#[ i was like 'how do i reply to this in the saddest way' and my brain said 'well actually :3c' and this was the result. ]

[2pndr]

Dinner In a Winter Wonderland

Hi! This is my first ever fic! Hope you enjoy it :D

Winter x Male Reader Fluff

8.4k words (sorry)

“We’ll only agree if you guys bring along a fourth friend, ok?”

Your three friends all recited to you the conditions a “goddess” had set for the Christmas quadruple date they were dragging you into.

You sat at your desk, speechless as you scanned the pleading faces of your roommates and long-time friends, stunned by their brazen appeals to you. It was probably that last sentence that bamboozled you the most though. Sure you were the closest to them, but it’s not like they were short on other friends. Why did you of all people have to come along?

“Why me of all people?” you asked again, this time out loud.

“Well, apparently, they have a you in their friend group too,” one of your friends began.

“A me?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, a you,” he continued. “Y’know, a stubborn, reclusive homebody who needs to be dragged out of their room every time their friends wanna hang out. All because they enjoy their ‘me time’ a little too much,” he joked, perhaps a bit too accurately imitating your increasingly weak excuses to leave the dorm.

“Ha, ha,” you mocked.

“No seriously! Apparently, her name’s Winter.”

“Winter?” You stifled a snicker. “Like the season? That’s her real name?”

“I mean, that’s what they told us,” your friend replied with a shrug. “Who cares? It’s kinda cute.”

You silently agreed, hiding a smirk as to not concede that your interest was piqued. “So let me get this straight,” you began, folding your arms in an attempt to appear unfazed. “The only reason I’m being dragged along is because you guys need someone to pair up with some girl who—what?—shares my hate for leaving the house? The hell’s in this for me?” You asked, feigning anger.

“Dude, it’ll be a perfect match!” another friend enticed, desperately trying to paint the situation in an appealing light. “You both don’t like leaving your rooms, you both hate meeting new people. It’s like the universe is aligning for you two to meet.”

Did he even realise the irony of that sentence?

“C'mon man, spending Christmas alone in your room three years in a row is some of the saddest shit I’ve ever seen,” The first one remarked.

Well he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t let him get any ground.

“Some people can’t help it,” You retorted.

“Well those people probably don’t have a chance to go out with the most attractive women they’ll ever see.”

You scowled, about to add fuel to the fire before your third friend cut you off.

“Think about it,” he chimed in, shifting the conversation away from an argument. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll probably want this whole thing over with as fast as you do.”

“Uh, huh…” You leaned back in your chair, tamed, but staring at the ceiling unconvinced. A girl like you? With how active the rest of the campus was, you found it hard to believe there was actually someone out there like you—someone cynical and uncomfortable with social gatherings of any form. 

To be clear, you didn't have poor social skills—in fact, you’d argue you had a certain way with words—you just avoided any chance to use them. You had a knack in discerning the smallest shift in someone’s expression, adjusting your tone, words and body language to suit.

But that knack was often overshadowed by an unshakable urge to assess, to weigh every syllable and gesture, scanning for the faintest sign of discomfort or misinterpretation.

This hyperawareness turned into a road-block for any conversation. Instead of letting the flow guide you, you’d find yourself scrutinising every word you said the instant it left your mouth, wondering if it had landed right, if it was too much or too little, or if you’d somehow veered into awkward territory.

The more you tried to keep things smooth, the more you’d find yourself caught in these spirals of self-correction, only to create the very awkwardness you’d been trying to avoid. 

So in the rare case you did end up at a social event, it was like you were playing a part. You stuck to the same few openings, the same practised routes for small talk.

There was nothing organic or genuine about the performance, nothing personal or meaningful. It was merely for show—a facade to keep up appearances.

It was all exhausting, and that’s what you had reiterated to your friends time and time again.

Regardless of your scepticism though, a strange part of you was actually a little curious. Not about the date itself—no, that was still a nightmare—but about this mysterious girl who apparently shared your introversions.

“Look, all we’re asking for is one night,” one pleaded, hands glued together as if he was in prayer. “One night! Just hang out with her for a couple hours while we chat up her friends, and you never have to do this again. You don’t have to see her again, talk to her again or anyone else if we ever ask.  We’ll owe you big time.”

“Seriously dude, we’ll pitch in for the PS5 Pro or something!” another added in further pleas.

You let out a long sigh, staring this time down at your desk. Not in a million years would you even consider buying that atrocious excuse for a cash grab, but the sentiment of your friends owing you that colossal amount was admittedly tempting.

And then there was this Winter girl. The one who was apparently as much of a hermit as you were. You couldn’t ignore that meeting her was happening during Christmas, the very time of year you tried to avoid going out the most. But you almost couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person she was, if she really was as closeted as you or just some exaggerated myth your friends had conjured up to lure you out.

It shouldn’t have, but just the idea of her tickled something deep in your brain, flooding your subconscious with various guesses of her character. 

Your mind conjured up an amalgamation of the most attractive women you had seen throughout your life; famous actresses and idols, the cute barista at the Starbucks down the road, that one girl at the airport who caught your eye but you never ended up talking to.  Their looks, personalities, whatever alluring details you could recall were being melted together and forged into what became your own expectation of Winter. 

You imagined a stunning slim and quiet girl—that much was obvious—with milky white hair, and fair complexion. They were traits all befitting of a girl named Winter. But in your mind something about her attitude, her facial expressions… they radiated… cold. It wasn’t unlike how you appeared to strangers—irrationally concealing your timid fear of interaction with a stiff stare and an emotionless face. As  you considered how similar your vision of her felt to you, it was strangely… warm…familiar. 

Within a matter of seconds, your apprehension had transformed to a hesitant desire to meet her. Or rather, this idea of her you had thrown together. 

You sat in a long silence, wrestling with your inner turmoil—your shameful, uncharacteristic urge to discover the truth about this girl. 

Seriously man? You asked yourself. There’s no way in hell she’d look anything like that if she was anything like you. 

Your asshole of a subconscious did have a point. 

But something about this tugged at you in a way you couldn’t help but notice. If this girl was like you, really like you, you had to know.

 “Alright,” you eventually grumbled, putting a hand over your face to suppress the oncoming wave of regret already washing over you. “I’ll go.”

Your friends erupted in cheers, high-fiving and dapping each other up like they had just won themselves a date with the hottest girls on campu–Oh.

“YES! You’re the man!” one of them yelled, giving you a ‘pat’ on the back that almost knocked you out of your chair.

"You won’t regret this!" another exclaimed, jabbing a finger toward you, though deep down, you already kind of did.

“FUCK YEAH!” the last one punched to the sky. “We owe you man,” smiling from ear-to-ear as cheers followed him out of your room.

As you hastily cleared the other two from your territory, you felt the dread settling in. One night, that’s all it was, you told yourself. Just one night with this girl named Winter, who was probably as opposed to this as you were.

What’s the worst that could happen?

---

Before you knew it, you were in your friend’s car, dressed in your Sunday’s best—which, admittedly, was a hastily thrown together fusion of your roommates’ closets.

An attempt had been made to make your less than desirable features appear at least mildly presentable to the outside world. Your hair had been styled with some expensive hair product you could barely pronounce, your caveman scent obscured by some B-list celebrity’s cologne, and your abhorrent posture—honed through years of agonising abuse to your spine—was being corrected by your friends’ frustrated hands what felt like every other second. 

They had half-jokingly, half-100%-seriously subjected you to some correction exercises over the past few days, few of which you actually bothered to attempt. Obviously, the few you had tried didn’t work, as your friend had stopped bothering to correct your posture himself, instead resorting to giving you a stinging slap every time your spine inevitably slumped from upright.

 The swelling of the handprint forming on your back had charitably distracted you from the metric-shit ton of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It caused your breathing to grow heavy and your heart to feel it was going to burst from your chest. A couple sleepless nights and a few too many hours of staring blankly at your PC monitor had transformed your strange curiosity for meeting Winter back into dread. 

You had moronically forgotten you actually had to talk to this girl for a couple hours instead of just confirming if she was similar to you.

Either you forced some kind of pitiful attempt at conversation with her—risking major embarrassment—or both of you succumb to sitting in introverted silence. 

Even if you could properly wrestle with overusing your little talent, the fact was, any attraction whatsoever to a girl caused you to fold like a cheap suit, rendering your ability useless. If Winter was any bit as alluring as your mind made her out to be it would be more than disastrous for you. It would be like every ounce of composure was swapped out for a hyperactive inner monologue—one that left you stumbling over your own thoughts.

As your friend’s car hummed along the bustling holiday streets, your mind continued to spin in overdrive almost as quickly as the neon red and green of the city's Christmas ornaments seemed to appear and disappear all around you. You aimed  to avoid risking any conversation that led to your humiliation, desperately mapping out the possible routes for conversation. This process was standard yet exhaustive at this point—your own RPG dialogue tree being mapped out in your mind.

"Hey, nice to meet you. How’s it going?"

"Fine."

[ No further options.]

You could already feel the weight of the dead-end conversation dragging the both of you down. That wasn’t going to work.

“So, what kind of stuff are you into?"

"Not much."

 [FAILED: Charisma check too low.]

Your mind projected you staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to find something, anything, to say while Winter twiddled her thumbs, wondering out loud with a groan,“Why did I even bother to show up.”

 What the fuck brain? That wasn’t helping your confidence at all.

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

"Yeah, same."

[Neutral response. Proceed carefully.]

This felt promising. You could try pushing deeper, maybe ask a follow-up question, but you could already feel how you would screw it all up—one wrong word, one wrong look and kaput.

How about…

[Say Nothing.]

[No response.]

Yeah, that’s probably how it’s gonna go.

The car hit a bump in the road, and so did your only shred of confidence in this turning out well. You sighed quietly to yourself, senselessly running through these hypothetical scenarios in your head, frantically searching for the “good” dialogue option that simply wasn’t available to you.

There was no save scumming in real life, no charisma stat to help you bluff and charm your way through the whole thing, no getting lucky with your dice rolls either. It was just your limited social ability, a few thinly veiled attempts at small talk, and the faint hope that Winter might somehow be interested in having a conversation. It all reminded you why you avoided these kinds of situations in the first place…

You suck at them.

What felt like eternity with your own thoughts was soon interrupted as the car pulled up to the curb. You noticed the Christmas themed sign of the barbeque restaurant in the evening dusk. You stared at it, utterly terrified like it was signalling the entrance to some twisted version of hell—a place where your date, crowds of people, and the inevitable crushing embarrassment of being out of your element awaited—your hell. 

Your friends on the other hand were already pumped, talking over each other in excitement as they recounted for the hundredth time just how hot these girls they scored were. Meanwhile, you were still stuck somewhere between resignation and panic.

Their voices blended into background noise—drowned out by the mental gymnastics you were performing to figure out how to survive the next couple of hours. You hadn’t even walked into the restaurant yet, and you already felt like retreating into the comforting embrace of your bed sheets back home.

As you resolved to follow your friends inside you were instantly hit by a wall of warmth, thick with the smell of grilling meat and the hum of lively holiday celebrants. The restaurant was buzzing—waiters weaving between tables, the sizzling of meats echoing from grills, and laughter rippling across the room like a contagious wave. Already the ‘energy’ in here was too much for you, prompting you to  take a moment to adjust the atmosphere—all while your friends strode in like they owned the place. 

This was the kind of scene you’d typically steer clear of: crowded, chaotic, and packed with people who simply enjoyed the presence of others. The holiday season did nothing to ease your anxiety, doing its part to gather everyone together by filling every seat in the restaurant. You shoved your hands into the unfamiliar pockets of the jacket your friends threw on you, hyper aware of how out of place you felt.

 Your friends were greeted with warm smiles from the hostess—predictably, since they looked like they had just stepped off of the cover of Vogue magazine. Meanwhile, you were certain you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.

She led you all to a private booth which was, thankfully, designated its own corner far away from the rest of the vivacious dynamic of the restaurant’s other patrons. Your relief didn’t last long though, as your heart leapt into your throat when you spotted four girls already sitting there. Three of them stood up to greet you, all endearing smiles, waves and the obligatory “Merry Christmas.”

Your fear was instantly frayed as the first girl began her introduction. Her name was Karina, and you were taken aback at how uncannily beautiful she was. In fact, it was almost unsettling how flawless she looked. It was like she had been engineered in a lab or generated by some AI algorithm designed to create the perfect face. Everything, right down to her sharp profile and unnaturally smooth skin was other-wordly perfect. A small mole dotted the edge of her chin, like an anchor tethering her otherwise impossibly symmetrical features to reality. She greeted your friends with a poised smile, but there was something behind her eyes—sharp, calculating, and trained on you—like she was sizing you up in particular.

But your mind paid that no attention as the next beauty introduced herself as Giselle—Her confident demeanour being the highlight for you. She moved with an ease that gave the impression she wasn’t fazed by anything or anyone. Her posture was relaxed, yet somehow commanding, exuding an energy that screamed, I’m hot, and I fuckin’ know it. The assertive eye contact she made with each of you as she introduced herself caused you to shrink back, almost out of respect for her authority. In contrast, her voice was steady and warm, but her eyes flicked back to Karina’s every so often, like the two of them were communicating without saying a word.

Then there was Ning Ning, who practically radiated excitement. Her lips curved into a smile that was bright and infectious, the kind that lit up her entire face. She greeted you all with a playful wave that bordered on adorable. Yet there was a switch in her—something in the way her expression shifted mid-conversation from lively and sweet to striking confidence—which could flip in an instant. She seemed to live in the moment though, completely detached from whatever silent exchange was happening between the other two. It was hard to tell if Ning Ning was more girl-next-door or temptress, and that fluidity made her all the more intriguing.

Your friends weren’t exaggerating. Each of them was stunning in their own way—like the kind of women you’d expect to see gracing the pages of a high-fashion magazine or as models strutting down a runway.

Yet, you couldn't help but notice the girl still seated at the inner end of the table, toying with her sleeves as the soft glow of her phone lit her face. Winter, you assumed. She didn’t stand, didn’t do so much as glance briefly at the four of you. But even in her stillness, she drew your attention. Her beauty wasn’t like Karina’s polished perfection or Giselle’s self-assured allure and most definitely not like Ning Ning’s bubbly charm. Winter appeared different—there was something so fundamentally distinct about her that interested you, piqued your curiosity when you thought you were infallible to such feelings. Regardless of what you heard about her, you found yourself encapsulated by nothing but her sheer beauty. 

As your eyes lingered on her you didn’t feel like you were looking at a person. Instead it was as if you were gazing upon the natural landmark of a frost-covered landscape—pure, serene, and silently breathtaking. It was as if she belonged more to the cold elegance of nature than to the warmth of human company. Her presence was subtle yet striking, like the clear, crisp air on a winter morning. The restaurant's soft, amber light caught her pale complexion in a way that made her seem almost ethereal, yet still grounded. Her silvery-white hair cascaded around her face like freshly fallen snow, soft and shimmering, as if her namesake itself had carefully crafted each strand to highlight her delicate features. Somehow, Winter lived up to that paradoxically beautiful expectation you had envisioned, but seeing her in person gave the impression she transcended it.

You stumbled through your own introduction to the rest of the girls, utterly captivated by what most people would consider a bad display of manners. Anybody in your shoes would have had their eyes glued to the trio of goddesses standing before you, but you could barely spare them a second—alright, a third glance. 

Predictably, the small talk that followed didn’t include you. Your friends however—more eager than you’ve ever seen them—quickly launched into banter with Karina, Giselle, and Ning Ning. Normally you would be in awe of how easy they made the whole thing look, but you could only half-listen, your thoughts and eyes constantly drifting toward Winter, who remained seated quietly at the end of the booth.

Eventually, Karina offered you all to sit, prompting one of your friends to shove you along to your side of the table. The little collision knocked you out of the fugue-like state you were in, drawing a quiet cry that caused laughter to erupt around you. Quickly realising that you’d be facing Winter, you hesitantly sat down, your eyes flicking back to her every now and then.

When she finally glanced your way, there was a brief pause, her cool eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you were caught, held in the silence between you. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, but a hint of vulnerability showed itself as she studied you. Before you knew it, you were staring—completely absorbed by the depth in her eyes. They weren’t just cold or distant as you first thought—they were calm, almost reflective, like a still lake that hid something beneath its surface. The more you looked, the harder it became to pull yourself away.

Seconds passed—maybe more—and you didn’t even realise how long you’d been holding her gaze until your heart gave a sudden jolt, reminding you that you were looking at a person and not nature’s pièce de résistance. Embarrassment shot through you as you quickly broke eye contact, feeling a heat crawl up your neck.

“Winter, right?” Your voice came out much too casual, completely betraying the fact that you were just caught staring at her like an absolute buffoon. How did you already manage to mess this up?

Winter tilted her head ever so slightly, a small flicker of amusement ghosting over her lips before she nodded. She blinked more than once, her lashes fluttering to mask brief hesitation. Her gaze softened just slightly. “Yeah,” she replied simply. Her voice was soft, but clear. There was no hint of awkwardness or hesitation, but the slight shift in her posture, the way her fingers brushed the sleeve of her shirt said otherwise.

You nodded, you’d only asked one question and you already felt like your dialogue options were exhausted. But on the bright side, the mere fact she replied meant things were already going better than they did in your head.

The silence between you both stretched for a beat, then another. Neither of you spoke, but remarkably it felt like the words were there, waiting to be said. Winter’s fingers continued nervously with her sleeve, brushing the fabric in small, rhythmic strokes, while you found yourself looking at empty plates, the table—anything but her. Both of you seemed unsure of what to say next, letting you confidently conclude that she was indeed as nervous as you. You noticed her lips parting as if to speak, only to close again after a moment of hesitation. 

A few more seconds passed before you both spoke at once.

“So—”

“Did you—”

You stopped mid-sentence, catching her eye before you let out a quiet, awkward chuckle. “Uh, sorry. You go first.”

Winter looked down briefly, as if gathering herself. When she lifted her gaze again, there was a softness in her eyes, and a hint of vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Her thumb brushed the edge of the table, tracing it gently as she glanced back at you. “They had to bribe you too?” She asked timidly, lightly gesturing to your friends who were engrossed with hers.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s a whole mess, isn’t it?”

Winter nodded, her own smile flickering into existence, delicate but brief. Her voice softened as she admitted, ”These three promised me free food for a week just to get me to show up.” Winter scrunched her face, slanting her eyebrows in an attempt to scowl at them, but failed miserably, producing an adorable pout that was more endearing than anything else.

Your heart may as well have melted right there. 

You laughed softly, buying yourself time to regain your composure. From afar, she was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, but up close? When that cold, hard exterior began to fade, she doubled as the cutest too.

Your little chuckle successfully let you continue the eerily natural flow the two of you had going. “Mine offered to chip in for a game console.”

“So that’s what got you, huh?” Her eyes brightened with amusement, and for the first time, you saw her smile linger just a little longer. It wasn’t just her smile though. A slight accent softened the edges of her naturally sweet tone. Everything she said felt so easy on the ears, so digestible, and you—despite your scepticism and bitterness towards being here—found yourself hungry for more. Your friends would have called you a hypocrite, but in your defence, they both contributed to this perfect image that sat opposite you. You couldn't help but think it was the cutest sight you’d ever seen. 

Perhaps that’s what gave you the strength to say this next part.

“Well not exactly…” You trailed off, breaking eye contact as your fingers fidgeted nervously under the table. 

Winter tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow in anticipation like a puppy awaiting a command. God, how was everything she did so adorable?

You leaned in, still avoiding her gaze and turned your head slightly toward the wall, hoping the others wouldn’t overhear what you were about to say.

“I was uh…” You began, almost a whisper as the words struggled to leave your suddenly dry mouth.

This time Winter leaned in, meeting you at a distance a little too close for comfort.

“I was curious about you…”

Your words were like bullets, creating an embarrassing recoil that sent you hurtling back into the headrest, your gaze pointing straight down as a crimson flush seized the skin of your cheeks.

Your friends would have scoffed at how trivial that whole exchange seemed, all the while you felt like a timid middle schooler confessing to his crush. You managed to baffle yourself with your boldness, not daring to look up and see Winter’s reaction.

To your further surprise, your little self-conscious introspection was interrupted by a giggle. Not just any giggle. Winter’s giggle.

You looked up to meet her face—equally as rosy as yours. But in place of your distraught expression was Winter, giggling like a child on a sugar-high. Her laughter was light and melodic, bubbling up like it couldn’t be contained. She leant back covering her open mouth with her hand. Her whole face had lit up, it was the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes and shook her shoulders ever so slightly. It wasn’t just the sound, though—it was the way she smiled from ear to ear, so unguarded and genuine, a welcome contrast to the shy and distant she showed otherwise.

You lied earlier. This was the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

At first, you were confused by her sudden outburst, but as the infectious warmth of her laughter sunk in, a mutual smile spread across your face. The tension you’d been holding onto for several days seemed to melt away with each lingering note of her laugh. You honestly had no idea what she found so funny, but in the moment, you were just happy to go along with it, confident that you were doing at least something right.

Your friends, noticing her giggling, shared amused glances but didn’t interrupt. From the way they were staring, they were just as surprised as you were at how well this was going. They all held an expression that confessed we didn’t know you had it in you.

Ning Ning too giggled under her breath, playfully nudging Giselle. “Look at that—actual progress,” she muttered teasingly, her tone dripping with mock disbelief.

Karina though, was different. She subtly monitored the interaction, her sharp gaze softened now, intrigued by how Winter was opening up. It felt like she approved though, commending you in getting Winter out of her shell. She stayed silent though, still content to just observe.

Winter’s adorable outburst slowly ebbed, her shoulders still shaking slightly as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, an adorable mix of bashfulness and amusement colouring her features.

“So…” she began meekly, eyes flickering down before meeting yours again. “Do I live up to your expectations?” Her tone was soft, tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

You were caught off guard by Winter’s own intrepid addition to your conversation, feeling your face heat up as you struggled to find the right words. 

I—well…” You exhaled, trying to pull together the honesty that was suddenly a challenge to articulate in her presence. “You’re not what I expected,” you admitted, a gentle smile finding its way onto your face. “I don’t think I could’ve pictured someone quite like you, even if I’d tried.” 

The sudden spark of vulnerability in Winter’s expression tugged at something in you. You realised your answer might’ve sounded too cryptic, maybe even evasive. The faint quiver of her brow and roll of her Adam's apple told you she wasn’t sure how to take that.

You cleared your throat, glancing up at her cautiously as you explained, “I mean that in a good way!” Winter had a beauty that seemed too obvious, too stunning to need validation, yet you couldn’t help but want to say it aloud. “I thought you’d be stunning and well…you are.” Winter turned away sharply, hiding her flushing face with a hand. “I just thought that you’d be a lot more.. distant. But meeting you here, seeing you laugh and smile…” you were thinking of an eloquent way to put this, but you found yourself beholden to the truth right now. 

Winter was having this… effect on you. You weren’t one to ‘open up’ or ‘talk about their feelings’ and yet you felt compelled to here. “Seeing you laugh and smile… I can’t help but think it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You had no idea where this newfound confidence was coming from, but you had a sneaking suspicion it was spurred on from what you’d just described.

Winter’s cheeks deepened from a soft pink to a vibrant flush, and she let out a shaky breath. Her fingers lingered over her features, like she was trying to shield herself from the intensity of the moment. Her eyes darted back to you and the delicate gleam in her gaze made your heart skip. 

“Really?” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though she feared saying anything louder might shatter the fragile honesty between you. She dropped her hand from her coloured cheeks, her eyes tracing your face for confirmation. “You really think that?”

You nodded, the sincerity in your gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” You chuckled softly, hoping to lighten the air. 

Winter’s shoulders began to relax, she herself not realising that they were glued to her neck. Her face remained flushed, but the tightness in her posture had vanished, leaving her more relaxed and open in how she sat.

“Thank you…” she let out. Her voice remained soft, but they certainly carried more weight.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised too…” She hesitated, glancing away, lips curving into a soft smile. “I thought you’d be just like everyone else…” You listened attentively, holding her gaze while she spoke tenderly, honestly.

“So I didn’t expect you to be…well, this easy to talk to,” she admitted, rubbing up her arm. “You don’t feel like everyone else, all practised lines and smooth talking,” she let out a faint chuckle. “ You make mistakes, you slip up. You’re like me. And um… cute too.” It was your turn to look away, your own cheeks starting to heat up. “So there’s something really nice about that...”

 You pinched yourself under the table. This was going too well for you. This had to be a dream.

“I’m glad you think that,” you told her with a smile. Your voice was lower and steadier than you’d expected, though a trace of disbelief lingered beneath your words. Because, truthfully, you could never have imagined this going so well—not in a million lifetimes. 

To your absolute delight, Winter sent you another wide smile. You didn’t think it could get much wider, but somehow she pulled it off.

You hadn’t realised it till she brought it up, but with Winter, you didn’t need to use those memorised openers or routes. She enticed you in such a way that just encouraged you to just… be you. Everywhere else you went you always felt an expectation to act like everyone else, to sound like them. But in the short time you’ve been around Winter, you hadn’t felt that at all. Was it because you two were similar? 

“So,” You began, searching for your answer. “I take it you’re not a big fan of all this?” You gestured to the six other residents of the table, and by extension the rest of the restaurant.

Winter raised an eyebrow, leaning back into her chair.  She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs under the table, almost like she was trying to ground herself. “More or less. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate people... I just like my space, y’know? Too much noise, too many people... it feels like I’m in the wrong place.” She paused, glancing briefly at the rest of the table. “But you get it, right?”

“More than I care to admit,” you replied with a sigh, feeling some strange sense of relief wash over you. “It’s exhausting. I never know what to say, or how to keep up.”

Winter’s lips curved upward again, knowingly. She seemed to relax even more, sinking into the conversation as much as she did her seat. "Exactly. It always feels like everyone has these… scripts. Like they know exactly what to say and when to say it." She gestured lightly toward your friends, still engrossed in their own lively conversations. "But it’s… difficult. It’s all tiring,” She confessed with a little pout. “It doesn't feel natural or genuine to me, it feels like I'm… like I'm…”

“Like you’re playing a character,” you finished, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened a fraction, a glimmer of recognition passing through them. “Exactly!” she rejoiced. A quiet laugh escaped her, one that sounded relieved. “All our friends can happily be themselves, but we’re stuck acting like someone else.”

As Winter continued, you noticed a subtle shift in the way she spoke. It wasn’t just about her anymore—she was talking about the both of you. There was something comforting about the fact that she felt like you were in this together, like she saw a bit of herself in you. You weren’t just sharing a conversation anymore—it was an understanding. 

You nodded, staring into her opulent orbs as if she were a reflection of yourself.

But before either of you could say more, Karina’s voice cut through the air, pulling you both back into reality.

“Hey, are you two lovebirds ready to order?” she teased.

You blinked and glanced around, realising that everyone else had been staring at you—impatient, but knowing smiles all around. Even the waiter at the head of your table, pen poised and all, gave you a subtle, approving nod. 

“Oh, uh…” You stammered, feeling a rush of heat crawl up your neck. You turned to glance at Winter, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. Her eyes, wide and glimmering, were so close that you could see the subtle flecks of silver and blue swirling within them. The space between you was almost nonexistent; you were close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath, your noses almost grazing. Wait, what? The realisation hit you both at once, and in an instant, you jolted back into your seat, wide-eyed and startled, your heart pounding from the unexpected proximity.

Winter did the same, recoiling sharply and causing a small tremble in the table. Her face flushed a deep, rosy pink, the sudden burst of colour creeping from her cheeks down to her neck. 

“I’ll have the—”

“Could I have—”

 You both started at once, then stopped, exchanging an awkward, embarrassed laugh. You gave a little nod, gesturing for her to go first. 

“ I’ll have the…” 

Winter’s voice trailed off as she scanned the menu in a hurry, cheeks still rosy. She managed to mumble her order, then you fumbled your way through yours right after, both of you clearly rattled but trying to play it cool.

As the waiter left the table, a heavy silence settled over you and Winter. The energy from before—where genuine laughter and soft words had filled the space between you two—seemed to have dissipated. Now, you found yourself unable to speak, the memory of that fleeting, close encounter hanging thickly in the air, making it difficult to breathe. It rendered thinking of something to say practically impossible.

You glanced at Winter, only to find her just as quiet. She was staring at the menu again, though you knew she wasn’t really reading it. Her fingers brushed along the page absentmindedly, putting in no effort whatsoever to make her rapid flicking believable. Every so often, her eyes would dart toward you, only to quickly return to the menu the second she thought you might notice.

Despite the tension, a sense of relief came over you. The silence gave you an opportunity to collect yourself, to push back the storm of emotions swirling around inside you. You sank a little further into your chair, quietly thankful for the momentary ceasefire. 

Your mind wandered to all those couples who roamed the city streets—it was the bitter truth that you wouldn’t fit in as one of them. The way you’d always seen yourself didn’t align with how those people acted: smiling and talking for what felt like forever. For years on end you considered yourself emotionally unavailable, selfish with any time you had.  Yet, here you were, sitting across from Winter, someone who was...different. Someone who made you feel like, maybe—just maybe—you were capable of being one of those couples.

You shook your head slightly, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. No, that kind of thing didn’t happen to people like you. You were reading too much into it, weren’t you? It had to be just the heat of the moment, the proximity playing tricks on your mind. The sincerity in her gaze, the warmth of her breath—it was just...well, it was nothing, really.

But then why was your heart still racing?

Winter shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes still trained on the menu. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself, the words catching before they had a chance to escape. You could almost feel her nerves mirrored in your own chest.

You too thought about saying something—anything—to break the silence, but every possible word felt clumsy in your mind. You were far too embarrassed to speak up, but at the same time, you wanted to recover the soft energy that radiated between the two of you—the thrill of a conversation where you felt at ease, where you could be you. 

