

Josh’s face was full of shock when he opened the door. She gave him a small smile and cleared her throat. 

“Can I come in?”  She asked, walking in when he moved to the side. She stood in the foyer awkwardly. She looked around noticing that he never removed the picture of him, her and Xavier from the end table. She followed him to the living room. Sitting in one of the chairs across from the couch he was sitting on. 

He still didn’t say anything. He was just watching her as she looked around, seeing what he changed since she moved out. 

“You want something to drink?” He asked, she shook her head no. “Okay, so whatchu’; doin here?” She wiped her hand on her pants again, clearing her throat. 

“I wanted to talk to you. I got your note and flowers. Thank you.” He just shrugged. 

“The flowers were from Xavier. He saw them and said we had to get them for you.” She smiled at that. Speaking of Xavier, it was too quiet.

“Where is he?” She asked. 

“Pops is in town, took him out for a bit.”  She nodded.  “What do you wanna talk about?” He asked, sitting back on the couch. 

“Trinity told me that she told Jon who told you what I said to her on the phone. When I said I felt like I was being suffocated. It had nothing to do with you or Xavier. It was everything to do with me and my own selfish reasons.”  

“What reasons? Help me understand Janelle”  She groaned and closed her eyes. 

“Josh, I wanted to go out and have fun too. I missed out on so much because I was here with you guys. 

“I never asked you to miss out on stuff.” He said cutting her off. “If you wanted to go out you should’ve just went out! Nobody was stopping you” She was pissing him off and not making any sense. 

“That's the point Josh!” She said yelling and standing up from the chair. “Nobody was stopping me. I have free range to do what the hell I wanted to. But I wanted to be here with Xavier. I wanted to give him baths. I wanted to read him bedtime stories. I wanted to do all of that.”  She yelled, wiping her tears. “I had to leave Josh. When I came to the realization that I loved Xavier like he was my own and that I wouldn't mind having kids with you I had to leave!” She was pacing back and forth now. 

He was more confused now than he ever was. 

“Why did you have to leave?”  When she didn’t respond he jumped up off the couch and stood in front of her, stopping her pacing. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Fucking talk to me Janelle. What do you mean you had to leave.” 

“I didn’t want to be like my mom!” She finally shouted. “I didn’t want to wake up one morning hating you, or Xavier or any of our children, if we had any. I figured it’ll be better for me to just leave” Josh cupped her face and wiped away her tears. 

Everything sort of made sense to Josh now. She had confided in him about everything her mom had put her through when she was younger. All the mental abuse Janelle had to go through until she graduated high school and went off to college. 

“Janelle, you’re nothing like your mom. Nelle the love that you show for Xavier is crazy. You remember that time you almost beat that kid mom's ass because her son was picking on Xavier?” She laughed and nodded. “That right there should show you that you are better than your mom.” 

“But-” He cut her off. 

“But nothing. You are better than your mom. Way better. Whatever thoughts you had we could’ve talked them out instead of you leaving.” 

“I honestly thought I wasn’t ready for that. But seeing him again the other day made me realise how fuckin stupid I was being. I’m sorry” 

He nodded. “I know you are. But it’s ain't me you gotta apologize to, it's Xavi. He cried for days when you left.” Janelle felt her bottom lip start to quiver. She felt so bad for leaving Xavier the way she did.  “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?” 

“I don’t know Josh. I was scared you wouldn’t understand where I was coming from.” She cupped his cheeks and brought his head down so that his forehead was resting on hers. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too. About comparing you to his mom. You nothing like her Janelle.” 

“It's okay, I know you were mad, heat of the moment type shit.”  He leaned his head back so he could look her in the eyes. 

“It’s not okay, I’m surprised you didn’t slap the shit outta me.” She laughed and placed her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle. They stood there embracing each other.  “I don’t know about you.” He said after a minute. “But I was in a grueling ass match the other day and my body hurts.”  She picked her head up and arched her eyebrow. 

“Whatchu tryna say?” 

He smirked at her.  “We can go upstairs, you can give me one of those full body massages I've been missing.” 

She laughed, throwing her head back. “You mean the massages that always lead to something more.” 

“Shiit, I mean..” He trailed off. Laughing when she hit him in the chest. “Alright, you staying for dinner?” 

She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. “Yeah I’ll stay.” 

One more chapter. ❤️ Thank you for all the comments likes and reblogs on part 1 hopefully this part is just as good.

#jey uso imagine #wwe #main event jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso #jey uso smut #the usos #jey uso one shot #jey uso x reader #jey uso fluff #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x oc #jey uso angst #wwe fandom #wwe x black reader #black reader #wwe angst #wwe fanfiction #whatdoeseverybodywant writes

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Blood, grief, sadness, suicidal thoughts.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh boy, get the tissues ready. Mummy and daddy have returned to the Red Keep for their baby, and honestly? I think we have all been waiting for this reunion. Not long now till we finish this holy smokes! Enjoy <3

Chapter 106: The Rightful Heir 

The room rushed around you as you stared at your parents. 

How long had it been?

How long had it been since you last saw them?

Held them?

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with tears as she ran swiftly across the chambers towards you, her steps faltering as she saw you did not stand to meet her.

Buttoned high across her neck were her riding leathers, but across her chest was cuirass of a black armour, the insignia of your House raised at the front of it. Her long hair was braided and pulled back and away from her face, golden crown nestled amongst the silver strands.

She was dressed for battle. 

They both were.

Daemon donned riding leather and armour alike. His hair was messed, braided back and half down, pressed against his scalp likely from the weight of his helmet, which was nowhere to be seen; tossed to the ground as he ran through the Keep with your mother in search of you.

Each pauldron was crafted to look as though they were dragon wings, curling down over the length of his shoulders and upper arms. Each rerebrace and and vambrace slotted over each other down his arms like dragon scales. The same for his chest piece and faulds, perfectly made to look like the belly scales of Caraxes, dripping down his body sharply, meanly.

A new set of armour you had not seen before, made for this moment.

“Y/n?” Rhaenyra whispered, almost in disbelief, head tilted as she looked at you.

But your fathers reaction was different. 

He walked slowly, as though assessing a risk in the room, as though he was waiting for some unseen danger to reveal itself. As if you were being used as bait to lure the two of them out. 

But it wasn't just his careful scouting of the chambers in search of his nephew, his eyes told another story. A story which entailed just how shocked he was to see you, in the way that you were, blood covered and crown atop your head. Your fathers mind not quite catching up to the image before him. 

Daemon's eyes cast over Larys Strong’s body, jaw tensing, but then a small smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

It reminded you so much of Aemond.

And yet you did not move towards them. You sat and watched as your parents looked up at you from the bottom of the Iron Throne. Questions on the tips of their tongues, barely held resolve vibrating in their bodies.

It was clear they wished to come to you, run to you and hold you, but they didn't, and all because you didn't take the first steps.

Your heart ached in your chest. You wished they could feel it. Feel how much you wished to run to them, to leap into their arms and feel their hands and lips against your cheeks and head. To smell their scents around you, and hold them to you finally, in ways that you had longed to for months on end.

But you could not move, like you had grown to the throne, flesh and bones curling around each pommel and blade that your weight sat heavily on. Unable to lift yourself from it as you leant back, gut churning with anxiety. But what was more, an unavoidable rage and anger prevented you.

Prevented you from giving up something you had given so much for.

The war.

The losses.

Aemond.

You breathed deeply.

“I’ve had some time to think.” You licked your lips, the skin dry and cracked as you spoke down to them, Rhaenyra’s posture stiffening, and Daemon’s eyes roaming your body rapidly, finally landing at the bloodied crown that sat atop your head.

"About what I have done." You continued, voice becoming louder, firmer, more authoritative, "What I have endured to sit here. What I have had to do to sit here. And the more I sit, the more I think; Why?”

Rhaenyra shifted on her spot, brows furrowed in concern as she looked over you, trying to assess if any of the blood that was drying upon your skin was yours, “Why what, my sweet?”

Your lungs expanded as you sucked in a deep breath, the sound of guards and men outside yelling, no doubt Rhaenyra and Daemon’s, claiming the Red Keep and Kings Landing. 

But it was the bitterness of disdain that settled heavily upon your tongue, the anger that you would have to live forever more with your choices, the denial of it creeping across your skin.

In that moment, in those months you had been locked away, kept away, trapped, it was hard to not feel anger. To not feel hate. Or pain. Or anguish. To not feel righteous and justifiable disdain at all who did not suffer the way you had.

And so you channeled that rage, and you let it pour from you like a steady stream of fire.

“Why should I give the throne to you?” Your voice sounded foreign as it passed your lips. The presence of a silver haired man in your periphery as you spoke caused you to inhale sharply, blinking to try and get him out of your sight, “Why should you sit here, on a throne I have earnt with my blood? Why should you sit here, after all I have done to ensure it. After all I have lost. After all I have sacrificed.”

