#he will always put his life on the line in the drop of a hat

[artiststarme]

Sometimes Sorry Isn't Enough

Sometimes Steve wondered how he was still alive. What made him more deserving of life than Barb? He kept putting his life on the line and yet he scraped by with only scars as evidence. He’d fought the demodogs and the mindflayer. He’d thrown Molotov cocktails at Vecna/Henry/One’s face. He’d been prepared to die every single time. So why was he still here?

He wished he’d chosen to jump off the quarry’s cliff when he found out that his parents had left him behind for good. Wished that he hadn’t been too quick for the demodogs to catch in the junkyard. He wished that he’d taken Max’s place in the face of Vecna’s curse. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around anymore.

He loved his friends, loved Robin and Eddie in particular, but it wasn’t enough. Robin had better things to do than deal with his trauma that he’d roped her into without her consent. If it weren’t for him being so desperate and needy for attention, she would never have been involved with the Upside Down. She wouldn’t have been psychologically tortured by the Russians or exposed to the Hell that existed beneath them. She’d be better off without him.

And Eddie. Poor Eddie didn’t deserve any of this either. He was simply the town’s scapegoat that was at the wrong place at the wrong time and now his life was forever changed because of it. His body was marred in scars where the bats mauled him, eerily similar to the ones that existed in Steve’s flesh. Steve should’ve done more to protect him instead of forcing him to play decoy and then his friend afterwards.

Instead of forcing his problems on the Party once again, Steve stewed by himself in his empty crypt of a home. The house was dark, the air was cold, and his heart was heavy. He poured pain pills, originally prescribed to deal with his horrific migraines, into his hands and took a deep breath. Unlike all those other times, he wouldn’t escape death again. As he swallowed pill after pill, his heart sank deeper. It was better this way.

He was unconscious by the time Robin arrived, a feeling of proud terror driving her away from her family dinner and to Steve’s side. He was unconscious when Eddie gave him CPR and mouth to mouth, imagining their first kiss would be much different than it actually was. He was on the verge of life and death by the time Hopper speedily pulled into his driveway and threw him in the ranger before the ambulance could even arrive to take him to the hospital, begging him the entire way to open his eyes.

When he woke up to hospital smells and bright lights, he initially felt disappointed. He’d failed once again to leave the wretched world that never seemed to want him. But when he looked around, he felt a spark of hope in his chest. Hopper, Eleven, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin were in various chairs and cots scattered throughout the room. Eddie was curled into a ball by his feet on the bed while Robin was pressed against his side, her head on his chest as if she was waiting subconsciously to hear each beat of his heart. Hopper was sat in a chair by his bedside, his fingers loosely gripping the bed frame. Eleven was on the window’s ledge, her brow furrowed like the world was on her shoulders still. And Dustin. He was on a cot right beside Steve’s bed, his body facing him and his hand wrapped around his wrist.

Steve felt guilt flood him. He always felt like he was surviving on luck alone, deserving to die and never quite doing so. He didn’t realize that he was surviving off the love of his friends, his family, and that they were doing the same. It would take awhile to change his way of thinking and for him to start appreciating the life he had but he would get there eventually. Especially with his best friend, his boyfriend, his little brother and sister, and Hopper by his side.

#it still doesn’t stop him from putting everyone else first though #he will always put his life on the line in the drop of a hat #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eleven hopper #chief jim hopper

[murdrdocs]

coriolanus who arrives at a town outside of panem after running away from the messes he left, with no reminders of home except lucy gray at his side and his mothers shawl. the small town exists completely off the map, one he'd never heard of throughout his academy education. and the people don't like him, for good reason. he's clearly capitol. she's clearly district. it's clear who the town prefers, taking in the girl with the familiar accent and sweet voice while pushing away the boy with the proper speech and air of arrogance.

coriolanus who has to find work for the first time in his life. he tries his hand at getting his hands dirty, planting in gardens like he did during the war as a child. he's still skilled at growing parsley, but the job doesn't stick. and somehow, after being encourage by lucy gray and trained by a few of her new friends, he finds himself as a cowboy.

cowboy!coriolanus who is a natural protector. he protects lucy gray like it's his first instinct, and with time, he does the same to the other town members. he's lost his capitol speech at this point, starting to drop the ends of his words if he's not careful to keep them intact. his hair has started to grow back in, he's regained his capitol charms, and all together, he's steadily becoming more trustworthy to people. they start to like coriolanus, the way they say his name changing from an afterthought full of distaste to a word of slight impressiveness, even though they often say his name with a gap between the first and second part (corio-lanus).

cowboy!coriolanus who can't help but start protecting you, too. someone he firsts comes to know as a bartender, usually working behind the counter when lucy gray performs. her voice will always keep her fed. it keeps them fed now, too, that and coriolanus' good work with a gun and his fists. he puts them to use when people (usually men) step out of line towards you.

cowboy!coriolanus who finds solace in his new life through you. lucy gray has adapted easily. life here isn't much different from district 12. but compared to the capitol, coriolanus is on a completely different planet. in twelve, there were a few delicacies or televisions, but here, there's next to none. y'all live like the men in history books, the life coriolanus would always think down on while he did his homework at night. but now, with your long skirts and corsets, and your love of celebrations, he can find some similarities to the capitol. he can make a new home.

cowboy!coriolanus who has to leave town weeks at a time, going with the other men to gather what they can. there's times where he would consider skipping town completely, taking his horse and his weapons and fleeing. maybe trying his luck back in twelve, or two. or maybe even the capitol. but then, with the sun in his eyes and a forced squint taking over his face, he would think of you. the one who kissed him off, sweetly telling him to come back to you safely. the one who was definitely waiting for him back home, watching lucy gray's shows with that same smile on your face. he would then worry about your safety, if people were bothering his two girls with no one there to protect you both. that was enough motivation to bring him back.

cowboy!coriolanus who looks fucking amazing on a horse. his blond hair sticking out from underneath his hat, his skin tanned and glowing. his demeanor completely casual, one you could hardly replicate when sitting atop the animal. "wanna hop on up?" he would always tease you, smiling big when you were quick to decline. instead, he would hop down and greet you there, pressing his lips to yours and his hands to your lower back.

#coryosworld! #cowboy!coryo #cowboy!coriolanus snow #cowboy!coriolanus #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow #celeste writes thg

[yeonzzzn]

👾he fell harder: yang jungwon

pairing: jungwon x afab!reader word count: 5.7k

synopsis: jungwon and you have always been competitors from children to adulthood, mostly when it came to gaming. so when the gaming club you both are apart of joins a competition, the two of you are put on the same team…

genre: gamer!won, gamer!reader, enemies to lovers

warnings: stupidly cute wonnie, swearing, gaming fun, a lot fluffly towards the end ♡

“Okay everyone, come collect your room keys and head to your respective rooms until you are called back down for practice. We will select your team members then.” Heeseung, your game club manager, yelled at the top of his lungs while standing on the hotel's lobby chair. 

The professor in charge of this little miniature work/college/vacation clapped his hands twice to signal everyone to line up for their room keys. 

“Hopefully I get a room with a balcony!” you rolled your eyes and sighed at the annoying voice in your ear. 

You slightly turned to look at Jungwon, a smile spread wide on his face. 

He wasn’t even speaking to you, but the fact he had to stand RIGHT NEXT to you when there’s a whole lobby full of other college students in your club he could be standing by. 

You finally received your room key from Heeseung, and Jungwon got his right after. 

“Y/N! What room do you have?” he cutely asks, trying to peak over your shoulder at the room number on the paper. 

You scrunch your nose at him as you turn the paper away from him, “None of your business Yang Jungwon!” You retort, shoving your room key and paper into your jacket pocket. 

Jungwon mimics your facial expression adding in his nasty side eye.

Heeseung calls everyone to head to their rooms, and to your dislike, Jungwon was right behind you as you got into the elevator. 

“Oh? Going up?” he teased, as the other students filled in behind him. 

You ignored him, watching as another student pressed the fourth-floor button. Silently blessing that kid for doing so that is why Jungwon couldn’t see which floor you were on. Because god, if he knew what floor you were on…the ways he would annoy you. 

Your heart raced faster at each stop and not seeing Jungwon get off the elevator. 

Maybe he was a few floors up?  

Finally, the fourth floor was reached, you quickly stepped out, not realizing Jungwon was right behind you. 

Jungwon couldn’t help but smile, his hands sliding down into his jeans pockets as his eyes searched for his room number, stopping at his door and seeing you stop at yours. 

“No way,” he laughed, making you jump, “Neighbors again for the week!” 

You slowly glared at him, making a mental note to unplug your hotel room phone the minute you got inside. 

Quickly slapping the room key to the door and hearing it unlock, you rush yourself inside, locking the door and the hard bolt lock for safekeeping. 

Dropping your backpack and suitcase to the floor, you fell onto the bed, your face going into the sheets as your favorite baseball hat fell from your head. 

The vibrations of your phone pulled you out of your almost nap, your hand reaching into your pocket and pulling the device out. 

It was a text from your best friend.

You didn’t even have to explain yourself to her, just your smiley face alone was enough for her to place the puzzle pieces together.

Locking your phone and dropping it by your face and rolling onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling. 

It wasn’t always like this with Jungwon, being enemies. You actually have known him your entire life. 

You grew up in the same neighborhood, his house being directly across the street from yours. Your parents became friends quickly after they moved into the house across from yours. Your mothers both ended up becoming pregnant around the same time just added to the friendship your families have. What was icing on the cake was you being born a week after Jungwon. 

Your mothers always arranged play dates and was not only an excuse for the two of you to grow up as best friends, but a way for them to spend time together. Same with your dads. 

The amount of cookouts the families would throw together. You couldn’t even count on your hands and feet with how many times you’ve seen the Yang’s backyard. 

It wasn’t just the play dates, your parents made sure you and Jungwon attended the same daycare after they returned to work and even enrolled you both at the same preschool. Your parents would even have the two of you take bubble baths together as infants, and they have pictures to prove it. 

Your family was always at their house or them at yours. Heck, even Jungwon’s older sister was tired of seeing you around so often. Not like you could have helped it. 

Your friendship with Jungwon slowly started to change once you got into elementary school when the fight to be top of the class with good grades was introduced. 

Jungwon and you have always been competitive, even before elementary school. With toys, drawing, board games with the family, and even the stupid little games toddlers play like seeing who can run faster or drink their orange juice faster and not get sick. 

Just the competitiveness got worse once grades got involved, and it didn’t stop there. Family nights with board games got worse. Rushing to see who can finish their homework first and get the least amount of questions wrong. Fighting to be at the top of the class. Sports. Band. Taekwondo. You name it, you both probably got competitive over it. Even getting into the same middle and high school was a competition. 

It drove your friendship apart halfway through elementary school, and you’ve been enemies since. 

But the god giving fate your families have for the two of you to finally makeup, you both were accepted into the same college. You groaned after finding out from your mother that he was also accepted. But once you moved into the dorms, you were happy to find out his dorm was on the opposite side of the campus. Plus both your majors were two separate things, so seeing him was slim. 

But your happiness soon faded after you walked into the video game club and saw his shit-eating grin staring back at you with his Nintendo Switch in his hands as a pokémon battle song played through its speakers. 

Honestly, you should have known he would also join the gaming club. You both grew up as gamers after all. If there wasn’t a board game or a handheld console in your hands, it was the PlayStation or the gaming laptop or PC. 

You didn’t realize how much time had passed when a knock came to your door. 

“Y/N,” it was Jungwon, “Heeseung just texted me, we are meeting downstairs in ten,” you rolled your eyes, forgetting how close Heeseung and Jungwon were, “Just wanted to let you know because I am heading down first.” 

You quickly jumped from the bed, pulling your hat back on your head and your phone into your pocket, double-checking that you had the room key, and busted out the door. 

You looked down both sides of the hallway, seeing Jungwon’s grin as the elevator door closed. 

“Shit!” you scoffed, eyes then catching the door to the stairs. 

You quickly ran down them, thanking whatever God gave you your athletic ability as you finally reached the lobby floor, hands pushing the metal on the door open, rushing through, and seeing Jungwon step out of the elevator at the same time. 

He made eye contact with you for a split second before the both of you made a full sprint to the middle of the lobby where Heeseung was standing. 

“Woah woah woah!!!” Heeseung yelled, holding both hands up to save himself in case you both knocked him down. 

Heeseung held his hand to his heart once the two of you made a complete stop. 

“Can you two let go of this never-ending fight?” Heeseung took a deep breath, standing back up straighter. Eyes looking between the two of you. 

You squinted your eyes at Jungwon as he gave back the same look. 

“Or not,” Heeseung sighed, dropping himself into the nearest seat, “At least sit-down or something.” 

One by one the rest of the students piled into the lobby, Yunjin linking her arm with yours. 

“Okay, everyone!” Heeseung yelled, standing back on the same chair as earlier, “We will put you guys into teams now!” 

“Can I be on your team, Heeseung Hyung?!” one of the male students yelled from the back, causing the crowd to laugh. 

Heeseung smirked and ran a hand through his hair, “It’s because I’m the best gamer right?” A couple of female students cooed out an “ahhh” as his reaction. You had to admit, Heeseung was a very good-looking man and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a tiny crush on him. He was indeed the best gamer in the club, hinting at the reason he’s the manager in the first place. 

“I am just kidding, you guys are all the best which is why you’ve made it this far in this competition.” Heeseung gave another smirk as he looked around at the students. 

You couldn’t help but smile up at him. But your smile didn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon. 

His eyes stared at you from across the crowd of his club members, watching as you made heart eyes at his best friend while he was standing right beside him. 

“Hyung,” Jungwon said, catching Heeseung’s attention. 

“Right!” Heeseung continued, “Unfortunately, everyone has already been put into teams, and we have enough people to be put into ten teams of two. Once your team is called, please meet up with each other and discuss your plan for this week's competition.” 

“Hopefully we are a team! We always fuck shit up as a team!” Yunjin whispered. You nodded, praying to be paired with her. The two of you always kill it at video games together. You’re so happy that she was not only your roommate, but also a fellow club member after you met. 

A clipboard was handed to him and started to read off the names of each team. 

Yunjin unfortunately wasn’t paired with you and was put on a team with the male student who asked to be with Heeseung. 

Finally, your name was called…

“Y/N and Jungwon.” 

Your jaw clenched as your eyes found Jungwon’s. You expected him to have his normal shit-eating grin, only to see he was staring back at you, a completely blank face. No expression whatsoever. 

The rest of the teams were called and placed into their teams. 

“Okay!” Heeseung clapped his hand against the clipboard, “Get into your team and raise your hand if you have any questions!” 

Your hand flew into the air, standing on your tippy toes to make sure you were seen. 

“Yes, Y/N?” Heeseung nervously asked, already knowing what the issue was. 

“Can I switch teams?” 

“Ahhh…” Heeseung glanced down at Jungwon who was mid-rolling his eyes at you. Jungwon felt his eyes on him, slowly glancing at his hyung, “Unfortunately the teams were randomly picked, and cannot be changed. It’s the competition rules, I’m sorry.” 

You dropped your hand to your side, feeling defeated but also understanding. 

This competition wasn’t meant to be fair. The whole point was being paired up with different people and going against other students from other colleges was it to be a challenge. 

Heeseung slowly climbed down from the chair, making his way towards his partner. 

Jungwon slowly walked up to you, his shit-eating grin finally making an appearance, “Hi teammate.”

“Fuck off, Won.” You sighed, crossing your arms as you started to walk away from him. 

“That’s not very nice,” Jungwon smirked as he kept up with your pace, “We are teammates, gotta play nice.” 

You stopped in front of the elevator, finger pressing the up button, “Jungwon, I’ve spent my whole life with you, can I please have some space?” 

Jungwon glanced up as if he were thinking about it, “No.” 

The doors opened and you stepped in, Jungwon right on your heels. 

“Besides,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time, “We find out what the first game is tomorrow, want to practice?”

“No thanks, Yunjin and I are going to play Overwatch tonight,” you said without hesitation, leaving Jungwon wide-eyed as you stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, “Besides,” you mocked him, “We will start practicing tomorrow.” 

—

You sat in the corner of the gaming cafe that was rented out for your club for the whole week. 

You twisted around in the chair, eyes landing on Jungwon as he dropped into the chair beside you, his arms filled with snacks. 

“You still like orange soda and candy right?” He set the soda and oranges flavored bag of candy in front of you.

The ache you felt in your heart while looking at the soda and candy made you a little bit sad. 

Did he remember? After all these years he still never forgot your favorite snacks from when you were children?

You looked up at him as he opened his can of orange soda, “What? I know you’re staring at me.”

“You remembered?” 

Jungwon looks at you, giving a small nod, “I never forgot.” 

You glanced back down at your snacks, hands finally reaching to open the candy bag. 

A smirk danced on Jungwon’s face as he took a sip of his soda and let out a small chuckle. 

The soft feeling you just felt went away instantly, reminding you that Jungwon was no longer your friend but indeed your enemy. 

“You annoy me so much, Yang Jungwon.” 

His chuckle only continued, “What? You act like we never used to take bubble baths together as infants or something.” 

“Shut up,” you snapped, pulling your baseball hat down to cover your eyes, “Just eat your snacks.” 

Finally, once everyone was seated with their teammate, the official announcer of the competition came by and announced the first game round was League of Legends. 

“The way this competition will work is we will have multiple rounds of each game, whichever team hits the first ten slots with their wins using the bracket method, will move on to the next round. Each practice day for the games will be two days.” The announcer explained the rules, and once everyone understood, he left to go to another school's cafe. 

Jungwon cracked his fingers and his neck, stretching out his arms and pulling himself closer to the table, “LOL is way too easy, we’ll make it to the next round for sure.” 

You nodded, also doing small stretches before moving yourself closer. 

Jungwon and you have always been smart with strategy, attack, and defense games. Mostly since the two of you have had to use these three things with your self-competition. 

The first practice day went in a flash. You rubbed your eyes and you dragged your feet to your room, unlocking the door and trailing in. 

You wanted nothing but to shower, order food, and then go to bed. But being a gamer, and having friends who are gamers, wouldn’t let that happen so easily. 

With a quick shower and food on the way, you sat at the desk with your gaming laptop open, joining your friends' discord call. 

“Y/NINNEEE!!” Huening Kai sang through the mic as he saw your username pop into the call. 

“Hello hello~” You sang back, “Hope you aren’t missing me too much in Bio.”

Kai scoffed, “As if, the class is a lot quieter now.” 

“So was this call before Y/N joined,” Beomgyu teased, but then a soft sigh left his lips when Yunjin’s username joined the call. 

“Wow, can’t believe you’re on a call without me!?!” she gasped. 

“Oh gross, who invited you in here?!” Beomgyu groaned, his side eye being felt through the mic. 

“It’s an open voice chat, asshole, plus I am ALWAYS invited in here!” she spat back. 

You giggle at your best friend's banter, making you miss being back on campus. 

You decided to open up League of Legends, better to get more practice in before the first round. 

“Ugh! League?!” Beomgyu said disgustedly, “Why!?” 

You roll your eyes, “Because it’s the first game we are playing for the competition Gyu.” 

“Y/N, lemme in so I can practice too.” Yunjin hummed, “And anyways, you act like you were even invited to play?”

Beomgyu chuckled, “Don’t we always play games together? Isn’t that the point of being in a call?”

“Hyung, we are literally playing phasmophobia right now. Kai sassed, “We need ONE MORE piece of evidence to find the ghost.” 

“But I am scaredddddd” Gyu pouted. 

You once again found yourself laughing at your friends, only for your smile to fade when you see Jungwon’s username pop up on the left side of your discord showing you had a message from him. 

You opened it seeing it was just him asking for an invite to the league match, which you ignored. You already practiced enough with him today and will all day tomorrow as well. He can deal with it. 

Jungwon slouched down in his chair, staring at the discord message he sent you, debating if he should send you a call instead, but stopped at the sound of your laughing and hearing Huening Kai’s name come from your mouth. 

Jungwon sighed, you were clearly with your friends. 

—

The second day of practice also flew by quickly, the first competition day being finally here. 

The competition was being held at a small center, just big enough for the gaming clubs and the officials. 

Your team was placed in the third round of brackets, so there was plenty of time to get your nerves under control. 

You sat in the bleachers, watching the current game on the massive screen in the middle of the room that was filled with each player's screen. 

“There you are,” Jungwon said, flicking his index finger to your hat and sitting beside you, “You ready?” 

You shrugged, “We practiced enough, I was confident until watching the way some of the teams from other schools play.” 

Jungwon nodded, “Yeah they are good, but we are better.” 

You looked at him, his eyes slowly finding their way to yours as well, “You’re competitive through and through aren’t you?” 

He smiled so wide his cute dimples you loved so much as kids made their appearance, his ego also coming through, “Well yeah, of course! I am literally the best gamer in our club.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your chin into your hands, “I can’t stand you.” 

“I hear that often.” He teased, reaching up and taking your hat off your head.

“Hey! Give it back!” 

“Since when did you start wearing hats?” Jungwon asked, placing the hat on his head, “How do I look?” 

“It brings me luck! Now give it!” 

You snatched it from him, placing it back on your head. 

“Damn,” he hissed, “Didn’t bring you enough luck since you got stuck with me as your teammate.” 

Jungwon stretched his legs out and leaned back on his hands, releasing a sigh and shaking his head. 

All you could do was stare at him, you struck a nerve with him. 

The final round ended, calling for the next bracket of players to make their way to the gaming area. 

“Come on,” Jungwon stood up, sliding his hands in his pockets, “Let’s kick some ass so we can go back to the hotel.” 

You studied him and his body language, this wasn’t like the normal Jungwon you knew. 

He sat quietly in his chair as he placed his headphones over his ears and set his mic up properly to his liking. 

You tried to focus on the monitor before you, but the tension was high between you and your teammate. You already knew being on the same team as him was going to be hard, you just didn’t expect this. 

The announcer started the game, and your focus narrowed in. 

Jungwon’s whole demeanor changed right back into the competitive boy you knew the moment the game started. 

Before you knew it, you and Jungwon were being crowned as the victors of the first day, moving on to the next round. 

—

The gaming cafe went larger as the teams from your school who didn’t make it past the first round were sent home. 

The second round was Overwatch, which sent you and Yunjin looking at each other from across the cafe from the excitement. 

Since Overwatch is a six-player team, two other teams will be put together for this round. 

The first and second day of practice came and went. Your confidence boosts knowing this next round will be a piece of cake. 

You jumped onto your gaming PC, loading up overwatch and fixing to send Yunjin an invite when your phone vibrates, receiving a call from Jungwon. You ignored the call, hovering over Yunjin’s discord username when a string of texts spams your phone.

Jungwon made his way inside your hotel room, pushing his chair with his laptop and snacks in it. 

“We can’t be up too late you know,” you raised a brow at him, “We have to be at the center early.” 

Jungwon shrugged, setting up his laptop beside yours, “We can play for about an hour or so.” 

Jungwon watched as you sat down beside him, pulling your headset over your ears. 

His heart raced to see you in your cute pink sweatpants and black hoodie, your hair pulled back into a messy bun. 

His palms got clammy from the sudden nervousness that washed over him. He’s known you since birth and sees you as a good rival, why is he so nervous over you right now?

Maybe it’s because all Jungwon wants to do is confess everything he’s been hiding all these years. 

That he hopes being on this team with you can rekindle what was broken and win you back, but so far it hasn’t worked. 

He opens his mouth to say something, just to close it just as quickly, and sets his eyes on his laptop screen. 

As the overwatch game went on, the more friendly the both of you became with each other. With small jokes and Jungwon reaching over to press random keys on your laptop just for you to swing his hand out the way as you laugh. 

God, it made his heart race even more. To finally feel like things were back in place. 

You had to admit you enjoyed this moment. It felt like you actually had your childhood best friend back. 

But how long would this moment actually last? Until you got back on campus for the rivalry just to start again?