"Sorry, about… uh, that," you forced out, sending her a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.” There was no reason for you to take responsibility, but you assumed it would ease her if she was absolved of fault. After all, it would have eased you.

Winter shook her head quickly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Trust me, if anyone made things weird, it was me.” You couldn't help but laugh—she was trying to do the exact same thing.

“Don’t worry about it, Winter,” you assured, her name slipping out instinctively.

There was a shift in her posture as her name escaped your lips, subtle but noticeable. She uncrossed her legs under the table and leaned forward ever so slightly, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her sleeve again. She seemed on the verge of saying something important. You could sense it in the way she glanced at you—anxious eyes, cheeks flushing scarlet.

Her lips pressed together for a moment, then softened as if she’d finally made up her mind. Her eyes met yours, letting you peer into that reflective lake once again. But this time, you could almost make out what was below— she was letting down a wall, one you’d wager few have ever seen behind.

 She took a breath, her chest rising and falling with a quiet resolve, and then, in almost a whisper she spoke.

 “Please. Call me Minjeong.” 

The simplicity of the words didn’t match the weight they carried. There was something so incredibly personal in her request, something that felt like a secret being shared between just the two of you. Her gaze stayed locked on yours, as if waiting to see how you’d react, her vulnerability laid bare.

“M-Minjeong,” you stuttered delicately, the name feeling both foreign and intimate on your tongue, like you were stepping into a space no one else had been invited to. 

Minjeong’s expression softened even more, a glimmer of relief flashing across her eyes. She let out a breath, one she seemed to have been holding in anticipation of your response. A curve played across her lips. It was pure, unguarded. You almost could see the warmth radiating off of her, like this simple act of you saying her name had drawn you two closer.

“I— I like the way you say it,” she confessed quietly.  Her voice was shy, as if she wasn’t used to hearing her own name spoken aloud.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, unsure of how to respond but feeling the gravity of the moment pull you deeper into her orbit. The vulnerability in her tone, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, made everything feel so surreal. You had no idea what to say next, your mind scrambling for the right words, but none seemed enough.

Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you from around the table, but neither you nor Minjeong were in the right state to acknowledge it. As far as you were both concerned, you two were the only people on Earth right now.

Before you could manage a reply, Minjeong spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most people just call me Winter. It’s easier for me… less personal.” She glanced down at the table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of her sleeve. “But I dunno…” She trailed off. “Minjeong feels right with you.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were seeing something fragile. It was like she was giving you a piece of herself, trusting you to hold it gently.

“Minjeong,” you repeated, this time more certain. “It’s a beautiful name.”

She met your gaze again, her eyes shining with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Thanks,” she murmured, a shy smile tugging at her lips, but this time, there was no hesitation in the way she looked at you. No walls, no pretence. Just Minjeong, in all her quiet, ethereal beauty.

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, the kind you hadn’t experienced in years. It was like being a teen again, that rush of excitement and nervous energy coursing through you—the way it used to when you’d catch your crush’s eye across the room and feel your heart race. But this was different—it was deeper. As you sat there, looking at Minjeong, you realised it wasn’t just her beauty or the way she had let you in. It was the feeling she stirred in you, something you thought you’d long forgotten. She wasn’t just someone who caught your eye—she made you feel alive again. Like you were rediscovering that fluttery, intoxicating rush from your youth, but unlike then it wasn’t fleeting. There was a quality to it that you just couldn’t articulate—your years of social isolation, your unending cynicism towards basic human emotion left you that way. 

But you tried, tried to put a label on this unfamiliar feeling. You searched your mind for a word, a description, anything that could encompass what was building in your chest, but nothing came close. It was a bewildering sensation that refused to fit into the neat definitions you knew.

The tension in your mind dissipated the moment the waiter brought the food, and you watched as everyone’s attention turned to their meals. The table filled with idle chatter and silverware scraping against plates, grounding you back to the present. You took a steadying breath, grateful for the pause and the warmth of the meal as it cut through the delicate web that had woven itself between you and Minjeong.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice her in the little pauses and movements—the way her eyes sparkled with each glance around the table, her small, quiet smile at each bite. Even now, Minjeong’s presence felt magnetic, she occupied her space without demanding it, a rare grace that felt refreshing. Each time she looked up, she met your eyes with a soft, almost bashful smile that sent an echo of warmth through you. It made you want to reach out, to learn more, to let her know how much she’d already begun to matter to you.

The conversation around the table grew louder, but your own exchange with Minjeong stayed quiet and gentle. You spoke in low tones, sharing snippets about each other’s lives. Every glance, every subtle word between you seemed to deepen the quiet understanding you shared. Gone was your lacking composure, the insatiable need to assess and please. Your exchange with Minjeong felt like a safe space, a judgement-free zone to be yourself in public. You’d explain to her all your nerdy hobbies, and she would listen with genuine attentiveness, her eyes adorably lighting up when you’d find something else in common. In return, you found yourself hanging onto every word she offered back, falling deeper and deeper into the conversation as she opened herself up to you

And when there were lulls—as there inevitably were between introverts such as the two of you—you both found comfort even in the silence. It was strange, feeling so drawn to someone you had known for only a few hours. The part of you that usually resisted connections seemed to fall silent in her presence. And as she leaned in closer to share an amused thought, her fingers playing absently at the edge of her napkin, you felt something within you shift.

What was this feeling, exactly? You had tried to put it into words, only to come up empty. You were someone who could gauge how a person was feeling from body language alone, like you could measure and judge everything they felt. But when it came to yourself—your feelings, your emotions—you came up short. 

But as the evening wore on and the rest of the table grew quieter, you found yourself looking at Minjeong with a soft certainty. From the way Minjeong looked at you, you got the impression she was struggling with the same dilemma. But you didn’t need to name this undefined feeling that stirred in you. Every shared glance, every smile that lingered a beat too long—these were all the words you needed. There was an understanding—unspoken yet undeniable—that whatever this was, it was real. And in that moment, with the quiet warmth shared between you two, it was enough.

---

You emerged from the restaurant, taking in the brisk air of the Christmas evening. Typically, retreating back into the bustling street was your first step in your retreat to the solitary comfort of your dorm room. It let you breathe a sigh of relief for escaping whatever social event you had been forced into. 

But tonight? Tonight your steps were unhurried, in fact you felt the urge to linger. Tonight, Minjeong was by your side, her soft smile mirroring your own. The breath you let go this time was instead a remorseful one, a signal that your time together was almost over. Of course as much as she looked the part, the girl before you wasn’t some unreachable, otherworldly angel—she was real, and very much contactable. 

You both watched from afar as your friends exchanged phone numbers with Karina, Giselle and Ning Ning. On any other day, you would have looked on in unspoken envy,but alas, tonight was different. You stared at the new contact sitting in your phone—a beautiful name befitting of an equally beautiful woman, punctuated by two snowflakes either side of it. 

“Minjeong,” it read. Simple, familiar now, but it held a weight you’d never thought a name could carry.

You grinned, feeling a warmth unlike any the night’s chill could steal away. The white-haired girl handed your phone back to you, sending a sincere smirk your way. 

“Make sure to call me, okay?” 

Her tone was light and gentle, but her eyes were serious, like this meant more to her than anything else.

“Of course,” you assured. There was nothing in this world that could make you shatter the joy reflected in that smile.

Without warning, she stepped forward, instantly closing the distance between you.  Her arms wrapped around you—warm, gentle and tentative. For a moment, you were too stunned to react, but the heat of her body—which was now flush to yours—quelled any concern.  Instinctively, your arms folded around her, drawing her closer, absorbing her presence. The soft scent of her hair drifted up to you, and you felt her heartbeat against your own.

“Thank you for tonight.” She whispered, her soft voice muffled by your chest.

You didn’t know how long you two were standing there, pressed together as one, but in the moment it didn’t matter. When she finally pulled away, you saw her face, beaming like the sun shines.

“Have a wonderful night,” she said, her cheeks flushed, mirroring the festive glow of the streets around you.

“It already has been,” you replied, your heart full as you returned a gentle, loving smile.

Love. You chuckled. 

Maybe that’s what this was.

---

If you got here thank you much for reading my first ever fic! I know there's a lot of filler here which could very easily be removed, but I really just wanted to keep everything I'd written. In the future, I'll make sure everything's more streamlined.

But apart from that I'd love for some constructive criticism. Thanks again!

[astraystayyh]

The wedding and the morning after

inspired by that cute twitter trend :,) very soft bang chan fluff. use of wife and husband a lot but they just got married so they get a pass!!!!!

if you guys enjoy reading please leave a reblog or comment it means the world to me <3

Your wedding ceremony with Chan was a simple one. You weren't one for extravagance and neither was he. So you opted for an intimate setting, only inviting your favorite humans in there.

You felt as if everything was more vibrant that day- the colors of the flowers you both hand-picked, the smell of food that wafted through the air, the twinkling lights you had installed because they reminded Chan of your eyes (or so he insisted).

But you knew it had a lot less to do with the decorations, and more with the man you married. Being with Chan was like looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses.

You felt grateful that you were alive because you got to experience being loved by him.

There was music, lots of laughter, and admittedly, tears. You can blame Chan's vows for it. His words rang in your ears throughout the night- how he vowed to love you until his last breath, and long after that.

But he didn't need to make those promises, they were just honorifics. Chan has shown you time and time again that he was in love with you.

You knew by the way he tore down your walls, gently, at your pace, your hand tightly clutched in his. How he deeply cared for you, on your happy days but especially on your saddest.

You and Chan weren't perfect, but you complemented each other like two halves of one heart. You found in him a home, a safe place for you to exist and be loved.

"You are so beautiful", he whispers in your ears while the both of you sway on the dance floor. You could faintly hear the cheers of the boys who were watching you, but you paid no mind to them. All you could focus on was Chan's warm hands on your waist, holding you close.

"So are you", you beam at him. When you looked at Chan, you didn't simply see his beautiful features- his brown eyes, straight nose and plump lips. You saw a warm coffee shop, where you seek refuge on a cold day; you saw a sunset slowly casting down into the sea; you saw a field of tulips stretching into the horizon.

Looking at Chan reminded you of beautiful sceneries, of the smell of earth after the rain, of a hearty soup that fills your insides when you are ill. You saw in him every beautiful feeling you've ever experienced in your life.

"I don't know how I got so lucky", he kisses your forehead gently and you close your eyes, savoring the feel of his lips on your skin.

Chan's forehead kisses held a special place in your heart. You always felt them deep within you- as if he was kissing beyond your skin and into your soul.

"I'm the lucky one", you reply, standing on your tiptoes and pecking his forehead back. Chan blushes at your gesture, eyes crinkling closed like half moons. It made your heart sore, how affected he was by your touch even after four years of dating. You liked to believe you'd be seventy and still a giggling mess around each other.

Chan then twirls you around, your laugh echoing around the venue. He thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you laugh this way for the rest of your lives.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

"My feet are killing me", you whine to Chan as he parks in front of your apartment. You chose not to rush into your honeymoon, because you wanted to savor the quiet after your wedding, just the two of you. And you couldn't think of a better place to do so than your apartment.

It wasn't a huge one, but it had a makeshift studio for Chan, and a little balcony where you read. You painted the walls blue together and he bought you plants that you water everyday.

It was messy at times, but it was still your home. You knew that no matter what happened throughout the day, you can leave your worries at the door and head inside into each other's safe embrace.

Chan quickly hops to your side of the car, and opens it for you. He takes your heels off, throwing them into the backseat, before scooping you up bridal style.

"I've been dying to do this on our wedding night", he giggles excitedly and you smile, loosely looping your hands around his neck.

"Well now you can, husband."

"Say it again", he smiles as he leads you up to your apartment.

"My husband", you repeat and he quickly leans down to steal a kiss.

Chan opens the door to your apartment, finally placing you on solid ground. He loosens his black tie and you lean against the wall, admiring the view.

"Like what you see?", he teases and you smile mischievously, "This is what I married you for."

"So you are only with me for my looks?", he pouts. You would have thought he looked so adorable if not for him slowly unbuttoning his white shirt.

"I am", you smirk and suddenly, you are thrown over his shoulder. You laugh as he runs towards the bedroom, with you perched on his back.

He then gently places you down on the bed, caging your body with his arms; any hint of playfulness gone from his eyes. His gaze is so intense, you feel a blush creep up your neck. He notices, of course, and he smiles softly at you. "Is my wife getting shy on me?"

"Shut up", you glare playfully at him, and he grins, "Make me."

"You are so cheesy", you giggle as you grab his tie, pulling him down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

°°°°°°°°°°°

"Morning, my love", Chan smiles at you, his hand threading through your hair gently.

"Morning, honey", you smile back, stretching slightly.

"Did you sleep well?", he asks, snuggling closer to you.

"Mhm, like a baby."

"I must have tired you yesterday", he smirks and you glare playfully at him, "Cocky much?"

"And you love it."

You're about to reply when your stomach grumbles loudly. "Is my pretty wife hungry?", he teases and you bite his arm in response.

"I'll take that as a yes", he chuckles, pulling you up with him, "Let's go make you breakfast."

"Make who breakfast?" you singsong and he smiles softly at you. "Make my wife breakfast."

°°°°°°°°°°°°

You are clad in Chan's oversized t-shirt and he's only wearing a pair of black shorts. The view of Chan's back muscles is so enticing you'd almost skip breakfast if you weren't so hungry.

When you are both done cooking, you happily dig into the breakfast while recounting the weddings events- how Hyunjin and Minho got so drunk they ended up confessing their love to each other, how Felix cried during your vows, how Seungmin and Jeongin surprised you with a song cover during your first dance. You can't help but sigh contently at how simple yet loving it felt.

You then wash the dishes while Chan dries them- an easy routine you both fell into as soon as he moved in with you.

You've been married to Chan for a day but you've loved him for what feels like forever.

When the kitchen is clean, you high-five him but he doesn't let your hand go. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with yours, bringing you closer to him.

"I love you", he whispers as his thumb slowly caresses your palm.

"I love you more."

"Impossible."

"But-", Chan silences you with his lips on yours, and you both can't help but smile into the kiss.

When he leans away, he bows down slightly, offering you his hand, "May i have this dance?"

You giggle as you curtsy back, "Yes you may."

Chan twirls you around the kitchen and you feel light as air. You then spin him around and you almost lose your balance, but Chan is there to steady you with a gentle grip.

As you catch your breath, you take a moment to look around you. The kitchen is bathed in warm, golden light, and the aroma of freshly made coffee fills the air. You can't help but wonder what you'd look like to an outsider, waltzing in the kitchen with no music on.

But as you gaze up at your husband, you don't find it in you to care. You've come to learn that with Chan, even the silence can sound like the most enchanting melody.

[only-luce-the-goose]

Heeeey pookie!!

i loved your Arthur fic too much, the man deserves to receive more love here🥹🫶🫶 I have two ideas for you, which in my head make more sense. I will try to explain myself as best as I can but in reality this is not my strong point LMAO

If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗

Or maybe something about him being a little jealous and possessive not in a grotesque sense like I had to defend her from someone in a bar or something, like her being too nice by not wanting to walk away so as not to hurt the other person even if it's bothering her (that happens to me often haha😅)

Maybee some of the care for her when she's sick 🥹🥹

Of course, only if you feel comfortable with these ideas, which were more than two, I apologize for that, I'm a little excited.🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🫶

(I hope I have made myself understood, also English is not my first language, I am sorry if this is complicated when read or understood, also sorry this was so long :(, anyway much love to you 💗💗💗💗)

Little things

A/N: I am going to write all of them, they're so cute. Arthur absolutely deserves more love, he's underrated. Don't worry btw, your English is fantastic. I'm actually Australian so my spelling of certain words are different to everyone else's 😅. Keep an eye on my page for the next few days, I'll release them soon (I just need to finish my uni assignment first, whoops 🤷‍♀️). I hope I did what you were thinking 🫶🫶

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Fluffy/Simp Arthur

Synopsis: "If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗" - This part of the request.

You and Arthur were lying on the couch watching a movie after a long day. You propped up my pillows with Arthur on top of you, head resting on your chest. Your fingers started to scratch the back of his scalp, slowly worth their way up. He sighed as he pressed himself deeper into you, nuzzling his face into your skin. He lifted his head up and pecked your lips. You look down at him and giggled, “what was that for, baby?”. He looked up at you with a peaceful smile, his eyes brimming with love as he replied “just appreciating the small things” before resting his head back on your chest as you kept scratching his head.

The next time it happened, you guys were cuddled up in bed and you were reading a book. It might be one of the saddest books you had ever read in your life (for this I’m gonna use “Bridge to Terabithia” cuz I feel like everyone read it for school). You got the the chapter where the girl fell into the creek and drowned. The pure amount of detail broke your heart and sent you into a sobbing mess. Your sniffles caught Arthur’s attention, he looked down the see his shirt beginning to get wet. He pulled you up to face him as we wiped your tears. “Hey hey hey what happened mi amor?” He rushed. You explained what happened, causing Arthur to give you that look again. A peaceful smile, eyes brimming with love, he pecked your lips, “how about we read a happier book?” He suggested. “No” you said as you made eye contact again “I just wanna cuddle”. He grinned and settled down, pulling you into him “that is something I can definitely do”. You smiled as you tucked yourself into his side.

Another instance was when you and Arthur were walking through the paddock. The crowd was pushing and shoving, sweeping you away with them. Arthur quickly realised you had gotten caught up, jogging back to guide you again. You think your right hand to his left, your left hand coming up to hold his strong bicep on the same arm, basically wrapping yourself around his arm. You have his hand a little squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder when he squeezed back. You made it to the Ferrari garage and you knew you would need to let go but you didn’t want to, do you didn’t. Arthur planted a kiss on your forehead and gave you that dopey, in love look he gives you in moments like these. “What?” You laughed. Arthur pecked your lips “nothing my love” he mumbled against them, “just admiring” he winked. Just like a school girl, you giggled and then cuddled into him, are grip still tight on his arm.

What really stood out is when you were cleaning your shared apartment. You were going through your shared closet when you found a brown leather book. The title on the inside of the book, in Arthur’s unmistakeable handwriting, was “those moments”. You flicked through the book and saw dates and times, which matched to all the moments when Arthur gave you the look. Scratching his head on the couch, crying at a book, being clingy at the paddock, it was all there. What you didn’t know, was that Arthur was leaning on the door frame, watching you read his little things journal. “Find something good, amor?” You jumped at his question. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t be snooping but I’ve never seen it before, and I had no idea what it was for. I’m sorry, I should’ve given you your privacy an-” Arthur cut you off with a kiss. “Im glad you found it. Everytime you ask about this “look” I give you, you now know what I was feeling and thinking. Is that ok amor?” He has a glimmer of home in his eyes as he asks you. You put the book back where you got it from, wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him deep “of it is, I love you Arthur” “I love you mi amor”

[jjunieworld]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ TXT AS MITSKI LYRICS ‎⸝⸝⸝

pairing: txt x gn!reader genre: scenerios/headcannons, fluff, angst, established relationship, hurt/comfort, exes to lovers, lovers to exes, fwb to lovers (suggestive), childhood friends to ??? word count: 500-700 for each member author’s note: i’ve been listening to mitski a lot and this idea randomly popped in my head! it’s not completely based off the meanings of the songs!! i feel like these would be fun to write full fics for. if you listen to mitski, what’s your favorite song?? mine is once more to see you and last words of a shooting star!!! (｡´‿`｡) all feed back and reblogs are welcome! enjoy!! ♡ ⇢ ( continue on to . . . masterlist or request rules )

𓍼 ˋ✮ YEONJUN

brand new city - mitski 𓍯 “but if i gave up on being pretty, i wouldn’t know how to be alive. i should move to a brand new city and teach myself how to die.”

yeonjun couldn’t understand it. he simply couldn’t understand what was making you feel this way. what was making you feel so insecure. the two of you sat on the bed in your shared bedroom, you with tears streaming down your face and the saddest expression on your face that absolutely broke yeonjun’s heart into pieces.

he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, scared that if he let go you’d completely shatter, with your head buried in his chest. you pulled away so you could sniffle and so your already hard to hear voice wouldn’t be even more muffled. “i just… i just feel like i’m not good enough,” you said through choked sobs. “not pretty enough, not smart enough, not good enough. and i feel like nothing that i do to prove that i am pretty, that i am smart, that i am good enough is enough.”

you furiously wiped your tears and stared hard at the comforter of your bed. “everywhere i look, there’s someone better than me. and if i’m not good enough, not pretty, then what am i? what purpose do i serve?” yeonjun could feel his own tears well up in his eyes at your words. at the fact that you even think this way. he cupped your face gently so that you looked at him through glassy tears.

“you’re not here to serve a purpose. you’re not here to be pretty enough for someone, or smart enough for someone, or even good enough for someone. you’re here to simply be, that is all.” yeonjun wiped the tear trails on your cheeks with his thumbs. “and you are pretty enough, and smart enough, and good enough, but none of that matters if you’re measuring yourself on the opinions of someone else.”

nodding, you took in his words, a hiccup escaping your mouth. yeonjun continued, “the people who you see somewhere who you think are better than you? they’re thinking the same exact thing about you. all that matters is how you feel about you, if you feel like you’re enough for you. not for someone you’ve never met, not for me, for you.”

yeonjun kissed your forehead and looked at you in the eyes through furrowed brows to make sure his words were getting across to you. you gave him a small smile before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. pulling away giggling, you apologized for the salty kiss, for which yeonjun just laughed. “i’ll take a million salty kisses if it means you get out of this mindset,” yeonjun said.

you buried your face in his chest again, no doubt getting his shirt all wet. “thank you, jjunie,” you replied, voice muffled. yeonjun rubbed circles into your back, “there’s no need to thank me. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t try and help you?”

𓍼 ˋ✮ SOOBIN

francis forever - mitski 𓍯 “and autumn comes when you’re not yet done with the summer passing by, but i don’t think i can stand to be where you don’t see me.”

it was a warm summer day when you and soobin stopped being a couple. you were on a walk on a tree-lined street—now that you looked back on it, it was such a normal day. how could you see the forming cracks in your relationship when the sun was shining so brightly outside?

you’ll never forget the words soobin said that changed everything. “y/n, when are we going to stop pretending?” soobin had asked, breaking the silence that filled the space between the two of you. at first, you were confused about what he meant, and you expressed such. “when are we going to stop pretending like we aren’t in two different places?” soobin had then guided you to a bench to talk. there, the two of you had broken up. that was the last time you saw him.

it was autumn now and the multicolor leaves swayed to the will of the wind. you were sitting on that same bench that you were four months ago, on that same tree-lined street, only now not as naive. you were so stupid for letting such a good thing slip between your fingers.

you couldn’t help but think about the good times in your relationship with soobin despite the way it ended. your walks, how you would take them when the two of you needed to be alone with your thoughts but still wanted to be with each other. how soobin would never let either of you go to sleep angry at one another, even if in the moment it pissed you off. how whenever either of you had a bad day, words didn’t even need to be said. all that was needed was comforting looks and gentle and soothing touches.

now you stared up at the gaps of sunlight coming down through the multicolor leaves, cold and alone. four months ago, you decided to mutually breakup to grow alone before you both grew together. but now, you realized just how stupid that was. why couldn’t the two of you have grown together—find yourselves together? why did you have to do it alone for it to be so significant? wasn’t the point of being in a relationship growing together?

just when you were about to think about how much you missed soobin, you heard a familiar voice come from your side. “y/n?” the voice asked hesitantly, and you wanted to thank your lucky stars for this moment. you turned just as soobin came more into your vision. a warm smile lit up your face, “soobin, hi! it’s been a while…” you almost cringed at how awkward that sentence was and how unnatural it felt.

soobin was never one to get to the point, but you could sense a quiet determination in him as he nodded and sat on the bench near you. “i know, and i just want to say that i’m sorry,” soobin started. you gave him a confused look as you waited for him to continue. “and i just want to say how stupid i am to think that even though at the time we were in different places, that we couldn’t make our way towards each other together. i was so stupid for even starting the conversation and i’m sorry that it took four months for me to realize that.”

the smile on your face grew and in turn, it caused a nervous smile to grow on soobin’s. “what?” he then asked. you laughed a little, “you know, i was literally just thinking the exact same thing!” you scooted closer to him and took his hands in yours like it hasn’t been months since you last saw him face to face, last touched him. “i missed you, soobin,” you said quietly.

“i missed you too, y/n,” soobin replied. “let’s grow together, yeah?” you giggled and nodded. soobin came just centimeters from your lips before stopping in a silent question and your smile grew as you closed the gap. you didn’t want to be where soobin wasn’t, there wasn’t any point in it. the last four months showed you that. as long as you were with him, growing with him, you’d always find your way back to each other.

𓍼 ˋ✮ BEOMGYU

goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski 𓍯 “maybe when you tell your friends, you can tell them what you saw in me and not how i turned out to be.”

to say you and beomgyu were on the rocks was an understatement. you both were hanging off a cliff by the tips of your fingers with a raging ocean underfoot. it was surprising to the both of you how you managed to get here after three years of dating. one moment everything between you two was perfect—sunshine and rainbows and crystal clear skies.

then the dark, stormy clouds started to form slowly until it snuffed out the sunlight. until you couldn’t see the rainbows anymore. and it didn’t just rain, it poured—hailed even. as the two of you stand in front of each other, red in the face and screaming, you both wondered—how.

“who are you?” beomgyu asked you, brows knitted together. he stared at you as if he was finally seeing clearly for the first time in his life. “because it’s like you’re a complete stranger now…” you scoffed as even more anger filled you to the brim. at this point, you didn’t even know what the two of you were arguing about.

it seemed like anything set the two of you off these days. yesterday, the two of you argued over a blanket. someone had folded it and placed it in the wrong place. that argument ended up with the two of you screaming at each other and sleeping in different rooms. you couldn’t remember the last time you and beomgyu slept in the same bed.

“who am i?” you asked him incredulously. “who are you?” scoffing again, you turned your back to beomgyu and tried to unclench your tightened fists at your side. twirling back around, you started, “if anyone is the stranger, it’s you. tell me, beom—“

“do you love me?” beomgyu cut you off. your mouth closed and you took a small step back in shock, eyebrows raised. you stared at him for a brief second as you tried to process what he just said. “o-of course!” you stammered out, your eyebrows now furrowing. “of course i do! what kind of question is that?” you added. it felt like ice cold water had just been poured over you, suddenly melting away all the anger.

beomgyu gave a defeated sigh as he slumped down onto the couch. he rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes. “not the way you use to,” he spoke, now looking up at you. “you love me out of obligation now. because you don’t want three years to have gone down the drain. you love me because it’s necessary, not because you actually love me.”

you took timid steps towards the couch. “that’s not true…” you trailed. despite your running thoughts, you didn’t know what else to say to him. of course you loved him, he was the love of your life, your everything. this was just a rough patch that all couples have and you would get through it, wouldn’t you? “you’re the love of my life, beomgyu. my everything,” you echoed your thoughts.

“was,” beomgyu responded. you flocked to him as tears formed in your eyes. you went to cup his face but he just turned away from you. “but despite everything, you’re still mine,” beomgyu spoke as he looked you in the eyes. “we can’t keep going on like this—arguing everyday about nothing. one of us has to end it. so i’m ending it.” he stood up, leaving you on the couch in tears.

𓍼 ˋ✮ TAEHYUN

a loving feeling - mitski 𓍯 “holding hands under a table. meeting up in your bedroom. making love to other people. telling each other it’s all good.”

taehyun wanted you, and he wanted you bad. in a way, he already had you. just not fully—not in the way he truly wanted you. and don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed having you under him, but after that moment passed and you both cleaned up to leave, that was it. he wanted more.

he was fine with just hooking up with you here and there, being your date when you didn’t have one and holding your hand under the table hoping you would get his message. but you didn’t. it wasn’t part of the unspoken agreement you both came up with. the intimate relationship the two of you had was strictly physical, not romantic.

“sorry for ending things so abruptly,” you spoke as taehyun helped tie the opening your shirt had, “i kinda forgot that i’m suppose to meet this guy i met online for a date.” taehyun’s eyebrows raised slightly, which you could see with the mirror in front of you. his eyes met yours, “date?”

you smiled slightly, nodding. “yup,” you replied, turning to him as he finished tying your shirt. “pretty nice guy so far. why, you jealous?” you teased him. taehyun smirked, “we both know nobody else can compare to me. why would i be jealous?” your pretty laugh filled his ears as you moved to put on your shoes.

taehyun’s heart dropped slightly at your reveal. he desperately wished that it was him you were preparing to go on a date with. instead, he had to watch as you got ready for a date with someone else. watch as you slipped out the door and into the arms of another. it felt like the two of you were going in circles.

“i just don’t get it? why do they all act the same?” you sulked on taehyun’s shoulder, drunk out of your mind. you had called taehyun after you had broken up with your recent boyfriend, needing a shoulder to cry on. of course he obliged, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t? you stared up at him with big glassy doe eyes as your speech slurred, but he heard you perfectly, “none of them are you. why don’t you feel the same about me, taehyun?”

taehyun’s eyes widened as you turned to take another shot. he put it to the back of his mind for now, determined to get you home safely. a couple days later he came to you with your admission and you froze in fear. “o-oh…” you mumbled, looking down. “i didn’t—i’m sorry if y—“ you didn’t get a chance to sputter out any more words before taehyun’s lips were on yours, a kiss full of passion and wanting connecting you. “i do feel the same about you,” taehyun smiled as he pulled away, holding you in his arms. “i have all this time.”