“Tala," Daughter, Daemon's voice rose, confusion, concern, and sorrow in his voice, "Skoros ēza-“ What has-, But your voice raised higher, angry and resentful as you interrupted him, Rhaenyra flinching at his side.

“-I have earnt this, more than you." You sneered down at them, "I have been raped and defiled for this throne." You watched their faces crumpled, "I have been beaten and mocked, before the court... The realm, to laugh at, to jest. Trapped and kept from my family in this vipers nest for a year! I have lost a child, and gained another to survive. To win this throne for you.” Your heart beat rapidly against your chest as blood rushed in your ears.

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled further, the softness of her eyebrows pulled down, and the violet of her eyes seemingly sparkling as tears gathered in the corners. 

Even in her sorrows, she was beautiful.

Daemon however, looked enraged. 

“But what have you done for me?” Your voice cracked, “You left me here.” You took a shuddering breath, watching as Rhaenyra shook her head in denial, chest rising and falling brokenly.

But then your voice hardened, lips twitching as you held back a sneer, "You made Jacaerys your successor, and me your Hand." You scoffed, "I have lost a dragon and gained another. I have been plucked from the sky and lived. The small folk say we are closer to Gods than man, but I must be a God if I am standing here today. If I sit where I sit. If I have survived what I have endured.”

Rhaenyra’s guards flooded the chambers, ensuring the safety of their Queen and King, eyes all cast up to you, their daughter, who sat upon the Iron Throne, Conquerors Crown atop her head. 

Your knuckles gripped the arms of the throne tightly, blade of your dagger scrapping loudly against one of the swords as you leant forward, “It is I the eldest daughter, the Merciless Queen, who should sit this throne. I have earnt it. It is mine by right.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s brow hardened, and her lips pulled down as you spoke, though a traitorous tear escaped her eye, sliding down her face. Daemon shifted beside her, looking up at you through his white lashes, his jaw ticking and hands at his side flexing.

“So you are to depose me of the throne? Like my brother? Your own mother?” Her voice cut across the chambers.

Your nostrils flared, trying to push the tide that surged within you. But it built, just as it always did, rising and climbing inside of you, dragging you down into its cold and murky depths, suffocating you in its clutches.

It was sorrow.

Loss.

Grief.

You licked your lips again, voice crackling in the back of your throat as you felt your own tears prick at your eyes, "The thought of sitting here, despite me earning it with my own hands, is agonising, muña." Mother, You clutched a hand against your chest, wringing the bloodied chemise in your fist, and watched as Rhaenyra's head tilted to the side sadly.

"It fills me with sorrow, knowing that sitting here would mean to depose you. That it would be another usurpation of the Iron Throne. Another of my own mother, who I love dearly. Who I have suffered for months for. And my father. Kepa.” Father, Your lips shook as you spoke, a small sob falling from them as you said kepa.

A tear tracked down your cheek, “It tears my heart in two to even think of such a thing, the pain more mighty than what has been done to it these past moons.” You shook your head, clenching the arm of the throne, a sharp sting running up your fingertips, the blades of the slicing at the flesh that gripped them tightly, knuckles white.

“I did this all for you, muña. I stayed for you. Because I love you, because it is your birthright. Because it was my duty. So much so, that I have committed the most egregious of sins. I have done something that can never be undone." A loud sob filled the chambers, "I will never be whole again.”

It was quiet. 

So very quiet in the throne chambers as you mother and father looked at you with tear filled eyes, wet tracks sliding down Rhaenyra's face. But they waited, they waited for you to continue, as they always have done, knowing that you had not had a chance to be open with them for so long, opening the door for you to speak your truth, which had been taken from you since the very moment you had arrived to the Red Keep. 

Your chest ached, pain spreading across your body, and up your throat.

Was this how Aemond felt? When you betrayed him?

When you pierced his throat with the blade he had given you?

Was this how it felt when he looked up at you as he died?

That lump settled in the back of your throat once again as you desperately tried to swallow it.

“Iksan ēdrugī." I am tired, "I am weary, muña. Eman issare pryjatan, kepa." I have been broken, father. "And yet I sit on this throne, babe in my stomach; the son of the One-Eyed King." Rhaenyra's eyes widened, "A man I loved. A man I killed. And all for you. I pierced his throat with mine own dagger in our bed; a dagger he gifted me, to keep me safe from Aegon. And what did I do?” Another tear slid past your cheek.

"I betrayed him." You sneered, anger at yourself rising.

Daemon lifted a foot and set it on the first step below the throne, his hand holding Rhaenyra’s tightly for grounding. The both of them wishing to run to you, to hold you, to feel you with their hands and make sure you were real, and not an illusion.

But the chill was back. And Aemond's presence in your periphery became harder, and harder to ignore.

You wished it was anyone but him.

Lucerys, Helaena, even Larys.

But it was him.

And he was there.

Watching.

“If I give you this throne, what do I get?” Your tone became icy, emotionless and cold, the warmth having bled from the tip of your tongue as you tapped it at the back of your teeth, “What is my payment for months of rape and torture. Of Aegon! Of Aemond."

The anger was back, bursting through you like wildfire, uncontrollable and ungraspable. You couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the heat that continued to rise inside of you.

“Will you banish me to Dragonstone, never to be seen again? Will you strip me of my titles once more, and give them to Jacaerys? Will my actions have no reward? No recognition? Will you turncloak against your own daughter?”

Daemon’s eyes opened in horror before narrowing into slits, angry, remorseful, bereft, “Why didn’t you tell us?! I would have burnt the kingdom to the ground! We would have come for you!

“And then where would we be?!” You cried back, “Still crownless, with a broken daughter and a war once again. You have sat at Dragonstone growing fat from my achievements, none the wiser to my suffering as I have lost myself and my senses for this throne. So tell me, what do I get?”

You saw Aemond's body shift, directing his eye to your parents.

Watching.

Waiting.

Supporting.

A tear slid down Rhaenyra’s porcelain cheek, “Why did you let yourself suffer so? My sweet girl." She said sorrowfully, and a tear slid down your cheek, "What horrors have you been subjected to that you have not yet told us?" Her hand tensed in your fathers grip, and you watched as his thumb brushed over her skin to soothe her, to calm her. But you knew it was more for himself.

"Why did not call for us sooner?" She sobbed, and another piece of your heart broke, "We would have come to get you. What of the people we had here for you? The maids? The Maester? I would have died for you to come home. To come back to us.” Her voice crackled and broke at the end, her pale hand spread against the sigil of her breastplate, fingers digging into the cold metal.

You leant back in the throne and shut your eyes sadly, not being able to bear the sight of your parents looking so broken, so horrified, so remorseful for something they had no control over.

You had made your decision to stay.

Not them.

You breathed in, and your voice came out quieter this time, softer, the fire simmering in the background, “I sat in these walls and dreamt of you coming to save me. But you never did. And you couldn’t have. Because it would have been for naught. All my suffering, my blood spilt, it would have been for naught if I had sent that raven to you earlier." You opened your eyes to look down at them.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had crept up three steps more, as your eyes had been shut, desperate to get close to you. Desperate to hold you.

You continued, "And I had tried once. I wrote a letter, but quickly dashed that hope into the flames of the hearth and watched them burn away. I stayed because I knew it was my duty to do so.” 

Duty.

Duty.

All of it was for duty.

All of this had been for duty.

And what had duty done for you?

Nothing but losses.

You straightened yourself in your seat, tapping your dagger against the metal arm in thought, “I have conquered this throne by right, not just one King, but two. I did that, and alone no less. No one else. Me.” You raised your head high. “Aemond slayed Aegon for me. And I have slayed Aemond for you.” 

The flames were back, and they licked at your face hotly.

“What could we possibly give you that could take this pain away?” Rhaenyra breathed, unsure of what to do, what to say, whilst Daemon stared at you the way you had stared at Aemond's corpse; with nothing but grief.

“What could we have possibly done without knowing the truth of what has happened here? I never wanted this for you, you forced my hand! I would have never let you come here if I had known you would suffer so." She all but cried.

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a fools Queen. A Queen, muña. The Broken Queen. The Queen Maker... And a Queen for a Day.”

Rhaenyra Targaryens face morphed into one of confusion before settling on shock, half blinking as another tear slid down her cheek. Daemon took another step towards you, but was held back by his wife, who’s arm was stretched out, keeping him from ascending any more stairs to you.

There was that anger again.

Anger that was not justifiably directed at them, and you knew it. You knew it to your core. But it still ate away at you, tearing at your flesh, and resolve, and strength, piece by piece. Sharp claws lashing at your heart with every word spoken.

They had been none the wiser to what had happened here, perhaps small whispers from the maids and Maester, but you had promised you would call for them, summon them with two little words if it became too much, if it became too violent, if it became the horrors that not even yourself could quite conceive just yet, but you hadn't. And it did not erase the hurt. It did not erase the pain.

And you were punishing yourself.

