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#that he could help heal those hurts
volivolition · 15 days
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Yoooo Voli I made ya a Electrochemistry × Volition playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/19Au6o98AzOf4hEGLMHKtB?si=7kBYYWAhSR-TuLPYicpgYg&pi=a-iR4K2sFbQsWA
also I can't DM you bc you don't follow me, LEMME IN PLS :3
oh hi hello! oooh, hold on, lemme add the link so its clickable. some cool songs in here, thank you for sharing :D!!
also yeah, sorry! :'3 DMs make me nervous and uncomfortable unfortunately, and i much prefer communicating through asks and comments if thats cool!!
#coffee is an EXTREMELY good one for them. i understand the vision of this one PERFECTLY. ''just a sip!'' ''maybe a cup of self-control''#politely considering the implications of love like you. ''if i could begin to do something that does right by you'' as echem and ''i could-#even learn how to love like you'' as voli. i cant put this into words. echem self aware he's fucking it up. voli not letting himself give#into vices like love. traits they look at each other at first with a scoff (''you keep suggesting vices that will hurt harry.'' ''maybe let#yourself have a good thing sometimes you killjoy!'') but they better each other. echem looking forward to better things; little joys#voli learning to allow those little joys and love. is this anything?? i just want them to help each other heal.#and then dead girl walking. thinks about it and smirks to myself slightly. yeah. yeah i get it lmao.#left brain right brain is just a big musical number with several skills taking different lines#left brain: logic; ency; viscalc; voli; authority?; esprit; endurance?; pain thresh; h/e coord; interfacing; composure#right brain: rhetty; drama; concept; inland; empy; suggestion; phys inst; ECHEM.; half lit; savvy; react speed#shiv isnt here because she will not be involved in this lmao. percep is just chilling. it's senses baby!! it's not getting in on this lmao#this is so sad for my empath and voli bestie agenda but alas.#anyway may i suggest: 'A Lovely Night' from La La Land | 'Bad Little Boy' from Adventure Time | 'Weak' by AJR | 'Sweet Talk' Saint Motel#and on my bullshit as usual: ''From Eden' by hozier because ''chivalry fell on his sword / i slithered here from eden'' is so volichem :]#volta transmissions
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axellis-archv-2 · 1 year
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a moment abt overhalliday if you dont mind but its in the tags bc im embarrassed sowwy..
#its like its like . sorry everything ive drawn/written up in this point is like not even kidding like maybe 2 years into the timeline#that i have in my brain#butlike in the early stages hes like . well . well hes an asshole#likehes . of the opinion that the world is always out to Get Him in a sense so hes very closed off && treats every interaction as if its an#exchange && that if he gives as minimal as possible then he doesnt potentially owe anybody anything#but at the same time deep down he cares So Much to the point that sometimes it can hurt so he runs a mechanic shop for absolutely free#bc it both helps those in need && he probably doesnt owe anybody anything . except running a shop costs $$#so he goes into the only thinghe can even see himself doing which is underground dirtywork . delivering packages w ransoms etc#he doesnt do Mercenary work per se or assassinations bc that could earn him enemies && he doesnt want enemies#at the end of the day he just wants to be left alone#he develops the healing heatgun at some point && starts being like a very respected engineer to the point that now a lott of people talk#but like everybody also talks about his bad attitude bc he just fixes you up && then tells you to gtfo#in my head if we're going into Actual Canon hed probably meet ramattrα via ram like . hiring him outright for a job#bc someone recc'd halliday && one of the points that probably intrigued him was halliday refusing to be paid for mechanic/healing jobs#the only services he wanted money on was if he was doing “other labor” && ramattrα probably wanted to test && see if this was true#&& like sure enough doing an examination at his workshop just had him to be told to leave once halliday was done#but then being asked to accompany him on a mission halliday was like “Thats where it starts costing”#etc etc etc im sorry for the long ramble in the tags .#sorry to the ppl who click “more” on the tags && get met w this#📗 my post#🎆 ramattrα#🧯 overhalliday (s/i)#<- there his special little tag
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thefinalwitness · 8 months
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l'aiha did so much good for the ala mhigan resistance but she was also in the worst depression of her life and a little uhhhhhh crazy. just a little jaded about the universe. this is as close as she gets to dooming herself the way artemis (and all of l'aiha's other shards) did, but then zenos is dead and it's like. wow. this didn't make literally anything better. i'm going to stop being murder-crazy now.
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p3hero · 1 year
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insanechayne · 3 months
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~ ~ ~
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dutybcrne · 6 months
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Okok but
Sigewinne & Wriothesley, but enemies to friends arc in their first meeting
#☆ ┆ ( .ooc. );#//Wrios getting peeved at her hunting him down every time he gets hurt bc he assumed the treatment would cost him coupons he doesn’t ha#//Why would she even CARE abt him; clearly there’s a hidden agenda goin on for her to be so determined. & he will NOT be indebted to her#//Sigewinne gettin real sick a’ this dude thinking he can handle himself just fine; it’s her fucken JOB to heal people goddammit#//How DARE he not take care of himself; the LEAST he could do is that much & REST a bit instead of PUSHING himself the way he does#//Then just spy-vs-spy each other for some time before she finall explodes & gives him a thorough yelling abt how worried he makes her#//And how much she’d hate to see him render himself completely unable to work bc he keeps pushing his muscles and body to unhealthy limits#//All for what? Not wanting to get treated? WHY. WHY WOULD HE DO THAT TO HIMSELF? GUILT?? PROTEST??? WHY?!#//And it’s THEN that it hits him; mildly spooked by the fact that a melusine CAN lose their chill; that she genuinely wanted to help#//Not to get him in her debt; but bc that’s just who she IS#//She would sneak him so many free meals while in the infirmary. She does already to those who get there; but his are always the best one#//She's gotta help him keep his strength up; after all. Esp if he tries making credit coupons via fights#//Absolutely helps get tips for him by innocently asking the fighters & playing their egos in pretending to be a Big Fan & bribing#//Prolly accidentally taught Wrios a whole slew a new swears bc one does not work in a prison without picking up a few things#//Then damn near cried when she heard him say them later bc WHO TAUGHT YOU SUCH THINGS (she forgor)#//She prolly also gave him some of her own credit coupons since he mentioned why he avoided the infirmary; having offered to keep his safe#in her office so no one not even the guards can steal them; esp if being punished bc he's acted out any time recently. Eventually convincin#//Takes advantage of that by sneaking more into his stash; making sure it's enough to keep tiding him over; but not TOO much it's obvious#//The Instant Wrios mentioned taking out the head of the prison bc of how cruelly he ran things; she deffo agreed to help without hesitatio#//Bc it was smth HE wanted & bc she too felt the guy needed to be taken tf out ASAP#//Bonus if she'd made a previous passing mention of wanting to & Wrios decided to make it a reality bc She wanted it first#//As a thanks for taking care of him all those years#//Shit; this got too long kjsbdg#//Might as well make it a fic#//Anywho; creative bones are working again; I see#//Idk; this was born out of me thinking how they became such good friends over the years; I can't imagine it was any easy esp on Wrios' sid#//So I will try to drafts#//If not; I will pop into inboxes with fresh ideas#//Or keep an eye out for opens on the dash
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ghosts-cyphera · 6 months
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╰﹒ price's wife = the wife of 141
warnings/content: 18+! 141 x fem!reader. dubcon: sex under the influence of alcohol, unprotected sex, blowjobs, anal, mentions of cum and spit, male masturbation ??? just... everything, really. buckle up, besties. mdni!