𓍼 ˋ✮ HUENINGKAI

two slow dancers - mitski 𓍯 “but we’re two slow dancers, last ones out. we’re two slow dancers, last ones out.”

the first time you met kai was at your middle school dance. your “date” had left you to go dance with your friend, leaving you heartbroken in the middle of the gymnasium floor. he had swept in like your knight in shining armor asking if you wanted to dance and saving you from embarrassment. as the two of you slow danced together, that’s when your love for him had first started to bud.

unfortunately, the two of you never progressed past that moment. kai had moved away shortly after and through the grapevine you heard that the dance was a makeshift goodbye party with his friends. you heart was broken, but eventually you moved past it and middle school.

the second time you and kai met was on your college campus. it turns out you two were actually going to the same place. you feelings for him had always lingered inside you and seeing him in person again ignited those feelings. the two of you had gotten close. your feelings for him suddenly bloomed rapidly, and right when you were gonna take the leap and ask him out, he told you about this girl he was talking to.

“we’re a lot alike,” kai had blushed, turning the textbook page the both of you were studying. “i just can’t believe she actually likes me back!” you had begun to distance yourself from him for your own sanity, not that he noticed. he was a man newly in love and you didn’t want to do anything to disturb that. again, you moved past it and eventually college.

you didn’t meet kai again until years later down the line. you were older now, wiser and all that. you barely thought about the boy who once plagued your mind—not outside the occasional ‘what if.’ by pure chance, you accidentally collided with him miles away from your middle school and college.

“i’m so so sorry, oh my gosh!” you frantically exclaimed as you ran to the nearest table to grab napkins. as you pressed it to the huge coffee stain on a pure white shirt, you finally looked up and came face to face with your first love. your eyes widened and you choked on your words. from the looks of it, kai did too. “y-y/n!” kai exclaimed. “it’s been so long! how have you been? oh—and don’t worry about the stain, i’ll just get another shirt!”

the two of you sat in that cafe for what seemed like hours as you caught up with each other. you asked each other various questions, such as ‘where has life been taking you?’ and ‘are you taken? any special person waiting for you at home?’ it turns out you were both single. you felt that familiar blooming at your chest and as the night progressed. you were determined not to let him slip from your fingers again.

“you know, i use to have a thing for you,” you mentioned as the topic of your college days was brought up. kai laughed softly, his voice teasing, “use to?” you shot him a playful smile back. “i use to have a thing for you too,” he added quietly. your smile turned genuine as it widened. “still do… always will,” you trailed as you took a sip from your mug, you glanced up at him bravely.

“so then what are we waiting for?” he asked you, his features lighting up with a smile causing one of your own. you sat your mug down and gave a playful shrug, “i don’t know—ball’s in your court.”

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[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 38 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley spend some family time fishing on the boat, followed by some private time just for the two of you. But after a dreamy afternoon, you want to return to the lake house and see Noah before bedtime. Then you get distracted by what you see on Bradley's phone.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, pregnancy talk, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley had never seen anyone get so happy about an earthworm before. Noah thought they were hilarious, and he made a mess on the floor of the boat, playing with them while everyone else was fishing. 

"Hey, Bub, can I have one of the worms to use as bait?" Bradley asked him when he checked his hook to see that it was empty. There were a few other boats out in the middle of Big Bear Lake, and it was just a beautiful day to spend with everyone. 

"Here," Noah picked one up and handed it to Bradley. "Feed the fish, Daddy."

"Thank you," he replied, bending to kiss his son on the head and accept the worm. 

"I need one, too," you said, holding out your hook for Bradley. You were not as delighted by the worms as Noah was. Bradley knew he'd be the one cleaning up the mess later, but it didn't matter. Amelia was sunbathing, Penny was reading, and Mav was the only one catching any fish. But everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Once Bradley got you set up with fresh bait, you stepped a little closer to him and whispered, "Thanks, Daddy." And it was like he was back in bed with you. The way he wanted to touch you right now as you ran your fingers along his thigh was indecent. You were wearing the tiniest dress he'd ever seen with your bathing suit on underneath it, and Bradley slid his sunglasses down to look at you. 

"I need you to behave," he replied softly enough that nobody else could hear him over the radio playing. "You'll get it later."

You whimpered softly. "That's your Daddy voice."

"Later," he told you firmly with a smirk. He knew what he was doing. Amelia, Maverick and Penny already offered to take Noah back for an afternoon nap so you and he could have the boat alone for a bit, and then he would do anything you wanted. The two of you could watch the sun set and drink some of the weird seltzers you packed. Bradley could hold you on his lap just the way he liked where you looked at him and talked to him like you'd never need anything else but him. 

Then he felt something tugging his line as he started reeling it in. "Noah! I got a fish! Come help me!" Noah scrambled over to where Bradley was sure he had hooked a fish, and he placed Noah's little hand beneath his own so he could help reel it in. 

"Did it eat the worm?" Noah asked, his little arm pumping as fast as it could with Bradley's. 

"Maybe," he replied as you knelt down next to them to cheer them on. Even Amelia came over to see how big it was as it came to the surface, wiggling around all over the place. 

"I don't know if it's a keeper," Maverick said as he reached for his measuring tape. 

Noah was cackling as the fish splashed water up on his face. "It ate the worm! It ate the worm!" 

"It's not big enough," Maverick confirmed, and Bradley handed you the rod so he could take the fish off and return it to the water. 

"We can't keep this one, Bub," Bradley told him as he untangled the hook. "Sorry." He dipped the fish back into the lake and then let it swim away.

Noah's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "We can't have a dog or a fish?"

Now you and Noah were both looking up at him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. "We just want a pet," you whispered, kissing Noah's chubby cheek.

"Good Lord," Bradley muttered, and you cracked a smile. "Noah, that's not even the kind of fish you can keep as a pet. It's too big to have at home. Pet fish are like little goldfish from the pet store."

"Maybe we can get him a beta fish for his room?" you asked as everyone else returned to their previous activities. 

"Maybe," Bradley grunted. "Jesus, I think I'd rather have a dog than have to keep flushing fish and trying to find identical looking ones to replace it with."

"Yay!" you chanted, picking Noah up and instantly making him smile. "I think it's working." Then you pulled the wet wipes out of your bag and cleaned him up before letting him sit up on the top part of the boat and eat his sandwich. Bradley made a mental note to look up which dog breeds didn't shed.

----------------------------

You sat on the plush bench and waved to everyone else while Bradley slowly pulled the boat away from the dock. Amelia and Penny were holding the empty cooler. Noah was perched up on Maverick's shoulders wearing his aviators and shouting, "Bye, Mommy! Bye, Daddy!" You blew him a kiss and watched them start walking back up to the house.

The afternoon sun was hot on your skin but the rush of air was keeping you cool as you leaned back and closed your eyes. You weren't going to be able to hide your desire for Bradley, your body was already thrumming with need. When you opened your eyes and pulled your legs up onto the bench so you could undo your sandals, your eyes caught on Bradley's broad back and shoulders. The wind was whipping through his hair as he stood in front of the captain's chair and steered the boat to a quieter, more secluded part of the lake. 

When he eased back on the throttle and the engine noise quieted a bit, you stood and wrapped your arm around his waist from behind. Bradley tucked you against his side with a smile before sliding you to stand right in front of him. "Why don't you steer for a while? I got some other things I want to do."

He guided one of your hands up to the wheel and placed your other hand on the throttle, and then his big hands found their way to your body. He swayed behind you to the motion of the boat as you steered along the shoreline on the far side of the lake where there were fewer houses. Bradley bunched the fabric of your dress up in both of his hands as he squeezed your waist through your dress. "I love you, Princess," he murmured against your neck and bare shoulder. 

You leaned back into his warmth and asked, "How do we stop the boat?"

Bradley covered your hand on the throttle with his and eased it all the way down until the engine died, his lips never leaving your skin. And now you felt warm everywhere as the sun beat down on your bodies and glittered off the water. The boat drifted gently along toward the middle of the lake as Bradley murmured, "I can't believe you have me considering getting a dog. What have you done to me?"

You spun in his arms and laughed. "That was all Noah."

"Nah, it was you, too. And you know it."

"You're just a big softie for us," you whispered as a bead of sweat trickled down your back at the same time you felt goosebumps on your legs. Bradley reached down for the hem of your sundress and started to guide the fabric up to your hips. 

"If we have a baby," he rasped, "it'll just get worse. I'll be outnumbered three to one."

"Four to one if there's a dog involved," you added, nodding helpfully. 

"Four to one?" He pulled your dress off, leaving you standing there in your purple bikini that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. "Can't I at least have the dog on my side?"

"You can try." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "Good luck with that."

"Well shit," he grunted, pressing himself against your belly. He was already hard, but you were enjoying the way his fingers were trailing slowly down your back like he wasn't in a rush. "Looks like I'm just a big softie after all."

You nodded solemnly. "There's nothing that can be done for you, Daddy. But at least you're hard where it counts." He smirked when you squeezed him through his bathing suit. 

"That's just for you, too." You could feel him untying the knot in your bathing suit straps along the middle of your back before bringing his rough hands around to cup your bare breasts as the top hung off of your neck. "And these are mine."

"Yes, Daddy." You tried to return his kisses, but your head tipped back, and you moaned as he teased you. He stroked the undersides of your breasts so gently before bringing his thumbs up to pinch your nipples and then soothing them. "Oh god," you moaned as he pinched you again. 

You clenched hard around nothing as Bradley leaned down to run his nose and mustache along your jaw. "You're always so sensitive for me. You gonna make me beg for this right now?" 

"You don't have to beg," you moaned as his right hand came up to stroke your cheek before he untied your suit bottoms and let them fall to your feet. You could feel his fingers press against your clit before sliding down to your opening, and his lips met your ear. 

"You're such a good girl."

You could barely think when he talked to you like this and touched you just right. He'd spend all day working you up and getting you off if you told him you wanted him to. You knew he would. You knew he'd take care of you in every way. You knew he loved you. You'd never had anything even close to this, and now you'd never want anything else. 

On shaky legs, you managed to push him back onto the captain's chair and scramble up onto his lap. "Daddy," you panted softly before pressing your lips to his and rubbing your soaking wet pussy on his hard cock through his bathing suit. He'd reduced your vocabulary to just that one word. "Daddy."

Bradley seemed to understand that you needed him as he lifted his hips up and pulled his cock free, and you were sinking down around him before he was even seated again. "Oh, yeah," he groaned as he carefully untied the last knot at the back of your neck and let your bikini top join your bottoms. "Mine."

His hands on your hips only let you move at the slowest pace that left you a little dizzy as his mouth found your breasts. So you ran your hands up his strong arms to his shoulders and held on as he took everything nice and slow. You could barely focus on your surroundings long enough to determine if anyone was closeby to see the two of you fucking. 

"What if somebody....?"

He released your nipple with a pop and said, "They can't see us, Baby." Then he kissed his way up your chest to your neck, and he groaned as your pussy squeezed around him. "Fuck."

"Feels good," you whispered, still rocking at that deliciously slow tempo as he brought his lips up to meet yours. Playful kisses and nibbles led to the soft sweep of his tongue against yours as you played with his hair. Every few strokes of his cock left you fluttering around him. "Oh. Oh!" you gasped, a little surprised and bashful at how your orgasm was creeping up on you. And about how strong it was. 

Bradley broke the kiss so he could watch your face in awe as you suddenly keened loudly, rolling your hips. Rolling. Squeezing. He was hitting every sensitive spot inside you with his pretty cock, and your clit rubbed his coarse, trimmed hairs until you were shaking. Your toes curled. Your fingers shook as you tried to hold onto him. Your head lulled back as you came and came. 

And those big hands on your hips guided you through the whole thing.

"Princess," Bradley groaned, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure as his forehead creased almost like he was in pain. "Oh, fuck. Baby!" He pushed himself deeper up into you as he filled you with cum, and you let your cheek rest on his warm shoulder, unable to hold yourself up any longer. 

He held you tight as he panted, stroking his fingers down your back and making you shiver. Your name was a whisper on his lips as he told you he loved you, and he kept himself buried inside you like he needed to feel close. No, you'd never want anything else. 

------------------------

You were a little sweaty and sticky from his cum dripping down your legs as Bradley helped you stand up. "I have an idea," he murmured, brushing his fingers along your shoulder and kissing your forehead softly. You looked like you were still in a daze as you glanced around in every direction to make sure there was still nobody else around. God, you looked like he'd just fucked you to within an inch of your life, when in reality he'd just led you through a slow-build orgasm that left you practically screaming for him. 

He kissed your cheek one more time before he stripped out of his swim trunks and climbed up onto the edge of the boat, jumping into the crystal clear lake. The water felt freezing on his overheated skin, and he laughed as you finally seemed to snap out of your daze.

"You coming in?" he asked as he pushed his hair away from his forehead and started to tread water. 

"Is it cold?"

He kind of shrugged and said, "Feels great. Would feel even better if you were in here with me."

Bradley watched you climb awkwardly up onto the edge and scream as you jumped in, your gorgeous body fully on display for him. He watched you go under and then come up sputtering. "It's freezing, you liar!"

He chuckled and swam over to you, and then he wrapped you in his arms and kissed your fingers and your purple painted nails. "We'll get out in a minute, and I'll wrap you up in a towel and snuggle with you on the bench."

"Yes," you agreed immediately. "I want that now."

Bradley let you swim back to the boat, and he helped you push yourself out of the water so you could wrap yourself in a towel. But he swam a few laps around the boat as he thought about your cum-filled pussy and what that might mean for him if he kept it up. It brought a smile to his face every time he thought about making the other bedroom into a nursery. You were teaching Noah how to read, and pretty soon he might be practicing reading to his baby sibling. Bradley loved the idea of all of it. Even the goddamn dog. 

When he pulled himself up into the boat, you reached out and handed him the other towel. "Thanks, Baby," he said, and you snuggled back sheepishly into your oversize towel on the bench. He walked to the cooler, dripping water along the way as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "What's wrong?" he asked, digging around for the snack he brought. 

"Nothing," you murmured as his hand closed around the bag. 

He plopped down on the bench with a foot of space between your bodies. "Sounds like something."

You bit your lip and said, "It's embarrassing."

"What is?" he asked, setting the bag down and focusing on you. "What could have embarrassed you?"

You rolled your eyes and looked up at the sky which was turning an array of colors as the sun approached the horizon. "My response to you. I know I don't have as much experience as you do, but you pretty much always manage to make me come... and you had me practically screaming just now. And we were barely moving."

"Hey," Bradley whispered. "That was the fucking hottest thing. Nothing to be embarrassed about." When you didn't respond, he said, "It's not just you. Yeah, you're sensitive for me, and I love using that to my advantage. But you make me wild like nobody else ever has."

"Really?" you asked, lowering the towel from your face a few inches. "I do?"

"Baby, you almost made me cum in my pants last week. And the first time you gave me head? I thought I was going to pass out or potentially die. That's how turned on I get."

"That's good," you said softly, grinning. "I like being on an even playing field with you."

Bradley reached for the bag of Skittles and said, "I have some more bait."

"You're going to try to catch more fish right now?" you asked, shifting on the bench. 

He shook his head. "I'm not here to catch a fish right now. I'm here to catch a Princess."

"You already caught one," you replied with a laugh.

Bradley held up the bag and shook it gently as a bright smile filled your features. "Just to be sure...."

"Yeah," you whispered as he tore the bag open, "that's the right kind of bait." You crawled across the bench and climbed onto his lap. He welcomed you there as you straddled his thigh and parted your lips. Bradley groaned as he shook a yellow Skittle out of the bag and ran it along your bottom lip before gently setting it on your tongue. You were young and beautiful which was exciting, but you were also smart and strong and loving. And Bradley wanted to take care of this connection with you so it would always be here. 

He kissed you as you slowly chewed your Skittle. "That's a good girl. Take the bait," he said with a laugh, repeating the process with a red one and a purple one. 

"And that's your Daddy voice again," you whispered as he fed you more candy.

"Just practicing for when I'm your Daddy and Noah's Daddy and another little one's Daddy."

You ran your nose along his as you smiled and whispered, "Don't forget about the dog."

The sun set with you wrapped in your towel on his lap and your head on his shoulder. You chewed up the last piece of candy just as Bradley whispered that it was getting dark and you needed to head back. He helped you slip your dress back on, and he steered the boat back to the dock with you nestled against his body. "I kind of want this forever," he murmured.

"Me too."

------------------------

You and Bradley finally made it back to the dock in the semidarkness. It took you a few times to tie everything down correctly as you laughed. You felt like you were on a bit of a sugar rush from the Skittles, and you giggled when Bradley said, "Holy shit. We almost forgot your bathing suit."

He jumped back onto the boat from the dock as you held up his phone flashlight so he could see. "It wouldn't have been the end of the world if we left it here."

"Yes, it would," he replied, bending down near the captain's chair to retrieve both pieces. "What would you spend all summer sunbathing in on our deck at home?"

"Nothing at all," you said, and he dropped your bikini top and had to pick it up again. 

"Shit," he grunted while you laughed, and your fingers slipped on his phone. You gasped and caught it in both hands, accidentally opening up his web browser which was filled with open tabs to diamond engagement rings. Your jaw dropped as you looked at rings more beautiful than anything you'd ever seen before. Bradley had apparently even taken a quiz titled Which engagement ring is perfect for my future wife?

Future wife. He'd talked about it before. Mentioned a ring and a future and security. You were in his will. He let Noah call you his mommy. He wanted to get married. But you almost dropped the phone again when you noticed a tab that said baby girl names.

"We almost forgot our trash, too," Bradley said as he climbed back onto the dock, holding up the Skittles wrapper along with your bathing suit. 

You were in a daze as you murmured, "Don't call Skittles wrappers trash. They serve a very important role by delivering delicious treats to princesses."

"Oh, you're right. I'm sorry," he said with a bit of an eye roll as he squatted down in front of you and helped you buckle your sandals for the walk back to the house. "It's not just common trash. It's a symbol of royalty."

"That's right," you whispered. You had his face partially illuminated by the flashlight as you scrolled through some of the baby names before closing out of the browser. He was taking all of this very seriously. You should have known he would; as soon as he'd deleted that dating app from his phone, he was all in. All yours.

You handed him back his phone when he stood, and you launched yourself into his arms. He kissed you and rubbed your back through your dress. You could hear his stomach growling which made you smile even more as you kissed your words against his lips. "I love you."

His response was a deep, soft rumble at the back of his throat. "I love you too, Princess."

"Let's go eat dinner and see Noah." He seemed to like your response, rewarding you with so many kisses on the short walk back to the house. But when you arrived, it was later than you anticipated. Maverick was asleep on the couch next to the Christmas tree, Amelia was eating Christmas cookies, and Penny was reading the end of her book. 

"Noah's already asleep," she whispered. "I gave him a bath, and then he was closing his eyes before his head hit the pillow. We grilled dinner. Grab some leftover burgers and hot dogs from the kitchen if you want," she added with a smirk.

At least she didn't comment on how messy Bradley's hair looked or the fact that he was carrying your bathing suit in his big hand when you used to be wearing it under your dress. "Sounds good," you whispered, and Bradley followed you into the kitchen. You watched him eat a handful of cookies while you heated up some of the leftovers from dinner. Then he inhaled two burgers and a hot dog while you ate one burger. 

"You were starving," you said with a laugh, noting that he looked very relaxed although tired. 

"I was," he groaned, eating another cookie. "Sun, sex and boating. Oh man. Wiped me right out."

"You're a simple man," you said, pushing him down the hallway toward your bedroom and the ensuite bathroom. "Let's take a shower."

You let Bradley wash your body with his big, soapy hands as he hummed his favorite song against your skin. Your belly was full and your senses were overwhelmed by his voice and the lemon scented soap and the steamy shower. You were yawning as he carried you to the bed, your skin still a little damp as you climbed naked under the covers with his body at your back. He was impossibly warm, fingers laced with yours, legs tangled together. 

"Love you," he murmured, kissing your shoulder. 

You thought about his phone as you brought your hand along with his to rest against your belly. "If we have a baby," you asked softly, "do you think you'd want a boy or a girl?"

"Mmm. Don't care," he replied right away, and he sounded like he was already starting to fall asleep. "But a girl would be nice."

---------------------------

The way I want to live in this chapter. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 39

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[lovedbybella]

infatuation (pt. 1)

miguel o’hara x female!reader

warnings: profanity, angst, just mean miguel

summary: being miguel’s assistant, you always thought the two of you had a good thing going. and everything was great… until it wasn’t.

word count: 4.2k

authors note: this is like my first ever fic i’ve written and intended to publish so please be nice! buttt feedback is much appreciated :) ily pls enjoy

PART 2 HERE

—

You had known from the start your boss wasn’t a particularly nice one. He conducted the interview himself, and you were sure he hated you based on the look of displeasure he had planted on his face the entire time. When Lyla, his holographic AI Assistant called you the following day, announcing you were hired, you were pleasantly surprised.

The first few days of work were… interesting. You were still getting used to his mundane personality, and he was getting used to your over-the-top sunshine one. You were just a happy person, was that a crime?

After moving into the Spider-HQ, where you were given an extremely nice apartment to live in while you worked for Mr. O’hara, you took it upon yourself to figure out what his deal was. During meal times, you were fortunate enough to come across Peter B Parker. He introduced himself to you as one of your boss’s friends and briefly explained the whole situation of his daughter.

Following that day, you understood why he acted the way he did and didn’t necessarily take anything he said to you to heart. You’d make lame jokes, ramble about yourself for hours and attempt to make him spill something about himself to you. It was the system the two of you had developed, and it worked, with you keeping his office from being the saddest place on earth, and him keeping the entirety of the multiverse from falling apart.

After nearly 3 years of working for him, you had grown to be fond of him. Sure, he was an asshole 99% of the time, but there were moments when it was just the two of you working late nights and he would randomly make a joke, ask you a question about yourself, or even admit something about his past. Just things that showed you there was in fact a human with a heart underneath the rough exterior he kept up. You hated to admit it, considering you were his assistant and he was your boss, but you were beginning to develop feelings for him.

The problem though, was that lately, that version of him had completely disappeared. He was more irritable, demanding, and got upset at you over the smallest of things. You couldn’t take it, you could handle his bad moods before, but this was a whole other level. You contemplated questioning him about whatever was going on with him, but you didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of his moodiness.

Today, you were determined though.

“Good Morning, Mr. O’Hara” you chirped happily, walking into the office 15 minutes early, a stack of papers in hand like you always did. He grunts a quiet ‘Morning’ in return, not even looking in your direction. “I’ve finished all the reports and organized missions and meetings for the next two weeks, Is there anything specific you want me to do?” you ask, trying to be helpful.

“No” He replies, pointing to his desk for you to drop the papers off. You do, making your way to his desk, before opening your mouth again. “How was your weekend?” you attempt.

This time, he simply gives you a dissatisfied look, indicating that you needed to shut up. You sigh quietly, “Lovely, I assume.” You turn, your heels echoing loudly as you make your way to your desk. A month ago, your boss had relocated your space from a few feet away from him, to all the way across the room. You admitted that the action hurt a bit since you dared to assume he was beginning to tolerate you. It was like he wanted to be as far away from you as possible, and it worked, considering your interactions were cut nearly by half.

You settled yourself at your desk, prepared to spend the rest of the day busying yourself with meaningless tasks. You guess today was going to be like the rest of them.

—

A few days later, he had gotten worse. Your “Good mornings’ were ignored, and he acted like your presence alone bothered him. If you weren’t his assistant and therefore required to see him every day, you’d be avoiding him like the plague. You really couldn’t figure out if you had done something wrong, he acted normal with everybody else, the problem seemed to be, well… you.

You were getting a coffee on your way to the office, and being the considerate person you were, decided to get one for your boss too. You knew he probably didn’t get any sleep last night, and coffee usually elicited a small ‘thank you’ from him, which, at this moment, couldn’t hurt to hear. You were hoping the gesture would help him ease up on you a little, but realistically, you knew it wouldn’t.

You walked into the office, coffees in hand. “Good Morning, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, announcing your presence. You could swear you heard him groan at the sight of you. Off to a great start, you tell yourself. Ignoring his antics, you make your way to his desk. “I was getting coffee and thought I’d grab you a cup, here you go.” You say, avoiding eye contact.

As you move to place his cup down, you briefly glance up, only to be met with his piercing gaze on you. It catches you off guard, and you stumble, causing a little bit of coffee to overflow as you set the cup on his desk. “Oops' ' You laugh softly, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, “I’ll get something to cle-” you start before you’re interrupted by his rough voice.

“Are you serious” he cuts you off, “I wouldn’t have hired you if I knew you were going to be this horrible at your job. I never asked you to get me a cup of coffee, and you did it anyway, and now you can’t even hand it to me without spilling it like a competent person?” he practically growls.

Your eyes widen a bit as you try to mask the hurt on your face. You move to stand up straight again, keeping your composure. “I’m sorry” you start, “I was just tryi-” but you’re interrupted by Lyla before you can finish.

“An anomaly’s been spotted on Earth 216, nothing major, but they need backup” she announces, her holographic eyes shifting to you. “Hey Pumpkin, how are you?” she asks, you give her a tight-lipped smile in return.

“Thank you, Lyla,” Miguel answers, before shutting her off. He grunts before moving to leave, not even sparing you a second glance. You quickly clean up the mess you made, attempting to hold back tears. His words hurt more than you’d like to admit, considering you thought you always went above and beyond for him.

You weren’t particularly mad, just upset, and wiping the few tears that escaped despite your battles, you decide if Miguel simply wanted you to do your job, that’s all you’d do.

–

A few days pass, and there’s absolutely no mention of the incident. You stop saying Good Morning to him, asking about his weekend, or even making bad jokes to try and keep a light-hearted atmosphere. In fact, you don’t speak to him unless he speaks to you first.

You honestly hadn’t even looked at him, overwhelmed with the insecurity that he’s hated you from the start. You sigh quietly, staring at your computer with nothing to do. The fact that tomorrow was your birthday was the only thing getting you through the day. Your friends had organized a fun day by a lake house, filled with drinking, partying, and fun. It was the way you spent your birthday as a child, and celebrating it like that again would bring back pleasant memories. You had asked for the day off months in advance, and you were more than excited that you were finally getting a much-needed break from your boss.

You doubt he knew, nor cared. For the past 2 birthdays of his, you always made it a point to wish him a happy birthday, buying him a cupcake and a small gift (that he probably threw away). He hated it, but you wanted him to know there was at least somebody who remembered and cared enough to get him a present.

The clock hits 7 and you silently cheer, your indication you’re free to go. You began packing your things, feeling Miguel’s gaze on you for the first time all day. It had been quiet and without your attempts to fill the silence, the office was, well, dead. You tread your way to the door, your heels filling the silence before you’re interrupted by Miguel calling your name. You turn, a little terrified.

“Yes, Mr. O’Hara?”

“You’re leaving?” he asks

“It’s 7 PM” you answer, a little confused.

“You usually stay till 8.”

You pause, thinking of the best way to answer, “Well, my work day ends at 7” you state. It was true, sometimes you’d even stay till ten to help him with whatever tasks, tests, or missions he had on his own personal agenda. But lately, you had determined it wasn’t worth it with the way he was treating you.

He hummed, before turning away from you, “I need you to come in tomorrow.”

Was he serious? You keep your voice level, trying to stay professional despite the anger brewing within you. “I can’t, I requested the day off,” you say flatly.

“Well, there’s a lot of work that needs to be done” he starts, “and if you want to keep your job, you’ll come in”

Unbelievable. Now he was threatening to fire you? You were the epitome of the perfect employee, you did everything he asked and more! And after the little coffee incident, you didn’t say or do anything that could be deemed “unnecessary” just like he asked. You couldn’t fathom it, he couldn’t even let you have this day to yourself.

“Sir-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“There’ll be no argument, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice booming with authority. You’re speechless. You turn around, walking out of the office. You wait till you’re a reasonable distance away before you let the tears start to fall. Right now, you didn’t hate anyone more than you hated him. And to think that a few weeks ago you were beginning to harbor feelings for him. You felt so stupid.

–

The next morning, you walk in 5 minutes late. A singular coffee in hand. You hated being late, but you were held back 20 minutes calling back all your relatives and friends who were wishing you a good day. Your heart ached, knowing you’d much rather spend the day with people that adored you instead of him. You head straight to your desk, not even glancing in his direction. You feel the burn of his eyes on your back.

“You’re late” he announces, as you begin to take your laptop and the rest of your work materials out. You looked nicer today, with prettier earrings, a cute dress, and a touch more makeup. Your friends had opted for dinner after work instead after hearing about your last-minute need to cancel. The difference in your appearance didn’t go unnoticed by Miguel.

“I had an emergency” you state, not even bothering to glance up from your computer. In all honesty, you had nothing to do. You had completed all your work for today, yesterday, since you thought you were going to be out.

“Hm,” he responds, glancing at your desk. “Were they out of coffee?” he asks, referencing the fact that you hadn’t gotten any for him.

“No” you answer, finally looking up at him, “Would you like me to get some for you?”

“I’m okay” he answers, his eyes lingering on you like he was attempting to figure you out.

You roll your eyes when he finally turns around, before moving to speak again. “I have nothing on my schedule for today, was there anything specific you needed me to come in to do today?’” you ask, a touch of annoyance behind your voice.

“I need you to organize that,” he says, pointing to rows and rows and rows of disorganized stacks of paper that was not there yesterday. “Alphabetically, of course.”

You want to cry at the sight. You had no idea where any of those papers came from, considering that nearly everything you guys did was electronic. It was like he was doing it on purpose, seeing what your limits were before you finally broke.