Keeping yourself from them. Hurting them. Lashing out at them, trying to be the worst version of yourself so that you could justify what you had just done in the mere early hours of the morning, before the sun had even risen.

Trying to justify that you were a worse monster than he had been. Trying to convince yourself that you deserved it. That you deserved the pain. The abandonment. The grief.

Because you betrayed him.

In his softest of moments, in his most honest of moments, in his most vulnerable of ones, you had betrayed him.

And how could you ever forgive yourself for that?

How could they ever forgive you for that if they knew the truth of it?

And they would.

They would know the whole truth of it.

And they would come to fear you, be horrified by their daughter, you were sure of it.

It nagged at the back of your head, like the scratching of Lucerys' whispers that had haunted you for months on end. A darkness in the back of your mind that you knew was yourself, a part of yourself you could never escape. A part of yourself that had always been there, that had been fed by the violence you had endured, and doubled in size in the violence you had committed.

It was there.

Just like it was there in him.

Always there.

To burn together.

Monster.

How could you ever do it?

How could you ever betray them?

You could not.

You would not.

If you did, you would die.

Your heart would stop beating itself, you were sure of that. It would still in your chest as it felt it would now, as though it would no longer beat for another. As though when Aemond's had stopped, yours had with it.

You couldn't do it.

You could not take this from them.

From her.

From your mother who had loved and raised you.

From your father who had done the same.

You would sooner throw yourself into the ocean, or onto the spikes at the bottom of Maegor's holdfast to be pierced upon, in a way you felt you deserved, and then, only then, would you be reunited with him. Would you get to hold him once more.

Would you get to love him, and never be threatened, or taken from him again.

Another tear fell.

You gave them a small smile, a sad smile, of regret, of sorrow, of mourning, “Let me have a moment more… Please.” You spoke quietly to them, and only to them.

Guards stationed themselves at the door to secure the chambers, the sounds of dragons flying above the Keep loud and ever present. You breathed in again, closing your eyes as you found the strength to speak once more.

“To see how it feels to sit on a throne I have earnt, and to know, that it was I who put you here. For never again shall I sit here. For after you, it will be Jacaerys, and then his heir, and their heir after. Let me be the Queen I was fated to be, if only a moment more.”

And so you sat, watched on by your mother and father as you felt the weight of the crown atop your head, the Conquerors Crown. A crown you had, by design, conquered.

The blood of the King drenched heavily atop your body, darkening your hair and skin and chemise, the sharp cold of the blades of the Iron Throne beneath you.

A crown forged in blood.

You stared at them, a moment more as they gave you the time you requested, watching as they stood stiffly, eyes shimmering with tears, their faces having fallen as you sat a moment more. And then, all too soon, your resolve and anger melted away, and a tidal wave of grief and relief flooded over you.

You stood shaikly, legs aching as you stretched to your full height, your parents looking up at you in anticipation, taking steps backwards away from the throne.

Your chest heaved, as you took one step, then another, and then flew down the steps and crashed into their waiting arms, Daemon lifting you off the stairs, turning you to face your mother, who buried her face into the crux of your neck. A small sob fell from her lips as they both held you tightly for the first time since you had left them at Dragonstone.

You cried, loudly, sobbing into Daemon, who cooed and kissed at the top of your head, fingers digging painfully into your flesh as he gripped you tightly. Making sure you could not leave him again.

Your father almost collapsed as you felt him cry and shake with you in his arms. Holding him so tightly to him you could scarcely breathe, hands shaking so violently that they almost vibrated.

“Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” My little warrior, He whispered into your blood clumped hair, “Issi ao ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?

You sobbed louder, heart feeling like it would give out, stomach hardened and in pain with how it clenched, "Ñuha prūmia iksis pryjatan.” My heart is broken.

Rhaenyra hushed you gently, pressing a kiss thrice against your cheek, and oh how you missed it. How you missed the way she always did it, always in three's, always the same. Familiar. Yours. Hers. Whispering praise into your ear, promising that you were safe, that they were here now, that they loved you, that they came for you. 

And they had.

“I loved him.” You wailed brokenly.

“We know.” Daemon whispered, smoothing your hair at your back.

“I’m with child. And I killed him. I killed the man I loved.” You bawled.

“Ñuha dōna riña.” My sweet girl, Rhaenyra took you from your fathers arms, and you buried your head into her neck, feeling Daemons heat behind you, gripping you tightly, as you inhaled her scent, "He would forgive you. I know he would. My brother would understand. He understood."

It didn't do much to help calm you, but it helped to reassure you that they were truly there, and that they were not a vision like your brother, or Helaena or-

You lifted your head, opening your eyes to the chambers behind Rhaenyra.

There, at the back of the room, hidden amongst the shadows, was the violet and sapphire gaze you would come to miss the most.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

By Your Side

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || Multiple scenarios of Bucky loving, comforting, and taking care of you while sick.

Word Count || 2353

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Mild Smut/Angst — implied [s]ex, sick and sad Reader, but lots of sweet fluff as well!

Authors Note || I’ve been sick twice now within a month so I thought it was only fitting to write a comfort fic with Bucky! Apologies if the fic is a little bit all over the place… I also got a bit carried away towards the end. Idk. It’s a strange fic but I like it :)

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

In just a few days, Bucky would finally return home from his two-week-long mission overseas, much to yours and his excitement as you'd missed and craved each other immensely while apart for so long. You were longing for all the sex, cuddling, and conversing you and he would do once he was back, but all those plans changed when you got a nasty cold just a day before he was coming home.

The outfit you had planned for him (sexy underwear ofc) was replaced with an old t-shirt of his and some sweatpants of yours—not looking or feeling sexy at all. And the activity you and he were supposed to do once he walked through the door (nasty sex ofc), would be nothing of.

“Baby, I'm home,” he sang, his words laced with sexual desire and playfulness, more than ready to finally have some fun with you after so long. But instead of being met with you pouncing on him and ushering him straight to the bedroom, like you usually did when he came home after a mission, he was met with the sound of you sneezing and coughing up a storm.

He quickly found his way into the living room to see if you were alright. He found you sitting on the sofa, tissue in hand, as you wiped your runny nose. “Baby, are you ok?”

“No, Bucky, please don't come near me! I'm so gross and disgusting,” you sobbed as you were just done with the violent fit, turning away from him so that he couldn't look at you.

“Hey,” he approached where you were sitting, “doll, I'm here now. I want to help you,” he spoke softly as he sat beside you—grabbing your chin with two fingers and turning your face to him so that he could see all of you.

You were sure that once he saw the absolute mess you looked, the cesspool of grossness and sickness that you were, he would take the first flight back to wherever he had just come from. But he did what any good boyfriend and person would do—stay by your side no matter what. He was determined to comfort and nurse you back to health.

“Doll,” he exhaled as he caressed your cheek while the sweetest smile displayed across his lips. “You will forever be the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever gazed upon, no matter what. Even when you're sick.” He smiled brighter, if that was even possible, the edge of his eyes crinkling.

“I don't deserve you, Bucky,” you sniffled while returning the smile as you leaned into his warm palm, that simple touch of his easing some of your discomforts.

“Come here.” He pulled you towards him, tucking you comfortably against his body—your legs draped over his while your head rested against his chest. The motion of his hand softly caressing your back and his sweet words lulled you to sleep. “You deserve all of me, beautiful. And I will be here for you, nursing and loving you back to health.”

—

Bucky was attentive to your every need and wants when you were sick—no questions asked, no matter what you required—doing everything he could to make you feel better and brighten your spirit.

Whenever you were cold and shivering, he would wrap his entire body around you, engulfing you completely, making sure you were all warm and safe. A fluffy blanket would be thrown over both of you to ensure maximum comfort.

“There we go, is that better?” He asked in a hushed tone as he rubbed your back and kissed your forehead.

You hummed in approval, purring softly as you snuggled further into him than humanly possible.

“Can we watch a Disney movie, please?”

“Of course, we can, princess.”

Not even needing to ask, he put on Tangled, knowing it was your absolute favorite and a must-see when you needed a little pick-me-up.

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle as you settled down even further into your seat and against him, like a cat that was trying to make itself comfortable, ready for your favorite movie and the best warm cuddles.

Bucky was also caring and understanding when you were too hot, practically burning up and sweating profusely.

“Why is it so hot in here,” you cried as it became almost unbearable, desperately trying to take off your thick sweater.

“Let me do it, doll.” He took it off, leaving you in the nude before he went to grab a wet washcloth and the thermometer, opening the windows along the way to let the cool breeze in.

“Here,” he put the thermometer under your arm and the washcloth against your forehead, hoping it would help cool you down.

Once the thermometer beeped and he checked the number, relief came over him that it wasn't anything too serious.

“Phew, only a mild fever. That's good.”

“I still feel like I'm in a sauna,” you sobbed.