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being price's cute little tradwife would mean that he'd share you with the rest of 141, too. it wasn't his plan at first: he had never thought of it until he had seen the way that they had all looked at you. 
gazes lingering on your frame for just a while too long. tongues wetting their lips as they towered over you, grinning as you laughed, soft and sweet, at something they'd said. your eyes sparkling, your glossed lips tugging into one of those smiles that filled the pit of price's stomach with butterflies each time he saw it on your features.
you knew how to make everyone around you feel special, no matter if you meant to do it or not. and slowly but surely, they all had begun to ask about you: about whether or not you'd be joining them for drinks that evening. about your plans for price's vacation. 
"takin' our lass somewhere warm?" johnny grinned, wetting his lips. "send us boys a postcard or a picture of our bonnie layin' on the beach, will ye?"
where price had expected to feel a touch of jealousy, he instead found himself feeling something so much deeper. excitement; burn at the thought of them enjoying you just as much as he did.
you were good, and sweet, and kind.
your love was endless and unconditional: the type of love that healed wounds one didn't know they had in the first place. your lips soft, your eyes twinkling, your touch nothing short of damn heaven: a woman like you made to be loved by so much more than just a single man. 
so why not four?
and after months of watching their need for you grow day by day, price gave in.
inviting you to dance with the boys in your living room. grinning, as he encouraged ghost to draw you into his lap: to let his fingers play with yours as you drank yourself silly, your husband handing you a new glass each time you downed the previous one.
price humming with warm agreement, as gaz pulled you to him and let his lips ghost a kiss on your forehead. so soft and gentle, careful to not scare you off. 
though his permission for them to touch you had not been explicit, they'd all known: had seen it in the way that he had looked at you and them, brow raised in his amusement.
help yourself to her, lads.
and so, they did. 
you were so drunk that your words were slightly slurring: eyes twinkling as the three men were suddenly all over you. his little wife so confused, yet so happy—you always were when you were drunk. so gullible, so easy to influence.
the drunken words of encouragement from their lips tangled together: their hands suddenly all over you, nearly impossible to keep track of.
it was ghost who called you our darlin', wasn't it?
soap who promised to be so gentle with you, not wanting to hurt their little lass. wanting to make sure that you could take it all.
gaz whose hands were kneading your hips, as his lips brushed against your earlobe. 'gonna fuck you so good, love.'
your gaze searched for that of price, yet all he did was raise an amused brow with a cigar hanging from his lips. lounging on the couch of your living room, cock pressing against the soft material of his pants.
be good, his eyes told you. make your husband proud, bunny.
and so you did. working so damn hard on your knees: the three greedy men taking their time with you as they fucked your throat in turns, grinning as they watched your mascara run down your pretty little cheeks. price's little wife exhausted yet glowing: eyes looking up at them as they slapped their cocks against your cheeks and watched you suck and lick on their balls, drops of precum messing up your pretty hair. 
so fucking good for them, weren't you?
price's good little wife. 
their sweet little slut.
though your thoughts were clouded from the alcohol rushing through your system, your body responded in all the ways that you knew made price proud of you. your thighs glimmering with your arousal, your lips parting in the warmest and softest of moans and gasps, as their hands palmed your throbbing cunt and tore off your panties and dress.
so greedy in the way that they forced your breasts on full display. mouths and hands attacking your sensitive nipples: low, rumbling laughs making you clench your thighs together, as you struggled to stay standing from the way that they were passing you between the three.
faster than you understood, you found yourself perched up on the coffee table. on your hands and knees, eyes aligned with those of price, as his hand moved to your lips.
"spit, sweetheart."
you did: your brows furrowing as price used your spit as lubricant, his hand moving to his cock as he laid back on the couch and touched himself.
touched himself to the sight of his squad mates going to fucking town with you. a cock—whose, you did not know nor did it matter—sliding into your drenched cunt, merciless in the way that it stretched you wide and open with a single snap of his hips. another one at your mouth, pressing against it: sliding in, impatient, as soon as you parted your lips. burying itself deep down your throat.
"keep your eyes open, bunny," price groaned, voice touched with dark amusement. "the boys wanna see you when they fuck you, don't they? wanna see what a damn good woman they've got."
the tip of johnny's cock pressed against your second hole, and your eyes widened from the realization. 
"it's not her first time," price chuckled, eyes never leaving yours. "she's never taken one in each hole, but she can handle it. can't you, love?"
your brows knitting, you nodded your head. no use in trying to talk with gaz's cock pushing deeper down your throat—his fingers tangling in your hair, as johnny pushed in. 
inch by inch as you focused on your breathing: your eyes locked with those of your husband. and you managed. of course you managed. you were price's good little wife, and his good little wife was made for taking three cocks simultaneously.
was made for pleasuring his friends, now fucking losing it on you. fucking into you as you moaned and mewled: as you came again and again, shaking and sobbing around them. covered in your own arousal and their cum, their spit, and your tears of sheer overwhelming pleasure.
and as they were finally done, it was clear to all five of you.
by then, you were no longer the wife of captain john price.
you were the sweet little wife of the entire 141.
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masterlist | requests are open 💌
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tteokdoroki · 7 months
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☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. pretty brown eyes.
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about. gojo might be the one with the six eyes, but there’s nothing special about those. your brown eyes are real weapon, here.
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, fluff, hurt comfort. slight hints to insomnia, idk how infinity works sorry, reader has brown eyes, afab!reader.
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“you could kill me if you wanted to.”
it’s the dead of night when he whispers your name. though low in volume, his tongue curls around each syllable loud enough for you to hear him. “
“‘toru, what are you on about—” digging the heal of your palm into your eyes, you dislodge the crust from your lash line and groan. the red lines on your digital clock read sometime between three and four am— but the digits blur as your mind swims with sleep.