You cleared your throat, snapping Jungwon’s attention to you, “It’s late, I think you should leave.” 

Jungwon’s smile faded, nodding softly as he gathered his things, leaving you alone in the room. 

—

Your overwatch team left the gaming area cheering. You’ve made it to the final round. 

Yunjin’s and even Heeseung’s teams were knocked out early on in the day. Which made you sad to see your best friend go. 

Heeseung was stuck there since You and Jungwon were the only team left from your club still in the game, which surprised you that Heeseung was knocked out. He was the best gamer you knew. 

The final contestants that remained, pulled you against your will to a bar to party. 

Both you and Jungwon weren’t social butterflies, but Jungwon was able to blend in with the other students perfectly fine. 

You, on the other hand, were slowly inching your way closer to the front entrance, making your sweet escape. 

Tucking your hands into your jacket pockets, you slowly made your walk back to the hotel, thinking you finally got some peace until you heard the scuffling of shoes running after you. 

“Y/N!!” 

You rolled your eyes, you just can’t get away from him, can you?

“What, Jungwon?” you sigh, walking a bit faster. 

“Where are you going? I noticed you were gone.” 

“Back to the hotel, obviously. Please go away.” 

Jungwon could sense something was…off. 

“Hey,” his voice filled with concern as he wrapped his hand around your forearm, “Y/N what’s wrong?” 

You shook your arm from his grip, staring daggers at him. 

Jungwon dropped his arms at his side, raising his eyebrows at you, “What? Why are you angry with me now?”

You groaned, “Because! You won’t leave me alone!” 

Jungwon scoffed, “Maybe I want to spend time with you? With my teammate? Is that so bad? We literally kicked ass today, yet you’re upset with me?” 

“Yes! You’ve been acting more friendly than normal with me lately! Not your usual teasing me and showing off like you’d always do!” 

Jungwon narrowed his brows at you, very much confused, “You hate me when we are rivals, and now you hate me for trying to be friends with you? Pick a fucking struggle Y/N.” he shoved his hands into his jean jacket pockets, twisting the hand warmers with his fingers as a distraction. 

You laughed, “Why are you even trying to be friends with me anyway?! Everything is just going to go back to normal once we step foot back on campus! So why?! All you have done is suffocate me since we’ve been here!” you took a deep breath, rubbing your fingertips at your temples, “I was so looking forward to having a somewhat relaxing time here with Yunjin as my teammate and us as normal rivals but good lord my luck has actually been shitty like you stated the other day.” 

Jungwon licked his bottom lip as he stared down at his sneakers, trying to keep his eyes dry, “I asked Heeseung to put us on a team together.” 

You looked at him confused, your body relaxing a little, “What?” 

Jungwon looks back up at you, his eyes glossed over, “I asked Heeseung to pair us up. The plan was originally to have everyone draw names from a bowl but I…” he looks away from you, staring off down the street, “I asked him to just pair people up and make it seem like it was random and to just give me you.” 

Snow started to fall from the sky, slowly collecting in his soft dark hair. 

“Why…?” you softly whispered. 

Jungwon chuckled, reaching a hand to scratch his face as if it would help him find the right words, “Because I wanted to rekindle our friendship. I wanted to leave this competitiveness behind us. To fix what got broken, Y/N, it’s my fault why things got the way they are now.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you stood there, continuing to listen to him. 

“I thought it was just us having fun, just two kids being stupid until it got to my head. I enjoyed winning. I enjoyed the praise from everyone. And because of that, our little games turned into hatred. To us being enemies. It’s my fault that I let go of our friendship. I kept this rivalry going for all these years because it was the only way I could keep you in my life.” 

You looked down at the ground, your hat covering him out of your sight completely. 

Jungwon took a deep breath, “I miss you. So fucking much. I wanted this trip to bring you back to me. That’s why I tried so hard. I wasn’t trying to suffocate you, that’s the last thing I want.” 

His footsteps got closer to you, and by habit, you clasped your fingers on your hat bill, pulling it down as you looked even further away. 

“Y/N, look at me please.” 

You were scared too, scared to look at him and he sees how much you’ve also missed him. That you were blinded by the rivalry into thinking you hated him. You wanted your best friend back, but did you deserve him?

Suddenly you felt the pull of your hat being taken. Jungwon’s fingers lift the bill up exposing your face. 

You made eye contact with him not even for a second before his free hand cupped your jaw and pressed his lips to yours. 

Jungwon pulled your body closer to him, deepening the kiss as his tongue pressed against your lips to allow it in, sliding it against your own tongue. 

Your hand gripped the openings of his jacket, holding on for dear life as your head spun. 

The last thing you expected tonight was to make out with your best friend as the snow fell. 

But it was romantic nonetheless. 

The sounds of a car honking on the street pulled you two back to reality. 

You jumped away from Jungwon, wrapping your jacket around your body. 

Jungwon smiled, placing your hat back on your head, pulling the bill down way too far in a way to tease you. 

“I am also in love with you, Y/N.” Jungwon didn’t expect him confessing his feelings to you would be exactly like this, but what better way than right now as he’s teasing you like old times? 

Once Jungwon’s hand was gone from your head you looked up at him, trying to make sure you heard what he said correctly. 

Jungwon rubbed his thumb against your cheek, “I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and then released it along with a sigh, “I’ve loved you even as kids. For some reason, I always knew I loved you, and as the years went on, I only came to understand my feelings for you more and more.”

Jungwon slid his hand from your face down to your hand, taking it in his own, “That's another reason I asked Heeseung to pair me with you. I wanted to apologize for letting you go, for choosing the competitive life over the one we could have had together if I never let you go. If I told you from the start how I felt.” 

Before you could say anything, the partying students finally left the bar, their loud voices echoing over to you and Jungwon, causing him to drop his hand to his side, taking a few steps away. 

“Let’s go, we have a long couple of days ahead of us.” 

The walk back to the hotel was quiet. 

—

The last and final round of the competition was a battle royale. 

Jungwon bounced in his chair, excited as battle royale was his favorite. 

You, on the other hand, weren’t the best at them. 

No amount of practice the last couple of days was enough to prepare you. 

You even snuck over to Jungwon’s room and begged him to help you, letting you in with a roll of his eyes saying you would do perfectly fine. 

You were good at battle royale, yes, but after finding out the team you were up against was KNOWN as battle royale players. 

You even so much as went and stalked their Steam and Twitch accounts. All they play is battle royales. 

The day of the finale came faster than you’d like. 

You twisted your fingers together as you stared off in the distance of the gaming area, your headphones dangling around your neck. 

Jungwon looked over at you, placing his hand on top of yours.

You looked over at him, his dimple smiling being enough to relax you. 

“It’s okay, we will kick ass,” There he goes with his confidence, “I am the best at battle royales, and you are also good at them, we got this. Just stick to me.”’

You nodded, giving a soft pout when he looked away and released his hand from yours. 

The announcer started the game, and the finale began. 

You stuck to Jungwon like glue, looting the area and switching guns out for better ones as the timer ran down. 

One by one you and Jungwon took out each team you came into contact with, but that was solely because of the fact Jungwon always comes in clutch in hard situations. 

Until it came down to the last two teams. Yours and the team you were worried about. 

Jungwon gave orders as you followed him to the next and final circle, sliding and hiding behind a building. 

Jungwon pulled his sniper out, aiming down sights to see where the enemy team could be. You crept into the building, doing one last final round of looting and reloading, ready to walk out, when Jungwon screamed beside you. 

“Wonnie?! What?!” 

“Don’t leave that building!” 

You did as you were told, peaking your head out a window, seeing Jungwon down one of the players, just for the second one to pop out of nowhere and down him. 

“Fuck!” Jungwon scoffed, dropping his headset down around his neck and rolling his chair to your side, staring at your screen. 

“Y/N, you need to down him before he picks up his teammate.” 

Your fingers shake against the keyboard, as you quickly run out from the building.

“You got this,” Jungwon reassured you. 

You run up behind the other player, “What if I don’t?”

“Baby, listen to me,” him calling you baby was enough to make your heart race even more, “You got this, okay?” 

You nodded, switching your guns quickly just in time for the other player to turn around and start shooting, but you were quicker. Sliding out of the way, and getting up behind him with a shotgun in hand, pulling the trigger and downing him. The title of winner flashed across your screen. 

“I did it!” you shouted, turning to look at Jungwon, “We did it!”

Jungwon high-fives your hands, his fingers intertwined with yours, shaking your hands back and forth, “We did it!” 

With no hesitation, you leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

Jungwon was too stunned to say anything, eyes blinking rapidly. 

You pulled your headset down around your neck, letting yourself hear the outside world. 

“I am in love with you too,” You smiled, heart nearly beating out of your chest, “I always have been and just covered it up with the hatred I had. I’ve missed you too, and you weren’t actually suffocating me, I said that out of anger and confusion, I—“

That’s all Jungwon needed to hear, shutting you up by pressing his lips back to yours, cupping your hands softly between his hands. 

All he cared about was winning you back, and he did. Winning the gaming competition was just a bonus. 

He made you fall for him all over again, only he fell harder than he did before.

#wonnie #yang jungwon #jungwon #jungwon x reader #reader x jungwon #enhypen #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enemies to lovers #yeonzzzn writing

[dameronscopilot]

burrowed in under my skin

miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: years spent apart and a shiny new ring on your finger still don't stand a chance against the way you feel when you look at miguel o'hara.

word count: 2.8k

18+ content: NSFW, smut, infidelity, angst with a hopeful ending, feels, biting, a bit of blood, dirty talk, possessive!miguel, fingering, oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, sex against a wall!, creampie

A small part of you always knew he would come back. 

Miguel’s hair is wet from the storm raging outside when he silently climbs in through the window in your bedroom, remnants of the rain following him inside. Pausing in the doorway, your breath catches in your throat as your arm freezes midair, fingers aborting their journey toward the light switch on the wall. Your hand drops uselessly back to your side as you tighten your grip on the laundry basket balancing against your hip, eyes roving over the sight of Miguel fucking O’Hara dripping all over your goddamn hardwood floors. 

Bathed in the soft glow of string lights framing the curtains, you feel an ache of concern as your eyes track across a fresh cut along his jaw. It’s a fleeting emotion, one that you quickly stomp down and kick to the side—he’s no longer your concern. 

Briefly, you let your gaze pointedly fall to the rainwater accumulating beneath his sodden form, and the corner of Miguel’s mouth quirks upward so slightly you’re not quite sure if you imagined it. 

He hastily tugs off the scarf that’s around his neck, dropping it to the ground and wiping up the water with his foot. 

“You always did like to clean up your messes,” you comment, your mild tone a direct contrast to the frantic rhythm trembling in your chest. 

He shrugs off his jacket, and you briefly consider shoving him right back out the still-open window as your eyes betray you, greedily roving over the way the damp, white cotton clings to his broad chest. 

“You still leave this window unlocked,” he observes quietly, idly toying with the small plastic lock before sliding it shut. 

“Force of habit,” you mutter, putting the basket down beside your closet and folding your arms across your chest as you turn back to Miguel.

Some things about your room have changed in the years that Miguel has been gone, like the pale blue bedspread that you’d never really liked and the collection of framed photos spread out across the top of your dresser. But there are also things that remain wholly the same, untouched—like your dad’s tattered old hat hanging on the wall and the well-loved, faded copy of Miguel’s favorite book nestled amongst your own collection on a shelf in the corner. 

But there’s something else that’s changed, too. And you catch the exact moment Miguel notices it—his entire body tensing as you curl your left hand against your forearm, the diamond on your finger falling into his line of sight. You let your arms fall back to your sides, hands tightening into fists while something hard reflects across his features. 

“You left.”

He looks away, running a hand through his hair. 

“I know.”

Miguel always left. 

He wasn’t even from your universe, after all. 

You’d gotten used to it, for a while—the stolen moments with him. The starved touches, the desperate kisses, sex that left you aching for him again long after he snuck back out into the night…to another place. Another time. Another plane of existence entirely. 

Just once, you’d pleaded for Miguel to take you with him. To let you pack your bags and leave your life—your universe—behind. 

You would have done it. Would have done anything for him, really. Even though you’d known what his answer would be before the words left his mouth, the weight of the obligations the suit plastered across his chest demanded far outweighing the scraps of borrowed time he stole with you. 

The sorrowful regret in his eyes had been answer enough. 

And when Miguel left that night, you both knew he wasn’t coming back. 

He couldn’t, for both of your sakes. 

So to find him standing in the middle of your bedroom now, each of you taking a step toward one another like you can’t quite help but give in to the magnetic pull of whatever invisible string is now pulled taut once more between you? It leaves you feeling off kilter, shaken. Thrumming with anticipation. You sway just enough that Miguel reaches out an arm to steady you, his grip firm against your shoulder for a heartbeat. 

He’s too late. 

He’s too fucking late. 

Half of your living room is packed neatly into the cardboard boxes piled neatly behind your couch, the kitchen next on your list to dismantle for your impending move across town to your fiancé’s much larger home. The weight of the ring on your finger that you’ve only just grown used to begins to feel foreign again as Miguel takes your hand and gazes down at it. 

“You hate gold,” he muses, taking in the ornate design of a band that, admittedly, isn’t something you would have picked for yourself. 

“It’s growing on me,” you protest as you snatch your hand back, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself. 

“Hmm.”

It’s a noncommittal sound, one that most would brush off as a bland response. But you know Miguel, can nearly see the thoughts churning in his head by way of the slight tick of his jaw alone. 

“Do you love him?” he asks, the question nearly drowned out by the sound of thunder rumbling outside. 

You don’t know why you hesitate, why you suddenly find it so hard to arrange three letters into one simple word. The word catches on your tongue, stubbornly lodged in the back of your throat and leaving your lips gaping for a beat like a fish out of water. Maybe it’s because you know Miguel won’t hesitate to leave the moment you say it, leaving behind nothing but the licks of rain he brought in his wake. 

Lightning flashes outside, illuminating your face, and he tracks the way you bite your lower lip before you admit, “I don’t know.”

Miguel takes another step forward, close enough that you can feel the warm caress of his body heat. Shamelessly, you inhale as his familiar scent curls around you, something inside of you cracking open in response. 

“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs, lifting a hand and running his callused thumb along the curve of your jaw. 

But you don’t. 

You can’t. 

Instead, you tilt your head to the side, drawing an audible intake of breath from the man in front of you as you expose your neck to him. He curses quietly, and you can feel the faintest whisper of claws against your cheek before he leans in. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. 

You ignore him, pressing close enough that you can feel the steady beating of his heart in his chest. A sound of frustration leaves Miguel, one of his hands coming to grasp at your waist as he wars with the rapidly dissolving dregs of his self control. 

A shiver crawls up your spine at the feeling of his fangs trailing down your neck, coming to a stop at the curve of your shoulder. He pulls his head back slightly, running two fingers over the place where the smooth expanse of your skin is disrupted by the feeling of slightly raised scar tissue. And you can’t help it, the breathy little sound you let out at the memory of him sinking his teeth into you while he fucked you. The way your lips part at the undeniably possessive way he kisses the spot, flicking his tongue over it.

Miguel pulls away again, eyes meeting yours. There’s a note of desperation his tone when he asks, “Where is he?”

For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, no recollection of why you shouldn’t be doing this until he threads his hand with yours and jostles the ring on your finger. 

And as horrible as it is, you can’t bring yourself to care as you look right back at him, gaze unwavering when you respond, “He’s not here.”

A part of you will always belong to Miguel O’Hara, no matter what universe he’s in. 

It’s the part of you that’s felt so fucking empty every single day that he’s been gone. The dull ache that bloomed sharp and hot the moment you laid eyes upon him tonight, flaring back to life like a wildfire across your chest. 

“I missed you,” you admit on a quiet exhale. 

A nearly imperceptible shudder runs through him as he rests his forehead against yours and rasps, “I’m sorry.”

And when he eventually cups your face in both of his hands, the raging storm outside goes wholly silent as he lets one last question dance in his eyes. 

Do you still want this?

Your head’s barely begun to dip with a nod before Miguel’s lips crash against yours, the rest of your world slipping away under the swift current of desperation in his kiss. For all his reservations moments prior, there’s nothing hesitant in the way his mouth claims yours, tongue flirting with the seam of your mouth as he grasps the back of your head. And you can’t help it, the way you go pliant under his touch, your needy whimper in response to the pointed tug of his fangs on your bottom lip. The shameless way you rock into the thick thigh he slots between your legs, your silk sleep shorts helpless against the firm denim of his jeans. 

“Missed you so much,” he groans against your mouth, his palm a searing brand as it presses into the dip of your lower back. 

“Miguel,” you breathe, caught somewhere between a whine and a moan.

A soft growl escapes him at the sound of his name on your lips, both of his hands now firmly grasping your hips, the firm outline of his cock pressing into you. There’s nothing subtle about the way you gasp into his mouth, chasing the delicious friction. 

He reaches between you, cupping your clothed cunt with his hand and rasping, “Missed this, too.”

You know he can feel how wet you are already, arousal soaking clean through your underwear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s slipping a finger up through your shorts and tugging your panties aside to tease at your slit, pupils dilating with lust at the sticky squelch of his digit sliding through your folds. 

“Always so wet for me, baby,” he murmurs, his other hand sliding one of the thin straps of your tank top down your shoulder. He pulls your breast out, dragging his thumb over your peaked nipple as he continues, “Do you get this wet for him, too?”

Mind drifting to the bottle of lube tucked in your bedside drawer, you shake your head, “No.”

A sound of satisfaction rumbles in Miguel’s chest while he moves aside the other strap, letting both of your breasts spill free for him to grasp and massage. 

At the feeling of his finger circling your fluttering entrance, you don’t care how desperate you sound as you whimper, “Please, Miguel.”

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, lips slotting against yours to swallow down your keening moan when he plunges a thick finger into your dripping cunt. Lace panties straining against the stretch of his hand tugging them aside, you rock into his touch, threading one of your hands into his hair. 

Miguel groans as you pull at the strands, “Gonna make you feel so fucking good tonight,” slipping another finger into the wet heat between your thighs.

You head spins with pleasure as he plunges his digits in and out of your aching cunt, more slippery arousal dripping into his palm with each and every stroke. Whether it’s a testament to how badly you missed him or just how well he knows your body, it doesn’t take long for the coiled knot of pleasure in your gut to burst open, your climax rippling through your body the moment his thumb begins to massage your aching clit. 

“That’s it baby, come for me,” he croons, the tone of his voice like liquid fire in your veins. “Get that pretty pussy nice and wet for my cock.”

Legs still trembling, you drop to your knees before Miguel can lead you toward the bed, fingers scrambling to tug down his jeans. Miguel’s hips cant forward as you begin to mouth at the tip of his cock through his boxers, lapping at the wet spot of precum staining the material while you grip his thick shaft. 

You know it’s a battle of restraint for Miguel to hold still as you slide off his boxers, eyes hungrily taking in his hard, flushed cock, cunt already clenching again in anticipation of feeling his length stretching you open. He breathes heavily when you slowly begin to take his length into your mouth, lips parting wide to accommodate as much of him as you can take. A salty spurt of precum hits your tongue, and you begin to lap at his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base and bobbing on his shaft just the way you know he likes it. 

There’s something about sucking Miguel’s dick that you’ve always loved—the feeling of this powerful man shivering and moaning with pleasure at your touch. The way he brushes a hand along your face as you take him deeper, wiping away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes as he nears the back of your throat. The taste of his cum as he spills his hot load into your waiting mouth. 

But you know you won’t be getting that far right now, not when your cunt’s still waiting for him to bury his cock in it, a fresh wave of arousal leaking down your thighs. 

As if on cue, Miguel pulls you to your feet, lips claiming yours hungrily as he backs you up to a wall. He makes quick work of your clothes as you tear off his shirt before he lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. And despite how many times you’ve fantasized about this feeling in his absence, when he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, nothing can compare to the feeling of him splitting your empty, needy cunt open once again. 

You cry out his name, fingers leaving scratches down his back when you grip him tightly, rocking into him, moaning and whimpering with each thrust. Miguel kisses you hard as he fucks you against the wall, quickly finding a relentless pace to satisfy your desperate pleas for him to fuck you harder. 

“I bet he doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” he breathes out heavily, sweat on his brow. “Doesn’t know how to make that pretty little face cockdrunk and begging for it.”

He snaps his hips upward so hard you almost see stars, your tits bouncing with each deep plunge. 

“No,” you shake your head, whimpering. “Only you, Miguel.”

A possessive growl tears from his lips at that, and he takes your left hand, eyes narrowing as he grips the ring on your finger. 

“Mine,” he breathes out, lips slotting against yours, tongue sliding into your mouth. 

And when a picture frame hanging on the wall goes crashing to the floor, your back arching into Miguel, you whisper, “Yours,” just as he sinks his teeth right into that same spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck. 

You cry out when he bites down, slamming his cock inside of your fucked out cunt to the hilt, and as a warm trickle of blood drips down your breast, your soaked, sloppy walls clench down on his cock with an orgasm that leaves you sobbing in pleasure. Your name is a broken sound on Miguel’s lips as he moans it, hips jerking into you one last time as he climaxes, spilling hot ropes of cum deep inside of you. 

He peppers soft, soothing kisses along your face and licks at the shallow wound on your shoulder as he pulls out of you and gingerly sets you back down on the floor. You’re so dazed in the aftermath, so sated that you miss the tensing of his shoulders—a reaction to a sound you can’t quite hear. Not yet. 

Not until a key scratches in the front door, shoes brushing against the mat in the entryway. 

Miguel tucks you into the robe hanging beside your closet, determination sparkling in his eyes as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you again. 

“I’ll be back,” he murmurs against your mouth, hands trailing over the tender spot on your neck. 

And before you can say another word, he’s gone, the sound of the now calm rain filtering in through your window left just slightly ajar. A trail of Miguel’s cum begins to slide down the inside of your thighs just as your bedroom door swings open. 

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated! » OSCAR ISAAC MASTERLIST

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #oscar isaac fanfiction #spider-man 2099 x reader #across the spider-verse

[avatar-anna]

Bruises

"I feel so...hollow," you said, your voice breaking on the last word. "But—But like my feelings are so heavy they could drown me at the same time. I don't—I don't know when it started, but I can't remember how to be happy without waiting to be punished for it later."

Tears were tracking stains down your cheeks like small rivers, leaking out of your eyes faster than you could stop them. Not that you tried to, anyway, even that seemed exhausting. One thing you could do was avoid Harry's gaze. You felt it like a severe burn as he practically begged you to look at him, but you just couldn't. Not while you were so vulnerable. You felt stripped bare, even more so than the number of times the two of you had been intimate.

"Y/n—"

"Don't," you said, nearly leaping out of your skin when he rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him then, saw the pain in his eyes at your rejection of his touch. But you couldn't handle it. Your soul felt raw as you said things you never thought you would out loud. "Please don't, I can't—"

Harry seemed to understand as he nodded and took a step back, but the concerned furrow of his brow remained, his fingers curling awkwardly at his sides. He'd always been the type to communicate through touch—a squeeze on the shoulder, a tip of your chin, a gentle nose nudge on your cheek, a hand never far away from your person. You knew that he craved touch to comfort people, and yet he stayed put. For that you were thankful, and it helped you find your words again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," you said, almost too quietly for anything but your thoughts to hear. "I—I don't know why I'm feeling like this, or how I got here, I—I just feel like I'm stuck in this emptiness."

Saying all of that made you want to run and hide. Harry didn't need to know all this, how wrecked you really were inside. No one did. He was just someone who happened to be around when you were at your worst. Normally you were able to keep a lid on your darkest thoughts, but he'd come over when you were in the thick of it, and you couldn't exactly hide how you felt when you were crying uncontrollably for virtually no reason other than it was a Tuesday afternoon and life suddenly felt like one big chore.

