#now I'm haunted by the thought of them travelling together

[tacticaldiary]

I love your fics so much 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x wife reader where he has a nightmare about losing them

Solace For The Rough Nights

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love."

Masterlist

Ghost was running.

Footsteps crunching on dried leaves, he weaves through the trees, shaking off the sounds of harshly barked orders, as crisp and as hold as the cold air around him.

The trees around him are densely packed together, a mixing pot of leaves, roots, and coarsely misplaced footsteps.

He can't remember how he got here, or what op he was on and it sends his normally razor-focused mind into a slight frenzy.

Ghost is a man of action. A plan and a way to execute it was all he needed to bring back a victory in tow, but right now he has neither of those things, hasn't even a bare recollection of ever having those things in the first place.

What was a Ghost without a purpose to haunt?

He stumbles.

It's already an odd situation. Ghost doesn't stumble or hesitate. He's a well-oiled machine, self-sufficient and cut-throat. Missteps are simply not viable with him, especially not something as simple as tripping.

Catching himself on his arm, he swings around, gun already aimed towards the ground, sees a vest-clad figure sprawled over the ground under him.

He fires without thinking. A bullet straight to the head, brain matter splattering the trees and forest, the expanse of his arms. The impact of the bullet jolts the body onto its back and-

Every part of him freezes in pure, undiluted horror.

Because his wife stares up at the sky, eyes unseeing, eerily still. Her hair bloodstained, splayed out onto the ground caught in twigs and branches, face filthy with dirt and crimson that he drew from her.

He's not sure when the trembling starts, only that it begins with his hands and travels up his spine, singeing his soul with a terror that would marr him forever. Circumstances completely forgotten, he drops to his knees in front of her, hands shaking as he calls out her name, pressing his fingers to her neck to find a pulse as if he hadn't just blown her brain out and-and fuck it was still on his arms, his hands, the blood was everywhere and there was no way Ghost had just taken the one thing he wanted to keep in his life-

A strangled sound leaves his lips, not a laugh and not quite a cry. He wants to laugh at the irony.

He's always been so afraid that someone would hurt her at his expense, that someone would take her away, tear her apart from him.

He never thought it'd be him who carried out the deed.

Nothing comes out of his mouth, because nothing can fix this. He gathers her into his arms, shaking silently. He deserves this, deserves to suffer in silence with what he's done.

The release of crying was not one he deserved.

"Fuck, I-...you're okay." His voice breaks, rough and gritty, and desperate. "I didn't-I swear I-..."

Someone's voice sounds behind him but he refuses to look back, letting the screaming in his head, the crescendo of grief consume him. His hands never let up from touching her, pressing her against himself as if his own heartbeat may bring her to life.

How could someone like her face the end when someone as disgustingly tainted and bloodstained as him continued on living?

It wasn't right, but then again, the world never was fair.

He registers he's panicking, knows that he can't quite get a full breath in and that the noise of talking is getting louder but death itself would be the only thing to take him away from her.

"..i..on."

He squeezes his eye shut, rasping out suffocating breaths.

"Simon...Simon!"

His eyes snap open, a strangled gasp tearing out of his throat. It's blindingly dark, and he's...there's hands on him. Steeling himself he sits up hazy and confused, lingering panic making his throat close up.

A click and the room fills with light.

Room. He's in...he's in his room. He's in their room.

"You okay?"

Her voice makes him shiver violently, ignites his frayed nerves. He's almost afraid to look over lest he find her bloody and mangled, because she was, wasn't she? He'd seen it, held her, felt guilt choke him and...

But there weren't any leaves here. No trees, and no blood on his hand (that was the first thing his eyes had snapped down to confirm.)

With a shaky breath, he finally turns his head towards her voice.

Some of the hastily built scaffolding inside him collapses at the sight of her. Alive. Well. Clean.

Worried.

Patient as always, she's waiting for him to get his bearing, not wanting to swarm and overwhelm him.

"Simon?" Her voice is a crack of softness a man like him doesn't deserve. The sheets rustle as she shifts closer. "You were tossing around, mumbling something." She furrows her brows, coming to sit in front of him. "You're all sweaty. Do you feel ill?" The back of her hand presses against his forehead, and the touch snaps something in him.

Breaks apart the harrowing gates of relief, but also smashes the wave of diluted panic he'd been too disorientated to feel.

His hand snaps to her wrist, a gentle and firm hold. Her eyes widen but she doesn't interrupt, lets him press his lips against her pulse point with trembling fingers. "You're all right." He breathes out, half to himself.

"I'm right here." She reassures him immediately. It loosens up his shoulders a little, but he still reaches out to her, pulls her close into a hug so crushingly tight it knocks the breath out of her.

She hugs him tighter, still.

Simon wasn't a hugger, so something must really have shaken him up.

"Hey..." She mumbles against his shoulder.

Simon pulls back, hands travelling up her arms, her shoulders, her neck, to press against her temples. His gaze flickers down to his own arms, then back to her head.

"Talk to me, baby." She says quietly, letting him ground himself. His hands tangle in her loose hair, weaving the strands between his fingers as if he might pick out phantom leaves and twigs. "Why so worked up?"

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"You didn't."

The sharp interrupting startles him enough to still his hands from where they've been mapping out her skin to ensure it was still unmarred.

"You didn't." She repeats. Gently untangling his hand from her hair, she brings it to press against her chest, right over where her heart is. "I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love." She smiles and Simon feels his heart twist. The way she leans forward to press her lips to his is a kind of gentle he's still getting used to. "You're not getting rid of me any time soon." She whispers against his lips, a warmth that's a welcome reprieve from the shivers that wracked his body moments prior.

They sit there taking in each other's presence until Simon's thoughts slow from a sprint to a run to a walk, until the taste of copper, and the tang of iron fade from his senses.

Until it's just her, just them. In their bed, in their home. Off duty and safe.

When she slides her hands up to his shoulders, pushing him down he goes willingly, lets her straddle him. Never once do his hands leave her, they wrap around her hips to keep her steady.

"Tell me about it?" She asks, hands on his chest. After a moment of thought, Simon shakes his heavy with a long, heavy exhale.

"I'd rather not think about it." He rasps.

"It might help." The gentle shapes she traces on his chest give him something to latch onto. "I don't want you to deal with these nightmares alone." She snakes a hand up to his head, gently tapping his temple. "Don't want you to get stuck here without me. We're a team, right?"

"I suppose we are." He hums. Simon considers changing the subject, letting it go and falling back to sleep, but the need to get these vile thoughts out of him...

So he talks.

For once, he talks.

Simon tells her in halting phrases and clenched fists about what he remembers, how he held the gun, how there was no hesitation pulling the trigger.

His tension is met with hums and soothing circles rubbed onto his skin, keeping him with her even when he unravels the threads of his worst nightmare.

"I remember thinking how I was the one who took your life." He swallows harshly. "How I lost someone else...how it'd have been my fault." She doesn't comment on the fact that his grip on her hips has tightened considerably as he spoke.

"Well you haven't shot me yet, so I think we're safe for now."

Her attempt at a joke is met with a blank glare, but she snickers anyway. "Look Simon, if it'd be anybody I'd have liked it to be you-"

"No."

Her smile falters at the way he pushes up onto his elbows. "No?"

"I wouldn't..." He gathers his thoughts, clenches his jaw briefly. "I'd rather cut my own hands off, love."

"That's a bold claim, but-"

"It's a promise."

The conviction he says it with renders her speechless. His eyes so firm and determined and honest in the meagre light of their nightlamp sparks a warm heat through her, a reminder of how much she loves the man under her, of why she adores him.

He means what he says. It should scare her, someone so willing to go that far, but instead it's a fierce reassurance that her passion is returned. Maybe not in hugs or dopey smiles, but instead in moments like these, with promises that carve their way into their very bones, etching the proof of devotion into permanence.

She tips her head forward until their foreheads are pressed together. "I love you, Simon." She whispers. "So fucking much. I'm not going anywhere, alright. Not without you."

A hand wraps around the back of her neck, tugs her down to crash their lips together, the only affirmation she needs. He pulls her down until they're a tangle of limbs and breaths.

He doesn't need to say it back. Not when his hands burn sparks into her skin, when his arms around her guarantee safety and protection like nobody else can provide.

"You're here." He breathes, like he needs to.

"I'm here." A kiss pressed to the underside of his jaw. "I'm here."

And he finally believes it.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(16/08/2023)

#fanfiction #fluff #x reader #x y/n #fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost modern warfare #ghost riley #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #modern warfare price #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod modern warfare

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Girl Talk

Astarion x F! Tav

18+ talks of sexuality, implied trauma, safe words, role reversal, breast worship, grinding, fingering (m!), ass play, rimming, prostate orgasm, some gender play, aftercare, porn w/o plot

One late night Astarion turned their conversation to a more sensual topic and was delighted to discover Tav lacked experience with men. Naturally he was more than happy to lend a hand...

-

"So you've never..." He smiled, laying on his side next to her, the faint miasma of wine around them.

"Never?" She asked, incredulous. "Astarion do you take me for a holy woman?" Smiling cheekily at him. "I thought you surface dwellers thought all Drow are insatiable."

"Well, are they?"

"No comment." She lifted her glass to her lips, sliding her eyes away from him mischievously.

They had been traveling together for a while now and had struck up a fast friendship. Her snarky words and wanton flirtation winning him over. Sharp tongue and sharper eyes.

She leaned back, thinking. "Its more that I've been mostly with women. Sure there was a man or two but they didn't make it far enough to make an impression. Didnt get far below the belt." She shrugged, waving her hand noncommittally.

Of course, in a matriarchal structure she would be more directed towards sapphic pursuits. She had explained that Drow men were not upheld to the most flattering light in her society.

"If you had to pick, in our camp-"

"Karlach," No hesitation. "Oh I'd climb her like a tree."

He blinked, an amused smile teasing the edge of his mouth. "Impeccable taste."

"I have been known to have a refined palate." She smirked.

"Honestly I'm curious but I'm just more comfortable with women, I know their bodies. I can navigate them even without eyes." She laughed.

Ah yes, the eyes. Those haunting eyes.

He had overheard her speaking to Wyll about their shared warlock experience. His, to a devil, to defend his city. Hers, to an eldritch being, to achieve the gift of sight. Tried to smother his frown at the easy energy between them, their instinctive bond.

Logically he knew he should feel this same way about Karlach, with her soft puppy eyes following Tav around camp. But he couldn't keep distaste in his heart for her. Not for long anyway. Wyll on the other hand...

Her demonic white eyes peering good naturedly into his now. He didnt know if he'd ever get used to how they pierced him. She savored every sight and while slightly intoxicating it made him squirm to be looked at so thoroughly.

"Well," He smiled. Leaning towards her conspiratorially. "If you're less experienced with men you could always practice..."

While he found himself enjoying her company, quite a lot if he was honest, he was still looking for an in. And here it was. Plopped in his lap, just a shared drink away.

"Oh please," She rolled her eyes. "My pickings out here are slim to none. Unless I get the sudden urge to get horizontal with a goblin."

"What about closer to camp?" Sliding a little nearer to her, his fingers almost touching the inside of her forearm.

"Astarion," She admonished, drawing out her words. "Wasting your advances? My neck is right here." Turned her head to make her point.

While he was distracted by her jumping pulse point he couldn't help the edge of frustration creeping up him.

He had been putting all of his honeyed words on her, all his soft tempting touches, and she would just dance them off with a light laugh.

She was a natural flirt but there was an air to her that she didn't take his advances to heart. Maybe she thought he was just like that with everyone. That it didn't mean anything.

Given that she was devastatingly beautiful he felt even more pressure to stake his claim. Their companions all circling her constantly. Gods she basically had to beat them away with a stick at the tiefling party.

"What if," He started, tracing his finger languidly up her wrist. "You practiced on me? You can touch me like you would a feminine lover, if that helps."

She sat up on elbows, head cocked slightly to the side, staring at him.

It was suddenly very quiet and he tried not to fidget, finger tracing figure eights into her soft flesh.

"And that wouldn't make you feel... uncomfortable?"

Honestly he hadn't thought that far ahead. This was a person he was free to bed on his own terms, of his own will. And he was rather fond of her. Though he was here with ulterior motives, that didnt mean he couldn't enjoy her company. He could do much worse.

"Oh what's a little exploration between friends..." Looked up at her through his lashes. "Or more than friends."

"I mean, if we're exploring I could get out the strap."

He had been mid drink and choked, sputtering as she laughed, patting hard into his back.

"I'm sorry, just teasing."

"I mean... are you offering?"

She crooked a bemused smile at him. "I think we would have to work up to that, Star. Let's see how the night goes first."

After dinner she gathered her bathing supplies, exchanging pleasantries with everyone as she retreated.

Blowing a cheeky kiss to Karlach as she rose. Her fire erupting in a burst, Gale having to dive off of the log they were sharing. A goofy smile all over her face.

He almost felt bad about what he was planning. She would be much more suited to the tiefling.

Well, it's just sex, it won't mean anything beyond each of their gain. Him, allegiance. Her, pleasure.

He walked on light feet, following her dark auburn hair. The gentle lull of her singing. Playing with the tones and words they had helped the bard Alfira stumble through.

"Moon, Sun, All remind me of your grace, Faith, Care, All the love I can't repay~"

Despite her light and playful demeanor her singing voice was full and haunting. A mournful cello calling out into the night.

He understood why Karlach basically begged her to sing for them around the fire when her little talent was discovered. She had waved her away, insisting that it wouldn't be worth their time. She'd much rather hear Halsin play. Then Halsin had urged her on, countering that he would only pluck a few strings if she joined.

"Fine, prepare to be underwhelmed." She had laughed.

Immediately they went quiet as she started, closing her eyes. He noticed she always closed them when she was concentrating, as if the added sense was too much.

They were enraptured listening to her, even Halsin almost stumbling through cords. Her voice spellbinding them all.

"Gods, Soldier. Are you part harpy?" Karlach hushed after she had fallen quiet.

She smiled, clearly embarrassed. A rare sight. She had an easy confidence, getting her flustered was a feat.

Now, he approached her stealthily at the edge of the river. Faced away, already waist deep, wringing water out of her long hair.

"Are you joining or just hoping for a show?" She smirked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He was about to scoff, how did she always hear him no matter how quiet he moved?

Seeing his annoyed posture, she smiled. "My ears are more attuned than most seeing people, dont take it personally."

"Noted. I would so enjoy sneaking up on you." He pantomimed, crouching down playfully.

"I bet you would, but you'll have to walk on a whisper to get past me." She winked, sinking down into the water to chest high. Turning to face him. Eyes alight with mischief.

It felt so easy with her. Their banter a practiced dance, the steps surefooted.

"So, are you still dreaming of sharing a night of pleasure?" He mused, pushing his hand on his lower back. A wicked smile on his lips.

She lowered further into the water, only eyes now. Staring at him through her lashes, serpentine. One hand emerging, beckoning him with a hooked finger.

He pulled his clothes off in a sensual show, leaving them in a neat pile next to hers.

As he began to wade in her head submerged. The night water too dark to make out her shape.

He stood in false absence in the water, chest high. Senses alight.

Fingers along his waist, exploring. He looked down and saw her murky shape against his torso.

She rose, chest to chest with him. Pushing her hair slick back over her head. So dark it looked black in the dim light.

"Well, well," He intoned, pulling a damp lock behind her shoulder. "Looks like I caught myself a siren."

"You do know what sirens do to beautiful creatures like you, right?" She cocked her head at him, arms coming up to drape over his shoulders.

Their eyes were level with eachother, nearly the same height. She had teased him mercilessly in camp when it was discovered that she was an inch or two taller.

It felt almost too intimate to be directly across from her, their faces mirrored.

"I'd be more worried for your neck than mine, darling." He purred, flashing her a fang baring smirk.

"Oh I dont know," She mused, pressing her body flush to his. "I think deadly things can be good bedfellows, dont you?"

She brushed her lips against his, pulling away teasingly. "You still want to do this little experiment?"

"I'd love nothing more." He snaked his hands around her waist. "Lead on."

At least he didn't have to do the work this time. Could just lay back and go somewhere else.

Some of his thoughts must have betrayed in his face cause she paused.

"Hey, I'm okay to postpone this. Indefinitely if needed." Her voice was uncharacteristically soft then, pulling away from him.

He grabbed her retreating wrist, leading her back into him.

"Tav, I need this." He hushed, the truth. Though maybe not with the intent she imagined.

She paused again. Gods it made him nervous when she got quiet. Her melodic voice usually floating around the air.

"Ground rules." She stated, her eyes serious. Waiting for his response.

He blinked. Honestly he had given his own boundaries very little, if any thought.

"You first." Stalling for time.

"Not okay with being restrained and I'd prefer if we had a safe word."

He nodded, this was new to him but he did appreciate the idea.

Scouring his mind for definite turn offs but found it difficult. He tried to not be present for most of it so it was hard to say with certainty.

"Dont touch my back or the bite. Also not into restraint. Or force."

She smiled and he felt proud that he had passed this little test.

"We can stop at any time, okay?"

"Naturally, darling. Though I doubt I'll be able to resist ravaging you, I'll behave."

"Those lines work on a lot of women, huh?" She teased, fingers trailing his cheek as she pulled closer.

He felt a slight tightness in his chest but gave her an easy smile. "Well you're here now, arent you darling?"

"True." She whispered, leaning in to kiss his jaw gently. "Though I could say I'm here in the spirit of research."

"And you'd be a liar, a terrible one at that."

She breathed a laugh against him. "You always need to get the last word, huh?"

"Oh, I'll ge-" He was muffled by her mouth, pulling him into a slow exploring kiss.

He felt a little moan escape him, much to his horror. The desire in her touch surprising him.

She held him around his waist, cupping the back of his head. Her lips sliding warm against his.

She pulled away and he found himself following her. "The safe word is Bulette."

He nodded, and she lifted under his thighs and wrapped them around her waist. Walking up to the edge of the water.

His dead heart did race a little bit at that but he figured it was just the role reversal.

Though they were the same height she was much stronger than she looked. Muscle hidden under plush thighs and the soft curve of her stomach. He could feel it when he bit into the defined curve of her neck. See it in her shoulders when she lifted her arms over her head. That little adorable whine when she stretched.

She layed him back on the grass, her hands guiding him down.

"If this is how you treat your women I can see why you've taken so many admirers." He teased.