“your eyes. they’re so perfect.” a loving grin etches itself onto his face when you crack one open to look at him, masking over the exhaustion seeping from his pores and the anxiety that spikes in the sapphire pools of his own eyes. “you should be able to get away with anything because of them.”
“baby,” you reiterate and roll over to face him fully. gojo gets like this when he’s overworked and worried, when there’s something big on his mind you’re not quite sure you’d understand. you move to jab a thumb into his forehead, right between his brows to alleviate the ache in his skull but you don’t let your disappointment show when rough skin meets the dull buzz of his infinity.
you forget that his six eyes flow in the dark — that his blue eyes are not as blue as they seem. “you’re talking nonsense, it’s late. get some sleep.”
“my eyes. they could kill me if i worked too hard.”
satoru’s eyes are a lot stormier than most would expect, they can be dark and cold. like an angry ocean tired of tournament. they can be bright, full of hope and loving — you notice that change whenever he’s with your students. they hide behind the frame of his ability, the one that hardly ever turns off despite how it really could kill him.
his mind is always running, his body almost always on empty.
in the moonlight, you see a faint sliver of silver between the flecks of diamond and stormy skies.
he swipes a gentle thumb just over cheek yours to catch a fallen lash. “but yours,” gojo continues, voice thoughtful and low. tired above all else. “those pretty brown eyes…baby, they’re dangerous in a different way. beautiful in another that makes me feel safe. puts my mind at ease or somethin’. one look ‘nd I’d be doing anything for you,”
there the two of you are, face to face in the dark — cheeks pressed to pillows and heads under the covers as if you’re children shielding yourself from the world. creating the safe space to let satoru confess.
“if those pretty brown eyes were the last thing i got to see before i died. then i think i’d be okay.”
“don’t say that.” your face crumples and his infinity falls away as if gojo had been anticipating your touch, the buzz just shocking through your skin as you wrap your arms around his larger frame, pull his head down to your heart beating in your chest. “you’re not allowed to die, satoru. not yet.”
“i know.” for once he’s grateful he can’t see your eyes — he hates the way they shine when you cry.
“i need you.”
“i know.” he’s quiet. “i need you too.”
“then rest, you don’t have to keep watch.” gojo feels the shake in your lungs as you speak. you worry too much about him. but with your hand cascading through his soft locks, and the other squeezing him close he’s finding it hard to resist.
usually when he lays next to you, he’s stiff as a board, always anticipating whatever danger might come next. but the biggest threat to him of all is you, and those big brown bambi eyes of yours — the way they’re wet with love, shiny with tears because you adore satoru gojo. you care about him way too much for your own good.
those eyes of yours are convincingly treacherous , he can’t help but let his body sag and let go of his cursed technique while you rub his back and soothe him.
“you’re dangerous, yanno,” satoru grunts, lips dragging along your skin with every word. “especially when you look at me like that, with those puppy dog eyes…can’t say no to you.”
but you smile as he drifts off, his tall frame heavy against you — your lashes blinking soft against his forehead as you curl around him protectively. “i’d rather use them to get you to rest, rather than kill you. ‘toru.”
your words are wasted on deaf ears — his deep snore indicating that gojo is finally asleep, doing himself a favour and locking his pretty blue eyes away.
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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yawn-emoji · 1 year
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#confiding in friends is good and helpful and healing until it becomes burdensome when u r in situations where nobody can give u advice#or comfort and all they can tell u are things u already know urself so u feel like a burden sharing things and stressing ppl out#by having them worry abt u w out being able to do anything abt it or offer u actual comfort in any way… :(#dont get me wrong im incredibly grateful for my friends but like if my dad is actively dying from cancer as we speak there is nothing u can#possibly say to help so all i do by sharing is make ppl feel pressured to comfort me even though there is no comfort to be given at all#ik u love me and ik i deserve a break from the difficult things life has been throwing at me for the last yr. ik those things already#and it almost hurts to hear them said again because like. ik those things are true and i wish they brought me comfort but they dont. nothing#brings me comfort. nothing at all#i feel like these feelings resurface every couple months and i start isolating myself from my friends whenever this happens because i feel#so like. burdensome but also unable to accept words of comfort or sympathize w anything that anyone else is going thru. i stop liking#conversing w my friends and i just feel too drained to talk to anyone because all that is on my mind is death#i had to delete a bunch of social media + messaging apps from my phone / mute conversations + turn dnd on constantly because i just. i just.#i literally just cant and i wish i could and i dont feel guilty for needing to take this space because i am familiar w this being one of my#needs and also ik i am going thru something insanely traumatic atm and like nobody can judge me or make me feel guilty for what my needs are#at the moment. i used to feel guilty abt this but tbh i dont even have the energy anymore. this is just how i am#like i dont even have the ability to explain to people what the situation is or how dire it is. my sister and i are sure that this is it#but even if this isnt it it will only be a matter of time. he hasnt responded well to a single treatment and we have exhausted everything#so now its just a waiting game. if it doesnt happen in a few months it will just happen a few months after that. there is no battle to even#fight anymore. this is just it#fuck. oh my god#there was more i wanted to say but i started thinking abt it and i feel like im going to have a panic attack so never mind. ummm#okay… anyways!#woozi eating lettuce dot gif#journal
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dreaming-medium · 2 days
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No Contact
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Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader
Word Count: 7.6k
Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort
Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.
A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3
—————————————————————
No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 
No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 
He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.
Hell, it might even make you worse. 
It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 
But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 
It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?
You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 
He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 
He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.
But he wasn’t. 
A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.
Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 
For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.
He was the last to know. 
After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.
Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 
Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 
You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 
It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 
Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 
Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 
He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 
He never got to see you. 
“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?
“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”
A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”
Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 
Does that mean…?
No…
“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“
The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”
Chan was suddenly in a chair. 
When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  
“It’s not forever, son.”
Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.
Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.
He gets it now. 
The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 
Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.
Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?
Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?
“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”
It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 
You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.
It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 
Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 
God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.
How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?
5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 
He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 
Mice would get to it before you did. 
His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 
All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.
It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 
Just like him.
It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 
He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 
Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.
Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 
Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 
There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 
You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 
This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 
It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 
Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 
Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 
Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 
You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 
To him too. 
It’s the library where he first met you. 
The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 
He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 
Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 
Absolutely not. 
The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 
There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 
Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 
His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 
There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 
On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 
Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 
When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 
Your eyes met. He was a goner. 
How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 
Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.
Maybe you’re not working today? 
No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 
Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 
He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 
His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 
Empty. 
You-less. 
If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 
What a moment. 
Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?
He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 
Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.
“Can I help you find something?”
His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 
Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 
His throat immediately tightens. 
There you are. You. Beautiful you. 
Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 
“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?
You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 
Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”
No.