Maybe it was the holiday, seeing everyone so happy, hearing songs about falling in love and kissing under mistletoes and commercials that said, "The perfect gift for that someone special!" Being surrounded by so much cheer only left you feeling more hollowed out, more lost than you'd ever thought you'd become.

"Y/n, why—why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Like what?" you laughed bitterly. "That I cry at the drop of a hat and can't handle light teasing from my friends? That I haven't felt right for weeks and getting out of bed feels like a chore? We—That's not who we are to each other. I—I have no one."

The words clanged around, grasping onto your heartstrings and convincing you it was true. You had friends and family, but when the darkness reared its ugly head, you always felt hopelessly and inescapably alone. Words deserted you when you needed them most, leaving you to smile and pinch your skin, trying your best not to cry in line at the grocery store or while sitting at your desk at work. It was all too much, too much to handle, and yet you didn't want anyone else but you to share that load, the weight of your inexplicable despair.

"Do you honestly think that?" Harry asked. You couldn't even dignify him with an answer. It had been humiliating to say it once, let alone look him in the eye and say it again. So you just shrugged and wiped your cheek. "You're my friend, Y/n, and I care about you. I'm sorry if I haven't done enough to make you know that."

"It's not just you, H," you sniffled, feeling bad for making Harry uncomfortable. It wasn't his job to make you feel better. Your problems were yours to bear alone. They always had been. "I don't—I don't know how to do this."

"Do what, love?"

Despite the discomfort of having shared so much, Harry's gentle voice felt like a warm blanket over your shoulders. It made you finally look up to meet his eye. You were surprised to see so much emotion held in them, but you didn't shy away from it like you thought you would. It helped fill that hollow ache a little, made you feel a little less alone.

"I don't know how to deal with this any other way," you said, trying to explain. "I don't...I hate sharing this stuff with people. It makes my skin crawl."

Your body felt heavy, your soul weary, as if no amount of shed tears or leaning on shoulders would ever ebb the emptiness that was taking over you. But you didn't want the pity. You didn't want anyone to worry or look at you differently because of how sensitive you tended to be sometimes. To deal with the myriad of moods that swung on a pendulum day to day, sometimes moment to moment. The pressure of feeling like you should reach out and ask for help was almost worse than the emptiness and despair.

"This is a good start," Harry said, inching just a tiny bit closer. "I just don't want you to think you can't talk to me. You can, Y/n, and I'll listen, or give you space, or help you find professional help, or do whatever it takes to make you smile. Just let me be here for you."

The notion didn't sit well with you at first. It wasn't how you dealt with things, though clearly your methods weren't working. That didn't make letting Harry in any less scary, or any easier. But Harry was still here. You'd broken down, shared just how broken you really were, and he was still here, asking to be someone for you to confide in.

Harry had been your friend for a long time. You ran in the same circles and saw each other often enough that you'd consider him to be someone you were close to. It wasn't until your arrangement that you got to know him more. You'd never had a friends with benefits situation before, but you never imagined it to be so easy. Rules had been sketched out, boundaries were made and kept, and things between you just seemed to work. Even when you didn't see each other for a week or two at a time, there was no awkwardness.

There was no jealousy at parties or possessiveness; you were exclusive, but okay with the idea of ending things should either of you meet someone you wanted to explore a relationship with. You and Harry just clicked—two friends who happened to sleep with each other, companions who could hold conversations about their jobs amicably, yet knew every inch of each other's bodies intimately. And now Harry was offering something more, something different.

Nodding, you said, "Thank you."

Harry gave you a small grin, then tentatively reached a hand out to wipe away a stray tear. You let him, not feeling like a startled animal anymore. You knew part of you should've felt embarrassed that Harry had caught you in such a state, that you'd let him see how broken and hurting you were on the inside, and maybe a small part of you did, but you mostly just felt like a weight had lifted off your chest.

"Can I get you anything? Maybe a cup of tea?" he asked, leading you over to your kitchen counter as if it was his home, not yours.

You let him, content to watch him move around your kitchen as if it was his own. He'd been over to your place enough times to know his way around and know how you took your tea.

Sitting in silence, you watched as Harry took a mug that looked like a gingerbread man and one that had a textured, cable-knit sweater design from your cabinet and fixed up two cups of tea. His shoulders flexed beneath his loose shirt, dark brown curls curving every which way at the nape of his neck. The familiarity of this moment was comforting after such an emotionally taxing and foreign afternoon. Harry was here as often as your busy schedules would allow, or you were at his place, neither of you concerned with how much time you spent together.

Though today you hadn't expecting to see him, hence the emotional breakdown. You didn't really plan those kinds of things, but you'd been feeling more down than usual and had been seeing Harry less and less recently as a result. Every text about a next meet-up, whether that was to get lunch or have sex or anything in between, had been rebuffed quickly and kindly. Today he'd shown up out of the blue.

"H?"

"Yeah?" he said, his back still to you.

"Why did you come over today? Y—You didn't text like you normally do."

Harry looked over his shoulder briefly, a small smile playing at his lips. "We hadn't seen each other in a while," he said breezily. "Which is fine, I know we're both busy, but I just had this distinct feeling you were avoiding me."

"I'm sorry," you said, finding it easier to say it when his back was to you. "I don't mean to do that."

"I know," Harry said, that same gentle and easy tone in his voice. "I've always known you're squirrelly about feelings."

You huffed at his choice of words, trying to focus on his humor rather than the fact that he seemed to know you better than you thought he did. You appreciated that he didn't state the obvious, which was that you went way past "squirrelly." The last hour had been emotionally taxing, and you appreciated that Harry offered you a modicum of normalcy.

"Thank you for checking up on me," you said. "You're a good friend, H."

Perhaps better than I deserve, was what you didn't say, because you knew he would scold you for even thinking it.

"Well, my visit wasn't totally innocent," Harry teased as he finally came over with two steaming mugs of tea, yours done just right. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, but didn't say anything more than that.

Raising your brows, you said, "Ah. You couldn't find anyone to watch Hallmark Christmas movies with you, could you?"

Harry chuckled into his mug, taking the excuse you both knew was a lie and ran with it. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I knew you'd understand."

"I wouldn't say to no a cheesy Christmas movie."

"Promise me you'll tell me when you're feeling like this again," Harry said a while later.

You could tell Harry was trying to hide his eagerness to pull you into your room and fire up your TV. His eyes scanned over you briefly, as if he was trying to assess where you were at mentally. It would be hard to see that stare, to know Harry had seen you at your lowest and would constantly be gauging if you were on the verge of another breakdown. But the thought didn't irritate you the way you thought it would. You were surprised to feel a little relieved that you weren't the only one taking care of you, at least for the time being.

You were huddled under a mountain of blankets together. Twinkly lights in your bedroom casting a warm light over you both. You'd meant to put them up earlier in the month, but hadn't made yourself get around to it, the small task falling to the wayside the same way a lot of your everyday chores did. Harry took one look at the forgotten box of lights and got to work, even going as far as putting a looped video of a roaring fireplace in his phone and setting it up next to your television. It was a little silly, and a tad over the top, but you appreciated it all the same, the lengths he was going to ease the ache in your chest as best he could.

He was practically on top of you now, but unlike the events of today, that was something you were used to. Harry liked to sprawl out, specifically with you underneath him—leg over your waist, arm tucked across you to keep you close, face buried in your neck or chin resting on top of your head. He insisted on draping himself over you like a blanket, even before you started sleeping together.

"I don't want to bother you—"

"Bother me, Y/n," Harry said, his voice gravelly as he gently turned your face to meet his gaze. "I'm not doing my job as your friend if I'm only with you when things are easy or—or good. You're not alone, okay? As long as I'm in your life, I'm in it. Good and bad."

"I'll try."

You tried to blink back tears, a little surprised you had any left to shed. Your face was undeniably puffy and a little dry, and you were tired in a different way than you had been the last few weeks. But these were different tears from earlier. A different emotion took over you as you nodded.

That seemed to satisfy Harry. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes against it, allowing yourself to believe everything he'd said to you today.

You weren't magically fixed, that crushing weight was still waiting for you like a monster under your bed, but you weren't alone. Harry had turned the lights on, showing you that perhaps there was no shame in letting someone see the worst parts of you. Because he was still there, promising to hold your hand and help you until you felt whole again.

#Spotify #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[luveline]

first of all CONGRATS ON YOUR AMAZING MILESTONE!!! Wowwwwwww I’m so happy for u 🥺💘💘💘 you deserve all the love and praise in the world!

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 + 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

plsss I beg 🥺 either for tasm!peter or miguel o’hara or even joel miller 😭😭😭 I’d think about idiots in love… both pinning for each other but too oblivious to the others feelings. everyone can see it but them. if you can make it super fluffy I’d dieeeeee. I’m obsessed with all 3 of them but tasm!peter will always have my heart <3

hope u have the loveliest of days sweet ! 💘💘💘

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much baby!! have a good day too ♡ shy fat fem!reader

"I look weird," Peter says. 

You bite your lip in surprise. Peter reaches for you like he might take your face into his hand, but you bow out of his touch. "No," you say, hissing at the sudden pain, "you look nice, you don't look weird." 

"A haircut was a bad idea. Now you're injured," he says with a laugh. 

You bring your hand away from your lip and find it unsullied. Peter wants to look anyhow, fighting you for a hand on your cheek. A couple of months ago you would've squirmed away from him, worried he'd feel the soft line of your jaw and drop his hand in disgust, but these days you let him do whatever he wants. 

"Pout at me," he demands. 

You, reluctant, poke your lip out. Peter has the gall to touch it with his thumb, seemingly unaware of the shiver it prompts. He smells like cherry gum today, a little wedge of it between his molars as he strokes your face and pushes you gently back into your chair. He's a sick individual, he doesn't even know what he's doing. Peter's joking and doting is done as your friend. 

"What inspired the haircut?" you ask. He hasn't gone too short with it since his first year of college, but the cute little flicks under his ears have been chopped. 

"Kept getting stuck in my hat." 

"What hat?" you ask. 

"My baseball cap." 

"Since when do you wear a baseball cap?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know," Peter croons, to the outrage of the women sitting across from you. They shush simultaneously, two pit vipers. 

You put your head down, sheepish. Peter rolls his desk chair closer to yours as he chuckles under his breath, to copy your notes no doubt, which is ridiculous. He's the smarter of the two of you. He speaks in mathematics like it's English, chemistry something innate. 

You knock your pencil into his hand, "Do your own work." 

"But you've already done it for me." Peter moves your hand aside, his naked arm rubbing up against yours, rigid cord against softer fat. "Thanks, beautiful." 

You roll your eyes at him but let him copy your work. After a few minutes you swear you can feel eyes on you, glancing up to find the pit vipers talking behind a laptop screen. They look at you at the same time and then quickly look away, spelling out for you what it is that's so interesting. People do this all the time, puzzling at you and Pete like it's insanity. The majority of people aren't as judgemental, but you can guess exactly what it is that they're thinking. Why is he spending his time with her? Handsome, muscled Peter and meek, chubby you. 

It's not the most important thing in your life, but it is a constant. Some people think fat is unlovable, and the rest love without qualm. Peter hasn't ever once been mean to you since he met you; your weight can't bother him. If anything, you'd think he quite likes the way you look. Peter's always calling you beautiful, pretty girl, telling you to get changed before you put other girls out. 

It's a shame he doesn't like you as anything more than a friend.

"I think those girls are looking at us," Peter whispers, pulling you toward him by the shoulder. It's not unlike him to touch you suddenly. "Is the haircut that bad?" 

"It looks nice, Pete!" you insist. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against yours quickly. You choke through a laugh. "Daww," he says, "you're just saying that." 

He giggles as you push him away, "Get off me, you loon," you say. 

"You're the loon, loon," he says back. His cheeks are pinking. His sweater must be hotter than it looks.

"Can you just accept it, Peter? Your hair looks nice, you look great, stop worrying about what people think." You look away as you say it, startled by your own brazenness.

He gasps at you. "Hypocrite! You're the worst hypocrite ever, you're always worrying about what people think, and it's stupid because you're so pretty." He shakes his from side to side, eyes dramatically downcast. "Breaks my heart. A babe in denial." 

"Stop kidding around, we have too many assignments for this," you beg, tapping your pencil under the remaining questions you've yet to answer.

"A babe in denial and distress." 

You give up. He's overwhelmingly affectionate, homework sucks, and you're ashamed to know that if you flop down in defeat, he'll hug your arm. He always does. Diving into your space, Peter breathes cool cherry at your cheek as he says, "You know I'm gonna explain them to you until you get them, sweetheart. Don't stress." 

You put yourself in this position, but his closeness has your heart skipping. "I'm not stressed." 

"You're too cute to stress." 

"Pete…" 

"Sorry, I'll stop, I'm stopping. Pass your notebook, I'll fix your equation." 

You pass him your notebook without looking up. You need a few seconds to collect yourself. "Thank you, Peter." 

He sounds dangerously fond, the kind of tone that feeds your delusion, as though he could like you as you like him, "You're welcome." 

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfiction #luveline's 40k party

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.3

John having to get high out of his mind because he knows he's invited Paul to come play with him is so so sad. These are the same guys who used to sit facing each other on a bed playing guitars for hours, and now this is them?

Is John calling Paul “Jack Lemon” a reference to “some like it hot”? Because if so, I have questions. Anyway, when your estranged best friend shows up to hang out with you and a bunch of people, talking about being in love again and getting jizzed on is extremely normal and acceptable behavior.

This jam session is so fucking painful though. Paul's doing his best to just push through and get them to actually play something and John's just too far gone.

My theory: there's two reasons he did this. 1. He's avoidant and the last thing he's going to do is let on how bad he needs John in his life and how scared he is that if John gets back with Yoko that that'll be difficult. And 2. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. If he'd kept it from John that Yoko wanted him back and later John cried to him about how much he missed Yoko or something? Paul can't have that.

John singing a snatch of Yesterday before a take of “Whatever gets you through the Night”??? Did either of them ever write a song where they weren't thinking about the other? Did they ever have a minute of peace without the other rattling the bars of the cage in his brain?

“Hold me Darling, come on, listen to me. I won't do you no harm.” Duh it's about Paul. Oh my gosh.

And with Bless You I'm always so torn. There are so many obvious references to Paul which the doc points out beautifully, but situationally it could also be about Yoko. Maybe it's about both of them in the same way that don't let me down is about both of them.

Anyway the cosmic visuals are gorgeous.

Why'd you have to phrase it like that though? Twice?

Hall of Fame moment. It's a high point for him career-wise and he chose to pull Paul into his spotlight. Not only to sing Paul's song, not only to name-drop him, but to publicly call him an official romantic title. Not “boyfriend” or “ex-wife” which both could've been much more mocking if that's what he was trying to do. But “fiance”. It's official and respected, but it's still got the lustful, unsettled, connotation that something like “husband” lacks.

Johann Weener, everyone. What a loser.

Everyone who still refers to Lennon Remembers like it's the fucking Bible listen to this. It doesn't go on for the next five years, let alone fifty.

John refusing to walk to blocks to sign the papers when George and Paul flew over the ocean. And only on the basis of astrology. He really didn't want the divorce. My heart aches for him. But he made his bed as they say.

I'm putting on my tinfoil hat again here, but I do just have to point out that one of John's first songs, “Hello, Little Girl,” has a line that goes, “you never seem to see me standing there”. And the earliest draft of WISHST, which was started soon after, answers that line. “I saw you standing there.” (Yes, it said you originally, not her). So maybe. Just maybe. That song wasn't just a Paul song, but a song that John knew Paul had put a message in for him. Okay, I apologize for the insanity. On another note, I do wonder if he ever found out what Paul thought of that.

Interviewer: ≈ at this point, do you like writing by yourself, or do you want to write with Paul again?≈ John: ≈well it's a bit of both. It's the same for Paul. We were talking about it a week ago. Okay, cool. So they definitely talked openly and honestly about potentially writing together again.

John, about their partnership, “There was always the feeling that someone was there if you needed it.” Paired with the gayest picture ever taken and then Paul singing “if I can do anything at all, let me help.” Thanks. I hate it.

John was so excited for New Orleans! What happened? I mean I have my theory based on May's book and the sudden shift in behavior. But it's pretty dark.

You know how crazy Paul is about John in interviews now? How he can't seem to keep John's name out of his mouth? John was worse in the seventies. He's promoting his Rock’n’Roll album, talking unprompted and romantically about how he met Paul, when the interviewer reminds him what relationship he's supposed to be romanticizing right now. So John remembers too and dedicates the album to Yoko who he's just got back together with.

Biconic quote.

Interviewer asks, after John's brought him up, if John's pleased with how well Paul's doing. John expresses his relief that Ringo has "found himself a niche" and then

I really do think that last bit sums up a big chunk of how John feels about Paul, and why he feels alright playing dirty against Paul or slagging Paul off. Why it would have been the furthest thing from his mind that Paul actually struggled or was insecure. Why Paul had to remind him, “I'm only a person like you, love.”

What an insane thing to think, let alone say. What if Julian had heard that? I'm pretty sure Julian and Paul weren't in contact, really at all, until the eighties, right? So John's doing better than he is at this point (I mean he's his dad, he should be). John is insecure about every possible thing and compares himself to Paul in every possible way.

Baby. He needed some serious help. The thing that sucks about being ahead of your time is that you also have to live in a world that's behind your needs.

And then. “There's always a friendly tv channel to turn to that's going to make you feel less alone.” I wonder if Paul “Call Me Back Again, John I know you're not that tired from the baby just let me in the fucking door” McCartney heard this? It's possible with how obsessive they were, but it's also impossible with how busy he kept himself.

Okay, here's the first story we've been missing about Paul experiencing negative emotions. And, of course, as always in this doc, it's paired perfectly with “Don't Let it Bring you Down” which is the musical mission statement of Paul's clenched-jawed smile philosophy.

"I tend to get a bit absolute in my statements." Yes, John. Yes you do. Another quote that Big Lennon fans should keep in mind.

John on the three weeks he took to decide if he wanted to continue the band after the first Hamburg trip: The others were mad because we could've been making money. Yeah, John, Paul suddenly had to work in a factory after he'd thrown away an educated, white-collar career (the first in his family) to be in your band. I'd be pissed too if you just didn't even bother to call. Anyway I just hate how casual John is about it. Someone who never had to worry about money is just never going to get that.

John doesn't even remember a ballpark number of how much they were making. Paul remembers exactly bragging to his professors that he was making fifteen a week in Hamburg. Sorry to go on and on about this right before Paris, but to me it's an important difference between them.

Anyway, the fact that Paris was more than just a vacation for them. The fact that – according to Stuart and John at least – they might not have come back. It's dizzying. They really thought about just running off together. I wonder what made them decide to come back and continue the band.

No offense if you do, but I don't personally believe in this stuff. What would the motivation have been for the tarot reader to tell him that? Either way, fuck him.

Gosh the live version of “Call Me Back Again”. You feel it, physically, how bad he wants this phonecall. And the desperation from such a successful man is fantastic. Literally, John, how did it feel to be the only man in the world that could get Paul McCartney to beg? “Pretty baby” “what can I do?” “Boohoohoo babe.” “I tried the operator, but I just can't get through.”

Reporter at the Wings over America tour: No John Lennon, no George Harrison, and no Ringo Starr, just Paul McCartney. And for everyone here tonight, that seemed to be plenty! Obviously he's loving this praise after all the negative press. Anyone would, and Paul needs it more than most people actually. But I bet part of him is like “stop. Don't say it like that, they already hate me enough as it is.”

How many times has John admitted that he finds Paul attractive? “It was no surprise, you know, when the kids – girls saw him, they go ‘ooh! Ooh!’ right away, you know?”

“I know it's true. It's all because of you.” Playing over this? Are you kidding me? Anyway I've never seen the picture version of this, so I thought I'd screenshot it.

But actually, in a way, the original written lyrics to Now and Then are less depressing than what he sang on the demo. “I know it's true, I'm still in love with you, and if I make it through, it's all because of you,” is obviously sad because they're both married to other people. But at least in that version, John's saying his own personal resilience to life's struggles comes from his relationship with Paul, which is nice. Whereas when John, who is sliding into a self-hating deep depression I'm comparing himself to Paul's phenomenal success, sings “it's all because of you” in a general sense, it almost feels like a callback to the ‘I'm shit and I couldn't do anything but be a Beatle (and ride Paul's boat)’ quote. Which is heartbreaking. I wish he could've recognized his own genius.

But yeah either way it's enough to make your heart heavy. If anyone needs a good cry, just go to the last five minutes of this. That should've been the now and then music video, but Paul's too scared of feelings. Which. You know. Considering how much it affects me, I can't even imagine how much it affects him. So he gets a pass.

“Why must we be alone? It's real love. It's real.”

#mclennon #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #ringo starr #george harrison #understanding lennon mccartney #ulm

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Berthe the Green Witch

Summary: Traditional witches and green witches don't always see eye to eye. With a life on the line, Berthe is very persuasive.

The egg timer in the window over the sink ticks busily. Berthe watches it from the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of fresh basil tea. She made the mug a few months ago with clay she refined from the creek running through the backside of her property and the basil is from her garden. 

She sighs into her tea, eyes closing. The wind rattles her kitchen window, the oncoming storm announcing itself  by throwing the first dropped leaves of fall against her house. The air is sweet and spiced - apples in her creaking oven covered in sugar and cinnamon. 

She’s meant to answer letters today. They’re sitting on the other side of her crème table, the pile teetering. Notes asking for advice, missives from Councils she doesn’t remember joining, well wishes from former coven sisters who’ve gone on to build their own covens far away.

Her eyes open a moment before her besom - made from the twigs of her oldest apple tree - chatters against the wall and flings itself across the foyer.

“Oh,” she sighs, setting her mug aside, “there’s no reason to be so dramatic about it.”

The besom rolls over until it can tuck itself under her shoe bench.

Her doorbell chimes and, with a sigh, Berthe rises. She dislikes company on storm days, though she shouldn’t have expected any different. If Clayman visits her, he visits her on storm days. No exceptions.

Ring ring ring

Berthe falters, looking between the shadow behind her stained-glass door and the egg timer. Clayman hates being kept waiting, but her apples can be very delicate…

“One moment!” Berthe calls over her shoulder. She turns off the timer and bustles over to the oven. “I just need to pull something out of the oven!”

“Seriously?” Clayman’s voice is muffled by the door, but no less incredulous. “Berthe!” He knocks again.

Carefully, Berthe pulls the sheet pan from the oven. Red apples cut thin, laid in a spiral, with spices and sugar dusted over the top. A thin layer of puff pastry shows golden at the edges and she hums in pleasure. She loves when she gets the timing right.

Knock knock. “Berthe!”

She transfers the tart to her cooling rack and, after some consideration, moves her breadbox in front of it. Clayman’s gaze can be rather cold. She wouldn’t want all the warmth and care she’s put into her treat to go to waste.

Clayman is knocking constantly now, and muttering. Her wards don’t react so she knows it’s not a spell, but she frowns anyway. There he goes again. On someone else’s threshold no less!

She wipes her hands on her apron, dusting off  flour and cinnamon, and opens the door.

Clayman is a scarecrow. She doesn’t think so because he’s tall and thin, though he’s both. It’s not because of his straw-colored hair, neatly combed away from his face and held in place with rosemary oil. It’s not even because of his coat, a long duster-like affair done in softened leather. 

It’s because, as soon as she opens the door, the man is smiling. He is always smiling, his eyes mellow and shoulders loose, no matter his tone of voice. It’s as if the expression is painted on his face, forever fixed. She thinks that he’d cry smiling.

Unsettling.

“Berthe,” Clayman says. He takes off his wide-brimmed hat and holds it to his chest. “May I come in?”

“Be welcome in my home,” Berthe says, stepping aside to let him in. He has to duck a little to avoid the dried rosemary she has hanging over her doorway. A full head shoulder, Berthe doesn’t need to show such consideration. “I have coffee brewing.”