"You know," She smiled, leaning down over him. "You're beautiful enough it's not a far stretch."

He breathed a laugh through his nose.

"So where would you start, lover?" He purred, twisting a lock of her hair as it fell over him.

She hummed, moving down. "Usually here." Leaning into his neck on his unmarked side.

Kissing and nipping at his throat he found himself giving in to the sensation. Head falling back slightly. He never minded the foreplay.

Her mouth was devotional on his neck, licking and pulling heavenly circles.

He found himself humming with approval. Hand carding through her hair. "That is nice, darling."

"Then I'd move here..." her fingers trailing down his chest, brushing tentatively over his nipple. Asking.

He felt a shiver go down his back. Shocked by the little strike of pleasure.

"And then?" He intoned, hearing the slight rasp in his voice. Definitely intentional.

He felt her smile against his throat. Moving down his front, leaving soft kisses as she went. Thumbing over his nipple playfully.

"I would put my leg here." She hushed, pushing her knee between his thighs. "So she could grind."

"Interesting," He tried for suave, failing miserably. Her fingers softly twisting his peak making him slow and stupid.

"This is my favorite part." She looked up at him through her lashes cheekily. Hovering over his chest. "Hold on, love."

He almost scoffed, surely it wasnt-

Her mouth descended on his chest, licking hard slurping circles around his nipple.

His back arched involuntarily, a loud embarrassing groan leaving him.

She moaned in pleasure, her mouth salivating. Gripping his hips.

Gods she was unhinged, tongue pulsing and insistent. Laving up and down his hard peak. Panting hot against him.

If he had more sense he would have been baffled at how much it seemed she was enjoying just his experience. But he felt lost, head heavy with pleasure.

She pushed her thigh further into him encouragingly and he could no longer resist. Already painfully aroused.

He ground down into her thigh gratefully, feeling her tense the muscle for him.

Her other hand came up to pinch and twist at his nipple as she left it, sliding over to his left side and taking up there. The new sensation making him gasp, both sides of his chest being devastated with equal intensity.

She picked up on the rhythm of his hips and pushed her thigh into him in pulses.

Gods her mouth, rolling her tongue and nipping. Suckling down hard then pulling back to lick long stripes up his chest.

How in the hells was he already close?

He gripped her bicep, wrapping his leg around her hip.

Fuck it. Why not?

"I'm-," He panted.

She moaned into him, biting down on his engorged peak. Rising back up.

He almost whined at the lack of sensation until she latched onto his earlobe.

Oh fuck.

His eyes pulled shut. "Oh Gods, don't stop."

She suckled down hard, a little sweet whine directly in his ear. Her hands gripping his ass and pulling him into her harder. His cock throbbing and sliding wet against her.

One last nibbling suck and he was shattered.

Coming in stuttering cries, head thrown back. His pelvis contracting in great vicious jolts, spurting long ropes against her hip. Distantly aware of the sounds coming out of his lips.

"You with me?" She asked gently after a moment, pulling back. Kissing his face in light caresses.

Suddenly aware of his body again he realized his eyes had welled with tears.

"Ah, yes darling." He ruffled, trying to pull himself together with great effort. "I could actually go again."

She looked at him dubiously, a soft but amused smile on her swollen lips.

"I think you're lying." She purred, leaving a tender kiss on his already bruised neck.

He was. But he had a reputation to uphold.

"All out of moves? Dissapointing." He sighed.

"You're cute," She chided, coming back up to pull him into a searing kiss. "Biting off more than you can chew."

"Oh I've barely been sated, sweet thing. I'm starving."

"On your belly then." She whispered into his ear. Patting his thigh playfully.

"Well, wouldn't you like to be tasted?" He asked, confused. Surely she didnt intend to only pursue his pleasure.

"Hmm, maybe another night." She mused, truly seeming to mull it over.

What a strange creature.

"Are all sapphics like this?" He scoffed, letting her hands twist his waist. Hips up, bracing himself on his forearms.

"More than you'd think." She laughed, massaging his hips from behind.

"You know what you're doing back there?" He teased, shooting her a look over his shoulder.

"Hmm, different from what I'm used to. But I think I can translate." She eyed his backside playfully. "But dont hesitate to give me directions."

She leaned down and tongued gingerly at his hole.

His head fell forward, hands in fists.

"Well that's encouragement." She teased, tongue coming back. Moving in tight circles.

"Ah!" He moaned, pushing back into her.

Though he knew she was new to this she moved with practiced precision. He could tell she was very good at what she did on more feminine bodies.

"I heard this is a good spot." She murmured, her two fingers rubbing back and forth against his taint. The shudder that moved through him making her smile.

Tongue coming back to push slow pulsing heaven into him. Both sensations playing him like a fiddle. His fingernails digging into his palm.

Oh Gods it was too good. And still he needed more.

"Inside. One finger." He moaned into his arm.

She wet her finger inside her mouth, tested it in small circles around his entrance. Other hand still stimulating.

She pushed in gradually, pausing one knuckle deep. "Like this?"

"Yes," He panted. "Slowly."

"It feels so similar." She marveled, finger almost to the hilt. "How lovely."

He clenched at her words and heard a delighted giggle. "Even that! Oh!"

"If that's the same, then what about..." She curled her finger toward his navel.

He moaned loudly, buckling down.

"Oh yes," She smiled, beginning slow pulsing thrusts of her hooked finger. Other hand pushing more into his taint. Hitting his prostate from both sides.

A moaning writhing mess beneath her, he was completely gone.

"Oh how pretty, coming undone like this." She purred, leaning down to lick around her pumping fingers.

He knew he was not long for this world, the building pressure in his pelvis about to burst. Reaching around to grip her thigh with a bruising intensity.

"Such a good girl for me." She hummed.

He cried out, his end hitting him so hard he thought he would black out. A deep shuddering ripping through him. His whole world condensed to nearly agonizing waves of pleasure. Tears spilling down his cheeks he bit hard into his forearm. His cock forcing out what little he had left in him.

He collapsed comepletely flat into the ground, the damp earth holding him up.

She left his back momentarily, coming back with a cloth, wet from the river.

She pulled his slack body up to her chest, his back cradled into her. Softly wiping first his brow then working her way down.

"You dont ha-"

"This is part of it, love." She smiled, running her hand through his hair, cajoling it back into place. "You're getting the full experience."

He leaned into her, closing his eyes. Letting her bathe him clean. He knew future him would be screaming into his pillow at this but he was too blissed out to care.

"Thank you," She gave him one final wipe. Setting the cloth down and wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. "For trying this with me. For trusting me."

"You did everything and you're thanking me?" He laughed, still panting. "You're a strange woman, you know."

"If you're so insistent maybe you can do all the work next time." She pinched his side lightly.

Next time. The anxiety in his heart melting just for a moment. Oh thank the Gods.

"If Karlach doesn't beat you to it, that is."

"You're the devil."

She laughed against his back, his eyes getting heavy.

"Let's get you to your bedroll, we'll have a brand new day of bothering eachother tomorrow."

He would never admit it to her, but he was looking forward to it.

~

Part 2

#post nut clarity is going to hit him like a truck #babygirl you are sooo normal about her #astarion smut #astarion x tav #lyrics from: you know me too well - nothing but thieves

[factorialsotherfandoms]

"Philza, can we be serious for a second?" Fit asks, one day.

"I'm listening." Philza turns, his attention granted once more

"If we ever get off this island, what are we going to do?" The question has been haunting Fit for some time; it is only right he asks one of his closest friends.

"… Go back to where we came from, I suppose." Philza, to his credit, seems melancholnic with the answer.

"But the kids, Phil," Fit's voice tenses on the words. "I can't take Ramon with me - you've seen where I live. I can't take a child there, never again."

"You've changed, mate."

"Philza."

It's not wrong, but its not what Fit wants to talk about. Not in the slightest, or at all - Philza has changed too, after all. For the more vulnerable, in both their cases.

There is silence a moment, before Philza sighs. "I get you," another pause. "I love my hardcore worlds, but… one life and you're dead. It's the thrill of it, it's the beauty of it, I'm sure I could make somewhere safe enough for my eggs, but… they shouldn't have to live in fear of death. Not ever, not any more, never again. Hell, not even Wil lives with me there, and he's an adult. Beautiful as it is its a solo world for a reason, you know?"

"Then you get me."

"Yeah, I get you."

Probably better than anyone else in the worlds.

There's silence again for a few moments, broken only by the sounds of using Phil and Missa's warp as a shortcut to spawn. Fit is quite content to let it sit, to simply know that the problem is shared, that he's not the only person both deseperate to escape and terrified of what that means.

The interruption, however, drives Philza to speak again. "Fit, what do you want to say?"

Does he want to say something else? Fit doesn't know, but assumes Philza must have some idea. "… I'm not sure," he says. "But I think some of the others don't have suitable homes either."

"Do any of them?" Philza replies. "I'm not even sure Wil /has/ a home at this point."

"Right. And the Brazilians. I don't know exactly, but Phil-" Fit pauses, unsure if he should finish that sentence, before deciding to hell with it, Philza will recognise it anyway. "Pac and Mike were using the boat to put distance between them and the law after their past caught up. Dunno about the others, but can't imagine its great if they shared a boat together."

Philza whistles, clearly not surprised. If anything, slightly impressed - FIt could always trust him with that. "Guess its a habit of theirs."

"I'm serious, Philza." Fit reminds him.

"No same," Philza gestures a bit. "I don't know them like you do, but Pac and Mike... They deserve a chance, let alone Richarlyson."

So do all the children, Fit doesn't say. He's done crimes enough against children before.

Philza waits, and when Fit doesn't continue, does so himself, "I don't know much about the French before they came here, or Foolish, but Bad was already working multiple part time jobs, and if he had a home it wasn't best suited to a kid."

"Vegetta? Missa?" Fit asks. "Does Quackity have somewhere to go maybe?"

"Dunno about most. Missa's a bit like Wil, though," Philza smiles softly at the thought, before it turns a little sadder. "Never stays anywhere very long, and with the skeleton thing and his reaction to this shack… pretty sure it's not by /choice/ he's doing the travelling musician act. Wil at least has somewhere to return to, Missa nearly burst into tears at four walls made of fences and a cheap roof."

"Well shit."

"Definitely can't take Missa to hardcore, either," Philza continues the thought. "I could make an area safe for Tallulah. Missa? He'd die as soon as I looked away from him and I /can't/ loose him. Not now."

"Travelling musicians, ex-cons, men who live alone without any contact, old hands in an eternal wasteland... The Feds clearly picked people who wouldn't be missed," Fit frowns a little, struggling to think of anyone who bucks that trend.

Philza doesn't reply to that. Fit doesn't think it too odd but, after he doesn't respond for a while, he looks over. There's a clear look on Philza's face, one that has ended empires and built others anew.

"Philza?"

"I do have… a bit of a plan. Not a lot of one. But I've been thinking."

"Thinking, eh? Using that beautiful brain of yours?" Fit doesn't know if he should be terrified or excited, and so falls back on the oldest trick in the book - flirting.

"Oh shut up big boy," Philza waves one dismissive hand. "But, yeah. I'm pretty sure, if we could get out of here, I could manage to find some place uninhabited. A new island or world. Whitelist it just to us islanders and the eggs, maybe people's partners from elsewhere. Infinite lives, an empty but open world… Somewhere just for us. All of us."

"It'd be a lot of work, starting again from nothing. Can you even support this many people? I know there's your worlds, but it'd be a lot..." Fit wants to be excited, wants to see some hope in this tunnel - somewhere safe for him and his kid, somewhere to retire to. Maybe make trips back to the wasteland, but no longer live there. Never live there again.

"I can't talk to her here, not easily, but I bet Kristin would be willing to support it. I've heard a few other people have ties to gods, too, which would help. Not sure which, but once we /have/ a plan asking is easier." Philza muses a bit as he talks. "We discussed it once, before, for another group. Smaller than this, but with help... I reckon it'd work. Even if not, I could hold it together long enough for someone to make a better plan."

"Sounds nice. Too nice," is all Fit can really say.

"I've never wanted it before," Philza sighs with the words. "I was happy just with my solo worlds, but… I don't think i could loose this - everyone - now I've had them."

"Just like I cant leave Ramon."

"Exactly. We've got families now."

"Look at us, getting old and sentimental."

"Oh piss off mate you started it."

"I know, I know." Fit laughs, because what can he do but laugh in the end.

Philza has a plan, and Fit is included in it. It will work, or it will fail, and there's nothing they can do about it.

It's a pipe dream, anyway; they'd have to get off the island first, and Fit's pretty sure that won't be possible in his lifetime. The best he can do is enjoy what he has for the time it lasts, and leave worrying to people better suited to it.

If only the Federations would let them have their fun.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fitmc #qsmp philza #scribbled the dialogue out at like 1am #added the rest 12 hours later #I feel like a lot of small groups have similar discussions over time #worlds be nebulous etc

[weaper-reaper]

More König fluff and smut

I do apologize that I’ve been away for literally 5ever… sorry for all the fics I’ve abandoned there is a slight chance they still will be released. Until then, thank you always for the support. Here’s a treat for staying loyal and still RBlogging eventuality <3

CW: Fluff, Smut, Fingering, Creamies, KINDA SAFE SEX (literally unheard of), uhh this is KönigxYou btw, apparently ive been tagging my stuff wrong by writing xreader so forgive me ig, I’ve been craving intimacy and fluff irl so here you go, not proofed

Bzzzt… Bzzzt… Bzzzt

Your phone rattled the nightstand, clattering together the jewelry and pens that were haphazardly littered atop the smooth wood. With an annoyed grunt you twisted over to yank it from the cord it was plugged into. The bright screen made your eyes squint in through the darkness, text blurred- you answered it before knowing who was on the other side.

“Hey, uh.. hi.”

“König?” You asked out, the scratchy voice haunting and all too familiar.

There was an awkward staticky laugh through the speaker, and you sat up as your consciousness came rushing back.

“Yeah. Sorry it’s so late.” He apologized, and you pulled the phone from your ear to glance at the time. Just past midnight. “I just got back.”

His demeanor seemed to brighten as you put the cool glass back to your cheek. “Welcome back.”

“Listen.. I'm outside.”

Your heart stuttered, and you glanced to the window of your little studio, the moon sent streaks over the lonely little place you called home and a light rap sounded from the front door.

“Sorry I didn’t text,” He continued, voice stretched thin from exhaustion or travel. “I have something fo- actually, can you come to the door?”

You whipped your head around the room and your eyes landed on your bathrobe cast out lazily across the back of your chair. You snatched it up before responding.

“Yeah, yeah uhm.. hold on.”

“Okay.” He breathed, a hint of a smile on the end of his voice.

Throwing on the robe you rounded the corner from your bedroom, bare feet slapping against the tile on the floor. Without even bothering to peek through the looking hole, you unchained and unlocked the door, swinging it open wide.

König stood taller then you remembered, cast in shadows from the light in the hall. The dark seemed to loom just around him, hovering but an inch above his clothes. You met his cool gaze first, his eyes crinkled and he smiled under his hoodie.

He let the phone at the side of his face fall, and you pulled yours away then too.

“Hello.” He greeted. Smiley and with much more energy than you could’ve mustered this late at night.

“Hi.” You breathed back.

It had only been a few weeks since you last talked, but with him here at your door now- a strange look in his eye- it made it feel like months. The way he had left things made a bitter feeling resonate through your chest and your eyes quickly cast to anything but him. You cleared your throat and stepped to the side, inviting him in.

He had his bags with him, one sandy duffle bag and another giant backpack. You eyed them curiously as he dropped them, quickly answering before you could find the words to ask.

“Mission went a lot smoother than we thought, and my stuff is still in storage.. so.” He shrugged his outer jacket off and drops of water rolled down the nylon.

“It’s raining?” You asked, turning for the kitchen eyes cast over to the window again. Sure enough droplets you hadn’t noticed before stuck thick to the glass pane. “Some tea?” You offered, already putting the kettle on.

“Thank you.” He nodded, finding a spot against the cold counter to lean on.

He cleared his throat as you turned back to him, hands ruffling around in his pockets. He pulled a thin orange envelope from one of his cargo pockets and handed it flat out. You took it gingerly, suddenly too aware of the lack of clothing you sported. You tightened the robe before peeling open the packaging and pulling out the contents.

They were photos, mostly black and white, and definitely weathered. Some water spots bled around the corners making the ink smear and stick. You flipped through them excitedly.

“Oh!” You cooed, they were mostly photos of tall cliff sides, overgrown fields, the occasional tree or strange looking rock formation. You peeled apart one of them, it was a selfie- or an attempt at one. König stood infront of a lake, a few naked men stood behind him, one bent over and mooned the photo.

You laughed and glanced back over at König, a sweet smile was plastered over his face. You caught his eyes and a moment passed discreetly between you.

You had been so caught up in your own head since he left, the lack of communication drawing your feelings further and further from your own chest and you had worried he’d thought your relationship too difficult to handle while he was away. It’s not like he hadn’t been away before, but something made him seem even more distant now. He hadn't said goodbye to you this last time, just vanished. After a week you accepted the possibility of him ghosting you. But now, as his dark figure stuck out against the bright decor of your tiny kitchen, those feelings came flooding back.

The kettle squealed before you could finish your thoughts. Clearing your throat you gently set the pack of photos down onto the counter and poured out the dark liquid into two deep mugs. You handed him his, and his fingers brushed yours as he took it.

You could feel your chest heat up under the thick robe.

“Let me go change.” You whispered, breaking the silence. He set his mug down in response, and followed you to your room.

You glanced back over your shoulder at him as you passed through your doorway and blew a laugh down your nose, “Miss me that much, huh?” You joked that hidden hope, reaching for an old overnight shirt.

His arm stretched over yours suddenly grabbing the fabric with his chest at your back. He had moved so quickly you didn’t even have the chance to hear him take a step.

“I did.” He whispered softly, breath warm as it fanned over the cold shell of your ear.

You could swear your heart stopped, but then his lips were on yours in a flurry. He spun you and your robe had come undone with the movement, back now flush against the closet door. It’s hinges rattled as he all but threw you against it.

His lips were soft, and your heart raced.

It was the wetness then at your cheeks that stilled him. Slowly he peeled off of you and a hand rose to cup your jaw.

“Wh-why are you crying?”