You sigh to yourself, accepting the fact that your birthday is officially ruined. You clear your throat before speaking, “This will probably take me all day” you start, “Is there anything else for today?” you ask, sadness evident in your voice. If Miguel hears it, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Just that for now” he turns around, continuing to work on whatever new device he was developing now. You take the opportunity to pull out your phone, notifying your friends that you wouldn’t be seeing them today.

-

You finish up around 10 PM, with more papercuts than you can count. The day was, of course, horrible, with Miguel overanalyzing every move you made. You couldn’t believe you had actually spent your birthday performing such a mundane task, 3 years ago, before you knew Miguel, you never would have stood for this.

You were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. He definitely didn’t know it was your birthday so this was all just a huge coincidence… right? You grab your things ready to leave. You feel Miguel’s eyes on you. You had somehow made it through the day without complaining, not uttering a single word unless you were asking him a question about the assignment.

“Good Night Mr. O’Hara,” you say tiredly as you walk out the door. And maybe you’re just sleep deprived and sad, but you swear you hear a quiet ‘Night’ back.

-

The following morning, you walk in right on time. You look up at Miguel’s usual spot, only to find him staring directly at you. You avert your eyes awkwardly, not saying anything. You were probably going to be angry at him for the next month.

“Good Morning,” he says, body turned towards you.

“Morning,” you say softly, too hurt to be petty and ignore him. You settle into your desk, unloading your materials without even thinking. It had become a habit at this point. You yawn quietly, the events of yesterday had led to a sleepless night. “What’s on the agenda?”

Miguel looks at you, before motioning for you to come next to him. You stand up, walking over to him. He points to his right at the stacks of paper you had tirelessly organized yesterday.

“I need you to organize that,” he says, eyes gauging your reaction.

You keep your face neutral, “I organized those yesterday” you say, “Quite well”

“Again. Organize them again. I’ve decided I want it to be organized by categories instead” he says casually, like his request wasn’t absolutely insane.

No.

He was kidding, right? You stare blankly at him for a few seconds, trying to determine whether or not he was joking. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, a silent demand to get moving. You can’t help it, but you start to laugh.

“Is something funny?” he asks

“No” you state at first, trying to calm yourself down. Your laughter, however, quickly turns into anger. “Actually, yes. It’s hilarious that you think I’m going to sit here and re-organize what took me 14 hours yesterday to complete.

“You will actually, because I aske-” Miguel starts but you cut him off.

“No, I won’t. I’m not doing it” You throw your hands up, exasperated and pissed off.

“Excuse me?” he answers.

“This is ridiculous. I’ve been wanting to ask for months what exactly crawled up your ass, but out of respect for you, I didn’t. But I can’t take it anymore, you don’t get to treat people- you don’t get to treat me this way! I know you’ve been through shit but that is not an excuse Mr. O’Hara!” you pause, debating whether or not you should stop. The line, however, has already been crossed, so you continue.

“I have been the best assistant in the world for the past 3 years. Dealing with all your insane assignments, your mood, working over my hours every single day and what do I get in return? Total and complete disrespect! I try to be nice, and I try to be understanding, but my patience has worn thin and I will not stand for this. Getting you a coffee and accidentally spilling is not a reason for you to be an asshole! You made yesterday horrible for me, and that is a day I will never get back!” you cry out, all frustrations from the past few months spilling out.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but we used to work. We used to get along, and I’m not exactly sure what I did, but you didn’t use to hate me and treat me like total garbage.” You yell, angry.

Miguel stares at you, an unreadable expression marks his features. He’s not exactly speechless, but he is surprised. He watches silently as you march back over to your desk, packing up your stuff before heading towards the door.

When you’re almost out, you turn around, looking directly at him, “And for the record, I am not horrible at my job and I am capable of handing someone a cup of coffee competently. Find yourself a new assistant, I quit.” and with that, you storm out of the office.

-

Two weeks later and you had settled into a new routine. Living in the Spider-HQ wasn’t anything like regular Earth. People didn’t need to work to live, working just kept things in order and kept a sense of normalcy around the Society.

Your days were different. You finally had time to catch up with other Spider friends that you rarely got to see due to how busy you usually were. You could tend to your garden, catch up on books, and explore the HQ in the daytime. It was nice, it was peaceful.

Despite all that though, something was missing. You weren’t exactly happy about leaving. Yes, it was a major relief to not have to deal with Miguel every day, but it had become your new normal. You had loved your job, prior to everything of course, and you hated to admit it but, you missed it. You missed him, him and all his faults, his attitude, the part of him you rarely got to see.

It was around 7 at night. You were cleaning up your apartment, preparing for a long-awaited movie marathon with Peter. You place the pizza boxes and popcorn on your living room table, all ready mentally preparing yourself for the stomach ache you’d inevitably get.

You hear a knock on your door just as you finish putting away your cleaning supplies. It was a little earlier than you told Peter to come by, but you knew he liked to be punctual.

“It’s open!” You yell, turning on your TV to pull up the movie. The knock is on your door again, this time more persistent. You groan as you get up, hadn’t you and Peter gotten over the formalities of having to invite each other in?

You open the door, your mouth moving faster than your eyes before you could register what was in front of you, “Peter, you know you don’t have to-” you stop, mid-sentence, suddenly rendered speechless. The man in front of you was much too tall and much too tan to be Peter. Your mouth feels dry and you’re unsure of how to respond- or how to proceed.

“Mr. O’Hara.” is what you settle on.

You were embarrassed. Yes, everything you said was completely valid- and true! But, he was still your boss and after you had calmed down, you determined your little outburst was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. So yeah, you weren’t exactly ready to face him, especially considering the fact that you did not think Miguel was the type of person to show up at a doorstep, let alone yours.

He stares at you, his dark eyes moving all over you, like he was trying to assess you. You wait patiently, he had obviously shown up here for a reason, and you definitely weren’t going to say anything that would deter that.

“The other day” he starts, “You were dressed so nicely.” Out of all things you predicted he was going to say, that was not on the list. In all the years you worked together, Miguel had never given you a compliment. Sure, you caught his eyes lingering a little longer than needed sometimes, but he was a man, it didn’t mean anything.

You stay quiet, unsure of how to respond.

“Why were you dressed so nicely?” He moves, his body shifting so one of his arm’s leaning on the top of your doorframe, the rest of him looking down at you.

“That’s none of your business, Mr. O’Hara,” you say firmly.

“I think I ought-” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“Mr. O’Hara, I think it’s best if you-”

“Miguel, My name is Miguel. Not Mr. O’Hara” he says, desperate. You stay silent.

“Did you have a date?” he asks, his voice hoarse, like a certain answer would pain him to hear.

Your mind runs a mile a minute, his question completely throwing you off guard, and now you’re angry, “Is that why you decided to give me that stupid assignment? Because you thought I had a date?”

“You didn’t answer me”

“I don’t have to answer you, Miguel,” you start, saying his name venomously, “Not anymore, I quit, remember?”

He looks at you, eyes hurt and pleading.

“If you must know, it was my birthday. A day that you ruined when you forced me to come in and had me work till 10 PM.” you begin, calmly, not in the mood to be angry again when you were about to meet a friend. “And I know birthdays may not mean anything to you, but they mean a lot to me, and if you’re not here to apologize for the way you treated me, then leave.”

“I was glad you quit, you were driving me insane,” he says, his voice husky and low.

“Did you really come here to insult me further? Glad to see you were so happy to be rid of me” You move to shut the door but he stops you, easily.

“That’s not what I meant” he looks down at his feet, his face hopeless, like what he’s trying to say is impossible. He looks back up, looking directly into your eyes before speaking,

“I cannot get you out of my mind” he admits, “Every waking moment of the day, my mind is filled with you, it drives me crazy. And I can’t do anything about it, because you’re- we’re my assistant”

You’re stunned, unable to speak.

Miguel's eyes are dark as he looks at you. His brain short-circuits as he tries- tries to make you understand exactly how you make him feel. “I knew it was your birthday, and I had planned something, but the moment I saw you in that fucking dress, all sense went out the window. I couldn’t stand the idea that you were probably going to celebrate with some man, some man that probably doesn’t give two shits about you, some man that wasn’t me.”

You attempt to interrupt him, completely overwhelmed by his confession. You had absolutely no idea that was the way he felt about you. You could feel the intensity of his words as he practically pleaded them to you.

“Miguel, I- What?” you start, but he interrupts you, groaning.

“Don’t you fucking get it? I need you, desperately, and I can’t have you and I’m going fucking mad at that revelation. So of course, my only solution was to make you hate me, it’s what I do best, and when it worked, I realized I’d rather hate the world for only letting me have a part of you than not have any part of you at all.” his voice sounds so raw like it hurts to admit.

You look at him, his eyes earnest and waiting. Waiting for some type of signal from you that you understand what he’s saying, and that he’s not alone. But you’re stupid, and you can’t form the right words to explain you feel the exact same way, so you’re speechless, trying to make yourself say something, anything.

“Miguel-” you start, but you’re interrupted.

‘Hey! Did you guys make up? Heard you guys had a nasty work breakup” Peter interrupts, laughing as he looks between the two of you.

Miguel stares at you, exasperated. He gives you one last look before he turns and leaves, running his fingers through his hair as he rounds the corner, leaving your line of sight.

You stare in his direction, closing your mouth before your eyes shift to Peter. He stands there, awkwardly turning to you, clearly gauging that whatever conversation the two of you just had was not a normal one.

“Did I interrupt something?”

-

part 2 coming if people want one? i’ve never posted anything spicy but i’ll do it for the people <3

-

[formulapierre]

The Loneliest | Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Pairing: Ex!Charles Leclerc/ Max Verstappen x Reader

Prompt: Might have to make this a series...based off the song 'The Loneliest' by Maneskin. Where you are fed up in your current relationship and Charles has to watch as you find somebody else and see how much happier he makes you.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 4.5k

Song: The Loneliest by Maneskin

‘You'll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine It's obvious Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

“Charles, I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t do this anymore,” I say, gesturing to us. “I can’t lie to you anymore and pretend everything's fine! This…it's just not working for me anymore. I can’t do it,” I admit

“Mon amour, don’t- what are you trying to say? That I’m not here enough for you? Believe me, I’m trying! I get the first flight home after every race, we live in Maranello so I can come home to you each night. What more could you possibly want from me?!” He asks, shocked at your words and surprised that you were even having this argument…He thought you two were solid?

“I feel stuck Charles! I don’t have any friends here and everywhere I turn I have to smile and play nice because I’m your girlfriend. Nobody knows me! Fuck, I don’t even know me anymore!” You reply, managing to work yourself up even more, you didn’t even know you felt like this…when you started, you just couldn’t stop.

“So what? So where do we go from here?” He asks, clearly done with arguing, you assumed that you would kiss and make up like you usually did.

“I’ve got a taxi coming in an hour to take me to the airport, I boxed up all of my stuff and put it in the spare room. There is a courier coming to pick it up on Tuesday…” You admit to him, His jaw drops slightly at how you had planned everything.

“So you’re just leaving?” He asks bluntly.

“Yes, I need space, I need time, I just-,” You start to say, relief finally hitting you that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. “I love you, Charles…but not enough to sacrifice myself,” You tell him honestly.

“This is it then? Two-and-a-half years, just gone like that?” He asks, clicking his fingers when he says ‘like that’. When He says that you can’t even look him in the eyes. “Ok…well I don’t want to be here to watch you leave…” He adds, picking his car keys up and shoving his phone and wallet into his pockets. “I love you, more than you could ever know,” He says before closing the door behind him.

‘You're still the oxygen I breathe I see your face when I close my eyes; It's torturous Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

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YourInstagram Home never felt so damn good

YourBestfriend Best surprise ever!!!

---- YourInstagram 🫶

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F1WAGs STUNNING!!

---- FerrariFan1 Wish I was her!

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Charles only briefly looked at the photos, not bothering to like them and leave a sweet comment like he usually would but instead clicking on her profile and letting his thumb hover over the ‘Unfollow’ button. He decided against it, knowing the fans would go crazy if he did. He just switched his phone off and dropped it beside him.

‘There's a few lines that I have wrote In case of death, that's what I want, that's what I want’

'Amour 

Cherie

Y/N

You,

We have been apart for nearly two months, that will be the longest we’ve ever been apart. Ironic that... seeing that is the reason you chose to end it. People are starting to ask questions about where you are, why we are seen together anymore and I don’t know what to tell them. You said you needed time and space? I've given you time and space, so where does that leave us?

Are you done? Because I know I’m not, I love you. And if there were any way to prove to you, my love, how much I love you then I would go to the ends of the earth to do so. Sometimes I just try to tell myself that you’re at home waiting for me, and when I get home it all comes crashing down again. I see that you are happy, your social media taunts me with what I don’t believe to be true. Nobody walks away from a two-and-a-half-year relationship as happy as you appear to be…'

Charles puts his pen down and folds up the letter, shoving it into his drawer, He thought writing it would be cathartic but instead all it's done is make him angry, and sad, and ultimately confused. The courier for your stuff came weeks ago and all he got was a quick ‘thanks’ in a text message as a response. He had tried reaching out, just to see where he stood but you didn’t reply; so He tried your best friend, she just told him ‘It’s best if you leave her alone, it's over Charles,’ So at that, he accepted it. When people asked, He said it wasn’t working for you both so you decided to stop seeing each other. Amicably. Of course.

‘So don't be sad when I'll be gone’

YourInstagram

Liked by WAGsF1  and 20,188 others

YourInstagram Amsterdam you have my 🧡

YourFriend I’m sorry but YourBestFriend Is going crazy that you went to Amsterdam without her 🤷‍♀️

---- YourBestFriend SHE WENT TO AMSTERDAM WITHOUT  TELLING ME!!!!!

----YourFriend See…Crazy

----YourInstagram It was a surprise…I didn’t even know I was going 😂

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To say that Charles was surprised…well that would be an understatement. He was completely shocked. He didn’t think you’d move on so quickly, ok fine, it had been four months but still. He wouldn’t have even thought about looking at another girl; everybody copes in their own way he supposes. He had to remind himself that he didn't see both sides to your relationship...He didn't see how much you were hurting, maybe that was why it was easier for you to move on?

‘There's just one thing I hope you know, I loved you so’

'Cause I don't even care about the time I've got left here The only thing I know now is that I wanna spend it  with you, with you, nobody else here Tonight is gonna be the loneliest.’

YourInstagram

Liked by MaxVerstappen1  and 62,198 others

YourInstagram Summers in Monaco >>>

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Despite not having spoken for nearly eight months, you continued surprising Him. To be honest, Charles was more confused than anything else…all the reasons you gave for breaking up would be problems you would face with Max. The dedication to the sport, the time away from home…what did He have that Charles didn’t?

‘You'll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine; It's obvious Tonight is gonna be the loneliest.’

WAGsF1

Liked by YourInstagram and 23,918 others

WAGsF1 Guess who’s back!

YourInstagram was spotted in the Monaco paddock this weekend on the arm of two-time world champion Max Verstappen.

MV1Fan Definite upgrade!

FerrariFriends Anyone got eyes on Charles?

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“You don’t have to see him; you can just stay in the hospitality all day; I’ll come and get you to bring you to the garage ready for quali if you want,” Max assures you as you walk into the paddock together, it had been a while since you’d had paddock passes hanging around your neck. When you had been before, an assistant about ten paces ahead would usually scan you in. You didn’t mind; you felt less on show this way, even though the guy on your arm was a double-world champion.

A few people turned to look as you walked towards the Redbull hospitality, most of those being Ferrari employees that would instantly recognise you. Max was pulled aside by a group of fans wanting autographs and photos as you got closer, so you took his bag and phone, making it easier for him to interact with them as you stood off to the side.

It felt like an ambush; not even seconds after Max left your side, you felt a familiar presence behind you. “Charles, I know it's you,” You say, turning to look at him.

“H-how are you?” He asks, clearly unsure of what to say.

“I’m really good, never been better, to be honest,” You tell him, and he smiles.

“Good to hear…I didn’t know you and Max were friends,” He says; you could see it coming.

“We weren’t…we bumped into each other in London and got to talking before I knew it. He was taking me to Amsterdam,” You say with a laugh. 

“Schat? Oh, Hey Charles, how's it going?” Max asks, coming to stand back next to you, taking the bag slung over your shoulder and putting it onto his back.

“Not bad, just saying Hi,” He says as his P.R. agent comes rushing over.

“There you are! You were meant to be in filming ten minutes ago,” She tells him, and he rolls his eyes before plastering a fake smile across his face and following her back to the Ferrari hospitality. Charles always used to do that when you attended races; He would always seek you out if He wanted to get out of media duties.

“You ok, schat?” He asks as you watch Charles walk away.

“All good,” You said, looking over at him; he clearly didn’t believe you. “I promise,” You add, kissing his cheek.

‘You're still the oxygen I breathe I see your face when I close my eyes’ ‘It's torturous’

“-That sounds incredible; yes, I want the job!” I say excitedly as Max sits in front of me, on the edge of his seat, and I just nod to him. I quickly thank the interviewer again before ending the call. “I got the job!” I squeal as Max wraps his arms around me.

“You got the job!” He replies, equally as excited. “You know what this means?” He asks, and I grin. “Move in with me. You can travel with me, come to all the races. We could get our own place in Monaco; I know mine is a little small for two people,” He quickly says; you had spoken about all of this before, so He knew your answer.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You agree, and he swiftly lifts you off the floor, spinning you around. Your job had always been an issue; you felt chained to a desk, but now, you were a travel journalist. It was quite literally your job to travel, and with Max going to over 20 different countries in a year at least, it couldn't get any better. You had promised Max you would be in Spain, but it had all been uncertain after that.

When you arrived in Spain, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulder; you had no mountains of work to do when you got home; or a pissed-off boss because she couldn’t call your phone. All you had to do was enjoy yourself and cheer on your boyfriend. Then came Canada, and it was the same situation; you had quit your old job a few days prior and didn’t start the new one for a few months. Max had promised that He didn’t mind that you weren’t working at the moment, and as you had temporarily moved into his apartment, you had no significant bills to pay.

You slowly got to know people at Redbull, quickly becoming friends with Geri, Carola, and the rest of Max’s team. People at Ferrari still said Hi if you walked past them, but you were surprisingly able to stay out of their way, wanting to leave that in the past. The one person you probably wanted to avoid the most was the one you were struggling to. He seemed to be just around every corner or in your peripheral vision. Perhaps you were just seeing his face on every dark-haired guy with a Ferrari shirt, but with time, you learnt to spot the blue rather than the red.

‘Tonight is gonna be the loneliest I'm sorry but I gotta go’

“So I’m just about to start a new job; the other one wasn’t working for me. It means I’m working remotely so I can attend the races properly,” You tell them as you stand in the middle of the surprisingly quiet paddock.

“What’s the job?” Pierre asks.

“Travel journalism,” You say with a smile.

“That sounds perfect!” He replies.

“It really is, and now I’m not physically tied to London. I’m moving to Monaco,” You tell them, and you think you can see Charles having to replay what you said in his head.

“Getting your own place?” Pierre asks.

“No…I-um,” I start to say before I’m interrupted.

“I thought you’d gotten lost, Schat,” Max says, wrapping his arm around you.

“What? From the garage to the hospitality? I think I’m fine,” You joke as you kiss the side of his head.

“We were just talking about how you’re moving to Monaco,” Pierre said, trying to continue the conversation.

“We’re both really excited; we agreed Max’s place was a little small, so we are looking for a new apartment together,” You say, looking up at the broad smile across his face.

“We’ll catch up again, but I’ve got to go…sorry,” Charles says abruptly before leaving.

“He is happy for you both…He just doesn’t know how to be around you guys, especially after the way you left him,” Pierre says, trying to excuse Charles’ behaviour.

“Pierre? Seriously? We’ve been together for nearly six months, and besides, there are two people in a relationship…it’s not all my fault,” I say defensively, and Max runs his hand over my shoulder, attempting to calm me.

“I know, that came out wrong…” He answers

‘If you'll ever miss me give this song another go’

‘...and now you’re in the paddock all the time. It feels like you're haunting me. You are always there, at work, in my dreams; now you’ll be in Monaco. I can’t escape you; everywhere I turn, there you are or something that reminds me of you. Are you trying to punish me? Is that what this is? You have to show me what I lost. I am fully aware of what I lost! 

Every minute of every day, I am reminded of what I lost, who I lost. And I am so happy that you have found someone who can make you as happy as I thought I did. Was it ever me? Was I the issue? If you had your new job when you were mine, would we have argued about what we did? Would we have argued about the distance if you could be there? Would we have found some other reason to disagree?

It’s been nearly a year since you walked out, and I’m still no closer to closure. You were my everything; I was sure you were the one for me. I wanted to buy a house with you, one we could grow our family in; I wanted to make you Mrs Leclerc, and then I wanted to make you a Mother. I wonder if He knows how much you yearn for a family. I remember the lazy Sunday mornings we would spend together discussing the future and what that meant for us…’

‘And I just keep on thinking how you made me feel better And all the crazy little things that we did together, In the end, in the end, it doesn't matter If tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

One thing Charles didn’t anticipate missing was the little things. From the drives through Monaco, hand resting on your thigh as you spoke about your day to the way you sang your favourite songs as you cooked. These little things that now drove him crazy to think about, he took those for granted. Often finding them annoying, Charles might have had a stressful day at work, and all he wanted was a bit of peace, and you were talking his ear off.

What he would give to have you like that again.

He assumed Max was probably the same. Oh, how wrong he was. Max loved to listen to you talk, your voice soothing him after a bad day; your awful singing always managed to bring a smile to his face as he walked in the front door.

Charles was looking forward to the end of the season; Christmas was when all the drivers went home. Monaco was his again; he was the only one there. You and Max had quickly stopped before flying straight to the U.K. for the first few weeks off. Monaco was quiet at Christmas; there were very few tourists, meaning He could walk the streets interrupted. This is the Monaco from his childhood, the one He fell in love with.

Christmas without you was very different; there were no big surprises, drunken confessions of love, or hastily hung mistletoe. It was quiet; his family had come to terms with the fact you weren't around anymore.

Your Christmas was vastly different; waking up in your childhood bed next to Max was amazing; it all began to feel real and good. This is where you are supposed to be. Max slipped right into your family, and they took him in as their own. Something Max would later say how much he appreciated; coming from a semi-broken family, the love and kindness meant the world to him.

‘You'll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine; It's obvious Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

MaxVerstappen1

Liked by YourInstagram and 1,029,123 others

MaxVerstappen1 Schat, by the time you are reading this, I’m praying you will have said yes.

You are my everything; I cannot even begin to try to tell you how much you mean to me. I never believed the stories, my Mamma  would tell me about finding my one true love…well, mamma, I did it. I found her.

I found her in your favourite city, doing your favourite thing, and she is perfect.

We have only properly known each other just over a year, but it feels like an eternity and that’s how long I want to spend with her.

So Schat, if you didn’t say yes…well, then I’m sure I look like a right fool now but this is me, bearing my heart and soul to you.

The simplest words to describe it are ‘I love you' so?

Will you marry me?

YourInstagram …I said yes.

YourBestFriend Dibs on maid of honour

---- LandoNorris Only if I can be the flowergirl!

F1 Time for a F1 Royal wedding!

RedBullRacing Congrats future Mr & Mrs Verstappen

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‘You're still the oxygen I breathe I see your face when I close my eyes; It's torturous Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

‘And now I have to watch as He proposes to you, eventually marries you. I should be him, that should be me. It should be me you are walking down the aisle towards.

There’s this beautiful church in Monaco that I always pictured us getting married it, it's the same one my maman and papa got married in when they were younger; I dream about it some nights…usually after seeing you in the paddock or seeing pictures of you on social media.

I dream about the long white wedding dress with the cathedral length veil, the bouquet of flowers pressed against your stomach as your papa walked you towards me, towards our future. Then we’d exchange our vows, our promises of eternity together, through sickness and health, till death do us part. That’s what we’d promise each other.

The reception afterwards would be the best night of our lives; Pierre would give a speech, no doubt telling the story of how we met and how He witnessed our love blossom into what it was. Now I don’t know whether you’ll ever read this, but I want you to know, you have to know that you were my future. I wanted everything with you…and I struggle to see how I wasn’t enough for you. He is me in different colours…

‘You'll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine It's obvious’

YourInstagram and MaxVerstappen1

Liked by YourMum and 1,340,193 others

YourInstagram Always expect the unexpected

Baby Verstappen due in November

Mummy and Daddy would like it to be known that the wedding has been postponed until 2027 so that we can celebrate our love as a family.

Max & You x

DanielRicciardo Congrats guys, this baby won’t know what's hit them

----MaxVerstappen1 Please don’t hit our child…

-------DanielRicciardo I meant with love…

YourBestfriend I have a confession…

—-PierreGasly #BumpBuddies…

—-----YourInstagram Gasly…what did you do?

—---------YourBestfriend Me?

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Charles guessed he did know that about you...

‘Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

‘...but that is it. Isn’t it? You’re having a baby. I’m not going to sit here and tell you how it should be me. You know that already. This is my sign to move on; you’re going to be starting a family with Max, raising some kids, the white picket fences…all that shit. I wanted that, and now…it disgusts me. How fake it all seems, don’t you see it? I am going to have to stand on the sideline and smile, I have to be happy for you, after all you do deserve happiness. I couldn’t bear to see you hounded in the media over our relationship…or lack thereof.

So I guess I’ll have to move on, you were one chapter of my life in which the book is being forced closed, you took the pen and drew lines through the last part before scribbling in the margins ‘THE END’

It’s crazy to think by the time your son or daughter is born you will have been with him nearly as long as you were with me, it feels so much longer than that. It feels like decades since I last woke up next to you…

‘You'll be the saddest part of me A part of me that will never be mine; It's obvious Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

“Char?” She asked, trying to snap him out of his daydream. She had noticed him doing it a lot recently.

“Mhmm?” He hums, eyes fixing back onto her. Her slightly darker hair, longer as it fell way past her shoulders. Your’s sat perfectly on your shoulders, bouncing effortlessly as you moved.

“What have I got to do to keep your attention? I just had a whole conversation with myself,” She says to him. ‘Be her’ was what he wanted to say but He knew she would just up and leave. Just like you did. Like they all did.

“You have my attention Celine,” He says bluntly, both of them knowing he was lying.

“Ok, well as I was saying…” She started to say before Charles zoned out again, she decided to ignore it this time and just pretend he was listening, that's what she usually did. She was on a date with Charles Leclerc after all…this had to go well.

Charles couldn’t see her, all he saw was how she was not you. She didn’t smile the way you did, the way he loved, with dimples growing as your smile widened. She didn’t blush when He complimented her, like He was the first guy in the world to notice her beauty. 

She just wasn’t you.

‘You're still the oxygen I breathe I see your face when I close my eyes It's torturous’

YourInstagram and MaxVerstappen1

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 3,019,394 others

YourInstagram After three years and one beautiful baby girl later…I can finally call  myself ‘Mrs Verstappen’

Truly the happiest day of my life and so incredibly thankful that we were able to share it with our closest friends and family, the day would not  have been the same without you.

Fleur is very much looking forward to staying with her Grandma Sophie whilst Max and I enjoy some time to ourselves.

Mr and Mrs Verstappen x

DanielRicciardo best best man ever!!!!!!!!

—- LandoNorris Fleur took my spot as flower girl…groomsman was ok, I guess

—-----YourBestfriend And didn’t she look adorable?.

F1 Royal wedding? Check!

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Charles watched as his love slipped through his fingers. “Do you Max Emilian Verstappen take Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asked, and Charles silently begged him to say no, to say it was all a mistake.

“I do,”

Charles winced at those words.

“-and do you Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N take Max Emilian Verstappen to be your lawfully wedded husband?” She asked. Charles was holding his breath, time started to slow down…

“I do,”

A silent tear rolled down his face.

‘Tonight is gonna be the loneliest’

‘Its strange to think I’ve been writing this letter for three years, I reread the words and remember all the emotions attached to them, I can remember what triggered all those feelings, where in the world I was at that point. And now, I guess it will end. I had originally intended to give you this letter, as one last ‘I love you’ but I now know that isn’t fair. On you, on Max, or on Fleur.

So as I conclude my letter to nobody, I think about watching you drive away tonight. Fleur in your mothers arms as you set off for your honeymoon. Part of me wished I had brought a date, to distract me from you. But I’m glad I didn’t. I think this was the closure I needed, I needed to know you were his…and not mine anymore…not that I think you were ever mine to begin with. Tonight will be the loneliest, as I lay here thinking about you, and what it could have been.

Charles.

P.s I will always love you.'

[weltraum-vaquero]

you could have it all (my empire of dirt)

4. hold me (like a knife)

[Chapter 1] ↠ [Chapter 2] ↠ [Chapter 3] ↠ [Chapter 4] ↠ [Chapter 5] (coming soon)

[AO3 link]

Western AU

18+

Jayce Talis x GN AFAB Reader

Word count: 9.5k+

Synopsis: Now that things between you and Jayce have ended, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Until everything takes a turn for the worse.

Tags/warnings: Jayce being the world’s saddest sack of shit. Graphic violence towards the middle and end of this chapter. Character death (but it’s nobody important). Caitlyn being the only person with a brain.

Notes: I can’t quite believe that this chapter is finally done. I’ve had the plot of this specific part of the story in mind for almost two years now, and to say that executing it was daunting is an understatement. I hope I didn’t disappoint, and, just as a heads up, this is about the middle point of the fic. There is still a long way to go, and far from the end for Jayce and reader! As per usual: a big, huge thank you to my wonderful friends, who were so helpful with their valuable feedback, and helped this chapter become what it is now. Enjoy!

“Jayce?” 

The door creaks open slowly, letting in the barest, flickering sliver of light. 

It stings somewhere at the back of his already pounding head to look — he has to squint to even bear glimpsing, but he still does, delusionally hopeful in a way that’s masochistic.