“Yeah.”
You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”
He knows. 
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 
Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 
You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”
Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 
He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.
But—
“If you need anything, let me know.”
You start to walk away.
Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 
His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!
“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 
You turn around with a curious look. 
“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”
Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”
He knows. You collect different translations of it. 
“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”
With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 
He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 
You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 
Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 
The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 
Y/N, please. 
“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 
Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 
“Thank you,” he whispers back. 
You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 
From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 
You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?
“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”
It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 
You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 
Y/N, please. 
“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 
Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 
Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 
Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 
He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 
He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 
Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 
He knows everything. 
“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 
You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?
“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”
Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 
“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 
Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 
After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 
“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”
Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 
Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”
Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 
Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 
Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.
“Chan,” he answers softly. 
“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 
Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.
“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 
“You too, Chan.”
And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 
—————————————————————
A bad idea was going into the library that day. 
An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 
And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 
And the worst part? You said yes. 
So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 
How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 
Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 
His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 
“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 
“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 
“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 
“How are you? Is everything okay?”
“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”
Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 
“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”
His jaw clenches. Now or never. 
“It’s with me,” he blurts. 
Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 
“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”
He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 
“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 
“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 
She’s right. What if you don’t? 
“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”
Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”
—————————————————————
“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 
Yes, you have. 
“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 
“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”
He looks back down at the old menu. 
This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 
The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 
“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 
He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 
“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 
A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”
It was your favorite. 
“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 
His eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“‘Cause of your allergy.”
He stops. 
You stop. 
He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 
His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”
Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”
You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”
He definitely did not say something. 
Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 
The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  
You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 
A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 
Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 
You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 
“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”
He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 
“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 
What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 
“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”
Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 
Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?
“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”
He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 
Your phone rings. 
A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 
Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 
“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”
“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 
A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 
“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”
Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 
—————————————————————
It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 
“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”
You already have. 
“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 
“Changbin sounds like a blast.”
He was your favorite before.
“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”
And you have. 
A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 
Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 
With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 
You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.
“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 
Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 
The brightest smile stretches over your face. 
God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.
He can’t help it.
He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 
“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 
He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”
Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 
“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”
“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”
Another laugh from you. 
“Shameless flirt.”
He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”
Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 
Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 
It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 
He wants to kiss you so bad. 
Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?
Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 
“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 
Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 
It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 
The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 
Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 
His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 
Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 
You’re always so enchanting.
Is this a good idea? 
Is kissing you the best option? 
But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?
Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 
One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 
Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 
He can’t take it anymore. 
Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.
But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 
He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 
It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 
He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 
But he is. 
He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 
How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 
Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 
Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 
God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 
His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 
He immediately stops. 
Why is your face wet?
Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 
You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?
Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 
“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?
“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.
Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 
“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”
Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 
Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 
Every muscle in your face is twitching.
What’s happening?
“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 
Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 
Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?
Please. 
Slowly, your hand falls from his. 
Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 
He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.
You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.
Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 
“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 
He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 
But you do.
“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 
“It’s okay, Y/N.”
You know him. 
“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”
Chan. Not Channie. 
He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”
His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 
Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 
“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”
Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 
The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 
You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.
“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”
You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 
“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”
Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 
“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 
How is your voice so even?
Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 
He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 
“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 
“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.
“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”
Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 
More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 
“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”
Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 
Him. You’re talking about him. 
Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 
Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 
You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 
Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”
Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 
You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 
That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 
“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”
A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 
A sob tears from his throat. 
You grip his hand tighter. 
“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 
“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”
Oh, god, Y/N.
“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”
He breaks. 
He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 
He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 
Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 
Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  
Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 
You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 
Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 
Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 
“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”
Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 
“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”
Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 
Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 
“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”
Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 
Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 
“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
Channie. You called him Channie.
He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 
You’re still crying. Both of you are. 
“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 
All he can do is cry. 
Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 
The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 
Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.
You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 
“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.
“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”
He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 
“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”
Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 
"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."
His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.
The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.
It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.
But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.
The burn is soothed.
“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”
His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”
“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”
Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 
You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 
His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 
“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”
“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”
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justporo · 3 months
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Astarion would probably be super condescending about cute little displays of afffection at first.
Because that's the stuff happy couples did, people who didn't have to worry about anything, who didn't have to suffer and who could just be blissfully oblivious. He used to hate that.
And then for the stuff he had to do for the past 200 years it was mostly straight to the point, no need to be all lovey-dovey - and it would probably have only hurt more if he'd done that.
So when he gets into a relationship that continuously gives him butterflies, he still can't help to feel icky when Tav does those little things at first: grabbing his hand and squeezing it, rubbing a hand down his back, quick peck on the lips, the nose, the forehead, sitting next to him and snuggling up against his arm.
But he so desperately wants to enjoy it. He wants to be close to Tav - as close as possible and wallow in their warmth and love
Astarion catches himself thinking about it constantly how it feels: how he feels tension leave his body when Tav wraps their arms around them, how he feels himself become calmer under your touch, how even the tiniest bit of affection makes his undead heart ache with love for you.
It does feel nice, so wonderful - but it's hard to unlearn what kept you alive for such a long time.
But the longer he gets to revel in the simple joy of a short, warm touch of his loved one the easier it gets. Astarion finds he starts to yearn for Tav and their affection, craves them physically and that he gets impatient when he has to go without them for too long.
And it becomes the feeling of soft summer rain falling onto his face, the sound of soft winds rustling through tall grass and the trees, the sensation of a cat purring on his lap, the smell of flowers and herbs drifting into his nose, the moment of sinking onto a plush bed after a long day - it becomes his own piece of heaven he always thought he was denied.
It takes even longer though until he himself comes up to Tav and asks for that kind of interaction that give him so much inner peace. And the first time he grabs Tav's hand it might almost startle them from surprise, almost making Astarion drop the whole thing altogether. But this also gets easier. With time showing his affection and feeling alright with wanting to indulge in it becomes second nature.
And then one day, Astarion finds he engages in the affectionate little gestures so openly and without thinking as if he'd never struggled with that at all. He doesn't even notice anymore.
And Tav cries when they realise that, how far he's come, how much he's healed. And squeezes Astarion even harder to their heart.
Taglist: @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel @hereliesblackdragon
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assassinsblade · 3 months
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Forget Me Not | 4
You confuse healing with hurting others; Azriel's ready to let you hurt him anyway.
WC: 3.5k
Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, my poor boy Azriel is sad.
a/n: I'm so thankful for all the support and kind comments for this story! There will still be at least 2 more parts. Sorry for this one being a bit shorter.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5
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Azriel hadn't interacted with you much since lending you his dagger.
He was always there, sure, but he seemed to be letting you lead wherever your friendship would go. He did not try to force you into speaking with him or being around him, but you did notice his nervous energy when you were around.