You hadn’t noticed you were until he said something, but as your eyes met again a sob pulled from your lungs. He wasted no time in wrapping you up into his arms, pulling the two of you back onto the still warmth of your bed. You curled into him as your breathing slowed.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, raising the back of your palm to the corner of your eyes. “I just..” you started, quickly realizing it took so much energy to straighten out your thoughts.

“You left so suddenly, without saying anything.”

His brows grew tight, and his eyes cast downward heavily. “I know, I’m sorry.” Even he seemed choked back a bit.

“We weren’t allowed to tell anyone.” He continued, pulling you closer until you were practically laying on his chest. “I should’ve-“

“No it’s okay,” you interrupted, finding your voice again and apologizing, planting a palm on his chest. “It’s on me, I should’ve assumed I know your job is stressful I just..”

You drew your eyes up to his and let them cast over every feature of his face.

“I just missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Significantly more gently this time, he craned his neck down to meet your lips. The kiss was sweeter, softer and something unspoken drew under the both of you, sweeping the two of you up into your own perfect world. Slowly he twisted, and let a hand drag down your neck through the center of your chest before settling on your hip. The rough calluses on his fingertips drew shapes over your soft skin and you couldn’t help but fall victim to the shiver that raked through your body.

There was a tug at the corner of his lips as he smirked, pleased with your reactions. He whispered lowly again, voice thick and laid with his heavy accent. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, afraid of the noises you’d make if you opened your mouth.

With a grace a giant like him should never possess, he dipped his hand under the part in your robe and cupped at your core. A thick finger slid down your part, and then back up blossoming you open with ease. The pad of his middle finger brushed against the hood of your clit and he swallowed the gasp that pulled its way out of your lungs.

You pulled from his lips as he prodded your opening with two fingers, the tips circled your entrance and involuntarily your hips buckled upwards.

“There you go,” He sighed, slipping further and further until his knuckles were pressed up as far as they would go. You felt yourself clench around as he pulled out, willing them to stay.

He slid them in again, and curled them deliciously to drag down your walls with each tug. Your voice betrayed you and a groan escaped, he mimicked your noises, his own breath growing ragged and heavy. His hand worked away at your cunt, and his quickly growing hardness became evident at your side. He was rutting against you in time with his fingers.

You mewled into his lips and slid the arm draped around his neck down his front until your palm coaxed up the forceful protrusion against his zipper. His pace stuttered and your confidence grew with each breathy moan he released.

Delicately, he pulled his fingers from your heat and quickly tugged away at the fastening of his pants, a dark spot crowned his bulge when you looked down. With a new heat at his cheeks and ears, he replaced your hand for you atop his boxers and you immediately squeezed. A moan choked up in his throat and he buried his face into you neck and chest, littering the crevice with sloppy kisses.

Perhaps a little prematurely, you slipped that hand into his pants and against the heat of his skin, pulling his member out and taught between you. He hesitated a moment before returning a thumb to your clit.

He rose again after a moment to smother you into another heavy make out session before rolling over above you. His thick cock weaped against your hip, and an insane amount of pre pooled over the creases of your skin. The air seemed hot and unbearable as you shifted out of your robe completely. Pulling away for a moment, König also shimmied out of his clothes and returned to you in a flash, sticky bodies melting back into eachother.

Be it because of the well prepped lubrication, or simply because the stars were all in alignment, when he returned slotted perfectly against you, the tip of his cock nudged directly into the ring of your pussy.

You both stilled and he let out a pained sounding grunt.

“Fuck..” you paused. “Uhm, are you okay?” You blabbered out lamely.

“Yeah.” He responded almost instantly, a hesitant kind of shame hung over him. “It’s just, It’s been a long time. I don’t know if..”

“It’s okay,” you took over quickly, pulling your knees up and opening your legs enough to where he slid in just that much more.

“Schhhheisse..” he drawled out, “you’re too warm.”

You huffed a short laugh and reached down to circle at your own clit, letting your body adjust to the stretch of him. Tingles rushed through your body and your mind quickly became fuzzy. With a deep breath he let his fingers replace yours and he pulled away to push back in deeper than before.

Letting your head fall back, you let him work himself into you. Pulling his hips away before using his weight to shove it all back into you again, König built up a steady rhythm and your mind and body grew hot.

His arms slipped under your back, and he pulled you closer to him, each wet smack echoing through the empty room. The walls of your insides burned, and that familiar tightness below your belly made itself known.

“Ahh, ah.. fuck.” You whined, completely caged beneath him. “I can’t.. I think I’m close.” You stumbled out, clawing at the backs of his massive arms.

“I know.” He grunted, “Got-damn you’re getting so tight.”

Part of you wanted to apologize for his struggle, but a bigger part of you wanted to clench up your core tighter. The latter won and soon König thrusts grew shorter and sloppier. His moans equalling his unsteadiness. You pushed your hips up to meet him, grinding down your front to his pelvis, begging for more friction.

The head of him slammed suddenly against your cervix as he pulled your legs up, latching purchase behind your knees to effectively bend you in half. You shouted in surprise at the new angle, everything quickly becoming too much.

“Where can I-?” He began and you answered before he finished.

“Inside!” You shouted, then cried as his thrusts became rougher- more demanding. “Inside, I.. IUD. It’s safe.”

You couldn’t help but grind your hips up into him, a desperate attempt to hurry your aching clit along. His lips found yours again in a frenzied haze, and you came undone almost instantly. Your core pulsed and you cried out from under him as the waves shook through every inch of your body.

König followed with two more strong thrusts, his hips stuttering and locked within your tightness. You could feel the warmth flow up deep inside of you, and he practically collapsed above you, completely spent.

You both laid a moment together, and his sweet cadence finally broke the silence after your pussy stopped its throbbing. He attempted to pull out, but your cunt gripped him completely.

“Relax.” He almost chuckled. Embarrassment flushed your face as he dragged a soothing hand down your sides, pulling away with a hiss.

“Sorry..” you mumbled.

He cast his eyes back up to you in a flash, and smirked. “Don’t be.”

“Just give me ten, okay?”

You rolled away to cover your face, giggling.

#call of duty #call of duty smut #könig call of duty #smut #konig #konig smut #konig x reader #könig

[kueble]

I Just Need You By My Side, Cause I'm Warmer in the Winter With You

Another very self-indulgent Christmas fic.

Teen. Warnings: Mentions of torture. 5,600 words.

Ghost/Soap

---

“Shouldn’t you be packing up?” Ghost asks him from where he leans against his doorway. Soap shrugs and sets down the pencil in his hand. He’s been sketching for about an hour now, trying to wind down at the end of a hectic day. Everyone on base is giddy at the thought of going home for the holidays, and the energy is almost overwhelming..

“Sorry, but you’ll have to get used to my ugly mug around here. I know you’re one of the only ones here most Christmases, but I don’t have anywhere else to be this year,” he explains, hoping years of interrogation techniques pay off and Ghost doesn’t call him on the lie. Though it’s partially true, since there’s nowhere he’d rather be then in the barracks with him.

“Don’t you usually have a big family celebration? Remember you rambling about nieces and nephews and being forced into midnight mass by your mother,” Ghost asks, eyes narrowing behind the black balaclava he’s chosen to wear today.

“Glad to know you actually listen to me when I shoot my mouth off,” he laughs out.

“Never miss a word, Johnny,” Ghost tells him evenly.

“So any other year, yeah I'd be home, but things are out of sorts this year with my sisters traveling to their husband’s families, and me Ma and Pa planned a little trip of their own,” he says. Sure, the little trip was right down the road to his brother’s house where everyone would be gathered like every other year, but no need for Ghost to know that.

Last year it was excruciating to leave Ghost on the tarmac, saying goodbyes as everyone else went home to their families. He doesn’t know much, but it’s clear Ghost no longer has anyone waiting for him back at home. They’d all joked about him haunting the base, probably maskless with the skeleton crew left behind and any other puns they could come up with. Still, there was a bleakness in Ghost’s eyes that he never wanted to see again.

Thankfully he’s never been able to hide his feelings from his parents, especially his mother, and she didn’t even bat an eye when he told her his plans. She’d said something cheesy about the magic of the season bringing them closer together, which he’d quickly scoffed off. He wasn’t doing this with any ulterior motives in place. It was a simple fact that his best friend shouldn’t be alone over the long holiday break they were lucky enough to get two years in a row.

If he happens to be completely ass over tits in love with him, he’s smart enough to keep it to himself.

“Guess it could be nice to have some company, even yours,” Ghost teases with a snort. Soap rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking still.

“Do you cook anything for it or rely on the mess hall for Christmas dinner?” he asks, already planning how to make things nicer for him. They may be stuck on a mostly empty base, but there’s no reason why he can’t make it as comfortable as possible.

“Sometimes I make a pot of soup for the week, but nothing special for the day itself. Tend to keep to myself,” he says softly. And that just won’t do.

“Happy to help sample anything you cook, but since I burn water, I’ll order us something nice from town. It shouldn’t be too late for a small catering order. You like lasagna?” he asks, already thinking of the perfect little Italian place near here.

“Wouldn’t say no to it, but there’s no need to get fancy over me,” Ghost mumbles. It only makes Soap more determined to bring a little Christmas magic into his life this year.

“I’ll take care of dinner and you just bring the good company,” he says to settle it. He’ll place an order first thing in the morning, already planning to buy way more food than they need. Ghost deserves to be spoiled, and leftovers are a rare commodity around here.

“Not sure I’ll contribute much in that regard, but yeah, I can show up,” he agrees.

“No one else I’d rather spend the day with. Honestly,” Soap admits, but Ghost just huffs at him.

“Piss off, Johnny,” he says with a laugh. Before he can figure out a response, the man is already gone. It may just be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he’s damned sure going to make sure Ghost knows how much Soap likes being around him, especially now. Likes, not loves, because he has a feeling that’s something he’ll take to his grave. Being around him will just have to do for now.

—

The poster fell off the wall for the three thousandth time, and Soap barely managed to keep himself in check. Price would have his head if he blew up the base, but it’s getting more and more likely. It’s a stupid thing, really, just a fake Christmas tree by a fireplace, but he bought it to cheer up their rec room. He grumbles under his breath, reciting every swear he knows and probably inventing some new ones along the way.

“Problems, Sergeant?” Ghost asks from his spot on the couch. There’s a hint of laughter on the edges of his voice, and Soap spins around to glare at him.

“There is in fact,” he spits out before taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. No use in pissing off the man he’s trying to decorate for. “These walls are apparently covered in fifty some years of filth, and I can’t get the damn tape to stick. Seriously, it’s like teflon and I’m actually afraid to think about what could be coating this wall right now.”

“This that important to you?” Ghost asks, head tilted like he’s studying him.

“Aye,” Soap sighs out. “Just wanted to brighten up the room a bit. We can’t have a real tree, and I’ve been banned from open flames on base, but I thought this stupid fucking poster might work. Wanna sneak off base and burn it with me? Might raise my spirits.”

“How about I fix it instead,” Ghost says, standing up to stomp over to the wall.

“You’re more than welcome to try, but not even sure duct tape will hold the damn thing at this point,” he says, scowling at the wall. Seriously, he was going to beg Price to get the room deep cleaned as soon as he was back on base. Can’t be safe.

Ghost shrugs before bumping him out of the way with his hip. He holds the poster with one hand and reaches into the back of his jeans with the other. The knife he pulls out is on the small side, but it does the job when he stabs it through the poster and into the wall. Nodding proudly, he slides another knife out of his sleeve and buries it in the other top corner. The final blade is tucked in his boot, and he takes a few steps back before flinging it at the wall.

It lands perfectly in the bottom center of the poster, and Soap chubs up in his sweats at the display of skill.

“Guess that works, too,” he murmurs, actively avoiding Ghost’s gaze. No need to show off how fucking gone on him he is, and he knows there’s hearts in his eyes right now. He’s bound to be suspicious just based on how desperate Soap is to make things perfect, to give him a better Christmas than year past, and he should try better to keep his feelings hidden. Not looking to get his heart broken over the holidays.

“Anything for you, Johnny,” Ghost tells him as he strides back to the couch and picks up his book again. Soap can feel his cheeks heating up and blurts out some half-assed excuse before making a tactful retreat.

—

He debates waiting until morning, but Soap is too curious about the package in his hands to wait that long. His box of gifts from his family arrived today, but he didn’t bother unpacking it until after dinner. Everything was neatly labeled - or scribbled by his nieces and nephews - with his name except for one.

To Ghost, From Ma MacTavish. Open Immediately.

Not one to disobey his mother, Soap raps on Ghost’s door and hopes this isn’t something too embarrassing. Lord knows his entire family is annoying enough already over his little crush, and he doesn’t need his mother stepping in to help him. There’s a rustling from behind the door before it’s swung open by a brooding Ghost. Anyone else might not see how moody he is, but Soap can tell just by studying his eyes.

“What do ya need?” he asks, voice cracking from disuse.

“Got a special delivery for you and instructions for you to open it right away,” Soap informs him, holding up the package like the peace offering that it is. Ghost eyes it suspiciously but steps aside and lets him into the room. While he’d love a chance to look around, Soap keeps his focus on Ghost out of respect for his privacy. He knows just letting him into the room was a big step for the other man.

“Your mum sent this?” Ghost asks as he takes the parcel from him. Soap nods and smiles warmly as Ghost’s eyes widen. “Better not keep her waiting then,” Ghost mutters before sitting on the edge of his bed. The package looks huge, even in his large hands, and Soap really wonders what it could be.

He tears the paper at the seams, carefully working a finger down the edge of it. It’s gentle in a way that hints of Christmases past and perhaps being yelled at to keep the wrapping for next year. Soap’s grandma used to do that and iron out each crease to save money.

When Ghost finally removes the paper, soap breathes a sigh of relief at seeing the present isn’t anything to worry about. Trust his mother to try and take care of someone she’s never met. Ghost holds up the blanket, blinking slowly at it. Soap supposes he isn’t used to getting many gifts, especially not something handmade. The blanket itself is a mix of blank and white granny squares, no doubt crocheted with love by his mother. Everyone in their house has at least one of these piled at the foot of their bed, and his heart warms at the thought of Ghost having one on his.

“She made it?” he asks in a whisper, and Soap wants to cry about it. There’s no reason a gift should put him in such a state of awe, and he vows right then and there to spoil him as much as he’s allowed to under the guise of friendship.

“You’re looking at a Ma MacTavish special right there. Everyone in the family has one, and it looks like she thinks highly of you,” he confirms.

“Never even met me.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve entertained her with a tale of two of the man who saved my life so many times. Besides, how else do you think she’d know the perfect color scheme for an emo bastard like yourself,” He says in an attempt to lighten the mood. The corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkle up, and he knows there’s a smile beneath the mask.

“You’ll have to thank her for me. No, wait! I’ll get a thank you note together for the next time you send mail home. That alright?” he asks almost timidly, which isn’t an emotion Soap’s sure he’s ever shown before.

“She’ll love that. Sorry to barge in on you so late at night, but I’m glad I did. Should probably be heading to bed, though,” Johnny says with a pout. Dreams of being asked to stay, to tuck himself against Ghost under that very blanket flash through his mind and he has to get out of here quickly before he shows his hand.

“Me too. Night, Johnny,” Ghost says, and he understands it for the dismissal that it is. The last thing he sees as he ducks out the door is Ghost spreading the blanket across the top of his bed and smoothing it out. He’ll have to send his mother a thank you note as well.

—

There is absolutely no reason for them to be in Soap’s room instead of the rec room, but he wasn’t about to say no when Ghost suggested it. Currently they are sitting on his bed - which is way too small for two grown ass men - with their backs against the wall and his laptop propped on top of their thighs. Ghost is a constant warm presence at his side, and he’s pretty sure he would be completely lost if he hadn’t seen this movie so many times.

They each have a glass of their preferred poison in hand, and Ghost has his mask tucked up over his nose while he purses his lips at the screen in front of them. He is so fucking stunning with the light from the laptop highlighting the planes of his face, and Soap would be weak in the knees were he standing. Not that Soap is abusing his trust just to watch him more than the movie. Absolutely not. Still, the sight of Simon’s sharp jawline is a rare one and he can’t seem to stop staring. He longs to scrap his teeth over the scar that curves around it and has to hold himself back from scooting even closer to him.

“I don’t get it,” Ghost says, breaking him out of his dangerous thoughts.

“How so?” he asks, eyes already turned back to the screen to see what part of the movie they’ve reached. Nearly done at this point, but the silly plot has been a fun distraction. They don’t often get downtime, time totally free of responsibilities, and he hopes he can go without this once everything is back to normal.

“This just seems so improbable. His family forgot to bring him to the airport and they don’t have a single family friend they can call in the meantime? The police are actively searching for these two assholes and yet a child is the only one who manages to take them down? Gotta admit some of these traps are pretty awesome, though,” Ghost rambles out.

“One, I can’t believe you’ve made it this far in life without watching this. Two, this film is a masterpiece because it makes you suspend reality. Three, I’m pretty sure this is why I ended up in demolitions anyway. Do you know how many things I blew up after seeing this? I thought my Pa was going to murder me just as an example for my brothers and sisters. One time I rigged a frying pan to hit my brother in the face and it broke his fucking nose,” Soap says, unable to hold in his laughter. “Pretty sure he was about to pack me off and make me Nan deal with me, but my Ma couldn’t let her baby go.”

“You’re a real piece of work, Johnny,” Ghost tells him softly. He brings his glass up to his mouth, and Soap watches him swallow slowly, desperately trying to remind himself how they’re friends and nothing more. “Glad it brought you to me, though.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, heart pounding in his chest.

But then they fall into an easy silence, and he’s forced to turn back to the movie. They both finish their drinks as the plot winds down, and he’s about to offer another when Ghost grabs his wrist to stop him from standing up. He looks down, worried that he’s overstepped somehow, and the tightness in Ghost’s clenched jaw startles him.

“We’ve had a good week, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly.

“Loved every second of it,” Soap blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Might not love this so much,” Ghost says with a sigh. “I’ve…I’ve never been this close with anyone, barely even shared this with Price, but I’d like to give you some sort of explanation for why I keep to myself at Christmas. If you’ll listen, that is.”

“Ghost, I will always be here, no matter what you want to tell me. Thank you for trusting me so much, but are you sure you want to do this while we’re drinking?” he has to ask, needs to be sure his friend won’t regret this come morning.