Clayman hangs his hat on the hooks above her shoe bench. He knows she doesn’t drink coffee. Smiling, he asks, “And you still couldn’t come to the door any faster?”

The cuckoo clock upstairs crows in protest. Berthe shrugs. “I suppose not.”

“Hm,” Clayman says and follows her into the kitchen.

He’s able to keep any further needling to himself as Berthe clears him a spot at the table. She sets her daisy coaster down - to lighten his mood - before she places a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. His mug isn’t handmade. SHe got it on sale at the grocery store. It says Bright and Early on one side. On the other it reads Unfortunately.

Clayman drinks so the Unfortunately is pointed at Berthe. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“My pleasure,” Berthe says. And it is. Under normal circumstances. Despite his prickliness, Clayman is a friend to her even when he denies it. But these are not normal circumstances. “There hasn’t been any improvement?”

“No.” Clayman accepts the sugar Berthe slides to him. He always insists on taking one sip without any sweetness. Then he dumps nearly half of the sugar in the tin into it. “Ms. Rayne is dying.”

Berthe presses a hand over her heart as if to soothe the sting. The Rayne family may not favor her magic, but they have always been kind to her. “I am so sad to hear that, Clayman.”

Clayman smiles, like always. But his aura is distinctly sluggish and tinged a faint blue. Rachel Rayne is his student. “As am I.” He breathes in deeply. “I got permission to have you see her.”

“Oh,” Berthe says. Then, when it sinks in, “Oh.”

The Raynes are a traditional witch family, despite having not produced one in two hundred years. They proudly trace their roots back to 16th century Italy. All of their beliefs and teachings come from grimoires older than their name and alchemical texts that have to be translated by scholars to be read.

Clayman, a traditional witch, is the man they go to for spells. They tolerate Berthe’s practice so long as she keeps her actual workings to her house and her orchard.

“I’ll get my bag,” Berthe says, standing. She feels like her eyes are spinning. She never thought she’d be invited. There are poultices and salves to make, herbs and petals to collect, wands and crystals to choose. She dives for the drawer closest to her and pulls out her favorite wooden spoon. “Do they have pine incense? Should I bring some pine incense?”

“You’re going?” Clayman asks. When she turns, he’s not smiling. His mouth is dropped open in shock. “After what they’ve said about your practice, I expected to have to convince you.”

This is why she doesn’t like traditional witchcraft. So many grudges! So many perceived debts! She’s never called Clayman her friend to his face. She thinks he’d combust.

“Of course I am,” she says waspishly. She dumps her spoon and several jars onto the table in front of him. “Check these to see if they’ll clash with the Rayne estate’s wards, will you? I need to run upstairs.”

Clayman is smiling. “Are you asking me to cast magic in your house? I always knew you were crazy, I didn’t think you were stupid.”

Berthe dashes upstairs without answering him. He may think her stupid for her trust in him, but she knows he’lol follow her orders anyway.

“Ouch!” 

Berthe grins. Of course Clayman’s mug didn’t take kindly to his snide words. It has a tendency to heat up something awful whenever Berthe is insulted.

————.

The Rayne Family Estate is massive. Situated on top of the only hill in town, the driveway winds through wild oaks and pines for a good half of a mile before reaching the house. The house looms over the town like a castle, white walls and slate roof and black curtains over the windows.

The woman waiting on the front steps is like the house. Severe and colorless with gray hair pinned securely under a white handkerchief, black blouse tucked into a long, black skirt. Her weathered hands are folded neatly in front of her and her dark eyes track Clayman’s car as he pulls up and parks.

“Hello!” Berthe hops out of the car, waving with one hand. The other is full of the apple tart she’d grabbed at the last minute. “I brought a tart!”

“Berthe,” Clayman says out of the side of his mouth. “Shut up.”

“It’s apple,” Berthe says.

“Berthe Steighart,” Mrs. Rayne says through thin lips. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Yes,” Berthe says. Mrs. Rayne makes no move to accept the apple tart. Berthe shoves it on Clayman and bustles around to get her bag out of the trunk. “I suppose you’d like to get straight to the point then? Clayman’s already checked my things. Is Ms. Rayne upstairs?”

“There are rules in this house,” Mrs. Rayne says as if Berthe hadn’t spoken. “We believe in the pure magics, those that come from study and self-reflection. There will be no calling on - on beings while within these four walls.”

Berthe throws her bag over her shoulder. It’s an old carpetbag she forgot she had and she sneezes when a plume of dust puffs off of it. It’d been the only bag big enough for her things. “Beings? You mean gods? Or other? I don’t have a patron god currently, so that won’t be a problem!”

“Currently?” Clayman asks.

“Never close off future possibilities,” Berthe says. She weaves past him and squints up at the house. “Is that Ms. Rayne peering out the window up there? Hello, Ms. Rayne!” The young girl with hair as black as a raven’s wing ducks back behind the curtain. Berthe frowns. “She looks very pale.”

She is dying, Clayman said. It looks like he wasn’t exaggerating.

“What I am about to tell you is a Rayne family secret,” Mrs. Rayne says. She turns on her heel and, lifting her skirt slightly, climbs the stairs to the house. “It must never leave the walls of this home without our permission.”

Berthe follows the older woman into the house. It’s as austere as its owner. The foyer is minimalist, a dully patterned carpet running the length of the hall to the grand staircase. There are paintings of ancient witches and confusing landscapes of places that can’t possibly exist on earth.

“I will not intentionally reveal your secrets,” Berthe says. Mrs. Rayne is moving quickly without looking behind her. Berthe huffs and focuses on keeping her heavy bag from dragging along the carpet. She eyes the main staircase with some trepidation, but says nothing. She already gave Clayman the tart. She can’t give him her bag too. “I swear.”

With a sigh, Clayman plucks her bag from her hands. “I vouch for her, Madame.”

Madame? Berthe has to work very hard not to laugh at that. It’s 2022 and he’s calling his employer madame.

“Rachel has magic,” Mrs. Rayne says. She stops in the middle of the stairs to glance at Berthe pointedly. “Significant magic.”

“Oh,” Berthe says. That’s it? She knew that much since Clayman is Rachel’s teacher. Clayman told her so himself - oh. He wasn’t supposed to tell her. Something warms in Berthe’s chest. Maybe Clayman does see her as a friend after all if he’s sharing secrets with her. “Congratulations, Madame.” She shoots Clayman a warm look.

Clayman hisses. When Mrs. Rayne isn’t looking, he darts up the stairs so he can whisper in her ear. “It’s not what you think.”

Berthe grins and winks.

Clayman’s eye twitches. “It’s not—“

“We are very proud of Rachel,” Mrs. Rayne continues.  She takes them down the right hall and past several busts of important looking ancestors. “Perhaps we were too zealous with her power. She’s been training since she was young in the ways of witchcraft.”

Berthe sobers. “How young?”

“I first became Rachel’s teacher when she was ten,” Clayman says. His voice is even more mild than usual when he says, “I am her third teacher.”

Ouch. Alchemists probably. Witches like Clayman at least know enough about magical cores to wait until they develop before testing them. Alchemists are always so barbaric about it.

Berthe can’t show her disapproval here. She hums. “She must be very accomplished then.”

“She is,” Mrs. Rayne says. There’s no pride in her voice. It’s a statement of fact. She stops in front of the door at the end of the hall, the one that overlooks the driveway. She looks down her nose at Berthe. “Or was. Two weeks ago, Rachel’s magic began to fail. Her core drained and never recovered. I am told that, when it empties completely, my daughter will die.”

Berthe looks at Clayman.

“I made the diagnosis,” Clayman says, smiling. His aura beats with guilt. “I have tried every healing spell I know, every restoration charm, every ward to catch her magic before it fades. Nothing has worked.”

“Several attempts slowed the progression,” Mrs. Rayne says. To Berthe’s surprise, she sounds like she’s consoling Clayman. She reaches around Berthe to pat him on the arm. “And we are thankful, Clayman. She’s been so happy since you became her teacher.”

Clayman nods stiffly. “I appreciate your words, Madame. And I am grateful you’re allowing me to bring in…unorthodox assistance.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Rayne says, eyeing Berthe’s apron and the flour that still stains it. “Well. Hardly any harm now, I think.”

She opens the door.

The smell of fading hits Berthe full force. Her eyes widen and she steps back into Clayman without meaning to, nearly knocking the apple tart from his hands. The room, like the rest of the house, is bare. A white carpet, black bookshelves, sheer white curtains around the bed and heavy black ones over the window.

The girl sitting in bed - Rachel Rayne - is too weak to sit up on her own. She leans back against a mountain of pillows. She has to be fourteen. Fifteen, maybe. Her gaunt cheeks make her look much, much older.

Rachel stares. 

Berthe regains her footing. Blindly, she reaches out to grab Clayman’s forearm, eyes never leaving Rachel’s. “The apple tart.”

“Yes, and I have your bag,” Clayman says. 

“Leave the bag,” Berthe says.

“What?”

But Berthe is already slipping past Mrs. Rayne and towards Rachel. “Oh, my dear. How tangled you are!” She keeps her voice as soft as the breeze through the orchard. “You must be having dreadful dreams.”

Rachel’s black eyes widen. She doesn’t protest when Berthe takes one of her thin hands in both of hers. “I am. How did you…?”

“You must tell me all about them,” Berthe says. “Clayman, cut the tart, would you? We can talk and eat.”

“With what?” Clayman asks from behind her. There’s a thud as he sets her bag down.

“There’s a knife in my bag.”

Clayman chokes. “You want me to cut a tart with your athame ?!”

“Traditional witches,” Berthe tells Rachel, rolling her eyes. “Always so formal.”

“You know what’s wrong with my daughter?” Mrs. Rayne demands. She comes up beside Berthe, looming with her hands a knot in front of her. “You can fix her?”

“I can untangle her,” Berthe corrects. She smiles at Rachel and pets the back of her hand. She doesn’t think she imagined Rachel’s flinch when her mother used the word fix. “Now, your dreams. I’m sure you can tell me one while Clayman struggles with a very basic task.”

“It’s a ritual dagger, how am I—“

But his words are interrupted by Rachel. 

Rachel’s eyes are glued to Berthe. Her voice is small and shaking and she speaks as if caught in a trance. “I dream I am underground. I am trapped there. I can hear Mom walking on the earth above me. She is calling for me. I try to call back, but there’s dirt in my mouth. I think I’m suffocating but it doesn’t hurt. But the more I try to call out, the colder I get. It’s a cold dream.”

Berthe feels the other two adults go still behind her. They’ve never heard about Rachel’s dreams. Why would they? Traditional witches like Clayman don’t divine in dreams. They have mirrors and flames and pools of water for that. She hums. “That must have been frightening.”

“Sometimes,” Rachel says, “I am in the sky. I think I must be a bird, but I don’t have any wings. I fly above the house and I can see it like a heart. When it beats, the streets in town glow an awful red.”

“Awful?” Berthe asks. She accepts the slice of tart from Clayman. The underside is crispy and still a little warm. She holds the tart to Rachel’s lips. “Try it! It has cinnamon.”

Rachel’s eyes are foggy. She’s still seeing her dreams and, like a doll, she follows Berthe’s command. When the taste of sugar and spice touches her tongue, she blinks. “That’s apple.”

“From my orchard,” Berthe says, chest swelling with pride. “It’s nice, yes? Seven apples from my seventh tree.”

Rachel’s gaze drifts from Berthe to the tart Clayman’s still cutting on her bedside table. She frowns. “There aren’t seven apples in that.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Berthe says. It’s technically made with three apples, both of which she picked seventh at some point or another. She’s not bothered by technicalities, though she can see why Rachel is. Imagine having Clayman as a teacher! Or, worse, an alchemist. “Now, tell me. Why is the red awful?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel says. She furrows her brow and chews another bite of tart. Warmth is coming back to her face already. “I guess because it’s alive.”

Berthe hums. “Why is being alive awful?”

“Because it’s a town. It’s not supposed to be alive.”

“Why?”

“It—it just shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Our town is laid out into a magical grid. Workings can’t be made with living things. So it can’t be alive.”

“Why not?”

“Because— because it just can’t!” Rachel cries. “That’s not how magic works. There is no spell that can twist something living and if the town is alive then how is it a magical grid? So it’s awful because it’s not true.”

“But it is true,” Berthe says. She can feel Mrs. Rayne ready to protest so she speaks quickly. “What is life? We do not say that a dead bird is alive, do we? It’s dead.”

Rachel stutters. “Necromancy is taboo—“

“I’m not talking about necromancy,” Berthe says. She squeezes Rachel’s hand. “Every living thing has a body. When it is no long living, it is a body. So what is the living part of it?”

“The soul, but that’s—“

“There is an inert part of all of us,” Berthe says. “We do not know it because we are alive. We claim our bodies and our souls so completely that they become one. The town, however, is not alive in the same way. It has a soul but does not claim its body the way we do. It can’t. It exists simultaneously as a soul and also inert. So why can’t there be magic on its body? It is alive and it has working on it at the same time. Why can’t both be true?”

The silence in the room is loud. Berthe takes the opportunity to eat some of her slice of tart. She got the amount of clove just right.

“What does this have to do with my daughter being sick?” Mrs. Rayne is the first to break the silence. “Dreams and life and bodies— what does this nonsense mean to Rachel?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Berthe says. She sighs and sits back on her heels, not relinquishing her hold on Rachel’s hand. The girl’s skin is only just starting to feel warmer. “It’s magic. A different sort of magic to Clayman. Or, rather, the same but through another perspective.”

“Please,” Clayman says when Mrs. Rayne goes to protest again. “Madame, I understand your opinions on Berthe’s practice. I even share some of them. But she is a witch that I respect regardless and I would like to give her the chance to explain.”

He respects me?, Berthe thinks. But it makes sense in a way. He wouldn’t have come to her if he didn’t.

Mrs. Rayne thinks for a long moment, staring at her daughter. Her lips thin and her dark eyes flash as color comes back to Rachel’s cheeks. Finally she says, “Then explain.”

“Rachel,” Berthe says, “is a green witch.”

“No,” Clayman says immediately, before Mrs. Rayne can do more than scowl. He stands abruptly, his hands fisting at her sides. “No, her core is structured traditionally. I checked when I first came on as her teacher—“

“She was trained by alchemists,” Berthe says simply. Mildly. She smiles at Rachel. “They’re a little rigid, aren’t they?”

Rigid is an understatement. Berthe can imagine the torment Rachel went through, trying to force her young magic to conform to archaic arrays and clumsy runes. Her growing power has been stifled and gnarled by the crucible her studies forced it into.

Berthe herself has never been fond of traditional spellwork. She finds the ritual chants and offerings uncomfortable with the way they bend her magic. And Rachel’s been going through that before her core even fully developed.

No longer, Berthe thinks. 

Rachel’s lip trembles. She darts a glance at her mom and then back to where Berthe’s hands are wrapped around hers. “Yes,” she whispers. “I—“

“There’s no such thing as green witchcraft,” Mrs. Rayne snaps. She looks like she wants to tear Berthe away from her daughter but, after a moment of hovering, paces away instead. She stalks from one side of the room to the other. “See, Clayman? This is why I didn’t want to call in this— this charlatan. Our family follows the sacred texts for a reason and I don’t want—“

“Charlatan,” Berthe repeats. She lets Rachel’s hand slide from hers so she can stand and face Mrs. Rayne. Berthe is patient. Berthe is not that patient. “Who are you to call me charlatan? It must be easy considering you have no power of your own to sense me with.”

Mrs. Rayne turns red with rage. “You insolent, horrible charlatan—“

Clayman slides between her and Mrs. Rayne, one hand up and warding. “Berthe, you can’t hold her to her words. Traditional witchcraft is rigid in nature. She means no harm—“

Berthe barks a humorless laugh. “No harm? Her daughter is dying from the strength of her beliefs! Why, no one would blame me if I were to spirit her away here and now.”

“Dying?” Rachel asks.

Berthe sucks in a breath, backing away so she can see everyone in the room. Rachel is already fading without Berthe’s magic, sinking back into her pillows. Mrs. Rayne’s lips are pressed into a thin line and Clayman’s smile looks robotic. “You didn’t tell her?” Berthe asks. She looks at the other witch in the room, the one who knows what a crime it is to withhold such information. “Clayman.”

“I didn’t think it was her core,” Clayman defends. He rubs a hand over his straw-colored hair. “I would have if I’d known. I thought it was a curse. Maybe a sickness I didn’t know of.”

He means he thought it was something irrecoverable. He thought it kinder to leave Rachel in the dark as her magic drained, her soul emptied, her body withered.

Traditional witches, Berthe thinks with carefully disguised disgust. Always seem to need an essay to know what’s in front of their face.

“You’re not going to die,” Berthe tells Rachel. She dusts her hands against her apron reflexively, the way she does when she’s finished kneading bread. She lifts her chin, daring Mrs. Rayne to contradict her. “You’re coming into your magic. All we need to do is untangle you before the new moon and you’ll be right as rain by the next full.”

“The new moon is tonight,” Rachel says.

Berthe blinks and then grins. “Oh! And there’s a storm tonight, how perfectly lovely. We can go to my orchard, it’s far enough from the city that the light pollution--”

“No!” Mrs. Rayne thrusts herself between Berthe and Rachel, holding out her hands as if about to throw a spell at Berthe. Her black eyes burn. “No, there will be no going anywhere! My daughter is sick. She needs rest not to go gallivanting about your orchard chanting made up spells and- and eating grass!”

“With all due respect,” Berthe says, “that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” She pauses. “Except for the eating grass part. Where on earth do you traditional witches get things like that?”

“Berthe,” Clayman says. He’s hovering beside Mrs. Rayne now, eyes nervously flicking from Berthe to Rachel and back. As always, he’s smiling. It is particularly ill fitting now. “You were invited here to help. Maybe if you explained a little more, we could come to an agreement on Rachel’s treatment.”

“No,” Mrs. Rayne says. “Clayman, that’s enough--”

“Madame,” Clayman says. His eyes don’t leave Berthe but he addresses Mrs. Rayne. “I beg you for a bit more of your understanding.”

Mrs. Rayne must trust Clayman an awful lot. She settles back on her heels with a huff, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Very well.”

Berthe studies Clayman. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He’s saying the right things for Mrs. Rayne. He doesn’t want her to panic and do something silly like attack Berthe. But he knows that there aren’t any other options. Rachel is a green witch.

They both know who has jurisdiction here.

Berthe sighs and props her chin in her hand. She cocks her head to one side and clicks her tongue. “What part of my explanation did you not understand, Mrs. Rayne? Perhaps it would be better to start there.”

Clayman covers his eyes with his hands. “Berthe…”

“The part where my daughter is anything but a Rayne,” Mrs. Rayne says. She gestures to Rachel. “She is a pureblooded Rayne! Her powers manifested in the traditional manner.”

“Which is?”

“Telekinesis,” Mrs. Rayne says proudly. “She was two and lifted one of her toys into her crib.”

Of course the woman thinks the most common way to manifest is traditional. “That may be so,” Berthe says, “but the power of a child is pure. It doesn’t have a preference or a shape. That comes later or, in Rachel’s case, now. She is a Rayne, but her magic is green.”

“Green witchcraft isn’t--”

“Your daughter dreams,” Berthe interrupts, losing patience. Truthfully, she isn’t as kind as Clayman. She doesn’t understand why she needs to explain herself to a human. “She dreams she is in the soil, like a seed. Well, it’s time to sprout. She must sprout before the winter chill freezes the ground and she suffocates.”

Clayman’s smile is pinned in place. “Berthe--”

“Mrs. Rayne,” Berthe says, propping her fists on her hips. She glares at the older woman. “The matter is very simple. Your daughter is dying because of the teachings you enforced on her. That’s fine. You’re magicless and you thought you were making the right choice.”

“I may be magicless but my family’s power runs through--”

“BUT.” Berthe stomps her foot and Mrs. Rayne’s mouth slams shut. The older woman doesn’t have time to panic at the silencing spell before Berthe is continuing. “But, it’s not too late to undo what has been done. I will help your daughter untangle herself. It must be today. It must be tonight. Once we do, she will recover her strength and her magic will bloom fuller and deeper than it was before.”

Mrs. Rayne rubs at her throat frantically.

Clayman mutters under his breath, pulling and swishing his oak wand in one motion. With the sound of a bell, he breaks Berthe’s spell. He is not smiling now. “Berthe. I must ask you not to lay workings on my employer.”

Mrs. Rayne is shaking with rage. “You--you dare? I am Elizabeth Rayne, matriarch of the Rayne Family and Coven--”

“And I am Berthe Steighart,” Berthe snaps. “Arbitrator of the Light Council, mediator of the Dark and North American Representative of the Green Witches.” She glares at Clayman from her peripherals. “I do not need permission to silence a human, Clayman.”

Mrs. Rayne squawks. “Human--”

“Berthe,” Clayman says, “I invited you here. She is under my protection.”

Berthe breathes out through her nose. Clayman is brandishing his wand like he’ll actually fight her. What he’s saying makes sense though. Along with being rigid, traditional witches tend to be awfully noble. “She may be under your protection, Clayman, but her daughter is now under mine. I won’t allow a green witch to wilt in front of me.”

“I know,” Clayman says. He lowers his wand and rubs a hand over his face. “I know. No one is trying to stop you, Berthe. I am asking you to have sympathy. The Raynes are an established and well-respected family. Their magic has been dormant for so long that no one would’ve been able to anticipate it would resurface, much less as a green witch. Can you understand Mrs. Rayne’s denial? Admitting Rachel is a green witch is like admitting the Rayne Family’s traditional magic is dead.”

“Nobody,” Berthe says, throwing her hands into the air, “nobody is saying that Rachel can’t practice traditional magic anymore!”

“What?” Clayman asks.

Mrs. Rayne gapes. “Yes, you are! You’re saying my daughter is like you--”

“Her core is, yes,” Berthe says. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her head is beginning to throb. “The death of a family’s magic, Clayman? Really?”

“Well,” Clayman says. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “...isn’t it?”

Berthe wants to scream. Sometimes she forgets that Clayman, for all his power, is so young. Berthe was born onto her path. Clayman’s only been practicing for a decade. “Very, very few grimoires are specific to a certain magical core. The Rayne family’s grimoire is advanced, yes, but it’s broad. It’s not that the Rayne family has never had a green witch before. It’s that they’ve never had a witch with a strong enough affinity for it to matter.”

“Ah,” Clayman says. He clears his throat. “I may have misunderstood something.”

Berthe forces herself to calm down. “You’re a very powerful witch, Clayman. Your core is traditional, but that’s unusual. Traditional is usually a practice, not a state of being. Most witches tend towards green, light, dark, or deity magicks. I understand how you made a mistake when evaluating Rachel’s core - she had an unusual upbringing - but now you have the correct information. It’s time to help Rachel now.”

Clayman rubs the back of his neck. His smile creeps across his face. “You think I’m powerful?”

Berthe swats at him.

“Ms. Steighart?”

Berthe turns to Rachel. Oh dear, she nearly forgot the young lady was there. “Yes?”

Rachel grimaces as she adjusts herself against her pillows. “This untangling…will it cure me?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be able to use my family’s grimoire after?”

Berthe pouts. “If you want to. But you have such a lovely green soul. I think you should--”

Rachel is already shaking her head. “I am a Rayne. I want to use my ancestor’s spells.”

Mrs. Rayne presses a hand to her chest. “Rachel.”

“Mom,” Rachel says. She reaches out a hand and sighs when her mother grabs hold. “I know it’s against what you believe. What I believe. But if it can help me, I want to do it.” She tries for a smile and ends up with another grimace. “If I’m going to rebuild our family’s coven, I need to be alive to do it.”

Berthe sucks her teeth. “Oh, that’s a good argument. I should have led with that.”

“Plant for brains,” Clayman mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Berthe slaps his shoulder.

--------------------.