“I know, baby. I'm sorry.” You could hear the absolute concern and sadness in his tone that he couldn't do more to help you and take the pain and discomfort away. “Here,” he held your glass up, “drink some. It'll help.” You took a big swig of the ice water and immediately felt slightly better.

“Better?”

“Much better.”

With a sigh of relief, Bucky sat beside you again with a little distance between so that you could have some space to cool down and breathe properly. But he grabbed your hand, which you gladly let him, wanting that bit of closeness despite sitting apart. The soft caresses of his thumb on the back of your hand was such a minor gesture, but it was still the biggest relief out of anything.

“Thank you, Bucky, for taking care of me.”

“Of course, doll. That's what I'm here for. I'm never going anywhere.”

—

Although Bucky was not the most stellar in the kitchen, he knew how to make do whenever needed. For example, when you were sick and wanted some fresh and delicious soup.

He had been in the kitchen for about 30 minutes now. Banging pots and pans and cursing along as he prepared the dish for you.

“Oh! No! No! No! Ah, it's ruined… no, wait… it's not! ….Hot! Hot! Hot! Oh… that's actually not that bad… Wow, that's kind of delicious.”

“Babe, are you ok?”

“Yeah, it's fine, doll, I'm fine. Soups coming in a minute.”

Not even a minute later, he walked out of the kitchen very gently and with intense concentration as he held the bowl of soup in hand, trying his best not to spill.

“Alright, one warm and tasty chicken soup for the pretty lady,” he grinned as he sat down beside you, making your cheeks heat up at his sentiment.

“You're so good to me, Bucky.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing the bowl and spoon and digging in.

The first taste was delicious—a pleasant chicken taste that warmed you up inside and soothed your extremely sore throat. But the aftertaste was a little bitter, so the more slurps you took from it, the more intense that bitter taste became.

“Is it good?” He stared at you with the softest eyes and a slight pout, hoping you would be satisfied with his creation.

You didn't have the heart to critique his hard work when he had been so kind to make you food. The soup wasn't that terrible, it was made with love, and that's what mattered the most.

“Hmmm, it's warm and definitely making me feel better. Thank you, babe.”

“Anything for my favorite doll.”

—

Although it was only a common cold you had, it was a nasty one. And you had little to no energy to move around a lot. That's why you spent all your time on the sofa—from morning till night; eating, relaxing, and sleeping.

Bucky had, of course, offered to help you up to the bedroom, carry you even if needed, but you were happy and comfortable on the sofa, so he didn't want to force you to do anything.

But if you stayed, that also meant that he stayed.

You watched Bucky with a pout on your face as he was making himself a makeshift bed on the floor. You felt terrible that he needed to sleep in such an uncomfortable place just so that he could be close in case you needed his help.

“Bucky, I'm so appreciative that you've been taking such good care of me, but you also need to take care of yourself. Please, go and sleep in the bed.”

“Baby, it's ok,” he smiled brightly, trying to reassure you, but you could see in his eyes how tired he was, “it's only for a few days.”

“You can sleep on the sofa with me then.”

“Doll, I'll be alright, trust me,” he answered softly, “I want you to have all the space to be comfortable.”

“Please, baby, I don't want you to be uncomfortable or in pain.”

“Hey.” He sat down beside you again, taking your hands in his and kissing the back of them gently before gazing into your eyes. “I've slept in worse conditions than this floor, much worse. I'll be very comfortable here, especially when you're with me, doll. I promise.”

You pouted again, to which he chuckled at your adorable expression. “Hey, don't pout,” he brushed the corner of your lip with his thumb, ”I'll be alright. Now let's sleep.”

He helped you lay down—fluffing your pillow and tucking you into the soft blanket. Once he knew you had situated yourself comfortably, he laid down on the hard floor, the blanket beneath not providing much cushion, but he didn't mind.

You wiggled your hand out from the tight cocoon to reach down and comb your fingers through his hair a few times before slowly dragging it down to cup his cheek and brush your thumb along his skin. He leaned up to your touch, closing his eyes and humming softly at your loving caresses.

“Thank you, doll.”

“No, thank you, Bucky. You're so good to me.”

He took your hand and kissed the back of it gently before interlocking your fingers together.

“I love you, my beautiful princess.”

“And I you. Good night.”

—

After four days of intense sickness, you finally started to recover—gaining back some of your energy and only displaying some minor symptoms.

The first thing you wanted to do was take a shower. You desperately needed one after sitting in gunk and sweat for so many days straight.

Although you were steady on your feet, Bucky kept his palm on your back, just for a little extra support, as he walked with you to the bathroom upstairs.

While you undressed, Bucky turned the shower on for you and made sure it was the right temperature—hot, but not so much that it would burn you.

Once you were out of the icky clothes, you stepped right under the running stream, moaning as the warm water hit you, consuming you entirely and washing off all the dirt and muck, making you finally feel fresh after so long.

Bucky leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as he watched you. A smile of happiness displayed across his face at seeing you so content after so many days of pain and misery. “Do you want a minute alone? I can wait outside. Just yell if you need anything.”

“Actually,” you turned to him with a [s]mirk, “why don't you join me, babe?”

You didn't need to ask him twice. As soon as he got confirmation, he undressed quickly, almost tripping as he took off his pants, making you giggle, before he stepped under the warm water as well. His hands quickly found their way to your body, pulling you closer to him, skin to skin after so long. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gazed up at him with a sweet smile, which he returned.

“I'm so happy you feel better,” he uttered softly as he cupped your face.

You hummed, closing your eyes and nuzzling your face into his chest. “Just a little bit tired and sore still. That's all.”

“You'll feel normal again soon, baby.”

You and he spent almost a full hour in the shower—washing each other, teasing, touching, laughing, and kissing, loving the intimacy after so long. All until the water started getting cold.

You felt refreshed and renewed as you stepped out, newfound energy cursing through you.

While you dried yourself off, you studied your boyfriend—examining his muscular physique. He looked even more hench after his few weeks overseas. Lust and desire grew in your stomach, working itself downwards until you felt yourself become slick with need while thinking about the initial plan you had wanted to do when he got home a few days ago—sex.

Stepping towards him, you took his hands and pulled him closer till you were skin to skin again, just like in the shower. It wasn't hard for him to interpret what you wanted. The smirk on your face and your fingers dancing along his V-line giving it away, but he played dumb.

“What is it, doll?” He tried to hide his growing smile but failed miserably.

“Sex. I want sex.”

“Sex?” He raised his eyebrow, no longer able to hide his mischievous smile. “I thought you were still sick,” he teased.

“Sex boosts recovery. Did you know that?”

“Does it now?” He pulled you in closer, hands taking a firm grasp of your behind as he leaned his head down to your level and brushed his lips with yours. “Then what are we waiting for, doll? Let's get to it….”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

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[042502]

Well this weekend I dedicated myself to looking for inspiration and some drafts have come out...

First I have two finished fics: "Enemies" and "I want it, I have it" the latter is smut.

But I have drafts lying around with small dialogues, which I should develop further. But I'm going to tell you more or less what they are about.

I showed a spoiler recently about one that is in progress, it's about Chris as an actor...

While the rest are loose thoughts about failed relationships, so get your tissues ready to cry.

I wanted to write something that is not smut, my mood is now depressive, so the ideas are usually very sad.

On the other hand, vote to see if Matt's or Chris's fic is published first, the publication will be made this Monday.

Another thing, the chats of both Matt and Chris or the three of them in general. They will be published on weekends, to fill out. Most of them will try to be comical and funny, sometimes a little hot, but not that hot.

We are reading soon, vote wisely 🤍!

MASTERLIST!

TAGLIST: @luverboychris @alexandernvr @prisciliin @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @dirtylittleheartsworld

#໒✦⋮ 𝟬𝟰𝟮𝟱𝟬𝟮 ༄ ˀˀ #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo soft #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew bernard sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolo x reader

[beomurang]

𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗 ✦ 𝗛𝗨𝗘𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗞𝗔𝗜 💫

pairing : huening kai x reader

genre : fluff (?), angst, unrequited love, one side pining on your best friend

word count : 517

synopsis : again at 2am you find yourself lying on the vast green field, staring at the starry night sky. with your enchanter lying beside, a sense of longing and delusion fills you inside.

warning : angst, tissues maybe, reader is delusional (we all are), sad sad sad

a/n : my first fic! idk why this song reminds me of your name. it reminds me of hyuka as well, cuz he's so mystical and moon night sky water painting coded as you see in the pics up there (if that makes any sense). i cried while writing this, i hope you enjoy! m.list

Under the numerous stars, you are both lying on the soft field of grass, the leaves tickling your skin as a breeze blows by. The two pairs of gleaming eyes are mesmerised, absorbed with counting the endless glitter granules sprayed across the prussian blue sky. At times you break contact to look at the boy beside you, who represents a star himself. You can call him the sun. Though hidden in the depths of the night sky, the sun has it's presence through it's glowing moon. You can call yourself the moon, basked in his bright light that makes you shine in the darkness.