“You think I just keep bourbon and scotch on hand? That’s kinda the reason why I brought it with me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now, but I needed a little courage to do it. Just, just don’t say anything until I’m done, ok? If you do I might not be able to finish,” he warns him, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sensing how important this is, Soap sets both their glasses on his bedside table and closes the laptop. His desk lamp is on, so they’re not totally in the dark. He knows rumors of Ghost’s past, has heard a bunch of shit about his time in captivity, but every scrap of information is dear to him. He longs to know the man beside him better than he knows himself. He leans back against the wall and angles his body towards Ghost before saying, “Course. I got you.”

“When I was little, the only person I cared about was my mum. She kept me safe, kept my dad and brother away from me the best she could. I know now that my brother was only doing what he could to avoid my dad’s rage, but it still hurt back then. I won’t lie, I had a real shitty childhood and ran into the service as soon as I could. After that, things started improving. I came back home, kicked my sorry excuse for a father out of the house, and got my brother off of drugs. Hell, I stood beside him as he married the love of his life, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything, but the memories threaten to crush me sometimes.”

He trails off and palms the back of his head, chewing at his lower lip. Soap stays silent, unwilling to break his promise even though Ghost looked on the verge of falling apart. They sit there for a long moment while he regroups and continues his story. Soap longs to reach out, to offer some sort of physical comfort, but he knows better than to act on it. Simon doesn’t enjoy being touched on a good day, and he’d absolutely hate it while letting himself be this vulnerable.

“Things were going well until I got betrayed and snagged by Roba. Fuck, Johnny,” he breaks off, swallowing thickly before pressing his fingers to his mouth. “It was bad. I won’t go into details, but you can only be tortured for so long before you start to doubt yourself, start to go mad instead of trying to fight it. I have no fucking clue how I managed to survive after being left for dead, but I eventually made it back home.”

Ghost shifts his legs, twitching as he picks at the fabric of his sweats. He takes a few deep breaths and stares ahead at the wall, shoulders tense as he continues. “They died on Christmas, and it was all my fault. Roba still had his hooks in me, and couldn't let me go since I escaped with my life. One more betrayal led me back to my mum’s house that only hours before had been full of celebration and Christmas cheer. When I got there, the whole house was up in flames. The fire was so hot, but I had to save them. Only it was too late, because they were lying dead near the doorway. They even put a bullet through the forehead of my nephew. He was so small, so fragile, and I couldn’t even save him.”

He falls quiet, and it seems like he’s finished. Soap knew it was bad, but wasn’t expecting something so tragic. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just lays a hand on Ghost’s shoulder and squeeze it gently, deciding to risk the touch at this point. It seems to shatter something inside of him and he slumps over to lean on Soap’s shoulder.

“The men involved?” he asks quietly.

“Killed them all. Didn’t bring back my family, though. So yeah, Christmas fucking sucks, but at least I’m not alone this year. Didn’t know it would be easier with you here, but you always manage to help me stay calm. Should have expected it,” he says. His voice is tinged with exhaustion, and Soap knows he’s worn himself out.

“Thank you for trusting me with this. I, it’s, well it’s fucked up that you had to experience that. I know nothing I say can help make it much better, and I’m honestly not sure how you managed to get through it, but I’m grateful you did. I can’t imagine being here without you,” Soap says after a long moment. He knew Ghost has a shitty past, had heard about him digging himself out of his own grave, but this is a whole new level of horrible. If it happened to him, he can’t say he would still be here to talk about it.

“Price helped a lot. Pushed me through it and then kept me around,” Ghost says, turning to stare at the wall. Soap isn’t sure what he can offer at this point, but he has the feeling Ghost might not want to be alone after unloading all of this.

“Stay with me?” he asks, watching as Ghost’s shoulders rise up. He still isn’t looking at him, so he keeps talking. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I can’t imagine wanting to be by myself after such an intense conversation. Would feel bad if I let you go back to your room, really.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually sleep with the mask on,” Ghost says with a chuckle. And ok, he can work with that.

“So let me freshen up and get myself ready for bed. You can go after me, and I’ll just sleep on my side. I can keep my eyes shut, give you your privacy,” he suggests. Ghost finally turns to look at him, and there’s a telltale hint of red around his eyes. If Soap was still religious, he’d offer up a prayer that the other man agrees. He clearly needs comforting tonight.

“Yeah, ok,” Ghost mumbles. “Gonna change into my sleep stuff, though. I’ll get ready in my room and be back in a few.”

He practically leaps out of the bed, and Soap hopes he holds true to his word. He goes through his nightly routine on autopilot, not even aware of it until he’s crawling into his bed. He leaves the side of the covers up and turns onto his side to face the wall. It’s only just catching up to him that he invited Ghost into his bed, but tonight isn’t about him. He’d be offering the same closeness to Gaz if he shared something as horrific as Ghost just did.

If anything, this only proves how amazingly strong Ghost is. He had to reinvent himself twice, the second time with no one to support him. They’ve all seen and done some really horrendous things in the name of queen and country, but he can’t fathom coming home to find the burning bodies of his family at his feet.

He’s yanked out of his spiraling thoughts by the sound of the door opening and shutting. The clunk of Ghost setting down his boots seems impossibly loud in the silence, and he holds his breath waiting for Ghost to come to bed. He hears the muffled sound of Ghost removing his mask and setting it on the bedside table and fights the urge to turn around and look at his gorgeous face. He’s here as a friend tonight, and his feelings don’t matter right now.

The bed dips behind him, and the covers shift as Ghost settles in behind him. There’s an awkward few seconds where they both shuffle around trying to figure out how two large men can fit in such a small bed, but then Ghost sighs and rolls onto his side to frame Soap from behind. He slings an arm across Soap’s hips and presses his nose against the nape of Soap’s neck. The last thing he hears as he drifts off is a soft, “Thank you, Johnny.”

—

Unsurprisingly, Ghost is gone when he wakes up. The bed is still warm, though, so he knows he spent the whole night. He wishes he could have woken him up with a Merry Christmas, but understands his need for time to himself. Chris, last night had been a lot. Hopefully he can still provide a little holiday cheer tonight, but even if they eat in silence he’ll have a great time. Every second spent at Ghost’s side is a better gift than anything he could ever fine underneath the tree.

He spends the morning in the gym, working out his frustrations. Life wasn’t fair, but it has been exceedingly rotten towards Ghost. He knows there isn’t anything he can do to change his past, but he’ll damn sure be here for his future. It feels like they crossed a line last night, but he’s not sure which one. Nothing romantic happened, but he feels closer to Ghost than anyone before. He’s willing to bet Ghost hasn’t opened up this much to many people, probably just Price, and he’s ashamed at how giddy that makes him feel.

They might not ever be together, but they’ll always be solid.

After lunch and a long, self-indulgent shower it’s easy to keep himself busy by running through last minute preparations. They hadn’t said anything about exchanging gifts, but Soap kept finding the perfect things for him.He knows Ghost will love the aged bourbon, even though it hurt his Scottish heart to buy it. There’s also a new knife that came highly recommended by their armorer and a deck of cards with holographic skulls on them. Wrapping was never his strong suit, but he managed to slap some paper onto his gifts. Sure, it looked like they were wrapped by a small child, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

He just finishes heating up the catering he picked up the day before and is about to text Ghost to hurry up and join him when his phone goes off. It’s an incoming FaceTime from his mother, and he decides there’s plenty of time to take it before Ghost swings by. He’s been missing his family all day, but they promised to call at some point.

“Ma! Happy Christmas!” he shouts, laughing as his entire family tries to crowd into the camera view.

“You’ll each get a turn, back off,” his mother says, already throwing elbows at his siblings and their kids. His dad stands next to her, silent as always but with a huge smile on his face. He lifts his glass in cheers, and Johnny waves back in response.

“We’re about to eat dinner, but It’s good to see you all. Make sure everyone gets hugs from me, even though I’m not with you this year. And pass out my presents! Make sure the kids know how much Uncle John spoils them. I want photographic evidence!” he says, laughing as one of his nieces tries to jump into the view again. His dad picks her up and wanders off, no doubt about to bribe her into behaving with cookies.

“I hope staying away is worth it,” his mother says, but she doesn’t look mad, just nosy. She’s been on him for months to bring his boy home, no matter how much he tells her they aren’t dating. Ghost is one hundred percent his boy, though, even if he hasn’t realized it yet.

“It’s worth every second away from you all,” he answers honestly, “I’ll be home as soon as we get more downtime, but you know why I have to be here. Thanks for understanding.”

“Anything for my baby,” his mom says, snorting when he scowls at her.

“You ever going to stop calling me that?” he asks, knowing full well she never will. He isn’t mad, not really, just likes to give her grief about it.

“If you didn’t want to be my baby, you’d have been born higher up the chain,” she tells him with a smirk.

“We can argue about it later. Let me get dinner on the table and then we’ll chat again later, yeah? We can pass around the phone so all the kids can show me everything they got,” he suggests, and his mom nods in response.

“Go feed your boy,” she tells him and ends the call before he can quip back at her.

“Not my boy,” he mumbles to the empty room.

But then someone clears their throat from behind him, and his heart sinks into his chest. Fuck. He spins around with a fake smile on his face to find Ghost standing there with his arms crossed.

“I’m assuming you heard all of that?” he asks with a grimace.

“You lied about your family not being together,” Ghost says, though he knows it’s a question.

“Aye, I did. And I don’t feel bad about it. I couldn’t leave you here alone again. Like it or not, I’m here for you,” he says with a sharp nod. He’s already gearing for a fight, ready to be stubborn as hell about it, but what Ghost says next throws him off his game.

“Because I’m your boy,” he asks, and Johnny can hear the fucking smirk in his voice. He has a plain balaclava on today, which is as dressed down as Ghost seems to get.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to let that one go? We can forget about it,” he offers quietly. Because who is he to keep dreaming, right? He’s been dropping hints for at least a year now, and Ghost hasn’t taken the bait. He teeter-totters between thinking the man returns his feelings to thinking he barely tolerates him. Regardless, he meant what he said and he’ll be standing by his side as long as Ghost lets him.

“And if I don’t want to forget it? What if I wanted to be your boy? Though I’d prefer man, if we’re being honest here,” Ghost says, and he freezes while his brain catches up.

“You fucking with me?” he asks, just because he needs to know, needs to be sure before he makes a fool of himself. Well, more of a fool than he already has.

“No, but we could fool around later if dinner goes well,” Ghost tells him, laughing as he reaches up and pulls the mask off. He tosses it onto the table, barely missing the salad bowl.

And fuck, he’s a bonnie lad. Soap can’t even speak, just stands there staring at him, eyes trailing over every exposed inch of his face, committing it to memory in case this is the last time he sees it for a while. “You’re stunning,” he whispers in awe. Then he has the pleasure of watching Ghost’s face darken, the apples of his cheeks turning pink and making the freckles dotting them stand out even more.

“Shut up,” he murmurs before stepping closer. “But yeah, I’m all in if you want this too. Want me. I’m sick of wasting time. Maybe next year we can be with your family instead of me keeping you stuck on base.”

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life,” he says truthfully. “And I’d rather be stuck here every single year if you prefer it. But you heard my Ma. She wants you home with me.”

“Let’s make sure we make it to next Christmas, then,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of worry in his tone.

“Never letting go of you now,” Soap warns him with a laugh. Ghost chuckles and moves in so close the toes of their boots touch.

“Hard to let go if you haven’t even touched me yet,” he points out. And fuck if his smirk isn’t as lovely as Soap had imagined. It’s crooked, a scar bisecting the left side, but it’s perfect to him.

“Better fix that. Can I kiss you, Ghost?” he asks softly.

“Simon. Call me Simon when we’re alone,” he says breathily, and Soap knows how out of his comfort zone he is right now.

“Simon, can I kiss you? Please?” he asks and Simon just nods at him.

And so he does. He cups Simon’s cheeks, brushing a thumb across the constellation of freckles there, and leans in to press their mouths together. It seems almost anticlimactic after all their flirting, but the feel of Simon’s chapped lips against his is one of the best things he’s ever experienced. He can almost feel the tension leave both their bodies as they melt into each other. He keeps things light, pulls back before thinking better and darting back for another quick kiss.

Kissing Simon isn’t a burst of fireworks, but it’s like coming home which is even more perfect.

“Would now be a good time to tell you I’m really fucking in love with you?” he asks teasingly.

“Only if I can say the same,” Simon says, chuckling as he palms the back of Johnny’s head and drags him into another kiss.

And if they stand there kissing in the middle of the rundown rec room, lost in each other long after their dinner has gone cold, it’s no one's business but their own.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #my fic

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part six

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of drinking

author's note: ugh i'm sorry this took longer than other chapters, i've had writer's block and i went out of town for a bit

The air was heavy with the sweet scent of freshly cut grass, mingling with the faint aroma of expensive cologne and cigar smoke. The soft thud of golf clubs hitting balls echoed across the pristine lawns of the country club, a testament to the wealth and leisure of its members. Rafe and Topper stood side by side near the practice green, their faces tense with anticipation. Topper's brow furrowed in disbelief as he processed Rafe's shocking revelation.

"You're kidding me, right?" Topper's voice carried a note of incredulity as he turned to face Rafe, his eyes widening in surprise.

Rafe shook his head, a grim expression settling over his features. "I wish I was," he replied, his tone heavy with resignation. "She's back, Topper. Y/N's back."

Topper let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. "Damn, man. And here I thought life was starting to get boring."

Rafe shot him a withering look, unamused by his friend's attempt at humor. "This is serious, Topper. She's with JJ now."

Topper's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "JJ? Seriously?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Man, things just keep getting more complicated around here."

Rafe nodded grimly, his jaw clenched as he contemplated the implications of your return. The tension between them was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

Rafe's voice carried a mix of astonishment and contempt, his words punctuated by a sharp exhale. "I can't believe this. Maybank? I thought she'd have some semblance of standards."

Topper leaned back in his chair, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips as he observed Rafe's reaction. "Come on, Rafe," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "You can't be that shocked. Her and Maybank were pretty close, even when you two were together."

Rafe's grip tightened around his glass, the knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his composure. He shot a warning glare at Topper, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Doesn't matter," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "She's back now, and I'll make sure she remembers why she left in the first place."

Topper's face fell into an amused smirk, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he leaned forward, genuinely interested in Rafe's plan. "And how do you plan on doing that?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation and a hint of mischief.

Rafe leaned back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he contemplated his plan. "I'm gonna rip them apart," he declared, his voice low and full of conviction. "Make them realize they don't belong together. And then, when she's finally free, she'll come running back to me."

Topper's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a mixture of awe and concern crossing his features. "That's a bold move, Rafe," he remarked, shaking his head slightly. "But I like it." Rafe's grin widened, a glint of determination shining in his eyes as he plotted his next move, ready to do whatever it takes to win you back.

Rafe's voice dripped with malice as he leaned in closer to Topper, his eyes glowing with a twisted glee. "I know exactly how to break her," he sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Things that will make her beg for me." A dark shadow passed over his face, revealing the depths of his deviousness.

Topper's deep, rumbling laugh broke the quiet air, accompanied by a sound of disbelief as he watched Rafe's playful antics. A small smile tugged at the corners of Topper's mouth as he raised his beer in a mock toast to his friend. "You never cease to amaze me," he chuckled, taking a swig from his bottle before setting it back down on the table with a thud. "Cheers to you, man," he added with a grin.

As Rafe's lips curled into a sly grin, the dim lights of the country club reflected in his eyes, illuminating the spark of determination within. With a confident nod, he raised his beer to his lips, savoring the crisp taste as it invigorated him for what was to come. In that moment, the chatter of the club faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thumping of his own heartbeat, pulsing with anticipation. With every sip, he felt the weight of his intentions settle upon his shoulders, yet it only fueled his resolve further.

As his gaze drifted into the distance, his mind danced with visions of strategy, each step meticulously planned to achieve his desired outcome. In the hushed atmosphere of the club, Rafe was a portrait of determination, ready to embark on a journey that would test the limits of his calculations and potentially change everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

As you sat in the room, the silence enveloped you like a thick fog, muffling the outside world and amplifying the cacophony within your mind. Hours seemed to pass unnoticed, each moment stretching into eternity as you grappled with the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

The room itself was a stark white canvas, its walls bare save for a single window that cast a pale light upon the floor. The air was still and heavy, charged with an electric tension that seemed to hum beneath your skin. And there you sat, a fragile figure perched upon the edge of the bed, lost in a sea of thoughts and memories.

The sight of Rafe, after two long years of absence, had struck you like a bolt of lightning, igniting a storm of memories that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't help but replay moments shared with him, each one a vivid tableau painted in shades of joy, longing, and heartache.

With a heavy heart, you pulled your legs up to your chest, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of solitude. Your mind raced, flickering between moments of happiness and pain, uncertainty and yearning. It was as if time had folded in on itself, trapping you in an endless loop of what-ifs and regrets.

As you stared blankly at the wall before you, the weight of those memories pressed down on you like a leaden blanket. Each image, each whispered conversation, etched itself into your mind with painful clarity, refusing to be ignored or forgotten.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store. Would you find the strength to confront the ghosts of your past and move forward, or would you remain forever trapped in the shadows of what could have been?

The weight of guilt settled heavily upon you, a silent burden that threatened to suffocate you with its crushing embrace. It wasn't just the encounter with Rafe that had shaken you to your core; it was the raw intensity of the emotions it had dredged up from the depths of your soul.

Your friends, ever perceptive, had noticed the shift in your demeanor, the subtle changes in your laughter, the haunted look in your eyes. Among them, JJ had been the most attentive, his concern a constant presence in the background of your days. He tried to coax you out of your shell, offering small gestures of kindness and understanding, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to reach the depths of your turmoil.

And it pained him, more than he dared to admit, to see you struggling beneath the weight of your own emotions. He longed to chase away the shadows that haunted your every step, to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the storm raging inside your heart. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more, something hidden beneath the surface, that eluded even his keenest gaze.