Thunder rolls through the sky. There isn’t any rain - yet. Berthe stands between two of her oldest trees and tips back her head. She smells power in the air, lightning and rain and magic. She grins up into the night.

New moon.

“Ms. Steighart?”

Berthe turns. Rachel wrings her hands together, eyes darting nervously from the shivering treetops to the stormclouds to Berthe. Behind her, Berthe’s house is well lit. There are two figures in the kitchen window peering anxiously out to them.

Rachel is dressed in a simple, linen gown. Her long, black hair is loose down her back and, in the dark, the stress of the past few weeks fades away. She looks young (as she should) and alive (as she should). Magic sparks in her aura as the thunder rumbles around them.

“The ground,” Rachel says. She looks down at her bare feet and wiggles her toes in the soil. There’s awe in her eyes when she looks back at Berthe. “The ground is breathing.”

Berthe grins. There is nothing better than a new witch learning to see. She holds out her hand. “Come on, Rachel. It’s starting.”

Lightning cracks the sky and Rachel takes Berthe’s hand.

-----

Thanks for reading! It’s Halloween season which means there will be witches and horror on this blog for the foreseeable future!

Next week’s short story: Marigold Fletcher is a good witch. However, when her dark past comes knocking, her reputation is on the line.

You can read the story now on my Patreon (X) where I post all of my stories a week early! 

Also thank you everyone who bought my anthology, Being Heroes, Being Villains (X) and to those who reviewed it! I’ll be making a post this weekend about the reviews which have been so kind :) Thank you!

#my writing #short story #third person #witches #my witchcraft #writeblr #long post

[baurbiediv]

hate to be lame

PAIRING ➔ jj maybank x pogue!reader (readers always a pogue unless stated otherwise)

WARNING(S) ➔ cursing, screaming match between jj & reader, jj throws a glass frame, SPOILERS FOR OBX S3, EP5! (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!)

SYNOPSIS ➔ when another one of jj’s risky plans seem to go awry, this time was too close of a call and you don’t know how much more your heart can possibly take of worrying about him and his safety.

BASED OFF THE SONG ➔ hate to be lame

A/N ➔ i love this format bye

-

“i wish i could say i did that on purpose, but that was the gnarliest power slide i’ve ever done.” jj breathed as he stood on the other side of the road, dusting off his hat.

without any hesitation, pope turned around to his blonde haired best friend, “you’re alive!” pope exclaimed before merely tackling his friend into a hug, letting go sarah pushed jj slightly before hugging him as well, “we really thought you did it this time jayj.”

kiara was a nervous wreck but not nearly as bad as you. there was a constant ringing in your ear that prevented you from hearing anything that was going on behind you.

your legs feeling like absolute jello while standing right at the foot of jj’s mangled motorbike. hot tears poured out of your glossy eyes, your chest feeling like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

the worst kind of cry you’ve ever felt. no words, nothing. this could’ve been him and if it was, there was no telling how that would’ve gone.

“y/n?” a hand reached out to your shoulder, which pulled you back intro reality. quickly you turned around to see the blond haired boy sporting his backwards cap. before you could even get words out, your body reacted for you and swatted jj’s hand off your shoulder and walked away from him and back into topper’s car, making sure to find a seat away from him.

jj felt his heart drop into his stomach seeing the exact look on your face broke him. the one person he was worried about the most didn’t even say a word to him or give him a ‘thank god you’re okay’.

the interaction didn’t go unnoticed by pope, cleo, and sarah. the entire ride home was an extremely silent one for you, the only sound coming from you was you playing with small star pendant being dragged across the silver chain jj gave you when you first got together.

topper had agreed to drop you all back off the chateau, the minute the car stopped you hopped out and made your way into the house. “j, you gotta talk her. she’s in distress man.” pope softly spoke to jj as he just simply nodded. jj made his way to the house to find you sitting down in the guest bedroom (which was actually was his.)

“y/n.. i’m so sorry.” jj said as he tried to come towards you, before you pushed yourself away from him. “you could have died tonight j.” you told him as your shaky hands came up to wipe your tear stained face.

jj’s heart was breaking at the sight of you being in the state that you were in. of course be made stupid decisions, but not like this one.

“i know, the headlights were coming up too quick and the cops were right behind me-“, shaking your head you pointed at him, “how could you be this stupid?! you’re not even thinking about your family! we’re all you have left!” you exclaimed, everything was spewing out so quickly, you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

now jj was looking at you in confusion, “i do care about my fucking family! EVERYTHING i do is for all of you!” he said, and at this point your face softened at his words, “wait j, i’m sor-,” you tried to say, but by now he didn’t want to hear anything.

“i would never put my life on the line for someone i didn’t fucking love. that’s bullshit y/n and you know it is.” he screamed at you. this reaction wasn’t something that you expected from him, but hell which reaction one was expected?

everything he said was true, he meant every word he said, he’d never risk his life for someone who did nothing for him.

“will you please stop being so naive for one minute!” you screamed back at him. he scoffed and looked around the room as if you were talking to him, “i couldn’t tell if you were talking to me but i made that decision to save ALL of your asses. yeah it was a dumb decision but we all walked off fine!” he said throwing his hands up in the air.

you shook your head. “i’m done. we’re done.” was the only thing that jj managed to speak out before he turned his back to you as he slammed a glass picture frame into the wall.

you looked at him as if he’d actually gone insane, “y/n. you need to go.” he muttered silently. you looked at him, “what do you mean we’re done?! you can’t just say that!” you said.

now walking up to him, now you were the one putting your hand on his shoulder. he quickly moved away from your touch. “i said go.” he said this time again, this time silence filling up the room.

swallowing all your pride, you nodded and left the room, and you quietly left the chateau. not muttering anything to anyone.

#jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank

[cozage]

Hi. How are you? Can I put in a request for Law x Corazon’s daughter? Corazon asks Law to take care of his wife and daughter (she is his age) if anything were to happen to him. After Corazon dies, Law finds them and stays with them before becoming a pirate and promises to visit. As the years go by, he falls for her and vice versa. Then after Dressrosa (which she helps them with), he asks her to join the crew.

A/N: Im great! anyway…Uhhhh yeah this got way long. I’m not mad about it. I hope it was worth the wait for you :) (you can also read it on AO3 if you dont like the tumblr format for long posts)

Characters: female reader x Law

Cw: sadness, abandonment, parent death

Total word count: 5.2k

A Lifetime Promise

You pout at the boy standing in front of you. “Who are you?” 

Your mom squeezed your hand to silence you. “You must be Trafalgar Law,” She said, smiling at the boy. She seemed tense, like she’s scared of something.

“You have a funny hat,” you remark, looking at the spots. They matched his skin, which was patch-worked like the cows you had at home. 

“You have a funny face,” he spits back, scowling at you. 

You stick your tongue out at him, and your mother picks you up and holds you on her hip. 

“Well, Law. Let’s get you settled into your new home.”

“What?!” you shriek, looking at your mother. “I don’t want him to live with us! He’s mean! And scary looking!”

“Quiet, Y/N!” Your mother hissed at you, squeezing you tighter to her. You could tell she was upset, but you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to make her so sad. So you kept quiet and let your mother lead the strange boy back to your house.

He stayed with you for a few years, and in that time you learned to coexist. You helped him study, and you were there when he got the last drop of lead poisoning out of his system. Both of you cried for the things you had lost and the things you had gained, and you learned to actually enjoy being around him and his friends. 

You spent the summers roaming the forests with Law, Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo, and you spent the winter huddled together in front of a lowly lit fireplace, your mother serving you all hot chocolate. It was heaven in the North Blue Sea, and you never wanted it to end. You all would be together forever, you were certain.

“One week from now, we’re setting out.” He had acquired a small boat, big enough for four people. “We’re going to take on the Grand Line and I’m going to be King of the Pirates.”

“It’ll be a tight fit, but we can all fit I think,” you said, examining the boat. One more person wouldn’t be that much weight.

Law shot you a look, and the other members exchanged looks nervously. They had been anticipating an argument, but they weren’t expecting it to be in front of them. 

“You’re not coming, Y/N-ya.”

You looked at him, trying to understand. Your goals have always been aligned. Go to the Grand Line and take down the Donquixote family. To take revenge for your father and for Law. 

“A pirate's life is a man’s life. You wouldn’t fit in. We all talked about it, and you’re better off staying here. Where you’re safe.” 

“I don’t want to be safe, Law,” you cried, your eyes filling with tears. “I want to be with you! We had plans!”

“Plans change.”

“You’re really going to leave me behind?” Your broken voice and bleary eyes were almost enough to change his mind. 

“I never promised to take you with me,” he snapped. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest when you ran away crying, but the dull ache didn’t go away.

The coldness between the two of you was worse than any winter storm you had ever encountered. He said goodbye when he thought you were asleep, and you laid there silently without responding. It was easier for you both that way. 

--

He didn’t return for another year, and when you saw the pirate flag the four of you had created now painted on a submarine, your heart soared. 

“Law!” You screamed, jumping onto the deck as if it were second nature. 

You leaped into his arms for a hug and he caught you, spinning you around with the momentum you both had gathered. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, clutching you close to him. 

Your heart skipped a beat. “Let me come with you this time!” 

His hands gripped tighter against your back, grabbing fists of fabric from your cloth dress. 

“Just kidding!” You say quickly, not wanting to pick up a year old fight. You scrunch your nose at him and your other three friends. “I bet you guys smell. So. Bad.”

Everyone laughs at that, and you pull away from Law nervously, hugging your other friends who you’ve missed just as much. 

Their visit was short, but you made the most out of the two days they stayed in port. You showed them new restaurants, and revisited some of your old adventures, and explored the marketplace with Law to make dinner for your mom one night. 

And when they left, you stood at the cliffside and waved until they were out of sight, praying their telescope wasn’t good enough to see the tears in your eyes.

--

It was three and a half years until Trafalgar Law came back to you, but it felt like a lifetime. You had learned to live with the pain of his absence, and tried your best to move on. But every time the light glimmered on the ocean, you could feel your heart calling out to him. 

Law came quietly that time. He was surprised when he looked for you at your usual spots and you weren’t anywhere to be found. He wandered the streets with his crew - now 7 strong - searching for you. 

“She’s down in the Trademark Hotel. She works the front desk now, dear,” an elderly woman at a stall said. 

He tried not to quicken his pace, but everyone could feel his speed increase, and worked to match it. His new crew was desperate to see the girl he returned home to, and his old crew members missed your face. 

He rushed in to see you standing at the desk, talking to a man who was dressed in a fancy suit. You laughed, and Law could feel his heart clench with joy at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t help but see a piece of Corazon in your smile now.

Your eyes slid over to the door to greet the new customers, and you screamed out upon realization of his identity, startling the man beside you. 

“Law!” You jumped over the desk and he opened his arms for an embrace as you ran to him. He held you in his arms for just a moment before you pulled away, and he reluctantly let you go. 

“Oh my god, this is perfect timing!” you squealed, running back to grab the man’s hand. “Jami, this is Law. You remember me talking about him, right?”

“Yeah…” the man eyed Law and his crew. “The pirate crew?”

You laughed. “And my best friend!”

“He’s more like your brother, isn’t he?” He smirked. “Since you were raised together.”

“We’re not siblings,” both you and Law said at the same time, and you laughed at your synchronicity, but Law’s eyes stayed fixed on the man.

Law frowned, looking between you and this stranger. He had his arm wrapped around your waist, and he was standing extremely close to you. It was clear you all were close, but Law had never seen him before. He was glaring at Law, as if he expected some sort of challenge from the pirate.  

You took a deep breath, and then broke the news. “Law, this is my boyfriend, Jamison.”

Law’s eyes widened at the news. You were too preoccupied waving to Shachi and the others, but it was enough for Jamison to see his visible reaction. 

“The three of us should have dinner tonight,” Jamison said, looking at Law with a smirk. “If you can leave your crew for that long.”

“No way! Everyone needs to come.” You pressed your hand against Jamison’s chest playfully, and Law felt something twist inside of him. “You have new people in your life too, Law. Introduce us!”

Law finally breaks his gaze from Jamison and looks at you, his jealousy melting away when he sees your smile. Things felt more normal when he looked at you and heard your voice.

“I’ll set up a reservation at the hotel restaurant for ten. Oh, and mom. So eleven. Does five o’clock sound okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiled back at you, and for a moment you were alone together in a crowded room. 

Jamison cleared his throat, bringing you both back to the group. He looked at Law and his crew. “The dress code is a bit more…” he paused to scan the pirates. “...Formal. I hope you have nicer clothes available than those.”

Law frowns, and he sees you mimic his own facial expression in response to Jamison’s words. “I think the Trademark can make exceptions for distinguished guests.” you said sweetly. 

“Darling,” the man hissed, squeezing your side causing you to flinch. “The Trademark has a reputation to uphold, don’t you think?”

Law resisted the urge to punch the man right then and there. If he stepped in now, you would only be angry about his interference. He knew he had to grit his teeth and let you handle it. He fully expected you to give some snarky remark back to Jamison and stand up for yourself and his crew. But the spunk he remembered you having seemed to have dissipated over the years, and your rebelling heart was more soft spoken than he remembered. 

You offered a compromise instead of a fight. “Then we’ll go to Cordelia’s.” 

“I don’t think Cordelia’s is the proper place for this occasion,” Jamison retaliated.

“Then don’t come.” Your voice was short and to the point, and Law could see the fire of defiance begin to relight in your eyes. 

“Cordelia’s sounds lovely,” Law interjected quickly before the fight escalated too much. “Still five?”

You gave him a tight smile and a quick nod, and then broke from Jamiston’s hold to run and wrap your arms around Law’s neck again. 

“It really is so good to see you again, Law.”

He held you tight for a moment, trying to remember the feeling of your body against his before he let go. “You too. See you at five,” he said, walking out the door. 

When Law arrived at Cordelia’s, he noticed the table was only set for ten, but nobody in his crew commented on it. Law kept the seat next to him open, in hopes that you would take it rather than your snotty boyfriend. But as it turned out, he didn’t need to worry about it. Only you and your mother showed. 

“Sorry I’m late!” you say, taking the seat beside Law without a second thought. 

“You’re always late,” Law teased. 

You waved him off, rolling your eyes at him. You leaned over so you could see his three new crew members. “I’m Y/N,” you said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t officially introduce myself earlier! I was just so overwhelmed with seeing Law and Shachi and Penguin and Bepo!”

“She didn’t even acknowledge us earlier,” Penguin said under his breath, causing Law to shoot him a glare. 

The rest of Law’s crew introduced themselves, and you spent a lot of time asking about them and their lives. Law could feel your nervous energy, like you were interviewing celebrities or famous royalty. You wanted to know everything about their lives and how they became a pirate, and by the time dessert rolled around, there was no time left to talk about yourself. 

“Can I walk you back to your place?” Law asked as you got up from the table after the meal. 

“Such a gentleman!” you gasped, feigning surprise. “Heart Pirate crew, it was lovely to meet you. Please come back anytime! You’re always welcome here.”

Law held out his arm and you grinned as you took it, overly dramatic in your actions. You walked down the cobblestoned streets in the moonlight, quiet for a while until Law broke the silence. 

“No Jamison for dinner?” he questioned innocently. 

You scowled. “I don’t want to talk about him,” you replied. “Jami always says Cordelia’s is our spot. He doesn’t like to share with other people.”

“He doesn’t seem like-”

“Law,” you warn, irritation creeping into your voice. “I really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Okay, fine.” He eyed you, but your face was completely unreadable. He wasn’t sure when he had lost the ability to read your emotions, but it saddened him now. 

“Can we go to the harbor before you take me home?”

“Of course, Milady,” he said, ushering you towards the sea wall at the bottom of the hill. 

You all sat on the wall, staring at the moon and its reflection against the ocean. 

“Tell me a story, Law.” It was something you used to say when you were kids. On the nights one of you had such terrible nightmares that you woke up crying, and the other would crawl into bed with the other. You always begged him to make up some kind of story to get your mind off of things. He was a good storyteller. 

He chuckled. “We’re a bit old for that, don’t you think?” He looked over at you, but your eyes were on the sea, deep in thought. 

“Tell me a real story, then.”

He obliged, of course. He’d do anything for you. Keep her happy and keep her safe. That’s what Corazon had asked of Law when he was a child. A lifelong promise for the man who gave him a life worth living. 

He told you the story of giant bees who hated humans, but loved Bepo’s fur. The crew had to make trades of honey for Bepos fur, and how it saved them from starvation and left Bepo half bald. 

“That can’t be true!” you giggled, pushing him away from you. “Tell me a true story!”

“It’s true! I swear!” He said, smirking at you. 

“Promise?” you looked up at him with wide eyes, desperately wanting to believe him.

He was about to respond, but your gaze distracted him. You all stared at each other for a few moments, hovering close to each other. Not touching, just out of reach.

“Take me to sail with you, Trafalgar Law,” you begged. “I won’t ask for anything ever again. Just take me with you.”

He desperately wanted to take you away from this island, from the man who claimed to love you and the mediocre job you worked. But he made a promise. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, and you can hear the pain he's causing himself in rejecting you. 

You pull away, breaking your eye contact with him to stare out into the sea. You want to cry, but no tears would come. You were expecting this response from him. You were expecting rejection from him. It still stung, but not as much as you were anticipating. 

“Okay,” you say with a nod, pushing down your sadness. “I won’t ask you again.”

You rise to your feet, and turn your back to the ocean and your best friend, and walk into your house on the dock. Law didn’t even have time to beg you to stay before you had vanished into the night. 

Law found your house the next morning with the help of a friend of yours. Of course, Jamison answered the door with that signature cocky sneer on his face. 

“She’s not feeling well,” he said, glancing at the back room. “How about you try again tomorrow?”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Law says, trying to push past the man. “I need to see her before we go.”

“I’ll send her your way if she’s feeling up to it, okay?” He starts to shut the door, but Law jams his foot into the opening to prevent it from closing completely. 

“I need to see her.”

“No, you don’t,” Jamison said, kicking Law’s foot out of the doorway. “I don’t need my future wife being influenced by a bunch of pirates. Your presence is bad for her. You make her rude and disobedient.” He pauses to look out to the harbor, and his smirk returns. “You might want to hurry, it looks like some Navy ships got a tip about a notorious pirate crew on this island. Wouldn’t want you to get caught.”

Law looks to the harbor and finds 10 marine ships on the horizon, and he takes off towards his crew, cursing the coward you’re with. 

“I’ll be back,” Law whispers into the air as he runs for his ship. “I promise.”

--

Law finally made it back to you two years later, praying that you wouldn’t be giving him another major life update when he found you again. He was terrified that he’d come back to you and you’d be engaged to that pompous ass - or even worse, married. He wanted you to be happy, but he knew you weren’t happy with that man.

The crew could sense his tenseness in the days leading up to the arrival on their home island. But nobody talked about it, until Shachi finally went into his office as they docked.

“Are you going to ask her this time?” He demanded. “You know she’ll say yes.”

“I don’t want her on the ship,” Law said. He didn’t even bother to look up from his book. 

“Bullshit,” Shachi replied. “You have Ikkaku here now too. You can’t even use that stupid “No Girls Allowed” rule.”

Law didn’t respond. It had been what he told you years ago, and he had to admit he was a little nervous to see how you’d respond to seeing a woman on his crew. 

“Captain,” Shachi said, walking over to his desk. “Ask her.”

Law finally looked up from his book. “I’ll consider it.”

When they docked, Law was the first off the ship. The others didn’t bother to follow him, they knew they’d see you soon enough. 

He made a beeline for the Trademark, and was surprised to find that there had been a name change in the past year and a half. 

It was now the Heart Hotel.

He walked into the lobby, but your smiling face wasn’t the one to greet him, and his heart sunk. A young woman sat at the front desk, but it wasn’t you.

“Hello, how can I help you today sir?” Her voice was high pitched and overenthusiastic, but Law couldn’t tell if she was genuine or not. 

“I’m looking for Y/N.” Law said, looking around. “Does she still work here?”

The girl at the front desk laughed at his question, but Law didn’t understand why. 

“Let me go get her. Please wait right here. What business do you have with her today?”

Law frowned, unsure how to answer the question. “Personal, I guess?”

The girl nodded and receded into a back room. A moment later he heard your voice cry out, and he relaxed a little bit. 

“WHAT?!” He could hear quickened footsteps, and the door to the back rooms opened, revealing your frame. 

He smiled when he saw you, but it was quickly erased when he saw your downward knitted brows and angry look on your face. 

“Trafalgar Law!” you screeched, storming out to where he was standing. You pulled your hand back and swung it around, your palm hitting his cheek full force. Before Law had time to react, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him close to you, so your face was only centimeters away. You were shorter than him, but with this amount of rage, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated by you.

“Don’t you ever leave me without saying goodbye again!” You said, and he could see tears in your eyes. Your glare breaks, and you crumple into his chest and let out a sob. 

“Why did you do that?” you cried. He wrapped his arms around you, and held you tight against him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding you tight. He didn’t make excuses or try to explain. It didn’t matter now. “I’m here now. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

You nod into his chest and pull away from him, viciously wiping the tears away with your hands. 

“God look at me, I’m such a mess.” Your voice is still thick from crying. “Amanda, I’m going on break. If anyone needs me-”

“They won’t,” Amanda finishes, and you laugh at her response. Then she corrects herself with, “I know, I’ll call you on the transponder snail.”

“Looks like you’ve moved up a bit in the hotel,” Law states as you take his arm and lead him out the door. 

Your laugh rings out, and Law feels his heart flutter in his chest. “I’m the owner now, thank you very much!”

“The owner?” he gasped, looking at you. Your chest is puffed out proudly and you’re carrying yourself with more confidence than the last time he saw you. 

“Yep! You like the name?”

“I was wondering about that,” he mumbled, looking up at the top of the hotel, where name was proudly displayed. 

You giggled again and bumped into him as you walked. “I missed you, Law.”

“I missed you too,” he said, bumping back into you. “You seem to be doing good for yourself.”

“Oh, I love running the hotel!” He can feel your excitement. “It’s something I didn’t even know I was good at, but it’s so fun! And the restaurant is interesting to work in too! It keeps me busy, but me and mom run it together and we work with local farmers and suppliers for everything in the restaurant and for the hotel.”

He listens to you ramble on about the intricacies of the business, and he feels his heart sink. He was going to ask you to come with him, to join him in his adventure. But he can’t pull you away from this life. He can’t pull you away from this happiness. He’s not so selfish that he would do that to you or your mother. He made a promise, and he would be breaking it by asking you to leave now. 

When you finish talking about your new business, you both find yourselves at the door of your house on the dock. 

“Would you like to come in?” You ask, pulling out your key. “I can make dinner for-your crew! How many are there now? I can make a reservation at the restaurant if you want!”

“There’s thirteen of us in total, but we still don’t have any fancy outfits, I’m afraid.”

You roll your eyes and open the door, trying to usher Law into the house. “The Heart Hotel isn’t as snobby under my new management. Table for 15, got it. Come on in.”

But Law kept standing outside. “Are you sure it’s okay with Jamison that I come in?”

You scowl, and you realize that he’s waiting for some kind of update on more than your professional life. He glances down at your hands, but there’s no sign of commitment around your fingers. 

“That kind of crashed and burned.” Your tone indicates that you won’t be going into any further detail, but Law isn’t quite done with his questions. 

“It looks like you came out on top, at least.” He walks into the house, looking around. It’s decorated similarly to the house you all grew up in, evident that only you and your mother were living in the space. “The hotel, the house…”

“Law.” Your voice told him he was getting into dangerous territory. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, flopping on the couch. He didn’t want to drop the conversation, but he could tell that he wouldn’t be getting any more information out of you at the moment. 

You put out a snack tray, and called Amanda on the snail transponder. “Hey dear, could you put in a reservation for 15 please? 6 pm should be good, but we might be a little late.”

Amanda and you chatted briefly, and then you came back to the living room to sit across from Law. 

“So, how’s the sea life treating you?” 