He stops his random rambles, which have been deflected from his counting, to look back at you. The sound of the breeze fills the silence between you two, while you have your eyes locked with each other. After a minute of silence, a gentle smile graces his lips that your lips reciprocate. A warm nostalgic feeling fills your heart, which reminds you of all those coffee hangouts you had with him in the winter mornings.

The last 2am you are spending with him before who knows when you will see him again, or will you ever. Shifting to a far away place to pursue your dream has its prices. If that includes losing another dream of yours, another star that you want to keep close to you forever, you nod. As if a needle has pricked your heart, the bittersweet nostalgia has morphed into the sourness of despair and hopelessness. Anyways it's too late, the words you wanted to say all along would be meaningless if you aren't going to stay for another tomorrow with him.

Your eyes well up with tears and he reaches out his hand to wipe them off. The smiles are now laces to keep the emotions within yourselves intact. You feel it is far fetched but you can't help yourself but hope that he has just you as someone who will wait for him and that he would do the same for you for years. It feels foolish and selfish to want to keep him all to yourself as you will never be ready to let him go. Those buried feelings made you hope that there isn't someone else he will fall for in that undefined timeline. You hope it isn't someone else that may cross his mind every time he looks at a star. And you feel guilty. Because you know, you don't deserve him. And you know deep down, that the stars will not fall for your wish.

That's when his phone rang. He takes out his phone, his smile spreads a little wider as he reads the name on the phone screen. He does have someone who has been waiting for him already, the same who he has fallen in love with. And it isn't you. Will never be.

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[kimpossibly]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐄 𝐒/𝐎

REQUEST: Hi! I really love your works, if its alright with you, can I please request Enid Sinclair with a human/normie s/o who she loves very much but her s/o is being stalked by their crazy ex-girlfriend who wants them back and also happens to be a werewolf. — anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hiiiiii!! Thank you so so much for the ask, this is adorable! I didn't know if you wanted a fic or headcanons, so I kind of mashed them up and did both!! I hope you enjoy this and let me know if you'd like it in a different format! NOTE: E/n = ex's name

PAIRING: enid sinclair x gn!reader WARNINGS: crazy ex-girlfriends, fighting, stalking

Needless to say, it's a pretty big deal when someone at Nevermore gets involved with a Normie.

Some might even say it's taboo, but everyone knows that the Normie gets the short end of the stick nine times out of ten.

So when another werewolf and you start dating, our lovely Queen of Gossip Enid knows from the very beginning

She's super into the relationship despite never having met you — she'll always ask for updates or to see photos of the two of you

But she can't deny the blushy, crushy feeling she gets whenever she sees you

Of course, she covers it up with things like "Oh my God, they're gorgeous!" or "You guys look so cute together!", but it doesn't do much to stave off the way her heart speeds up every time she sees you in photos

Enid figures out pretty quickly that she possibly maybe sort of has the sliiiiiightest crush on you. But you were dating her friend, and that meant you were off-limits.

So Enid did what she could to stave off all those giggly, fuzzy feelings she gets whenever she thinks about you

It didn't really work that well but whatever

Enid was so busy trying to stamp down her feelings that she completely missed your relationship turning sour

That's why it came as such a surprise to her when you broke up with her friend out of the blue

Enid put everything she had into being there for her friend — giving her tissues when she cried, planning fun movie nights to take her mind off of you

And all good feelings she had towards you dissolved the moment you made her friend cry

So when she saw you at the Weathervane one day while she was out in Jericho, she was ready to give you a piece of her mind

As she walked towards you, she wrote an entire monologue in her head, ready to spit fire, but then she heard a sob.

Enid's prepared speech melted away the moment she heard a stifled sniff. Even though she could only see the back of you head, she could tell that your body was wracked with sobs. She blanched. She couldn't yell at someone who was already crying! The vision of E/n crying tried to push its way to the forefront of her mind, screaming "Hey, I'm here! Remember me?" But you were right there. So close and so broken. In that moment she resolved to swallow any venom she was prepared to spit at you. After taking a deep breath, she stepped up until she was beside you in the booth.

"Y/n?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle.

You looked up, your face red and puffy, confusion taking the place of sadness for a moment. "Sorry, do I know you?" you asked. Enid was taken aback by how polite you sounded. From the way E/n had told it, she expected you to sound much more harsh.

"I'm Enid Sinclair. I'm friends with E/n." she introduced.

That only seemed to make you feel worse. "Oh," was all you said, eyes shifting away from her and into space.

Enid hurried to lighten things up. "Can I sit?"

You said nothing but nodded, prompting her to slide into the booth across from you. She tapped her nails on the table a couple times, trying to figure out just where to go from here. "I go to Nevermore, by the way." was all she came up with.

"I know," you replied. "You followed me on Instagram a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah! I saw your post from the bowling alley a couple weeks ago, I really liked how you did your hair—"

"I'm sorry, Enid, I'm just a little confused." you gently interrupted her. "Why are you sitting with me? I should think that you'd be angry with me for breaking up with your friend."

Enid paused. She chose her next words carefully, not wanting to scare you away with the truth. "I was. But then I heard you crying and I figured you didn't need a virtual stranger getting mad at you. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Now that you weren't expecting. More tears rushed to your eyes as she spoke. "You...just want to know if I'm okay?" you asked, relieved.

And Enid just nodded. So you told her everything.

For the first time, Enid gets the whole story of your relationship, start to finish. From the time you met at a party in Jericho to the night you broke up, she hears about every date, every fight, every detail you had to offer.

And it's way different than what she had heard from E/n.

While E/n claimed that you had broken up with them out of the blue, you told her that you had broken up because she had been showing up at your house, at your school, at your work out of the blue with no warning.

She even began to show up at places you hadn't told her you were going to be, like the time you decided to head to the Weathervane for a quick coffee and found that E/n had showed up just moments before you, hoping to catch up.

Eventually it started to creep you out a little too much and you decided to break things off

Things started to make sense for Enid, and the picture became a little clearer.

And after you told the whole story, Enid sensed that you needed a quick pick-me-up, so she invited you shopping with her

And shopping with Enid is...an experience

She turns into a personal stylist for you, pulling out thing after thing that she thinks you would look good in — and she always has a reason

"Ooooh, look at this! Emerald green would bring out your eyes."

"This shade of blue will compliment your skin tone so well, just trust me."

She gets you giggling and smiling and it makes her feel like she's on top of the world

You make plans that day to do this again, much to Enid's excitement

You exchange numbers and head your opposite ways

Enid goes back to Nevermore feeling like she's on Cloud 9...at least until she runs into your ex.

"Where have you been?"

Enid freezes when a voice speaks from behind her. Oh no. She turns slowly on her heel, giving E/n an overzealous smile. "Oh, hey, E/n! I was, um, just out at the Weathervane for a coffee. I would've brought you something back, but I didn't know what you liked."

E/n seems to take the lie as she shrugs. "Oh, fun. Hey, you still down for dinner in the courtyard?"

An invisible tension releases from Enid's shoulders. "Yeah, definitely." she says, giving E/n a smile.

She smiles back. "Cool. See ya later!"

E/n walks away as Enid mumbles a freaked-out "See ya," before turning and racing back to her dorm.

It's then that she decides to keep your meetings a secret.

She doesn't want to hurt E/n's feelings, and she definitely doesn't want to make things worse for you, so the only reasonable option was to lie, right?

RIGHT?????????

This is the kind of stuff that eats Enid up — the moral gray area of Is this right or is it wrong?

It's the kind of stuff that leaves her lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what to do next.

And every time she draws a blank

This whole thing haunts her right up until the day you agreed to meet up again.

You find her in a booth at the Weathervane that Saturday — she already ordered your drink, which she remember from looking at the cup you had the day you met (that's the kind of stuff that she remembers and never forgets)

This time you show her all your favorite things in Jericho — your favorite park, your house, your favorite landmarks

And when it's over and she needs to get back to Nevermore, you make plans to hang out again

Then that hang out comes and passes, and you decide to hang out again. And again. And again.

And suddenly Enid starts to wonder if this is more than just "hanging out."

"Hey, Y/n? Can I ask you a question?" she says out of the blue one day while you're walking around a park.

"Shoot."

"Say there are two friends, and they hang out all the time. I mean, all the time. And one of them kinda likes the other, but they don't know if the other likes them back, but they don't know how to ask...what should they do?" Enid says, her chest seizing with panic.

You pause, brows knit. "Hm." you say, frowning at nothing. "I dunno. Tell them, I guess. I think being straightforward is the best thing you can do in that situation."

Enid nods and you two continue to walk in silence. After a moment, you go to speak, "Hey, did I ever show you—"

"I like you!" Enid blurts out, cutting you off. You stop, but she keeps going. "I was talking about me when I asked that question. I really like you, Y/n, and sometimes I think you might like me too, but I never really know these things for sure, so I just sit and think about it a lot but then I wonder if I'm reading too much into things that that's never good, but then you said to be straightforward about it and—"

"Enid!" you shout, trying to make sure she can take a breath. She stops, looking back at you with terrified eyes. And, to her surprise, you smile. "I like you too."