The sound of a timid knock echoed through the room, jolting you out of the labyrinth of your thoughts. With a furrowed brow and a racing heart, you turned your gaze towards the door, a sliver of curiosity piercing through the veil of your reverie. "Who is it?" you called out, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

A familiar voice, soft and gentle, floated through the wooden barrier, carrying with it a sense of warmth and familiarity that washed over you like a gentle tide. "It's me, JJ," came the whispered reply, so quiet that it was almost lost amidst the rustle of the wind outside.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed, the weight of uncertainty settling like a leaden cloak upon your shoulders. With hesitant steps, you made your way to the door, your hand trembling as you reached out to grasp the handle. As you pulled it open, a rush of cool air swept into the room, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and sea.

Standing before you was JJ, his features bathed in the soft glow of twilight streaming through the window. His eyes, pools of deep blue, held a silent question, a silent plea for understanding that tugged at the strings of your heart. And as you met his gaze, a fragile connection blossomed between you, fragile yet unbreakable, binding you together in a silent embrace.

For a moment, you stood there, locked in a silent tableau, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you. And as the seconds stretched into eternity, you realized that sometimes, the greatest truths lie not in what is said, but in the silent spaces that linger between the words.

With a faint smile, you welcomed him into the room with a soft "Hey, come in," stepping aside to allow him entry. JJ nodded his thanks and crossed the threshold, his steps carrying him towards the edge of your bed where he settled himself down, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of concern and affection.

"You haven't left your room all day, Y/N," His soft voice pierced through the silence that had consumed your room all day. You couldn't bring yourself to leave, the weight of your thoughts chaining you in place. Your hand trembled as he reached out to gently grasp it, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine and grounding you in the present amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

As you lowered yourself onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipped slightly under your weight. You turned to face him, his eyes speaking volumes of unspoken worry and concern. A silent plea hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze searching yours for answers.

"I know," you murmured, barely above a whisper as you struggled to find words to express the turmoil within. "It's just… being back here again, it threw me off more than I thought it would."

JJ's sigh echoed softly in the room, a somber melody that underscored the weight of your shared emotions. He sensed the unspoken truth lingering beneath your words - the invisible thread tethering you to Rafe's memory and tugging you back into the tumultuous waters of your past.

"I understand," JJ murmured, his voice tinged with empathy and apprehension. He knew how much this encounter with Rafe had affected you, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and leaving you adrift in uncertainty. But despite the storm raging within you, JJ remained steadfast in his resolve to be your anchor - guiding you through the tempest with unwavering support and love.

"I'm here," he reassured you, his words a gentle promise woven with sincerity. "I won't let you give up like this." His declaration hung in the air, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness threatening to consume you.

But even with JJ's unwavering support, you couldn't help but feel like your past was haunting you after coming back to this island. You spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, struggling to put your feelings into words.

JJ's heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice as he reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the swirling currents of your emotions.

"What do you mean, Y/N?" he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with concern. He leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you were feeling.

"I just don't feel like I'm half the girl you think I am," you confessed softly, your words heavy with self-doubt.

JJ's confusion only added to the weight of your emotions, making it harder to articulate your feelings. "What are you talking about, baby?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "I've done things that were wrong, Jay," you admitted, each word feeling like a jagged edge tearing at your soul. "And… I ran away from this island just to escape my own problems. That wasn't okay." Your voice wavered as you spoke, the weight of your confession hanging heavily in the air. You felt exposed and vulnerable - but also relieved to finally have someone know the truth.

A somber expression enveloped JJ's features as he listened to your words. "If this is about Rafe and what happened between us when you were seeing him, that was well over two years ago, Y/N," he gently reassured you. "You can't punish yourself for whatever you did in the past, and besides, you two were broken up." His voice carried a comforting tone, laced with understanding and empathy, as he tried to ease the weight of your guilt.

JJ's expression softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of compassion and contemplation as he searched your face for the right words. For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the weight of your question lingering in the air. Finally, JJ spoke, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Y/N, forgiveness isn't about deserving or not deserving. It's about understanding and moving forward," he said, his tone carrying a depth of sincerity. "And if it were me… I'd like to think I would have found a way to forgive you."

Although he was sincere, you responded with a dry, non-humored laugh. "You would've hated me, JJ. You and I both know that."

JJ reached out, gently cupping your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. "I could never hate you, Y/N," he said softly, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. "No matter what you think you've done, I'm always going to love you."

As you sought solace in JJ's comforting presence, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swept through your mind. The echo of past grievances against Rafe clashed with the unexpected empathy that stirred within you upon seeing him again.

In the quiet depths of your soul, doubts danced like shadows, casting uncertainty over your hardened resolve. Could you truly unshackle yourself from the chains of resentment that bound you to the past? Each word JJ spoke, laced with conviction and forgiveness, tugged at the fragile threads of your resolve, threatening to unravel the carefully woven tapestry of your anger.

Yet, amidst the tumultuous storm of emotions, a flicker of compassion ignited within you. The vulnerability in Rafe's gaze, a stark contrast to the arrogance you once knew, pierced through the armor around your heart. It was a silent plea for understanding, a beacon of humanity in a sea of animosity.

With a heavy heart and a tentative smile, you attempted to convey to JJ the semblance of acceptance he sought. But deep within, the embers of resentment still smoldered, casting a shadow of doubt over the possibility of forgiveness.

"I've always loved you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that resonated deep within you. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, you felt a sense of belonging that transcended words.

With a forced smile, you gazed into JJ's eyes, hoping he wouldn't see through the facade you had carefully crafted. "I love you too, Jay," you repeated, the words hollow and empty, yet spoken with a practiced ease that belied the turmoil raging within. As you spoke the words, you hoped they would serve as a shield, deflecting the raw emotions that threatened to engulf you both. You wanted to believe them, to convince yourself that everything was fine, but deep down, doubts gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

JJ's soft smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features before he cleared his throat and spoke up again. His words hung in the air, laden with a sense of hesitation that caught your attention.

"Oh, I also forgot to tell you," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension, "I got us our jobs back at the golf course."

"You did what?" Your eyes widened in horror, and you shot up from the bed so fast it almost made JJ flinch. The words hung heavy in the air, your mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. Working at the golf course meant revisiting a part of your past you had worked so hard to leave behind. It was a place filled with memories - both good and bad - that still had the power to shake you to your core.

JJ's expression softened as he watched your reaction, his own uncertainty reflecting in his eyes. He knew how difficult this news was for you, but he also believed that facing your fears head-on might bring some closure.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm. "I thought it might be good for us, you know? To get back into the swing of things."

You took in a deep breath as you paced the floor, trying to collect your thoughts amidst the whirlwind of emotions. "Well, when are we supposed to start, JJ?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension.

JJ scratched the back of his head nervously, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours. "Uh, tomorrow," he replied, his tone hesitant. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I thought we could use the distraction, you know?"

You scoffed in disbelief as you continued pacing the bedroom, shaking your head continuously as you confronted your boyfriend. "I can't believe you did this, JJ. We could've gotten a job anywhere, and you chose the golf course?"

JJ seemed taken aback by your outburst, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. "Why are you so upset about working there? Is it because of Rafe?" he asked cautiously, his brow furrowing in concern.

You paused, feeling a surge of anger and frustration at the mention of Rafe's name. Turning on your heel to face JJ, you felt your heart pounding with intensity. "I can't believe you'd say that, especially after the conversation we just had," you exclaimed, your voice laced with a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

JJ's jaw dropped as he looked up at you, his brows furrowing in confusion and frustration. "Well, it's not a far-fetched guess, Y/N!" he exclaimed, his tone edged with frustration. "I mean, why else would you care so much about working there?"

Your voice rose with frustration as you confronted JJ, the pent-up emotions finally boiling over. "Why do you think everything is about Rafe?" you exclaimed, your tone edged with exasperation. "Maybe I didn't like working there, or maybe it's because I fucking outgrew the place when we stopped working there two damn years ago, JJ!"

JJ's eyes widened in surprise at the intensity of your words, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. "Y/N, I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to assume..."

You shoved his hand away, a pang of hurt flashing across JJ's features as he watched you withdraw. "Look, I'm not doing this with you right now, Jay," you said firmly, holding your hands up in defense as you backed away. "I can't handle another fight or argument with anyone, especially you. I just need to be alone right now."

JJ's expression fell, the hurt evident in his eyes as he nodded silently, understanding your need for space. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I'll... give you some space."

With a silent nod, you met JJ's gaze, a faint apologetic expression softening your features. Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the bedroom, the weight of the unresolved tension heavy on your shoulders. As you left JJ behind, the air between you thick with unspoken words, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that gnawed at your conscience.

Sarah bounced up from the couch, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she eagerly awaited your response. "Hey! Guess where we are going tonight?" she chirped, her voice filled with an infectious energy that lifted your spirits.

You couldn't help but be drawn in by her enthusiasm, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched her. "Where are we going tonight?" you asked, genuinely curious now, grateful for the distraction from your earlier argument with JJ.

Sarah's eyes lit up with excitement as she practically bounced on her feet, her smile infectious. "A party!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity, mixed with a tinge of apprehension. "But aren't we supposed to be keeping a low profile?" you questioned, furrowing your brow in concern.

Sarah waved off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, a playful smirk playing at her lips. "We'll be fine," she assured you, her tone laced with a hint of mischief.

You pondered her words for a moment, weighing the potential consequences of going against John B's wishes. The temptation of a night of carefree fun was hard to resist, and Sarah's infectious enthusiasm was even harder. "Okay," you relented, a small smile spreading across your lips as you agreed.

A squeal of delight escaped Sarah's lips as she threw her arms around you, enveloping you in a warm embrace. "Yay!" she cheered, her voice filled with joy and excitement. "This is going to be so much fun, Y/N!"

The tension eased from your body as you returned her hug, the warmth of her embrace a soothing balm on your frayed nerves. In that moment, the troubles of the past seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose.

You pulled away slightly, shooting Sarah a playful grin as you met her gaze. "Let's get ready, then!" you exclaimed, matching her enthusiasm as you grabbed her hand and led her towards the bathroom.

You spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready for the party, a welcome distraction from the heaviness that had weighed on you all day. The excitement buzzed in the air, a palpable sense of anticipation building as you and Sarah prepared yourselves for the night ahead.

With each passing moment, you felt the tension and stress melting away, replaced by a sense of eager anticipation for the evening. And as the sun began to set, painting the sky in a symphony of hues, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you at the party.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

A myriad of emotions coursed through your veins, the energy of the crowd fueling your own enthusiasm. You couldn't help but be swept up in the contagious spirit of the party, the music thrumming through your body as you swayed along to the beat.

The pulsating lights and pounding bass of the music blurred the edges of your perception, enveloping you in a euphoric haze. You moved to the rhythm with a sense of abandon, feeling the music course through your veins like a drug. Sarah danced beside you, her laughter mingling with the beat as you lost yourself in the moment, surrendering to the intoxicating atmosphere of the party.

As you swayed to the music, you leaned in close to Sarah, the excitement evident in your voice despite the cacophony around you. "I'm gonna go get another drink!" you exclaimed, your words punctuated by the pulsating beat. Sarah flashed you a thumbs up, her own energy mirroring yours as she continued dancing to the rhythm.

As you weaved through the pulsating crowd, the thumping bass reverberating through your body, you felt a surge of energy coursing through you. The dim lights danced around you, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to move in time with the music. With each step, you felt the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of liberation and exhilaration.

At the bar, you leaned against the counter, catching the eye of the bartender amidst the chaos. "Another round, please!" you called out, your voice barely audible above the din of the music. The bartender nodded in acknowledgment, swiftly preparing your drink as you scanned the room, taking in the sea of faces illuminated by the neon glow.

Leaning casually against the polished surface of the bar counter, you let your gaze wander aimlessly across the pulsating crowd. The flickering lights cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the room, painting the scene in vibrant hues that danced in time with the music. You tapped your fingers lightly against the edge of the counter, the rhythm of the song seeping into your bones as you swayed gently to its melody.

As you waited for your drink to arrive, you found yourself lost in the moment, humming along to the familiar tune playing overhead. The thumping bass reverberated through the floor, sending vibrations up your legs and into your core. It was as if the music had woven itself into the very fabric of the room, enveloping you in its infectious energy. Amidst the chaos of the party, you felt a sense of calm wash over you, a fleeting moment of tranquility amidst the frenzy. The laughter and chatter of the crowd faded into the background as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the music, letting it carry you to a place of pure bliss.

With your drink in hand, you turned back towards the pulsating crowd, ready to lose yourself once again in the rhythm of the music. But as you took a step forward, your gaze lifted, and you froze in your tracks.

There, just a few feet away, stood a familiar figure, his tall stature commanding attention even amidst the throng of partygoers. Surrounded by his friends, he seemed completely at ease, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he engaged in conversation.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with him, a rush of conflicting emotions washing over you. It was as if the chaos of the party faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a suspended moment of recognition.

Your heart quickened its pace as you struggled to maintain your composure, your grip on your drink tightening involuntarily. Every fiber of your being urged you to look away, to flee from the intensity of his gaze. But something kept you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

In that moment, surrounded by the pulsing music and the swirling crowd, you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him, the pull of his presence undeniable despite the distance between you. With a steadying breath, you braced yourself for what was to come, knowing that this encounter would change everything.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him weave through the crowd, each movement drawing him closer to where you stood. The dim lights of the party cast shadows across his features, highlighting the familiar contours of his face as he neared.

Time seemed to slow as he finally reached you, his presence enveloping you in a wave of nostalgia and uncertainty. You couldn't tear your gaze away from him, captivated by the intensity of his eyes as they met yours.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" His voice broke through the haze of the party, pulling you back to the present moment. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, stirring memories of shared moments and whispered promises.

"I... I'm just here with Sarah," you replied, your voice barely audible above the music. His proximity made it difficult to focus, his presence eliciting a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

He nodded in understanding, his expression inscrutable as he took in your response. "I see," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher. You found yourself caught in his gaze, unable to look away as he spoke.

"Rafe... I," your words caught in your throat as you struggled to find the right thing to say. Meeting his gaze, you searched for the courage to speak, to convey the torrent of emotions swirling inside you.

"Yeah?" Rafe prompted softly, his eyes searching yours for answers.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you attempted to apologize with sincerity although your words slurred some, "it was just a shock to see you.""

You watched as Rafe's shoulders relaxed a bit, his features easing from their initial tension. "It's alright," he said quietly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "I guess I should've expected to see you back here eventually."

You held your silence as you peered up at him momentarily with a doe-eyed look gazing up at him, silently pleading for his forgiveness. Although the room around you was still spinning, you intently watched as his azure colored eyes flickered back and forth between yours, as if he was trying to find some truth to your words.

Rafe's expression softened further as he looked down at you, a hint of vulnerability shining in his eyes. "I've missed you," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the music.

As his words hung in the air, the chaos of the party seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of suspended time. The confession tugged at your heart, stirring up feelings you had buried deep within yourself.

"I've missed you too," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The raw honesty of the moment enveloped you both, weaving a fragile thread of connection between your intertwined pasts and uncertain futures.

Rafe reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the space between you as if seeking permission. Without hesitation, you closed the gap, letting his fingers intertwine with yours. It felt like coming home after a long journey, a sense of familiarity and warmth flooding through your veins.

In that fleeting moment of contact, a wave of memories flooded your mind - the shared laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises that once filled your days with joy. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, begging to be released into the fragile space between you. Rafe's gaze bore into yours, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as if mirroring the emotions swirling within you.

With a deep breath, you mustered the courage to break the silence that had settled between you. "I never stopped loving you," the words spilled out in a whisper, carrying a lifetime of regrets and longing.

Rafe's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings he had buried deep within himself. "I thought about you every day," he confessed, his voice barely above a murmur.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of unspoken truths lifted off your shoulders, leaving behind a bittersweet ache for all the time lost. The music continued to play in the background, a gentle melody underscoring the intensity of the moment between you and Rafe. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you both back together, allowing a second chance at love to bloom amidst the chaos of the party swirling around you.

As you stood there, hand in hand with Rafe, the distance that had once seemed insurmountable now felt like a mere whisper of a forgotten past. The years apart melted away, leaving behind a sense of familiarity and yearning that echoed in the depths of your souls.

"I don't want to lose you again," Rafe's voice broke through the silence, his words laced with a vulnerability that pierced through your defenses. His gaze held yours, pleading for a chance to make things right, to rewrite the story that had been left unfinished between you.

In that moment, surrounded by the haunting melody of the music and the weight of their shared unspoken truths, you felt a sense of hope blossoming within you. The years of heartache and longing seemed to fade into nothingness as you found yourself gazing into Rafe's eyes, seeing the same yearning reflected back at you.

“So much has changed since I left, Rafe. I..I’m with JJ now,” A flicker of pain crossed Rafe's face at your words, his grip on your hand tightening momentarily before he forced himself to relax. "I see," he replied softly, though the turmoil in his eyes was impossible to conceal. You could sense the flood of emotions swirling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

As you watched Rafe struggle to maintain his composure, a pang of regret washed over you. The complexities of the situation weighed heavily on your heart, torn between the past that still held a piece of your soul and the present that offered a different kind of solace.

"I'm sorry, Rafe," you whispered, the words heavy with an unspoken apology for the wounds you had inadvertently reopened. His gaze softened as he looked at you, a mix of understanding and heartbreak clouding his features.

"It's okay," Rafe said, his voice tinged with resignation. "I should have expected as much."

The air between you grew heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, creating a rift that felt impossible to bridge. You searched for the right words to ease the tension that lingered between you, yearning for a way to mend what had been broken so long ago.

"I never wanted to hurt you," you confessed, the weight of guilt settling heavily on your shoulders. Rafe's gaze softened upon hearing your words, a flicker of empathy shining through the hurt in his eyes.

"I know," he replied quietly, his voice laced with a mixture of pain and acceptance. "We both made mistakes, Y/N. That's in the past now." Silence enveloped you once more, the weight of unspoken apologies and regrets hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. The music continued to pulse around you, a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled between you and Rafe.

"I should go," Rafe said suddenly, his voice breaking through the quiet that had descended upon you both. His fingers slipped out of yours, leaving a ghost of warmth in their wake. You watched as he turned to leave, his shoulders hunched with the weight of unresolved emotions. As he reached the doorway, he paused, his back still turned to you.

"I'll always care about you," Rafe's voice drifted back to you, heavy with emotion. And then, without another word, he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. The truth in them was undeniable, a bittersweet reminder of what once was between you. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes and let the music wash over you, its melody a poignant backdrop to the ache in your heart.