The smudge of a shadow he sees through his lashes takes on the form he aches to see the most — shoulders just the right size to hang onto, neck just the right slope to nestle into, arms just the right size to wrap around him tight and hold him so he’ll stop falling apart — you. 

But it’s not you. Why would it be you? 

Cold hands, colder gaze, you hadn’t deemed him worthy of another word as he’d set to leave. He’d stopped, back turned, shaking with the tears he’d been swallowing, listened to the prairie crickets and waited. Counted all the way up to ten in his head, hoping you’d have the guts to find some inexistent panacea to the wound you’d torn into his heart. 

But you hadn’t said a thing. Why would you?

Jayce had given Topacio the spurs, riding fast enough to dry his tears before they reached his chin, and hard enough to drown his sobs out with the pounds of galloping hooves on the way back.

Why would it be you now, here, in the Kiramman estate, crawling back to him and begging for forgiveness?

“Hi, Cait,” he croaks.

And he wouldn’t fucking give it to you either way. Not after what you did to him.

“Hey.” It’s hysterical just how she draws out the e, hushed little sound, like she’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. 

Empathy’s never been her strong suit. 

But he’s sure he’s a sorry enough sight to be worthy of such a reply. He’d pulled the curtains to his room shut tight to stifle all sunlight, and sat in a sad corner of his room — hadn’t even granted himself the comfort of sitting on his bed — before he’d sobbed the night and day away. And though he’d torn his heart open and wrung it out into every tear, it had not ached any less, it hadn’t grown any lighter. 

How could it, now that he knows the most meaningful relationship of his life matters so little to the one person he would have given everything up for?

“I was sure you were still out and about but… well, Fenton said he’d seen you ride in last night, and I thought… you might be here.” She clears her throat, sliding into his room uninvited. She maneuvers it suspiciously clumsily — it takes Jayce a second to pick up on the fact that it’s because she holds a candle in one hand and a plate of sad-looking, long-cold dinner leftovers in the other. But she shuts the door with her foot, not at all silent, before she sits down across from him on the floor. 

Jayce draws his feet a little closer, hugs his knees a little tighter. Company is the last thing he needs when he wants to wallow in his own misery, when he wants to twist the knife you’ve stuck into his heart and let himself bleed.

But how could he lay in his own metaphorical puddle of blood and physical puddle of snot and tears when Cait is here to watch?

She’s trying very hard to make no big deal of it — of how much Jayce is looking like the world’s saddest sack of shit — as she sets the plate down first, then untucks whatever’s under her other arm so she can put the candle down, a safe distance from the carpet.

“I’m, really— I’m not much company right now,” Jayce tells her. His voice is so hoarse from sobbing it’s just a whistly, airy, pathetic whisper. He’d almost forgotten how much he hated feeling meek. 

You’d nurtured that part of him, had lulled him into believing it was alright for him — protector, hunter, a man of the law — to be everything he wasn’t supposed to be. And he’d let it happen.

Why does he have to be like this? Every part of him seems sculpted for power — his size, his strength, his skills — and still he yearns for weakness. To be cradled and kissed and touched like he’s none of those things.

No other lover had gotten through to him, and he doesn’t blame any single one of them — who would look at him as anything beyond a guard dog with a pretty face, when that’s all he’s supposed to be? Who would want to reach deeper and touch the parts of him that don’t fit the man he’s clearly meant to be? 

But you’d had. You’d called him princess and baby and you’d caged him in protective embraces and had let him grow soft. You’d given him everything he’d never had, and you’d done it all just to fucking hurt him. To wield his own weakness like a knife. You’d shaped it into something sharp and waited for the right time, right place, to tear him open with it.

And yet, he’d let you do it all over again — just to have a taste of the months he’d felt truly understood. He’d lay his head in your hands all the same, willing lamb under the butchering knife. If he’d be back in that saloon, he’d melt in your hands, let you lick into his mouth and sink your teeth into his neck. You wouldn’t need to even ask. He’d just tilt his head back and wait.

Because he loves you.

Choking back a sob, Jayce shivers with how much that realization shakes him — he still loves you, beaten dog licking an abusing hand, runt of the litter crawling back to warmth it will be inevitably chased out of.

You’re gone. And you’ll never care enough to come back.

“Here.” Caitlyn nudges the plate towards him in an attempt to snap him out of the incoming breakdown. “Eat up,” she encourages. “You must be hungry.”

He shakes his head.

Jayce wonders if he ever will feel anything again, except for a dreadful pit of numb pain smack in the middle of his chest. No noxious acid burning in his stomach if he avoids eating, no itch in his lungs when he holds his breath too long, nothing but the sore gaping fucking hole he can’t see but damn well feels so thoroughly he wonders if he could stick his entire hand in his chest.

“Alright.”

With that, she takes the book she’d brought with her and cracks it open. Like they’ve just finished having their late morning gossip session or like they’ve just slurped their teacups dry, like he isn’t curled up on the carpet and shaking with the effort of trying not to sob, Cait starts reading away in deafening silence.

“What… are you doing?” 

She says it like it’s easy. He knows it isn’t — not usually, and especially not now. “Keeping you company.” 

“You don’t have to,” he croaks.

Her smile is so laden with pity it makes him sick. He crawls into the comfort of it nonetheless.

“I want to.”

Jayce doesn’t know what exactly it is about that which does him in so effortlessly, so thoroughly. 

Had you ever wanted to do anything for him? Without an ulterior motive? 

That thought makes him curl in on himself like a hurt animal. A whimper scratches at his throat, and his dignity washes down the drain with a fresh set of tears.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” And he should be, he thinks; maybe it’s his fault, maybe what he had with you could have lasted just a bit longer, if he hadn’t been this… soppy. This sentimental, this needy, this much. “I’m so sorry.”

Wordlessly, Cait shuts her book, and shuffles across the carpet to plop down next to him. Her gentle hand grabs his shoulder, squeezing like she wishes she could absorb some of the pain.

“C’mere.” And he knows how much that means. Caitlyn, raised on proper etiquette and not one for more than the average friendly shoulder touch, offering to hold him though his face is slick with snot and his back’s gone sweaty and he can’t even breathe right.

But she holds him anyway. She holds him like maybe he still matters.

Jayce loathes the way his next sob wrecks him, how he quakes with his whole being. He’d give anything to have you holding him like this, and he hates himself for it.

“I really am,” he whispers. He’s sorry he wishes this weren’t her arm around his shoulders. He’s sorry he doesn’t even know what to do with all the crushing weight of his love, sorry he ever thought you’d want it — want him. He’s sorry it’s so heavy now that he thinks all his bones might crack, he’s sorry Cait has to hold him even though he’s nothing but bits and pieces of himself. “S-so, so sorry.”

She lets him sob through it, rubs at his back. Jayce settles for curling in on himself, as if making himself small would make the pain drip out of his soul any faster, or make his heart mend any quicker.

It doesn’t.

Cait brushes the hair stuck to his sweaty forehead with a careful hand.

“The only one who should be sorry is them.” Her voice is bitter — a smidge too bitter. Jayce doesn’t know why he’s offended for you.

“How do you know?” He wipes at the snot under his nose, and tries not to think about how disgusting he is. 

“I know,” Cait pauses briefly, pondering her words, “that the only mistake you could have made was loving too genuinely.”

The only thing he can think of, the only thing that comes to mind, is to say sorry again. Sorry for being so much — too much. 

And who would want to love so much of what makes him everything he shouldn’t be? 

Who would want to love so much? 

And why had he been naive enough to think you, criminal, cheater, liar, would be up for such a horrific task?

“I’m so… s-stupid,” he mutters. Stupid for believing there was something even remotely worth loving about the amalgamation of too much that he is, stupid for believing you, of all people, would be the one to take on the challenge. Caitlyn shushes him, pulling him harder into the hug. But she doesn’t deny it, which is enough of an answer to Jayce. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

Jayce wants to parrot it back at her, but the words seem far too small for the overwhelming amount of regret sitting heavy in his chest. So he says nothing, because he knows he’ll break if he even tries.

And they stay like that. Jayce chokes on another snotty sob when she rests her cheek against his head, a reminder of the closeness he’s lost with you scratching at the fresh wound you’d left on his heart. 

She squeezes him close when he weeps so thorough it wrecks him, she pets his disgusting sweaty back when even crying becomes too much and his body turns to breathless, embarrassing blubbering, she tells him to breathe — shows him how, in and out, slow and steady — when his breath gets stuck between more tears and hiccups, and his brain goes woozy with a lack of air and he feels like he wants to throw up the empty space inside his stomach, inside his chest, throw up the pain, purge all remnants of the ache you’ve left in him.

But that’s all he is — feels like all he’ll ever be. Purging you, purging the pain you’ve left behind… he’s not sure what else would remain of him without the ache for you. He can’t remember what he was before it. He’s terrified of what he’ll be after it.

“Believe it or not — you’ve gotten a bit better at keeping silent while you cry,” she says once he settles into just sniffles. 

“The h-hell’s that supposed to mean?”

He hates how his voice cracks on his words.

“I remember when we’d brought you here the night after we’d thrown you that big party for saving me and mother. I was two rooms away and I could hear you sobbing your heart out through the night.”

He had.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d first raised that rifle to protect Caitlyn and her mother, not for days. He remembers the champagne rippling in the flute he’d been clutching his fist around at that party (mrs Kiramman had to teach him how to even hold the damn thing properly), the rare steak wobbling on the silver fork. He remembers hearing his own heartbeat bouncing back at him in the egregiously fluffy pillow the first night he’d spent at the estate, the way he’d soaked it with tears and snot. He remembers wondering if he’ll ever sleep again.

“That feels like a lifetime ago.”

Cait nods. “It was. I remember thinking you were much too soft for the job mother was going to grant you, that it’d been just a stroke of luck that you’d rescued us when you did.”

“You have no idea how scared I was.” Jayce swallows thickly at the bitter memory. “Promoted from a simple cow wrangler to personal bodyguard to the mayoress and her family — god, I didn’t think I could make it either.”

“But you did.”

Jayce nods.

Caitlyn presses her cheek to him a little harder, squeezes him a little closer. “And you will.”

—

He won’t.

It’s enough to have your face flashing before his eyes, to sniff a distant replica of your leather-gunpowder-campfire scent, or to believe the sheets, damp and warm and rolled tight around his waist from all his restlessness from the previous night are your greedy, loving arms, to have his throat drawing tight and eyes brimming with tears.

And when he does close his eyes to indulge, for the briefest moment, in what he has left of you, in the cruel tricks his mind plays on him, longing shifts to rage.

Why wasn’t he enough to love? What could he have done to make you love him? Why couldn’t he be what you needed?

What was it about him that made you want to run from him, from the generous offer of a peaceful, simple life, and straight back into an existence reliant on scraps and crime? What made that life so much better than him and everything he had — everything he was more than willing to give you? 

What else could he have given you, to make you stay? What was there left to give?

That’s about the only thing that gets him out of his bedroom. Saddling up to ride out into fuck knows where and to just scream.

That’s all he’s good for, really. Weeks pass him by in the blink of an eye, spent in the darkest corner of his bed, so much so even leaving his room becomes a terrifying, daunting task.

He hates the pity the people at the estate treat him with, the way the Kirammans are so understanding. They don’t demand he joins them for dinner, not once. Food finds its way into his room at one point or another, they don’t insist he do anything, they just… let him rot away, in the most literal sense of the word.

Caitlyn spends time with him when she can find it, but as he becomes increasingly inconsolable, her visits lessen. 

Jayce can’t blame her for getting impatient with him. He is, too.

He hates that he can’t blame her, either, when he finds bullets from his drawers missing, his knife dulled, and his weapons suddenly cleaned the way they’d only require after serious use.

Of course his inaction couldn’t go on forever.

The sharp, mean daggers Cassandra’s been glaring his way whenever he did scurry out of his room and met eyes with her, Caitlyn’s growing absence around the house — they suddenly fit together like puzzle pieces: Caitlyn has begun picking up his slack.

And he wishes, god, he wishes he could be proud, because Caitlyn deserves it, she’s wanted to fill in his footsteps since the first time he’d taken her with him on a hunt all those years back — but he’s angry. 

He knows that above all else, this means he has become the last thing he’s ever wanted to be: a pathetic charity case. A failure at his one duty. 

She should not be out there by herself. He should be there. Teaching, watching, helping, but he’s not, he’s stuck, he’s drained, and he’s so bone-achingly tired, even though all he does is sleep and cry.

So when Cassandra slips into his room one evening (trying not to wrinkle her nose at the sight of his unkempt beard or food stained union suit) and hands him a bounty poster of some crooked looking outlaw, it gives him the push he needs.

She tries to put it gently — suggesting it might do him some good to get out there again — but he knows what she means. She doesn’t pay him to sit around and sob, and this bounty… he can see why she would not want her daughter anywhere near such vermin. Even with all his equipment, which by now Caitlyn undoubtedly knows how to use. That’s really all the motivation he needs, aside from some much-needed stress relief.

The fact that Caitlyn catches his wrist on his way out the front door and tells him he doesn’t have to  do this — at least not alone — does very little to deter him.

—

Match strikes matchbox. Dry wood crackles under the birth of new, tiny flames. The night grows a tiny bit less dark, but the prairie’s unbothered and taciturn.

He hasn’t smelled a campfire since… well. Since the last night he’d spent with you. But decidedly, the time you’d smelled most markedly of flames and ash was the night he’d let you kiss him after everything.

God, your eyes, glittering and gluttonous that night you’d spent with him after he’d tracked you down. And your hair, the near-animalic scent of your skin tempered by the freshness of cold air, the smell of leather clinging to you where he kissed and licked, the salt of your sweat, the musk—

God, he aches.

“Jayce, don’t shoot.”

His hand already hovers over his holster out of instinct alone, but he drops it the moment he recognizes that guilty tone.

It’s no wonder that Caitlyn’s decided to follow him.

With a sniffle, and a squeeze of his eyes, Jayce rolls his shoulders when he hears the sound of gravel under her new boots.

She’s already been holding his hand — figuratively and literally — an embarrassing amount these past months. 

Now that he’s finally trying to drag himself out of his slump (and slump is a very light word for sleeping and willing himself out of existence), she’s following him around like she knows he’ll stumble. He can practically hear the tension in her joints, ready to catch him not if but when he falls.

“I said I’d do this on my own,” he says.

Caitlin hums affirmatively. “I never said I wouldn’t let you.”

The audacity of her, to just say that like she hasn’t been doing the exact opposite for some time now.

“You’re a shit liar.”

Caitlyn sighs. “Mother told you.”

“I don’t need to be told. Do you think I wouldn’t notice? Jesus, Cait, your mother looks at me like—” Jayce catches himself before his tone grows cutting — he has no right to be mad at her for doing the job he clearly was not able to do. The very least she deserves, if not a grandiose thank you for doing my one and only job for me, is some kindness. He sighs shamefully, burying his face in his hands before he finds his words again, a smidge gentler. “You shouldn’t have to do this. Not by yourself. I should be teaching you, not letting you put yourself in danger because I’m too—“

“You’ve taught me more than enough,” she assures. Jayce wishes he could know how much of that lie is meant to comfort him, or her. 

Jayce wishes he could tell her that there’s more to it than the punches he’s taught her to throw and the target practice they’ve done. Jayce wishes he could tell her there will be bounties that break her (and that is unfortunately not limited to bounties like you).

But there’s a vigor, a hunger in her for this that he has rarely felt, if ever. His form was made for brutality, but his mind never was — and Caitlyn has the advantage of not sharing that predicament. She’s not soft in the ways Jayce is; she’s just inexperienced. And that is much more easily remedied.

“I hope so,” he decides to say. 

“We can start going on hunts together again,” she suggests. “You could teach me more — and you  wouldn’t have to do this alone.”

And that’s not a horrible thought at all. Except…

“Your mother would kill me if she knew I’d let this continue. I think she already has a quill and paper ready for my will considering what you’ve been doing because of me.”

Caitlyn laughs a little. “Let her. Would free up a position as Piltover’s best bounty hunter for me.”

“Hey.” Jayce tries his best to strike an intimidating tone, but it only makes her laughter swell. Something in his chest feels the slightest bit less empty.

Uninvited (though she knows by now that she is invited, always), Caitlyn approaches him slowly, sitting down beside him. They sit in silence for a moment while she picks at her fingernails, apparently nervous, before she puts herself back together, no less anxious, but fighting it. She lets her shoulders settle back, straightens her back, and glances Jayce’s way.

And though the air had been light and clear with shared humor mere seconds ago, the way she looks at him now is far heavier and more sombre.

“I didn’t track you down because I thought you couldn’t handle this bounty on your own.” For the first time since she’d approached him, her voice falters with uncertainty. 

And that’s a rare sight in Caitlyn. 

“Jayce, I… have to tell you something.”

In some fucked, pavlovian response, a part of Jayce rears its head and perks its ears like a starved dog at the sound of raw meat hitting the floor. 

This can only be about something she knows will hurt him. It can only be—

“It’s about them,” she says.

Every part of him hurls, every part of him hurts, every part of him hungers.

His ears ring. 

It’s about you.

Have you come back? Have you sent him a letter?

“What is it?” His voice has gone tight, throaty, and Caitlyn is overcome with immediate regret — she looks like she wishes she could swallow every word she’s just said back up.

His head reels with a thousand questions and a thousand answers. You’ve come for him. You still love him. You want the life he’s offered, finally, you want it, you want him. Maybe he’s not everything he thought he was. Maybe—

Maybe those hopes are too high, too bright, for the way in which Caitlyn stares him down like death looms behind her.

Maybe… maybe you’re gone.

But you can’t be, not, not you, slippery even in his grasp, you, with your mind just as much of a weapon as your arsenal. You, born wielding a gun, you, born holding a knife — death can’t have earned you this easily, this fast. 

Jayce repeats his question, a little more careful this time. It doesn’t seem to ease her doubts, but she gives in. And really, that’s all that Jayce is after right now.

“They’ve been caught,” she says.

That’s the only thing that could make your death sound plausible.

You… would be sooner dead than caught. He knows as much.

Caitlyn reads his disbelief with a frustrated sigh. 

“They made the front page on the Piltover gazette for it. Frankly, I… considered not even telling you.” She searches his eyes, but if she draws any conclusion, Jayce can’t read it. “You don’t deserve to be reminded of them. They’ve had it coming regardless—”

“Had what coming?”

“Jayce…” She goes silent for a beat, swallowing nervously, as if she dreads the words she’s about to speak. “They’re going to be hanged.”

Every fiber in his being protests at the mere word, but his entire body revolts once it really, truly sinks in — the mental image of your face, plum-purple, rope burns at your wrists, your own skin under your fingernails, hands bound behind your back, the body he’d kissed and loved and worshiped every inch of — lifeless.

On trembling legs, Jayce rises from beside the campfire.

You’re going to die.

The very thing he’d wished upon you, your punishment, is now imminent. And it’s only now that it hits him that he wishes his rage would have been gentler. That he realizes that even though you’d torn his heart to shreds and hurt him in ways that made him want to shove his hunting knife into the side of his neck, he doesn’t want you to die. 

He can’t let you die.

“Where?”

“Jayce—“

He takes a step closer, mustering up some of the intimidation that works so well on his targets — but it does little to Caitlyn.

Her breath leaves her lungs in a frustrated, terrified shiver. Not terrified of him — terrified for him.

And what terrifies him is how little he cares about the prospect of his own death, shall it find him when he finds you, helps you.

“Where?”

He hadn’t realized until then, how small Caitlyn’s hands were, until she took one his in both of hers. They’re not dainty — they haven’t been, since the day he’d taught her how to pick up a rifle, and they’ve grown rougher still since the day he’d taken her on a hunt with him. But they’re still smaller than his, and it hits him where it hurts.

It hits him where she wants it to, it hits him in that one spot that, in spite of being crushed under the weight of his responsibility as a protector, wants her safe. Wants her happy.

She’s like — she is family. 

“Jayce, I can’t lose you.” Her voice, though trembling with fear, does not falter. “If you go, there’s a real chance you could die saving them. I can’t let that happen.” Caitlyn swallows her tears, and something in her gaze darkens. When she speaks now, her voice is as steady as her aim. “And you will not die, not for them.“

He wants to make that promise. He wants to, but— 

“Where?”

He can’t.

She squeezes his hand tighter. And though there’s rage brewing in her eyes, Jayce knows that look — above all else, she’s terrified. 

He is, too.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” She grabs both his shoulders, rough now in how she nearly shakes him with how hard she turns him to face her. “Jayce.” Cait swallows her tears. “They deserve this.”

And as much as those three words sink in his gut like he’d swallowed solid lead, he knows she’s right. He can’t leave her. 

“It isn’t even about what they’ve done to you,” she continues. Her voice fades behind the ringing in his head, grows quieter still. “Think of everything else they did. All they stole, all they lied.” She goes on, somehow, but Jayce doesn’t care for any of it. Not until— “All they killed.”

That last word hits him like a jaw-dislodging punch.

“They would never— Not unless it was in self defense, I know—“

“You don’t know that.”

And she’s right. 

He hates that she’s right. 

He’d dug his head into the dirt, blissful ignorance and willful naivete, had consoled himself that surely a killer’s hands could never do what yours do. How could your hands wring throats and stab chests when they could make his body sing? 

How could he be so fucking stupid?

You will receive your punishment. Not because you deserve it after what you’ve done to him — but because of all else you’ve done.

He has to let it happen. He has stepped on his morality enough simply by being with you, by loving you. The guilt will — has to — ease once he stops doing that.

Letting you face the consequences of what you’ve done is the first thing he can do for himself.

And possibly the best. It has to be.

“Talk to me,” Caitlyn encourages just as much as she downright demands. Her hand on his shoulder grows laxer, she squeezes his deltoid gently. But behind it all, Jayce can sense the fear, the way her fingers cramp up and her nails almost cut into the leather of his jacket.

He can’t leave her. He mustn’t.

“I’m not going,” he says. “They deserve it.”

It hurts more than saying he loves you. It hurts more than anything he’s ever said — and he’s scared shitless of how little he means it, now that he’s saying it out loud.

Maybe you deserve it. And maybe he’s not going. But no form of lying to himself can change the fact that he will never want you to die, in spite of everything. And there will always be a part of him that would leave everything behind to spend the rest of his days with you, though the opportunity for that is long gone.

But Caitlyn smiles, and she pulls him into a genuine, bone-crushing hug. Jayce tries his damndest not to cry. 

You’re going to die.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says.

God, he hopes so.

—

God, he isn’t.

It becomes evidently clear, even as he clings to the false hope that he is. He hopes this hunt will be an easy, clean affair — simply holding his bounty at gunpoint, tying her hands behind her back, then taking her to the nearest sheriff’s office. But it isn’t.

When he finds his bounty sitting by her campfire, Jayce cocks his rifle, and says the right thing.

“We can do this the easy way,” he warns. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

When she turns to lunge at him in spite of it all, he doesn’t shoot.

He meets the impact halfway as the both of them tumble into the mud. He lets her get in a punch that he somehow feels he deserves for everything, after everything, before he lets it wake his will to fight. With some difficulty, he wrestles her into the dirt, until her ribs creak under the weight of his knee on her chest.

“Don’t make me kill you.” 

But she does.

With every fiber of her being, she begs for it. Stubborn, she wriggles below his weight until her bones crack, wincing as she draws a knife from her boot. 

But Jayce is nothing, if not trained in the art of catching dirty tricks. Especially after you. His hand finds her wrist, and bends her arm until the blade stabs the mud below her.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he repeats, but it sounds less like a threat this time around. Dauntingly much more like a plea.

She senses it. They always do, the likes of her — the likes of you — feed on weakness, which is why his never goes unnoticed. Her forehead whacks Jayce’s nose so hard he swears he can see every constellation in the night sky shining twice as hard, and maybe they do, because next thing he knows he’s looking at the stars, and she’s above him, her shadow doubling, regaining its contour, then doubling again, and his head spins.

Some twisted part of his mind conjures up the vision of you, framed by a backdrop of the bright night sky, smiling down at him, hands on his chest, roaming his skin in the pursuit of pleasure.

And he considers letting it happen. Whatever cruelty she has in mind for him — be it death or pain — for one brainless, blissful moment, he wants to be swidden with it. Maybe if there was something that actually hurt, other than that part of his upper stomach where it’s gaping and empty and aching, he could be cleansed of the pain, cleansed of you. 

Something in Jayce wakes when he hears the sound of iron bouncing off stone and stabbing mud, barely missing the side of his neck. That something is trained, automatic, raw, fast, unyielding. That something is the part of him that — in spite of everything — is so scared that it has sunk its teeth into staying alive and would rather lose its molars than unclench its jaw.

One of his hands finds her throat, the other crushes her nose into his second knuckle. She gasps for breath.

She loses enough of her balance to tip over, and Jayce lets his raw strength do the rest. His right hand joins the left on their throat, knuckles bloody. 

And it feels fucking good to squeeze.

It feels good, to have her at his mercy, until her chest draws up to receive air that does not come, until her throat trembles and cracks below his palms, until her hands start clawing at his wrists.

She makes a ghastly, haunting sound, guttural with broken cartilage and wet with blood.

Her windpipe cracks under his palms. It’s fucking satisfying. Like breaking a wet branch or unrooting a weed or hitting the bullseye.

Serves her right, he thinks. Serves her fucking right. She deserves this.

But the words scratch bitter at his brain, at the fresh wound of deserving — and suddenly his hands are not his, but a noose, and the flesh below his hands is not vermin, but breathing, living, eyes glittering with their final seconds of desperate fear, searching, begging, please please please I don’t want to die.

It could have been your neck between his hands all those months ago, outside that very saloon you’d first touched him. It could have been you, in that very bed, before you’d tied him to the bedpost. It could have been you, right beside that creek he’d twisted his ankle in. It could have been you, surrounded by bluebells, it could have been you, in his tent, it could—

It will be you.

It will be you, larynx crushed not by his hands, but by unyielding rope. 

And you will squirm like her. And your eyes will roll into the back of your head just like they had when he’d lick into your cunt just right and you’d squeeze his head between quaking thighs and grab his hair. And you will go slack at the very end, you will exhale what little is left in your lungs like you’re on the verge of falling asleep. 

And then you’ll die.

Her slack hands slide down his clawed up, raw forearms so gently they remind him of what it means to be touched tenderly. 

Touched by a lover.

Cicada squawks scratching at the sweet quiet of the night, arms winded around his shoulders loose, fingers brushing through his hair, reeking of campfire smoke and licking the same smell up from your skin. Kisses at his hairline, fitting together like two cats lounging in the sun, back when everything was alright with the world and he knew what love felt like. 

Before he knew what it meant to lose it.

Before he knew it wasn’t love. 

Before he knew you were going to die.

“Pl—sse…” a voice hisses, pawing at the claw marks on his wrists with a desperate gentleness, the way you would paw at his hips when he told you he had to go now, really, he said he would be back in Piltover by noon—

The neck under his palms swells, her throat gurgles with blood and spit. And he can’t help but let it happen. Jayce lets his palms go slack not because he wants to, a hunter shouldn’t spare, a guardian shouldn’t hesitate, a man shouldn’t back down.

But he’s none of those things. He was never fucking meant to be any of those things and he did them anyway because he had to and you took them from him. You took his perfected charade from him and now he has nothing. 

Not a hunter, not a guardian, not even a fucking man. 

And he can’t remember what he was before he was supposed to be anything– 

And he can’t think of a single thing he could be, when he fails, he fails, he fails. 

He fails at being a son, he fails at being a brother, he fails at being a protector, and he can’t remember the last time he wanted to be anything.

God, he wanted to be loved.

She gasps the way you did when he’d wake you as the moon slid down the sky and he wanted to steal one last kiss, she heaves ugly and pained and human, and she breathes.

It’s a disgusting, moist sound, whistling in and out as she gulps down air, and when his chest quakes and his lungs start struggling as though they’re a newborn calf tangled in barbed wire, Jayce realizes half those wretched sounds are his.

His head spins like he’s been punched again, chest tight, tight, tight, throat strung like he’s the one with a noose – your noose, you’re going to die. 

Fuck, you’re going to die. 

And he’s going to die, the empty space between his lungs constricts as though giving birth to something more rotten than all the months he’s spent hurting for you.

Jayce braces himself against the ground beside her neck with both hands, squeezing at the mud like it’s his convulsing heart. Jayce crawls away from her heaving body but doesn’t make it far.

His windpipe hurts, breathing hurts, he can’t even breathe right, what the hell is he even good for? Can’t breathe, can’t kill, can’t hunt, can’t sleep, can’t stop hurting, can’t, can’t, can’t. Fish on land, he huffs as though he was never meant to draw breath in the first place, never meant to be born at all. He’s going to die and so are you, and someone must be wringing his throat, but when he paws at it there is nothing but his own skin, and she’s heaving and coughing a few feet away, can’t be her. So who’s killing him? 

The answer is obvious. 

His arms cave below his weight, elbows crashing into the mud below him a last resort to keep his face from meeting the ground in an impact that will knock him out if the way his head is pounding doesn’t. 

His stomach clenches as if to purge itself, but there is nothing to purge — except for you, but you’re lodged deep in every fiber of his being. Jayce doubts there will ever be a version of him that isn’t tainted with you.

A gun cocks, the woman’s trembling figure stands behind it. Jayce knows she’ll do what the likes of you and her do. 

He takes his last sob and lets his body shake with the realization and disgusting but oh-so-sweet relief — finally. 

His end.

Out in the wild, bullet put through the head like a lame horse that’s served its purpose, spared from its pain. Spared from a pathetic excuse of an existence. 