She falters. "Y-You do?" she stutters in disbelief.

"I do," you confirm.

She doesn't know what to say. She didn't plan this far. "Okay!" she says. "Okay! So. Um. How do we—do you want to—or like, we don't have to, but—"

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" you ask.

And she just smiles. "Yes, I would. When?"

"Hm, how about..." you trail off, looking around. "Now?"

"Now?"

"Mhm."

Enid looks back at you in shock. "So this...this is a date now?"

"Only if you want it to be." you laugh.

She smiles even wider. "Yeah. Yes. I want it to be."

"Well then, come on," you say, beckoning her to keep walking with you. "I think there's a creek in the woods I forgot to show ya."

And, beaming like the sun, Enid follows.

Enid is just about the most thoughtful girlfriend ever

She remembers your birthday, your mom's birthday, your sibling's birthday, your pet's birthday, your anniversary, and any special date you mention. Ever.

She'll show up to a date with flowers and a little gift for some occasion you hadn't even known was happening.

"Happy two and a half week anniversary!" "Oh! I didn't know we were celebrating." "That's okay! I just like visiting the flower shop down the street."

She's also suuuuuper cuddly and will hold onto you wherever you go

She knits you gloves and sweaters and scarves and snoods and anything you request

And while she can't invite you to any dance seeing as you're keeping your relationship a secret from E/n, she'll host makeshift dances in which she'll force you out of your room for a couple minutes while she decorates it with streamers and a disco ball and hauls in a speaker

Then, she'll pull you onto the 'dance floor' (your bedroom floor) and dance with you until you're both on the verge of collapse

For a couple months, everything is perfect. You're perfect, and Enid spends almost every second in awe of you.

But, of course, the past always comes back to haunt us

Enid notices one day that you've been growing slightly distant. You would space out in conversation and never respond with more than a couple words. She would've been hurt if she hadn't been worried about you.

She never pried other than the occasional "You sure you're okay?", which you'd brush off anyway.

But everything comes to a head the night you have a panic attack while you're hanging out with Enid in your room and she pulls you into her arms as you sob. At that point, you couldn't hide what was going on.

"Enid, I...I don't feel safe anymore." you told her one night. E/n was showing up everywhere you went, even more now than she had before. She would ambush you on your way to school, begging you to take her back despite your intentions otherwise. She seemed to always be one step ahead, and you were beginning to panic.

And as Enid sat there, holding you tightly and running gentle fingers through your hair, she made up her mind: "I'm going to make this stop."

You looked up at her, eyes wide. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but I can promise you that E/n is never going to bother you again."

"Enid, stop." you say, pulling way and sitting up. "You don't have to get in the middle of this. I never wanted you to get involved and I don't want you to get hurt because of me." you say as more tears begin to stream down your face.

"Hey, look at me," Enid says, taking your face gently in her hands. "I just want you to feel safe. I'm not going to do anything bad, I'm just going to talk to her and try to figure things out, but I won't bring you into it. I promise. I'm going to fix this, okay?"

And, reluctantly, you nod. Enid smiles, kissing the top of your head and pulling you in for a long hug. As she held you, she used her finger to lightly trace something on your back: I LOVE YOU. She did that quite a lot, mostly because she was afraid to say it aloud. But it was true, she loved you. And she'd go to war for you if that was what it took.

You'll never forget the day Enid walked up to you at your usual booth at the Weathervane with a smile on her face as she sat opposite you

"E/n won't be bothering you any more." she said simply, taking a sip of the coffee you had ordered her.

You just frowned in confusion. "Enid, what did you do?"

"Don't worry about it." she said nonchalantly.

After a few more attempts to get her to spill what she had done, you realized she wasn't going to give up. So you settled on a smile as you watched Enid innocently sip her coffee.

"Hey, Enid?" you said, smiling at her. "I love you, too."

And right then, all Enid knew how to do was smile.

#wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday 2022 #enid sinclair #enid sinclair x reader #enid sinclair headcanons #enid sinclair fic #enid sinclair fluff

[astars-things]

Song to listen to while reading. Lyrics will be included in the fic

Grab your tissues this is going to be a sad one x

This is good land or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

I stood on the porch watching Quinn pack his things into the car, Jack stood next to me holding me as I cried, "Y/n/n it's going to be okay I'll see you whenever I'm playing here and you come to visit me in Vancouver" Quinn whispered to me I hugged him tight until it was time to let go and watched as he walked to the car with mom 

I ran inside to my room watching the car drive away leaving a sad gloomy atmosphere in my heart I cried as I saw the car reach the end of the street. As I walked downstairs I saw Quinns' room empty with a bed and a dresser still left behind 

I felt arms wrap around me it was Jack and Luke hugging me tight, I was happy I had them but deep down I was scared. 

I was scared of what was going to happing when they leave when they were going to leave their baby sister that night I cuddled into Jack and Luke crying,

This is good land or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

It makes me smile to know when things get hard, ooh

You'll be far, ooh, you'll be far from here 

and soon it came a time when history repeats itself and I was standing on the porch in Luke's arms watching Jack pack up his stuff, why'd they have to move away leaving me crying, Luke ran his fingers through my hair "Bye y/n/n" Jack hugged me tight as I cried again 

off he went to New Jersey where he was going to forget about me as Quinn did, Quinn promised he was going to call and visit me and in the first month he did but those visits and calls became fewer and fewer.

I looked into jacks room only seeing a bed and some photos on the wall, Luke was there to pick up the pieces of my broken self

but I knew it wasn't long until he left

So pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

I was right. soon it was Luke's time to leave he was off to college but it was only a matter of time until the NHL took another one of my brothers and forget about me like the others did 

I cried hard that night alone with my thoughts, I lay in bed clutching my blanket tight

and like the others he barely visited. Summer was different they didn't bother hanging out with me they were too busy with their friends. 

The birds'll still sing, your folks'll still fight The boards'll still creak, the leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love

It was just Mom, Dad and I left in the empty house, photos on the wall memories of when they were still here, when they still loved me 

for months I waited for a text from anyone of them but when I didn't I gave up, Mom and Dad were there to pick up the pieces 

You told me you would make a difference Well, I got drunk and shut you down

 I changed, going to parties and getting drunk trying to get them out of my head, they didn't care about me, they left and forgot about me, too busy with their friends and hockey

So pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

I was off to college, in another state, Boston University was where I was destined to go,

I watch my mom and dad cry as I packed up the car "I love you" I cried to my parents but I was ready to leave the nest "We love you too baby" They hugged me tight, "You're the greatest thing we've lost" I heard them whisper

I waved to them as I drove off ready to see where the world was going to take me 

We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love

And we'll all be here forever

I was finally happy I told myself as I drove

You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far Yes, you are

If you wanna go far Then you gotta go far

taglist~

@missjomarch 

@swissboyhisch

#Spotify #Noah kahan series #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #hughes sister

[artemis-lynn]

NEWSIES FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS!

Ok. So. I've been needing to make this for a while, so I'll just put down my favorites in no particular order, it's SO hard to pick...

Summer Camp AUs :3

Mountain Ridge Camp for Boys by timetogoslumming

Javey & Sprace, T, 22/22

This is a really good summer camp AU of newsies! I love how it combines canon plot with a modern AU!

Summary: David was just looking for a summer job when he applied to work at Mountain Ridge Camp for Boys. He had no idea how much would change. For the first time in his life, David is part of a brotherhood, but not everyone is on the same side.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by studentnumber24601 (Itsy Royal)

Javid & Specs/Dutchy (Sputchy?? Idk, but I <3 this ship) & Blink x OC, T, 40/40

The prank war in this is honestly the best + the reluctant ladies man Mush is LOL, it had me guessing the ships till the very end, especially with Blink.

Summary: Modern-day newsboys at summer camp. Will wacky hijinks ensue? Gee, ya think?

Make Off Like a Band(it) by thespiritscalling

Sprace, G, 14/14

OMG. It's the funniest summer camp au I've read that sheds light on band camp (I'm an orchestra kid so this was hilarious to me). I especially love the That's Amore remix near the end lmaoo

Summary: It's the summer after graduation. Race is ready to hit the road- metaphorically, of course- but before that happens, it's time for one last stint at the Camp To End All Camps: band camp. Armed with nothing more than a French horn, two best friends, and reckless abandon, Race decides it's going to be the best final year of camp anyone's ever had. It'll be full of excitement, laughter, music, and an absurd crush on the lead trumpet player. Wait. What?

Canon Era :3

Their Mistake Is They Got Old by PenzyRome

David & Katherine, but the side ships are Newsbians and Javey, T, One Shot

You're gonna need the tissues for this one. I literally sob every time I read it, it's literally one of the best fics I've ever read. It's poetically tragic and heartbreaking and beautiful and HOLY CRAP!