As the party continued on around you, laughter and chatter filling the air, you found yourself lost in memories of a time when things had been different between you and Rafe. A time when love had bloomed instead of withered, when promises had meant something more than just words.

But now, all that was left were shattered fragments of what could have been. The weight of regret settled in the pit of your stomach as you replayed the moments of the past that led to this heartbreaking present. The music that once brought joy now felt like a cruel reminder of happier times, mocking the emptiness that consumed you.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when a familiar voice interrupted the melancholy symphony playing in your mind. "Y/N?" The voice was hesitant, almost tentative, pulling you back to reality. You turned to see Rafe standing before you, uncertainty written across his features.

"I couldn't leave without saying this," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I still love you, Y/N. Despite everything that has happened, my feelings for you never truly faded." His words hung in the air between you, heavy with raw emotion.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, emotions swirling within you like a tumultuous storm. Rafe's confession left you speechless, the weight of his words crashing over you like a tidal wave. Despite the ache in your heart, a glimmer of hope flickered within you at his declaration. You searched his eyes, seeing the genuine vulnerability and longing in them.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you both stood there, enveloped in a bubble of unresolved emotions and unspoken words. The sounds of the party faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a world of your own making.

Finally finding your voice, you reached out a trembling hand towards him, unsure of what the future held but unwilling to let go of this fragile chance at reconciliation. "Rafe," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the music. "I never stopped loving you either."

His eyes widened in surprise, as if not daring to believe that your feelings mirrored his own. Without another word, he stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space separating your bodies. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the electric tension between you and Rafe.

In that moment, it felt as if all the pain and heartache of the past melted away, overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of emotion that surged through you. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, a familiar yet long-forgotten sensation.

Rafe's gaze never wavered from yours as he slowly raised his hand to cup your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm. Every nerve in your body tingled at his proximity, at the unspoken promise that hung in the air between you.

Without a word, you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as if savoring the feeling of his hand against your skin. It was as if the world had finally righted itself, as if all the pieces that had been scattered were falling back into place.

And in that stolen moment of quiet intimacy, with your heart beating wildly in your chest, Rafe's lips met yours in a tender yet fervent kiss. It was a merging of souls, a culmination of years of longing and regret, all encapsulated in the simple act of their lips meeting. The world around you ceased to exist as you melted into each other, the weight of past grievances lifting off your shoulders with each passing second.

As the kiss deepened, it was as if time itself had rewound, bringing you back to a place where love was pure and uncomplicated. The doubts and fears that had plagued your mind just moments ago faded into oblivion, replaced by a sense of completeness that only Rafe could bring.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, there was a softness in Rafe's eyes that you hadn't seen in years. It was a look of understanding and forgiveness, a silent promise of starting anew. "I've missed you," Rafe whispered, his voice barely audible yet filled with a depth of emotion that resonated within you. His words hung in the air, echoing the unspoken longing that had lingered between you for so long.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you searched his gaze, finding solace and hope reflected back at you. It was a moment of vulnerability and truth, where all the barriers you had built around your heart crumbled in the face of his sincerity.

"I've missed you too," you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath as if afraid to break the fragile magic that had enveloped you both.

Rafe's thumb brushed away a tear that escaped down your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. In that simple gesture, you found a sense of peace that had eluded you for years. In the quiet hum of the night, with nothing but the soft rustle of leaves outside the window, Rafe drew you closer into his embrace. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, chasing away the remnants of doubt and uncertainty that lingered within you.

As you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a sense of belonging washed over you. It was a feeling that transcended words, a silent understanding that had been forged through years of shared moments and untold secrets.

The sound of his voice lulled you into a peaceful state, his words echoing the unspoken feelings that lay dormant within you.

"I'm sorry," Rafe murmured, his tone laced with remorse. "For everything."

You nodded against his chest, the movement barely perceptible. "I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of regret and forgiveness. With the music pulsating around you, you clung to him as if afraid to let go, knowing that this was a moment you would carry with you forever.

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#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe angst #rafe cameron imagine #jj maybank #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you

[randomperson3736]

His first love

Paring(s): Evan "Buck" Buckley x reader

Warning(s): none I think?

Genre: umm, idk?

Word bank: Y/N- your name

Summary: You were Buck's first love and as he watches you walk down the aisle he remembers all the times you had together when you were still his.

Notes: I am in love with this man! And for some reason I keep getting ideas for him so I'm gonna write before I forget them cus I am a dory ✌️

(Listen to this while reading)👇👇👇

~~~~~

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

~~~~~

Buck stared at you, adoringly. Something the 118 and your friends found common, ever since he'd found you there was some sort of light illuminating from him. As if your presence alone was able to change him for the better, as if you complete him.

Suddenly every memory flashes before his eyes. The first date, the stupidest moments together, the exhausting fights. It was all memories he wouldn't ever replace.

~~~~~

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

~~~~~

The very first moment his lips met yours, to the time you both wanted a family together, you were his first love– no his greatest love. And Buck knew no one would receive the love you had received from him. His love was only for you and nobody would be able to take that love from you. You remian in his heart as you do in his memory and mind.

~~~~~

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

~~~~~

Like a curse– you plagued Buck's heart.

It was pain he accepted, the only pain he liked. Pain from you is his favourite pain after all. It's from you. He'll embrace it. No matter how painful it gets, for you he'll keep going.

Even at this moment your memories with him clouded his thoughts, as everyone looked at you– his eyes were by far the most glued onto your walking figure, memories rushing through the course of his mind, like a disease– slowly ending him.

Those memories Buck loved, the memories he treasured. As they remian memories, and as you walk down the aisle.

~~~~~

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

~~~~~

Buck stared at you. Admired you like he always has, though perhaps this is the last time? He knows that's not possible. Wherever you are, whoever you're with, Buck would always be the one to admire you the most. As his first love, you own his heart entirely.

As you walk, inches and seconds away from becoming someone else's spouse, he smiled.

Buck knew he couldn't search his heart for love again, as he never wanted to let you go. Perhaps that's why it wounded him so much. Maybe it was because he was too much of a coward to purpose? Or was it simply just because he had let you go?

He had searched every nook and cranny of his mind to find the answers. But unfortunately he could never find the right answer.

~~~~~

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

~~~~~

You've gotten the life you've always talked to him about, though this time it wasn't him by your side.

Your eyes met his just for a moment– oh those eyes, how they wound him. If you had known how much he hurt, would you come back? As silly and selfish as it was, he wanted you– no– he needed you back. But it was too late. He was too late.

'Y/N looks beautiful, just like she always had.' He thought with a small smile painted on his face.

~~~~~

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

~~~~~

#first love #even buck buckley #x reader #x yn #buck x reader #evan buckley x you #reader x 911 #Spotify #fyp #buck 911 #wedding #kinda sad #the night we met #evan buckley x reader

[vinziel]

Just One More Time....Please? Male reader x Branch (One-Sided)

A/N: Angst with no comfort....yay.

You and Branch were best friends. Ever since his Brozone days to now, you've always supported him, and overtime you've grown a bit of a crush on him, you kept it hidden to not break your friendship in the case that he didn't like you back, after his brothers left him, you've visited him everyday to hang out with him and to try and cheer him up, after his grandma's death your parents took him in with you, when he formed a new band, you were there to be their manager, you loved this troll so much it hurt you to not be able to have the courage to tell him how you feel.

Sadly during the great troll escape, your parents got caught and eaten, you were depressed and Branch helped you recover, as you did with bim when his brothers left him and his grandma got eaten, you both built the bunker together, and lived inside it together, all and all you can say your friendship was one to be cherished, but still no matter how much you try to ignore it, there's still that love you feel for him, and you thought maybe it was time, after 10 years of living together you told Branch you wanted to tell him something, you both sat on the couch and with a heavy breath, you told Branch how you felt, with shocked loo Branch... didn't love you back. Your heart broke and you couldn't take it, you tried to move on but the feeling lingered around you, the despair haunted you but of course you hid it from Branch and said you were fine.

Over time you and Branch had grown apart, you both still live together in the bunker but every time you both walk past each other it's like walking past a stranger, you tried to make conversations but Branch looked uncomfortable or made them short, this broke your heart since you still wanted to be friends with him. Once he and the queen of pop, Poppy got together you congratulated them, you cried that day, alone. You were looking at all of the photos you had with him and just reminisced, you wished you could take back your words, you wished you could turn back time. After Branch reunited with his Brothers, you knew it was your time, Branch wanted his brothers to live with him and there would be less space with you. You wanted Branch to be happy. No matter what, so you packed and left when no one was around, you wanted to live with the Rock trolls, since you found their stuff cool anyways.

Before you could leave with your stuff someone stopped you, it was Branch "Where are you going?" You responded "Oh I'm moving to Volcano Rock City" "Why?" Branch asked, you sighed, answering "I... honestly Branch, I've noticed how we've grown apart ever since I confessed, I wish I could turn back time to stop that from happening, after reuniting with your brothers, I realize some of them are gonna live with you, the bunker isn't gonna fit all of us, so I'm moving away, it's for the best" You were holding back tears, your voiced broke "Can I get a hug? Before you go? Just one more time....please?" Branch said, you noticed he was also tearing up, his voice breaking, you hugged him tight and he hugged you back tightly, you started to cry "I'm gonna miss you" You said, Branch responded with "Me too, travel safe..ok? And have a great life ahead" You both pull away from the hug, you wipe your tears, smiling, before walking away with your stuff. This was the start of a new chapter in your life, one without Branch in it.

A/N:Woo this was a ride. Tell me if y'all want a part two or smth.

#trolls 3 #trolls #trolls branch #brozone x male reader #branch x reader #branch x male reader #x male reader #male reader #angst #gay trolls #gay #unreciprocated love #unreciprocated feelings #angst with no happy ending #angst with no comfort #no comfort #trolls band together #i'm crying #bittersweet

[evermourning]

howdy, ren! Had to dive into my notes and to pinterest for some inspo lol

maybe it isn’t really original, but a while back i saved in my notes full-on oneshots i made in a 3 hour long flight about how some members in skz would meet their future s/o on board…?

I remember for Chan i wrote that he helped them deal with an annoying passenger and then they sat together and played games on his phone, for minho they helped him bc he got a bit afraid when turbulence struck, with hyunjin they drew eachother by accident and mistook/swapped sketchbooks when they woke up…

but i got blocked with my dearest quokka! any thoughts?

it could also be regarding other members, or using any of the scenarios I thought :P

hope you like this! waiting for your ask! <33

WAIT YES THIS IS SO CUTE! OMG 😭 THIS IS SO CRAZY CAUSE I JUST BOUGHT PLANE TICKETS TODAY HELP! HERE ARE MY THOUGHTS ON HANNIE, BUT IF U WANT AN OT8 VERSION JUST ASK!!!

jisung - it was just his luck. of course it had to be him, boarding a flight all by himself. there had been some schedule mixups, chan had told him, a reassuring smile on his lips as he rested one hand on jisung's shoulder. he had a photoshoot, so the other two members of 3racha would fly over the day before.

a pout crossed his face as he sat by the window, mentally going over all of his life choices up until then. did the photoshoot have to be yesterday? now, he was all alone, nothing but the fearful thoughts festering in his brain to keep him company. he didn't want to panic, it wouldn't be good. it would be downright bad. but the staff would take the open seat next to him...right?

wrong. the staff was on the other side of the damn aisle, spouting some excuse that the seat was already taken, since it was a full plane. he stared at the vacant seat, its imaginary passenger haunting his hippocampus. would they be mean? would they recognize him? what would happen?

"excuse me...is this row two, seat b?" a voice, soft and gentle, resonated in his ear. he turned to face the voice's owner, not paying them any attention.

"yeah, i'm in seat a, so- oh my god."

his jaw was dropped. you were the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen. your face, your breathtaking eyes, your supple skin, all entrancing him with minimal effort. in every lifetime, he would travel the world for even a glimpse of your ethereal beauty. his cheeks were so red he almost looked feverish, his eyes wide.

"okay, great! thank you so much, and um...could you help me with my suitcase? i've never been good at getting it into the compartment..." you grinned sheepishly, and jisung shot out of his seat like a rocket.

he was so dorky, tripping over himself as he easily lifted your luggage into the compartment. this was going to be a fun trip.

#evermourning #renny's asks ☄. *. #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han skz #han x reader #han stray kids #han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #jisung skz

[bbyquokka]

9:25 pm (lfx)

→ GENRE: timestamp | drabble | angst

→ WARNINGS: gn!reader | mentions of taking sleeping pills | alcohol consumption | just a lot of feels and angst rly ;-;

→ WORDS: 0.6k ~ (662)

→ A/N: inspired by deep end from the skz-replay album. did i listen to it on repeat whilst writing this? yup. Am i a sobbing mess rn? yuppp

→ m.list – → ao3

He cannot sleep. He wanders around his apartment night after night, swallowing sleeping pill after sleeping pill, but the memories still haunt him.

Your sweet, angelic laugh. The soft slaps of your bare feet on the wood floor, the soft hums of a tune you adore, dead and gone.

His apartment has never felt so lifeless.

Every room he enters holds a memory of you, a memory he holds so dear to his heart he cannot let go. He can see you, see you making brownies, lounging on the sofa. 

Your smirk as you seduce him. Fingertips dancing ever so lightly on his soft skin, like tiny pixie feet. Your warmth suffocating him, surrounding his body in a blanket of pleasure. Your moans like music to his ears.

He was addicted to you, in more ways than one. You were the cause of his high sex drive. The second his eyes fall upon you, he's caught under your spell, blood rushing south in an instant.

He doesn't have the energy for it. Sex is meaningless to him if it's not with you. You made him feel alive and now that you're gone, he's nothing but a shell of nothingness.

The picture frames remain on the tables, holding special and precious memories of you both. Now all they hold is a thick layer of dust and dirt. Your belongings are still scattered around the apartment; he hasn't gained the courage to sort through them and box them up.

Time stood still. Felix found himself in an endless cycle, spinning around and around. The world carried on around him but for him, time stood still. His body stuck in an endless loop. 

You kept him grounded, advising him and soothing him of his worries. Now they swim around and around in his head, tormenting him, laughing at him until he finds himself screaming into the night. 

Only, no one heard his screams, his cries for help. 

Alone. 

Awake for x amount of hours. swallowing x amount of pills and drinking x amount of cheap vodka, nothing works.

Frustrated. Because nothing works. Nothing seems to soothe him, nothing seems to drown out his thoughts. His own head became his worst enemy. 

How foolish of him to think a walk in the cold, winter air would make him feel alive. It just made it worse. Every store he walked past, every corner he turned was a new memory of you.

“Please make it stop.” Teary eyes looking at the night sky, his usual bottle of vodka in one hand, the other clutching the material of his t-shirt where his broken heart aches. “I can't do this without you.”

Silent sobs shake his thin frame. He's cried so much that he has nothing left.

“You promised.” He'd whisper harshly at his phone screen, his wallpaper still of you after all these months. Violent sobs shake his frame, and there it is. 

A tear. It lands on his screen, the watery texture mixing the pixels together in a range of colours. His vision blurred, a pounding headache approaching from the pressure.

“I want to feel alive again. Please give me a sign. I'll do anything for a glimpse of hope. Just make this pain stop! it's unbearable.”

“Why is the world so cruel to me?” He leans back, sniffing whilst bringing the rim of the vodka bottle to his lips. He hisses, feeling the burn travel down his throat and settling in his empty stomach.

It burns, but it's a sigh he can still feel. Even if he doesn't want to.

“Now I'm truly all alone in this world.” He whispers, eyes closing slowly. He's tired, exhausted body slowly shutting down. He doesn't fight it.

He allows it.

So consumed with his own thoughts, he doesn't hear the soft crunch of the snow approach him. It wasn't until he smelt that all too familiar scent he opened his eyes slowly, a coat wrapped around his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

→ TAGS [open]: @chaneomma | @sstarryoong | @laylasbunbunny | @meltheninja13

#skz #stray kids #skz angst #stray kids angst #lee felix angst #lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #lee yongbok #lee yongbok angst #lee yongbok x you #timestamp #skz timestamp

[obey-mefan]

Turn Back the Time

Song: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Satan x reader

Plot: Mc leaving and randomly coming back, but ends up leaving all together

————————————————————

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Satan never knew where you went. One day you just left. He never saw a trace of you again…until one day

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

You came back like nothing had happened, like you didn’t just leave them heartbroken, missing you.

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

Where did you go?

Did we do something to make you leave?

Please don’t leave me…

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Oh take me back to the night we met

Satan hopes it was just some short break, sometimes you just needed a break away from all of them. He had prepared gifts for you, flowers and candies and books he thought you’d love. To show how much he loves you

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

You had called him a fool

Told him he was a demon, he would never really care for you. He felt his heart shatter after you left he stared at the letter he was going to give you, a poem saying how much he adored you, that night he burned it.

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

That morning you were gone again, just like the first time no note or warning, just gone.

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

The brothers all ate in silence that day wondering where they went so wrong that you would leave them, they never saw you after that day, they never knew where you had gone, and Satan never brought himself to love anyone again, telling himself it was a foolish decision, all because of you.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

#obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me satan x mc #obey me Satan #obey me Satan x reader #om! satan #obey me angst #obey me fanfic #obey me satan angst #om! angst

[miscellaneoussmp]

I should probably actually make a post about my silly little au. It was inspired by Cellbit saying Roier is a ghost during the halloween costume contest. It is unnamed for now (it'll probably be named after a song eventually).

The basic plot is: Cellbit, a vampire, is finally returning to his castle after traveling around for a while. Roier is a ghost who began to haunt the castle while Cellbit was away. Now, they 'live' together.

Here's some of the writing I have done so far! (cw/tw: blood, death, and violence mentions/implications)

—

Roier's new roommate is odd, to say the least. He just started living here in the castle Roier calls home, and he seems to know all the secret passages. It took Roier ages to find all of them. His roommate also seems to look straight through him, which is fine really Roier doesn't mind. It only hurts sometimes. Another thing that makes Roier's roommate odd is the fact he's a vampire (he's allowed to say that, after all, he was raised by one) and reeks of blood. The smell of blood is burned into Roier's mind. He laid in his- he doesn't want to think about it. His wound should have scarred over by now, right? A few books fly off the shelf he's standing by. His roommate visibly jumps and looks in the mirror that faces the bookshelf. The library is nice like that, nice enough to have a decorative mirror. Neither of them are reflected in it, but his roommate seems to finally notice him.