The thought of a noose around your neck brings comfort. You’ll join him. It’s all he’d ever wanted.

Instead of pulling the fucking trigger already, she rests her hand on her pink-purple neck as if to appreciate it hasn’t snapped in half just yet. The hatred on her face fizzles out into disgusted pity.

“Please…” He’s not sure what he’s begging for.

Her hand lowers with a tremor, and she inhales a disgusting, cartilaginous-crackling breath that sounds as though it was never meant to enter her lungs. She spits her blood on the ground.

And she leaves. As the likes of you do.

—

Caitlyn,

All the weapons I’ve left behind are yours. 

Jayce considers leaving it at that — but she deserves more than just eight measly, splotchy, shakily penned words. 

He touches the tip of his fountain pen on the rim of the inkwell, and braces himself. Tries not to smear any of the blood dripping down his scratched up forearms on the immaculate paper as he writes, much neater, much prettier.

We both know there is no one standing in your way now that I’m gone. Piltover will be far better off with you protecting it. You have your head on straight — much straighter than I ever will. 

The best thing I ever did was raise my rifle to protect you. Now it’s your turn. May your bullets strike true.

There’s blood on the page. He considers starting anew. 

He won’t.

I love you.

As he folds up the piece of paper and slips it under her door, Jayce wonders if he loves you.

If he ever will again, after everything you’ve done. After everything he’s about to do.

—

To exchange a quarter for such vital information makes Jayce’s hands tremble with the absurdity of it. He presses the coins into the newspaper boy’s hand like it’s something solemn. 

Twenty-five cents to be let in on when and where your death awaits you.

The sound of the cicadas, awake before the first crack of dawn, scratches at the back of Jayce’s brain while the kid fumbles for the paper. He hands it to him with a sleepy smile and thanks him.

He has no idea what he’s just been the catalyst for.

Your infamy spares Jayce the need to manically tear through the whole thing; Caitlyn hadn't lied. You had made the front page, name spelled out in bold letters, the day and place of your hanging jotted down somewhere between a formal invitation and a taunting, final threat.

There will be little sleep to be had to reach you in time. 

—

By the time he makes it past Serpentine River, there’s talk of it already. He doesn’t even need to seek it out; stopping by a general store in one of the bigger but still humble towns down south is where he strikes gold. 

Or his possible death sentence, would be Caitlyn’s opinion. But she’s thankfully not here to talk sense into him — so he pushes the thought to the very back of his mind as he puts on a stunned face and questions the clerk like he’s asking for gossip.

The man is more than eager to indulge. 

“You’d think it’d take some ace-high hunter to bring the likes of them down, but…” he leans over the counter towards Jayce conspiratorially. “I tell you what, when I saw some twig of a kid ride into town with a dopey grin on his dumb face and them tied to the back of his mangled-lookin’ horse, I thought I was havin’ me one of them hallucinations.”

Jayce’s stopped listening to the clerk rambling on about the kid who’d apparently brought you in, and the continental suit he’d bought himself with the reward. He couldn’t care less about who’s caught you or what they look like. He needs to know where you are, and who’s going to stand in his way.

But the clerk has the mark of a good salesman, and he knows when he’s lost his customer’s interest. He’s quick to change the subject: “Can I interest you in some jerky? Now I know the look of hunger on a man’s face, and you, son—“

“And they’re in the sheriff’s office in town? Here?”

That was not the right question to ask. And especially not the right way to go about it. With a slightly wary tilt of his head, the man looks Jayce up and down, then nods.

“Heard so. Not for long, though — our boys — well, I mean, I have nothin’ but respect for our good ol’ sheriff Mallory and that nephew of his — but I sure as shit don’t sleep well knowin’ they’ve got such wretched scum to take care of.”

Jayce nods back, mustering up some solemnity with a dash of malice. “Glad to hear it. I hope they don’t cause any trouble — you’ve got a fine little town here.”

That’s convincing enough. 

The clerk laughs. “Don’t you worry your head, kid, from what I hear, they’ll be taken to the Great City next week and hanged there — for everyone to see. Now that’s a nasty death if I’ve ever heard o’ one; except for bein’ burned alive that is. I’d have me a public hangin’ over that any day, but — speaking of burnt, this bread right here may look it, but trust me—“

“No.” Jayce waves him off. “Thank you.”

—

A sheriff’s office that takes itself seriously would know to double their guards at night. 

This one is either understaffed or ruefully ignorant to the amount of horrifying friends in low places a real criminal could have.

The men who take care of the night watch at the prison in Piltover are some of the meanest-looking Markus has, and they’re never less than three. But you’ve been caught and brought into a scrappy prison in north Demacia, and they’ve bit off more than they can chew before the Great City lawmen show up to whisk you away in their proper prison. 

You always did end up getting too lucky for your own good.

Jayce walks in like he owns the place. His fingers are cold and trembling in his leather gloves.

Two lawmen, one younger and asleep in the corner of the room, the other sitting at a desk, poring over some paperwork with a cigarette hanging loosely from between his fingers. It smells less like tobacco and more like burnt herbs.

“What can we do for you?” He rasps, undoubtedly annoyed at being bothered with the interruption of his midnight cigarette. 

He flicks the ash onto the mucky floor, and clears his throat. Judging by the sound of a chair scratching the floor behind him, the other lawman — presumably his deputy — jolts awake.

The one at the desk not particularly big, and the golden star on his chest is dull with age and lack of care. The gray hairs in his mustache make him look tired not just momentarily, but permanently. Like he’s been plagued with nothing but apathy for well over a decade, like he loathes the day that awaits him tomorrow just like he dreads this very second. 

Jayce can relate.

“I’m here to find myself a bounty,” Jayce says, and consoles himself with the fact that it’s technically not a lie.

“I’d say you have better chances of doing that in the Great City than in this shithole, kid. Better money for it, too. We’re all outta cash ‘til the big boys from down south come to pick up the newest bounty we just had brought in.”

“I’m stuck here for a while,” Jayce insists. “Family matters. And I’d rather bring in a small bounty than nothing at all, sir.”

The man looks him up and down, then, with a lethargic sigh, gets up on his feet. 

“Follow me.”

That’s the first and last time he does as told. 

Jayce’s first step matches the man’s sluggish pace. The second is a stride; wide, quick, intentional. 

The momentum of his weight should have knocked the sheriff off his feet — he’s taken down bigger folks with just an aggressive shove of his shoulder — but all he does is stumble from the impact. So Jayce does the next best thing he can do: act fast. He wraps his arm around the man’s collarbone, kicks his knee in, and unholsters his gun. Presses it to his temple.

“Drop your weapons,” Jayce growls to the deputy. “Or I kill him.”

“Marshall.” The sheriff grits through his teeth, clawing at Jayce’s arm, “Marshall you fuckin’ listen to me, go get—“

A hefty thwack to the back of his head with the butt of his pistol shuts the sheriff up good.

The other lawman looks at him with eyes wide enough to see himself reflected in. Jayce doesn’t care to look too close. He might just throw up.

He steels himself with a breath. Makes sure his voice is as unyielding as his shooting arm.

“You heard me.”

And so he does. The lawman lets his pistol clatter to the ground, reluctantly takes his rifle off his back, and drops it next to his pistol with shaky hands.

“Good.” The sheriff wriggles. Jayce tightens his grip around him. “Kick them away.”

“Don’t do it!”

He does.

The sheriff’s feet take hold against the floor, he wriggles hard enough to make Jayce’s arm muscles strain. He has to end it now, before things get out of control. He has to, he has to— 

The butt of his pistol must have made a dent in his skull. The sound it makes — crackling, visceral — as it hits the back of his head sure as shit sounds like it. 

The sheriff drops back to his knees, then, without fanfare, onto his face. Unmoving.

That’s dealt with.

Jayce looks back to the other lawman, standing trembling and unmoving, one foot placed to make a run for where he’d kicked his guns away, but not daring. Wise move.

“You can get out of this alive.” Jayce points the gun at him. Thumbs the hammer back. A warning. “All you have to do is cooperate.”

The man — Marshall — raises his hands in submission.

“Get the cell keys.”

Cautiously, he approaches the unmoving body of his colleague, kneels beside it. Marshall’s shoulders sag with relief, however briefly, when he hears the sheriff breathing, before he retrieves the keys from his belt.

“Get up. Take me to the prisoners.”

“Mister, there’s law comin’ in from the Great City in two days.” The man’s voice trembles as he stumbles to his feet, Jayce follows him to the door at the back of the office, gun pointed at his head. He drops the keys as he tries to slot them into the keyhole, grabs them in sweaty hands once more, and tries again, the locked door pops open. Before he pushes forward, he turns to Jayce, and looks at him with something putrid. “They’re gonna— you won’t get away with this.”

His patience is running fucking thin. 

“I don’t remember asking you.” Jayce taps the muzzle of his gun to the back of the man’s neck. “Now come on.”

And it’s only now, that he follows him into the moldy, dark room, that his hands truly start to sweat and his heart leaps into his throat and his head goes icy, woozy, at the thought of you, here.

You’re here.

Clutching the bars of the cell so tight your knuckles are white; you must have gotten up because of the commotion. 

You look at him like he’s an angel. You look at him like he can’t be real. 

You’ve never looked at him like that.

“This— this cell.” Jayce croaks. He can’t bear looking at your face. You’re alive. You’re alright. He’s going to cry. He’s going to throw up. “Open it.”

The lawman looks at him over his shoulder, swallowing whatever dumb thing he has to say, before he turns to the lock on your cell.

“I knew it,” he grumbles, “we never should’ve accepted them. God.” The keys slip from his fingers again. Jayce figures a reminder would help, and presses his gun against his nape. 

“Move it. I’m losing my goddamn patience.”

He lets out a shaky, terrified breath, turns the key so hard his fingertips bend. It snaps open with rusty resistance, and slowly, the door to your cell creaks open.

Below the filth and bruises you’re covered in, you’re shining. Brimming with a kind of relieved, dreamy delight that would have made Jayce’s stomach do flips and knees go soft before everything. Some part of him wants to fall into your arms and lick at your lips until they’re raw. Another part of him has his trigger finger itching. He hopes neither part wins.

You open your mouth to say something. Jayce can’t bear the thought of hearing it, hearing you, not now, not yet—

“Wait by the door,” he interrupts. “And get your things.”

Well, what’s left of them. 

You comply without another word, hurrying to a cabinet beside the door, where you start digging through the drawers frantically.

He turns to the deputy.

“Into the cell,” Jayce commands, and makes sure to walk him to the very back of it, just in case. “On your knees.”

“Please don’t kill me—“

“Hands behind your back.”

Shakily, the man complies. Jayce bends down to hold his wrists together, and starts winding some of the rope hanging off his belt around them, nice and sturdy.

A door behind him creaks open.

“Jayce—!”

Your voice shakes him like nails on a chalkboard. Scratches at something angry and brutal in the very center of his brain, at something that doesn’t think. Something that acts.

Jayce shoots.

He hadn’t stopped to notice who it was, arm wrapped around your throat from behind and holding you close enough to be a human shield.

He hadn’t stopped to think how easily he could put a bullet through your head instead of whatever target he’d locked onto. He’d just pressed the trigger.

His bullet strikes true.

Head flying back with the impact of the lead cutting through his brain, the sheriff drops like a stringless puppet behind you. His brains splatter the wall just beside the door.

You cower, clutching your head as though you died with your attacker. You look at Jayce, meek and trembling and utterly terrified, like you fully expect him to put lead through your skull next.

He opens his mouth to say something. 

A weight collides with him before he does, knocks him onto the concrete floor with a nasty impact.

“You piece of fucking shit!” The deputy’s fist crushes his nose so hard his ears ring. The back of his head slams against the floor. 

The edge of his vision pulses, the high shrill in his ears nearly drowns out the noise of the lawman’s growl. 

“M’gonna kill you.” He mutters. “Gonna fuckin’ kill you, bastard!”

The man’s hands are at his belt, groping for a weapon, wrapping around the handle at Jayce’s left hip.

His knife. 

Jayce attempts a tried and true kick to get the man off of him, but his weight won’t budge. He should have budged, he would have, before everything. Before Jayce had spent his days wishing he was dead and eating only when the bottom of his throat burned with acid and moved only when his muscles ached from laying down. 

Before you’d made him as weak physically as he’d always been within.

But he can’t, he can’t, and this is how Jayce is going to die.

He tries a desperate right hook and hopes it will hit something.

And it does.

His arm stops mid-swing, but not because his fist has met a target.

Something in his forearm pulls, pulls at skin, pulls at muscle, pulls at nerves. He opens his eyes, tries to see, tries to see — sees red. Pain, shooting all the way up to his shoulder and down to his pinky, everything in his precious shooting arm screams.

The knife. Lodged inside his forearm.

Your voice.

“I’m gonna paint the fuckin’ floor with your goddamn brains.”  

The next thing he knows, the lawman’s weight is hauled off of him. Something rings as loud as a church bell on Sunday noon. Once. The lawman tries to scream, but only manages a moist, bloody, nasal snarl. Then that grueling sound rings out once more, a metallic resonance. Again. And again.

Blang. Blang. Blang.

Two blurred moving shadows finally fall into one coherent image as Jayce’s eyes refocus — and he’d give anything to hit his head again hard enough to make sure they don’t. 

You’ve grabbed the lawman like a mangy mutt, fingers digging into the back of his scalp. And you’re slamming his face into the prison cell bars with the relentlessness of someone who does this often. Does this easily.

“Fuckin’ filth is all you was.” You grit out. Blang. “All you’ll ever be.”

You ram his skull into the bars until the last bit of his resistance seeps from his body. With a heaving chest, you retreat to let his corpse slide down bloodied steel onto the floor. You brace yourself against the bars, then bring your foot into one last, thorough kick against the back of his head. There is no doubt about it being a killing blow.

“(L/n).”

Jayce flinches at the sound of your name, not coming from himself. A man in another cell, a fellow prisoner he hadn’t even noticed, holds his hand out between the bars of his own cell.

“Gimme the keys. Get me outta here, please.”

You bend down for the lawman’s gun. Put a bullet in the chamber, then turn to the prisoner.

“No,” the prisoner cries, “I won’t tell a soul, I swear! Not a goddamned soul, please don’t do this, please, please, please—!”

“Sorry.” You thumb down the hammer. “I can’t take that chance.”

[hannahbarberra162]

Not My Monkey, Chapter 3

on Ao3

All the other chapters

Luffy demands entertainment, you demand to do the dishes, Brook asks for a performance.

Songs mentioned:

I'm Sticking With You

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

“You’re so squishy!” Luffy said, wrapping his arms around you multiple times. It was still unnerving to see the kid stretch like that, much less hug you like a rubber band wound several times around you. He had his head pushed against your boobs, the rest of him hugging you like he was a koala. It was late at night, most of the crew had already gone to bed. You were tired but had nervous energy, you wanted to stay up a little longer. You were sitting on the grass of the tangerine grove, not far from the helmsman. Watching him gracefully maneuver the ship was relaxing and taking your mind off of your worries. He was very zen in some ways, and you hoped his chill would rub off on you.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned. You were used to it, your nieces sometimes told you similar sentiments. But they were children, not captains of pirate ships. You didn’t try to pry him off for now, he could hang on you.

“You’re like a pillow all over!” You gave a half hearted eye roll to the Captain’s statement. Apparently Luffy picked up on your irritation. “What? It’s not a bad thing, why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, it’s just a weird thing to hear,” you stated. You felt out of place when all these people were so muscled and toned. You walked a lot, sure, but they looked like they trained in the gym non stop. Even Luffy didn’t have much fat on him, despite the amount you saw him eat at dinner. You had a feeling that despite their appearances, Brook and Chopper could hold their own too.

“Well I don’t care. I’m gonna hug you as much as I want.” You scoffed at Luffy's words. How self centered, you thought. But based on what you’d seen of the kid, he was always like this.

“As much as you want? What if I don’t want to hug?” you replied. You wanted to see what the kid would do, if he’d push your boundaries.

“You don’t?!” Luffy gave you the biggest, saddest puppy eyes you’d ever seen as his arms unraveled from your torso. Someone taught the kid well. That or he knew his strengths.

“Nah, it’s ok kid, you can hug me.” He was too cute to say no to. He beamed at you, arms tightening once more like a boa constrictor. 

“Tell me a story from your world,” Luffy demanded. 

“A story? Sorry, I really don’t know the story of this-”

“No, not One Piece, sometimes the readers know other stories. I’ve heard about Goku, Naruto, Yuji, Eren, Izuku, Jojo, Inu Yasha, lots of ‘em. I like those ones, especially Goku. I wish I could fight him in real life. Maybe he could be reader-ed into my world next, you think?”

Based on the names, you thought they all sounded like anime stories. “Ah, I’m not familiar with those, sorry. I’m not really into those kinds of things. I know some other stories though. Uh, hold on, lemme think.” You paused for a moment, trying to think of a story to tell Luffy. You didn't mind entertaining the Captain, he reminded you of your nieces in some ways. You’d been telling your nieces stories when you put them to bed, but they were mostly wish fulfillment about how they would get to go to Elsa’s ice castle or a party under the sea with Ariel, things like that. The last movie you’d watched with them was the Wizard of Oz, which you showed them to get out of watching Frozen for the 487th time in a row.

“Ok, I think I got one. Have you heard of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz?” 

“Nuh uh,” Luffy said, shaking his head quickly from side to side, “I wanna hear it.” He seemed already enraptured and you hadn’t even begun telling the story. 

So you sat on the deck, kept warm by Luffy entangled around you, and told him the beginning of the story of Dorothy and her friends. You told him about Kansas and Dororthy and Miss Gultch, about Glinda the Good Witch, the ruby red slippers, and the yellow brick road. You even sang the songs you could remember, doing them in silly voices if you could. Luffy laughed at your singing and made you sing the Munchkinland songs three times before you could move on. He paid rapt attention to you as you recalled the story of Dorothy and her trials and tribulations in Oz. After you recounted how she met the Scarecrow and his missing brain, you started yawning.

“Alright, Luffy. That’s enough for tonight. I got tired, I’m gonna go to bed.” You gave him a final hug and started to push him off you.

“No! But Dorothy just made a friend! And she hasn’t met the wizard! I need to know what happens next!” Luffy was highly invested in Dorothy’s adventure, but you yawned again.

“I guess you’ll find out tomorrow,” you replied. “I can tell you more of the story tomorrow night, I’m too tired right now.” Luffy frowned but nodded, arms unraveling.

“Jinbe, do you wanna hear it too?” Luffy yelled to the helmsman. In your effort to entertain Luffy, you’d forgotten he was there. 

“I do, it is interesting,” Jinbe replied. “I like it more than some of the adventure tales readers have shared before. Especially the songs.” You blushed, which you hoped was hidden by the night. You felt like Jinbe was your middle school crush and you’d been assigned a group project together, giddy just to be near him even if it wasn't by your design.

“Alright,” you agreed, “we can meet tomorrow and find out what happens to our heroine. Good night, Jinbe. Good night, Luffy.” You gave the kid a kiss on the top of his head and headed off to the women’s quarters. You distantly heard Luffy saying something and Jinbe laughing. You tucked yourself into the little cot between Nami and Robin’s beds, covered yourself with the ratty blanket, and fell asleep almost instantly.

~

In one of the many many documentaries you’d watched over the years, you learned that some birds would sleep for a set number of hours, sleeping until they had their fill. Others would wake up at the same time every day, no matter what the circumstances were. Unfortunately for you, you were like one of the latter. You woke up in what you assumed was the early morning, Nami and Robin still asleep in the pre-dawn hour. Tip toeing out of the room, you weren’t sure where to go. The deck would be cold and you were still in your original clothes you were brought in. At your salon, the requirements were only that it had to be all black, so you were wearing black jeggings and a black long sleeve shirt. You slowly walked the hall, trying to think of where to go. As you passed the galley, you saw the lights in the kitchen were already on.

Going to the galley, you hoped to get a cup of coffee and sit in silence before your brain fully turned on. Opening the door, Sanji was prepping food for some upcoming meal while also baking some kind of breakfast treat. 

“Good morning, Sanji,” you yawned out, going to sit at the dining table.

“Good morning dearest Misty-san. Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up? Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll gently wake you with the rest of the ladies?” You didn’t want to deal with his stupid chivalrous bullshit right now.

“Unfortunately I’m always up at this time, just how I am. Does this world have coffee?”

“Yes, it does, but -”

“Thank FUCK,” you exclaimed, sagging against the wooden bench in relief.

“- but we don’t have any right now. We’re all out, I sincerely apologize,” the blond chef lamented. You closed your eyes momentarily, holding off on cussing out the chef. It wasn’t his fault, but you’d been having coffee since you were 12. You hadn’t missed a day since…ever. 

“Do you have black tea?” you asked, trying to conceal your eye twitch. Maybe if you drank a gallon it would help stop your headache from coming.

“We do, along with several other varieties. I’ll bring you a selection.” Sanji was so courteous it was hard to be annoyed. You held in your huff of irritation, he was trying.

“I’ll get some coffee at the next island. I’ll adjust the budget, which means less meat for Luffy…” Sanji said to himself, probably calculating costs.

“I mean, I can probably make money pretty easy. But don’t you guys just, y’know…steal it?” you asked, gesturing vaguely with a sword slashing motion.

“Steal it? From whom?” Sanji was surprised at your words, he looked almost offended.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to upset you, it’s just that you’re pirates, right? So don’t you like, steal money? Jewels, gems, treasure, that sort of thing? Pillage and loot?” Sanji smiled, apparently not upset with you.

“Not this crew. We find treasure, or grateful people will give us money, but that’s about it. We don’t steal or murder. Not Luffy’s style.” Ah, they were moral pirates. You’d ask Luffy more about it later after you’d had at least 200mg of caffeine.

“What do you mean, you can make easy money?” Sanji asked, referring to your earlier question. 

“You and I have the ability to make money anywhere. Hair and food don’t change from place to place. People need haircuts and people need to eat. You obviously work a lot, I’m sure you want a break, but I can do a pop-up salon. Charge whatever the going rate is, make some cash,” you mused aloud. Pop-ups weren’t your favorite, but it would make money quickly. And you needed coffee, it wasn’t an option. Sanji brought you a mug of hot water and a variety of tea. Looking through them, you made a cup of Earl Gray, hoping it would help. 

“Just leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll get to ‘em in a little bit. I need to be two cups in before I really start moving,” you told Sanji, who had already resumed his chopping. It was pleasant in the kitchen, warm and cozy, listening to the soft clacking of Sanj’s even cutting.

“Ah, ah. You’re not spending another moment -”

“Enough, Sanji. It’s too early to argue. Leave ‘em.” You dismissed the young man’s efforts to keep you from dishwashing using your kind but firm Voice of Authority. It worked in the salon on younger trainees and equally well on Sanji. The two of you sat in companionable silence, you watching Sanji work while sipping your tea. As you sat, the sun started to peek over the horizon and you watched the sunrise through the small window in the galley door.

“Just as beautiful here,” you said to yourself. You’d always liked the sunrise and were happy to see another.

The crew woke one by one and came to the kitchen, seeking Sanji’s company and cooking. You weren’t sure the chef noticed that the kitchen was everyone’s first stop of the day. He really was a sweet kid, he knew what everyone would want first thing and had a hot breakfast waiting for those who wanted it. By the time Franky and Usopp had come into the kitchen, you’d finished your second cup of tea and put it in the sink, heading for the door. You hadn’t seen Zoro or Jinbe yet but you knew Jinbe had been up late the night before steering the boat so it made sense he would be sleeping. 

“Misty-san, you didn’t eat yet!” Sanji called across the room in despair. You weren’t a breakfast person, you hadn’t been since your teens, and no amount of Sanji-pouting was going to change that.

“I’ll eat later, Sanjito, don’t worry. I’m gonna get some fresh air.” Opening the door to the deck, you meandered outside, taking in the view of the sea. Usopp came and joined you a few minutes later, watching the waves with you for a while while the two of you leaned against the railing.

“By the way,” you supplied, “I was completely serious about your hair. It’s absolutely gorgeous, let me know if there’s a particular style you’d like to try out. I’ll do whatever you want I just hope you don’t want it too short, it’s so lovely.” 

“Yeah, I was thinking about maybe doing something, I’m pretty open,” Usopp said, blushing pink. 

“Would you mind if I touched it? Get a feel for the texture and porosity?” you asked. Usopp shook his head and you reached up to touch his beautiful hair, pulling on the length lightly.

“Absolutely amazing,” you cooed at him, causing him to blush again. “If you want I can give you some ideas but really the sky’s the limit for you. You have enough length for almost any style. We can start later this morning if you want, maybe you can catch me up on this world while I work. Two birds with one stone and all that?” You did need to learn how things worked here and Usopp would be fun to spend time with. It didn’t ultimately matter, you’d had many unpleasant clients before, but it was always better to have interesting or funny clients while you stood over them for hours.

“Uh, y-yeah, that sounds great,” Usopp stammered. You removed your hand from his hair and smiled at the insecure man. You’d been brainstorming about his hair that morning and had a few ideas to suggest. You patted his shoulder and he went off to start working. Speaking of, you headed back into the kitchen to see the sink full of dishes and Sanji’s sleeves already rolled up. Luffy was the last person at the table, and was eating a pile of meat.

“Nuh uh, get out kid,” you stood behind Sanji and tried to push him gently away from the sink. The kid had strong sea legs, he didn’t budge.

“My dearest Misty-swan, I simply could not allow you to do these dishes, especially on your own-” Sanji started up, ready to dissuade you.

“Luffy, Sanji told me he wants to make special meat for dinner, but he doesn’t have the time if he does the dishes. And he won’t let me help. Tell him I’m doing the dishes right now,” you commanded Luffy. Luffy looked up at the word “meat,” and gulped down an enormous mouthful.

“‘S’at true Sanji?” Luffy asked. He already had his hands full of more food to shovel in.

“No, well, I mean, I could, there’s tough meat I could marinate to soften for dinner but -” Sanji was quickly interrupted by the boy Captain.

“Misty, does the dishes, Sanji starts the meat for tonight! Issit gonna be a feast?” You grinned snarkily at Sanji at your triumph.

“Captain’s orders, Sanjito. Gotta follow them, right? So skidaddle,” you put your hands on the Chef’s back and gently pushed him again. He allowed himself to be moved from in front of the sink towards the dry storage.

“Alright, but only once more. I can’t allow -”

“Oh hush kid,” you said with no malice, “get to marinating. I’ll let you do the ones after lunch.” And so you triumphed against Sanji once more, doing the morning dishes as Luffy asked question after question about the meat for the dinner. You weren't sure what a "Sea King" was, but you wouldn't be eating it anyway. You hummed to yourself some of the songs from Frozen since you could practically recite the whole movie by heart.

When you were done and the sink was cleared, you realized your clothes were wet from the dirty water. You went off in search of Nami or Robin to see if they had any clothes from previous readers. You found Robin in the library, reading a large tome while lounging in a large overstuffed armchair with her legs folded up under her.

“Hey Robin, question for you,” you started while the blue eyed woman put a bookmark in her spot.

“Good morning Robin. Yes, how may I help you?” Robin smiled kindly, closing her book.

“I was wondering if you have any extra clothes from previous readers that I can wear? Mine got wet,” you asked. Robin put a finger to her chin in thought.

“I think there are a few, but not many. You can borrow clothes from Nami or myself in the meantime if you wish,” Robin replied. You smiled but internally you grimaced. First of all, you were shorter than Nami and Robin. It’s not like you were particularly short, you were average height in your area. But Nami and especially Robin were much taller than you. But more than that, both of them were unbelievably slim and busty, you weren’t sure you’d fit into anything they had just due to differences in proportion. Also, they seemed to prefer skimpy and skin tight clothes, which was completely fine. It just wasn’t your vibe - you preferred oversized clothing for at least a shirt or pants. Today was the second day in a row you’d seen Nami wearing a bikini top as a shirt and it just wasn’t for you. 

“Oh, thanks. Would you mind if I went to go look?” You’d poke around, see if anything would fit. If not, it wasn’t forever anyway. You could make something work for a few weeks.

“Not at all. The reader's clothes are in the wicker basket in our room, and Nami and I keep our clothes in the closet. Borrow what you’d like from the right hand side, that’s mine. You may wish to ask Nami before you borrow from hers as she may charge for certain items.”

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll ask her,” you told Robin, leaving her to her reading. Charge you? For borrowing clothes? Nami was a shrewd businesswoman, you could respect the hustle, but didn't have any money to pay her with. Heading over to your room, you decided not to bother with finding Nami - you didn’t think her clothes would fit anyway. Looking through the wicker basket, you found a large enough sweatshirt but nothing else you’d think would fit. Robin’s pants wouldn’t fit you either. You settled for a circle skirt she had, but had to roll the waistband quite a few times since Robin was so tall. It was a weird outfit, but you weren’t going to be judged by Tyra or anything. 

As you were going to leave the women’s quarters, you did a double take as you glanced at Nami’s bedside table. There was a giant snail with a rotary phone on its shell. You took a step back and went to give it a closer look. It looked kind of like a woman with tattoos across her chest and a bandana in her hair, but if she were a snail. You ran a finger over the shell of the snail, which caused it to wake up, to your surprise. You thought it was a figurine or something, not a live snail. It gave you a mild smile, lazily blinking at you. You stoked its shell with your finger, the snail almost reaching into your touch.

“Aww, how cute are you? You look like an African Land Snail,” you cooed at the languid gastropod. Of course, you'd watched a documentary about the largest snails on earth and it made you want one as a pet. As you touched the bottom of the rotary on its shell to examine the phone element, the snail whined. “Oh no! Is that too tight for you? Are you a growing baby?” you fretted. Having taken care of your own animals for years meant that you couldn’t leave an animal in distress, even if it was a…snail phone. You went to your hairdressing kit, rummaging around. Finding the screwdriver you used to disassemble your scissors for sharpening, you turned the screws loose on the rotary. When it was loose, you pried it gently off the snail’s lower shell. You could have sworn the snail sighed in relief. 