When you'd pass him in the House of Wind, run into one another in the library, or sit across from each other at dinner, you couldn't help but study how he'd changed. While he had been quiet before, he had always held a certain peaceful arrogance about him. Now, his silence seemed more insecure and anxious, as if he was not quite sure of himself in his own place of residence.
You hadn't had anyone stay the night with you since that night with Azriel either.
You noticed that he kept his bedroom light on every night, though. You weren't sure if he did this to pretend he was still awake, so you'd be less embarrassed if you needed to wake him, or if he did this to reassure you someone was aware and ready in the house during a time of the night you felt more vulnerable. Either way, you tried not to let it effect you too much.
Some nights when noticing the change between Azriel and yourself got too much, you would cry until your eyes became swollen and burned with exhaustion, finally allowing you to fall asleep. Other nights, every noise in the house caused your anxiety to skyrocket, and you found yourself heading to the library to read as a distraction, knowing you would have to try to rest the following night instead.
Nightmares came every now and then. You had mentioned this to Rhys, assuming that he might have experienced something similar with how much he had gone through, and he suggested a sleeping tonic from Madja. You took it nightly, and it seemed to help the majority of the time.
It had been two months since that night, and while your progress was no where near finished, and your trauma would forever be a part of you, you felt less fragile than you did in those previous weeks. You had started showing up to group events again with the whole inner circle, laughing had become more of a consistent part of your days with the help of Cassian and Mor, and the House had even helped prepare food you could keep down until your appetite was back to normal.
The only thing that didn't seem to be getting any better was your relationship with Azriel.
He tried to help in his own way. He left books out in inconspicuous locations that he thought you would like. There would be a box of your favorite pastries on the kitchen counter in the morning, as if anyone else in the household liked their tart flavor. Sometimes you would even notice shadows slinking into your room at night, tugging at the window locks and blinds to ensure everything was secure.
And you knew he wasn’t trying to be noticeable with these things. In fact, it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to not draw attention to himself. He would instead scan through the pages of the books to see if you had made any notes, check the pastry boxes to make sure you had eaten something, or have his shadows close the window when the cold air was beginning to wake you up.
The fact that it all helped only made you angrier.
The inner circle noticed your frustration around the shadowsinger as well, especially during Winter Solstice celebrations.
You had felt good enough to join the rest of the group at the River House, but it was obvious enough how tense things were between you and Azriel:
Friends exchanged gifts, hugs, and laughter, but Azriel kept to himself the entirety of the night, only occasionally sending one of his family members a small smile or taking a sip of his drink.
He had gotten everyone very thoughtful gifts, and he seemed genuinely touched at the presents he received in return. You tried not to flinch at the gardening book he had gotten Elain or the decorated sheath she had gotten him for one of his daggers.
Azriel and Elain didn't speak much that night though, as much as you tried not to notice. You really did try not to notice Azriel so much, but it was as if your gaze was being pulled to him by some unknown force, demanding that you acknowledge that he was here, close to your side, his attention all on you.
And you felt that attention more than ever when Feyre handed you a box wrapped in midnight blue, the wrapping paper glinting from where you sat by the fire.
Swallowing, you refused to look up at Azriel, knowing it would only make the feeling in your stomach worse.
You heard Rhys making conversation in the background, trying to ease the tension and take some attention away from yours and Azriel's exchange.
The shadowsinger also tried to give you privacy, chiming in here and there to add to Rhys’ conversation, but you still felt his eyes keep moving to you.
Fingers fumbled with unwrapping and pulling apart the box before finally revealing what lay beneath.
Underneath a layer of tissue paper sat a delicate piece of glass about the size of a piece of paper. It was transparent, but somehow held some light and color at certain angles, adding a sort of whimsical iridescence to it. It was stunning, and your careful fingers felt unworthy of holding such an awe-inspiring thing. Your only problem was you had no idea what it actually was.
Azriel cleared his throat, and you couldn't stop your eyes from floating to his.
"It's a translator." He fidgeted from the chair he sat in. "From the Day Court. If you place it on a page of writing, it will translate the text to whatever language you request. I thought you might want to expand some of the books you have access to."
Your heart pounded in your chest. He knew you loved reading. He knew you loved studying. He knew you and had gotten you a gift that made you so excited you had to actively scold yourself to loosen your grip on the glass.
His hazel eyes were filled with so much emotion as he tried to gauge your reaction, you felt something physically crack in your chest.
You tried to will your tears down.
"Thank you," you whispered, unable to make your voice louder. Azriel accepted it all the same, giving you a small nod before clasping his hands together and averting his gaze back to Rhys.
You hadn't gotten anything for Azriel.
You didn't have much to give him anymore. He knew that, despite the sadness that surrounded him that night.
Maybe it was because you would have gotten him a solstice gift before. Not only would you have picked something out months in advance, you would have teased him about it, gone giddy with excitement over the surprise.
After what happened, there hadn’t been a gift in that pile addressed to him from you, and it only served to show the damage that had been done to your friendship.
You tried not to let what he had done damage you further, continuing to build up your walls both physically and emotionally.
Cassian’s training was great for the body and mind, and you put all of your focus into that.
Training had allowed for you to channel some of the agony harbored in your chest into exercise. Every night around 9pm you would meet the general up in the training ring, going over anything from conditioning and weight lifting to actual battle tactics like sword training and hand-to-hand combat.
You knew that Azriel normally came up to train late at night, but it seemed like he pushed his time later in order to give Cassian and you some privacy. You tried not to think about how little of sleep he must be getting if he wasn't coming up to train until midnight. It wasn't your problem.
At first, you were scared both intrusive thoughts and your body's memory would hinder your sessions. You had been hesitant and nervous, but Cassian had quickly made you feel at ease. You knew he had trained Gwyn, and Cassian was a trusted friend, so you shouldn't have been surprised when the sessions went swimmingly.
Cassian was such a steady presence, someone you knew you could always rely on. He made sure to check in on you every night, casually asking questions that seemed nonchalant enough to not be overbearing or annoying while still showing he cared. That didn't stop him from overstepping at times though.
Hours ago, Cassian had been sparring with you in the training ring, his steps circling your own and hands raised ready to strike. You had followed his movements, trying to remember everything you had been taught while silencing outside noises.
You weren't sure if he had said it to get under your skin, to win the upper hand, or if it was something he had actually been pondering for a while.
When you had taken a step as if to attack, Cassian had eyed the dagger in your hand — Azriel’s dagger —and had bluntly asked, "Do you think you'll ever forgive him?"
You had nearly stumbled in your stance.
The inner circle had been very careful to tiptoe around you and Azriel. They didn't ask about your relationship or where you stood, never tried to force interactions or situations upon the two of you, and you had gotten used to the peace of their feigned ignorance.