—

"So, how did you die?" Cellbit thinks he should have thought of a better question to ask Roier. They just learned eachothers names. Well, Cellbit just learned Roier's, Roier was able to guess his name before. Maybe he should be a little more sensitive about this sort of thing. He nearly died once, and his vampiric turning wasn't exactly willing. 'I saved your life.' A familiar voice echoes in his head. 'I wish you just killed me instead.' His own voice echoes back. Roier's face is a mix of many emotions. Fear, hurt, anger. Cellbit is expecting the candles in the room to be blown out, ending the ritual he's using to see Roier better instead of glimpses in a mirror or out of the corner of his eye. Books go flying off the shelves, more than before. "They moved on, probably. They probably have lives of their own and don't even remember me! Isn't that so stupid? They get to move on, and I'm stuck here!" The room smells like stale blood and regret. It's now just dawning on Cellbit that Roier isn't just a wandering spirit that made his home in the castle, Roier is bound here. The room smells like stale blood, regret, and sadness. The candles go out.

—

I hope yall enjoy my silly little au. I am unsure if I'll actually do something with it, I just wanted to share my idea :D!

#qsmp #qsmp au #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #qsmp guapoduo #not tagging spiderbit this time around #unnamed vampire and ghost au #<-i will edit this tag once it has a name i promise #this au accidentally became sad i wasnt planning on it becoming sad

[writing-badger]

The Drifter and the Stationary One

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Cyno

Summary:

The Mausoleum of King Deshret is a shrine to the dead; haunted by the mistakes of a man driven into madness. Only the dead linger there, waiting for the end of time to finally relieve them from their duty. At least, that's what the scholars who reside in Sumeru City are told.

After being exiled after a failed coup, Al-Haitham finds himself wandering into the abandoned mausoleum and inadvertently stumbling across something that he had never expected.

"Genre": Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Word Count: 3,946

Warnings: None

Ao3 Link

You and I are different. I'm a drifter; you're stationary. That's what it boils down to. When you're incompatible, you can't live together. You should know this. 

- Atsuko Asano, No. 6 (Volume 9)

~ ~ ~

It is often difficult to find beauty in dangerous things; fear manipulating the beautiful into the revolting. What was once a source of comfort can quickly become an intolerable nightmare, threatening to consume everything it touches. 

 It's a survival tactic; nothing more, nothing less. 

 Human perception has very little effect on physical reality outside of itself. A spider is a spider, no matter how much a certain roommate claims that it is some incomprehensible abomination. The Akasha is simply a system, not the replacement for a supposedly absent archon that the sages keep claiming it to be. 

 No matter how much Al-Haitham rationalises it, however, he can't shake the revulsion he feels when he thinks about Sumeru City. In all the ways he knows it, the city is the same now as it was when he was a child... and perhaps that is what causes him the greatest discomfort. The idea that, if only a few weeks ago, you had asked him to describe the city he calls home, he would have called it one of the most beautiful places in Teyvat makes him nauseous. 

 Sure, his reasonings would have differed from his roommate who would have pointed to the architecture, or his colleagues who would have focused on the views offered by the lush landscape. Al-Haitham would have looked to the countless books which line the House of Daena, or dwelt on how his home always has a warm glow emanating from deep inside. If he had been in a particularly sentimental mood, he may have even gestured to the divine tree which caresses the sky, or the crystal waters which lap at the harbour. 

 But the root of the problem is still there, buried underneath a fanciful illusion that there was ever beauty to be found there. 

 Now the very thought of the place sends a shiver running down his spine. He can only see Sumeru for what it truly is; a façade to hide the self-absorbed arrogance of the sages who yearned to become more than what they ever deserved to be. Even the divine tree, once a shelter from the roughest storms, ended up holding a prison for an archon who was never given a chance to grow.

 Is it possible for something so corrupt to ever be beautiful? How could the word even hold meaning when it is so loosely used and so easily defiled?

 These would be the types of discussions he would roll around in his head, sometimes seeking the opinions of others be them from the scribbled ravings of scholars from long ago, or from Kaveh’s impassioned ramblings about the most recent infringement on his artistic sensibilities. They would inform him of his own opinions, adding depth to his understanding, and anchoring his thoughts. 

 All he has left is desert which spreads out in front of him. The only sound which breaks through his thoughts is the sand-dusted wind, whispering in an illegible tongue. Small grains sneak under his clothes and bite into any exposed skin they can find.

 It irritates his skin, but he presses onwards. 

 There’s no telling how far he would have to go to escape the shadowy claws of the Akademiya. 

 The desert is the only place where he can have at least some guarantee of safety, with the Traveler pointing him to the Mausoleum of King Deshret. Apparently, they had opened up a path through the previously inaccessible temple, one that no scholar would be able to set foot in thanks to a copious amount of red tape.

 Perhaps, he muses to himself, that is one of the few advantages of his self-banishment. The laws of the Akademiya now hold little meaning to him. And with nothing to hold him back, a once muted curiosity begins to stir under his skin. 

~ ~ ~

From the instant he crosses over the threshold, Al-Haitham feels a chill sweep over his body, wiping away all traces of the scorching sun. Only the sand clinging to his skin remains. He readjusts his cloak, rubbing the exposed parts of his arms in an attempt to smooth the goosebumps which cover his skin. His attempts prove futile, however, as the unsettling sensation only becomes more prominent. 

 In an effort to distract himself, he begins working through the Akademiya's protocol for entering unexplored ruins. It's exceedingly long and mostly pointless. Still, it makes him feel a little more sure of himself; rooting his thoughts back to reality. 

 Since there are no immediate traces of activity, it’s likely that Al-Haitham is the only one wandering the mausoleum aside from the remnants of Deshret’s technology which sluggishly continue their endless patrol. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he is safe, but it is a damn sight better than wandering aimlessly in the desert.

 The Traveler claimed that there would be a vast network of barely explored hallways beneath his feet although Paimon had been quick to warn him of the primal constructs. Her attempts to mimic the machines had almost been enough to bring a small smile to his face. It was the best she could do to try and alleviate the consequences of their failure to usurp Grand Sage Azar. 

 The others tried to play it off, sharing responsibility and placing the blame at Azar’s feet. Dehya spent their last hour together cursing the man’s name while Candace sat next to her, sometimes brushing her partner’s arm in an attempt to calm her down. Nilou was still in Sumeru City, rallying all those she could, smuggling out updates whenever she could for the desert-based group. Tighnari had returned to Gandharva Ville in order to recover from his inures, but promised to help the second he felt able to. Al-Haitham knows that the blame lies at his feet. All he can do is put his trust in them now, leaving them with as detailed of a plan as he could conjure in the short time he had before his escape.

 Placing his trust in others, however, is something far easier said than done. He finds himself wondering if the Traveler was going to abandon him in the mausoleum, to add him to the collection of forgotten souls consumed by the desert. It’s a silly thought, one he acknowledges as nonsense, yet his mind still toys with it.

 Usually, he would turn up the volume of the music that plays through his headphones, but they ran out of power a couple of hours ago. If he's lucky, he might be able to repurpose one of the non-functioning constructs which litter the halls to become a makeshift battery. Some must have been taken out by the Traveller, based on the scratches which cover their metal coats. Others appear to have simply stopped working, perhaps giving up or running out of power.

 For a moment, Al-Haitham wonders what they must have looked like when they were first built, diligently guarding a near-empty Mausoleum.  

 They wouldn’t have been lonely, being machines created for a rather singular purpose, yet there is something rather… Al-Haitham can’t quite find the right word to describe the sensation in his chest as he thinks about it a little too hard. He can feel the vestiges of Kaveh lingering in the sentiment, perhaps born from one too many rambling speeches about Mehrak and the Akademiya’s callous approach to machinery. To be condemned to a fate that they had no control over, patrolling the halls until they grind to a halt, it doesn’t sit right with him. Those were the words he had used and Al-Haitham finds himself agreeing with them.

 Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he finds himself at a crossroads.

 Ahead is what he assumes to be the central chamber, a place where all of King Deseret’s wealth would have been hoarded. It would certainly be a spectacular sight although Al-Haitham isn’t the type of man to be impressed by gold. To his left and right are doors, leading to some other chambers which could be filled with who knows what treasures. What stands out most to him, however, is an elevator pad which is almost inconspicuous save for the dull blue button which juts out from the floor. While it would appear to not have any power, he can spot recent disturbances around the edge which means it’s been used recently. The Traveller hadn’t mentioned any underground passageways, which makes him wonder if someone else had dared to step foot in the Mausoleum. It piques his curiosity enough and, with a little bit of tinkering, he manages to get it working again.  

 The lower levels of the Mausoleum are far less well-kept than the upper level. Sand pools in the corners, wild fungi pop out every couple of metres, and the walls are marked by deep scratch marks. If he had to compare them to something, he would say that they resembled claw marks before immediately pointing out how foolish of a comparison that is. The only beings that would be capable of making such damage, in Sumeru at least, would be the consecrated beasts and, even then, they would lack the power to cut through stone.  

 It would be wise to proceed with caution, he ends up deciding. The last thing he needs is to inadvertently piss off whatever creature calls the mausoleum its home.

 The thought of returning to the safety of the upper Mausoleum never once crosses Al-Haitham's mind. 

~ ~ ~

There are dangerous creatures that scour the Mausoleum of King Deshret, some more so than others. It’s something that Al-Haitham is aware of, but he had no idea how much danger he was in until he came across a room that he suspects lies directly underneath the grand gallery. 

 It was probably once a subterranean chamber. Nowadays, the crumbling of its walls means that twisting roots have invaded it. The natural world, so opposed to the technology that King Deshret had once pioneered, entangles itself with the deactivated constructs. It's difficult to tell what its original purpose was. He only manages to light a small handful of torches with the equipment he has on him. 

 Al-Haitham would have spent time trying to light the room properly, but his attention is drawn to a pile of consecrated beasts that sits in the centre of the room. Each one has been torn to pieces, deep wounds marking any flesh that hasn’t been torn away from the bodies. Serpents, scorpions, and vultures make up most of the corpses, but he can spot the remains of a few crocodiles towards the base of the pile. With such a mix of elements, Al-Haitham is aware that his dendro vision may end up being of little use if he ends up confronting whatever was able to tear through the monsters as if they were little more than paper. 

 He's aware that there are two options for him. 

 The first would be to return the way he came, heading back towards the elevator and hoping that he doesn't run into whatever caused this carnage. The second would have been to try one of the other doors which line the hallway. If he had the time to think about it, he would have chosen the former. His curiosity may have been riled up, but he has the self-awareness to know when he is completely outpowered.

 Unfortunately, before he had been given the chance to consider his next course of action, his skin begins to prickle. Following it, the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, accompanied by a faint whiff of ozone. It’s such a crisp smell that it cuts through the stagnant air of the mausoleum and almost makes Al-Haitham feel like he is outside, waiting for an oncoming storm. 

 The vision clinging to his cape glows in warning as he summons his weapons, knowing that he stands little chance without them. As he begins to slowly back up against one of the crumbling walls, his eyes darting around in an attempt to prevent an ambush, the faint sound of crackling electricity fills his ears.  

 “You should not have come here,” a low voice warns, drifting through the room with the same enrapturing energy as rolling thunder.

 Al-Haitham turns his eyes to the chamber’s entrance just as a purple glow begins emanating from the once-dark corridor. He starts to move toward the most collapsed area of the wall, thinking that he might be able to make a quick escape to whatever underground cavern the underground chamber intrudes upon.

 There are no distinguishable sounds, most being buried under the sound of crackling electricity, for him to be able to figure out how close the threat is. Instead, he finds himself relying on his instincts. The only reassurance he has is that the voice sounds remarkably human, perhaps giving him a chance to reason his way out of trouble. For now, he decides to keep his mouth firmly shut.

 “This is not a place for the living.”

 It’s closer now, and Al-Haitham readies himself in response. His ears ring in warning, drowning out the crackling sound and making it even more difficult to concentrate on the entrance. Then it falls silent, the thunder disappearing which leaves only the lightning to strike its target. 

 The room is plunged into darkness, the torches lining the chamber blowing out in an instant. It disorients the scribe, but not enough to completely dull his instincts as the ozone smell gets stronger. 

 Without wasting a single second, Al-Haitham launches himself towards the door; dodging a flash of lightning which lands where he had just been standing. The impact is so solid that the reverberations shake the ground, dislodging sand from overhead, and crumbling the wall he had previously had his back to. Stifling the burning urge to turn around, Al-Haitham keeps moving forward, managing to dodge a couple more strikes as he goes. 

 Based on his estimations there should only be a couple of metres left to the elevator, but he doesn’t make it.

 Claws latch onto his shoulder, piercing his skin as he is dragged backwards, spun around, and pinned against the wall. The impact of his head against stone sends a sharp pain shooting through his body, his eyes screwing shut in response.

 “Who are you?”

 The voice is so close that Al-Haitham can feel the words brush against his skin as whatever it is on his shoulder tightens its grip. He knows that he should look his attacker in the eye, otherwise, he risks looking weak, but he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

 Fear. 

 No part of his body seems to be doing what he wants it to. His eyes won’t open, his breathing won’t steady itself, and his heartbeat is so loud that he can barely think. He knows that he could die in an instant, and no one would know where he went. 

 “There is no bravery to be found in death,” his captor says as if Al-Haitham isn’t already acutely aware of this. 

 The thing seems to scoff at the lack of response, loosening its clawed grip on Al-Haitham’s shoulder as the sound of crackling subsides. For a moment, he finds himself able to breathe when a more human hand wraps around his neck and lifts him up, raising him off the ground. His feet swing limply in the air, not even trying to kick his attacker.

 “Open your eyes,” the voice orders and Al-Haitham obeys immediately. 

 If he hadn’t already been struggling to breathe, Al-Haitham is certain that the sight in front of him would have knocked the air out of his lungs. 

 Rather than a monster towering over him, he finds himself staring down at a shorter man. White hair flows down from a jackal-shaped headpiece, and red eyes stare up at him, narrowed in warning. Al-Haitham can’t be sure whether it is fear, adrenaline, or some unknown feeling that stirs within him, but he feels like he is falling. 

 “I will only ask once more, who are you?” 

 The man loosens his grip briefly, allowing Al-Haitham to take a choking breath in. 

 “A lost scribe,” Al-Haitham struggles to answer, bowing to the implicit authority that the other holds but cryptic enough to maintain a sliver of control. 

 “I’ve known many scribes,” the man’s eyes are cold, “and they’ve always had a name.”

 “Al-Haitham,” he cedes. 

 “Scribe Al-Haitham, you must leave this place.”

 If it wasn’t for the precarious position Al-Haitham finds himself in, he would have made a snarky comment about his attacker not knowing the meaning of the word ‘lost’. Instead, he settles on a far deadlier response.

 “A name given deserves one in return.”

 The man frowns, his grip remaining loose, but Al-Haitham doesn’t move. 

 “Cyno.”

 “That’s it?”

 “You expected more?” 

 The muted surprise in Cyno’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed. 

 “Well, I figured you would have a title,” Al-Haitham clarifies. 

 “Most would call me ‘Monster’,” Cyno says, fully releasing Al-Haitham who collapses to his knees and his hand shoots to his throat. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that bruises are already forming where the man’s hand had once been. Cyno, for his part, considers his words for a moment before adding, “I suppose, before that, it would have been something akin to General.”

 As Al-Haitham steadies his breathing, he finds himself looking up at Cyno and wonders how anyone could dare call the man a monster. Everything about him is as close to ethereal as you could get, from his piercing eyes to his overwhelming strength. He hesitates when the word he should use graces his tongue, stung by it one too many times, but there is nothing else that fits. 

 Beautiful. 

 Cyno looks so very beautiful. 

~ ~ ~

Al-Haitham was quick to tell Cyno his story, detailing the events that led to him wandering the desert in search of shelter. He spins a tale of a traveler, mercenary, leader, and dancer who are putting their lives on the line to save an archon. He mentions a forest ranger in Gandharva Ville, and sprinkles in some other things that may be interesting. He complains about a hapless architect, and an overbearing professor who is far too passionate for her own good, sharing a couple of anecdotes to illustrate his points.

 Cyno, for his part, simply listens. At points, Al-Haitham is certain he has transformed into a statue with how still he could be. Not even the slightest muscle twitch, or feigned acknowledgement, makes its way to his face.  

 It’s understandable, Al-Haitham reasons, with how long Cyno must have been alone. Practising conversation must be extremely difficult when all you have are fungi and machinery to call friends. It would also explain why Cyno still struggles to talk for long periods of time, his throat growing hoarser after only a couple of minutes. Al-Haitham can’t help but muse to himself about how endearing the general is, especially when he starts talking about his passions. It took only one stilted conversation about ley lines for Cyno to spill his heart out, relaxing far faster than the scribe had anticipated. Although it still took some effort on his part, carefully choosing his words to avoid having a spear tip shoved in his face. 

 Still, the mausoleum wouldn’t be able to shelter the scribe for long. All the water sources had been depleted, and food was running scarce. After only three weeks, Al-Haitham finds himself standing at the main entrance to the large pyramid with a heavy decision to make. 

 He could try returning to Sumeru, braving the threat of the Akademiya... and end up putting the others in danger. He could flee to another nation; Inazuma or Mondstadt being the safest bets... leaving him completely. Or he could stay, allowing the Mausoleum of King Deshret to claim another soul but at least having company in his final moments. 

 “You’re leaving already?” 

 Cyno’s voice cuts through Al-Haitham’s thoughts, drawing his attention to the shorter man who now stands beside him. 

 “I won’t last here for much longer,” he says, acutely aware of the other man. Cyno doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hair swaying in the sandy breeze. 

 “This is a place of death,” he acknowledges, “it wasn’t built to keep people alive.”

 “Yet here you stand,” Al-Haitham mumbles, his gaze tearing away from the endless sand to stare at the captivating walking contradiction. 

 “Would you really say I’m alive?”

 “I can't say that you're anything else,” he says, watching as Cyno’s gaze turns to the floor. It is as stoic as ever, but Al-Haitham knows it’s because he’s feeling a little bit flustered. It's a look the scribe has learned to recognise, usually after the general shares a particularly painful pun that stops a conversation dead in its tracks.