“I’m gonna call you Toto. Both because of Dorothy and because y’know…African snail…Africa.…Toto…God, I’m funny. People should really appreciate me more," you said to the smiling snail. "Not you, Toto. You’re great the way you are.” You rubbed your hand along its moist neck and it leaned into you. Poor little guy. “I’ll bring you something to eat later, don’t worry.” You patted the snail once more and left to go find Usopp, bringing your train case with you.

On your way to find Usopp, you passed by Brook and gave him a smile. You hoped he didn’t ask to see your panties again.

“Good morning, fair Misty-chan. May I -”

“This better not be about my panties,” you threatened with the screwdriver you were still holding.

“Ah, then I have a different question, Misty-chan. Do you play any instruments in addition to your singing? I always enjoy having additional musicians on board. Some of the readers have taught me such interesting songs, I’d love to hear if you know any.”

You blushed, embarrassed again that everyone had been hearing your singing and humming. “Uh, well, I’m not really a singer. I’m sure you can tell I’m off-key. But I can play a couple of instruments.” 

“Oh? Please, do share,” Brook asked, inclining his head. You weren’t sure how a skull conveyed interest, but his expression did somehow change.

“I can, uh, play the ukelele a little. And I’ve been taking piano lessons for the past few years. I’m not very good at either.” Like all good Millennials, you taught yourself to play the ukelele in 2012 to complete your ‘quirky’ image.

“Would you like to play together? I’d be more than happy to continue your piano lessons if you wish.” You thought about it, you’d started lessons a few years ago as a way to fill your time after…well, after you suddenly had a lot more become available. “My piano is over here, please, if you wish.” Brook had an absolutely stunning grand piano on the top deck, you’d seen it during your initial tour. Your fingers itched to touch the smooth keys, you bet it sounded incredible.

“Are you sure? Sorry, I don’t usually play for anyone, just myself,” you apologized.

“Please, it would be my absolute pleasure to hear you play.”

You didn’t really have a reason not to, and it wasn’t like you were actually busy doing anything in the afterlife. Humoring a skeleton would take only a few minutes of your time, if that. You sat down at the piano, taking a deep breath and placing your hands on the keys. After a quick warmup, you chose a song you had already mastered, The Velvet Underground’s “I’m Sticking With You.” It was cute, the lyrics were easy to remember, and you felt confident enough in your ability to not make a complete fool of yourself. You played the tune, while Brook nodded his head and tapped his foot in time to the beat. When you finished, he gave you a standing ovation, which only made you blush again.

“Incredible! Do not denigrate yourself, you have the makings of an excellent piano player. Thank you for sharing that song with us, the tune and words are so simple yet so meaningful,” Brook complimented. 

“That song was great!” yelled Luffy from across the deck. “It’s like me! I’m sticking with my nakama forever! And you’re all sticking with me!” You got up from the piano bench, smiling at the boy.

“Well, for the next few weeks anyway. After that, who knows?” you said, shrugging. Luffy just smiled even brighter.

“Yeah, who knows?” he repeated after you. The way he smiled was curious, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about your circumstances. You were stuck like glue with them, at least until you died. Again.

“And what about the ukelele? Would you grace us with another song?” Brook asked, pulling a uke out of his hair. You didn’t want to ask about the physics behind that, but took the small instrument. You hadn’t played in a few years but it wasn’t a particularly difficult instrument. You strummed it lightly, making sure it was in tune. Once you were satisfied that it was, you decided to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” the Israel Kamakawiwoʻole version. You’d been thinking about it since the previous night when you were telling the story to Luffy.

“Hey, Lu, this is a song from that story I was telling you. This is what Dorothy sings when she wishes she wasn’t in Kansas anymore,” you said to the Captain, who’d come closer and sat near the piano.

Singing the gentle tune, you played and crooned the soft lyrics. Obviously you where nowhere near as good as Israel, but you'd sang it a lot in your twenties and didn't think you sounded too bad. Lost in the music, you didn’t realize the deck had gone silent until you had finished the final notes. 

“Young lady, you have blessed us with this charming tune,” Brook said, taking off his top hat and bowing to you.

“Ah, thanks. It’s uh, nothing really,” you said, embarrassed again. You kept your eyes on the uke, fiddling with it. “I’m gonna, uh, find Usopp now,” you finished lamely, putting the ukelele on the piano bench.

“We can meet this afternoon for your piano lesson,” Brook suggested. 

“Sure, thanks. That’d be uh, nice.” You agreed to meet your living skeleton pirate crewmate for piano lessons, thinking to yourself how you and Dorothy both weren’t in Kansas anymore.

[cryscendo]

Hi how about „things you said when you were drunk“ 🤭

tysm for the prompt! i decided to make this during “blame it on the alcohol”, in a possible scenario that could’ve happened once kurt took a drunken blaine back to his house. hope you enjoy !!

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Rating: G

Word Count: 1014

Prompt: 11 - things you said when you were drunk

if you would like to send me a prompt, you can do so here!

fic can be read under the cut <3

The effort it took to haul Blaine up to his bedroom was far from an easy task. He was entirely inebriated and as a consequence, terribly unstable on his feet. There was a moment where Kurt was fully convinced that Blaine was going to accidentally fall down the stairs, but somehow they made it — and they didn’t even wake his dad, thank god.

When Blaine spoke, it was entirely too loud. “I can’t believe how-”

“Shhh!” Kurt corrected urgently. “My family is asleep, remember?”

“Right, sorry!” Blaine whisper-shouted, and Kurt supposed it was better than nothing. “I can’t believe how fun that was.” Kurt got them both into his bedroom, softly closing the door behind them in hopes that the barrier would muffle most of Blaine’s giddy chattering. “Did you see my duet with Rachel?”

“Yep. It sure was a duet,” Kurt replied and he could admit quietly to himself that he was bitter. It didn’t matter that Rachel was drunk; she knew that Kurt liked Blaine. It wasn’t a secret by any stretch. So for her to kiss him like she had and then sing with him afterwards, it felt a bit like betrayal.

Blaine leaned into Kurt happily, blissfully unaware of Kurt’s slightly sour mood. “God, she really is talented, huh?” He praised and Kurt couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Oh yeah, she’s brilliant,” he replied sarcastically, most definitely not bitter. Kurt helped Blaine until he was seated on the foot of the bed. There was no way that Kurt was successfully going to be able to get Blaine into sleepwear, he realized upon looking over Blaine’s disheveled form. His burgundy cardigan sat on him messily and his curls had all but escaped the confines of its gel. The best thing he could do was just let Blaine go to sleep as he was.

Plus, if he focused on that, it would serve better to distract him from the fact that Blaine Anderson was in his bedroom. His very obvious crush. On his bed.

He was also shit-faced drunk. And had just kissed Rachel Berry about an hour before. That was decidedly less sexy.

“Alright, loverboy, you need some sleep.” Kurt helped Blaine out of his shoes and urged him up to where his head was resting on the pillows.

“You seem upset,” Blaine acknowledged and Kurt was met with the saddest, wettest eyes that he’d ever seen Blaine manage. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset. Just a little annoyed that I’m having to babysit you.” Well, that was at least somewhat true.

“No, you’re definitely upset…” Blaine argued with a bit of drunken hurt in his voice. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

“You’re fine, Blaine,” he stated. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not at all, but certainly not while Blaine was drunk.

Blaine gasped then, as if coming to some sort of realization, and sat up in bed. “Is this about Rachel? Are you mad that I kissed her?”

“Blaine. You’re drunk. This is not the time to talk about this.” Kurt pulled the covers up over Blaine’s chest, hovering over him to meet his gaze. “So go to bed. You’re probably going to be hungover in the morning.”

It was then that Blaine reached up and held Kurt’s face in his hands. The gesture caught Kurt off guard and it was all he could do stare at Blaine with a wide-eyed, stunned look. Blaine, however, did not seem to register Kurt’s shock as he began to ramble. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Kurt.”

“Blaine, seriously, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine!” Blaine interjected a bit too loudly. Kurt immediately shushed him and pulled Blaine’s hands away from his face. He looked towards his closed door for a moment, waiting in nervous anticipation for someone to open it to find out what all the noise was. When nobody came, Kurt was able to relax just a fraction. He opted to hold Blaine’s hands instead since the boy was feeling particularly touchy tonight, and returned his attention to him.

“It’s not fine,” Blaine continued, quieter this time. “I shouldn’t have kissed Rachel in front of you, especially when I know that you have a crush on me.”

“Blaine, we really don’t need to talk about this-”

“Lemme finish! Y’know I would’ve kissed you too, right?” Blaine stated through slightly slurred speech and—

Wait. What?

“You’re so nice to me and handsome and I would’ve kissed you. But you’re also my best friend and I don’t wanna mess things up with my best friend ‘cause I’ve like, never dated anyone before. And I don’t want us to end up like how things did with Jeremiah ‘cause that was like, super embarrassing. So I can’t date you even though you want me too and I kinda want to ‘cause you’re my best friend and it would be so sucky if I screwed that up.”

While it was certainly a bit of word vomit on Blaine’s end, Kurt still thought that he understood what Blaine was getting at. And at its most basic level, Kurt already knew that this was Blaine’s sentiment. He liked the friendship that he and Kurt had and really didn’t want to jeopardize that.

However, listening to Blaine now, pouring his (albeit drunken) feelings out to Kurt like this felt much more honest and raw. And with it being past midnight and with him just watching Blaine hang all over Rachel for two hours, it was all too much. Blaine was all too much.

“Go to bed, Blaine,” is what he decided to say in response.

Blaine pouted, but didn’t argue. “Fine, but only ‘cause my room is spinning and closing my eyes makes it stop.” He laid back down on the pillows then and Kurt let out a sigh of relief. Blaine yawned, getting comfortable beneath the covers. “We’re gonna talk ‘bout this tomorrow, though.”

“You probably won’t even remember this by tomorrow,” Kurt replied, but Blaine was already asleep.

God, he hoped that Blaine wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.

[puppyluvfics]

October | Lee Jooyeon

Lee Jooyeon | part of Not In The Same Way: MTL Series WC: 1.3k Genre: Angst Summary: You loved Jooyeon. You did. But, God, you hated how little freedom you had with him... you just wanted to exist without having to deal with his spirals into jealousy. Maybe you should have, though. Warnings: none but also tread lightly because this might be... my saddest piece yet A/N: i saw this post on twt the other day and i think it sums this up pretty well...

“I… Listen. I loved you. And maybe, deep down, there’s a part of me that still does. But that part of me is so lost… it isn’t fair to me and it isn’t fair to you. I’ll see you around, okay? Take care of yourself.”

Jooyeon’s eyes widened at your words. You had argued the whole night, sure, but hearing you say this felt almost too finite, too final. Too real.

“You don’t mean that.” He said, finally finding his words, his voice coming out hoarse and broken.

“I do.” You replied, softly. Truthfully, you didn’t really know what you meant, you just knew that you needed a change. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t really feel like you fell out of love with Jooyeon. He was just so clingy and while it could be cute at times, those times were so few and far between that it wasn’t worth it anymore. 

His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked you up and down, trying to read you.

“(Y/N), wh- how do I fix this? What did I do wrong?” He all but whispered. You took a deep, shaky breath, shaking your head at the same time. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Joo.” You said, but you both knew that was a lie. Well, maybe not a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. It wasn’t necessarily wrong of him to be clingy, but the way he had been acting lately had been so restricting. You felt like you couldn’t do anything or go anywhere without him without it being an issue. Just yesterday, you had gone out for lunch with a friend, and despite coming home on a high, your mood had instantly dropped, with Jooyeon arguing with you, begging for every single detail. You couldn’t blame him for being insecure, you had your moments as well, but this was something that was now stopping you from being yourself. And the way you saw it, it didn’t make sense for him to be in a relationship with someone who was being insincere. 

“Obviously I did, or you wouldn’t be breaking up with me.” His words stung. He had a point.

“Jooyeon, I just…” You started, walking over to the stairs and sitting down on the steps. “I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve so much better.” You fought back your own tears.

“Please hurt me. Because as it stands right now, I’m hurting you without even knowing, which is hurting me a lot more than you ever could. I don’t care if you hate me, but I can’t lose you. Not without trying to fix it, at least. Please, (Y/N).” He sat cross legged in front of you. God, he looked so beautiful despite his sad, broken expression. The way he looked up at you made your heart ache, even if you were only a few inches taller than him the way you were sitting. There was a part of you that wanted to just take it all back, to just endure the clinginess and jealousy and to learn to be okay with it all if it meant that you didn’t have to hurt him like this. But as much as you could sit here and say that now, you knew that in two weeks time, when it would happen again, you wound find yourself back in this position, and that cycle of hurting the both of you was almost worst than ripping the bandaid off and hurting him now.

“I don’t hate you. I never could. I just need to be alone for a while, Jooyeon.” You said after a few moments of silence. 

“So be alone with me.” He pleaded, his hands reaching out but falling short, unsure of if he could or should touch you right now.

“No, Joo. That’s…” You sigh, “That’s the point. I need to be alone by myself. I need to do things by myself for a bit. I need to feel like I can go places and see people and just be myself without worrying about you waiting here to interrogate me or breathing down my neck if you come with me. I’m sorry.” You couldn’t even bring yourself to look in his eyes. You could see the tears fall from his cheeks, dripping onto the carpet beneath you two, and you could only imagine what his face looked like. The way his brown eyes were darker, rimmed with the redness of his sadness, the way his lip quivered. You heard him sniffle as he processed your words, and that alone caused your own dam of tears to break.

“Jooyeon, I’m sorry-” You started again. But you were quickly cut off by him putting his hand up to stop you.

“I get it. Believe it or not, I hate myself for how I act. I saw what I was doing, I just couldn’t stop.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You whisper softly.

“Why didn’t you?!” He asked back, his tone almost biting.

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you!” You said through a small sob.

“So breaking up with me after not talking about it is supposed to hurt less?” His tone was more angry and hurt than sad, and fuck, did it hurt you too, to know you did this. He was right, you should have just talked to him about it, instead of letting it get this far. But if he had realized how he was acting, why didn’t he stop?

“You continuing to do it despite realizing it was hurting me is supposed to be okay?” You bit back. 

“I didn’t realize it was hurting you so bad that you wanted to break up with me, (Y/N)"!”

“Bullshit!” You said, your own tears turning from sadness to anger. You had never raised your voice at him before now, let alone swearing at him like this. An air of awkward silence fell over the both of you. He bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to lash out and keep the cycle going, hurting the both of you more than you already had.

You both looked at each other, tears falling from your eyes, the silence only being broken by the occasional hiccup or shaky deep breath. Finally, you spoke.

“Jooyeon, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You whispered. If you could take every single thing back, you would in a heartbeat. Faster than a heartbeat. He said nothing in return, just looking over your features, trying to find any sort of emotion and sincerity behind them. And sure, he found sincerity in your apology, but he also found sincerity in the fact he had hurt you enough to get to this point. 

“No, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” He said, his voice quiet, low and gravelly. It was such a stark contrast to his usual voice. Frankly, you’d give anything in the world to hear him laugh right now. But you knew that you couldn’t. And what was scarier is that you probably just lost the chance to ever get the privilege to make him laugh again, let alone see him laugh at all. 

“I should go…” You said, after a long, uncomfortable while. He simply nodded, standing up and moving out of your way, walking up the stairs into what was once your shared bedroom. The same bedroom where you had made such incredible memories with him. You sighed, blinking away tears, going the opposite way, shutting the door behind you for the last time. As you stepped into the cold air of the night, your chest burned. You regretted everything. The fight, the fact you didn’t bring it up when it first started bothering you, the fact you hurt him more than anything or anyone had ever hurt you before. Now you could go wherever you wanted, do whatever you wanted, and see whoever you wanted. But at what cost?

CHOOSE ANOTHER MEMBER HERE

OR

LISTEN TO THE SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS, BELOW

[anyalovesu]

we're not saints at all.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆.✧˚ eight ༘ ˚⋆𐙚｡⋆.✧˚

necessary reminders:

contains 🔞🔞🔞 minors dni

🔞 is not pw authenticated anymore ( cri ) but yea i hope that you guys are old enough to read the content you consume

more warnings on the second part tnx

also i only have like 2 chapters left wkwkwkwkw tnx for hanging around with me for this oneee!!

oh and mdni !! pls pls pls

The waiting game was exhausting. 5:30PM, on the dot, Tobi and Ally were there in the waiting area of the arrival terminal in his black hoodie, all masked up to avoid getting noticed. After the entire fiasco with Kashiana, the last thing he wants is to attract more attention to him and Jas and cause another scene that might reflect on Jas’ social media platforms again. He’s had enough of the allegations they have received the past few days. Thank the good gods out there for giving them friends who work in the legal field that this was sorted out quicker than he was expecting. 

The silence to himself was eating him alive, especially with him sitting next to Ally who made the speedy process possible. If he was honest, it was a mystery to him why they managed to forgive him. What he did to Jas was beyond forgiving if it was done to him, but here they are, helping him with whatever plan he has so he can fix things with Jas. Bella even pulled personal strings just so he would be able to reserve one of the back rooms in Sunday Vine, so he can take Jacynthe to dinner. The way Eli still speaks to him in the same gentle tone even when she gets frustrated with how dense he gets every time he asks her for tips. It didn’t feel real to him that her friends are still helping him.

“Ang aga aga mo naman kasi umalis, Park,” Ally complained, hands reaching up to stretch out her back from being hunched as she has been writing her novel the past 30 minutes.

“6:30 daw eh,” he responds nonchalantly, shrugging before glancing on his phone again to check the time.

“Park, landing time and 6:30! If they get delayed, now what? Anong gagawin natin?”

“They’re flying with Azure Air,” he shakes his head. “They rarely get delayed, Al.”

“Ang tagal tagal naman kasi, dong,” she huffs, shutting her laptop down. “Patatawarin ka naman noon kahit late ka!”

“That's not the point.”

“I never asked this before,” she sighs, sliding her laptop down her purse before turning to look at him. “Mostly dahil ayaw kong makarinig ng maling sagot.”

“Ano ‘yon?” Tobi could feel his heart thumping against his chest as he waited for Althea to drop the ball on him.

“Seryoso ka na ba talaga kay Jas?” she asked. “Kasi kung hindi p’wede ka pa naman umuwi. Kaya ko naman iuwi ang dalawang ‘yon mula Pampanga hanggang QC.”

“I’m serious, Althea,” he says firmly.

“Jas always loves too much,” she stated. “Are you ready for that? Kaya mo bang suklian ‘yon? Inalagaan namin si Jas every time someone broke her heart. Can you promise me na you’re going to try to be the last one?”

“I can promise that, Al,” Tobi promises. “I will be the last one. Ally, I never wanted someone to spend my entire life with before until Jas came around. God, I fixed my relationship with my mom just so I could have a shot for her forgiveness. Mahal na mahal ko si Jas.”

“Good,” she hummed, swiftly running a hand over her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. “Because that woman has never been that in love before you. God, ang lungkot, all of a sudden at the slightest hint of pain she’s writing the saddest shit. I can’t take it anymore. Nadadamay kaming lahat!”

“You do that too,” he snorted.

“I didn’t know you read my books, Park?”

“Jas read your books aloud to me as an aftersex routine before,” he chuckles embarrassingly at the thought of sharing that kind of intimate detail to her best friend. “You are a sad person too, Ally Kim.”

“Bad parents, raise sad children,” she replied softly, looking away.

“Makes sense,” Tobi replied, before leaning back on the back rest of his seat as well. “It’s really funny how Jas managed to get us to mend our broken relationships with our parents.”

“Yeah,” Al sighed. “I guess she did that.”

“How are they now?”

“Are you really trying to get me to open up to you, Tobi?” Ally rolled her eyes at him. 

“Ano pang gagawin natin dito kung hindi magusap? Maliban sa napakagalante ng magulang mo at dito tayo dinala sa VIP na lounge tayo pinapunta, wala rin naman di talaga tayong ibang gagawin kung di magchismisan dito.”

I took some time before Al replied to him, contemplating on whether he should reply.

“They’re okay now,” she replied. “Nagsorry sila for pushing me away noong hindi ako nagtuloy magpractice ng law. They saw how successful I got. Apparently, muntikan na palang maassasinate ang tatay ko after he won a case against a politician noong isang buwan. Sabi nila they have never been more glad that I didn't go that route.”

“Politicians are insane.”

“True. But also they found out I was dating Attorney Santos’ golden boy,” she shrugged. “I still have mixed feelings. But they apologized. I guess that’s a big thing now. My parents are good and I have a hot boyfriend. All is well, I think.”

“Good point.”

“You and your mom?”

“Yeah, she didn’t apologize directly,” he replied casually. “Baka hindi lang rin n’ya alam kung paano. But she’s trying. She wants to be friends with me apparently. Asking me to hang out and be around me and Bianca more. I understand where she’s coming from though. He had to make Leon that perfect little boy in the eyes of the Yangs, and she did that. Big weights off her shoulders.”

“It shouldn’t be our responsibility to understand why our parents weren’t good parents,” she sighed. “But it is what it is, I suppose.”

“I used to feel jealous how Doctora Daphne managed to raise Jas so nicely,” Tobi muttered quietly. “Jas is such a good person. Alam ko naman sa sarili ko na hindi ko kayang maging ganoon kabuti given the circumstances that I grew up on.”

“But you want to be better, no?”

Tobi nodded. 

“I feel that too. That’s exactly how I feel with Kyle. That boy is too nice for the world and I’m this whole mess that didn’t go to law school because it was never what I wanted.”

“Good people make us want to be good people,” Tobi chuckles to himself, fiddling on the buttons of his phone to distract himself. “Love does that to us, I think.”

“Promise me you’ll always be in love with my Jas, okay?” she hummed at him. “I don’t want to ever see you walk away from her like her dad did, or like every single man did in her life. May pagsatanga si Jas kaya tatanggapin ka noon palagi—but for the love of God, don’t take the opportunity every time. Last na dapat ‘to.”

“I will do just that, Ally.”

“That woman is crazy for you, Tobi,” she sighed heavily. “And we’ll do anything to see her happy, even if it means forcing you to be the man she needs.”

“You don’t have to force me to do it,” Tobi replied politely. “I can always try and if I fail, uulit nalang uli until I get it right.”

“Very good.”

-

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆.✧˚ continue here ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆.✧˚

[barcalover86]

j a day with gavi being clingy going to grocery stores, shopping cooking all that stuff

Bebé-Pablo Gavi

Masterlist

You were living in different countries so when you came to Barcelona to surprise your boyfriend, he was the happiest. He didn't expect to see you at the time because after 3 days he had to go to the national team in Madrid.

Now it was your last day together and you could see that your boyfriend was getting emotional. You missed each other a lot and being separated again, broke both of your hearts.

He wanted to be with you all the time, hug you, kiss you, love you.

"Bebé, I'm gonna miss you so much it hurts me" he told you with his sad face, while his head was on your chest and hands on your waist, hugging you.

He is so needy for you all the time. He is an affectionate boy with you, and he's really different from how he usually is on the pitch.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Pablito, but we'll see each other again soon" you responded after kissing his forehead.

"But I'll have to be without you and I hate it. You make me feel so happy and when I think that you have to leave, I'm becoming the most saddest boy ever "

"No, no, amor, don't say that."

He felt exactly in that moment like crying. He hugged you tighter and put is head on your shoulder, kissing your neck slowly.

He loved to kiss you, especially your lips and neck. Every time he touched your bare skin, some electric energy was going through your body. Butterflies all over your stomach.

It was already 11 a.m. and you didn't eat anything, so you asked Pablo to stand up so that you could go make some late breakfast.

Not to lie, you loved late mornings with your sweet boy.

"Nooo, don't go, por favor" he said with love in his eyes.

"Then come with me" you smiled sweetly at him.

He groaned, but if that meant that he could be with you, he accepted it.

You went together to your kitchen. You wanted to do some salad with eggs, so you asked Pablo to wash the vegetables and then cut them. Your job was to do the eggs.

Gavi, all the time told you that your eggs are the best one he ever ate, and that made you smile even if you didn't really believe him.

"They are made full of your love, and that's why I think I love your food, cariña"

"Thank you, my boy," you replied with a kiss on his cheek, and he blushed hard.

When you two were waiting for the eggs to be done, he hugged you from behind and kissed your shoulder. You smiled at his touch.

"Te quiero mucho mucho, mi vida"

"Y yo tambien te quiero, Pablito!" you chuckled at his clinging.

After you two ate, you asked your boyfriend what you wanted to do today, and of course, he answered with "just cuddles," but you wanted way more.

"No, no. It's my last day in Barcelonaa, I wanna do something special with you"

"Like what?' Now he was really curious.

"Wanna go for a walk to the beach?" you asked with hope in your eyes.

He couldn't say no to you, so he accepted it, but before you had to meet his sister so that she could say her goodbye to his little brother.

"It's hot outside, what should I wear?" You asked your boyfriend with a confused face.

"I like everything on you, linda"

You smiled at his compliment.

"Gracias, Pablito. What's your outfit today like?"

"If we're going to the beach after we meet Rora, I think I'll go with some brown jeans and a black t-shirt. What do you think?" he asked for your opinion after he showed you the chlotes he's gonna wear tonight.

"I think that it'll look amazing on you" you said while he blushed.

He went to you and kissed your lips with love after taking your hands and then started to dance with you. You laughed at his silliness, but didn't mind at all. You love soft Pablo.

After a long fashion show, you and Pablo chose a beautiful white dress.

"I hope Aurora is late too," you told Pablo while laughing .

When she saw you both holding hands, she smiled at herself. His brother has the perfect girl for him, and she couldn't be happier.

"Y/n, you look so pretty"

"Gracias, Rora!! Y tu tambien, cariña"

You two hugged and then let a little bit of space for the brothers to say their goodbyes.

Pablo was still holding your hand, needy for your touch. After you left his sister to meet with her boyfriend, you went to your favourite place to eat some ice cream.

While you were walking together eating your dessert, Pablo was telling you stories about your future and how he would want to give you 3 children.

"Oh, Pabs, you really want that?" You asked with a big smile on your face.

"I can't ask for anything more, mi amor. Bit right now I just wanna be with you. Our last day.."

He looked at you sad with tears in his eyes before his chin was on your shoulder. You turned around and kissed his lips a little so that he wouldn't be sad.

When you arrived at the beach, Pablo took your hand and started to run with you towards the water. When you knew his intention, you ran away from him while he was following you.

"Don't you dare throw water at me, Gavira" you shouted at him while he only laughed hard at your little run.

Of course, he was faster than you, so he caught you and hugged you while spinning you around.

"Stoop, I'll get dizzy, amor" you laughed.

When he put you down, he kissed your lips again and again and again.

He loves you so much.

After you took some photos, you decided to head home to prepare Gavi's baggage.

While you took his maleta he started to cry.

"Oh, amor, don't cry"

You hugged him and kissed kis forehead until he slowed down a little. While you two were choosing some chlotes for him, you could still hear the sobs that were coming from him. You fel so sad, as well, but didn't want to cry because you knew if you'll begin, you couldn't be able to stop yourself.

After you were done, Gavi told you he wanted you to stay with him while showering.

You were staying out of the shower, looking at him while putting on some music for both of you to sing and dance. He looked so beautiful with his hair wet and smile when he looked at you.

"Who do you think will win the champions league?" You asked him

"Hard one, amor. I think City, but I'm sure it will be a great match. You?"

"I'm with Inter honestly, but if City wins, I'll be happy for them. Both worked hard, and anyone deserves to win. We'll see "

After Pablo was done showering, you cuddled together on your bed while looking at your phones. You saw that Gavi posted something, and when you saw it, you were so melted that you decided to post him on your story too.

All night, Pablo cried because he had to leave you. He loved football, but he also loved you. So much

You tried to calm him down with kisses so eventually he fell asleep.

In the morning, when you said goodbye to each other, you felt tears in your eyes, but Pablo smiled at you and kissed your neck cuz he loves it so much.

You promised yourselfs to talk every hour and you did that. You were all the time on the spanish national team insta account to see more of your boyfriend, and also, you were getting photos of him from some of his teammates.

You were so excited for his next match so that you could go and see him, but now you were back in your country, spending time with you lovely family.

Let me know if you liked this..!?

[sannasruins]

my letters to you

Aizawa Shouta x reader

type: fluff to angst

warning: major character death, non-descriptive violence, grief

a/n: i did not intend for this to be so long, i'm already working on the next part, i just wanted to get this out since it's already at this length, this is probably the saddest thing i have ever written, sorry in advance. reader is referred to with she/her pronouns

word count: 4.7k

As a Pro Hero, you had known since your school days, the job held the risk of one day not letting you return home. While it was a scary thought, devoting your life to a job that very well may take it, you had no doubt in your mind that being a hero was what you were meant to do. So, from a very young age, you had decided you wouldn’t ever let yourself get too close to someone, especially not your fellow hero’s in-training, so you wouldn’t have to suffer the grief of losing them, and they not have to suffer loosing you, if it ever came down to it. That was, until you met Aizawa Shouta in your first year at UA high school. 

He sat two chairs behind you your first year of school, the quiet one in his loud friend group, and though many people didn’t seem to see it, you saw how incredibly kind that boy way. You saw in him what you hoped others might see in you, that he was truly born to be a hero. You decided, looking at that dark-haired boy who sat two seats behind you your first year at a high school for heroes, that he was going to be someone that you let get too close.