You had to shake off the shock of his question before it festered in your chest.
"What?" You had decided to ask instead, buying yourself some time to think.
You didn't know what you were doing with your body anymore, if you were still on physically guard, fighting, or if all of your energy was being put toward guarding your emotions.
"I'm not saying you should," Cassian had quickly amended. "But I am wondering where your head is at."
Only staring at him, your eyebrow arched in challenge. "Should it be somewhere specific?"
Cassian's sigh had been near silent in the large room, and the large warrior seemed to deflate at your answer. "No. Of course not."
"Good," you had only replied, voice hard and final. "Then let's keep going."
Cassian had gone right back to his teasing, difficult self, but he left not too long after that sparring round ended.
That had been hours ago, but you were still there, knives and daggers lined up, throwing them at the boards across from you. Each throw had you huffing, and with your strength depleting, your aim became further and further off through the night.
Your arms were sore and numb, both from throwing the weapons and from sparring with Cassian earlier. But it felt good, knowing your muscles were being used, knowing you were growing stronger, more powerful and less vulnerable.
Sleep should have found you about an hour ago, but you knew you wouldn't be able to get any tonight. Cassian's words flowed nonstop through your head: Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
I don't know Cassian, do you think he'll ever stop being such a fuck-up?
The question made you angry, because this situation was never about him, and you didn't owe Azriel anything.
You knew Azriel was Cassian's brother. You knew everyone wanted your family to be whole again, to stop seeing each other hurting. But you were angry at the expectations placed on you by your friends to offer forgiveness, you were angry at Azriel for being too late in every area of your life, and you were angry at yourself for missing him.
Gods, you wanted to scream, to thrash, to hit yourself until you could force yourself into just minutes of peaceful rest.
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
Do you think he deserves forgiveness?
You paused, breathing heavily as you thought over your own words and reaction. You knew he was trying, but you also knew some things didn't change. And some people weren't worth getting hurt over again.
Before you could pull the dagger in your hand back and launch it forward toward the wooden board, you noticed the shift in the air.
Shadows danced along the floors, curling and floating around training equipment.
You knew Azriel moved back the time he would come up here to train independently so that you and Cassian could have privacy. You knew that you were technically the one infringing on his claimed time and peace now. That didn't stop the wave of frustration that rolled over you, though.
Azriel's presence mimicked that same wave shoving you under. You were sick of it. Sick of feeling like you couldn't breathe, like you couldn't fight back, like every single inch of your body wouldn't listen to you anymore. You were sick and tired of feeling worthless, like you would never be loved, like you would never be someone's priority. And you were so fucking tired of being sad.
Fire burned within your veins, but it wasn't because of shame or hurt. You were angry again. You had deserved better, and you had gotten left in the dust like a piece of trash. And he thought a pretty present could fix things? Could fix you?
As if the iridescent glass sheet could blur the memory of the male's tongue on your neck, the feeling of his fingers touching where they shouldn't, translating the history written on your body into something more pleasant, more beautiful, like a tale of a hero rescuing the dame and whisking her off to safety.
Before you knew what you were doing, you took the dagger Azriel had lent you and turned with a speed and strength you had never aimed at another person, heaving out a noise of frustration and sending the weapon flying toward Azriel's form just inside the doorway.
You saw red. The red of the male's blood in the alleywall, the red of your own blood, the red of Azriel's blood now beading along his bicep, the red of pure unfiltered rage.
"You are a piece of shit, Azriel. A fucking selfish, cruel, shallow bastard. Do you know that?"
Your chest heaved as you tried to control yourself, your fingers already itching for another weapon. It wasn't enough to see you had nicked his skin. You wanted him to fight back, you wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt you.
"Is that why you go after damaged females? In an attempt to find something redeemable about yourself? To act like the hero, like some sort of protector?"
He flinched at the words but otherwise remained unmoving. You hated him for it.
"You're no hero. You're a joke."
You watched as the blow landed, and a wave of adrenaline rushed over you. You deserved this. You had been bleeding for months, crawling up the well of your depression until your fingertips were raw and worn, and these attacks against him felt like a hand reaching down from the heavens, like an extra surge of energy to keep yourself going. You didn't want to be the one bleeding, it was someone else's time to bleed for once.
A step toward him, but he didn't move.
"Do you know what the priestesses tell me?"
He blinked, swallowing harshly.
"They say it's not my fault, what happened to me." You shrugged, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I guess they are partially right. Because it's your fault too. And the male's. But I'm not completely blameless here. I mean what in the Cauldron's name was I thinking, putting my trust in you?"
That got him. Eyes squeezed shut suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as if he had actually been stabbed. Good.
"After all," you continued, beginning to pace around the training area, languidly taking small steps as if you were telling your own tale. "How many of those close to you have you let down before? Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, Elain, your mother... I really should have expected to get hurt because of you."
You could see wetness on his cheeks, but you still did not back down. And he did not move from his spot, his hazel eyes not even hardening at the onslaught.
You'd just have to go harder.
"Sometimes in my nightmares, your hands are the ones hurting me in that alley. I can feel your scars as you pin me to the wall, as I'm violated." You let out a humorless laugh. "I think my mind keeps trying to tell me that's all you're good for: inflicting damage."
A drop of blood from his bicep fell to the floor in a perfect circle.
You stopped your pacing, only about fifteen feet in front of him, and dropped your hands to your side. With your head held tall, you looked him directly in his eyes, pausing to memorize the broken look of him.
His chest was hardly rising and falling. He stood completely and utterly still. Hazel eyes on your own, jaw clenched, cheeks wet.
He was a beautifully broken portrait. And you had just torn him to shreds.
Summoning the rest of your courage, you spit out the thought that had been tormenting you, curling its way around your heart until you felt it would be strangled.
A thought, and a promise.
"You may have thought me worthy of being forgotten, but I will make sure you never forget what you have done to me."
Breaking eye contact, you walked past him out of the training ring, refusing to turn back. If you thought you heard a wounded noise travel softly from his lips, you ignored it.
Maybe you were a bad person, maybe deep down you were a sadistic, cruel being, but saying those words finally lifted something from your chest. Air came easier, and some part of you felt vindicated after unleashing yourself, despite the shaking that immediately overcame you in your retreat.
You might have been confused. Your chest might have been swarming with overwhelming, conflicting emotions and adrenaline. You were filled with so much love and hate, so much yearning and anger, but you at least felt like you had a release, the swirling poison in your chest no longer sitting so close to your heart.
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
It was cathartic. The sharp words, watching them pierce him down to his core, seeing as he cried over what you'd become. And for once, as you let the cool breeze wash over your overworked muscles, you felt tears build in your eyes not from sadness but from relief.