He talked about his adventures, telling you about his three new members on the crew. He saw you tense at the mention of a female joining the crew, but you didn’t say anything. You just snacked on the cheese and crackers and listened to his stories quietly. 

You desperately wanted to ask him to take you with him again, but you refrained. After the last time, where you begged him to go and then he left without saying goodbye, you promised not to ask anymore. And you would hold true to your promise, no matter how much it hurt to let him leave again. 

Law left you to round up his crew, and you all met up again outside of the Heart Hotel. You could tell his crew adored their captain, and it was good to see your old friends and meet your new ones. 

Dinner was delightful, and you could tell the chefs had put their entire soul into creating the meal for you all. 

“It looks like you’ve got the best of the best working for you,” the crew complimented. 

“Oh, they are! I love the creative liberty they take in each meal.” The more you talked, the more apparent it was that you loved the life you had built. 

Shachi and Law exchanged a look, a sense of understanding passing through them. 

“How long are you here for?” You finally asked after dessert was served. 

“We’re actually pulling out tomorrow morning,” Law said, ignoring the look of shock from his crew. They had anticipated being in port for at least a few days. 

“What?” Your spoon dropped out of your hand from the surprise. “So soon? I can put you up in-”

“That’s not necessary,” Law said, cutting you off. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello as we passed through.”

“I see,” you said carefully, trying to beat around the bush of the question you wanted to ask. “Are you heading to the Grand Line?”

“Not yet,” Law admitted. “We should be ready soon.”

“You’ll visit before you go for good, right?”

“Promise.”

--

He came back to find you a year and a half later. He had his mind set for the Grand Line, and he was finally going to ask you to come with him. You had to be by his side if he was going to succeed in being the King of the Pirates. 

When he walked into the Heart Hotel, he saw Amanda, who didn’t seem surprised to see him at all.

“Trafalgar Law,” Amanda said with a sad smile on her face. “She said you’d come back.”

Her words raised the hair on his neck. They were ominous and foreboding, and she spoke as if she knew something he didn’t. She walked to the back and came out with a envelope, which she handed off to him. 

“This was what she left you.”

“Where is she?” he demanded. His name was on the front of the envelope, the handwriting in your style. He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m not sure,” Amanda said. “Off on some great adventure. There’s more in the note. You should read it.”

He walked down to the sea wall and sat, opening the letter to find out what happened to you. The date was marked 10 months after he had last visited.

Law, 

Mom died this morning. She got sick a few weeks ago, and it all happened pretty fast. The doctors said she didn’t suffer much, and she passed peacefully in her sleep. So I guess there’s some comfort in that. I wish I could’ve told you another way. Maybe I’ll find you and we can talk about it face to face before you’re reading this. 

I can’t stay here. Everywhere I look reminds me of you or her. This place I loved just feels dead now. Maybe I’ve outgrown it. Maybe I need something more. 

The last time you were here, I was hoping you would ask me to join you. But I see now that you don’t want me to be a part of your crew for whatever reason. Don’t worry, I’m not angry about it. I understand that you want to live your own life, and I don’t hold that against you. 

But I can’t wait around for you to brighten up my life every few years. I have to make my own adventure. So I’m heading off to be my own captain, going straight for the Grand Line. I’m going to do what we promised we’d do all those years ago. I’m going to go find my uncle and take revenge on my father. Some way or another. 

I hope I’ll see you on the Grand Line. We’ll meet as Pirate Captains, but don’t take too long, or I’ll beat you to the One Piece. 

See you soon.

Law shoved your note into his pocket and took off towards his crew. He wasn’t even sure if you had made it to the Grand Line, or how you would survive it long enough to get to Dressrosa. 

“We need to go,” he yelled at the crew. “The Grand Line! Now!”

Shachi looked behind the captain, waiting to see you tagging along. But you didn’t appear. “Captain, where-”

“She left!” He yelled. “She went to the Grand Line already!” 

“What?!” The crew yelled in unison. 

--

He heard rumors of a one-woman ship in Alabasta, but there wasn’t much information besides that. And then, on Kite Rose Island, he heard that you had disappeared. People speculated if you had been killed by an enemy ship, or sold into slavery, or sunk into the ocean. Law got sick to his stomach whenever he thought about it. 

But he still had a promise to fulfill. To take down Doflamingo. For you and for Corazon. 

--

And he did. With the help of the Strawhat Pirates and some luck, he finally succeeded. And as he sat with Sengoku, he couldn’t help but bring up your name. 

“Did you know he had a daughter?”

Sengoku raised his brow and smiled. “I kept tabs on her,” he said. “She came to Dressrosa about two years ago, and has been operating under the Donquixote family. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“She made it?” Law breathed out, unable to believe you had been here the whole time. 

Sengoku laughed. “How do you think your friends were able to navigate the colosseum so easily to escape? Or that the Tontattas made it to Dressrosa so quickly? How do you think Princess Viola avoided detection of her betrayal for so long? She may not have been an inner family of Doflamingo, but she was high on his rank and extremely trusted. Any time you thought luck was on your side, I assure you it was her.”

Law struggled to stand, looking around for you over the cliffside. 

“If I remember correctly, she was heading for the castle the last I saw her.”

He ran as fast as his feet would carry him. Even in his weakened state, he willed his body to stay upright to find you. His eyes desperately searched every face he saw, looking for your eyes, your smile. He had tried to abandon the hope that you were alive over the past three years since he found your letter, but it had never truly died. 

Finally, he found you laughing with the purple-haired princess of Dressrosa. He called your name, and he saw you turn to him, scanning the faces until you met his eyes.

“Law!” You screamed. You abandoned Viola and took off towards him at full speed, tears streaming down your face. 

He tried to brace himself for the impact he knew was coming, but it wasn’t enough, and the two of you tumbled onto the floor. He pulled you into his chest and refused to let you go, and you laid against him, sobbing. 

“You did it,” you cried, getting tears and snot all over his coat. 

“We did it,” he corrected. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You cried harder into his chest at his praise, and he stroked your hair gently. He didn’t care that the two of you were causing a giant scene in front of everyone. He blinked back tears of his own, relieved to know you were finally back in his arms and you were safe. 

“Sail with me. Join my crew.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded in response. 

“I’ll follow you anywhere captain,” you sobbed. “I promise.”

He pulled you closer to him, never wanting to let you go. “And I’ll never leave you alone. I promise.”

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #law x reader #law x y/n #cozage #✧˚law✧˚

[14dayswithyou]

The gang at Disney headcanons?

Ren He'd secretly want to go on all of the fast paced, thrill-seeking rides and haunted attractions; but he'll stay by your side and go on all the rides you want to instead. Ren will pay for you, and you only — everyone else has to supply their own ticket and money to buy food, drinks, and souvenirs. He also won't let anyone else sit next to you and will 100% take up the entire seat if necessary jdhgjhds

Moth They're with you in spirit! Right now, Moth can't afford to travel abroad just to go to Disneyland T_T But if they could, they would prefer meeting the Disney cast and taking pictures with them! It might even give Moth ideas on who to cosplay next.

Violet She'd want to check out all of the attractions and landmarks! Lots and lots of photos are taken that day, and she'll happily go dressed (vaguely) as Kida Nedakh if you wanted to dress up as well ^^ She also somehow keeps getting seated next to Teo on all of the rides, and it takes everything in herself not to unscrew his safety harness every time.

Elanor One of the only two who actually has a plan for the day ^^; She has the entire map memorised and the most optional route from A to B fully panned out. El is usually the type to bring her own snacks, sunscreen, and spare hats for everyone; and greatly prefers to stand to the side and wave at the gang while they zip past on all of the rides.

Conan Designated Dad™️ of the group and the other one with a plan. Conan is probably the one who carpooled everyone to and from the airport/hotel, and will most likely be the one who drives everyone back to Corland Bay. Like Elanor, he's more than happy to sit on a bench while everyone else has fun. He'll wear the Mickey ears if you put them on him — but only if you share your photos of the characters to his phone later (so he can show them to his daughter!)

Jae Bee lines straight to the bumper cars and the closest water park with you (and by extension - Ren), Leon, and Teo in tow. He's the one that gets chewed out by Elanor for not waiting half an hour to finish his churo before swimming, and also the one to buy cute little Disney accessories for Maple. Jae probably won't go on any of the rollercoasters, but he'll happily go on all of the teacup rides!

Leon Happily goes along with whatever you have planned! He doesn't really have any expectations or desires, though he does find the thrill rides/rollercoasters especially interesting. Would probably be the one going on the drop towers and laughing his head off while Jae is screaming for dear life and Ren is stone-faced next to him.

Teo All of the little kids will 100% mistaken him for Gaston, so you have to be the one to pull him away before he starts swearing and saying vulgar phrases. Teo probably prefers going on the scary rides just to watch your mortified expression and have someone cling to his biceps. He'll also sneak off into the restricted zones for fun, so make sure to keep an eye on him (or ask Elanor to).

Olivia Only came along because she won free tickets from a raffle. She situates herself next to Ren and Teo always, and gets a bit irked whenever Ren follows after you like a lost puppy instead of her. Olivia would want to try all of the different foods and get a souvenir to remember the day by! She might also ask you to burn any embarrassing pictures of her from all of the fast-paced rides.

Kiara Doesn't mind paying for everyone, and is most likely good friends with the hotel manager at the place you're staying at (so you knoooow you're getting good rooms!!). Would likely be trying all of the foods with Olivia or taking photos of flowers for her mood-board/fashion inspiration folder back in London. Secretly buys matching cellphone charms for herself and Elanor. If you catch her, she'll most likely buy one for you too.

#This got looooong jgsdhsjg #Da power of Taylor Swift lmao #Also not proofread so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes!! #💌 — answered. #💖 — 14 days with queue. #to be tagged later

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 2 (I've Got You Under My Skin)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,326

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: another night, another guest.

----------

The Paper Moon is open to all walks of life– every culture, creed, and color is welcome through the doors of your lounge. This is usually a happy truth, but these days you’ve been harboring a clockwork headache when that cab driver stops by.

He gives you the base courtesy of sticking to a schedule: around 7pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jake will waltz in on the heels of James Wesley and whatever company he has in tow. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Jake sits at the same back table while Mr. Wesley conducts his business. And every Tuesday and Thursday, you play nice as you check in on your patrons. Including the cabbie.

“Another stellar set, Ms. Songbird,” he lilts as you give a courtesy nod, brushing past his table in the hopes of keeping things brief.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockley.” Your voice is tense as you breeze by. Jake Lockley, you’d learned from the wait staff: the legal name for the thorn in your side.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind his presence as much if he didn’t insist on making it known every evening. You had learned to expect him in the crowd whenever you’d hear a high-pitched whistle ringing above the applause each night. The sound grates at your resolve and forces you to plaster on your stage-ready smile a bit longer every time you make your rounds.

“Hey Songbird,” he calls out after you. “Have a drink with me?”

“A drink at my own bar? How inspired.” You press your lips into a firm line, the rest of your face broadcasting your disinterest to no avail. Every week he asks; every week you say no.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs, always backing down but never taking his eyes off you. It’s one thing to be watched onstage; it’s another to feel his gaze on the ground level. You feel a bit of relief every time you see him walk out with his client, tipping his hat to you at the end of each evening. His smile remains undeterred, no matter how cold a shoulder you offer.

It’d be damn near charming if you trusted it.

----------

Today’s not the day to let your guard down, the unmarked letter in your hand reminds you as you pace around the backstage corridor. It’s the third of its kind you’ve received this month. You worry your lip between your teeth as you pour over its contents, even though you know them by heart.

“To whom it may concern….” “...property acquisition…” “...would be in your best interest…” “...other businesses under our care …”

“‘Our care,’ that’s rich,” you mutter. “Remind me to stop opening the mail during business hours…”

“Uh, okay?” Mauricio agrees hesitantly as he rounds the corner. “Was wondering where our ‘fifteen-minutes-to-curtain’ call was, but I see you've been busy.”

“Oh good golly, is that really the time?” You fumble to put the letter back in its envelope. “Haven't even finished my makeup…” you trail off as you head to your dressing room, your drummer right behind you.

When you open the door, you see a small bundle of flowers sitting on your side table. Oh for crying out loud.

“How many times do I have to–” you're muttering to yourself again as you take the flowers in hand, moving swiftly across the room.

"What are you doing?" Mauricio sputters.

"If that man thinks he can weasel into my good graces with a few pretty flowers-" you huff as you drop the bouquet in a wastebasket. "–he's going to be sorely disappointed."

"Those were– those were mine." Mauricio admits softly.

You freeze, turning to him. "Really?"

He scoops up the bouquet. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I should've left a note," he chuckles.

"Oh, Maurie, thank you." You rush over to bring him into a hug. Sometimes he's too sweet for his own good.

".... This is from Mr. Lockley." Mauricio breaks away to hold out a single white rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

You sigh. "He's a persistent son of a gun, isn't he?"

He nods, dimpled smile growing by the second. “I think he's swell, miss. The boys think so, too.”

You turn the rose over in your hand. “I want you to be careful around him, Maurie. We don't know what he's about.”

“I think he's made it pretty clear,” he laughs.

“Hm. Perhaps.” You raise an eyebrow. "And I suppose you both brought flowers because...?"

Mauricio brims with excitement, taking the rose back and bundling it with the bouquet he'd gifted. "Mr. Lockley sounded real set on gettin’ you something sweet," he starts. He puts the flowers in an empty vase on your vanity.

"I didn't mean to steal his thunder, but I like it when you smile." He wipes his hands on the front of his pants and his expression drops a bit. "You haven't been smilin’ as much these days, Ms. Songbird."

You busy yourself with the fallen petals at your feet. “I smile all the time, what do you mean?”

“I guess I'm saying… there's you onstage, then there's, I dunno, you -you. They smile differently, s'all.”

He's right, as much as you hate to admit it. You look over at the flowers. “Well, thanks for giving me a reason to smile for real, Maurie.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “My mind's a bit out of sorts tonight. So thank you.”

The youth's dark brown eyes fill with concern. “Anything we can help you with?”

You shake your head, moving back to your vanity. “Nothing to worry yourself over, darling. Just make sure the boys are set. We have a show to put on.” 

He nods and leaves your dressing room. As you apply your lipstick, your hand trembles.

----------

Wednesdays have become your favorite part of the week: the day you catch your breath between visits.

In the time before the first half of your set, you make your usual rounds to each table.  Eventually you work your way to the front of the seating area, where you see a familiar silhouette beside the stage. A pair of dark glasses are perched on his nose, which crinkles as he smiles at the sound of your footsteps.

“Mr. Murdock,” you greet him warmly, taking his extended hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, kid.” He squeezes your hand in response, still beaming up at you. Even in the dimmed lounge, Matt Murdock’s smile can light up a room. 

“Come off it,” you huff in mock annoyance. “Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.”

“It sounded urgent, of course I’d be here. Do you have all the paperwork together?”

You eye the empty seat next to him. “I have a whole file waiting for you backstage… I’m sorry, is Franklin not joining you this evening?”

“Not tonight, but I do have another guest coming. Is that drink still on the house for a new plus-one?”

“Any friend of Nelson & Murdock is a friend of mine.” You brush a few stray hairs from his forehead. “Is this a guest for business or pleasure?”

He laughs, waving your hand away. “I suppose that depends.”

“Well, as long as they’re a fan of good music, they’re welcome here anytime,” you hum as you straighten his collar. “I swear, Matty. It wouldn’t kill you to dress to impress.”

“You dote too much. I’ll catch up with you later.” You leave him to his drink, making a mental note to demand his dress shirts for a routine tailoring.

The dinner rush brings the usual crowd, and you eye your friend’s table every so often. The seat beside him is still empty. You wonder if Matt was just pulling your leg and wanted to keep both complimentary drinks for himself.

But you don’t have time to ponder that. Instead, you scribble a few notes down and pass them out to your bandmates.

“Ah gee, boss, changing the setlist again?” Your pianist whines, scanning your notes. He didn’t ask tonight, but last-minute song requests are a longstanding favor to Matt when he has a lady to impress (which is often). For the sake of his mysterious guest, you swapped in some softer, more romantic pieces.

“Jackie, don’t tell me you’re not up to the task?” You eye him sternly. “Half the gig is improv anyway, and these are all songs we’ve done before.”

Jackie’s budding protest is silenced by the bassist via an elbow to the ribs. Arguing with you is never worth it: a lesson everyone learns sooner or later. Some take longer than others. 

Rubbing his side, Jackie concedes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You wink. “That’s a tune I like to hear.” Smiling sweetly, you lead the band's procession to the stage.

“Good evening,” you croon into the microphone, “and welcome to The Paper Moon. I’m Ms. Songbird, this fine-feathered crew beside me are The Jays– let’s have some fun tonight.” You flash a rehearsed smile so dazzling it can be seen from the farthest table in the lounge, and you scan the room with anticipation. The moments before a performance are so precious; even with a setlist, anything can happen the moment that first note is played. Every night, you revel in the possibility. 

A familiar two-toned whistle draws your gaze to Matt’s table right below the stage, where the seat beside him is no longer empty.

Hat resting on the table, chin propped in his hands, you find yourself staring down at the face of none other than that infuriating cab driver bearing a grin so wide you hope it splits his cheeks.

Fighting to keep your smile from turning into a grimace, your eyes snap back to the middle of the room. “This first song goes out to one of our favorite patrons… and his company,” you add, your voice betraying your restraint with a crack. You don’t look down, but you just know that damned cabbie is smiling even harder.

Despite the rocky start, you and your band pull together another unforgettable night of music. You perform with your eyes closed more than usual; you refuse to give Jake Lockley the satisfaction of serenading him with your best love songs.

Once the music portion of the night is through, all the frustration you’d pushed down swiftly rises to the surface as you watch them pal around right under your nose. You rush to the floor level to get this over with.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, glancing between Jake and Matt. Your friend’s eyebrows raise at the outburst.

“Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed into most businesses.”

“No, I mean– it’s not Thursday. You come on Thursdays.”

“Why Ms. Songbird, I didn’t think you cared enough to keep tabs on me.” He leans his head on his hand and stares up at you. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

You want so badly to snap back at him, but instead you look at Matt. “ This is who I changed our set list for?”

“In my defense, I never asked you to,” he grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were so familiar with our lovely hostess here, Murdock. Seems you have more pull with the house than you let on,” Jake muses in surprise.

“A privilege he’s bound to lose if he's not careful,” you say through gritted teeth. Like it or not, Jake is a guest. And you still have an image to uphold. “How’d you have the pleasure of running into this one, Matthew?”

He barely has time to respond before Jake's leaning in farther, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, chin up, doll– can’t say I’m too surprised he’s a friend of yours. Always has a knack for finding the pretty ones, this guy.” He nudges Matt’s side, who’s far too quiet for your liking.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” you huff.

“‘Course, I keep him around for that brain of his, not so much the mug.”

“He's my lawyer,” you say in unison. What makes your brow furrows leads Jake to bark out a laugh, shaking Matt in his grip as he tugs him closer.

“What are the odds of that, eh Murdock?” He beams up at you. Your frown deepens. “He's helped me with the occasional run-in with the law.”

“Oh, so you're not just a smart-mouth but a criminal, to boot?” 

“Nothing but a few civil suits, doll. Got off clean every time.” He winks as you cross your arms, glaring at Matt.

“You have interesting taste in company, Mr. Murdock.” You turn on your heel and head backstage.

“No kidding,” Jake continues to laugh as you walk away. Once you're out of sight, his smile falters. “So when you said you had a friend in show business–”

“Yeah.”

“And when I told you about the dame I've been eyeing at this new lounge–”

“–I knew exactly who you were talking about.”

“So you've been letting me parade around like a putz this whole time? ” A smack upside the head earns Jake a kick to the shin beneath the table.

“That, my friend, was all you. I mean bravo, you were in rare form tonight.” That signature smile returns as Jake pushes a hand through his hair. “I should probably go smooth some feathers. Catch up with you in an hour?”

Jake downs the rest of his drink and stands when Matt does. “You know I love our little talks.” Casting a final glance towards the stage door, he adjusts his jacket and moves from the table.

Matt catches his elbow. “She’ll come around.” He almost sounds convinced of it himself.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got other fish to fry tonight. Promise I’ll save you the big ones.”

Shaking his head, Matt makes his way backstage. “I’m starting to think some of that vitriol isn’t unearned.”

They part ways– Matt heading backstage, Jake to the moonlit streets. 

Bigger fish to fry, indeed: all swimming in the Kingpin’s tank. 

----------

A/N: thank you to everyone who has expressed enthusiasm over this little passion project!! it's been so fun putting it together, and i'm looking forward to sharing more with you. expect to see more of our favorite lawyer in the future (we have fun here)

as always, thank you for reading &lt;3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader #matt murdock

[highpri3stess]

When They are in love with you - Jujutsu Kaisen Males Headcanon

Character(s): Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen

Warning(s): no pronouns mentioned, gn!reader, fluff, sfw.

Join my Taglist: @obitohno @mastermindenoshimaalicia @happygoluckyalexis @yuujispinkhair @suyacho @suguju

monica©2022 do not copy or repost on any site. please comment, reblog and follow ♡ if you like these. My askbox is open for sfw and nsfw requests as well!

Monica's notes: I'm very ill and bedridden today, so I decided to complete my drafts. I love love so much.

Gojo Satoru:

You know how you get butterflies in your belly whenever you see the person you're in love with? Well, Satoru has a whole damn zoo instead when you as much as breathe near his direction.

Satoru DOES get nervous around you, but he hides it in his usual way of smiling and making jest.

Unlike everyone else he plays around with, you'll will never be the butt of the joke though, he would never embarrass you.

You lighten up his mood by just being around him. Satoru might be pissed off about the higher ups, but the moment you step into the room, he feels the weight of the world dropping off his shoulders.

He feels like he can trust you with anything. His secrets, his life, his heart because he knows with the way you are, you would take care of it like it is yours.

Can't stand seeing you sad or angry; what hurts you, hurts him! Satoru always tries to listen to your problems and gives you good advice with a sprinkle of comedic relief (Contrary to popular belief, I think Satoru is a good listener)

Satoru will go to any lengths to keep you safe, even if it meant having to bend more rules than he usually does.

Geto Suguru:

He will put the entire world in your hands just to see the light in your eyes sparkle.

Suguru treats you so gently, compared to the rest of his followers, he always makes sure to ask you about how things are going on in your life.

Suguru finds it quite frustrating that you had to be a non-sorcerer and part of the people he wants to destroy. Often times, he's conflicted when you are in his line of thoughts, would he be able to discard you when you are no longer useful to his goal?

Why did you have to be so kind and understanding even when he's trying to put some distance between the two of you? Don't you know you're making him fall even harder?

He holds your hands gently in his palms and rubs the skin with his thumbs while looking at you with loving eyes.

Keeps all your offerrings made to him in a special place, like a box or a room and nobody gets to see or touch it.

Suguru wants you by his side in the new world he will create. It's a risk he's willing to take despite the opposition that he might face.

Nanami Kento:

His love for you makes him feel so alive and dead inside at the same time.

On one hand, he is honoured to be in love with you, being able to feel something so deep for you is a blessing. But on the other hand, he knows it is inevitable one of you will eventually die in this line of work before you are aware of his feelings.

He's always bringing something edible for you whenever he knows you two are meeting up. Pastries, sweets, anything you like, he will always deliever it to you, a small smile gracing his lips while he watches you eat.

He will circle an arm around your waist whenever you two are walking together just to touch you. Gojo teased him about it a lot.

Kento is shy when talking to you. It's almost embarrassing how his voice falters like a school boy while looking at your face.

He memorized things you like and things you don't like. Always listens and knows what to tell you to make you feel better.

Kento would give up everything he has going on in his life at the drop of a hat, just to be with you for the rest of his life.