You spent your school days studying and training with your peers, and the evenings after school walking home with Shouta, and on those trips to and from school, you slowly fell in love with him, and him with you, not that you were aware. 

The two of you would often walk home as the sun was setting, along the river, on lookers would see the couple, bathed in the orange light. The girl, a large smile on her face as she talked excitedly about nothing in particular, looking forwards towards the sunset and their destination, and the boy, a small, barely noticeable smile on his, looking at her as she moved forwards with a bounce in her step. 

Walks home slowly morphed into afterschool dates, not that either of you had the courage to actually call them that, often stopping by things like bakeries and crepe stands. On your first visit to a crepe stand, you ordered the cult classic strawberries and cream, and much to your disgruntlement, Shouta ordered dark chocolate on dark chocolate, your face taking on an expression of disbelief as he took the first bite of his and seemed to genuinely enjoy it. He mistook your expression, and thinking you wanted to try his crepe, shyly offered you a bite. Feeling bad for judging the sweet boy standing next to you, you took a tentative bite from the crepe, maybe it wouldn’t taste as bad as you thought it would! Maybe now that you’re older you’ll enjoy dark chocolate more than when you last tried it! Alas, dark chocolate has remained the same, and so has your taste, as you make a displeased face and after swallowing, stuck out your tongue in disgust. He let out a little laugh at your expression, and asked you if you didn’t like dark chocolate, and you replied that no, nobody with normal taste buds should like dark chocolate, it tastes like dirt! He chuckled again and the two of you started back on your trek home, you finding solace in your normal and tasty crepe, and every few minutes for the rest of the walk, adding more reasons and defamation to dark chocolate. Even though you were dissing something he enjoyed, he didn’t seem to mind, as he listened with a small smile on his face, eating his crepe and watching you. 

The two of you often frequented an arcade that was on your path home, having almost weekly competitions on who could beat who’s high score, Shouta never seemed to the comparative type but when it was just you two, you could see a rare grin forming on his face as the levels increased in difficulty and he got closer and closer to the besting number, the glint in his eye wasn’t just from the reflection of the arcade game’s screen, and it gave you butterflies.

On the last day before summer break, your second year of school, you asked Aizawa Shouta to meet you behind the school building after classes had let out. It wasn’t too strange that the two of you were meeting after school, since you usually walked home together, but why behind the school instead of in front by the entrance gates was confusing to him.

You were waiting there for him, with a small white box in your hands, and as he approached you, you bowed and put your arms out, presenting him with the little package. “Aizawa Shouta,” your voice trembled but you continued on, “will you please go out with me?”. You felt him take the box, so you let go and quickly straightened yourself, but did not raise your eyes from the dirt you were standing on, too nervous to meet his. It was quiet for a long time, and your heart began to sink at the prospect of rejection. You finally looked back up at him, tears starting to sting in your eyes, only to have your eyes land on a Shouta Aizawa whose face was so red it looked as if it may start to glow.

“Are… are you blushing?” You questioned him, fear tinged the edges of your words. His eyes shot up to meet yours, only for a second before returning to the ground, and he gave a shy nod of his head.

“I,” his voice caught in his throat, like it wasn’t ready to yet talk, “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Is that a no?” disappointment heavy in your tone.

“No!” he shouted, and then, looking as if his sudden outburst was a surprise even to him, he continued, “I mean, I think you’re really cool, and smart, and I really enjoy hanging out with you, and I think you’re so pretty.” As he lists his compliments towards you his volume lowered in embarrassment, his last word being barely above a whisper. 

“So,” he quickly started again, voice returned now to a normal volume, “I would like to go out with you, l/n y/n.”

The tension you didn’t know had built up in your body suddenly released, stress of rejection melting off of you and into the earth below. You let out a shaky laugh, tears that had been caught in your eyes spilling over the brim and down your cheeks, your throat slowly untightening from the adrenaline. “Thank you, I’m so glad.”

“Oh no nono,” he said worriedly, taking a step towards you, and reaching out an unsteady hand to brush a tear away with his knuckle. “Please don’t cry, why are you crying?”

You laughed, “I really don’t know,” and you grinned, “I’m just so happy.”

He blushed and looked away, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck, “yeah, me too,” he murmured. 

You two started the walk home from the back of the school, your hand shyly reaching for his.

“What’s in this, anyways?” he asked in reference to the little white box you had presented him earlier. 

“Oh,” you blushed, embarrassed again, “its homemade dark chocolate.” He looked down at the box in his free hand, and a smile played at his lips.

That day on lookers would see the couple, bathed once more in the orange light, next to the slow flowing river. The girl, a large smile on her face as she talked excitedly about nothing in particular, looking forwards towards the sunset and their destination, and the boy, a small, barely noticeable smile on his, looking at her as she moved forwards with a bounce in her step, but this time, they were hand in hand.

Having yet joined a hero’s agency to intern at since Aizawa hadn’t either, when you were offered a place at His Purple Highness’ agency along with him and your mutual friend, you jumped at the opportunity to have even more time with your boyfriend. The two of you had kept your relationship relatively quiet in fear of it affecting the opportunities you both would be offered in the future, not wanting to be barred from working along one another. It was the middle of your second year when one of Aizawa Shouta’s and your friend, Oboro Shirakumo, was killed during your hero work studies. You were there with Shouta but had been knocked out by the Villain Garvey’s stock quirk and left to watch in dazed horror though foggy vision the violence that continued. It started to rain. You watched your beloved Aizawa fight the villain by himself, a boy who never thought he was meant for solo combat, doing what he must to protect the nursery school children, knowing he truly was the last wall between them and the villain. You watched him defeat Garvey, and as back up arrived, watched as he was congratulated on his victory, alone. Your barely conscious body had been picked up at that point, paramedics moving you towards an ambulance. You saw your Shota’s gaze follow a pointed finger, to where Oboro’s body had been removed from the rubble and gently placed into a body bag, already stained with cool blood, mixing with the wet ground under him. Rain had started to pour by then, the cold missiles stinging the skin of your face, it mingles with the warm salt of your tears. You desperately, and weakly, push away the medics trying to help you, and stumble towards him, standing in the freezing downpour. When you reach him, you throw your arms around him, and the two of you sink to your knees. You press his cooled face into the warmer skin of your chest, squeezing him tightly as your body gently shakes with unsure sobs. If he cried, you couldn’t tell, the two of you sat kneeling in the rain for a long time, long past the point of soaking you to the bone. Hizashi joins you two at some point, mourning in the rain together in a way no children should have to, and when told to move out of the rain, he speaks for the three of you in saying that the weather and your place in it was befitting of the occasion.

After the shocking death of your friend, Aizawa changed, he was still the boy you loved, but he poured more and more time and effort into solo training, not ever wanting to have to rely on others in combat. He got it into his head that he, someone with a non-combat based quirk, still had to be able to protect even his fellow combat based quirk heroes. He never wanted to be weak like he was that day in the rain ever again. He never wanted to lose anyone else.

You changed after Oboros death too, it brought back your dated mentality of not wanting to get too close to anyone, but you knew, if you distanced yourself from your sweet boyfriend, it would be one the gravest mistakes you ever made in your entire life. So, instead, you thought about your mortality, how much you missed your dear friend already, and how this very thing could happen to you too one day. You were okay with the idea of losing your life in battle, it held honor, you had accepted that long ago. Now knowing the other side of the coin, being the one left behind when someone dear departed while in battle, you knew you couldn’t do nothing.

So, you started writing letters to Aizawa Shouta, for the just incase. And every year or so, you would rewrite them, having them updated to the most recent you. You did that for quite some time.

You and Shouta experienced many first together. You graduated, watched him start his underground hero agency while staying to side kick under His Purple Highness, working up the ranks until you yourself were ready to set off on your own as a Hero. Your time as a sidekick had allowed you to slowly rise through the popularity ranks, and when you debuted as a hero, you already had your standing in the top 100. You and Shouta moved in together 3 years after graduating, never having broken up, you had just decided it would be important to establish yourselves as individuals before you moved in with one another. Bright eyes 21-year-olds, charging their way into the world, establishing yourselves among the hero ranks. A year later he proposed, it wasn’t at a fancy restaurant on the top floor of a hotel, or a big spectacle with all your friends and family there, instead it was in the warm orange light of the setting sun, on the walk home from visiting a crepe stand, not too much unlike the one you visited when you were in school. It was mid spring, and along the river, covered in a blanket of pink petals, he got down on one knee. The backdrop of sakura trees in full bloom, and before you, your beloved presenting you a lovely ring only he could have picked, that suited you so well, you were the happiest person alive. You lowered yourself down onto your knees as well, ignoring the looks of curious onlookers, and threw your arms around his neck, knocking him over into the grass. With tears of joy in your eyes, you took his face in your hands and peppered enthused kisses all over his face, his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, his forehead, his chin, until you reached his lips. You pressed a lingering kiss to them, before pulling your head up, and meeting his eyes, “Yes, yes a thousand, a million times yes.”

He grinned back at you, and using the pads of his thumbs, wiped away the tears staining your cheeks, “thank you.”

Onlookers this time would see the happy couple, walking in the light of the setting sun, hand in hand, but this time around, she had a ring on hers. 

At the ripe age of 24, the two of you tied the knot, the date was set to the day, 10 years ago, that the two of you had first met at the entrance ceremony of UA high school. He looked dashing in his best suit, and you looked ethereal in your dress as you walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar, both of you wearing face splitting grins. You were in the top 40 at that point in your career, and the media had a small field day with your wedding. The 34th ranked hero (y/h/n) and the elusive eraserhead were wed today at an exclusive venue, only close friends and family were invited! Read more to find out all the juicy gossip of the latest hero wedding.

After your wedding you moved out of your shared apartment and into a cute little two story in a residential area of town, with enough room for whatever the future may hold. You rewrote your letters for the last time in that house. 

It was 13 months after the two of you got married, that it happened, a balmy May evening. Villain activity had been on the rise and stronger villains were appearing everyday. He wasn’t on the scene when it happened, he wasn't able to do the thing he trained so hard to do.

He had heard your call for backup over the radio, when you encountered an especially strong opponent, and had been rushing towards your location, tuning out the reports that were constantly being fed into his ear, as you were the only thing on his mind. When he was only 5 minutes away, there was an explosive sound, and the whole neighborhood began to shake, and in the distance he saw a plume of dust and smoke rising into the darkening sky. 

You had been on the edge of being defeated, knowing that that was truly the end, and had decided to take the rising villain out with you. It had been in an abandoned warehouse in the business sector of the neighborhood, there probably wouldn’t be anyone around expect for you and the person you were fighting, you reasoned with yourself as you set your quirk off for the last time, making sure that if you go out, your last fight wouldn’t be one that you lost. 

The dust had started to settle by the time Shouta arrived, there were other heroes and rescue teams already there, several of whom were mere moments away from providing backup, but they would have been too late even if you didn’t decide to be as rash as you were. Many were shifting through the rubble as he swung his head from side to side, looking for you, deluding himself that you would be among the heroes on top of the rubble, instead of under it. He didn’t see you. 

Someone called out that they had found you, it was Hizashi, Shouta saw him cradling your broken and bloody form. A sound ripped from his throat, choked, horrified, bloodcurdling, and he rushed over to where his blond friend kneeled in the wreckage. Hizashi gently handed off your cooling form to his best friend, but remained next to him, as Shota murmured to you. 

He pleaded for you to wake, for you to move, for you to open your eyes, god please just breath please. There was nothing you could do though, you weren’t there anymore, not really. He clung to you, and wept, voice growing hoarse, till his cries were nothing but shakes of his body. Eventually, medics had to take you away, and he watched, as they zipped your lovely body up in the disgusting black bag. He watched you be carried off, though the medics were treating your body with the utmost respect, he could not help but despise them for taking you away. 

It was on the news when he got home, the tv having been left on. He carefully took off his shoes, stripped of his dusty uniform, and showered, going numbly through a routine he had established, which was missing an essential part, you. He dried and dressed, and made his way up to your bedroom, where he fell to his knees on your side of the bed, burying his face in the blankets you had slept in not even a day ago, inhaling the scent of you. He broke once more, realizing that soon, the smell would fade, and it would just be another memory he would unwillingly slowly forget to the passage of time. He fell asleep there, on the floor, after crying all the tears his body held and more. 

He didn’t leave the house for days, remaining in your shared bed, cradling the small stuffed animal you had gotten as a present for yourself after graduating from UA, you smiley excuse being “for when you’re not here, I still need something to cuddle,” he had thought it was silly, maybe a little immature, but had never said anything on the matter. But now he held onto the small stuffed friend as if it was his only salvation in the horrible world he was forced to live in since you had left. He didn’t eat, he didn’t move, he just drifted in and out of painful consciousness. 

Your funeral had come and gone, people and the media were shocked to see the lack of your doting husband at your wake. . After 4 days of no contact, Hizashi came by, and let himself in with the spare key you kept hidden under a rock by the entrance. Long ago, right after graduating from high school, you had told Hizashi that if you were ever to die in combat, to look for a construction paper covered shoe box in your closet, that it was for Shouta. When he asked you what it was, and why you had prepared something so morbid, you didn’t have much of a real answer to give him. “Please”, you had  asked your blonde friend, “it’s something I started doing after Oboro… after oboro’s death. There’s so many things I never want Shouta to have to experience alone, without me.” He had nodded in acceptance of your words, and not wanting to focus on such a pessimistic topic on your graduation day, changed topics with a smile, going on about where the after party’s after party might be taking place.

He walked to your bedroom, “I’m coming in,” he announced as he swung the door open, though he didn’t receive a response. His heart twinged at the sight of his best friend, huddled under the comforter on your side of the bed, clutching a well loved stuffed animal. Though he had lost a friend, he couldn’t imagine the pain Aizawa Shouta was going though, it was as if the man that lay before him had lost a part of himself. A puzzle that will never again be able to be completed. 

Hizashi sat on the edge of the bed, next to the owner of greasy ebony hair, which he ruffled. “You need to take a shower man, you know how y/n doesn’t like it when you let it get this dirty.”

“She’s gone.”

Oh, it hit him in the gut, the blonde flinched. She is gone, and she couldn’t ever come back either. The rest of their lives, they would have to live without the bright girl they had known for so long. They would keep on living, and she would not. They would have to remember her longer than they had known her. 

“It hurts.” Hizashi said, “it hurts so bad, and it feels so unfair, and if there was anything I could do to undo this, to even take away the pain you’re feeling right now, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“But,” he continued, “but there’s not, there is absolutely nothing we can do to undo what has already been done. The only thing we can do is to live the way she would have wanted. Do you think she would have wanted you to lie in your shared bed, rotting away until you died? Do you think she would happily greet you at the gates of death if you let yourself end in that way?”

Shouta turned his head to look at his friend, dark eyes red and swollen from their endless flow of tears, that even now, dripped from them.

“Get up,” the blond stood and slapped the top of his thighs, “take a shower, brush your teeth, I’m going to go downstairs and cook something for us to eat.”

Shouta nodded, and slowly sat up, his hair falling into his face like a dark veil. He rose from the bed, and begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on his way. He looked haggard, stubble grown out, his heart hurt so badly at the thought of you seeing him like this, he decided he would shave too.

After his friend had left the room, Hizashi went towards the closet, feeling guilty about disturbing things the way you had left them, he tried his best to leave as much as he could untouched as he looked for the brightly decorated box he had been told about. He found it without much effort, tucked away in the very back of the top shelf, covered in cute scrapbooking paper and stickers, it really was quite the reflection of you, something you had made with such care and love. It hurt thinking about how you ever had to prepare this sort of thing in the first place, having been preparing for your own death since you all had been teenagers. He gingerly removed it from its place, and carried it downstairs to the kitchen with him, tucking it away to bring it up later, after he had gotten some food into his mourning friend. 

He opened the fridge, revealing a tupperware of something preprepared, just needing to be cooked. He opened the lid of it, taking a whiff to see if it was still good or if it had gone bad in the time that has passed since it was made, it hadn’t. He washed and put the rice in its cooker before tossing the contents of the tupperware into a pan, frying it until it was done, and serving it with the fresh steaming rice. 

Shouta came downstairs, the smell of your cooking hitting his nose, and for a few moments he forgot that you weren’t there, in your sunny kitchen, cooking one of your meals to share with him, a smile on your face as you greeted him entering. Instead of your smile greeting him, it was Hizashi, and Shouta lost his strength, gripping the doorframe as his slid to the ground, chest shaking in grief.

Hizashi quickly took the few steps that separated him and the crying man on the floor, sinking down to his level and grasping him by his arms, concern morphing his face. 

“This,” a sob stopped him from continuing, “this is her cooking, this is,” sob “this is the last time I’ll ever be able to eat something she made. I’m,” sob “I’m going to have to live the rest of my life without ever going to be able to taste her food again.” His body convulsed with the strength of his sorrow.

They cried together on the kitchen floor for a while, until the food had completely cooled. Hizashi lead Shouta to the table, sitting him down in his chair before picking up their plates and placing them in the microwave, warming them back up, until they once more had steam rising from them. 

He put the plate of food in front of your husband, placing fork in his hand, forgoing chopsticks for fear that Shouta would simply be too weak from his 4 days of laying in bed, forgoing food. 

Aizawa Shouta scooped up a small bite of the meal sitting in front of him, tentatively raising the fork before placing it in his mouth. As soon as the flavors hit his tongue he started silently crying again. He slowly ate, trying to savor every bite, ignoring the salty taste of his own tears as he swallowed. 

The blond watched him, while eating his own meal, tears came to his eyes as well, thinking about what his friend had said, this truly would be the last time he ate your cooking. Never again would he be invited over to your loving home, entering the warm environment you had made, and eating dinner with you and your friends. How you had loved to host little dinner parties for your friend group, those that you had known since your schooling days. He felt bad about being the only one of the group to get to eat your cooking one last time, so he took his time as well, wanting to enjoy it enough for everyone that wasn’t there with them in the room that was now cool and grey without your presence. 

When Shouta was done, he pushed his plate to the side and laid his head on crossed arms, trying to control his breathing as he cried, trying to be thankful that he got to taste it one last time, instead of only sorrowful that that would be the last time he would ever taste it.

“Shouta,” Hizashi started after a while of silence, “I have something to give you.” He got up from the table and walked to retrieve where he had hidden the box, and then returning and placing it between the two of them on the table.

“This is from her, from y/n”

The dark-haired man looked up, bleary eyes landing on the colorful box. “What is it?” he questioned.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Y/n just told me to give it to you if anything ever happened to her.” the green-eyed man answered. 

Shouta reached out and opened the box, reviling its contents. Letters.

part two

[hottubmagazine]

Falling for You

Lloyd Garmadon x Reader

NOTE: Here's part 3. It's only been a day since my last post, but I'm testing my creative liberty here and also this has been in my drafts for a short while so I'm just deciding to post it. Enjoy <33

Warning(s): slight cursing, slight cringe (I'm just proof-reading this right now and I'm internally screaming at myself)

Previously: Part 2

Next: Part 4

Part 3 Of Part???

It had been a long day, various assignments needed to be done, 3 essays all due within a week, and 2 presentations needed to be sent out by the end of Friday. Dispite the need to relax, somehow guilt always won over.

"Ugh! This sucks!" (Y/N) exclaims dropping her bag down on the ground and throwing herself on the couch cushions. A few moment of silence gives her the right amount of thought process to gather herself back up and change out of her outdoor clothes.

Once done, she exits the bathroom and is surprised by the sight of the well-known green ninja up on the balcony holding a few bags of takeout, and another one presumably filled with dessert.

"Lloyd, what are you doing here? I thought your patrol ended hours ago." (Y/N) comments triedly making her way to the blonde-headed male slipping her arms around his torso in a much-needed hug.

"I did, but a little birdie told me you were stressed out from school so I came to hopefully make everything a little less sh*tty." Lloyd adds kissing her forehead. He enters the kitchen and takes out the food from the bag.

"You really didn't have to, you know?" The girl smiles widely as she sat herself down on the kitchen counter. Lloyd continues to re-heat the food and place them on seprate containers along side with utensils.

"I wanted too. Besides, it's my job as your BOYFRIEND to make sure your mental, emotional, and physical health is at 100% capacity. Otherwise we're gonna have a problem—" Lloyd says in a serious-joking tone earning a wide smile from his girlfriend.

"Since when did you become so knowledgeable about these sorts of stuff, last time I checked you weren't in any relationships before me." She points out, jokingly pointing a finger at him. He gasps in return as he grabs a glass of water fro both of them.

"Are you accusing me of something?" His eyebrows raise placing a hand over his chest. (Y/N) gigles in return, playing along wtih her boyfriends little play.

"And what if I am? Now that you mention it, you were pretty friendly with that sweet old lady back at the flower shop. Now why was that?" She comments, her smile failing to be kept hidden as her cheeks redden.

Lloyd grins and circles the kitchen counter to stand infront of her, trapping her between his arms.

"Now now, let's not be hasty. Who's to say that the lovely lady hadn't lured me in with her abundance set of well maintained flowers." Lloyd replies placing a strand of hair behind her ears. He rests his palm against her nape and pulls her head to rest on his shoulder.

"But— in anycase I was given all the worlds riches, or power, all to not have you by my side. I'd be considered the worlds saddest man." Lloyd says, (Y/N) furrows her brows in confusion not getting what he meant.

"What do you mean by that?" She asks further wanting an explination.

"Meaning, no matter how rich or powerful I become. Nothing would cost just as much as having you by my side." Lloyd better emphasises.

(Y/N) flicks his forehead gently "Your so sappy, you know that right?" She exclaims and removing herself between the man and the counter to go and get her food.

"Hey! I poured my heart out to you, and this is the thanks I get?" Lloyd pouts defeatedly as he follows her retreating figure in the living room like a kicked puppy.

"Alright, you big oaf." The girl opens up her arms and brings the male into a hug, earning a soft sigh in return causing her to brigthen up.

She may not know this, but if anything were to happen to her, Lloyd would bring hell upon anyone who caused her pain. Even to himself.

[writersmilex]

hey bb! may i request drunk! reader x drunk! pickles? a sprinkle of trauma bonding (mommy issues) and a sprinkle of fluff and understanding would mean the whole world to me :3

Hammered Slander

Pickles The Drummer X Fem Reader

Summary: (Y/n) and Pickles decide to go out together and just get drunk and complain about mothers, as you do.

Note: Hi Stranger! I never experienced mommy issues in any way, I’m not sure what having mommy issues feels like, to be honest, so the mother is just nagging basically... I think.

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It’s a regular event between (Y/n) and Pickles, from the very first day they met. It’s easy to make friends when drunk, and apparently, Pickles and (Y/n) got along so well that they woke up hangover together. It’s ironic that (Y/n) can still remember it. It’s okay if Pickles doesn’t.

20-year-old (Y/n) woke up in Pickles’ motel room on the floor, he was awake but hallucinating in the bed. And… The rest is history.

~~~~ Years later, Dethklok is the most dominant band on the planet. Hanging out with her friends is rather difficult these days, and she cherishes every moment she can whenever. What’s even rarer is hanging out with her closest friend: Pickles. Just the two of them, she would have really liked to have spent time with him by now. And while phoning Pickles as the band is on tour, (Y/n) finally decides to just ask him! “Toki really can hold his liquor when he gets really drunk, it’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever seen, yo.” Pickles cackles from the other side of the line, causing (Y/n) to laugh as she hears Toki complain in the background. “Anyway enough about me, how are you doing?” There is a lot of commotion on the Drummer’s side, which is most likely the band in the background. “I’m fine. It's kind of quiet with you guys not around. But I’ll manage.” Which is the truth. (Y/n) has been staying at Mordhaus to keep things a little in check for the band. The castle-like structure really is very quiet with them around. “Kinda miss you guys…” She admits shyly. “Aww… (Y/n). Hey Fellas! (Y/n) misses us!” She can hear Pickles announce to the room loudly. (Y/n) can’t hear the reactions very well, but she can hear Toki shout. “Ams misses yous too, (Y/n)!” in the distance. Toki’s antics never fail to make (Y/n) smile. “Hey, Pickles. We can go for a drink and catch up when you’re back. Just the two of us? Like old time.” (Y/n) feels slightly bashful while asking, much to her relief, the Drummer chuckles. “Sure we can!” He replies with glee.

~~~~ Back from the tour and was well-rested once again. (Y/n) and Pickles have finally decided to go out together for drinks. Pickles had always found it interesting, how the atmosphere completely changes when it’s just him and (Y/n) together without his bandmates and friends. More surprisingly, this atmosphere has never changed in all the years he has been friends with her. And he likes it that way. He could tell this was gonna be a drunk night, as he saw (Y/n) already downing her drinks quickly. Surely something must be on her mind. He doesn’t think about it much as he gets drunker as well, the two friends swaying on their barstool and partly leaning on each other to maintain some balance. Giggling the night away.

“Alright, alright, alright! Listen, listen, listen.” (Y/n) giggles and puts down her whiskey glass, already getting pretty hammered after her fourth glass, switching from plain beer to win to spice her drunkenness. Pickles responds with his own laughs, being unable to keep his head up straight and repeatedly as if his neck is giving into the weight of his head. “I had another call from my mom recently, you know?” (Y/n) shakes the whiskey glass she is holding, hoping it will magically refill again. Pickles snorts, “Yeah?” He gestures for her to resume. “I haven’t spoken to her in years, since she ruined my brother’s wedding. She was literally asking if I had a boyfriend yet!” (Y/n) raises her voice, announcing to the whole bar her story. It’s getting late so the bar is quite empty. Not to mention that the remaining people are doing their best to ignore the two very loud and very drunk people at the bar. The poor bartender is cursed to serve the other people there. He cut those two off an hour ago.

“Typically mum, always butting in my personal life! Because she doesn’t have one!” (Y/n) laughs loudly at her own witty remark. Pickles follows suit with her, the commotion in the nearly empty bar to get more obnoxious on their end. It causes a group of three people to leave money on their table and leave the building altogether.

The Bartender is trying to focus while going down his resupply list and partly keeping an eye on the drunk people who are half a meter away from him. Just to make sure they don’t break anything. Even if it’s the drummer of the greatest Metal band on earth slouching at his bar.

“I swear that woman can’t let go of us! Me and My brother and I.” (Y/n) slurs, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger, it doesn’t make that pretty sound that wine glasses usually make. “I remember when she blamed her divorce on us… That woman is crazy and Dad couldn’t take it anymore, I wish he had taken us with him.” her gaze turns solemn, despite it being years ago, it still hurts. Those hurtful words that her mother said to her in the heat of the moment, if only her mother had apologized for that, their relationship might have been better today.

“duuuude,” The drummer leans completely on (Y/n)’s arm, clutching a bottle of a famous whiskey brand in his hand. His legs are bouncing against the foot of the stool, a subconscious habit. “Be glad that your mom even acknowledges your existence!” Pickles argues, “I am the drummer of the very best baaand in the fucking wooorld yo!!! Not e-even thaaaat, Not even that impreeesses her!” He slurs and slams his hands flat on the bar, which causes the bartender to flinch at the noise. He about had it with these guests. If one more thing happens he is going to kick them out for the night so he can close the bar.

“It’s aaaalways about Sssseth. Fucking asshooole! He ruinzzzz everythinggg he touches!” Leaning forward he rubs his face in his hands, “Women…” He grumbles in his palms. If (Y/n) was sober, she would have thought twice about what he just said. But right now she couldn’t agree more. “Fuckinnnnng bitch, just wants mmmmy money.” He complains quietly. (Y/n) already knew that Pickles’ family was practically leaching off him. She had noticed that already. At first, she expected all of Dethklok's families to be begging for the band’s money. Later she realized that the family dynamics of Dethklok is rather abnormal for the most part. “Well? That Birth-giver o’ mine is a real piece of work. And you haven’t met her yet.” (Y/n) pipes in with more stories of her mother. “And I don’t want you… That when you meet her… That you don’t, okay?” She mumbles with a hint of confusion, almost like she doesn’t even know what she is talking about. “I swear, me and my… I mean me and my brother and I. We were just accessories to her, seriously! Dad too, probably!” When she slams her glass on the table, causing one empty bottle to topple over, that’s when the bartender had it.

“Alright, you two need to leave my bar this instant!” The bartender had enough, slammed his notes on the counter and called the bouncer over to give him a hand. ~~~~ The bounce pushed (Y/n) and Pickles outside roughly. (Y/n) was able to keep her balance however, Pickles stumbled and tripped onto his knees. “Just go home!” The bouncer waves the two drunk people off and goes back inside.

(Y/n) dusts off her knees and stands up, swaying in her stance and looking at the entrance of the bar, “How rude…” She grumbles and looks over to the Drummer and grabs him by the arm to get him to stand up. She wastes little time and goes to walk in the direction that she believes is the right direction.

“Wheeere arrre we going???" Pickles sounds more confused than ever, looking around the now dark streets quizzically. “We are, We’re going home I think?” (Y/n) giggles quietly. Too drunk to even realize where she is taking Pickles to. The two friends will discover later the next day while nursing a hangover. ~~~~ Waking up with a pounding headache has become a regular thing lately. (Y/n) is having a hard time opening her eyes, and when she does she is greeted with the floor of some castle-like bedroom, the floor is covered in both rubbish and clothes. This scene makes (Y/n) feel nostalgic. Somewhere she has seen this before. Of course! How could she forget? “Had a good sleep?” Comes the voice of Pickles. Looking up, (Y/n) finds the man in question sitting up in bed. It is nearly just like when she first met him, and she could not help but smile at him. ________________________________

I haven’t taken requests in years, I actually have quite a strict rule list when it comes to requests. But I’ll let this one slide. 

Thanks for reading, - Smilex