Like a fire burnt out, you dragged your weary body back to the House of Wind, barely making it to your bed before collapsing.
You imagined Azriel standing where you left him, bleeding from where you had slashed him. He hadn't even said a word — he had just let you tear him to pieces.
Was it his own way to punish himself? Was this about him all over again?
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
Maybe if you knew what was coming in the days following, you would have said yes. Maybe you would have wanted to be around him more, to actually try, instead of pushing him away. Maybe you would have realized that you weren’t just punishing him but yourself as well.
But you didn’t know what was coming. So you pushed the image of his wounded expression, the way he had physically flinched at your words, away from your mind, closed your eyes, and went to sleep.
If you dreamt about his scarred hands scooping you up in that alleyway, bringing you close to his chest and keeping you safe, you'd never admit it.
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arieslost · 19 days
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home to you | op81
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oscar piastri x fem!reader
summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.
word count: 2,978
warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst
masterlist — join my tag list here!
this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)
© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.
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Your sunburn is peeling.
Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.
“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.
“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”
“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”
“I know,” you reply quietly.
As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.
You think he doesn’t feel the same way.
When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.
So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.
He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.
“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”
“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.
“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”
Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”
“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”
“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”
You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”
“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.
“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”
“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”
“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.
He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.
You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”
His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”
You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”
“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”
“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.
“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”
“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.
“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Osc.”
You hang up first.
“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.
You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.
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Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.
Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.
Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.
“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.
“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”
“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.
Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??
“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”
“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.
“Always here for you, mate.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I don’t care.”
That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”
He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.
She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.
“It’s about-”
“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.
“You do?”
“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”
“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.
“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”
“It never did.”
She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”
She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.
The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.
“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”
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Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.
He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.
He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.
“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”
“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.
You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.
He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”
I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.
“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”
“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”
“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”
“Can we talk inside?”
“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.
He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”
“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”
“You didn’t, though.”
“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.
“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”
You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”
“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.
“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”
“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”
You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”
“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.
You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.
“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.
“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”
You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”
“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”
You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”
You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.
“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”
“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”
“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.
“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”
“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”
“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”
You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.
The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.
It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.
The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.
“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.
“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.
“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.
“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”
“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
“I love you,” you whisper back.
No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.
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note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!
requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!
reblogs are greatly appreciated <33
dividers by @/saradika !
tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @niallerswolf @fangirl-dot-com @hood-jabi @vellicora @k-pevensie28 @cami26cami @arian-directioner @vildetry06 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld
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angelltheninth · 2 months
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All That Heals is a Little Romance
Pairing: Luke Castellan x Daughter of Demeter!Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, established relationship, injury, healing powers, kisses, flirting, smug Luke Castellan
Word count: 0.6k
A/N: Final commission of this batch! Might open them again soon.
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As the daughter of Demeter it was your job that those who got seriously hurt in the Camp got the best help they needed. It was a tough job but it was your calling, you liked doing it, brining a smile to someone's face, making them feel better, or chastising them for making really stupid mistakes that got them hurt. "What were you thinking Luke? Running up a wall?! And for what?"
You carefully took his shoe off, cringing when you saw how swollen his ankle was from the sprain. That wasn't his only injury either, there were small thorn-like cuts all over his arms and face too.
"I wanted to see if I could so it without the wings." This is exactly the kind of stupid stuff that you, and he, have advised others against doing.
"And why exactly did you do something so dumb?" You suspected you already knew what he'd say to that. But who knows maybe he'll surprise you.
"I know they're all watching." The 'they' never referred to other members of Camp Half-Blood.
You sighed and started massaging his ankle, trying to feel for any cracks. Luke grunted in pain every time you pressed down but nothing seemed broken or out of place. "Nothing's broken." You would need to bandage it just in case he doesn't heed your warning, "You need to take it easy for a few days. No more stupid dares to impress the Gods. I know you want to prove yourself, we all do, in one way or another, but it shouldn't come at the cost of... you Luke."
Luke rubbed the back of his neck, having heard all this before. From you and his mentors and peers. You've all been given this talk at some point. It never made the burdens of your parentage any easier for any of you. Pretty words could only go so far.
"I'll try." That's what he always said.
"I mean it Luke. No more running around. Or else I'll have to tie you to the bed until you feel better."
Luke chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows, "That's kinda kinky. It's always you medics."
"Ugh. You pervert." You tightened the bandage a bit too tight for one split second before you eased up on him. "Okay. Don't put pressure on this if you don't have to. I'll give you some healing cream I made. It doesn't smell the best but put it on your ankle every nigh before bed and give it a few minutes to get absorbed."
Luke made a disgusted noise when you brought out the small container with the cream, "Yes nurse." His nose relaxed the moment you booped it.
"Okay. I'll know if you lie to me Luke. You know I will. Now, for your other injuries. They're not as bad so... lean back a little." The demi-god looked skeptical of your plans but listened anyways, knowing it was pointless to argue with you when you worked.
As soon as he sat back on the bed you sat in his lap and kissed one of his small cuts, healing it instantly. "Oh! Now this is the kind of medicine I like!"
"I knew you would." You rolled your eyes to humor him and gently cupped his face. "There's a lot of these so we might be here for a while."
"Yeah but it's all about making the patient feel better right? That's what you said." Luke placed his hands on your hips and smiled smugly at your now slightly flustered face.
"You're lucky I'm your girlfriend or else I would have kicked you out for that bad joke." You leaned in again, your kiss healing his next cut. You lost track of how many there were, or how long you've been doing your job, but this was one more part of it that you could wholeheartedly say you loved.
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misslovasstuff · 4 months
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Writing prompt: Them taking about their lover
op men x fem!reader
with: Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Buggy.
author’s note: oh to be described by hot pirates that would die for me hehe. Enjoy ~
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Sanji:
“Ah, - he rests his elbows on the table, pupils dilated and somehow taken the form of an heart as his face rests on his palms. - she…”
The moment you are mentioned in the conversation, Sanji completely melts. His mind now travels distant lands where he imagines you and his surroundings become dust.
“She completely devastates me. - he closes his eyes and starts describing you. - Eyes that lure me in even with the shortest of glance, a smile that determines my fate, the touch of those hands that are grown among prickles of roses and yet have remained so soft that when caressing my skin so gently, I feel like I am healed from everything that has hurt me. Ah, for my love I could talk for hours. She… she is someone I thought I could ever meet. A miracle.”
Zoro
He puts his sake down for a moment, eyes lowered as he looks down whilst thinking. Suddenly he chuckles and shakes his head.