Toji Fushiguro:

Your face is burned into his memory, there's no way he can forget you when his heart beats against his chest by just hearing your voice

He knows it's bad for him to be distracted by you. His line of work needs focus and cruelty, yet, thinking of you wrapping your arms around him and thanking god he was still alive has his heart palpitating.

Toji doesn't want you to get hurt. A saint like you hellbent on not letting a condemned sinner like him go is bound to attract trouble and he's worried one day he won't be there in time to save you.

Sometimes, when work is easy, he relishes in your warm embrace as you cuddle him. He loves draping his arms over you and pressing you against his chest.

He never thought he would love again after his first wife died. He's done a horrible thing by marrying a woman he didn't love and taking her lastname before abandoning her, so he feels undeserving of your tender love.

He thinks of you as the thin thread that keeps his humanity alive. The fact that a monster like him is still capable of reciprocating love even after life treated him like shit is enough to prove he is still a human being.

Toji knows he's far from perfect, and he wishes you met him before he spiralled down into greed, but he knows that without any of that, he would never have met you in the first place.

Sukuna Ryomen:

There are two conflicting feelings in his heart. He loves you, he really does and that attraction towards you infuriates the living hell out of him.

Who are you to capture the king of curses' heart? Who are you to have the heart of the disgraced one in your palms?

Sukuna will try to deny he loves you. He would ignore you and try to push you away, only for him to come running back to you and making you stay with him.

His anger dissapates when he knows you are near. He would never even dream of hurting you no matter how cruel he is with other people.

You are the apple of his eye, anyone who tries to use you to get to him will pay dearly for it. He's the only to hold you and craddle you on his lap, no one else!

Sukuna has seen and even caused his fair share of carnage and war. But nothing makes his heart skip like seeing you peacefully sleeping right next to him.

Sukuna will set the whole world on fire for you to be with him forever and ever, both in life and in death.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x gn reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #gojo satoru fluff #suguru getou x reader #suguru getou x you #suguru geto x gender neutral reader #suguru geto fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x gender neutral reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x gender neutral reader #toji fushiguro fluff #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x gender neutral reader #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen headcanons #toji fushiguro headcanons #suguru geto headcanons #satoru gojo headcanons #nanami kento headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

[kaciidubs]

Christmas Playlist | 8 Days of SKZcember 2023

Prompt: sweetly singing Christmas songs to one another

❣ Summary: Rocking around the Christmas tree with your favorite singer was always your favorite part of the holidays. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 935 ❣ Warnings: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas songs galore, mistletoe, a singular kiss ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Seungmin is referred to as Minnie, Bubs, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Bub ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023

“I don't want a lot for Christmas…”

Seungmin froze on the couch, the speakers in the living room of your shared apartment suddenly coming to life with the sound of Mariah Carey - his head snapping up when you slipped your way in through the hallway wearing a Santa hat and using your phone as a fake microphone.

“Bub,” he laughed incredulously, eyes sparkling with amusement, “it’s December 1st, you can’t be serious right now.”

Ignoring him with a bright smile, you sang the words as if your life depended on it in the most dramatic way possible until you got to the infamous line;

“All I want for Christmas... is... you!”

You pointed at him before bursting into an overexcited dance, no doubt making a fool of yourself as you shuffled over to your grinning boyfriend, “Come on, Minnie, I know you know the words!”

“You’re not dragging me into this!”

“Yes I am!” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you tugged him up from the couch - though, it wasn’t that much of a hassle as he pushed himself up half of the way. “You know you want to, you can’t play coy with me, baby.”

He rolled his eyes, though whatever annoyance he tried showing was nowhere to be found as the first chorus hit, luring you both into a duet filled with over exaggerated dance moves from you, and nearly perfect vocals from him - ruined only by his laughter at your antics.

The following weekend was filled with your full Christmas playlist as you and Seungmin dutifully unpacked the decorations for your Christmas theme for this year; purple and gold, with small silver snowflakes as accents.

“Bubs, have you seen the bag with the snowflake ornaments inside?” You mused, elbow deep in a container of gold bulbs while Let it Snow by Boyz II Men played in the background.

Seungmin huffed a breath, trying to blow his bangs out of his face as he unraveled a strip of sheer gold ribbon, “I think I left it in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yeah, cause I needed the scissors so I just took the whole bag with me-” He cut his sentence short to mimic a riff from the song, singing the ad libs as if it were his second nature and making you laugh in the process.

“Alright, alright,” pushing yourself up from the floor, you dusted your hands off on your pajama pants, “I’ll go get them, you start putting the purple ornaments on.”

His only confirmation toward you was a hearty nod as he kept singing, completely entranced by the velvety vocals playing through the speakers while you went to retrieve the missing decorations.

By the time you made your way back to the partially decorated tree, a new song faded its way onto the shuffle; Ariana Grande’s light tone floating through the air as Santa Tell Me began playing.

“Santa tell me, if you’re really there - don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.”

Rocking to the beat, you easily melted into decorating mode as you began putting the snowflakes in strategically random spots, breaking your focus only to sing parts of the song to a delightfully amused Seungmin as he hung his portions of the ornaments.

Through the passing of This Christmas, and Christmas EveL - a song that nearly made you drop the personal ornament in your hand in order to have a spontaneous dance battle, which your boyfriend humbly bowed out of - the green tree was fully decorated in purple, gold, and silver ornaments, curly gold ribbon, and personal ornaments sprinkled in here and there; topped off with a simple gold star to complete the look.

Seungmin hummed happily, stepping back to get a full look of the unlit tree, “It looks great, but I think it’s missing something…”

You frowned, tilting your head to the side as if getting a second angle to try to see what he’s getting at, “Do you? I think we used all the ornaments - you think we need more ribbon?”

“I think so, yeah - can you plug the tree in while I grab the scissors? I wanna see it in better lighting first.”

“Mm, sure!”

Kneeling on the floor, you reached around for the plug before plugging it into the socket; warm lights illuminating the tree in an instant and basking you in a warm glow before you crawled back to stand once more.

By the time you made it back to your feet, a new song was now playing through the speakers; Mistletoe by Justin Bieber, a not-so-secret favorite of your boyfriend’s that quickly grew on you as well.

“Does it look any different, Minnie?”

“I dunno.”

Scoffing out a laugh, you turned around to face him, “What do you mean you don’t-” 

Your words escaped you as you stared at him, a smug smile on his lips despite the faint blush turning his ears pink; your eyes trailing up his right arm held high above you both and landing on a certain plant pinched between his fingers.

Mistletoe.

“I should be playing in the winter snow, but I’ma be under the mistletoe.” He sang softly, smugness melting away to a bashful smile that had your heart growing three sizes.

A breathless laugh floated through you before you stepped forward to close the small gap; placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a soft, sweet kiss that he happily reciprocated.

Pulling away just enough to brush your nose against his, you hummed lightly, “I love you, Seungmin.”

“I love you too, bub.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin x reader

[latelyanobsession]

Billy with a shy reader would include…

based on a request.

it is highly likely that billy fell for you entirely by accident.

he was brooding at his desk and wasn’t paying attention and because you’re ever the timid soul that you are, everyone rushed around and partnered up for the big class project... except for you two.

at first he thought this would be something to just get out of the way. something to put up with and roll his eyes at. but you started to grow on him.

he likes your calm demeanor. the way you sit back and take the world in. 

you always seem to know the right thing to say at the right time, as if you’ve been analyzing him and everyone around you the whole time. maybe you’re secretly a mind reader?

he didn’t think much about you to begin with, he at times feels guilty for not noticing you sooner. 

he’s always been flashy, loud, and impulsive and keeps company with people who he finds shallow and uninteresting...

he can lose his temper at the drop of a hat, but with you around it’s like watching the tide roll in. it’s soothing. he recovers quicker.

he doesn’t feel judged by you

he feels connected to you in a way that can at times frighten him and make him wonder how he ever got in so deep

he also feels like you’re so fragile that he has to protect you at all costs

if some asshole knocks your books out of your hands? he will chase them all the way off campus. full papa bear mode.

he may get a little overbearing at times. speaking up for you when maybe you can speak for yourself. but he just doesn’t know how far that line goes, and he would wrap you in bubble wrap if he could 

he also just lives for teasing the life out of you. it really turns him on.

he finds it so adorable how easily flustered he can get you just by touching your cheek, or god forbid if he kisses your neck...

if you ever work up the courage to get back at him you might blow him out of the water

he loves just being in your company in general

sitting in the school parking lot for a half an hour waiting on max suddenly isn’t so torturous if you’re around.

you don’t even have to say much. he’s just glad you’re there to root him in the present.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #stranger things headcanon #stranger things x reader

[mybiasisexo]

Entangled - Part 9

Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Chapter Warnings: Alcohol Consumption | Language take a shot whenever you see the f word smh Word Count: 8.3k Author Notes: So...Im sorry 😬? But aye, what's a story without a beach chapter, am I right?? I can't believe how close we are to the finish line. I think we have 3 chapters left ??? give or take. wooow will I actually finish a story for the first time in my life?? (like a real one not just a lil scenario haha). Sorry for the late update, I was gonna post on yeols bday but thought this wasnt a great present lmfaooo As always, dont be shy with letting me know your thoughts on the chapter, a def will need to know how you all feel at the end of this one 😮‍💨. Thank you to everybody still rocking with the story, it means sooo much to me 💕 and give our boy chanyeol some loooove MWAH!!!

It doesn’t take Seulgi and you long to change and head down to the beach. Being able to see the guys from up in your room, you join them quickly.

They got their hands on a grill somehow, and you find Jongdae already cooking on it, beer in one hand.

“Already looking like a dad, Dae,” Seulgi announces in greeting, taking in his unbuttoned green Hawaiian shirt, oversized sunglasses, and fisherman’s hat. He grins brightly and rewards her with a fresh piece of juicy meat.   

Beside Jongdae and the grill sits a long table covered with food, drinks, and a bluetooth speaker currently playing chill R&B. A little further behind him is a blue canopy to block the blazing sun from your sensitive skin, chairs littered underneath it.

This area of the beach is privately owned, for hotel residents only. Despite how large the hotel is, only a few other families dot the shore, all far enough away that your little party is practically secluded.

You drop your bag onto a chair and dig into it, pulling out a bottle of sunscreen. You rub it into any skin of yours exposed before walking out of the canopy, holding it up for everyone to see. “Who needs some?”

Sehun and Jongin come running towards you, both only wearing swim trunks. You suck your teeth, their backs are probably already screaming at them.

Jongin gets to you first. You turn him around and begin to apply the protective lotion onto his back, where it will be hard for him to reach.

“We missed you last night,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. For some reason, your throat constricts, dragging your voice down to a deep mumble. “I’m sorry for leaving. I just….”

“I understand,” he says, patting one of your hands. Throwing his head back, he tosses you a sweet grin. You return his smile before handing him the bottle so that he can cover the rest of himself.

With Jongin preoccupied, Sehun makes his way over, already trying to get a read on you. He understands the language of your body enough to fill in blanks you don’t even know are empty.

“Good afternoon,” you greet, keeping your voice neutral. 

“He’s in the water,” is his reply.

“Who?” Damn this man. He’s good.

He scoffs. “Please, you’ve been scanning the area non stop since you’ve arrived. Baekhyun had to drag him out as soon as he got here. He was getting pretty worked up about something. I’m assuming it was the fact you weren’t here.”

“Weird,” is your convincing response. You push his arm, leading him to turn around so that you can attempt to save him from skin cancer.

“Weird, indeed.” Despite not being able to see you, his curious gaze can still be felt. “Makes me wonder what happened after you left the reception.”

“Not something I really want to talk about.” You wince, knowing you’ve slipped up and said too much. The simple sentence bares a lot to unpack, and Sehun loves other people’s dirty laundry.

But, in Sehun fashion, he doesn’t push. It’s one thing you love about him. Instead, he faces you and grabs the sunscreen, silently lotioning the rest of his body. When he’s done he reaches over to you, pulling at the black kimono you had meticulously put on over your swimsuit, to return the favor.

“Sehun!”

He yanks the thin fabric and it falls off your shoulders. You both freeze. He only lifts an eyebrow as his eyes rake down the expansion of your exposed skin littered in harsh dark bruises. His gaze lingers for an uncomfortably long time. You want to pull away, but find yourself paralyzed, a mouse caught in the stare of a hungry snake. 

“Stop staring.”

The voice is gruff. A wet hand pulls at your arm, ripping the kimono from Sehun’s frozen hand. You stumble backwards until you hit a chill wetness that makes you hiss as it soaks into your back. Sehun��s eyes are the only thing to move as they shift to the person protectively hovering behind you. His expression is cool, but you catch the way his eyes alight in amusement. Swallowing thickly, you work the courage to see who’s caught his attention….

Chanyeol stops glaring at Sehun long enough to spin you around so that you’re facing each other. With gentle fingers, he fixes your pullover, maneuvering it so that it’s covering your neck, hiding most of the damage. 

He clicks his tongue in dismay. “This won’t do.”

“I have a shirt,” you inform in a small voice. “It doesn’t have a collar though.”

“One second.” Chanyeol walks away, no longer blocking the radiant view of crashing teal waves, powdery sand, and miles of blue sky. White clouds speckle the troposphere, the negative image of your neck and chest. Off to your right, Sehun still stands, a glorious statue made of pale marble.

You can’t bring yourself to acknowledge his presence. 

Chanyeol returns. In his hands is the ugly Hawaiian shirt Jongdae was wearing.

You become aware of the rashguard covering his torso. The collar is high, covering the base of his neck where any hickeys can be hidden, although you can just barely see the start of one peeking out. You curse yourself for not thinking of buying one. 

“May I?” He gently asks. Is that not how he asked to strip you last night? The reminder takes your voice, as does the reserved look in his eyes. He’s testing the water, trying to see where you both stand at the moment. You nod, allowing him access to touch you, lost in his grim expression.

Gently, ever so gently, his fingers brush over your shoulders, sneaking under the thin garment. You battle a shiver as he lifts the back of his hands, knocking the fabric off with his knuckles. You roll back your shoulders, helping him make the cover cascade onto the sand below.

Chanyeol’s bright eyes wander over your flesh. He grunts in satisfaction at the sight of the marks he’s made, pride coloring his features. And you’re transfixed, gulping back saliva flooding your mouth like high tide. Your breathing grows erratic, fingers itching to touch him in return. Apparently that tension hasn’t fully gone away. Looks like you’ll be attracted to him for life.

You want to say something, want to voice an excuse to get your hands on him, but a sharp whistle cuts through the air before you can speak, breaking the spell Chanyeol has you falling under. You blink away your thirst, remembering where you are, of the audience you have.

“Looks like you got into some fun last night!” Jongdae, the culprit of the whistle, points out in a yell. 

You’re now hyper aware of all your friends. Baekhyun, who you’re just now noticing, sits in the shallow part of the water where the waves roughly push him, dressed identically to Chanyeol. He’s looking in your general direction, squinting against the sun to see what all the commotion is about. Seulgi stands beside Jongdae. She’s in the middle of applying sunscreen, one of her legs lifted like a flamingo. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to hear her ‘oh shit’, wobbling as she balances on that one leg. Sehun is still staring right next to you, but the whistle was able to jolt him back from stone. Then there is Jongin, who jogs back to where everyone is congregated to curiously see what is going on.

Being the only one moving, your head spins over to him, seeing how his mouth slacks and his eyes widen in shock.

“What happened?” He asks, concerned.

Embarrassed, you snatch the shirt out of Chanyeol’s grip, rushing to put it on so that everyone will stop staring at you like you just told them you murdered someone.

“Mind your business,” you snap. You regret it instantly when Jongin’s face falls like a kicked puppy. It can’t be helped, you have a tendency to lash out when embarrassed.

“Dae! The meat!””

Gratefully, a hard gust of wind blows in, lifting the aluminum foil with the cooking meat off the grill, falling onto the sand.

That distracts everyone from you. You thank a higher power.

Jongdae stares forlornly at the meat, watching sand coat it like seasoning. 

“What are you doing!” Baekhyun yelps, rushing to his feet. “Pick it up!”

That pulls Jongdae out of whatever trance he was in and he lurches forward, grabbing the hot foil and tossing it onto the end of the table. He hisses and shakes his hands, sticking a reddening thumb into his mouth.

Baekhyun rushes over to the table for quality control and his shoulders slump at the damage.

“This batch is no good.”

“Way to go, Jongdae,” Chanyeol chides. He then peeks over to you, surreptitiously checking your reaction.

“Shut it!” Jongdae snaps back.

Seeing a good opportunity to escape, you go to make your way over to Seulgi. Chanyeol is not having that, and you only get one step in before he’s snatching your wrist, holding you in place in front of him.

“Don’t go,” he begs under his breath.

You refuse to look up at him, knowing that whatever expression he currently wears will kill what little resolve you have. You know you need to discuss what happened the night before, and why he woke up alone this morning, but you hate confrontation and don't want to have this conversation right at this moment. To be honest, you just want to relax for a bit. Is that so wrong?

You remain silent, not really sure what to say to get him off your back for the time being.

“Just talk to me,” he urges. “You were gone when I woke up, and….”

He falls silent, and you can’t resist the temptation any longer. You break and lift your chin, sucking in a breath at what greets you. It’s that same tortured expression from yesterday. Nerves, apprehension, and defeat swim in his opaque orbs, purple his lips. And you know you can no longer prolong with conversation. He’s hurting. You’re hurting him, and it’s not fair to keep tormenting him like this.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks dejectedly, intently searching you for the answer. 

You open your mouth to answer him. To tell him no, he did nothing wrong, but then Seulgi is calling your name and running up to you. She grabs the arm Chanyeol isn’t holding. “Let’s get in the water. It’s hot.”

She completely ignores Chanyeol as she heads for the shore, dragging you with her.

“I’m sorry,” is all you’re able to get out before you’re pulled completely from his gentle touch. He releases your wrist without a fight, letting you retreat glumly.

“I’m going to have to talk to him eventually,” you tell Seulgi, rolling your eyes. You hit the water and hiss from the shock of the freezing temperature.

“You two don’t get much talking done when you’re together,” she answers, breathless from the cold of the water.

Ignoring–and also maybe even embracing–the pain from the waves chilling your warm skin, you both run until you’re thigh deep and then dive right in, swimming deeper into the abyss. 

You float on your back and try to focus on the paradise you’re in, instead of the devastated look in Chanyeol’s eyes. To no avail.

There’s some crashing noises that pull you upright to see Baekhyun running in to join Seulgi and you.

When he’s close, he jumps onto Seulgi, pulling her under water. Not one to miss an opportunity, you hop onto his back. The three of you break the surface, sputtering for air.

You stay secured around Baekhyun as you all catch your breaths. 

“What the hell,” Seulgi coughs, splashing him in the face. He laughs, but chokes on the sea salt, and you squeal when you’re caught in her attack.

Letting go of Baekhyun, you swim back around so that Seulgi and you are turned towards the shore with him facing you both.

“Is he still sulking?” He asks.

You dare a glance over to where Chanyeol is, refusing to acknowledge how quickly you’re able to seek him out. He’s in the chair you had claimed, watching the water with a sullen pout as he rests his chin in his hand.

“Oh yeah,” Seulgi answers. “The clouds around him are turning gray, he’s in such a mood.”

“He wouldn’t be like that if you’d stop avoiding him, you know?”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you say. “We just spoke.”

Baekhyun snorts. “Yeah and I can tell you’re both on the same page. Nice talk.”

He throws you a sarcastic thumbs up, you stick your tongue out at him.

He grows solemn. “Please, say something to him. The poor man is beating himself up right now.”

You sink further into the water, dipping in until your mouth is submerged, and run a hand over the tiny waves bobbing you. 

Beside you, Seulgi sighs. “I may have ruined their talk.”

Baekhyun throws his head back and groans. “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

“How was I supposed to know?” She asks. “It looked like they were about to ditch us and fuck again. I’m just trying to help her not make another decision she’s going to instantly regret.”

“Whatever happens between them is their business, Seulgi,” Baekhyun says, sounding uncharacteristically reasonable. “You have to let them work through it their way.”

You wave your hand above your head like a needy sim. “I’m right here, you know?”

Seulgi pouts like a chastised child. “You’re right.”

Both Baekhyun and you spin your heads towards her in surprise.

“Did you just say I’m right?” Baekhyun asks. His shock quickly morphs into cockiness, if the grin splitting his face is any indicator.

She’s now the one to groan. “I will not be repeating myself.”

“I’ll cherish the moment for the rest of my life.” Baekhyun turns to you and his smile softens. “Talk to him soon. He’s getting annoying.”

“I will. I promise.” You assure. “Thank you, Hyunnie, for doing this. I know it isn’t easy for you either, being in the middle like this. I appreciate it.”

He shrugs. “You’re both my friends. I want to see you happy. I just hope you can work it out.”

Jongin and Jongdae come barrelling towards your group. As soon as you see your sweet friend, you can’t help but hold your arms out for him.

“Nini!” You cry. He laughs and falls into your embrace, tackling you back into the depths of the sea. When you both emerge, you apologize for yelling at him.

“You’re forgiven,” he says, never taking anything to heart. “But I was surprised. I didn’t expect to see all your bruises. It looks like you got beat up.”

You whine his name. “You’re making it worse.”

“Hey, they do say that weddings are the best place to pick up chicks,” Jongdae says. “Well, I guess dudes for you. Unless….”

He gives you a wicked smirk and you splash him.

“Anyway, good on you for getting some. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Jongdae,” you say dryly, rolling your eyes. “Also, my bad on the shirt. I forgot I was wearing it before I got in here.”

He takes notice of his button down floating around you and gasps dramatically. “You better wash it before you give it back. It was expensive.”

You look at him skeptically. “This tourist shirt?”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to have those two cook the meat?” Baekhyun asks, putting your incoming argument with Jongdae to a halt. All five of you turn to the last people still on dry land. The tall boys stand over the grill, Chanyeol with the tongs in his hand. His eyebrows are scrunched as he listens to Sehun adamantly speaking, nodding and answering occasionally. it’s a deep conversation you don’t want any part of.

Jongdae shrugs. “I need a break. It’s hot.”

You all play in the water for some time. Once hunger becomes too great to ignore, you swim back to the beach. Immediately, you crack open a cold beer, nearly moaning when it hits your belly. Now this is what you need. You’ve been sober far too long.

Jongdae wasn’t lying about the heat. Even under the canopy, you can’t escape the sun’s harsh rays. You succumb to the weather and peel off Jongdae’s now dry shirt, not caring anymore if the other’s see your marks, it’s already old news.

Slowly, you all make your way to the table. it’s out in the open and everyone is a bit hesitant to sit out there, but that’s where the food resides. Both Baekhyun and Chanyeol take off their shirts, overwhelmed by the temperature.

“Holy shit, Yeol,” you hear Jongdae say. “What happened to you?”

Everyone glances over to the tall man and your heart sinks at the sight of his exposed back. It’s hard to miss the rows of scratches you carved down his shoulder blades, red and angry.

At the mention of his name, Chanyeol turns around, revealing his neck, shoulders, and chest that look exactly like yours. Actually, his marks are deeper, darker. You were really letting him have it. In your defense, he did encourage you to do your worst, so it is hard for you to find any sympathy to send to the giant.

A loaded silence fills the area as he locks eyes with you. You sigh. That’s enough of an answer for everyone.

Giving up, you chug your beer empty as the extra heat of everyone’s attention bounces back and forth between you both, connecting the purple and blue dots.

“No way….” Jongin’s fingers trace the trail of his eyes. “Did you two…?”

You close your eyes in dismay. You’re going to hear it now.

“Wait a damn minute!” Jongdae’s loud ass voice echoes over the speaker. “You mean to tell me Chanyeol was the one who left those hickeys on you!?”

He gives you an impressed grin. “You naughty girl.”

You simply sink lower into your chair.

“Are you guys together now?” Jongin asks, bouncing on his toes in giddy excitement.

“I mean….” Chanyeol searches you out in hopes you’ll answer that question for him as well.