 Al-Haitham knows that this should be the moment he leaves; delivering a last verbal jab before walking into the desert never to return. It would be the best option for both of them, yet he can’t move an inch. 

 “Don’t you ever want to leave?”

 The question falls from his lips before he can fully process what he is doing, the last vestiges of logic and reason fleeing from his grasp. 

 “I am bound to this place as the last remaining general,” Cyno finally says, an uncertainty briefly flashing through his eyes but not escaping Al-Haitham's attention, “I cannot abandon it so freely.”

 “But there is no one left,” Al-Haitham counters, playing on the general's momentary doubt, “you owe this place no loyalty. They condemned you to… to this loneliness.”

 “You see it as their condemnation, I see it as my duty,” he says, his tone not quite matching the feigned smile which falters on his face, ”of course, I would never expect a scribe to understand. Your loyalties are as fickle as your interests.”

 “My interests are not so fickle,” Al-Haitham argues, although he doesn’t push his previous point any further. He can recognise when someone is deflecting from the real crux of the issue. 

 “Oh, only yesterday you were obsessed with a bunch of scrolls, and now you’re talking of abandoning them without a second thought,” Cyno counters, briefly glancing at Al-Haitham from the corner of her eyes. 

 “You got me,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The scrolls may have been left at the wayside, but that's only because he has something far more tantalizing in his sights.

 A comfortable silence falls over them as they watch a lone construct drift across the sands. It spins in a lazy circle before continuing on its predetermined course. 

 Cyno is the one who breaks the silence, his voice far softer than anything Al-Haitham had heard before.

“Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t live anywhere else…”

 Al-Haitham is quiet again, his mind turning those words over in his head as he gathers all the courage he can muster. In a swift movement, he turns to Cyno and reaches out his hand, leaving the palm turned up in front of the other.

 “Then will you die with me, Cyno?”

 It’s a selfish question born from a desire that Al-Haitham doesn’t fully understand. Later, when time has taught him and taken more in exchange, he would come to truly comprehend what he felt in this moment. But, as Cyno places his trust in the palm of Al-Haitham’s hand, he can only think one thing. 

 Falling alone is a terrifying thing, so it would be best to drag someone else down with him. 

#fanfic #fanfiction #genshin impact #cytham #haino #alhaitham x cyno #Inspired by Gintama of all things #Happy birthday to Alhaitham #genshin fanfic

[storyofmychoices]

Reverse uno-ing you! I have to know for your pairings.

This Is Survival

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist] 

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart (Zombie AU) Word Count: <700 Rating/Warning: Teen, to be safe (mentions of Zombies, violence ) Prompt: @choicesjunechallenge: long nights

Synopsis: Olivia and Bryce have two very different approaches for dealing with Zombies.

Muted by the grey clouds that hung in the air, the moon cast a haunting pale glow over the once promising city now overrun by zombies. 

Bryce and Olivia huddled together in their makeshift shelter in the desolate landscape outside the city's border. The howls and groans of creatures from the city echoed around them. It would be another long night.  

"Did you hear that?" Bryce questioned, his posture alert as his gaze raked across the horizon.

"It's coming from the city," Olivia mumbled, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"No, I think I hear something closer." Bryce's calloused hand tightened around the handle of the machete that never left his side. 

Heavy, low moans grew louder, sending a shiver down her spine. "Okay, I hear that too," her voice trembled.

"It sounds like two or three, four at most," Bryce calculated. His gaze narrowed, attempting to locate the source of the sound despite the darkness. He jumped up, "Stay here."

"Absolutely not!" Her fear subsided as she pressed her hands to her hips. "Bryce Lahela, you will not leave me alone right now!"

"Liv, we've been over this—" He turned toward her, the low light highlighting his weathered features. "It's better if you stay here. I need you safe."

"I'll be safer with you."

A low growl slipped from his lips. He knew she was right, and yet, he also knew taking her was always a liability. "You can't save them."

"What if we could?" Her fingers traced tenderly down his jaw, cradling his face. 

For a moment, he let his eyes close, let himself remember what things were like before all of this. A pained expression filled his features as his eyes opened again. He pulled away. "They're not human, Liv. They're mindless monsters."

"But, what if—" Her eyes shimmered as she pleaded for a different approach. "What if there's still a spark of humanity left in them. Maybe if we show them kindness and compassion, maybe it will reach them. Maybe there's a cure."

"They don't understand kindness, Liv. I'm sorry." Bryce turned away. He fitted his belt with a dagger and grenade he had managed to find in their travels. He handed her a crossbow as he readied his machete in hand.

"I won't use it."

"I know." His hardened face softened as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But, just in case." 

She could see the fear in his eyes, the pain of what would come next. She nodded as she took the weapon from him. 

"Thank you." He pulled her close, relishing one last moment together. "I just need you safe."

"I know."

"I promise you I will find a better life for us, a place where kindness exists, a place where you can be the caring and beautiful person you are, but it's not here."

"I know," she repeated reluctantly. He had saved her more than enough times to know that her kindness approach had yet to work, but she held out hope that maybe one day, one time, one zombie, she could break through their inhumanity. 

"I love you, Liv. Always."

"I love you, too." She leaned closer, but as quick as the moment began, it ended, and Bryce stepped out of their shelter, ready to defend them. 

In another life, he took an oath to do no harm, to save every life, to better humanity— now he was no better than them, killing without a second thought. He glanced back to her once more, wishing for the world she still believed a possibility. Zombie or not, he never enjoyed taking a life. 

She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the crossbow in her other hand, just in case he wasn't enough to protect them.

The blood-curdling sound of the zombie scurrying toward them pulled their focus. Bryce rushed forward, his machete swinging, cutting the creature in half. This isn’t killing, he reminded himself, as he caught a glimpse of her red hair in the moonlight as he spun toward the next zombie. This is survival.

So I didn't really plan to write this at all. It was kind of spur of the moment in response to this ask.

I see Bryce as someone who could survive a zombie apocalypse, Olivia not so much. While they're both rays of sunshine, Bryce is adaptable. Olivia is too much of a gem. She will always look for a kinder way and that would get her killed if it were not for Bryce.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed what life might look like in a post-apocalyptic world for these two.

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela x oc #bryce oph #open heart #open heart 2 #playchoices #choices #choices game #olivia hadley #bryce x olivia #brylivia #lovealexhunt #open heart 3 #oph bryce #fan fiction #open heart fan fic #june2023 #zombie au #oph zombie au

[inaconstantstateofchange]

finirà bene - an Astarion/Dark Urge/Halsin time travel redux

Summary: At the very moment of the Absolute's defeat, Astarion opens his eyes to find himself amidst familiar burning wreckage, face-to-face with a Shadowheart who has no knowledge of their companion, the dragonborn Kelis. Stuck in this familiar-unfamiliar situation, Astarion will have to reforge alliances alone as he seeks to make his way out of this nightmare, and find his missing partner(s).

Pairing: endgame Astarion/Dark Urge/Halsin, with a primary in-fic focus on Astarion/Halsin (as Kelis is busy haunting the narrative).

Reposting because I'm very proud of the new banner - Kelis artwork done by @somespareserotonin-please - and because I haven't had a proper masterpost up yet.

Prologue and Chapter 1 are up on AO3, and I'll put them here for anyone who prefers to read that way. Chapter 2 is finished - 5k words! - and in the process of final editing and formatting to post here and on AO3, probably tomorrow at the latest.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, and hope you enjoy the journey as much as I do! ^^

Prologue: alone in the world

The din of battle fades out in patches, his ears ringing as the world swims before his eyes, dizzying colors erupting and obscuring the pitted surface of the nautiloid around him. Staggering to the side, he focuses on catching his balance, running his gloved hand along the gaps in his armor, looking for any puncture wounds carrying poison he didn’t notice.

Not now, not like this. The thought whispers through his mind like the frenzied beat of a drum. After everything they have battled through to reach this point, to survive it together, surely this cannot be the end, not when their true enemy is so close to defeat.

Through the spots encroaching further into his vision, and the strangely warped perspective the world around him is taking on, he casts about for Kelis, separated from him by the tide of battle for some time now.

At last, he sees them, far too close to the Brain for any comfort, near death though it is beginning to seem. Perhaps that is only wishful thinking, but — surely, surely it must be nearly defeated.

Their owlbear form seems somehow larger than he’s ever seen it, magnificent and ferocious. With a resonant shriek that builds from their chest and erupts into the air around them, they jump up toward the stormy sky above, body tilting down gracefully at the apex of their leap in preparation to bring the full force of gravity down with them on the target of their final strike — that wretched, hateful Crown.

He bares his teeth in wild, bloodsoaked joy, ready for this months-long nightmare to be over, but the world will not allow him more than this moment. As Kelis’s claws make contact with the sickening glow of the Crown’s gems, the warping that had faded into the background, holding its breath like everyone else in the battle, rushes to life with redoubled intent, now eating through not only his vision, but seemingly the world itself.

The last image he has before all is overtaken by crackling brilliance is Kelis blinking out of existence — present one moment, and gone without a single discernible trace of a spell’s effect the next.

His unbeating heart twists in his chest, nausea filling his entire body.

Not now, not like this.

“Kelis! Ke-”

His words disappear in the space between breaths, and he himself follows suit.

For a moment, an empty crown glints in the waning sunlight, before it too fractures, cracks, and splinters away.

Across a starlit sky, a burning nautiloid hurtles toward the ground, its trajectory cut short by its impact with the riverbank.

Numerous eyes track its passage, and a multitude of forces and individuals set to devising their responses to this unexpected incursion.

On a grassy outcropping, one pod is ejected at a sharp angle, its surface breaking open and its captive launched forward against the grass.

A white-haired elf lies still among the rocks and silt, unbreathing, as the sun’s rays climb over the horizon, inching closer and closer to his unresponsive form.

“-lis! Kelis?” The world filters back in in discordant jumps and starts — but something isn’t right. Blinking his unaccountably heavy eyelids open against the blinding sun, many somethings are not right.

Behind him lies the burning wreckage of an all-too-recognizable nautiloid, flames still crackling hungrily amidst the ruins.

Dumbly, he springs to his feet and spins around as quickly as the vertigo wracking his body will allow, knowing what he is searching for even as a horrible certainty grows in him that he will not find it.

To the left: the sharp drop to the Chionthar, its brilliant blue water belying the nightmare he must be inhabiting.

To the right: more wreckage, an extremely distressed boar, and — a familiar figure, albeit with a hair color he is no longer used to. His mind catches on this detail for a moment before abandoning it for more pressing matters.

“Shadowheart! What things have come to that the sight of your dour visage brings me relief, of all things. Will wonders never cease!” His voice is overly cheery, perhaps a touch manic, but no one who truly matters is around to mention it, so he’ll grant himself a temporary allowance.

“Now, is this an illusion spell of some form? Do you know of any way to break it? As patient as I would love to be, time is very much of the essence, so a bit of alacrity would be greatly appreciated!”

Alright, perhaps a slightly less temporary allowance.

Unexpectedly, the cleric’s response is to take a sharp step backward, expression growing even more wary.

“How do you know my name? We have certainly not yet been introduced, to my knowledge.” Her voice is icy and biting, without even the edge of begrudging fondness that had begun growing there in the past weeks.

His face slackens for a moment, thoughts whirring through his mind almost faster than he can note them. Something is far more awry here even than he originally considered.

As quickly as he can, he runs through what he knows of spells that could achieve an effect as encompassing as this appears to be. There are not a great many, but of course a creature as unprecedented as the Nether Brain could have access to a multitude of unknown magics.

None of his senses are telling him that anything around him is untrue or fabricated, despite his mind screaming very much the opposite. The wind coming from the water carries with it the expected smells, and the creaks and groans of organic machinery breaking down into the flames is as he remembers from his first day of freedom.

Most damningly of all — everything about Shadowheart is exactly as he recalls from their first meeting, down to the very smell of her, in his experience the most difficult sense for any illusion spell to accurately replicate.

He switches tacks as smoothly as he can, pushing as far down as it will go the part of him that wants to start screaming, and perhaps never stop.

Pasting on the smile that charmed hundreds of Baldur’s Gate’s finest to their deaths, he draws himself up into a less alarming pose, that perhaps screams an iota less ‘I am about to break down and begin stabbing every thing in sight.’

“My deepest apologies; I have had some… dealings, shall we say, with your cohort in Baldur’s Gate before, and was pleased to encounter a familiar face in an area this… desolate.” The sneer on his face as he peers around theatrically is not at all difficult to manufacture.

“I had no idea you were on one of your Lady’s more sensitive missions. Rest assured I will abide by all due secrecy in the future.”

He closes his speech – marvelously tailored under so short a time constraint, as far as he is concerned – with a hand flourish and a tip of his head, telegraphing foppish carelessness with all his might, but in truth desperate for the opportunity to hide his face away, even for a moment. The battle to keep that part of him that wants to break down – in tears or in murder, it is impossible to say – in check is becoming more difficult by the moment.

After an artful pause, he casts his eyes up through his fringe, checking for the success of his fabrication.

Shadowheart’s frown deepens visibly for a moment, discomfited by something about his statement, before the tension lines in her face smooth out and she shifts into a more neutral, although still readied, position.

“Apology accepted, although you would certainly benefit from greater discretion in the future —particularly if you intend to continue your dealings. The Mother Superior does not tolerate failure, as you must know.”

He inclines his head once more before returning upright, smile coming much more naturally now as he submerges himself in his role.

“Of course! My deepest thanks for your helpful reminder and concern for my person.”

A dismissive scoff is her only response as she turns to survey the wreckage herself.

Seeing an opportunity, he ventures a question. “I saw you on the ship, I’m fairly certain. However did you escape from those wretched pods?”

“There was someone else up there, who helped free m-,” Her answer comes without hesitation at first, only to cut off abruptly as her brow furrows.

With furious and feral hope clawing its way up his chest, he interjects as intently as he dares, “There was someone else loose up there? Who? What did they look like?!”

After a moment, he tacks on a weak justification, attempting to play off his intensity, “They must have been impressive indeed, to free you from such a fate.”

She doesn’t pay his inconsistency any mind, eyes clouded as she continues looking over the wreckage, seemingly in search of something in particular.

After another long moment, she turns away with a firm shake of her head. “No… no, there was no one. My pod broke when the ship crashed, just as yours did, I presume.”

He barely keeps himself from pressing her, biting back the words trying to escape him as he marshals the increasing urge to grab her shoulders and shake her, demanding to know if she had seen a red Dragonborn with bottomless black eyes.

At this point in his ongoing nightmare, he is becoming sickly certain that hearing her answer would be even worse than the creeping dread that is slowly overtaking him.

“Well, all’s well that ends well, I suppose!” With a false laugh and a bright grin he doesn’t feel even a fraction of, he commits to the course he’s set for himself.

Stay alive.

Don’t drive off one of your least useless comrades, in the event that this ends up not being some illusory nightmare realm.

Find a camp or similarly secluded place of respite.

Have a breakdown that will rank in at least the top ten of your very long life.

Make a plan.

Find Kelis.

#i'm going to be adding chapter one as a separate reblog to keep things tidy #so apologies to anyone who sees it several times! #my writing #my fic #finira bene #kelis #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 astarion #dark urge #dragonborn #dragonborn tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion x tav #astarion x halsin #astarion/halsin #astarion/dark urge #astarion/tav #astarion

[butterflybam]

Happiness

Kun x fem reader

Word count: 717

Warnings: angst and mentions of self hate

All of your friends teased you for having the perfect boyfriend. It seemed like he knew you like the back of his hand. 

You loved him. 

He was the reason you were able to pull yourself back together. After your ex completely shattered you into a million little pieces, Kun was the one there to help you. He showed you a life that was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. 

If someone were to time travel a few days ago and told you what would happen, you wouldn't believe them. 

You had imagined a life with Kun. But your dreams were now turning into nightmares. 

It was a question. One that most people waited their whole lives to get asked. 

But once that question slipped from his lips, you felt your blood run cold.

You weren't exactly sure why or how, but that was the answer you gave him. Once you said it, you couldn't take it back. 

The look of heartbreak would haunt you for the rest of your life, and in that moment, you felt like you deserved to be tortured by it.

Reaching down, you turned the water off. Standing for a moment, you grabbed the towel and began to dry yourself off. You tried to take as much time as humanely possible. You didn't think you could face him again.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw him. His back was toward you as he worked. You saw him lift up his clothes, and in that moment, you were certain he was packing. 

The sight of him preparing to leave broke you. 

By clearing your throat, you made him glance back at you. Even if it was for a brief moment, you could see he had been crying. His eyes were red and puffy. 

He must've waited to cry when you were in the shower. Because on the way back home, he was composed and silent. 

To see him in this state made you want to break down again. You really hated yourself for hurting him. 

Was it really a hard thing to do? To say yes to him? 

When you thought about it too much, it hurt. Your head began to throb. 

"I'll be out of your way in a second." 

Kun had turned back to continue packing up. Tears stung your eyes, but you forced yourself to look away from him. 

"You're okay." You said it in a way that was comforting to him. Though you weren't exactly sure how to do that in that moment.

The silence returned as he finished, and you stood there, staring at the wall. 

There were so many memories in this room. This whole house had a whole story to tell. So many late talks and kisses were shared. How you held each other as the other cried, or how you shared the happiness of the other. 

Now there was so much uncertainty. 

The zipper sound brought you out of your swirling thoughts. You focused back on him and watched as he lifted the suitcase up from the bed. 

Kun began to walk to the door to let you lay down and sleep, but he froze. Hesitatingly, he turned to look at you. "Would there have been a time you would have said yes?" He asked. 

His question made you pause. You let it sink in before you responded. "I'm not sure." You said it with a shrug. 

It was obvious that was not the answer he wanted. There was no clear path to that. You knew he didn't like to leave things undone, but you couldn't give him a perfect answer. 

Nodding his head, he turned to continue on. He must've made arrangements to stay the night somewhere. 

"I do know that I love you."

This made him stop in his tracks. You saw him take in a deep breath before glancing over his shoulder. "And I love you." With that, he took his leave. 

As you heard his footsteps, you felt tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks. A sob rang through you as you let yourself sink to the floor. 

You wished you could go back and fix this all, but it was all ready to be done. There was nothing you could do but wait. 

#nct imagines #nct x reader #wayv imagines #wayv x reader #kun x reader #kun imagines