Summary: Katherine Plumber, 17, had been so sure that she could stay the same, that she could stop the world, that she'd stay young forever. The world kept moving, though, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, and it forced her to move with it.

When Manhattan Met Brooklyn by warrior_sif

No ships cause they're kids, T, 4/4 (but the second one isn't finished :( )

Wow. Just wow. This one is honestly sad and I love the brother relationship between Jack, Race, and Spot and how Jack feels abandoned, like Race chose Spot over him. READ IT.

Summary: The only Manhattan newsies that Spot Conlon deals with are Jack and Race. A look back at how they met, eight years before the strike, when neither Jack nor Spot were leaders and Race just wants to sell at the racetracks.

False Rumors and The Truth Behind Them by FrogmanFae

Sprace, M, One Shot

This one is...heavy. The Refuge is such a bad place :( I love it though, the writing is beautiful.

Summary: Rumor has it that Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins met when Race started selling in Brooklyn because of his love for gambling. That isn't as true as the other boys in their lodging houses tend to make it seem. Though, they don't necessarily mind the false rumors. They hide the much darker truth. The truth that still causes Race to make the walk from Manhattan to Brooklyn in the middle of the night sometimes, even several years later. Or...It's pretty easy to form connections with someone you're forced into sharing a bed with while you're both being tortured.

The King & The Cowboy by goldenbiebah

Sparah <3, Spot/Sarah/Jack love triangle, T, 11/? (not completed :sob: )

I love this one, it really touches on how Jack is kinda toxic and how Sarah can have someone wayyyy better *cough* Spot *cough*

Summary: Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly are the fearless leaders of all the newsies in Brooklyn and Manhattan. They have a perfect system and hundreds of boys who respect and look up to them. But what will happen when the two leaders let selfishness and pride break up their friendship? And what happens when Spot's dark past begins to catch up with him? And where does Sarah Jacobs fit into all of this? Find out in The King & The Cowboy. Fights will break out, romances will clash, and lives will be lost in an epic struggle to salvage both new and old relationships.

Modern AUs :3

We Are Newsies by VeronicaWeasley (this is my sole ff.net one but likeeee it's too good to be ignored)

There are so many ships that I can't remember but I do know Sprace is one, T, 80/80 (I know that's a lot but it is SO worth it holy frick)

Ok. So. This one is like SO good. It's my fav high school AU because it has a really genius way of incorporating the canon plot with the perfect amount of angst, fluff, and more! :D

Summary: The same old story, the same old song. A tale in which the newsies of Lower Manhattan go on strike, and David Jacobs gets roped into it. High School AU set in 1999. Told through the eyes of multiple characters.

Captivity by Hexmari

No ships :), M, One Shot

I LOVEEE this one it's so crazy and you're in for a wild ride when (it's so cute that you think I'm letting that be an if :) ) you read it.

Summary:

“Ma– you seriously can’t do this to us!” Jack argued, “I mean it's Halloween!”

Charlie was quick to back his older brother up, “Yeah, do you want us to become hermits? Because that's what keeping us captive here all night will do!”

Medda rolled her eyes, “You will not become hermits by staying in for one night. It won’t be too bad, you can break into our Halloween candy and put on some horror movies, and Ester will be here with David soon. No kids are going out tonight, it’s just a safety precaution. Especially because of recent events.”

~🎃~

When a kid in their town goes missing, paranoid parents decide to keep their kids home on Halloween. Even after their mom forbids them from going out Jack, Race, Charlie, and their friend David sneak out, coming up with a theory that their old neighbor is behind the boy's disappearance.

The Beast of Brooklyn by ArtemisRayne

Sprace + side Javey, M, 26/26

This one is soooo worth staying up late for, it's amazing in every way and my heart aches for Spottie boy. And Race. And Jack. And David. But mainly Spot :)

Summary:

Racetrack Higgins always thought it would be his own vices that got him into trouble one day; turns out it's his Ma who does it for him. When Ma Higgins crosses the local drug lord and leaves him high and dry with a target on his back, Race's saved by a mysterious stranger who gives him a safe place to hide—a short-tempered and anti-social stranger covered in horrifying scars, with a past as dark as the marks on his body. However, the longer Race spends in the Brooklyn house, the more he comes to discover about the boy beneath the scars: a boy who is just as trapped as Race and twice as damaged. Befriending the two men who live in as hired help, and chipping away at the mysterious "boss" and his walls, Race might even manage to find a place to call home.*Beauty & the Beast/Beastly AU fusion*

Forever With You by 손 현숙 (safarikalamari)

Sprace, T, 14/14

ajlskdfjalkjdkajl this one is so sweet. The concept of it is super interesting and I just LOVE ittttttt.

Summary: In 1899, Spot Conlon is the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, writing away his thoughts and hiding them inside his desk for safekeeping. Meanwhile, in 1999, Tony Higgins receives an antique desk for his birthday and finds an old letter stuffed in one of the slots, the name, Spot, his only lead in this mystery. What becomes of that summer is a series of time-traveling letters, falling in love, and the realization that Spot and Tony know each other better than the two ever could have imagined.

Pirate AUs :3

The Truth About The Stars by ArtemisRayne

Javey + side Sprace, T, 10/10 (long chapters but it's worth it!)

OMG. This one is amazingggggggggggggggggggggggg I love the fantasy/pirate twist on the best movie/musical on the planet Earth!

Summary: The rest of the world might not think Jack Kelly is destined for much, but Jack knows better. He just needs to get away from the city, to some place where he can be more than just another nameless orphan in the chaos of New York City. So when someone offers to pay his way to Santa Fe in exchange for crossing the Wall and retrieving a fallen star, he jumps at the chance. He just wasn't expecting the star to be so, well, human. Jack makes a deal with the fallen star named David to get them both home, but the magical kingdom of Stormhold has so much more in store for them both. People are tracking David, secrets from Jack's past leave him in danger as well, and injustice is rampant in the kingdom. Throw in a climate of political upheaval, a renegade noblewoman, and a crew of fugitive sky pirates, and soon all of Stormhold will know that change is coming.

A Pirate's Life Is Never Easy by ChaosFairytale <3

Sprace + side Blush & Bumlets x Swifty, M, 9/? (it's an ongoing one shot series that has frequent updates)

OML I LOVE U SO MUCH CHAOS YOU'RE MY FAVORITE FANFIC WRITER AND I LIVE FOR YOUR WRITING TYSM FOR EXISTING!!!!! Her writing is the best and this is such a good story! (read Toss A Coin To Your Pirate first)

Summary: A Pirate's story doesn't start easy and it won't end easy, but there are many fantastic stories to tell throughout it. A series of One-Shots set in the "Toss a coin to your Pirate" universe containing different POVs, Backstory of a lot of characters and shorter stories about the relationships of the characters over the years.

Toss A Coin To Your Pirate by ChaosFairytale <333

Sprace + side Javid and Blush, M, 2/2

YUSSS CHAOS AGAIN!!!! <3 a million kudos. She writes almost exclusively about 92sies and I'm so here for it! READ THIS!!!!!!

Summary: Racetrack hadn't expected to see his hook-up ever again and had certainly not expected him to be the feared pirate Spot Conlon, but he also didn't have time to worry about that right now since his captain, Jack, desperately needed his help. He'd wonder later how he could maybe seduce the pirate captain once more. Because you'd miss every shot you didn't take, right?

Drumroll please...my all time favorite fanfiction....

FIVE by stress

Sparah + Davey/OC/Jack love triangle <3, T, 11/11

I finished reading this last night and got literal chills. The plot twist is wild and I love it so much, but you might need the tissues again! Can't spoil, but you NEEEEEEEEEEEEED to read it >:( It is the absolute best piece of reading on the Earth and I can't get over this. It's just...wild.

<3

Summary: A lot can happen in five years. Don't believe me? Ask David. Ask Spot. Ask Jack, or Racetrack. You can even ask Oscar Delancey. They know. They're the five who've been waiting for this moment. Waiting for what? They'll never tell - but this story will.

Idk if I should be doing this....but I'm gonna plug my own work and also give a fanfic update!

What Feels Like a Thousand Years by yours truly, ArtemisLynn

Sprace + mentioned Jatherine, G (?), One Shot

I'm honestly so proud of this one, it's one of the best pieces of writing I have ever done...

Summary: War has always been a foreign concept to Racetrack Higgins.. Even when America goes to war in 1941, he never gives it much thought....until it hits a little too close to home and his secret boyfriend, Spot Conlon, is drafted into the U.S Army. Will he make it home safely, or will Racetrack's one and only love be lost overseas...forever?

I also have chapter 1 of Jack Kelly's Guide to Being a Parent out, though I don't know if I'm going to complete it....

Fics I'm working on: -I have a couple chapters of this one boarding school newsies modern AU I'm doing done but not posted

-A Sparah fanfic that currently is in the early stages

-A Sparah princess bride AU in the planning process

-I'm toying with the idea of a newsies Descendants AU....thoughts?