The attention has you awkwardly laughing, readjusting yourself so that you’re sitting properly again. 

“Please, you guys,” you say, laughter coating every consonant. “It’s nothing.”

Chanyeol’s head tilts at that, eyes fluttering in confusion. “What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

Your heart sinks as you realize you’ve made matters much worse. Chanyeol’s getting worked up now, and the last thing you want is to fight in front of everybody.

“I just mean it’s not a big deal.”

If your first sentence was you putting your foot in your mouth, this one is the whole damn leg.

“Not a big deal?” He repeats skeptically. He turns so that he’s properly looking at you, making sure he’s understanding correctly. “You think us having sex is ‘not a big deal’?”

“Okay,” Jongdae drawls. “Not together then.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you begin to explain, really wishing this conversation wasn’t happening like this. “It was a big deal to me, okay? But they shouldn’t expect more because of it.”

“Like us getting back together?” He continues to question in a monotonous tone. “You’re saying that they shouldn’t get their hopes up about us getting back together just because we had sex.”

“Exactly!” You clap, glad he understands.

“So that wasn’t us getting back together?”

His disappointment is hard to disguise, and it makes you feel bad. Again you’re reminded that if you’d just talked before this wouldn’t be happening. You sigh and prepare yourself to explain where you’re coming from.

“Chanyeol–”

“Meat’s getting cold,” Sehun interrupts, ending the real conversation before it can start. You’re grateful for it, still not mentally prepared to break Chanyeol’s heart any further, although it seems you may be past that point. Chanyeol’s jaw is tense, honestly everything about him is tense as he nods his head like he finally understands something before stomping over to the table, sitting at the end furthest from the canopy. He grabs a beer, cracking it open and guzzling it down rather aggressively. 

Everyone else reluctantly takes Chanyeol’s lead. When Baekhyun passes you, he grimaces, politely letting you know that you messed up. Sehun is the last to walk past. He stops and reaches a hand out for you to grab. You sigh before taking it, allowing him to pull you up.

“The last thing I want right now is a lecture,” you tell him.

“I’m just checking on you,” he assures. “You good?”

You stare at him. ‘Do I look like I’m good’ written all over your face and he grins, gaining the reaction he wanted. It’s gone as quick as it comes, an air of seriousness taking over.

“I thought we talked about this.” He starts. 

You point a finger at him. “Lecture.”

He purses his lips and lets his attention wander to the table. Everyone is trying their best to lighten the mood. You look also and are surprised to see Seulgi attempt to make small talk with Chanyeol, although he doesn’t appear that interested in the conversation.

“Okay, no lecture, but let me say one thing.” You groan. “Don’t leave this island with unfinished business. That’s only going to hurt you both more.”

You’re still taking in the table as he speaks, and Chanyeol must feel it because he’s looking back at you. He holds your stare for a few seconds, then catches himself and breaks the contact. It’s selfish, but you’re comforted by the familiar longing still lingering there.

You nod at Sehun’s words, turning back to him. “Yeah. Got it.”

He doesn’t believe you and his expression says as much.

“Hey! Hurry up and grab a plate!” Jongin orders you both. 

Sehun pats your arm and heads over to the table, you follow a few steps behind. The food is delicious and the alcohol starts flowing. Soon the sun starts its slow descent, and with full bellies, you all relax more. At this moment, you can’t help but to miss Junmyeon. He’s always the one taking pictures, annoying everyone by forcing you all to pose for what feels like hundreds of photos. Sehun, his successor, makes sure to take as many candids and selfies as he can. You find it easy to smile whenever the camera is focused on you, even when Chanyeol is also in the frame.

Speaking of Chanyeol, the beer, good food, and friendship seems to be working in lifting his spirits. His loud voice carries throughout the beach, and you catch his boisterous laugh from time to time. You’re relieved to know that you haven’t completely ruined this trip for him. 

By this point, the sky is a lovely pink and orange, and you’re a bit tipsy. You close your eyes and sway to the beat of whatever song is playing, snapping along. Someone holds your hand, causing your eyes to spring open to see Jongin gently urging you out of your seat. You allow him to drag you into a clear patch of sand near the waves. You start dancing with him, connected hands swinging between you both as you reluctantly laugh. Jongin is your designated dance partner. He’s one of the better dancers of your group, and you’re shy. He got into the habit of getting you out onto the dancefloor to loosen you up in college. Now is no different. You both roll your bodies and sway your hips to the beat, encouraging each other. The longer you dance, the closer you get, until your forehead rests on his collarbone, arms wrap around each other’s waists, and Jongin’s cheek presses atop your head.

“Are you okay?” He softly asks.

His question causes your vision to blur. You stare unseeingly into the now gray sea, waves crashing urgently and tighten your hold around his torso.

“I don’t think so,” you confess. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, sounding both confused and frustrated. “You both love each other, right? Why fight?”

“It’s not that simple, Nini. I wish it was, but….” You shake your head, not really knowing how to finish the sentence.

“Is it because of her?” He presses.

You close your eyes at the reminder of Yerim, another person your actions will hurt, and she’s yet to find out of your betrayal.

“Partially,” you admit.

Jongin rubs your back. “It'll work out. As long as you know what you want.”

You wipe your face and pull back to smile up at him, clipping his chin affectionately.

“Now that we’ve had that talk,” you say. “Let’s dance! We’re on vacation! I need to feel like it!”

He chuckles and spins you around so that your back is pressed against his torso.

“Turn the music up!” He orders. Whoever is in charge of the tunes obliges and you’re pleased when a song you can grind to comes on. You throw your arms up into the air and instantly lose yourself to the music, dancing back on Jongin who matches your moves easily.

Not really paying attention to your surroundings, you fail to notice someone joining your little party, but they make themselves known by gripping your arms, ripping you out of Jongin’s hold.

“What the–”

For the second time today, Chanyeol has pulled you away from someone. His hands are wrapped so tightly around your forearms, you wince from the pain. He doesn’t catch your discomfort, too busy giving Jongin the fiercest stare you’ve ever seen.

“Get the fuck off of her!” He snarls, dragging you even closer to him so that your face is pressed against his naked heaving chest.

You lean back and attempt to stare him down, but all you see is his sharp jaw.

“We’re just dancing,” you explain defensively.

That makes him look down at you, and you nearly gulp from the fury reflecting in his black orbs.

“That’s not how you ‘just dance’ with someone!”

That’s when you notice the way his words slightly blend together, notice how unsteady he is on his feet.

“You’re drunk,” you point out disappointedly. Remembering how good that did you both the last time he was under the influence.

He chuckles darkly at that. “So are you.”

Ugh, you aren’t anywhere near as faded as he currently is. You attempt to free yourself from him, but he’s holding onto you too tightly to break. There is no escape.

“Chanyeol, Bro, I swear that’s all we were doing,” Jongin calmly reassures.

“Don’t call me ‘bro’,” Chanyeol hisses. “You’ve always been like this, Jongin. You were always touching her! Don’t think I never noticed.”

“She’s my friend,” he says slowly, carefully, as if he’s speaking to a child.

“And she was my fiance!” Chanyeol all but roars. “But that never stopped you!”

You glance around. His outburst draws everyone’s attention and they watch the three of you curiously. Baekhyun and Sehun start to get up from their seats, probably intending to de-escalate the situation, but you don’t want to get anybody else involved. This is between Chanyeol and you. What is happening now is the consequence of you stalling the ‘what are we’ conversation you should’ve had the night before.

“Leave him alone, Yeol,” you mutter. “He’s not the one you’re mad at. It’s me.”

He doesn’t even spare you a glance, too focused on the man behind you. “Why won’t he answer me then? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I promise I–”

Before Jongin can finish defending himself, you cut him off by putting your hands on Chanyeol’s chest, throwing your weight to shove him. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have budged, but his inebriation works in your favor, making him stumble a few steps. Unfortunately, he takes you with him, and you fall forward. He lets go of your arms to catch you by the waist, steadying you both.

“You okay?” He asks with worry.

“Yeah,” you huff. You pat his shoulder. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

There’s a boardwalk a few meters away that looks deserted, that is probably the best place to have this discussion. Not waiting for an answer, you easily break his hold and start walking towards it. Chanyeol says something to Jongin you can’t catch over the sound of the sea, but it sounds smug enough that you sigh deeply in dismay. You’ll apologize to Jongin tomorrow, you promise to yourself.

When you pass the table, you lock eyes with both Baekhyun and Sehun.

“It’s okay,” you assure them, not even sure if you believe it. It’s enough for them, they stand down and nod, trusting you.

The journey is silent. The sun has disappeared completely by the time you’re on the worn wood, enveloping you in an almost foreboding darkness. The crashing of waves are intense beneath you, doing nothing to soothe your nerves. When you reach the end of the walk, you turn around to the man you know was following you the whole time.

He’s on you before you can even speak. His mouth moves roughly against yours, urgent and desperate. His frustration is felt, as is his still present affection. You fall easily into his kiss, giving into him as naturally as you always have. Your hands curl around his neck, pulling him closer. He cups your face, the palms of his hands squishing your cheeks, puckering your lips more for him to devour. He walks you backwards, until your bare back hits the splintered wood of the banister. it digs into your skin, making you whimper, but it’s not enough pain to distract you from the punishing pressure of Chanyeol’s lips.

The groan he lets out in response is tortured, long fingers desperately begin pulling at the band of your swimsuit bottoms, eager to feel all of you again. 

In sync, your mouths fall open, tongues colliding and lewdly twirling together. God. Fuck. You want him. You want him so bad it’s driving you crazy. You’re going to fuck him again. You’re going to fuck him right here on this damn boardwalk, space be damned–

But, that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?

“Stop,” you gasp between kisses.

He hums before tilting his head to kiss you even deeper. Those wandering hands of his slide down to squeeze your ass. You shutter and press yourself more against him, slipping your arms fully around his neck to drag him lower so that he’s curved over you. A sheen of sweat the only thing between your boiling bodies.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to fall back completely into the make out session. Disappointment floods you. Seulgi is right, the two of you can’t be alone for even a second without falling into this toxic habit.

Now annoyed with how weak you are, you finally muster the strength to shove Chanyeol back, officially breaking the kiss.

With much needed space between you, you feel the fog of lust begin to clear and can think better. Chanyeol doesn’t say anything or make a move to resume what you interrupted. No. He just stands there, watching you with an expression you find hard to read as you both attempt to catch your heaving breaths. 

“What?” He finally asks, voice hoarse and deeper than hell. “You don’t want me anymore, Mel?”

There’s no sorrow, none of the longing or anger he’s shown throughout the day, which is surprising. It’s almost as if he knew this was how the night was going to go. Like he knew you were going to push him away.

“That….” You swallow thickly. “That’s not it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He asks, taking a step towards you. You try to counter it, but that leads to more wood stabbing you. You’re sure some break the skin. He takes another step and now he’s directly in front of you, a mere breath away. He lowers his head to be more level with yours, giving you a close up view of his wound up fury.

“The problem,” you nearly stutter, overwhelmed by the hostility now coming off of him in waves. He’s never directed his anger towards you–the situation maybe, but never you–it’s intimidating and scary. You lick your dry lips, trying to find your voice, and he watches detachedly. “My problem is the opposite, Chanyeol. I still very much do.”

“That doesn’t seem like a problem to me.”

“Look at us!” You say. “We can’t be alone for five seconds without being all over each other! Last night was not supposed to happen the way it did! We weren’t supposed to sleep together!”

“But we did,” he snarls through clenched teeth. “And that means something, whether you want it to or not!”

“All that it means to me is we need space. This is too much for me, Yeol. We need time apart to figure out what the hell we actually want.”

“What is too much for you?” He asks, sounding exasperated. “The way I feel about you? The way you still feel about me? What is there to figure out? We still want each other, nothing else matters!”

“We still want each other physically!” You clarify. “I can agree with that, but the longer we’re together, the more I think that’s all we want!” 

“Of course not!” He finally yells. You flinch from the volume and that makes him catch himself. He huffs out a breath before repeating in a much gentler tone, “of course not.”  

He grabs one of your hands, thumb caressing your knuckles. “You are way more than that. You always have been. This is more than physical to me.”

Everything inside of you is screaming to believe him, and he himself is asking for that. For you to have faith in this, and to give it a chance. 

“Then why didn’t you say it back?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at the forming tears in your eyes and the slight wobble of your lips in confusion. He searches for the context to your question. It takes a minute, but then his eyes widen in realization and his mouth falls open, a slight ‘oh’ leaving before he’s snapping it back shut. The look he gives you after that is something akin to pity.

And there is your answer. You pull your hand out of his grasp, using it to wipe away the tears that slipped past your waterline. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

He scrambles in alarm from your withdrawal. “Can you please stop saying shit like that?”

“Why?” You snap. Your irritation grows with every second he doesn’t give you the answer you desire. “It doesn’t. I didn’t mean it anyways. It just slipped out, so…yeah.”

You fidget nervously and try to make out the waves crashing against the wood underneath you. You’re so focused on that, you miss the way Chanyeol recoils in shock. You also miss the reigniting flames of his dimming anger.

“So when you told me you loved me, you didn’t mean it. Yet, you’re mad at me for not saying it?”

Him saying it out loud makes you cringe in embarrassment. As if he hasn’t done enough, you sense mockery in his tone. When you meet his eye again, the anger is still there, but it’s mostly frustration you notice.

“I’m not mad that you didn’t say it,” you deny.

“Yes you are!” He lets out a humorless laugh. Yeah, he’s definitely frustrated. “Is that what all this is about? Why you left this morning? Look, I’m sorry! It wasn’t because I didn’t feel the same, I was just…preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied with what?” You ask in disbelief.

He gives you a steady look, eyebrows raised in a way to say, ‘you know what’. It takes a minute for you to decipher what he’s alluding to, but then you remember what happened right after your little confession and groan his name, appalled.

“See?” He’s grinning like a madman now, pulling at your arms in an attempt to catch your attention. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear. And once I did, I couldn’t control myself anymore. You telling me you love me made me cum.”

“Be serious right now,” you say, frowning in disgust.

“Oh, I’m very serious right now,” he says, that gleefully large grin still on his face.

You throw him a skeptical look. “You’re smiling and talking about cum. You think this is a joke.”

That makes his smile slowly disappear. He says your name. “I don’t think this is funny. I’m telling you the truth. You want me to prove it to you? Hm? I’ll say it right now. I lo–”

“I don’t want to hear it now!” You interrupt in a shout. “If you had said it then, things might’ve been different, but you didn’t. I don’t care why you didn’t either. That was all the confirmation I needed. We have no idea what we want from this.”

“Here we go again,” he groans, walking a bit away from you.

You jut your jaw at that. “I’m going to repeat myself until you get it through that thick skull. Whatever happened, happened. It’s done. We’re done.”

Chanyeol’s frustration is back with a vengeance. His fingers run through his dark hair, yanking at the strands as he starts pacing in front of you. “How can you say that when you had your tongue down my throat minutes ago? You let me cum inside you! You told me you loved me! And that’s it? There’s mixed signals and then there’s whatever the fuck you’re doing right now.”

“There you go talking about cum again,” you mutter to yourself. Louder, “I’m being realistic! It’s only been three days. Three! And, what? We’re just supposed to pick up right where we left off? Act like the past few years never happened? That’s not how this works, and I doubt that’s healthy. We need more time.”

“I already told you that I’ll always love you, and I meant that. I know you’re scared, Mel. Hell, I’m scared too. You’re right, things are moving fast, but that’s because we still care for each other. I know you still love me. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t. This wouldn’t be us pretending we never broke up. This can be us realizing that we’re better together. That we’re even stronger now that we’ve had time to figure out who we are apart. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It was,” you’re quick to emphasize the past tense. “But I’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw me, Yeol, so stop acting like you know me.”

Something you say catches his attention, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You haven’t changed much.” He says your name. “I still know you, probably better than anybody else here. Just like you still know me.” 

He’s stilled from pacing, and it’s a bit ominous after watching him frantically walk for the past couple minutes. He runs a hand over his face tiredly and lets out a heavy sigh. “So, that’s really what this is about.”

You raise an eyebrow questioningly and he laughs, shaking his head.

“I was hoping it wasn’t, but what you just said…. It all makes sense now.” He’s muttering under his breath, talking to himself.

“What are you going on about?” You ask.

“This morning, when I woke up and you weren’t there, I knew. I didn’t want to believe it, that you would do something like that, but I knew what happened the moment I realized you had left me.”

Your body begins to shake, and it isn’t from the cold. Foreboding chills your spine, causing goosebumps to rise, sharpening once he locks eyes with you, the accusations hard to miss.

“You still hate me.”

His hands curl into tight fists at his sides, trembling–as are his shoulders, his voice. He closes his eyes, taking deep calming breaths you doubt help him much. 

“And now you’re telling me you didn’t mean it when you said you loved me. That you changed since the ‘last time I saw you’. Was that your plan all along? To seduce me? Make me think you still gave a shit so that I’d let you fuck me and then leave? Was last night revenge sex?”

“No,” you gasp, genuinely shocked by his conclusion. “I already told you, it was a lapse of judgment–”

“I’m not playing this fucking game with you!” He shouts. His voice breaks, just like his heart currently does. “You don’t get to hurt me again. You can’t play with my feelings everytime I allow myself to be open with you. Maybe you’re right, Mel. Maybe I don’t know you anymore, because I never thought you could do something this fucking cruel.”

“Me? Cruel?” Your anger flares up. “What the fuck about you? You come here, bring some other girl you care nothing for, and then pretend like we never knew each other! Then proceeded to ignore her the whole time to flirt with me any chance you got!”

“We’re not talking about this trip!” Chanyeol dismisses. “I should have never brought her, I know that now, but that’s not what this is about. This is about the time before that, when you gave me back the engagement ring!”

Sehun mentioned the night before the wedding that you have a baseless grudge against Chanyeol, one that twisted the love you have for him, crossing that thin line over to hate. He was positive you made something up, a ‘lie’ he called it, to keep Chanyeol at arm’s length from your heart in order to protect it. The truth is that Sehun grew cocky. He believed so deeply that you couldn’t keep anything from him, that it was impossible to with the way he can so easily read you, that he never suspected when you did. It was only one thing. One thing you decided to keep to yourself, refusing to confide in even Sehun. The reason? To protect the man in front of you, the same way he protected you.

The last thing you want is to bring it up, but technically, Chanyeol is doing it first.

“Gave it back?” You’re in total disbelief. “You took it back the morning after you slept with me and then completely ghosted like I was some one night stand!”

“That’s what you wanted!” 

“When?” You ask, baffled. “When I invited you over? Or was it in the middle of us having sex?”

He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “Okay, but why did you invite me over?”

“Because I–”

He doesn’t let you finish, his own anger from that day getting the best of him. “Because you wanted to give me the ring back!”

His voice has risen, and it silences you completely. 

“Fuck!” He’s saying your name again, but there isn’t an ounce of affection. “You wanted to return the ring. It was the one thing–the only thing that gave me hope. I told you to keep it, because I knew as long as you still had it, there was still a future for us. But then you called me. It hadn’t even been a year since our separation–because that’s what we were, separated not broken up–and the first time I hear from you it’s to tell me you want to give me back your fucking ring!”

Your head is spinning, attempting to comprehend everything he just admitted, filling in blanks you have been trying to figure out for years now. You hate to admit it, but some things are starting to make sense. 

“So, which was it then?” You question rather calmly. “You were still hurt from when I broke things off, so when I reached out you saw your chance to return the favor? Or was it because you thought that’s why I asked you to come over, so you got upset, slept with me, and left as a big fuck you?”

“Neither,” he reveals, evident disgust from your thought process. “Sleeping with you that night just happened. I didn’t do it with the intention to hurt you.”

“Sounds familiar,” you point out. He pinches the bridge of his nose. It feels like you’re going nowhere. Like you’re speaking in circles. “But okay, fine, say I believe that you didn’t do it to hurt me. Why did you leave?”

“Because I didn’t want what happened that night to become our normal,” he admits. “You knew how I felt about you, and I didn’t want you to take advantage of that–of me. Come on, Mel, you’ve always known the power you have over me. If you had told me that night that all you wanted from me was sex, I’d given that to you. Hell, if you told me right now that’s all you want, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything. You’re my Melody.” He takes a deep shaky breath. “But I knew that if I reduced myself to that just to keep you, it would destroy me. I didn’t want to lose myself like that. And I don’t ever want to hate you. That’s why I ultimately left. Took the ring–like you told me to–and ran before you could change my mind. That was me setting a boundary for myself. I had to let you go before I allowed you to use and break me.”

Your heart sinks at his explanation. “Do you really think I’d treat you like that?”

“Do you really think I’d make love to you and not mean it?” He counters.

Again, you’re back at square one. Blinking at one another, trying to figure out where you stand in each other’s hearts. With the newfound knowledge of Chanyeol’s thoughts on that infamous day, you look internally. To be honest, his words don’t sway you much. The hurt from that day is still painful. You vividly remember the way your heart shattered when he was nowhere to be found. To add salt to the wound, he had blocked you on everything, so that you had no way to contact him afterwards. Yes, you really did believe he was capable of doing that.

“No matter what your intention was that day,” you start. “The result is still the same.”

Once Chanyeol hears this, you watch him build up a wall, closing you off from him for the first time. Until right now, you believed he wasn’t capable of doing that to you. That it couldn’t be helped or that he felt comfortable enough to let his guard down in your presence. But watching all the vulnerability, all the honesty, all the affection he had for you vanish before your eyes, you realize you have been giving yourself too much credit.

“I guess that makes us even now, right?” He asks bitterly. 

You turn away, partially out of guilt, but also because you can’t stomach the haunted shadow dulling him. He’s right, in a sick way. You both ran away, hurting the other despite the reasoning behind it.

“So, that’s it then?” He asks when you fail to say anything.

“Chanyeol….” You turn back to him and instantly are bombarded with regret. You can so easily fix this. If you really want to, you can tell him that you forgive him for that night, that you truly never meant to hurt him and that the night before meant everything to you. You can walk off this boardwalk hand in hand, laughing with giddiness from falling back in love with your soulmate. Rejoining your friends who would be nothing but ecstatic and supportive of you working through your issues and returning to one another. You can do that. It will only take one simple sentence. 

But you don’t forgive him, and you haven’t really resolved anything. Your new relationship would be built on the foundation of ignorance, avoidance, and lust. You didn’t want that, not if it is the cost of having him back at this moment. You both have some healing to do before jumping into this again, and this conversation proved that. You aren’t ready.

“I–yeah. I think it would be for the best if we end things here.”

“Yeah,” he agrees in defeat. He sniffs and scratches the back of his head. “You’re probably right. There’s not much else I can say to make you stay.”

He takes you in one more time. In his reluctance, it’s as if he’s giving you a chance to change your answer, but you both know you won’t. Guess he does still know you well. He clears his throat and without saying goodbye, walks away. 

He’s about to clear the walk when you’re yelling at him to wait.

He does. He faces you and watches with wide eyes as you run hastily over to him. You stop at a safe distance, close enough to see him under the dim moonlight, but far enough away that you can’t feel the distracting heat of his body. 

He observes you warily, probably wondering how you’re going to break his heart this time. It’s that bit of doubt that made you run. There’s one last thing he needs to know, the one thing he needs to take away from this conversation, if nothing else.

“I don’t hate you.”

It’s the last thing he expected, and his reaction reflects that. His eyes grow glossy and he does his best to blink the unshed tears back, while also fighting the frown weighing the corners of his lips, causing them to tremble. Wordlessly, he reaches out to you, cupping the back of your head, and you let him. You allow him to touch you, to bring you close to him, relishing in his heat against the chilling bite of the ocean’s breeze. He pulls you in and presses a tender lingering kiss onto your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your skin.

And then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

And you watch, as his fire dims and he blends with the gray of your surroundings before disappearing out of sight.

You pray to god that’s not a metaphor.

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