“That woman will be the death of me. - Zoro says, leaning against the chair with a sigh and a smile. - She’s an open book, easy to understand, at least for me. The way she smiles and lightens up every time she sees me… it warms my heart. I hear my name falling out her lips and my whole body just shivers from the sound of her voice. Sometimes while I’m training she’ll walk by to visit me. Those are the times I cherish a lot since we don’t get to be alone together for a long time. Small pecks she gives me during the day, notes that she sticks to my swords, lipstick marks on my clothes…- his pushes his head back, staring at the ceiling as he covers his bashful face. - What a woman she is… I can never get enough of her.”
Luffy
“Ah, she’s amazing! - his eyes shine brightly at the mention of your name. - we have known each other for a while now.”
Luffy smiles, voice deepening as his cheeks turn slightly pink.
“We met as she tried to save my life. That type of courage, I’ve seen only in a few people. - he begins explaining. - Anyone that looks at her can feel how genuine she is: her kindness… she has helped so many people and yet fails to see how she has helped me the most by opening my heart to so many new experiences. I don’t know what it is, perhaps I’m always too full when I look at her and my stomach feels heavy, my eyes get fixated on her as she watches over the horizon, the one I used to observe but now I completely ignore it, as if I’ve found something more beautiful to look forward to.”
Buggy
“Uh?? Why would you ask me about her?”- with his voice high pitched eyebrow raised, Buggy is taken a bit aback but soon calms down his protective instinct. - Well, there’s no reason for you to know but I’ll say it anyways because I’m so proud of my girl.”
He smirks, crossing his legs as he sits comfortably whilst beginning his description:
“A total babe, tall and curvy, so beautiful that my hands shake upon first touching her. - his eyes soften a bit, so does his voice. - Her laugh is the most precious thing ever in my world. She chuckles at my jokes and makes me laugh too. Not only is she fun, but my sweetheart is my biggest support. There is no one who believes in me like her. And… if I can become the man that she hopes I can be, then I could make her the happiest, like she makes me. A man like me saw her and truly believed that I had found the treasure that was meant for me and I’m willing to guard her with my life.”
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kettlefire · 6 months
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Booo-merang Trouble DP x DC Idea
Okay but leeching off the idea that Jason gives off an ecto-signature, and I probably saw a post about this somewhere. I just for the love of me can't find it. If anyone knows it, please link it so I can credit!:
Jason isn't even on patrol, he's visiting the manor. His chilling, eating away at lunch. He doesn't come to the manor often, but he always needs a dose of his crazy family every once in a while. There's no way he'd stay away from Alred's cookies for long.
Then boom, something shatters the window behind him. On instinct, Jason moves. Taking cover and trying to get a sight of the situation. Of the perceived attack. However, before Jason could do much a heavy object rams into his chest before landing on the ground before him. It doesn't really hurt, nothing compared to his prior injuries.
A boomerang. A glowing green and silver boomerang laid on the ground before him. Jason's a million and one ways confused as he stared at the device. His hands carefully picking it up, and looking over the softly beeping device.
Jason thinks maybe it's a bomb, but something in his gut says otherwise. He can think of a million different things it could be. Maybe one of the rogues got a hold of their DNA, and it tracked them. Maybe it's going to expel a gas any moment, an attack on the Waynes rather than their vigilante personas.
Except it's none of that. The beeping stops and suddenly a robotic voice sounds from the boomerang.
"Ghost located, prepare for your end ghoul."
Jason tenses once again at the clear threat in those words. His gaze scans around the kitchen, still crouched behind the kitchen counter. Except nothing happens.
Except for a voice ringing out from the boomerang once again. This time, this time it's not a robot. It's a clear record of a young woman speaking. Her voice filled with fear, concern, and urgency.
"Okay, this should work right? You know what, that doesn't matter. No one but you should have a signature. Beside's Tucker thinks he set this up to go to you only. So Danny, you should be hearing this..."
Jason only finds himself more confused. The urgency in this girl's voice was enough to keep his nerves on edge. It sounded important, but Jason had no clue who these people are. Who these names could be refering to.
"Danny... Things here aren't doing to good. Look, I know why you left. You have every reason to. What mom and dad did... It's unforgivable and I don't expect you to come back. But, thing is..."
There's a lull in the recording. The distant sound of soft chatting. If Jason strained his ears, he could somewhat pick of the sound of another woman and man.
"Everyone thinks Phantom is dead. Which I would think is a good thing, but it's not. Danny, the GIW is on a rampage now that you aren't here. Mom and dad are on their side..."
Jason made the conclusion that the speaker was this Danny's sister. The message was intended for him, yet it somehow landed in Jason's lap.
"They have everyone locked up in the school... Radars to see if anyone has a signature, and if they do... They separate them from everyone else."
Jason's brows furrowed, finally pulling himself to a stand. He placed the boomerang on the kitchen counter. Leaning forward as he took in the words.
"We don't know what they are doing. Sam, Tucker, and Valerie... We're all hiding. We'll have the highest signatures, and... Listen Danny..."
Jason had a growing pit in his gut. He knew something wasn't right. These people were in danger. It didn't matter he didn't know about what, or who the GIW was, but these people needed help.
"... We need you. We need Phantom, baby bro. I'm sorry, I know you're still recovering. We can handle things here, but please. Please tell me you're still alive, you're in Gotham right? Tell me you're safe, and you're healing and still kicking Danny."
Jason swallowed, placing his hands flat on the kitchen counter. He needed to get this down to the cave. Have the computer tracked where it came from. But Jason couldn't move, not at the sound of pure desperation in this woman's voice.
"I just need to know you at least made it out of this nightmare. I don't care how you do it, just please let me know things are okay... They have... They have Vlad, Danny. Things are complicated, and I hate to put this on you... But Amity needs Phantom..."
The recorded suddenly broke into static, but Jason thinks he got enough of what he needed. Amity. The place these people were was called Amity. It gave him a lead, something for them to work with.
"Da... We... Help... They..."
Jason could hear the woman's voice breaking through the static. He gripped the boomerang, turning on his heels and heading towards the cave.
"Sam... Mom... Tech... I..."
Every broken word only fueled Jason's own urgency. Jason felt a strange urge, a connection. Something that told him he had to help. They needed to help. The boomerang found him, and that had to mean something.
"... I love you, Danny..."
Those four words were the clearest compared to rhe rest of it. It made Jason's heart seize, and he took a breath. He was going to help.
It didn't matter if Jason didn't know these people. If they weren't from Gotham. This was important, and something told Jason he needed to find this Danny.
Danny would be the only one that would know that to do. If Jason manages to rewind the recording, he was certain Bruce would be equally on board.
That voice, the emotions that dripped from it. It gave the sense that this wasn't just life or death. This was a world ending problem.
And Jason would be damned if he ignored it.
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