Damn this post became long. ANYWAYS. Bye and have a great (insert timezone)!!!

<3 Artie

#if yall can't tell by now im such a fricking sparah shipper it aint even funny #newsies 1992 #92sies #newsies #spot conlon #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #racetrack higgins #newsies broadway #newsies live #even more charactesr i dont feel like tagging :) #newsies fanfic #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list #i'll add more later #bye bye now

[softmick]

Hi Meg! 💖

84 or 86 for the fic game?

Thanks for the prompts, Calli! I went with 86. “Fine, don’t say anything and make me worry.”

Oh boy, this got away from me! and went sad. What is even happening? Lol.

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

Franny runs into the kitchen and wraps her arms around Debbie’s legs. She speaks with too much concern for such a small child, “Mommy? Is Uncle Ian okay?”

These days Franny notices everything, but Ian hadn’t exactly made it hard. Debbie’s face scrunches before she remembers to look reassuring. Her reply comes out weak, “Of course!” Franny considers this with a finger to her chin. Debbie tries again with a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.” She isn’t really sure at all, but she remembers how it feels to believe a mom should be. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed and we’ll both tuck you in?”

Franny nods and runs up the stairs. A small win, but a win. Debbie listens to her daughter’s steps grow distant.

Ian had beelined straight to her from the door, scooping the girl up and holding her close. She had greeted him to no response. He alternated squeezing her limbs and pressing his face into her hair, taking breaks simply to stare into her curious face. Franny was patient and still for as long as she could manage. Debbie saw her start to squirm and broke up the moment.

Now Ian is on the couch alone holding Franny’s well-loved stuffed rabbit gently between his big hands.

“Ian?” Debbie whispers, sitting next to him.

He doesn’t speak, simply wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to her head with a shaky breath into her hair. It feels so nice she could almost cry, but she doesn’t forget for a second that they don’t really do this. They’re close, not touchy-feely.

“Are you okay? Franny was asking.”

She thinks he’s nodding, but it’s hard to tell as he pulls her tighter.

“Can you tell me about it?” She asks hopefully.

He kisses her again and lets her go, but doesn’t meet her eyes.

Her heart flips against her ribs and she lets out what she hopes is a chuckle. “Fine, don’t say anything and make me worry, too.”

Ian swallows and looks down. He might resent the question from Lip or Fiona, but he’s Debbie’s big brother. He should ease her worries, not cause them. He doesn’t want to scare her and doesn’t know how to tell her why he’s so upset, why his heart feels so raw.

He tightens his grip on the rabbit and looks into it’s shiny plastic eyes. “It’s all so fragile, this,” he says nodding towards the stairs.

It’s felt that way in the past, but Debbie looks at her brother and feels pride. He’s still here, trying, succeeding, living. She thinks about Carl trying his hardest to follow in Ian’s footsteps and help this crazy world somehow. Liam, sweet Liam, bright and kind through it all. Things are looking up for Lip now that he’s sober… Debbie sees possibility for them all.

There’s an account in her name with enough money to keep the house warm, the water flowing. Her daughter is safe, fed, and loved undeniably. Whatever else happens and despite the desperation she may feel for a love that’s all her’s, her family is good.

“Gallaghers are pretty resilient.”

There’s truth to her words, but Ian knows intimately that they’re made of the same breakable bones and soft tissue as everyone else. He knows that there’s no way to protect any of them from the seemingly endless ways people come to the end.

“Bad day at work.”

It’s an immediate relief to her. It’s not an episode.

Debbie knows exactly what he means. Someone died, maybe multiple someones. Ian won’t say it that way though. When he says anything at all he says, “It was a bad day at work today. I lost someone, Debs.” He takes responsibility for each one and never elaborates.

“You always do your best, Ian.”

Ian hears her and forces himself to nod - slowly, twice. He knows that it’s true. At least tonight. Earlier. He did everything he possibly could. He would’ve given everything for it to have been enough.

Debbie waits, not expecting him to say anything else. She wants to offer something more, something comforting, and tries to imagine what someone older or wiser might say. The only voice she can conjure is her own.

The silence, unusual as it is, seems to have a magic of its own because Ian does speak again.

“Bad accident on 55. Lost three tonight.” He doesn’t usually need to share. He feels bad, he deals with it alone in any number of ways, he feels better. It’s a well-worn path. But right now the burden feels so heavy, the pain is so sharp, that he feels too weak to keep it inside. Maybe if he can get it out he’ll feel better and Debbie will understand what’s going on with him for once.

He sucks in a shaky breath, “Two young kids, babies, Deb.” His voice breaks at the last part and tears drop thickly.

He wonders what they thought about in their final moments. If they were scared, if they knew they didn’t deserve it. If they knew, the way all kids should know, that they meant the world to someone. That someone cared. All the responders had tried so hard to make those last moments as gentle as possible. They had held little hands, whispered words they hoped were soothing.

Debbie aches. She has enough grief to last a lifetime and so does Ian. They don’t deserve more. It isn’t fair. If she could stop him from hurting she would. She leans into him.

It’s her worst nightmare, something happening to Franny, to Liam. To any of them. For them to die not knowing how fucking grateful she is to have them in her life, not knowing how much she loves them. For her to die before she gets the chance to tell them all. She does her best to show Franny every day, but none of her siblings communicate as well as they should. She worries the message gets lost. They’re close, not intimate. It’s not the kind of thing they talk about.

"We’re safe. You’re safe.” She pauses as he sniffles loudly. Then she tells him what she’d like to hear. “Fran’s safe and she adores you. She knows you love her, okay? We all do. You’re a good person, Ian.”

She doesn’t know if it’s enough, if he can feel the weight behind her words. But she’s sure. In this moment, right here, she’s confident she’s right.

She squeezes his shoulder and stands. It won’t help anything if she starts crying. “Lets go say goodnight, huh? You can read us a story.”

“Up in a minute.”

Ian never knows what will happen when he opens up which is why he mostly doesn’t. But maybe he’s just tried the wrong siblings. Somehow Debbie cut to the root, excised some of the pain. Helped him. He turns out the lights and heads upstairs, rabbit still in hand. With each step he feels a bit lighter, a little younger. How many times has he made this trek, to put little Gallaghers to bed? Debbie, even. And now her daughter. A lot, he thinks, but never enough.

#hi #fic prompt #ian gallagher #debbie gallagher #franny gallagher #fic #mine #i hardly ever edit cause i get tired of re-reading. so hopefully even if it's not well-written the vibes are doing something.

[sunlightellies]

masterlist

a/n: this is a part 2 of this!! fic that i wrote two different endings to! this is the SAD ENDING :(

warning: angst !!

PART 1

18:36

“so what do we do now?”

Bella had been trying to get ahold of you since you left basically. 27 missed calls. 89 messages. They needed to talk this out with you and it was killing them to not know what you are doing or how you are feeling. 

The anxiety and panic was so bad, you didn’t dare to go home and talk to them. You knew you didn’t really wanna break up with them, but also, how would you ever trust them again? Bella is at the top of their career and you barely have time for each other, why would they go and do such a thing?

Finally, after a long talk with your friend, you were now outside the door of yours and Bella’s apartment. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside. Taking off your coat and jacket you walked inside to the living room where Bella sat quietly watching you walk inside. Their hair was a mess and their eyes were puffy and red from crying.

You sat down on the other side of the couch and looked at them, “I’m ready to talk about it if you are.” a quick nod from them and you continued, “I’ve been thinking and I think we have to break up. You are so busy, and we barely have time for each other, I don’t really know how I’m supposed to trust you after this.” Your voice was almost breaking as you tried to hold back tears. “So what do you want to do?” 

Bella's eyes glared into yours. They reached out their hand to grab yours and started to rub it lovingly. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about this. I literally had no idea what to do, I just wanted to figure things out with you, but I couldn’t reach you. I thought I was gonna go mad not knowing where you were or how you were handling it.” They took a tissue and wiped their tears and then continued, “But I know now that I don’t want to break up. I truly believe we could work this out, together.” The room went silent, and nobody knew what to say for a few minutes. Both of you looked down into your hands and just let the tears stream down.

Bella spoke up again after a while, “So what do we do now?” you looked up at them, looking into their eyes and putting on the most calming smile you could. “I think it's best if we end it here. We both want different things.”

A few weeks went by and you had now finally moved into a new apartment. It was small, but it was gonna be perfect for you. You hadn’t talked to Bella since you moved out. Seeing them everywhere broke your heart into pieces, but you were happy for their success. Things were gonna be tough for a while now, but you knew you'd eventually get over them.

#sorry for this i warned you it was angstyyy hehe #it's just kinda what i do #breaking peoples hearts and whatnot #bella ramsey #bella ramsey ellie williams #bella ramsey x reader angst #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey x you #bella ramsey x y/n #bella x you